The Dragon Guard (25 page)

Jason started to take a deep breath at the memory, and all that had changed for them, but the void held no air. There was nothing to suck in, and he panicked for a moment, gripping his crystal tightly and forcing them through and beyond.

The void fought back. It did not want to give him passage or let him go. Bailey let out a small noise, almost a whimper, and he realized they must all be feeling what he did. No light, no air.

The sharp edges of his gemstone cut into his palm as he punched his way through, forcing the void to let them go. He could feel the
between
give way suddenly, and then they emerged, his ears popping, his step settling onto solid ground. They all stepped down onto the lawn, shaking themselves like a dog after an unwanted bath, jostling each other around.

“Wow,” said Bailey. “You take the scenic route?”

“I really, really hate traveling this way,” muttered Trent. He tapped his fingers on his jeans pocket, his hand moving to a musical beat only he could hear, betraying his nervousness.

“I hate planes,” Stef said. He scrubbed at his eyes, and then his crew cut, and it looked for a moment as if the bear cub looked out, too, unhappily.

Jason's stomach growled. They'd all been too nervous to eat more than a single slice of pizza, and now, after Crystaling, his stomach seemed to know what his mind could only sense. They'd been in the void a good deal of time. He was
starving.

Rebecca Landau just stood there as they regrouped, her mouth half-open as if she wanted to say something, and couldn't. Bailey joggled her mother's arm.

“Mom? You okay?” She frowned. “Jason didn't leave your brain back there, or anything, did he?”

Rebecca moved. “Not . . . quite. This is how you travel?”

“Sometimes. Most of the time, we just get in a car and have a parent drive us.”

Rebecca looked at her daughter as if she'd sprouted a second head. Then she shook her own, dispersing thoughts. “How we could have missed this, I'll never know.”

“We're not supposed to do it in public,” Bailey told her.

“I guess not.” Rebecca hugged her. “I can see I have a lot to learn.”

Bailey nibbled her lip. “Ummm . . . I don't think I can teach you this.”

Rebecca laughed. “That's not what I meant, and I think I agree with Trent. I don't think I want to travel this way.”

Jason looked about at the midsummer night sky. Early spring in Irvine, step through a crystal to this place, and the seasons had changed. Possibly even the hemisphere, if this place was even on Earth. “Hopefully, we won't have but one or two more Crystalings to go.” Even more hopefully, this would be the last one for a while, but he didn't know if he'd brought them to sanctuary or not.

Henry took his glasses off and cleaned them before putting them back on with a sigh. “I don't think this is a good idea. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be here at all,” he finished, sounding miserable.

Rich elbowed him. “Course you should, Squibb.”

“I didn't get to say good-bye.”

“You can Crystal back as soon as we have everyone settled. I'll go with you if you want company,” Bailey told him.

He nodded, his face still knotted with unhappiness.

“We'd better get inside,” Jason said, “before we attract any more attention.” He beckoned at the cottage.

“She didn't welcome us last time. What makes you think she will this time?”

“There's no other place to go. Either she's a Magicker, or she isn't,” stated Jason flatly.

They straggled through the sagging picket fence and across the grass, with a keen sense of the hour being very late as a high, bright summer moon shone down on them from overhead. Stars twinkled blue and white in the sky, and the aroma of night-blooming flowers lay about them, although he could not see the hedges where they grew. The other side of the cottage maybe. It occurred to him that Freyah's cottage was very like the moon in that he'd only ever seen the one face of it. Did it have a face toward the sun and one toward the dark side? Had anyone ever seen the other side of that cottage?

The door snatched open just as he reached his hand to knock. Aunt Freyah looked out, her blue eyes flashing with intensity, her silvery hair fluffed about her face, her apple cheeks blazing with blush. “Come in, quickly, don't dawdle. I've got the tea-kettles whistling.” She counted briskly as they walked past her into the cheerful abode. “Seven of you, altogether? An auspicious number. Sit, sit, find chairs and pull ups. We'll have a bite to eat first, and then we'll talk about why you're pounding on my door at midnight on the summer's eve. And yes, yes, I know it isn't midsummer's eve where you're from, but it is
here
, and that makes it a bit of an omen, don't you agree?” Without waiting for agreement, she beckoned them briskly inside.

