Thief of Light (59 page)

Prue stiffened. “Who told you that?”

“T’ old one. Wit’ t’ three beards.”

Prue frowned, nonplussed. Erik gave a great crack of laughter, followed immediately by a curse. When she turned, he had a palm pressed to his side, his brows drawn together. “Deiter,” he said, the ghost of a smile still curving his lips. “He means Deiter.”

“Was there a ‘please’ attached anywhere?” Prue asked the boy.

Florien thought about it. “Nah,” he said at last.

Prue stiffened. “Well, you go back and tell him—”

Erik’s hand landed on her shoulder. “We’ll be there. Fifteen minutes.” He leaned past her to shut the door in the lad’s face.

Prue spun around. “Who does Deiter think he is?” She narrowed her gaze. “More to the point,” she said more slowly, “who do
you
think he is?”

With a sigh, Erik patted her bottom. “He’s the most powerful Purist I know, for all that he drinks too much.” Crossing to the couch, he sat and bent gingerly to pull on his boots. “I don’t think he possesses such a thing as a heart, but he doesn’t lack for guts.” He gave a wry chuckle. “Or gall, for that matter. But Gray and Cenda trust him.”

Prue loosed her plait and unraveled it. “Gray’s your friend, isn’t he?”

“I suppose so.” Erik shrugged. “Or the nearest thing to it.” His face closed. “I haven’t let anyone close since I was a lad.” He glanced up. “Only you.”

Prue stared, shocked into speechlessness. A couple of words and she was overwhelmed. She’d never thought of herself as special—but to Erik, she was. Who’d have thought it? Before she could gather her scattered wits, he went on, “I doubt there’s anyone who knows more about Magick than Deiter, not even Bartelm and Nori put together. If anyone can make sense of”—he paused to clear his throat—“the Necromancer and the seelies, the whole fucking debacle, he can.”

“I’ll get dressed then.”

Erik’s eyes brightened. “I’ll watch.”

Which meant it was thirty minutes, not fifteen, before they entered the kitchen, and Prue still felt flushed, her skin tingling.

Cenda, Gray and Deiter sat at the big table, Katrin pouring cups of a steaming tisane from a large pot. Setting it down, she crossed the room and bent to peck Prue on the cheek. “You all right?” she whispered.

Prue gazed up into her daughter’s face, her heart aching. “I’m fine.”

“Come and sit.” Katrin smiled. “Are you hungry? Let me get you something.”

“
Not there!
”

Prue froze, her hand on the back of the chair next to the old wizard’s. Deiter’s mouth worked. Fumbling in his robes, he produced a small jug, removed the cork with his teeth and took a healthy swig.

“Why not?” Erik had gone completely still at her back, his voice arctic with offense.

Shuddering, the Purist wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Because it hurts, that’s why.”

“Hurts?” said Prue, bewildered. “What hurts?”

“Your godsbedamned Magick,” snarled Deiter, tilting the jug once more. “Lord’s balls, woman, get away from me, will you?”

Erik’s hand closed over hers, warm and comforting. “Over here, love.” He drew an unresisting Prue to a seat at the far end of the table.

“M-Magick?” She recovered enough to glare. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m about as Magickal as . . . as this table.” She slapped her hand down hard on the wooden surface, making the cups jiggle.

“That’s just it, Prue,” Cenda said gently. When she wrapped slender fingers around her cup, steam rose from it in little puffs, one after the other. “Your Magick is that you have none.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Cenda wore a beautiful golden ornament in her hair, fashioned like a tiny lizard. To Prue’s amazement, it opened sapphire eyes and blinked, then it sat up on its haunches, miniscule claws clutching at the red swathes of hair over the fire witch’s temples. Prue was so bemused, she almost missed Cenda’s next words. “I can feel it too, and I’m nowhere near as old in Magick as the Purist.”

Prue’s brain creaked back into gear. Over the past few days, she’d grown to like the fire witch, to enjoy the quiet humor and bright intelligence Cenda hid behind an unassuming manner. But now she came to think of it, she and Cenda had never been physically closer than about three feet. The other woman hadn’t been obvious about it, but she’d managed to keep her distance.

