CHAPTER TEN

WHOOPS

SNOW STARTED AND stopped, more in icicle drizzles than drifting flakes, and it never held together long enough to hit ground. It just splattered the car windows in streaks before sliding away to oblivion. Each hit in long, spiky splats and then melting started. To my current train of thoughts, the weather looked more like spite than a natural phenomenon. The inside of the car felt terribly chilly as well, and I found myself huddled on the rear seat, trying to catch a glimpse of the driver’s face in the rearview mirror, to no avail. To the Society’s credit, this driver was neutral, quiet, and forbidding all wrapped up into one.

The leather seat warmed, but the air stayed cool enough that my breath showed its haze when I exhaled. The fact I had on my jacket seemed little help. I leaned forward. “Could you turn up the heat a little back here?”

All I could catch was a flicker of a look, nothing clear, as if the driver checked to see if he even had a passenger. But he/it didn’t move to turn on the heat, so I guess arriving semi-frozen was on the agenda. Maybe they expected to warm me with their hospitality later, at least in contrast. I folded my arms across my chest and crossed my legs, imitating a snowball. The drive seemed to take forever. Hunched over as I was, I almost missed what direction the car moved in. But I didn’t.

The hair stood up on the back of my neck as we approached the trendy area with the brick roads and the old buildings which had changed little in a few hundred years. Especially the bar/restaurant called the Butchery in honor of the killing and carving shop it used to be. I’d been there once, in a dream, and it had looked as deserted then as it looked now, when it should have been bustling with business. In my dream, it had been silent and deadly.

Only I thought I was awake this time.

I should be. I hadn’t closed my eyes. Too cold to sleep unless I had just passed out or— I peeled my leather glove off my left hand as my stone warmed, and I clutched both hands together tightly.

Inside the Butchery on my previous visit, I had found bodies and souls hanging from meat hooks. Swinging desperately. Tortured. Most of them still alive and hurting. I hadn’t found neon lights and high-backed stools, and a long serving bar wiped glossy by two or three busy bartenders. Clients drifting in and out. Clusters of loud laughter and soft, sincere talk. No. I’d discovered a nightmare of vast proportions with misery and more hanging there. I hadn’t been able to free them, being lucky to escape with my own mortality.

I’d found a nightmare before. It seemed equally possible that I’d find one again. I had no intentions of letting the driver deliver me to this destination.

My left hand slid to the inside door handle. Locked. Naturally. But I have talents now, and it wouldn’t stay that way if I could help it.

The car slowed to a bare glide, cutting through the night like a shadow, lamp lights dimming as we passed them. I could walk faster. I cupped my left hand and then twisted it, ever so slightly, and heard a faint click.

Before the driver could react, I flung the door open and tucked and rolled to the street, hitting the bricks hard but not hard enough to cause damage and got back on my feet.

Then I sprinted in the opposite direction, through alleyways and across darkened doorways, and heard the car racing after me, searching. Tires squealed. Sometimes near, sometimes a little farther off as I zigzagged past buildings that were all closed, shut tight, abandoned to the night as they never should have been. Winter or not, this was a booming district.

I ran until my side hurt and finally skidded to a stop inside a deep arched doorway, moving back until my spine went to the wall. Then I brought my hand up and began, despite my shaking, to weave a shield with Steptoe’s wonderful invisible suit coat in mind. I didn’t know if I could mimic it, but I had to try. Nothing to see. Nothing to detect here. Not a thread, not a breath, not even a footfall. I was underneath, behind, below, obscured to any vision no matter how sharp or magically acute or diabolically focused. Not even my inhalations could be seen or heard.

I felt something fall over me. Something tangible curtained me, hid me. Something I had made and held. I brought the palm of my hand close to my chest so that even the beat of my heart would be hidden. My body heat. My trembling soul. All undetectable.

It would work. I had infinite faith in Steptoe’s coat. This, woven in copy, should work as well. He’d protected me amply on several occasions. Now I had to protect myself. From what, I had no idea. None. If this was the Society, I could now fully understand the professor’s scorn for it.

Until the car screeched to a halt, a door opened and then crashed shut, and something stepped into the alleyway as if it could sift me out of the night, smell me, hear me. Incredibly loud, or perhaps I just stood, incredibly muffled.

My lips thinned as I concentrated on taking away whatever odor I might carry. Not myself. Not my mother’s touch, or Steptoe, or Scout, not the fabric softener in my clean clothes or the faint sweat in my shoes. And especially not the smell of fear.

It scanned the alleyway. I saw, once, as its gaze spanned over me and moved away, blazing red eyes. My hand jerked against my chest in recognition. I still had no idea what the hunter was, but knew it had kept watch on my house.

