The Wizard’s Shield

Chapter 3-3

Ilene couldn’t trust their fate to chance.

She roused her own power, feeling for charged particles in the

area. Gathering them in, she rolled and pushed them into position,

building a lattice of force around the family. It wouldn’t keep out

the wind or the rain—she could have done that with air, too, if

she’d had time—but it should keep the lightning from reaching them.

For the moment, that mattered most.

Even at a distance, the rush of oppositely

charged particles prickled in her brain. The growing polarization

signaled an impending strike.

What formed out there made her gut clench in

fear. It was so close to the father and child the hair on their

bodies must have been standing on end. The man looked around

wildly, searching for shelter. The panic in his eyes radiated

across the fifty feet or so that separated her from them.

Would her barrier be enough to protect them?

The ground charge was forming so close it could jump right through

it if she’d left even a small opening. Ilene reached out toward the

building charge differential. Playing with lightning was tricky

business. Choosing her positions carefully, she pushed in various

weak spots to move the polarizing field.

It sucked a lot of energy out of her to

divert its course. Her ribs and head ached as she herded protons in

a subatomic cattle drive to get the charge well away from the

family. Those minuscule bits of potential energy were every bit as

ornery and uncooperative as cows were reputed to be.

Even as the bolt formed, she didn’t know if

she’d succeeded. Her breath stopped in her throat for a long, long

moment as she waited.

The streak of lightning followed the diverted

path to the beach, a safe distance away.

The man ran to the van, getting there just

moments behind his wife and older children. He pushed the toddler

into the back seat and ran around to the other side, while his wife

slammed the rear door and got into the front. Ilene didn’t let out

the breath she held until they were all safely inside the vehicle.

She released the protective field. The van’s headlights flicked on

and moments later it chugged off down the street.

More lightning singed the sky. An inflatable

ring rolled down the street like a runaway tire. Ilene shuddered,

though it wasn’t entirely the weather that set it off. The storm

was a natural thing, but someone—a powerful wizard—was using

it.

Using it to attack. The island or the house

or its occupants. Brilliant, livid streaks of orange and red mixed

with violet and deep blue swirls riding with the clouds. The smells

of ammonia and ozone and peppers burned her nostrils.

Lightning flashed brighter and closer.

Dangerously closer.

The grumble of thunder grew almost constant.

The rushing downpour of rain added to the chaos and noise. Driven

by the wind to blow almost horizontally, it splattered against the

window in big drops that spread out, then slid down the glass like

groping hands trying to claw their way in.

Something was out there. The swirls of

lividly hued power grew deeper and more intense. It rode on the

storm in frightening concentrations. Why here, though?

The housekeeper rushed in, carrying candles,

matches, and flashlights. She stopped when she saw Ilene. “Oh,

Miss, I thought you’d have gone back to your room to rest. Quite a

storm brewing out there, isn’t it?” She looked down at the things

she held. “Power goes out around here when we get a blow like this.

Getting prepared. You want a flashlight?” The woman held a small

one out to her and Ilene accepted it.

The house rattled to another rumble of

thunder, followed by a shaking as the wind slammed full force

against it. The power that rode on the storm surged around them.

Mixed with the aroma of peppers was a scent more stinging and

vitriolic than she’d ever smelled before. The weight of it pressed

against her. Her breath caught and her heart pounded. She searched

for the source of it, beating back against the power to dig into

it, looking for a signature or an angle to trace.

Another downdraft of wind shook the house and

yet more power swirled around the building, seeking…what? A way in?

A way past…something. Michael’s defenses, perhaps. She smelled his

magic answering now, or perhaps defying it. Lightning flashed,

close by. Even though it was early afternoon, the quick blaze of

light threw lurid shadows.

A loud, heavy crash sounded from somewhere

above. Ilene reached out and let her own power ride along on the

storm. What she found shocked and surprised her. Michael fought

against the magic, trying to drive it back and away, but he wasn’t

attempting to protect himself against it. “He’s in trouble,” she

said and turned toward the stairs. “Are the doors locked?”

“What doors, Miss?”

“Michael’s. Where will I find him?” The power

flowed into the house and Michael fought it, but for some reason,

he wasn’t shielding. Something distracted him.

“He doesn’t like to be disturbed.”

Another thud from above blended with a rumble

of thunder and a flash of lightning. “He’s in trouble.” Frantic

now, Ilene ran up the stairs and tried the knob of the nearest

door. It gave easily…into a linen closet. Several other doors lined

the hallway. “Which one?”

Mrs. Wendall had followed her up, and

something of her fear must have communicated itself to the woman.

She nodded to her left and walked toward the nearest door on that

side.

Ilene raced ahead of her, but the door was

locked, and she had to wait for the housekeeper to arrive. The

force of the magical assault beat against her from all sides,

squeezing her chest and making her heart pound as she struggled to

shield herself against it. Somewhere in the house Michael was

taking a far worse beating from the force. He should have been able

to protect himself. Why wasn’t he?

It took Mrs. Wendall far too long to find the

right key and make it turn in the lock. Trying to hurry her would

likely be counter-productive, so Ilene remained silent, shaking

with the intensity of her fear and struggling to control her

impatience. Two more crashes came from inside the room.

