Authors: Ann Macela
Tags: #General, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #Paranormal, #Romance, #Suspense
Wild Magic (12 page)
“But...” Irenee glanced from Whipple to her father and finally to Jim, who stood.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to let the men out of his sight. On the other hand, having dinner with her sounded like a great idea. He’d have her to himself—to question, of course. His middle gave a little flutter. See, his stomach liked the prospect of food, too. “Works for me. How’s the food in the restaurant here?”
She sighed. “It’s excellent. Let me tell Fergus something first.” She stood, walked over to Whipple, and when he bent down, whispered something in his ear.
“You don’t say. How intriguing,” the large man said with a smile that turned into a grin.
“Come on,” she said to Jim and started for the door.
He followed her out, not even trying to repress his satisfaction. Alone at last.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“You hardly said a word in there,” Jim remarked on the elevator.
Irenee shot him a glance. “Fergus and Dad explain things better than I do.” She wasn’t about to tell him Fergus had suggested her silence and total concentration on him and his reactions. Why she should see something they wouldn’t was a mystery, but she hadn’t minded. He was nice to look at, and his responses to their explanations had been fascinating—from disbelief to almost grudging acceptance.
She’d almost fainted, however, when he had closed his eyes and put his hands on his head, and he
glowed
—
blue!
Whatever was going on was way beyond her experience. She’d told Fergus. Let him figure it out.
glowed
—
blue!
Whatever was going on was way beyond her experience. She’d told Fergus. Let him figure it out.
She had enough on her mind in the person of Jim Tylan. Merely his nearness in these close confines was enough to tighten all her muscles and cause her center to jump around. Was her reaction fight-or-flight ... or something else?
Once seated in a quiet and almost private corner of the restaurant, Irenee leaned back in her chair and tried to relax. Her growling stomach told her how right her father was: she wasn’t totally back to her normal energy levels. When the waiter came, she said, “My usual.”
Jim looked up from his menu and asked, “What’s your usual?”
“A filet mignon, rare, with baked potato, vegetable, salad, and dessert.”
“Sounds good,” he said, handing the waiter his menu. “Make it two.”
They both declined wine. She was not about to befuddle her mind while in his company, and he gave every indication of being “on duty.”
“Oh, also, put our dinners on Fergus Whipple’s tab, please,” she added to the waiter. When Jim raised his eyebrows at her, she shrugged and grinned. “Dinner was his idea, after all.”
“Okay,” he said, but she couldn’t tell if he was pleased or not.
“You’re not a member, so your money’s no good here,” she added.
“Okay,” he repeated, glanced around, leaned a little closer to her, and whispered, “So, everybody here is a ‘practitioner’? The diners? The waiters? They can all cast spells?”
“Yes, everybody—to varying degrees of power.” She paused and studied him before saying, “You don’t completely believe our story, do you?”
His expression—raised eyebrows, squinting eyes, cynical smile—proclaimed his skepticism. He played with his silverware before meeting her gaze.
“Honestly, I don’t know. It’s so completely fantastic that a group of people like you exist.” He shrugged. “Believe or not, I’d be an idiot not to take advantage of every bit of info you have. Especially since you have sources I don’t. I’m for whatever will bring Finster and Ubell to justice. Let’s put it this way—I’m keeping an open mind.”
It was clear he was holding something back—maybe what had caused him to glow. Short of showing him some “big proof,” like her sword and a fireball or two, she knew she wasn’t going to be able to convince him. Under the circumstances, she’d fall back on her curiosity. If he was going to work with them, she wanted to know more about him. “Well, let’s talk about something else. Where are you from, originally?”
“California, San Diego. You?”
“Here in the Chicago area. Both my mother’s and father’s families.”
“Oh, yeah, you keep track of your genealogies.”
“We have to, for the magic. All it takes is for one parent to be a practitioner, and the child will be one, too, with full powers.”
“You marry ‘outside the faith,’ so to speak?”
