The Magician: An Epic Dark Fantasy Novel: Book One of the Rogue Portal Series (25 page)

              Producing another fire ball she launched it at him, following it up with yet another from her other hand. One of them knocked him to the ground, and the other singed his crimson hat.

              "That was my good hat," he said, brushing his hands off as though nothing had happened to him.

              Extending both hands with a smile, he thrust them upwards into the air. Thunder crashed around them, but it wasn't outside - it was inside. The ceiling was soon covered with dark clouds, and lightning struck a chair to her left, lighting it on fire.

              "It's a pity fire is the element you have control over, love!" he shouted over the storm, "Given that it's so easily quenched. Although I must say, I'm surprised you remember how to use any of your powers."

              When he said the word quenched, he looked skyward and rain began to pour from the clouds, drenching the library with freezing rain. She extended her hand again, knowing it would do no good, but hoping to prove him wrong anyway.

              "I remember all of my powers!"

              "Perhaps, but precious few are available here, aren't they, my dear?"

              "You'll never win, Rumsfeld. Maybe a battle here and there. Maybe this battle. But not the war."

              "Oh, come now. You know that wars are won and lost in the battles."

              "But you have a great many left to lose."

              She produced the library key from her pocket and held it between her middle and first finger like a dagger. Running at him she thrust the key toward his neck, but he caught her by
her
neck instead. She extended a hand and produced a purple ball. He loosened his grip, surprised that she still had the ability to use that spell. She was surprised, too. It had been so long.

              Hurling her hand toward him, she sent the purple ball of light past him and into the ground. It lit up the sky with lightning and the library roared with thunder. A lightning strike came down and hit Rumsfeld's cane, sending a shock through his hand. He screamed, holding his hand and turning his back on Kit for a moment.

              She took the opportunity.

              Her feet pounded across the library and around a corner. Heading down an aisle of books, she continued through the maze of volumes, floor to ceiling, like a rat running from a predator. After several zigs and zags she rested against one of the shelves.

              "You run like you think you can get away from me."

              She closed her eyes, zeroing in on him, finding his location on the invisible but clear map that appeared in her mind. Opening her eyes once more, she heard his steps loud and clear, even over the thunder and lightning strikes. Readying her hand, she waited. Closer. Closer.

              Finally, when she knew he was only one or two aisles away, she produced another purple orb of light, stood as quietly as she could, and sent it through the shelves toward him. The orb ripped through the aisles with such force that it toppled three of the shelves, and it sent Rumsfeld flying backwards. He landed on his back.

              If she could produce on more purple orb, she could send it through the mirror and into the Void. It wouldn't do much, but it would cause a stir, a shift, and would alert all the faithful that a change was coming. Sure, the shift would occur soon enough, but if she could do it now...

              She ran over to Rumsfeld and kicked his face. He tried to stand but she stomped on his back and he fell to the ground.

              "You're not as strong as you used to be, Rumsfeld," she said. "Getting weak?"

              With that, she ran toward the mirror and stood in front of it as Rumsfeld struggled to stand. She had little time; he'd find his way to her sooner than later. Taking a deep breath, she held her hand in front of her and tried once more to create a purple orb. Nothing.

             
Focus, Kit!
Another breath, another reach of the hand - nothing.

              She looked to her right. Rumsfeld ran toward her, slower than usual but fast enough to warrant concern. In a last ditch effort, she held up her hand. A purple orb appeared. Smiling, she reached her hand up, ready to send it through the mirror.

              Hands gripped her from behind, choking her. Rumsfeld spun her around and planted her against the wall next to the mirror, holding her by the neck with one hand and deactivating the orb with the other. He lifted her up in front of him, smiling like a snake that had just captured its victim.

              "Nice try. But you always knew how this would end. Time to get back to where you belong, Kit," he said through gritted teeth, his eyes throwing daggers at her.

              He sent her backwards and she braced for the impact of her back against glass. But the glass never came. Instead she landed on a soft tuft of green grass. Finding her feet, she looked around in a panic. She knew exactly where she was. She'd been there before, but a long time had passed since then. Trees taller than any on Earth rose above her, and mossy plants covered the ground, making a soft layer of natural carpeting. Flowers were abundant and in full bloom. It should have been the most relaxing place on Earth, but instead of peace she felt even more panic.

              Looking in front of her she could see an enormous silver mirror nestled between two willows, and through it the library and Rumsfeld standing in front of the mirror with a grin of satisfaction on his face. Running toward the portal she pounded feverishly on it with both fists.

              "YOU HAVE TO LET ME BACK!" she screamed.

              "Oh, that won't be happening, my dear. What's wrong? Afraid your lover and his friends won't be able to manage without you?"