A feeling rose in me, cresting over my icy fear. It warmed me as if I’d just swallowed a hot mocha coffee, spreading its tingling from my throat and stomach outward. I recognized it for the spark Carter had given me. It kept me from spiraling into an icy death and let me feel. Anger rose. I wanted to launch myself at the abductor, kick it down, and turn my shield into an edged weapon that would slice whatever it was to smithereens. I shoved that instinct down. Took the barest of quivery breaths to tame it. For all I knew, the thing that hunted me counted on drawing me out, either in a panic or in a raw, fighting mode, whatever it took to bring me out of hiding. I dared not even use my flash-bangs.

I retreated to patience, a deep well of it, thinking of the professor’s teachings, once so enigmatic to me who preferred action to thought, but he’d pounded it into me anyway. I stilled. Stayed that way, deep as a bottomless lake, serene, reflecting nothing back at the hunter. Carter kept me floating without drowning in this beingless state. I would not be the prey who lost this night.

Footfalls. Sharp as if its shoes might have taps. Or did it even have shoes? Perhaps I heard the click-clicking of talons. It walked the alleyway. Up and back. Once, twice, thrice while I breathed so little that I thought I might pass out but told myself I wouldn’t.

Then it growled.

No. Not a growl. A . . . hiss.

Well, not a hiss either. A noise I couldn’t possibly imitate but knew I would identify immediately if I ever heard it again.

Then it turned on heel in its immaculate black suit and left the alleyway. I heard the car pull away in a squeal of rubber.

I did not move. I wanted to. My arm ached from holding my hand up motionless. I dared not relax.

I waited. Long, long moments. Until I decided that I might be wrong, I must be wrong. And I needed to breathe deeply.

I almost let go.

Then I heard the faint crunch of a step, grit between the brick pavers and a shoe sole getting ground down, and I caught the slight swish of fabric as it stepped back into the alleyway.

Whoever, whatever it was, had sent the car away and waited for me to emerge from whatever cubbyhole hid me. It walked the course one more time, head moving back and forth from building and doorway to doorway and building, its gaze searching. It put its hands out, long, thin, white fingers, and combed the air delicately as if it could pull clues out of nothingness and weave them together to find me.

I found nothing human about its stance, its hands, or its painstaking efforts. I didn’t know what it was. It stood and walked as if human. Drove a car. Wore a nice suit. Had an overcoat on as if the winter cold might affect it slightly.

If it had hair, I couldn’t tell. It wore a newsboy cap, and the forward brim hooded its face extremely well, except for the crimson glow of its eyes. All I knew about it, as I stood and prayed that it wouldn’t detect me, was that it was nothing I wanted to meet.

Ever.

I wasn’t sure if I could survive such a meeting.

It clucked to itself, tongue against teeth, and then made that grating hiss again, before pivoting and striding off.

Again, I stood stock still until I thought I’d fall over, and realized the stone was taking its energy from me. I wasn’t sure if I could walk away. But nothing came to ferret me out again, and I finally dropped my hand and let myself exist once more.

Noise came in, surrounding me, whirling about, laughter and teasing and a masculine voice saying, “Hey, hey, hey!” and a feminine voice answering, “Hey yourself, and be on time next time!”

The streetlights overhead and about blared with their full illumination, and music drifted out and over and bounced off the walls, and I could hear cars passing back and forth, with an occasional horn blare of indignation. The world as it should be caught up with me. I managed a breathy “Carter, Carter, Carter,” and waited. Nothing came to meet me. Disappointment arched through me, but I had outrun trouble for the moment. I told myself I could handle the rest of the evening. I let out a quivery breath and exited the alley, saw a convenience store, went in, and bought a small bottle of OJ and downed that as quickly as I could, without taking a breath. Then I bought a second. I tapped that hidden well of warmth and goodness inside me, thankful for Carter’s gift.

Outside, I scared something at the corner. A striped tabby bolted behind a trash bin and then peered out, green eyes glowing. It looked thin.

I turned around and went back into the store which had “food” on its grill, little rollers turning it over and over and over. I pointed. “Chicken wings. Are they buffalo or teriyaki or what?”

“Plain old grilled,” the bored teen said to me. “Last of the evening. I can give you a deal.” He named a price for six and I bought them.

Outside I put five in a row next to the trash bin. I could hear a sound. I backed up and ate the final one. Opened my second container of orange juice and sipped it slowly, feeling a lot more human than I had moments before.

A paw reached out and snatched a wing. It disappeared.

