Inherited Magic (16 page)

“You're an idiot! Do you have any idea what you're doing, turning me over to them?” Peter was being hoisted off the ground in a rough manner by the agents.

“It's better than you deserve.” John dropped the pistol and turned away from the muzzle of Agent Harris's gun.

“Don't move.”

“No.” John kept walking down the alley towards the far end.

“Don't push me, John!”

“Push you?” John turned around and locked eyes with her.

“John, you're turning into a wild card here. You won't last long that way. Come and work for us; you’ll be safer.” Agent Harris lowered her gun and there was an audible click as she hit the safety with her thumb.

“No.” John turned and started walking away.

“Don't think I'm cleaning up your mess for you, John,” she called after him, when he reached the corner. “Everyone gets held accountable eventually.”

He rounded the corner and walked under the L tracks to the street. If she said anything else, it was lost in the noise of a passing train.

John walked down the sidewalk towards people and shops. No one acted as if there had just been gunfire; no one seemed to notice the sirens in the distance. Peter's cell phone started to ring in his pocket; he had forgotten it. He pulled it out and looked at the screen with a smile. It was flashing the name “Veronica” again. He hit the answer button and held it to his ear, but said nothing.

“Peter! What the hell is going on? Did you kill that bitch?”

“I'm sorry, Peter can't come to the phone right now.”

“Who is this?”

“This is John, Veronica. Peter is busy being arrested by the FBI.” It felt good for John to be able to drive that point home.

“I'm going to kill you.” Her voice was a near shout.

“Yes, but you will have to find someone else to help you shave.” This was too much fun.

“I'm gonna kill—”

John hung up on her because he had no doubt she could find him through the cell phone. Magic or not, there are more than a few apps for finding lost or stolen phones. So he handed it to the first homeless person he passed on the street. By the time she did find it, someone else would have a nice new expensive smart phone, and they could deal with her.

Chapter 51

John was sitting on his bed, trying to figure out his life and if he could get it back in order, when his cell phone rang.

“Hello?'

“Is this John?” The voice on the other end was female and pleasant, but not Radha.

“Yeah, and who is this?” John was fully expecting some outlandish addition to his nightmare.

“My name is Paula. I'm Owen's daughter.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.  We meet at your fathers wake didn’t we?”  John suddenly felt silly being rude and assuming that it was someone out to get him.

“Yeah, I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk.”

“You guys were kind of having a family moment.”  The wake had reminded John of his own father’s recent funeral and left him feeling hollow and alone again.

“Thank you, but I did need to ask you for some help.  Owen left a few things at the shop and we need help, there aren’t any other mages in the family.”

“Sure.  When is a good time?”

“We’re there now.”

“I'll be there as soon as I can.” He pulled on his coat, found his keys, and headed for the door. As he did so he considered what she had said about there being no other mages in the family. Owen had mentioned a brother once, who had learned magic.  What happened to him? Then there was the obvious question of why no one else had learned, or why no else had been taught?

When John arrived, the lights were on in the shop, and it made him feel sad to know that Owen was not sitting by the register with a book. He knocked on the door and expected to wait, but almost immediately a short woman appeared and opened the door.

“Hello, John.”

“Hi, good to see you again.”

“Thank you.” She let him in, and they shook hands. She was short and slim, with her hair cut very short. She didn't have earrings, but John did notice a small gold stud on her nose.

“You said you needed help?”

“Dad left this letter with his will.” Paula handed him a note covered in Owen’s unique handwriting. John skimmed it and saw that it left instructions that John should be contacted if they couldn’t get into the safe on their own. It had an insulting tone to it.

“You can’t get into the safe in the back?” John was hoping he wouldn’t have to open the hidden safe in the basement.

“No, the one in the basement.” Paula started walking toward the back, so John followed and felt unlucky. “Dad left some pretty specific directions for everything, but he never said how we were supposed to get through his magic trick.” As they approached the basement, John could hear talking.

“I thought you . . .”

“Knew magic? Hell, no. Dad offered to teach me, but I saw all the trouble it caused with him and grampa, so I refused. He was upset that neither of us learned.” To John, that explained the tone of the note and answered some of his other questions.