A cup of fragrant tisane appeared before her, Katrin’s hand touching her shoulder in reassurance. Prue cleared her throat. “The Technomage said . . . she said I broadcast a field, whatever that is. She wanted to know how. She was going to . . . to . . .”

Cenda muttered something under her breath and rills of flame sparked from her fingertips, wreathing up her arms. Under Prue’s astonished gaze, Gray reached over, his shadow following, and placed a hand over hers. The flames subsided.

Deeply shaken, Prue lifted her cup and took a sip.

“Ah yes, the tame Technomage.” Scowling, Deiter rummaged through the battered leather satchel that hung over the back of his chair. Coming up with a thick bundle of papers, he plunked it down on the table and undid the string tying it together. “There’s something here.” Pages rustled.

After a moment, he looked up. “Well, don’t just sit there, woman, go on, tell us the rest. But for the gods’ sake, start at the beginning.” He waved a dismissive hand at Katrin. “You can go, lass.”

“No.” Prue held his eye down the length of the table. “Katrin is my daughter. I trust her and I want her to understand.”
Because then she might forgive me when I go.

With a rustle of skirts, Katrin settled herself beside Prue.

Deiter shrugged. “It’s on your head.” He aimed a gnarled finger at the young woman. “Your life is of no consequence, girlie, do you understand? Speak of the business of gods and Magick and I’ll obliterate you.”

Before she knew it, Prue was on her feet, her chair toppling with a clatter. “Not if I get to you first.” Blood boiling, she advanced on the old wizard. “Does it hurt yet?” she snarled.

Deiter’s face went a pasty shade of gray green. Prue took another step. He clutched his chest. “Cenda!” he gasped. “Fireball, quick!”

As if from a distance, Prue heard the fire witch say quietly, “I’d do the same. You’re on your own, Purist.”

Erik growled. The tisane pot rose a foot off the table and poised itself to pour, right over the old man’s lap. Gray laughed aloud.

“Mam!” Katrin’s shocked voice cut over the confusion. “Whatever you’re doing, stop it! You’ll kill him.” She tugged at Prue’s arm.

Shivering, Prue unclenched her fists. Her head reeled, stupid with confusion and the sickening remnants of murderous rage. “For a minute there, you looked just like Purist Nori,” she told the old man. “I thought she was going to die too.”

“Nori?” With trembling fingers, Deiter pushed the tisane pot aside, breathing a sigh of relief when it subsided gently to the table. Erik snorted.

“The first time I met her, at the theater. It was me that made her ill, wasn’t it? Something about me?” Horror washed over her in an icy, numbing wave. “The Necromancer knew. Oh gods, he wanted it, he wanted
me
.” Despite herself, her voice rose. “
What am I?
”

“Sshh, love.” Erik’s arm slid around her waist, guiding her back to her chair.

Deiter’s color had improved. “I’m not sure.” He sighed. “Nori and I are so old, Magick is all that holds us together. It’s painful to come undone, so to speak.” He shot her a keen glance from under shaggy brows. “Do you believe in Magick, Mistress McGuire?”

Prue rubbed her aching temples. “That’s what Purist Bartelm asked at the time.”

“And the answer?”

Five pairs of eyes regarded her with unwinking interest. “No, I don’t.” She gave a harsh laugh. “Or rather, I didn’t.”

Erik laid his hand over hers. “What about the gods?”

“I’ve told you before.” She looked into his face, seeing the concern there, the love. “If they exist, they haven’t done much for me.”

“I wasn’t going to say this.” Erik stroked her cheek. “Sweetheart, don’t be distressed, but I really did die.”

“You’ve got a strange way of showing it,” said Gray dryly. Cenda clutched his arm, her amber eyes bright with concentration.

Erik ignored him. “I thought I . . . I saw the gods, the Lord and the Lady.” He flushed. “I know it sounds mad, but I did.” He lifted his gaze to meet Deiter’s intent regard. “The Lady said there was a place even for a skeptic like a null witch.”