The sight made me smile. As I walked away, a claw hooked two more wings and then a tiny gray kitten pounced on the remainders.

I walked under the lights, wishing that I’d bought a hot chocolate instead of an OJ, anything to warm me up from the inside out. I came across a bus stop, read the route sign and realized I could take it to head back home. Or at least close enough that I could be located and picked up without too much worry.

The bus chugged up a few minutes later and I got on. The moment I did, my phone lit up. Texts came in and at least two missed calls, as though the thing had died and suddenly come back to life. Perhaps it had. I thumbed through and then it rang.

“Miss Andrews. I am disappointed you have missed your summons.” A stern yet educated voice I did not recognize.

“Actually,” I said, “someone got to my house before you and I got in the wrong car. A very wrong car.”

“Oh? Are you all right? Do you require assistance?”

“Yes, on both counts. I’m on the bus, but I can disembark at the City Hall.”

“We will pick you up there.”

So, legs shaking a bit, I got off in two stops and stood in the bright evening lights of the City Hall, which held night court two nights a week and this appeared to be one of them, the steps spilling over with people going in and out. I stood at the curb and eventually a sleek silver car pulled up. This time I knew better. Leaning over, I tapped on the window.

“ID.”

“Societas Obscura,” came a whispery response.

“You say the sexiest things.” I slid in as the back door opened silently. I settled myself and clipped the seat belt in place, leaning forward to see if I might recognize who drove. I didn’t, but then I only knew two or three of the Society although I figured I’d probably run across more without an introduction.

The car transited the town more smoothly than had the bus, and I spent the time examining my hands, the stone in particular. It seemed not to have changed at all despite the intense shielding it had just held for me. And it made me wonder . . . that thinning of the world . . . that veil across what I knew to be real, a curtain drawn across all my senses that so that I might be truly hidden from the menace that sought me. I felt as though I had fallen into a pocket between dimensions and that if I had not fought to get myself out, I would have stayed there.

Was that what possibly could have happened to my father? And if it had, it meant that—at one time or another—he’d possessed the maelstrom stone and had used it, or it had misused him. But if that were true, why hadn’t it slipped into the in-between with him and stayed there? How had I found it lodged in a locked drawer in the old basement’s armoire? If it had come forth, he should have as well. I had no answer and a ton more questions tumbling in my thoughts as the car pulled into a curved drive and came to a halt.

I opened the door and emerged into a chilled evening to face what could only have been at one time a tobacco drying shed. A huge one. If I inhaled deeply, I could still catch a faint scent of the leaves that had been hung here to cure. This barn looked big enough to house a manor and although there were ample vents at the eaves of the roof, the sides had been enclosed, something that would likely never have been done when it was still in use.

I looked away. “Nice clubhouse.”

Double doors swung open silently. Feeling uneasy, I flexed my shoulders and walked in. Only to walk right back out abruptly.

“Oh, no,” I declared as a couple of people followed me. “I am not going anywhere if he’s going to be there.”

And I pointed at Judge Maxwell Parker, a nemesis who would undoubtedly love to see me hung by my heels since I’d bested him in a magical battle. I was on a recon mission trying to locate Goldie, and I found her. He was the one without honor I’d been thinking of earlier. “I was told he was on probation. He abducted Goldie Germanigold.”

“Hearsay,” the man in question said, staring me down, jaw clenched and eyes intense. He wore an impeccable suit, Italian name brand of some sort or other, with a mauve shirt and matching handkerchief sticking artfully out of the pocket. Someone had styled his hair to look casually perfect, but it was his eyebrows that fascinated me. Trimmed into pointed wings, they angled sharply down to frown at me. “You haven’t a word of proof or defense for your attack on me!”

“I found her bound at the Silverbranch campus, locked into a statue, and she told me you had done it. In my book, that’s proof enough.”

“Nevertheless, did you see me abduct her? No. There is only her word. And harpies are not the most dependable of truth tellers. Nor, it seems, are those who associate with them.”

I was not about to back down, to the Society for having him here to oppose me or just to push back on his existence in general. “You attacked me when I attempted to free her. That is firsthand testimony.”

“Perhaps I was just defending Germanigold in her vulnerable captivity from you. You were then—and still are—unknown in the magical community. Who is to say that you were not the menace?”

I swung about, addressing the watchers, perhaps a paltry group that reminded me more of a jury than a meeting, all more adult than I, and with expressions that told me little about their inner feelings. After the night I’d already had, I wasn’t eager to face any judgmental types. My inner self reminded me about the professor’s determination that he and I should never cross paths with the Society for reasons he never quite delineated to me. He’d held little but scorn for them in the time I’d known him. I began to realize why. I threw my words at them anyway. “Are you all just going to stand here and let the lies fly?”