They found their way through the basement and were standing near the corner with the safe. Leaning against the wall and talking were two guys holding sledge hammers; both had stripped off their shirts and wore strapped t-shirts.

“John, this is Junior.” John shook hands with the shorter of the two. He had dark skin, a clean shaven head, and a neatly trimmed beard. “And this is my husband, Wilson.” As they shook hands Wilson nearly crushed John’s hand. He was muscular, tall, light-skinned, and all smile.  He had seen them at the wake but hadn’t been introduced.

“Wil didn't believe me when I told him there was no way we were getting through that wall. I really don't think John here is gonna be able to do it either.” Junior spoke as an authority on the subject, with a smirk on his face.

“So you never learned?”

“Naw, dad offered, but he also wanted a lot in exchange for it.” Junior busied himself putting his watch on as he spoke. “He wanted me to go to school, work at the shop, and follow in his footsteps.” John let it go because he sensed there was much more to the story.

“Can you open it? We can't sell the property with stuff hidden in the walls.” Wilson wanted to get to work.

“We also need it open because, in the instructions dad left, he said his deed for the property was in the safe. Can you open it?” Paula pulled herself up and sat on a work bench, looking like a little girl.

“I'll try.” John examined the wall, and its pattern. It was thin, but he could see how it was hardened and would most likely survive the destruction of the building. There was no opening it unless you were a mage who knew how and John was not sure he knew how. Melting concrete walls wasn't something Owen had taught him. There was no hint in the pattern and no damage to the wall itself, but he could see where they had been hitting it with sledge hammers.

“He can't do it.” Junior said knowingly, after a few moments.

“Do you want me to bring the whole building down or blow it up? Cause if I do it wrong, that's what's gonna happen here.” John was annoyed, and distracted himself by looking at the wall again. There had to be a simple way to do it, something that was in keeping with Owen's direct but different approach to things. Then he realized he was looking at parts of the wall, not the wall as a whole. He stepped back and looked at it again.

Sure, the wall was tough as steel, but it had a honeycomb kind of pattern, all interlocking cells within the pattern, but they held empty spaces. He tried collapsing the pattern in different ways, folding it this way and that, as gently as he could. The wall rippled and emitted a deep humming noise. He stopped, but he was convinced he was on the right path. So he tried collapsing all the cells to the right. To his amazement they folded flat against each other, creating a super dense layer along the floor and revealing the safe.

“So cool,” whispered Wilson.

Junior crossed his arms and said nothing, but his silence was thunderous

“Wow!” Paula clapped and bounced off the table to start spinning dials on the safe.

“You guys take care. I'll show myself out.” There was a different sense here than the one he had felt going through his father’s things. This lacked respect and smelled of a treasure hunt, and he wanted nothing to do with it.

“John, wait a second,” Paula called over her shoulder. The safe clicked open, and she consulted a sheet of paper from her pocket. She pulled out a couple of bundles and a colt .45, placing them on the bench next to John. The brown paper bundles had his name on them. “Dad, said to give these to you.”

John checked to see if the gun was empty; it wasn't. He clicked the safety on. He pulled back a corner of the paper on the two bundles and saw money. He tucked them both in his coat. “Is there a holster in there?”

“Ummm . . .” Paula pushed Junior out of the way to look into the safe. “Yeah, here you go.” She handed him a soft leather holster that would ride high on a belt for easy concealment.

“This is some cool shit!” exclaimed Wilson, as he pulled an assault rifle out of the safe. John could only guess what else was in that safe and had no desire to wait around while it was vivisected. He left in silence, and as he climbed the stairs out of the basement, he heard shouts of joy as Owen's children found his hidden fortune of gold and jewels. John was unaware that eventually they would find the tablet, the fragment of a Primer, and it would bring them nothing but misery.

Chapter 52

The Conclave was to meet at a place called Pheasant Run Resort that was located a good ways outside of the city. It was not what John had in mind when someone said “resort.” First of all, it was a long ways from anywhere, not counting the tiny airport that it sat adjacent to, but that had to be a selling point to busy mages traveling from out of town. There was a tall building (by suburban standards), attached to a sprawling collection of convention centers, comedy clubs, and indoor pools. He had no doubt it was expensive and well beyond anything that he could afford to stay at. He was fine with that.