“Yes, although personally I’ve never met anyone with a non-practitioner parent or spouse. Fergus and my parents have, though.” He seemed interested, but practitioner life was really none of his business, and she wasn’t going to go into the more personal aspects. “Anyway, I was born to all this. What about you? Do you come from a long line of cops? Or should I call you ‘Special Agent Tylan’?”
“Jim is fine.” He buttered a roll while he talked, and he didn’t meet her eyes. “My dad managed a grocery store, and my mom was a legal secretary. They were gunned down outside his store by a druggie trying to score for a fix. I wanted to be a cop all my life. That cinched it.”
“Oh, no, I’m so sorry!” Irenee said. She couldn’t even imagine going through such a horrible experience. “How old were you? Did you have other family?”
“Twenty-two. Only my sister, Charity. She’s dead now, too.” He almost mumbled the last part.
She was about to reach out her hand to offer more physical support, but before she could, the waiter brought their meals. When he had finished serving, Irenee looked again at Jim. His attention was totally on his steak. She wasn’t going to let him stop there, however. “Were you a regular city policeman, or more?”
“This is really good,” he said, taking another bite.
“Or did you go straight to the feds?”
One side of his mouth quirked up in a half smile. “You’re going to make me talk to you, aren’t you?”
“Hey, you’re the one who ‘wants to talk,’ remember?” She grinned and raised her eyebrows. “Talk.”
“Okay, okay. I always wanted to be in law enforcement. Majored in criminal justice in college. Worked on my Spanish, too. After I graduated, and my parents were killed, I went into the San Diego department. After Charity died, I joined the Drug Enforcement Administration, and I’ve been with the DEA since then.”
“Now you’re after Finster and Ubell.”
He sighed. “Yeah, I thought we had the case sewed up with the info from the flash drives, but you people are changing my mind.” He waved his fork at her. “How about you? How’d you get into planning events? I’d have thought you’d be like those two who showed up at your office. The Blakes?”
“Oh, please, don’t remind me,” she said with a shiver of repugnance. “Tiffany’s getting married, and they wanted me to manage her wedding. No way. In the first place, I don’t do weddings, and in the second, I wouldn’t run hers, no matter whose daughter she is. It would be a fast trip to either insanity or homicide. No, I run charitable and corporate events, period. My talents for organizing and detail came to me early—I guess I’ve always had them. My brother always teased me about how tidy my room was. Of course, he lived in a pigpen.”
Jim laughed, and his golden-green eyes twinkled. He looked so darned wonderful Irenee suddenly wanted to throw herself into his arms. She was barely holding onto the chair arms as it was. His expression abruptly sobered, and he stared right back at her.
Only the waiter’s return to remove their dinner plates broke the impasse. She rearranged her napkin, took a sip of water, and pretended nothing had happened. Jim didn’t say anything and only looked off into space—although he seemed as baffled as she was.
Jim’s eyes grew round when he saw their desserts—large pieces of fudge cake with raspberry sauce. “This is your ‘usual’? Where do you put it all?”
“Casting spells uses energy. It has to come from somewhere, and since we don’t have a god to give it to us or a long extension cord to a power plant, it’s our body’s internal caloric energy. The higher the spell level, the more often you cast, the more energy you use. If you don’t replenish yourself, you’ll lose weight. The only fat practitioners you’ll see are usually pretty old and not casting much. I’ve been casting a lot of spells lately” She took a bite. “Hmmmm. It’s warm, too.”
His eyes zeroed in on her lips when she licked them. His gaze had a tactile quality, and she wondered how it would be if he touched her mouth—or kissed her. She blinked and came back from her reverie. Where was she going with these crazy notions? Where were they coming from?
He seemed to be caught up in the same sort of problem—she wasn’t alone in these long eye-locks. To see what he’d do, she savored every bite of her cake, making sure she licked all the fudgy goodness from her fork.
On her third lick, he groaned and applied himself to his own dessert. She stifled a giggle. When he finished, he studied the other diners, but she could tell he was watching her out of the corner of his eye.