Jason lowered his hand. He hadn't pounded, but he wasn't about to dispute the elder Magicker. Everyone filed past him quickly, Bailey saying to her mother, “She has this picnic hamper that makes meals, and a serving tray, his name is George, who serves them. George likes company and will dance for us, I hope.”

“Oh, really?” answered Rebecca faintly. She tossed Jason a somewhat desperate look as she moved into the depths of the cottage sitting room.

Trent came through the doorway last. His chest still thumped a bit from Crystaling, and it made no difference whether he liked to travel that way or not, because he couldn't, and he knew he was at the mercy of the others who could. It was not a big deal to any of them to leave their homes or their family because if they wished, and the coast was clear, they could just pop back for a few. He couldn't. Their flight had cut him off from his dad totally, and he felt that loss inside him now. What would his dad do without him? Would he go out and get that new job he needed, or would he fall into a depression as he had years ago when it had first been just the two of them? How would his father get along without him, and how would he get along without his dad? Everyone else here had the ties of Magick which not only linked them to each other, but to every other Magick user across the years, known or unknown. He was alone.

He sat on the ottoman and watched as Aunt Freyah cleared a small table, bistro size, and snapped a fresh white tablecloth over it. A metallic rattle came from the corner leading to the kitchen and George strode out, his burnished surface gleaming, fairly dancing with happiness at the presence of company, his tray laden down with teacups and spoons and sugar jars, and two teapots. For all his skittering about, he spilled not a drop as he settled into place, and well, for lack of a better description, Trent thought, kind of percolated in place. Rather like a car idled, moving yet not going anywhere, just vibrating loudly.

Trent waited for everyone else to serve themselves. Freyah bustled off to the kitchen, leaving them to themselves, but her business around the corner was punctuated with the clatter of crockery and the tinkling of more silverware. He wondered if her famed picnic hamper no longer worked and she was making food the old-fashioned way. As he touched George to retrieve his own cup and saucer, he noticed the aura about the tray. Silvery like the metal tray itself, it sparkled about the serving tray as if dusted lightly over it, but he could see it.

Trent turned to Jason and said softly, “See that?” He poked his finger at George's aura. The tray quivered a little, then settled back to its idling.

Jason tore his attention away from Bailey and her mom, as Bailey tried to explain Magick in her usual tangle and enthusiastic spill of words. “See what?”

“That.” Trent rubbed the edge of the serving tray. George let out a catlike purr as if stroked.

“It's George,” said Jason.

“I know that. Do you see this?” And he tapped the aura a third time. George made a little move, scooting over toward Trent, still like a cat getting a good ear rub and enjoying it thoroughly.

“I don't see anything but George.”

“Surrounding him. This. It's like a ring of color.”

“Not a thing.”

“You're sure.”

“Trent.”

“Okay, okay, I was just checking. Don't see anything, huh?” Trent finished.

Jason just shrugged in bewilderment and turned back to Bailey, who flourished her hands and said, “And that's how I had a whole herd of frogs in a chorus after me!”

“And that's how you tamed Lacey, undoubtedly,” her mother said. She glanced at the tiny pack rat who'd ventured from Bailey's pocket and now sat perched on her knee, awaiting treats.

Freyah bustled back into the room, demanded introductions all the way around and sat down amid a great deal of loud conversation. She seemed delighted to meet Bailey's mother and not at all perturbed that Bailey's plight had drawn in Rebecca.

Trent leaned forward a little, observing the cottage, trying to do it without attracting attention. He'd gone for a very very long time without any of the Magickers noticing that he had no Magick. For that time, he'd thought it was because of his cleverness and his reading. He loved the idea of magic and mythology and fantasy. He'd read everything on it he could get his hands on, and some of his favorites he read over and over. So when the Magickers had held their little tests to ferret out ability, he'd passed easily. They'd never questioned him in camp or after. He'd finally told Jason about it when they'd been backed into a corner and he'd had no choice, but Jason had never rejected him over it, nor had Bailey later when she'd learned.