The old wizard stroked his tripartite beard. “A null witch.” When he snapped his fingers, Prue jumped. “That’s it! Wait, wait.” Sheets of paper fluttered across the table as he scrabbled. “There’s an eye-witness account of the way you killed the Necromancer. It’s here somewhere.”

Erik’s bellow shook the rafters. “You
what
?” The windows rattled and pots clanged together.

Prue shook her head. “But I didn’t. Or I don’t think so. He went into the water.”

Erik had gone pale to the lips, his eyes blazing cobalt blue. “You
fought
with him?”

“What do you think she did?” asked Deiter, amused. “You weren’t much use to her at the time.”

Erik shot him a poisonous glance. “I thought he must have run. There were so many people by the end.”

“Prue.” Cenda leaned forward, her golden brown eyes intent. “Just tell us in your own words, every action, every thought. It’s important.”

Except for Katrin, who sat in stunned silence, they all had questions, so it took longer than Prue expected. Every now and then, a wave of red would sweep over Erik’s golden skin and the table would rise an inch or so off the floor or all the papers would whirl around the room and have to be collected again.

But in the end, they established the salient points. Prue’s presence nullified Magick within a certain radius of her person, and the more frail the physical health of the witch or wizard, the more it hurt. When she’d touched the Necromancer, the shield of his Dark Arts had simply evaporated, exposing his true self.

Deiter had never heard of anything like it, which appeared to cause him considerable annoyance. But null witch was as good a term as any.

“I don’t know how you stood it,” said Cenda, her pretty mouth contorted with disgust. “I touched him once, when Deiter was teaching me to scry. It was . . . foul.” She shuddered and the salamander in her hair opened its tiny mouth wide and hissed.

“What about me?” asked Erik suddenly. He clasped the nape of Prue’s neck with warm, strong fingers. “I don’t understand. Why doesn’t she affect me?”

Deiter tugged at his beard in frustration. “You’re right. It’s an anomaly.”

“No, it’s not.” Gray rose, all lean, lithe grace, his shadow climbing the wall behind him. “Prue’s power comes from belief—either its presence or its absence. She has complete faith in Erik’s . . . ah, regard. So at some level, probably unconscious, she accepts his Magick too, because she believes unconditionally in
him
.”

When he smiled, Prue caught her breath. He’d been so quiet, she hadn’t really noticed him. Merciful Sister, he was a handsome man!

“It’s a soul connection, I think.” He glanced down at Cenda, his face alight with an expression so intimate and tender Prue felt she should avert her eyes. “Cenda and Shad and I complement each other. Together, we make a whole. I suspect Erik and Prue are the same. And that the gods intend it.”

Prue’s brows drew together, her logical mind tussling with the foolish part of her that wanted to dissolve into a happy puddle. “Sounds good,” she argued, “but what do you know of Magick, Gray? It’s Cenda who’s the fire witch.”

“I know enough,” said Gray softly, his eyes gleaming.

Her brain snagged on something else. “And who’s Shad?”

Gray grinned. “Allow me to introduce you.” He pushed his chair back and sauntered around the table, his shadow wavering behind him.

“Gray . . .” Erik’s growl held a warning. His hand closed hard over Prue’s.

Gray stopped and looked Erik in the eye. “We’re in this together,” he said. “Every single one of us, with whatever gifts we can bring. Deiter’s made that clear enough. She’ll have to know sometime.” He shrugged. “Might as well be now.”

His attention swung back to Prue, his head turning, but his shadow was strangely immobile, as if it searched Gray’s face still. “Shad is the name I give to my shadow, Prue.” He glanced at the man-shaped piece of darkness standing at his side. “Shad,” he said gravely, “this is Mistress Prue McGuire. Behave yourself.”

Under Prue’s astonished gaze, Gray’s shadow swept a deep bow, as elegant as any courtier. Prue’s jaw dropped. Katrin choked on her tisane, Deiter thumping her on the back in a helpful kind of way.

“Please, Prue.” Cenda came to stand between Gray and his shadow. She laid a slim hand on each shoulder and their arms crept around her waist. “Don’t be frightened. Shad would never hurt you. He’s dear and sweet and funny.” Shad’s head tilted, and Prue got the distinct impression he was laughing.