The limo pulled up to the front door and a body guard, who clearly did not work for the resort, approached the driver's window. The features that made it clear he had nothing to do with the hotel were the sunglasses, the poorly concealed gun under his coat, and his hulking frame in general. John was getting used to goons by this point. The FBI had goons, the Chicago Police had goons, other mages had goons, and they were losing their shock value on him. It is a helpful life lesson that you can spend years getting used to the sight of a shark swimming next to you, but you have a very short amount of time to get used to it eating you. When the goon was done talking to the driver, he walked over and politely opened Conrad's door. Another goon surprised John by opening his door and addressing him.

“Sir?” A hand held to the side indicating he should leave the safety of the limo and accept the reality with the sharks.

“Thank you.” John stepped from the limo and tried to look as dignified and powerful as Conrad did.

“They're waiting for us, John.”

John was happy to fall in next to Conrad; he was finally starting to get the idea that he did need someone to show him how to navigate this strange society.

They were brought through the lobby to an elevator with military precision and speed that left observers confused and uncomfortable. The goons left them in the elevator alone; a fresh group met them at the top floor and escorted them down the hall to the door of a conference room. Outside the door, a small table was set up with a large glass bowl filled with water.

“If you would, sir?” said one of the goons. He had a heavy accent that John couldn't place.

“Of course.” Conrad stepped forward and placed a hand on the outside of the bowl. John watched him alter the pattern of the water and in a flash it was frozen solid. Conrad stepped aside and looked at John expectantly.

“And you, sir?” asked the same goon. Without approaching the bowl, John altered the pattern of the water and the ice should have melted. Something was preventing John from altering it at a distance. “No, sir, we need you to touch the bowl and prove it was you and not someone else.”

John walked up, placed his hand on the bowl, and again altered the pattern of the water, this time bringing the water to a boil.

“Thank you, sir.” The goon clearly was unimpressed and had seen it all a million times before. Another goon opened the door to the conference room and let them in. John followed Conrad into the conference room and wondered if a den of hungry lions might be more fun.

Chapter 53

The room had a view of the golf course, the airport, and the green countryside beyond. There was, of course, a large table in the middle of the room surrounded by twenty or so chairs, each occupied by a well-dressed individual who looked at those around them with cold eyes. There were alliances and agreements here, but there were no friends. They had left two chairs empty by the door for John and Conrad; their backs would be to the door, and it was clear to John this was to make them uncomfortable. A younger man, wearing antique looking sunglasses, cleared his throat loudly.

“Now that we are all here, we can get started.” He stood up and knocked loudly on the table with his knuckles. “The North American Conclave is now in session. We have each been summoned to deal with the recent events in Chicago: the creation and destruction of a rogue mage and the murder of the regent, whom most of us knew as Owen.”

“I want to add to the list!” All eyes turned to Veronica. She was fashionably dressed, though most of the men present found her almost-exposed breasts a bit distracting. The venom in her voice was icy enough that most were able to overlook the distraction. “Owen's student attacked my student, unprovoked, and turned him over to the FBI.” There was a gasp from some and John heard a couple of outright giggles and snickers. “He has violated our most basic laws, and I demand he be killed, and I be given the Chicago territory.” All eyes turned to John.

Conrad leaned close to John and whispered; “Introduce yourself, and tell them what happened. Then shut up and sit down.”

John stood up, looked around the faces at the table, and thought about the raw power these people held over reality; the things they could do boggled his mind with the possibility to change the world. Yet they sat here and argued over petty territories they had no real dominion over and did nothing but hide. Their meekness made John feel bold as he stood.

“My name is John Carter; I was Owen's student till he was murdered. The rogue mage was my fault, and I fixed it with Owen's help. We did everything we could and were almost killed correcting my mistake. As to Peter, Veronica's student, he was not her student. He couldn't perform magic on his own, and used altered items to create the illusion that he could. He was stalking my girlfriend, and I suspect intended to kill her. I moved to defend her, and he attacked. The FBI was there watching because of Owen's murder, and they captured him after he was wounded.”

