Magic's Design (34 page)

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Authors: Cat Adams

BOOK: Magic's Design
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Alexy nodded. “I know you’ve reason to want to chase him, Mila … possibly every bit as good a reason as us, since you probably lost some ancestors at his hand. But you don’t know our culture … our ways, and as a guildercent, you—”
She let out a harsh angry breath. “Y’know, I’m really sick of hearing that
guildercent
word from all of you. Apparently, you see it as the equivalent of being a little … slow. Well, guess what? I’m
not
a guildercent.” Tal looked up in horror and grabbed her arm to stop her but she yanked it away. “No, Tal. Damn it. I don’t give a shit about what these two think of me. I’m Parask, okay? Half-mage, and half-conjurer. And I just worked my butt off for the better part of a day trying to save your precious Tree and
did
. Look up. Enjoy your sky, and don’t tell me that I’m stupid or foolish or
misguided.
Look, Tal. I told you last night that I trusted you, and I’m only asking you to trust me in return. I
know
this is right. I don’t understand why or how, but I
know
just like I knew how to fix the Tree. Please, believe me.
Trust me.
”
He closed his eyes, trying to think. But there were too many things to consider, too many consequences. He felt his head shaking and when he opened his eyes again, hers were wounded and filled with tears. “Fine. I know where I stand. Go do whatever the hell you want, go wherever you think is best to save your world. But I’m going back to Denver, and to the
Palace Hotel
, to try to save mine.”
“Mila, wait.” He stood up, wanting to say … something, but she stormed off down the street, muttering under her breath. While he watched, open-mouthed, she walked up to the gate—a
dirtdog
gate, and passed through as though she’d crafted it.
The others were looking up, and up, into the vivid blue sky that was chewing away at the stark stone roof with each second that passed. Warm sun began to shine down on them, and the few people remaining in the city came out of buildings and homes to stare … and then to cheer and dance.
“Tal?”Kris’s voice was filled with a stunned sort of awe. “What exactly did she mean that she
saved the Tree?
”
He sighed and wondered if there were any shops left that had ingredients for coffee or tea. Because this was going to be a
long
conversation.
 
“
S
tupid, stubborn—” She searched for the right word as she stepped through the gate into the library. “—
man!
”
An older gentleman, sitting at a table flipping pages of a large reference book, involuntarily jumped and turned wide eyes to her.
“Oops. I’m sorry.”
His wide eyes narrowed in annoyance and he whispered with a small growl, “Weren’t you taught any manners, young lady?
Some
of us are trying to concentrate.”
She felt heat flood her cheeks and lowered her eyes to the floor, properly humiliated. But at least he hadn’t noticed her walking out of a glowing gateway where the fire door normally was. Better he was mildly annoyed than racing screaming down the hallway.
That’s something, I guess.
Still, her gratitude didn’t last more than five steps before her annoyance and frustration returned.
I can’t believe he’d pick them over me! Who do those people think they are? We were going on, perfectly well—
Of course, she’d never been able to have a decent rant even in her own mind without her voice of reason arguing—always in Candy’s best sarcastic voice.
Sure, Mila. Why in the world would he stay with his partner, who’s also a detective, and his sister? I mean, after all—he could stay here with
you …
the woman he’s known a whopping two days.
“Three. And I’m right. I know I am.” At least her voice had lowered to a quiet murmur. Always a good thing when talking to yourself.
Then prove it.
Well, why not? This was a library, after all. If there was a reason why Vegre was going to attack Denver, it should be in here. She looked down the long hallway, shelves of books in wide rows as far as she could see.
Yep, somewhere, in one of these books on one of the floors was probably the answer.
It made her laugh, albeit with a slightly hysterical edge. More people looked up and she covered her mouth.
She put her hands on her hips and let out a deep breath. “Well, okay—let’s think about this logically. If I can still do that after all this.” She rolled her eyes and started to walk toward the nearest librarian station.
If he’s planning to raise a volcano, then …
geology.
“Excuse me?” A petite, elderly woman, who was typing at a computer station behind the desk looked up. “Where would I find books on Denver’s geology?”