When she put her fork down for the last time, he leaned back and pointed upward. “What do you think we’re going to learn when we go back up there? What idea do you think Whipple had to work on? Do you think he’ll figure out where the ‘item’ is?”
She took a sip of coffee and pondered. “I honestly don’t know the answers to any of your questions. This is my first experience with a major artifact.”
“So, you’re a what-did-he-call-it, a Sword?”
“Yes, I developed my talents late, and I’ve only been a Sword since I was eighteen. I didn’t start training in item destruction until four years ago.”
Jim leaned on his elbows toward her across the table. “How do you do it, destroy one of these items? What kind of sword do you use?”
“It looks like a Roman shortsword, and it’s made of magical energy, not steel. Let’s simply say destruction is not easy” She repressed a shudder at the memory of the Stone’s attacks. Not a story she wanted to tell at the moment. Pushing her chair back, she said, “We’re due upstairs. I hope Fergus and Dad have some answers for both of us.”
CHAPTER NINE
“Come in, come in,” Whipple boomed when they returned. “I have some interesting ideas to discuss.”
Jim let Irenee precede him into the condo while he wondered what surprises Whipple had conjured up while they were gone. Before they had walked three steps in, an older woman came out of the kitchen.
She approached him, held out her hand, and said, “Hello, Jim, I’m Bridget, Fergus’s wife.”
“Nice to meet you.” He shook hands with her. Whipple’s wife was stunning—tall, imposing, silver hair, and like her husband, it was impossible to tell her true age. She had an air of calmness about her, putting him—and probably everyone—at ease.
“And Irenee!” Bridget gave her a big hug. “I heard we had some excitement while I was gone. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. How was your medical conference?” Irenee answered.
“My wife is a pediatrician,” Whipple, informed Jim.
“The usual—a few good papers and lots of medical gossip,” Bridget said, dismissing her meeting with a wave of her hand. “Since you’re in my living room, I’ve invited myself into your discussion. Can I get anyone something to drink before we get started?”
Everyone declined, and they all took seats again—Irenee in her original chair, Whipple in his. Jim snagged the end of the couch closest to Irenee, and Bridget sat on the other end. Sabel pulled up a chair from the dining table.
Whipple stretched out his legs and studied Jim over steepled fingers. “We have a puzzle to solve where you’re concerned, Tylan.”
His statement made Jim sit up straight. His hunch antennae quivered—not in a warning fashion, but more of a wait-and-see mode. A small wave of electricity rushed through him, as though something good was about to happen. He squelched his reactions.
Don’t get excited. No telling what this bunch would come up with.
Don’t get excited. No telling what this bunch would come up with.
“First, we have a few questions,” Whipple, added.
Figured. Jim crossed his arms over his chest and gave the older man one of his “cop” looks—the kind declaring, “This had better be good.”
“Since Irenee reported your being in Finster’s study and your surprising ability to see her, we’ve been investigating you.” He held up a hand when Jim rolled his shoulders in a get-on-with-it fashion. “Not in the way you probably think, however. We’ve been looking into your ancestry in particular, because the evidence points to your having some magic skill.”
“Wait just a damn minute,” Jim said, shaking his head. These people were incredible. Him? With magic skill? “That’s screwy. I am not one of you.”
“So it would appear from your family lineage, at least as far as we can trace your bloodline,” Sabel interjected. “We’re only to about 1850 at the moment.”
Jim shot a glance at Irenee, who appeared to be as surprised by the news as he was. It was curious, though—despite the outrageous claim, he wasn’t picking up any premonitions about their statements’ truth.
“However,” Whipple, continued, “there are more than a few instances throughout our history where a person unconnected to us developed practitioner talents on his own. Through a quirk in DNA or some lucky convergence of the stars? We don’t know. Such spontaneous development is probably the way talents started in the first place. We haven’t been able to track our talents to specific genes, by the way”
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