A carefully calm and modulated adult spokeswoman answered me, “Goldie has been asked to appear and give her statement at her convenience. So far, it has not been convenient for her to do so.” She stepped back as if she’d been at a recital and given her part, her white hair in waves about her face, back ramrod straight, and navy pantsuit absolutely without a wrinkle.

I began to walk back to the car that had delivered me. “I think she has the right idea about avoiding you-all . . .”

From all the someones I didn’t know, a middle-aged man with a full head of curling hair under a caramel-brown fedora and shrewd eyes stepped forward to put his hand on my shoulder. I suddenly became so sensitive that I felt it through every fragment of my body and I halted. Magic jolted through me from my shoulder to my toes as if I’d been hit by lightning. The strength of it scared me and reminded me that I was playing with the big dogs tonight.

“Pay no mind. He is just leaving.”

I half-turned to see if that was so. And, apparently, someone else had told him it would be prudent to go.

Parker pushed past me in the doorway. “The situation is temporary, Miss Andrews. It will behoove you to remember that. Whatever disfavor I might have earned, the truth will out.”

“Back at you.”

He made his way into the night to a car park I hadn’t noticed earlier, it not being lit until he produced a fireball in the palm of his hand to see where he walked. As he found his car, he turned and tossed the fireball my way.

I ducked out of reflex even as the sorcery fizzled into nothingness far short of where I stood. Parker grinned before getting into his car.

I flung up a hand and let a bolt of my own energy go, a little surprised to find it responsive when I had had virtually nothing at my beck and call after the Butchery. It lanced into the ground in front of his car, making it buck a little before he could pull away in a squeal of tires. I think we understood our farewells. When next we met, it wouldn’t be words we exchanged.

I knew I could pop tires on a car. I’d done it before—not intentionally but figured I could duplicate it. I raised my left hand, but before I could form a coherent thought of action, a hand closed about mine and brought it down.

“Don’t do it,” the owner said lightly from under the shadow of his fedora. “Even if he deserves it.”

“No?”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I had in mind—”

“I have,” he said, smiling at me, “some idea.” Tucking my arm under his, he wheeled me about and headed me back to the building. “It wouldn’t make for a good introduction.”

“I had earning some respect in mind.”

“That,” he assured me, “will come about naturally.”

“I’m going to hold you to your word on that,” I told him as he delivered me into the hall and dissolved back into the waiting crowd. I didn’t like not being able to see his expression. I couldn’t read the truth or honesty in anything he’d claimed.

He disappeared so quickly that it left me wondering who he was. Because of nighttime shadows and dim lighting about the car park, he’d been obscured. The thought bounced about my mind briefly that it could be Carter in disguise, but I dismissed that quickly. He didn’t have the age and magical gravitas of the helpful stranger. Not that Carter didn’t have powerful magic—he did, extremely powerful, but he let few people sense it. I doubt if even the Society knew how much force he carried. Also, I’d never seen Carter wearing a hat, other than the one or two military pictures I’d seen of him, and then it had been a scuffed and well-used helmet. And, mostly because I knew his touch. His walk. His hands.

The members dressed in business casual parted as I entered. I looked about, seeing few faces I recognized but almost being surprised by the ones that I did. There was a professor as well as a custodian from my community college. Another elegant woman I knew from my mother’s University, a secretary. Department secretaries may seem to be low on the totem pole in administration, but my mother would swear that they had more power than many of the professors and even deans. As our eyes met, she raised pewter-colored eyebrows as if surprised herself. Faith Hawkins, I remembered her name. Her gaze narrowed as I came to a halt, and I could feel other stares at my back uneasily. I’d have to let my mother know, once I determined her stance on things. She could be friend, or she could be foe.

A tall, older man with streaks of silver accenting his dark hair came forward and bowed slightly. “I am glad you found your way here.” He wore a formal suit with a morning coat and even gloves, but it didn’t look out of place on him. For the most fleeting of seconds I wondered if he was a funeral director.

“I was waylaid, but I managed.”

“Waylaid? I heard a rumor of that. Do explain.” A few indistinct murmurs from around the watchers in the room underscored his words.

“Yes.”

“How so?”

“I was expecting a car and driver, so when one showed up, I got in. I shouldn’t have. And, word to the wise, don’t ever go to the Butchery on a dark and dreary night.”

“The Butchery? That bar in Old Town?”

“That would be the one. It has bad vibes.”

That brought up a startled buzz which my welcomer squelched with an upraised palm. “How so?”

