Legend of the Sorcerer (6 page)

“I can have my editor contact you to work out whatever contractual need you have. You’ll get copyrights to it and all that.” He grinned. “Alfred would love this.”

“Alfred?”

“My grandfather. He collects unusual sculpture, for his garden. I’ll have to tell him about your work.”

“That’s very nice of you, but I … I don’t have anything for sale right now.” Jordy worked hard to block out the feeling of failure. “I’ll be glad to talk to whoever I need to. But as for the sketch …” She paused. A large part of her wanted to tell him no, wanted to hoard this first step, as a reminder that her art was always inside her somewhere. She just had to let the creature out. “It’s yours, but I don’t want money, okay? It’s payment enough that you want it, that it found its place.”

His grin faded. “You really have to, I insist. This is no small thing you’ve done.”

“You don’t understand. It’s just right this way.” And it was. Making the dragon a gift was sort of her way to celebrate the first step to rediscovering her talent.

“You said you used to create these things for a living. You don’t any longer?”

He really didn’t miss anything. “Not for a while. I’m … working on getting back to it.”

He looked at her in that penetrating way of his, but he mercifully changed the subject. “You know, I think I’ve
talked to more people today than I have in the last two months.”

“You write about people, but you don’t talk to many?”

“When did you last spend time with a dragon?”

She smiled. “Touché.”

“I stay pretty secluded. Helps me stay focused.”

“I understand that completely. When I work on a new sculpture, I hole myself away for weeks at a time.” And it was precisely that penchant for burying her head in her fantasy world that ultimately had allowed Suzanne to screw her over.

Sgt. Winston chose that moment to push through the station doors. “Mr. L’Baan, I’m glad I caught you. I have Special Agent Proctor on the line. We could expedite things if you’d come in and talk to him.”

Cai looked from Jordy to the officer.

“It’s okay. I really should be getting back.” Cai fascinated her, but he also overwhelmed her. It might be wiser to keep some distance.

“I really want to talk to you more. About the drawing. About a lot of things.”

“The sketch is yours. I’ll sign whatever release you need. I’ll be here for two more weeks.”

“Two weeks?” He frowned.

From their talks with the police, he knew she’d been vacationing here from Virginia, but not why. He knew she’d come back with the pictures and taken the job, but that was it. “The regular counselor will be back after that.”

“You’ll go back to Virginia?”

Jordy found her gaze drawn to the dragon. It symbolized so much, but so much more lay ahead. “Yes. I’ll be going home.” The statement rang in her head like a death knell. She really needed to work on that.

“You’d better hurry. Sergeant Winston is waiting. “I’m glad the dragon works, Cai. More than you can know.”

He said nothing as she slid into her car and closed the door. She saw him disappear into the building in her rearview mirror as she pulled out of the lot. “Good-bye, Malacai L’Baan,” she whispered.

It was almost dark by the time Cai reached the dock at Crystal Key. The whole thing was proving to be a nightmare. He was heartsick that someone out there was suffering because they happened to be a fan of his work.

But his mind was also on Jordy. She’d been invading his thoughts all afternoon, even when he’d been grilled by Special Agent Proctor. He was going to have to bring in his whole CPU for them to examine. He understood that it was to help exonerate him from being part of this in any way, but it was a major pain. He’d been able to convince Agent Proctor not to come to Crystal Key. He’d said it would be problematic for his ailing grandfather. If Alfred knew how poorly he’d portrayed him to the police, he’d have had a full-blown fit.

But it was his fervent hope that Alfred would know nothing of this. Ever.

He looked up and found Dilys standing a few feet away. “Himself is worried about ye being gone fer so long.”

Dilys could handle Alfred better than Cai could himself, so if she was concerned enough to meet him out here, Alfred must really be on the warpath.

“I’m sorry,” he said, never more sincere. “It couldn’t be helped.”

She said nothing, merely turned and began heading to the house. Then just as suddenly, she said, “If I were you, I’d tell him you were on a date. That would divert him.”

Cai’s mouth opened in surprise. It was rare, bordering on historic, for Dilys to comment on his social life. “How do you know I wasn’t?” he said, damning himself for
sounding so defensive. But he thought of Jordy and wondered how far from the truth it was. Or could have been if the circumstances had been different. “And divert him from what exactly?”

“Ye might think him senile, Master Malacai, but himself knows things are amiss. Do as I say, if ye have the heart in ye I know to be there.” Without waiting for him to reply, she left Cai alone to face God knew what.

J
ordy finished her last class of the week and headed up to her room. She’d had eight kids today, all apparently on some sort of sugar high. Perhaps finger painting hadn’t been such a great idea. She smiled as she scraped a glob of red off her shoulder. Okay, so she’d had fun too, but she was beat.

She’d looked forward to a late afternoon sketching session. But right now, she was too tired to even doodle. She would have to settle for a long, numbing shower and a cold drink on the balcony.

There was a light flashing on the phone in her room when she returned. “Who called, Fred?” She took a peek in his bowl as she toed out of her sandals.

It was from Eileen Mason, Cai’s editor. Jordy had already spoken to the woman twice. Eileen reminded her a little bit of Suzanne. But unlike Suzanne, Eileen didn’t waste time on things like finesse or charm, which had been her former partner’s stock and trade. No bullshit with Eileen. Jordy appreciated that.

Eileen was suspicious of anyone who didn’t make demands and had bluntly told her it would be easier if they paid her for the sketch, if for no other reason than she would be less likely to come back and sue them later. Jordy
assured her that the very last thing she’d ever do would be to sue anyone, but Eileen wasn’t having it. So ten minutes into the first call, she’d relented on the payment deal.

Cai hadn’t been involved in any of it.