Finally the lock gave and Mrs. Wendall turned

the knob. The door crashed inward and they rushed up another set of

stairs that ended in what had once been a library or office. It was

in shambles now, with wind blowing papers and books around and

turning smaller items into unguided missiles. Ilene searched

through the chaos and spotted Michael by the window. Or rather,

hanging half way out of it.

“Oh my God,” she muttered as she ran across

the room.

- 3

-

Ilene couldn’t tell whether he was hurt,

being pulled out by the forces assaulting them, or trying to hang

onto something.

Michael’s body bent into a strained curve,

with his chest and head leaning completely out of the window.

Broken glass littered the floor around him. A frightening number of

jagged shards clung to what remained of the frame. Sharp ends of

broken mullions hung loose. If a screen had ever stood guard there,

it was gone.

Wind roared by him, flapping the gauzy length

of a curtain over his head. A lamp on a side table tipped over and

crashed to the floor. Pieces of what looked like electrical

equipment shot off shelves, into walls and furniture. Papers flew

off the desk and bookshelves, creating a near-blizzard as they

skittered around the area.

The stinging smell of power filled the room.

Blazing streaks of red, yellow, and green darted into gaps and

corners. More than one signature mixed into it, making it so

complex she couldn’t pull out any single key to read.

When several small statuettes launched

themselves across the room toward Michael, Ilene pointed and pushed

out enough power to take them harmlessly to the ground.

“Why aren’t you shielding yourself?” she

yelled at him over the roar of the wind. He only grunted something

she couldn’t decipher in response. With a few words and a twisting

hand motion, she extended her shields out to cover him as well.

He fought the power assailing the house,

trying to hold some of the wind in check and pushing lightning

away. It might strain a lesser mage to restrain the worst effects

of the storm but Michael was strong enough to fight it and protect

himself at the same time. Glass crunched under her sandals. She

ignored the chaos until she stood just behind him. Over the

relentless noise, she heard a grunt and a plea from outside the

window. It didn’t sound like Michael. Ilene scrunched down to look

through the small gap between his body and the frame.

“Holy shit.” She wiggled herself further into

the small opening, mindful of the razor sharp blades of broken

glass sticking out.

A man hung just outside. Only Michael’s grasp

on his arm kept him from plummeting three stories to the sandy

ground. Because hair was plastered to his head and face by the

rain, it took her a moment to recognize Jim, the handyman. He swung

and twisted, buffeted by the wind. Blood ran down Michael’s arm and

dripped onto the other man’s. Rain washed it away within moments.

Jim’s legs dangled and his free arm groped toward the ledge of the

window.

“What happened to the ladder?” Ilene

asked.

Neither man answered.

The handyman had been watching Michael. At

her question, he turned his face up toward her. His eyes widened

and a flicker of relief chased away mixed fear and anger from his

features. His free hand clutched at Michael’s wet arm, trying to

get a firmer grip.

Michael’s power smelled of burnt wood and

ozone as he fought the attack that used the storm as its weapon.

Lightning repeatedly aimed at the house, diverted only by Michael’s

ability to channel it away. At the same time, he held off the main

force of the wind that would blow the place apart unchecked. No

wonder he had nothing left to protect himself or to save the

dangling figure.

“Watch the glass,” Michael said curtly.

“I see it.” She couldn’t reach through the

window to grab hold, but she considered what else she could do.

Knocking out the shards was too dangerous, and glass was difficult

to work with anyway.

Michael drew a sharp breath before he said,

“Get some air under him.”

Well, crap. And here she was trying to figure

out several much more complicated solutions. Given the situation,

though, she’d have to drop the shielding to do this.

As soon as she did, something crashed against

the back of her legs. She jumped and squealed with the shock of it,

then put it out of her mind. Her bruised ribs complained as well,

but she ignored the pain. Instead, she concentrated on building the

cushion of air under the handyman. It took a couple of long

minutes.

Almost too long. She refused to look at the

way skin slid against skin as the man slowly slipped from Michael’s

grasp. She heard someone grunt in relief as her air mass finally

took some of the weight.

The relief was short-lived. Her cushion

wavered, blown around by the force of wind picking up speed. Higher

gusts threatened to tear it apart completely. She concentrated

harder, struggling to keep it in place. Crashes sounded from

outside as tree branches fell and small structures near the beach

disintegrated.

The sky was a livid black-purple. The force

of the wind continued to increase. Gusts shook the house, the ones

Michael hadn’t turned away.

“Damn and double-damn,” Michael said.

“Twister coming. I don’t— Crap!”

His hand slid along the other man’s arm,

until all that held Jim up were their intertwined fingers and her

disintegrating cushion of air.

She had to do something fast.

“Brace yourselves,” she shouted over the roar

of the storm. “I’m going to push.” The handyman looked up at her

with pleading eyes.

If their attackers could use the storm, so

could she—she hoped. She had to wait a few agonizing seconds for a

gust coming toward them at just the right angle.

In her head, riding on her own power, she

hopped aboard the gust of air that was probably moving at more than

sixty miles an hour. The last time she’d tried this it had been

like riding a surfboard, rough until you caught the top of it and

then you could glide along smoothly. Of course, that had been a

calm day with just a gentle breeze, and it had still taken so much

energy out of her she’d ended up napping for several hours

afterward.