I considered giving him a full explanation, decided against it, and merely said, “It’s haunted.”

A wry smile crossed his expression. “We will keep that in mind.” He drew me farther into the hall. “We have a few questions and a trial or two—”

“I just bet you do.” Because of Parker and other extenuating circumstances, I decided not to confide much of anything in the Society. It would have to prove itself first.

“Yes. Well, this inner sanctum has been built to withstand just about anything that can be thrown at it.”

The tobacco shed morphed into stone. We stopped inside a massive cavern with masonry walls that might have been five feet thick, to look at the stonework, and probably would have taken a direct hit from an atomic bomb from the looks of it. Its walls had scorch marks and maybe even blood soaked into it, leaving behind a rusty cloud here and there although I didn’t go searching for the stains. I let a “wow” escape, suitably impressed.

“Let me introduce myself.”

“That would be nice.” I dragged my attention away from the cavern and smiled up at the gentleman.

“Hmmm. Yes. You may call me Archer. And you are Tessa Andrews.”

“In the flesh.” I smiled a little. “Got a title?”

“Title?”

“Mage, sorcerer, grand wizard or whatever.”

“All in good time, young lady.”

“Oh. This is one of those interviews.”

“Those interviews?”

I nodded. “If I don’t pass, I get my memory wiped or some such. The less I know, the less you have to clean up.”

His nostrils flared slightly with what I hoped was a suppressed laugh. “Something like that.” Archer took a slight step away from me. The group that had followed us throughout the hall gathered, more or less, at the entrance. Out of range.

“We’ve been informed you’re in possession of a maelstrom stone.”

“That would be correct.”

“We’d like to see it.”

I stripped my gloves off and held up my hand accordingly even as I said, “I’m not removing it and passing it around.”

“I should imagine not.” He removed his own gloves and took my hand in his, his fingers strong yet gentle and quite warm. He did not touch the stone itself, although I could see from the gleam in his eyes, he wanted to. I marked him down on my list in my mental notes of People Who Coveted the Stone. “Impressive, and quite handsome, actually.” Then he held my hand out so others could admire it. Rather like a reception line at a wedding or some other function, people passed by the two of us to get a look at it (and me). When they were finished, they retreated again. Archer asked, “Any thoughts?”

“Well, I—” and he held a finger up, shushing me. “Not you, Tessa. I was addressing the panel.”

“Oh.”

Archer turned to one side. “Newhart?”

“As rare as they are, a number have been cataloged, but I don’t recall any mention of ones of this coloring and size.” A squarish looking man with glasses hanging on a cord around his neck spoke up. He wore corduroy, top and bottom, olive green and rather boring. He looked as if he would occupy a massive desk, the two of them vying for size. “I don’t suppose you would care to illuminate its properties?”

I wouldn’t. It sounded too much like telling the enemy all my secrets and then hoping it would come out all right in the end. I did say, “It devours other magical relics.”

I have never seen a squad in a room back up two or three steps in one movement. You would have thought it was a dance step and they were all participating. I thought that line dancing was now a bit passé. But they did it as if they’d been drilling the movement all week just for my entertainment.

Archer, to his credit, stuck to my side. Or maybe he just didn’t have anything magical floating about his person that my stone could eat.

“Please elaborate.”

I put my hand in the air again and hoped what I would tell them would manifest. “Two red slits . . . ah, there they are. Shards from the Eye of Nimora. They’re like eyelids. When they open, I can see a great deal, beyond my normal sight.”

My stone blinked at them sleepily a few times and then the red slits faded entirely. I couldn’t blame the stone; I felt a little bored myself. But before the eyes closed, I had felt the energy of the talented watchers, along with curiosity and malice.

“However did you obtain a splinter off the Eye of Nimora?”

“It’s a long story, but they became available. The Eye itself isn’t harmed at all, mind you, but there were these tiny flecks and, well . . . my stone ate them.”

“Did you command it to do so?”

“No.”

Archer stirred slightly. “Did you know it was going to do so?”

“Not really. It had eaten a gold ring belonging to the professor, but . . .”

Another movement of the crowd, in a giant step backward. I looked toward them. “You guys are creeping me out.”

“An excess of caution. Under the circumstances, I can hardly blame them.” Archer stayed rock solid where he stood.

“You must be the only one with stones, then. The other kind.”

Archer laughed. A full and hearty laugh that brought along with it a small tide of other laughs that were pale imitators. “When dealing with the unknown, it’s wise to be a little cowardly.”

“Right.” I curled my hand up, hiding the stone away.

“By the professor, may I assume you meant Brandard?”

I nodded.