The woman raised brows and chuckled. “You aren’t anywhere close to the right section. This is Western History.” In moments, Mila was holding a tri-fold map of the stacks and heading toward the elevator. Her feet stuttered to a stop when she overheard someone talking at another reference desk. A middle-aged man in an expensive business suit, with a red power tie, had been tapping his fingers impatiently on the desk as she approached. But there was no one behind it, so he started looking around. Finally, he spotted someone wheeling a book cart slowly toward the desk and walked toward the man with clipped steps.
“Pardon me, but where do you keep the Colorado statutes, and are they up to date? Someone took
both
copies of Volume 7B out of the law library and I’ve got twenty minutes before court. Do you have one?”
Law. Court.
Shit
. I should be at work! Her eyes moved up to the clock over the elevator doors.
Eleven? Geez, half the day is already gone!
But her cell phone was in her purse, which was locked in the trunk of her car. Her musing was interrupted by the dinging of a car arriving so she got inside. As soon as the door closed, she felt a gurgling in her gut and bile rise into her throat. She’d
never
, in the ten years at the firm, taken such a cavalier attitude toward being at the office on time, and it really made her wonder where her head was.
Another gurgle and a cramp. Nothing like the intrusion of reality to make a person’s stomach go insane. Instead of pressing the button for the floor she’d planned, she pressed the Lobby button. She fished in the pocket of her coat and found two spare quarters that had worked through a tiny hole and were now clinking together near the zipper stay.
“Pay phone?” she asked the woman at the information desk on her way past.
“Down the hallway near the bathroom.” She pointed across the wide-tiled entry toward a small sign on the opposite wall.
Work first. Then get to the car, get the cell phone. Call Mom and call Candy. While she hadn’t forgotten about Baba and Suzanne, and wanted to know if anyone had heard from them, Mom must be frantic.
But another cramp made her add
use bathroom
to the list before making the call, which was fine, because someone was using the telephone when she rounded the corner into the small entryway. Five minutes later, she was feeling a little better, and calmer, as she finished drying her hands on the front of her jeans and dropped the coins in the slot of the now vacant phone.
“Good morning, Sanders, Harris & Hoote … how may I direct your call?”
She let out a sigh of relief, her mind hurrying to come up with a sufficient lie. “Rachel? It’s Mila. Man, I
really
overslept. Damn cold medicine. I still feel like crap, though. Is anything going on?”
Her friend snorted. “Hardly. It’s just me and the crickets today. It’s a tomb in here, other than up on twenty-four. Bookkeeping’s going full bore, trying to get paychecks ready since we’ll be closed on the first. Really. Nobody’s here to care if you stay home. Please …
stay
home. I feel pretty good for a change. I’d like to stay that way.”
She nodded, relief flowing through her. But then a crazy idea occurred to her. “If any of the partners ask, tell them I’m spending the afternoon at the Palace to make sure everything’s on track for the party.” Maybe there was something about the
building
that made it important. She had a free pass to wander around there … especially today. Nobody would even question the woman with the clipboard being followed closely by the banquet director and concierge.
“Will do. Can’t imagine who would ask, except maybe Tom Harris. But even Mr. Anal-Retentive hasn’t shown up yet, so I doubt anyone will care. But I’ll tell them. Feel better, sweetie. I’ll see you at the party, right?”
She nodded, even though Rachel couldn’t see it. “With bells on.”
And possibly a variety of other weapons.
That thought made her nearly drop the handset.
Weapons … yeah right.
She began to bonk her forehead lightly against the stainless steel plate covering the phone workings as she hung up the receiver.
What
weapons? What the hell was she going to do, even if she was right? She didn’t
own
a gun, couldn’t use knives beyond chopping vegetables, and couldn’t even raise a candle flame with magic. Hell, he could probably burn her shoes to a crisp before she could kick him. And she could just imagine the laughter if she walked into the party with the police and announced, “Officer, arrest that man!” and pointed at one of the political elite of Denver.
And even if she could get him to reveal his plan, what then? It’d be the best joke of the party. “Why yes, Mila. I
am
the dark mage, Vegre. I plan to use glowing chicken eggs to raise a volcano right here in
my
very own hotel, and then harness the sun to turn the planet into a winter wonderland so all the magical people underground can come live here. Yep. That’s me. What are you going to do about it?”
She couldn’t help but beat a fist against the wall and laugh, even though it came out as nearly a sob. “Crap.”
It was no good. It was completely hopeless to try to save Denver without the people who could fight against him.
But that didn’t mean she shouldn’t try.