“What do you mean he couldn't perform magic? He has passed that door and sat in on past Conclave meetings.” John guessed the woman who pressed him for an answer was in her eighties, but her voice was confident and her eyes sharp.

“He had altered items that had patterns in them that he could activate at will, and it looked like he was a mage—”

'You lying little shit!” Veronica stood up and slammed her fist on the table. “Peter was my student. He can do magic! How dare you accuse me of this! Where is your proof?”

“Where,” said Conrad calmly, “is your proof that he was a mage? The fact is that the FBI still has him in custody, and my sources say he is alive and well. The last time a mage spent this long in custody, he had joined them and was soon after killed. It is at least clear to me that the FBI doesn’t think he is a mage and neither should we, if for no other reason than he has not escaped from the FBI.”

Silence fell across the table and eyes slowly came to settle on Veronica.

John sat down.

“Brace yourself she's about to go over the top,” whispered Conrad.

“Peter was a mage! He was not stalking this fools whore, and it is possible that John killed Owen over an argument after the rogue was killed—”

“I have it on good authority that the Chicago Police have verified Mr. Carter's alibi.” The man was bald and deeply tanned, his voice heavy and authoritative.

“I don't care what you think!” Veronica was so angry that her face was turning red.

“You had better care what I think, you greedy little girl!” shouted the bald man. “I've had enough of you. You cheat, lie, and manipulate to get your way in even the most minor things, and it is repulsive. I have a copy of the police report, and I have talked directly to the investigator, and there is no proof Owen's student killed him. It looks more like what happened in Florida and Boston.”

“Are you accusing me of something, Ray?” Veronica was in control of herself again, but not much, from what John saw.

“Not yet.” Ray sat back in his chair and casually scratched his jaw. “As soon as I have proof though, I'm coming after you.”

“Let me know when you get your balls back from your wife, Ray,” Veronica snarled and turned back to John. “In the meantime, I challenge him to a duel for the rights to Chicago and as repayment for the loss of my student.” Veronica pointed a very well manicured finger at John.

“John is still just a student, and he wouldn't be able to defend himself.” Conrad stood. “I would move that I be named as regent pro tem to Chicago and be allowed to fight in John’s place.”

There was again gasping, and assorted giggling around the table, but John took note of Veronica's smile as it widened slightly.

The guy in the sunglasses stood and knocked on the table for order and attention. “The law clearly states that this is out of the question, and it makes no allowances for a mage to be able to defend himself in a duel. It is only defined as a test of skill and knowledge.”

“Yes,” countered Conrad, “but John is still a student and has only rudimentary skills at best. He has not been tested, and he is not a full mage yet.”

“This is true, the law is clear that students may not duel.” Shades paused. “I would put it to a vote then. Conrad may take on John as a student for two months to complete his training; once it is completed, he is to face Veronica in a duel. All in favor?”

There were scattered 'aye's' around the table.             

“Opposed?”

There was silence.

“It is settled then: In two months, a place and time of the duel will be arranged and in the meantime, John is under Conrad's protection and tutelage. This conclave is concluded.”

“What about Peter?” Veronica was happy with the outcome but still had more on her agenda.

“What about Peter?” answered the man in sunglasses.

“He's my student; we can't leave him to the FBI. They need to answer to the law.”

“Veronica.” The man's voice softened a tone. “The law is clear that Peter is to be killed before he reveals secrets if he is a student. If he's not a student, then there is nothing we can do, and it will be up to you. Consider it a kindness that I am not tabling the issue.”

John watched Veronica survey the faces around the table. She had friends and allies but not enough, and it was clear that people were willing to inflict any injury they could. John enjoyed watching her confused, helpless, and angry. For a moment, Veronica locked eyes with him, and John wondered how a woman who was so shockingly beautiful could be so cold and ruthless.

“Come along, John. We had best enjoy our small victories while we can.” Conrad led John back to the elevator and once the doors closed he smiled and said; “That could have been a lot worse.”

“How?”

“They could have accepted my bid to fight in your place. That little bitch is scary.” Conrad laughed softly.

John was not amused.