“Did you gain your powers when the stone embedded itself?”

I didn’t feel like telling him about the Dark Arts book the stone had absorbed, so I didn’t. “No, they came about later. I discover different facets every once in a while, mostly defensive at first and then offensive later.”

“Care to elaborate or demonstrate?”

I really didn’t, but it seemed that was why I had been brought here. I braced myself and said, “Come at me.”

Archer inclined his head slightly, stepped back five paces, and proceeded to raise his hands. I had no idea what kind of attack he planned, but basic shielding seemed advisable, so I spun mine out and enlarged them so that I, for all intents, stood behind a wall.

Almost before I set myself, flame hissed out, bounced off my shields, and slewed up to the ceiling before burning out.

“Well done. Were you taught that?”

“Yes. The professor taught me some basic shielding, and I learned to enlarge it.”

“Have you been attacked before this evening?”

“A few times.”

“And, again, this professor you name would be Brandard?”

“Yes.” I wondered why he’d had me repeat that and then realized when I’d said it before. We’d been standing nearly toe-to-toe, and it was likely that our audience hadn’t heard. They did this time.

That brought a loud muttering through our listeners. Archer lifted his chin and looked about, the stern expression on his face quelling more remarks, even though he’d definitely solicited them.

I couldn’t let it go, saying, “He didn’t approve of you all.”

“No, he didn’t, and we might have saved him a good deal of trouble if he’d been a bit more . . . flexible. We understand that he is no longer a guest in your home.”

“No.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“No idea at all. He completed his phoenix ritual and left.” I heard a murmur of surprise run through our little audience. They hadn’t known? Interesting. As to where he could be . . . I thought of mentioning Steptoe and his demonic tail as evidence that the professor still existed, somewhere, but that seemed unwise. I merely shook my head.

“Phoenix wizards are notoriously tough. He will turn up, no doubt. He prides himself on being a thorn in our side and isn’t likely to give that up.”

“He is stubborn,” I admitted.

“What else has he instructed you in?”

“Reading. A lot of reading.”

“No drills?”

I knew drills quite well, being on a varsity field hockey team with a coach who lived by fitness training. But no training that he’d given me, per se. We’d done plenty of magic together, in defensive situations, from marauding harpies to sorcerer samurais, to devious elves but nothing repetitive day-to-day. At least it hadn’t been boring. I shook my head.

“Any particular books he had you read?”

Again, I felt as though I might be giving out information that I ought to keep close. “Herbs,” I finally said. “And some sympathetic magic stuff that I just didn’t get.” I kept scanning those watching and listening for sight of Carter. This was his Society. Wouldn’t he show up to give me some guidance? Surely, he wouldn’t abandon me.

An intense stare drew my attention for the briefest of moments, the behatted gentleman who’d steered me away from Judge Parker. He was taller than some and shorter than others but had a certain presence that made him stand out. A frown settled on his face as our stares caught, then he turned away abruptly. I felt as if I should know him but didn’t . . .

“Miss Andrews, would you mind participating in a few exhibitions and tests?”

They weren’t about to share any of their educated magic with me but didn’t mind prying to see what my secrets were. I shrugged. “Sure. If I can’t run with the big dogs, I might as well stay under the porch.”

Archer hid his laugh with a slight cough. “Come with me then,” he requested and proceeded to lead me farther into the stone works, the crowd trailing us seeming to thin out a mite. Worried about fallout perhaps? From the scorch marks crawling about the granite, it seemed a real possibility.

If I had been wondering about where the junior members of the Society were, I had to wonder no longer. Eight of them faced me, in two rows, their expressions avid and expectant. They ranged from my age in their early twenties down to one young lady who couldn’t have been more than twelve. Without seeming to, I focused on her. She wouldn’t be in this bunch if she didn’t have a bucketful of talent, and because of her age, many might overlook her as just a kid. I couldn’t afford to. She didn’t look like the kind of person who would be easily forgettable, either, with her golden-bronze skin and snapping dark eyes and hair. She looked wholesome and at the same time, a bit decadent, like graham crackers hiding luscious chocolate and toasted marshmallow.

I didn’t have time to wonder as Archer ordered, “Flame.”

I don’t think Archer said “Present arms!” but he might as well have, because all eight held out their hands, and their palms filled with a globe of fire. It seemed to be more of an illumination spell that I’d watched the professor ignite a number of times than an offensive one. I raised an eyebrow and looked at Archer.

“It’s a basic skill,” he said. “Do you possess it?”