Even though she’d pulled out of the police station five days ago thinking she’d never see him again, deep down she had hoped otherwise. She’d talked to the State Department agents, but Cai hadn’t been there. A box had shown up at the desk for her mid-week, filled with a stack of books, one of which was the hardcover of Cai’s newest release. The book that had started the whole mess. He’d signed them to her, but no personal message was included.

There was no reason to see him again.

She had one week left as camp counselor, then it was home to Virginia. No crazed fans, no police interrogation.

No enigmatic writer with whom she had no business getting involved.

She sat up on the edge of the bed and carefully dragged off her paint-splattered T-shirt and shorts. She picked up the sketch pad, flipping past the pages. Most of her work since the dragon had come slowly, so she tried hard not to analyze it too critically. She had begun to recapture the passion. Now that she didn’t expect each drawing to be a stroke of genius, she didn’t fear imperfection.

Passion. She recalled the exact moment the passion had returned. Her heart had pounded … but for an entirely different reason.

She wanted to flip right to it, to look at it, both with a critical eye and out of sheer curiosity to see once again what had come out of her last night. She made herself glance through her other attempts first. There was the griffin she thought had turned out fairly well. It wouldn’t work in clay, but there was a spark there. There was a smaller dragon she kind of liked. She stopped pretending and
flipped past the rest, stopping abruptly at the page filled with smaller, partial sketches.

This is where it had started. She’d wanted—needed—to draw him. She tilted her head and studied the series of thumbnail sketches. She’d been right. He was difficult to capture in a monochrome exercise. Charcoal hadn’t done it. Nor had pen and ink. He needed color. Watercolors were too transparent. Not enough power to carry off the effect. She’d never dabbled in oils, but she thought that might be the perfect medium. He demanded color, texture, depth.

And yet she yearned to bring him to life in clay. To find those hollows and smooth planes, urge them to the surface, and clean away the excess until all that remained was the raw power of his image. The intensity of that need shocked her. And thrilled her. It was coming back.

And it had been Malacai L’Baan that had drawn it forth. Or, more specifically, her fascination with him that had.

She didn’t care. She needed something to get her started, to break down the walls that two years of facing demoralizing, painful realities had built up.

She’d begun by teasing herself with the sweep of his jaw, the finely curved lips and the high formality of his forehead. She ran her forefinger over the sharply drawn lines of his cheek, then the loose strands of hair that danced around his face, just like they did in the constant tropical breeze.

The next image had come at her from nowhere. Fully realized and more completely detailed than her regular work, it had overwhelmed her. Once she started, she’d been totally immersed in it, the pen moving faster and faster.

She paused before turning the page. What if, in the light of day, it was awful? Her fingers tensed. She stared at it, the drawing that had flowed from her like a torrent. God, how long had it been since she’d felt that rush?

It was all she remembered and more.

The first image to emerge had been a gargoyle, not too
fierce, but not at all whimsical. Another matched it and behind them a deep brooding forest. A far more complex sketch began to evolve than her preliminary sculpture drawings had ever entailed. But the details came into her mind fast and furious and she faithfully released them onto the page.

The gargoyles seemed to be guarding a gate. To where she wasn’t certain. The great winged horse had come next, emerging from the dark mists wafting through the gnarled trees. Astride the winged beast sat a man.

She looked again at the face that had flowed so effortlessly from her hand. Malacai L’Baan.

She remembered sitting there, stunned at what she’d created, even as she was recording it. He’d pulled at her then. He pulled at her now.

Feeling like a moonfaced teenager, Jordy flipped the book shut and tossed it on the bed.

It was just the connection of what he did for a living, she convinced herself, and her job of bringing fantastical beings to life, that had her so obsessed with him. She turned toward the bathroom, frowning. As if he needed anyone else obsessing over him at the moment.

The sudden jarring ring of the phone made her jump.

“Yes, this is Miss Decker,” she replied to the elegant, British-accented query.

“This is Alfred L’Baan.”

“Cai’s grandfather?”

“Why, yes, yes indeed. He’s spoken of me to you, then?”

He sounded delighted by the prospect, making Jordy smile. “Yes, he did. You must be calling about my sculptures. I’m very sorry, but I told Cai I have no inventory at the moment.”

“Sculptures, you say? Well, now, isn’t this an even more pleasant turn of events.”

“You didn’t know?”

“I called to speak with the woman whose imagination spawned that delightful dragon Malacai has been mooning over.”

Mooning? Mooning was good. Jordy instantly corrected herself. No, no it wasn’t good. Hadn’t she decided that she wasn’t down here to get involved? Nevertheless she couldn’t seem to wipe the grin from her face.

“I’m glad that worked out for him. It was just a coincidence, really. I doodle when I’m distracted and the dragon simply evolved. He saw it and thought it would be perfect for a book cover.”

“I understood that Cai met with you to look over your designs. Do you have others?”

Now it was Jordy’s turn to pause. What exactly
had
Cai told Alfred? Could it be he didn’t know about the kidnapping? “I’m working, but I don’t have a portfolio.”

“Do you sculpt delightful creatures such as the dragon?”

Jordy ignored the tiny stab of doubt that hit her when he said the word “sculpt.” “My work is typically more on the whimsical side, yes.”

“Malacai spoke of my garden to you, I presume. I have a strong affinity for whimsy, as you call it. No faith in what could be, in this world today. Too much black and white, not nearly enough gray. No belief in things not easily explained. Pity. What medium do you work in?”

It took a second to make the transition. “Clay mostly.” Something about him, his sincerity, maybe his charming accent, relaxed her. “I’ve tried to work in stone, but I find it rather cold, distant. I need to feel the movement of the piece as it takes shape. Clay has life inside it. Heart.” She laughed self-consciously. “That probably doesn’t make any sense.”