She squared her shoulders and followed her map to the Earth Sciences section. It wasn’t long before she was seated at a table, surrounded by books on geology. Unfortunately, by the time she’d seen words like
pluton
and
tertiary
a dozen or more times, she was completely confused. She was definitely going to need more time to decipher the language, so she made copies of the pages that offered a “geologic tour of the Front Range” and then returned the books to where she’d found them.
As she walked out of the library, a stack of papers rolled up and tucked in her pocket, she realized the city was blanketed with white. Another storm had come sometime during the night, and snow was piled high down the edges of the sidewalk.
And me without gloves
. She should have tucked a pair in her pocket before leaving the Tree, but hindsight being what it was, all she could do was zip up her coat a little higher and tuck her hands deep into the down-filled pockets. The temperature wasn’t really very cold, but the brisk wind was enough to take her breath away.
She was just glad she’d parked in a lot rather than on the street, as she passed by yet another tow truck removing vehicles illegally parked in the snow route where they’d get in the way of the plows.
She’d just stepped up to her car and pulled her keys from her pocket when she heard her name from down the next aisle of parked cars. “Mila?”
She froze, desperately thinking what to say as her mother and sister approached her. Baba was probably still missing, and there might be a warrant out for her arrest by now. And what to even say to her mother, who cast a spell on her to make her forget most of her childhood? All she could think to do was smile and bluff. “Hey, Mom. What are you guys doing downtown?”
Her mother put her hands on her hips, head buried so deep into a poofy hood that she could be a character on
South Park
. “I should ask you the same thing. Where in the world
were
you last night? We were supposed to have dinner. I called and called.”
There was no reason to fake being embarrassed. “Sorry, Mom. I got tied up.” That was at least the truth. Then an idea occurred to her. She pulled out her dye-stained hands. “I was teaching a friend how to make pysanky. Time sort of got away from us, so I stayed over.”
Her mother rolled her eyes. “Oh for heaven’s sake. You and those eggs. I thought you’d given up that silly hobby years ago. It’s nothing but a waste of time and money.”
It wasn’t a
hobby
and she knew it! The anger roared back in a flash and she felt her hands clench into fists. Her mother’s actions might well have doomed the entire world. Why should she protect her from that knowledge?
She took a step forward, and saw their eyes widen at her aggressive posture. “Hobby?
Hobby?
You know damned well it isn’t a hobby, Mother!”
“Mila!” The shocked tone of her voice didn’t match the sudden discomfort in her eyes. Her sister could only stare open-mouthed at them both. But she too was noticing that their mom’s outrage didn’t match her face. It made her eyes narrow with vague suspicion.
“You want to know where I was last night, Mom? I was in
Agathia,
doing my best to prevent the next great plague.” The discomfort on Clara Penkin’s face turned to panic and her knees started to buckle, causing Sarah to grab her arm to help support her. A part of Mila wanted to rush to her to keep her standing, but she was just too angry. She could only step closer and stare down at the woman whose stricken face had turned ashen.
“How
dare
you steal my memories—all the times with Baba and Dad! What about Sarah? Did you do it to her, too? Is she Parask, too?”
Sarah’s eyes widened in shock, before she turned to look at their mother. She opened her mouth to say something, but her mother spoke first after a single shake of her head.
“Mage. Sarah took after your father.” Then her chin came up, and tears began to flow down her cheeks. “They killed your father, Mila. They
killed
him! You don’t understand what they’re capable of. I had to protect you from them. Had to protect you
both
so I didn’t lose you, too.”
She’d sunk down until she was crumpled in the dirty puddles on the concrete and began to shake with quiet tears.
Sarah didn’t know what to do, with her mother clutching her leg, sobbing and snuffling. She looked up, concerned and confused. “Mila? What’s this about? What are you guys talking about?”
“You used to start fires when you were little, Sarah. Do you remember that? Not playing with matches, but starting fires with little stones that Dad gave you.”
Sarah’s brow furrowed and she stared down at the sand-covered sidewalk while stroking her mother’s hair. “A little. I remember playing with Dad out by the old barbeque in the backyard. We’d start fires and then cook dinner. I like fire. It’s why I cook with a gas stove. What does that have to do with anything?”
“But you’re not pure Parask. You can’t be.” Her mother’s voice was a whisper, filled with pain and fear.

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