Of course, I did . . . now. I mostly called on it for a fight, though, but I didn’t think I’d make anyone happy by lobbing fireballs around. What worried me was the drain it might make on my reserves. I didn’t know what Archer and the Society might demand from me this night and I’d already gotten pretty low earlier. I didn’t know how much OJ and a few chicken bites had refueled me. I tamped down my effort and produced a globe the size of a shooter marble. My fellow magicians snickered, except for the youngest one I watched out of the corner of my eye. She frowned a bit, as if calculating something.

“Float them.”

That seemed to be cheating a bit, as they were all floating just off their wielder’s skin, but I inhaled and brought mine up nearly chin high. That brought out a gasp or two from the gallery of watchers and I knew immediately what I’d done. Me and the maelstrom stone had just exhibited a vast overachievement. No one else had hefted their fireball higher than four or five inches above their wrists. The young one inhaled and got hers boosted up to chest high where it bounced unsteadily in position.

Were they heavy? Mine wasn’t, just combined of gas and air, so how could it be? But from the actions next to me, they seemed to be floating bowling balls from the strained expressions on their faces. Or maybe it was just the effort needed to keep the fire compact and contained.

“Release,” snapped Archer quickly, before his protégés had a meltdown.

My presentation didn’t snap out as it should, but rather melted down like liquid rain into my hand and then into the stone. I’d never had that effect before and when I looked up, I could see a lot of pale expressions. I wished I knew what I’d done wrong/differently, but I don’t think anyone here was going to tell me. Yet. Again, I seemed to have achieved something far more difficult than Archer suggested.

I still battled the drained effects from earlier. I felt thinned out and unsubstantial. I scanned the room and saw a few tables in the back, pushed up against the wall, filled with finger foods and juice drinks and urns for coffee and tea. I broke away from the lineup, trotted over, and tossed a bruschetta or two down, my mouth filling with the taste of fresh tomato, olive oil, and a touch of garlic. They had to have been hothouse tomatoes, because we were in the dead of winter, but this group could afford to pay for what they wanted.

Archer cleared his throat. “Miss Andrews. We are far from done.”

“Oh. Sorry.” I returned to the lineup.

My wary student target gave me a crooked grin, reinforcing my s’mores label. Layered, different flavors, complicated textures, and the need to be careful while handling in case she was still flambé. I’d like to know her name, but Archer wasn’t into introducing his students. Protective? Perhaps. It reminded me that I stood in a hall where true names could be used in power rituals. Unfortunately, they’d made it clear they knew mine.

We did two more tests which I failed utterly, in the line of sympathetic magic where you took a sliver of an item and replicated it in its entirety. The professor hadn’t drilled me in its aspect, although I’d read his book, but we’d never gotten around to discussing it or applying its principles. I didn’t push myself to accomplish something I wasn’t skilled in and ignored the low laughs amid muttered sneers. I could produce a rose from rose petal if I had to, but why strain?

Then we did some aura reading. Opening the vision to see outside the box of our own world is not common or easy and, quite frankly, until my stone gobbled up bits of the Eye of Nimora, I hadn’t been able to do it. Not unless Carter or one of the others touched me and used their own power to open my inner eye; since that is taxing to my partner, I’d only experienced it once or twice. But as a sorceress, my skill comes from knowing the real name, the intrinsic existence of another thing, so that I could manipulate it or draw power from it, or even give it an exact reality by naming it. To do that, I have to be able to see it. My ability in that area had been nonexistent before acquiring the pieces of Nimora. It expanded slowly, as if I were learning to do it on my own with coaching from the shards. I could almost do it consistently without the eyes. That night, however, I felt too weary to even try. I watched the others scan their compatriots, and I’d no clue if they were right or wrong or scamming me. I would only know when it was my turn, and eventually it came down to me.

“I don’t read auras,” I told Archer.

“To be an effective magic user, one must have the Sight.”

One also shouldn’t reveal all the cards in one’s hand. I allowed myself a smile and answered, “I do all right.”

“I’m not certain you understand why we invited you here this evening. We’re trying to ascertain not only your power but also your control of it. There is a minimum amount of magic required to keep one’s powers in check as well as in tune. We have to certify you can do that, or we will . . .” Archer’s crisp voice trailed off.

I read him then, quickly so that he would have no hope of detecting it, and saw condemnation behind his words. He wasn’t nearly as friendly as he projected. I reacted. “Or you’ll what?”

A ripple went through the Society. A number of them shuffled back a step again, their attention fixed on my inquisitor. That put their backs to the wall. Would they turn and run next?

I had a good guess for his silence. “Strip me of my power?”

Archer produced a piece of pewter-gray metal, very shiny, rather like a gold ingot bar, from an inner pocket of his nicely cut coat. “We will do whatever is necessary.”