Jason once pointed out that Trent had a crystal after all. He'd been bonded to it, even if it was not a clear crystal as they all used; it was a translucent, mingled gem and mineral chunk. Nor had Gavan and Eleanora taken it away from him or tried to change it for another, as they had Jason's. Jason's was flawed, badly, and they seemed to worry about that, but they'd never fussed over Trent's choice. So what did that mean, if anything? He was great at lying and posing? Or did he have a buried Talent as Jason thought and they knew that, and had the patience of saints waiting for it to surface.

In the meantime, he could see Magick where the others couldn't. He couldn't manipulate it or create it, but he could see it from time to time. Was that enough of a Talent to be of any worth? He didn't think so. You could see the effects of the wind, but unless you could harness it, as in sails or windmills, what use was it to see it?

Freyah called out, “Eat hearty, dears!” just as the picnic hamper came waddling out, its woven sides bulging here and there as if laboring to contain every dish stuffed into it. It huffed and chuffed and came to a stop at the foot of the bistro table, and its lid flew open with a loud BANG! “Serves 10 or more” read the sticker on its inner label.

Stef reached in and started to pull out plates of food beginning with a platter heaped with chicken pot pies no bigger than the palm of Bailey's hand, steaming with a mouthwatering aroma. A plate of strawberry tarts followed that, and a third plate of wafer thin cheese pizza slices. Then a kettle of stewed apples fragrant with cinnamon came after, and with a hiccup from the hamper, a pan of frosted chocolate brownies. After that, Trent rather lost count of the goodness overflowing, but he thought he managed to get at least two of everything on his plate.

When he'd finished, he brushed George a last time, done and satisfied. He felt a tingle, and the tray lost both its aura and animation, slowly, like a tire leaking out air until it inevitably became flat. Trent stared at the serving tray in fascination as no one else seemed to notice. He slid his empty plate onto the tray. It was odd, and he wanted to point it out to Jason but since Jason hadn't seen it in the first place, well, there you were. How do you say something is gone that no one else knew was there but him?

He cast a glance about the cottage. Was Freyah's Magick fading? He knew that this bit of existence came out of her creation and she held it together by Talent and strength of will. He could see the signs of Magick here and there, but nothing seemed to be nickering or fading. Other than poor George who'd gone quite to sleep.

Stef let out a belch. He sat on the floor, his back to the ottoman Rich perched on, and stretched. “Man. That was good.”

“Just think.” Rich stared at his friend. “He'll be hungry again in a few hours.”

“Then, by all means,” Freyah said, “we'll pack him some food to go.”

“Go?” Jason looked at the elder.

“You're not staying here, dears. Surely you didn't think you were.” Freyah balanced her teacup on her palm. “It's out of the question.”

“Maybe for Eleanora, but there's no place for us now, and you haven't a choice,” said Jason. His voice broke a little on the last of his sentence and he flushed.

“There is always a choice, Jason, my lad.”

“Not if you're a Magicker.”

“Now this is just what I've been arguing with Gavan about. This is no time to be gathering a gaggle of students and hoping to educate them. Taking one in at a time would have been the best we could do. Educate and protect that student among ourselves. Now we're strung out so thin we can't help any of you.”

“If you'd only taken one of us,” said Bailey quietly, her eyes on Freyah, “what would the rest of us have done?”

“We would never have known we were Magickers, that's what,” stated Rich. “And, frankly, that sucks.” His red hair made him look a tad angrier than perhaps he was.

“Perhaps, but that one Magicker would have been safe, and none of you are now, to my read.” Freyah put her teacup down on George. She frowned a moment as she touched the dormant serving tray, then tapped the surface three times and George woke up a little, although greatly subdued. Trent thought it safer to say nothing and just observe.