I eyed it closely. “What is that?”

“A relic,” he said. “One that has proved quite useful and can be very effective. A nullifier, if you would.”

“I would rather not. I came here tonight because you invited me—and because I had hoped for some basic schooling.”

“Your aura indicates you have a great deal of power, untapped and undisciplined. We can’t let you be a menace to others. As for schooling, you seem to be resistant to the idea.”

“Ah.” No wonder the professor had been adamant about my not getting mixed up with the Society. When they were good, they were very good . . . and when they were bad, they were awful. Also, he had had some idea about the first impressions I tend to make i.e., I often come on a little brash. I held up my hand, palm outward, and waited for a tense moment for my eyes to open. They did, instantly, as if eager to jump into the situation. I waved my hand in front of Archer and then the double row of students. As suspected, the youngest one was the real power-dealer in the bunch, after the adult. I could see more than the auras of their talents; I could read their emotional standing as well. Most of them were wells of animosity. S’Mores hit me as intrigued and a little sympathetic.

But Archer—well, Archer reminded me a bit of my nemesis Judge Parker—full of power and not about to be crossed if he could help it. I don’t like dictators, good or bad, if there is such a thing as a benevolent dictator.

The maelstrom stone vibrated a little in my hand, warming up, leaving me wondering as to its intentions. It can be very independent.

Archer stepped close to me, his nullifier in hand, and as I swung about to meet him, to fend him off—my stone jerked my fingers to his relic, sticking to it like a powerful magnet. Before Archer could gasp or I could warn him—the stone swallowed it.

Like that. One minute he held the shiny ingot and the next it had disappeared into the palm of my hand. I could almost swear I heard the stone burp in satisfaction.

“My god.” Archer stared at me. “Can you get it to release my relic?”

“Mmmm . . . I’d say no. At least, it’s never spit anything back out yet.” Not the whole truth, but I didn’t feel like giving him false hope. Or anything else, under the circumstances.

“But it—it contains the powers of those it’s erased until it’s emptied.”

“Then I’d say definitely that it’s gone. I told you it absorbed items.”

“Did you come here with that intention?”

I tilted my head. “Should I have? Because it’s beginning to look to me like I should have, to protect myself if nothing else. But I don’t see as how I could have. I didn’t know what to expect here. I’ve never heard of a null stone. And I don’t think the swell of animosity,” and I swung about indicating everyone else in the cavern, “is going to make my defensive shield feel any more secure.”

S’Mores edged close to me. Her whispery voice reached me. “Make a trade.”

I took it as a sound idea. I opened my eyes a little wider at Archer. “How about a proposition?”

“A proposition! Tell me why we shouldn’t drop you in your tracks?”

“Well, one, the stone will protect me, but I can’t control any backlash. And two, with a bit of schooling, I might be able to figure out how to get the stone to relinquish what it’s gobbled up. I know it’s absorbed one or two things, but frankly, I can feel the nullifier. I’m thinking it might react like that grain of dirt that irritates an oyster into manufacturing a pearl. I ought to be able to force it out when the stone is ready.” I couldn’t sense it, but it certainly sounded plausible when I said it.

A slight tic at the corner of his forehead developed. I didn’t know if this meant he was thinking hard or annoyed or, hell, he might even have been receiving telepathic opinions from members of the Society around us. I stood very still and gathered my power as quietly and inconspicuously as I could to defend myself. It would have to be a one-punch strike, hard and decisive, because I didn’t have the stamina right now to do anything sustained. Someone said, very close to my ear, close enough that I did not think anyone else could possibly hear it, “Don’t antagonize.”

It sounded like advice.

Late advice.

When I looked about to see who it might have been, absolutely no one stood next to me but Archer.

I wanted to walk through their ranks and set off the little items they all wore to augment their magical skills, because if it has magic stored in it, and I can sense it, I can access it. That’s one of the things a sorceress is good at. It wouldn’t take more than a slight nudge of the resources I had left, too. It might be enough of a power play to make the Society back off, it or might be a very bad idea. Did they really consider me one or just a half-assed magician with a far more powerful stone embedded in her hand?

Truth to tell, I had no idea how much magic I might hold if it was taken/moved upon, but I had some. I had felt it before and one day I would feel it again.

But now . . . right now . . . I could own them. All of them. At least until one of them decided to drop me in my tracks. The actions I wanted to take, though, would give them fair warning how dangerous and brash I could be. So not a good idea. It’s always better to have the enemy underestimate you. If they were the enemy. I hadn’t decided yet.

I took a step back, out of the range of both Archer and little Miss S’mores.