              "This isn't over, Rumsfeld. He's going to figure it out. He's going to find his way back. And when he does, you're dead. Do you hear me!? You're DEAD!"

              "We'll see about that," he said, smiling. Within another moment he had disappeared entirely from view.

TWENTY-FIVE

⌛

              Connor walked the grounds of the hotel in solitude. The rest of the group had gone out for lunch, and he took the opportunity to enjoy some much-needed solitude. He checked his watch. Time to get back before they sent out the rescue squad.

              Walking through the hotel room door he found Hazel and Stuart already studying the book. No Kit. Three hours had passed since they'd last seen her, and the growing sense of dread crept into his throat, threatening to choke him. Something wasn't right.

              "No Kit?" he asked.

              Hazel shook her head. Stuart didn't even bother to look up, and continued to turn pages back and forth in the book as though the subject didn't matter.

              "Anyone else concerned about this?"

              Hazel spread her arms as though she had nothing to offer, and Stuart seemed not to hear him at all. His pulse quickened, and he turned back toward the door.

              "Where are you going?" Hazel's sweet voice unnerved him.

              "To look for our friend. Since nobody else seems to give a damn."

              He added the last part under his breath, but loud enough so they could hear. He thought Hazel might take it to heart, but didn't think Stuart would hear him - or care.
Just as well.

              Opening the hotel room door, he felt his pockets. One still had the sapphire stone that the small creature had handed him. The one that had saved his life. He'd stowed it away once he'd found himself in the woods. The other pocket still had the small box that held the library key.

              The hallway greeted him with the same mixed aroma of bleach and air freshener so typical of hotels. The soft carpet felt foreign beneath his feet. The chandeliers seemed false and imposing. Nothing felt right.

              He rode the elevator to the ground floor with tense muscles and a clenched jaw. The ground floor arrived without incident, and he let out a sigh of relief, turning down the hallway to the back exit.

              He paused for a moment.
If I were Kit, where would I go?
he thought. A memory of a lake just beyond the woods answered him. Might as well. The cool air invigorated his senses, and he jogged toward the pool of water.

              He reached the lake. Nothing. Empty benches sat like tombstones by the water, and save for a single crow that flew across the surface of the lake then flew into the sky, the place was devoid of person and creature alike. Standing in one spot, he turned in a full circle, looking for any sign of her. He found none.

              Running his hand through his hair, he sighed.
Come on, Connor, think.
He took beleaguered steps toward the bench and sat down. All his thoughts mingled together in a mental ball of yarn he had neither the focus nor the strength to untangle. Coffee sounded good.

              He jumped to his feet.
Coffee!
Of course. Kit drank more coffee than most people he knew combined. The coffee shop provided the perfect place to get away. He jogged more than he walked along the way there.

              After traveling the block or so between the hotel and the coffee shop, he swung the glass door open and looked around. A few college students studying with ear buds in place, a man masquerading as a business executive who had nothing better to do than conduct his emailing from a place with free Wi-Fi and poor company, and a couple who'd mistaken the place for a hotel room. Other than that, nothing. He scanned the table tops looking for her bag.

              "Hey you wanna move, man?"

              He jumped and stepped to the side as a burly man in an ill-fitting suit shoved past him, sweating profusely despite the overcast weather, and reeking of too much cologne and shouldering his laptop bag like a bow and quiver. 

              Connor rolled his eyes and threw the door open, taking his anger and frustration out on the pavement as he walked back to the hotel. Maybe she'd come back since he'd been gone. Maybe...

              He fumbled with the key to the hotel door. His hands shook, and he took a deep breath, steadying himself. Trying the key once more, he managed to open the door. Hazel and Stuart still sat, as calm as could be, studying the book.

              "I can't find her anywhere," Connor said.

              "Did you check the coff--"

              "Yes, Stuart, I checked the coffee shop. I checked the woods. I checked the lake. I checked everywhere. And I don't understand why you're so calm about this! If it were any one of us she'd be out there trying to find us. You know it."

              He pulled out his phone and texted Kit.

             
Kit, text me back. I'm worried sick. Can't find you anywhere. I'm sorry about what I said before. Just let me know you're okay.

              Slipping his phone back in his pocket he walked to Hazel and Stuart.

              "Do you guys have any other ideas? Did she say anything about somewhere she wanted to go? Anything at all?"

              "Not really," said Hazel.

              "You're overreacting. She's probably just cooling down."

              "Oh really, Stuart? For..." he checked his watch "four hours? Even for Kit that's a bit excessive, don't you think?"

              "She's fine. Leave it alone."

              His state of calm disturbed him, and he shivered.
Creepy.
He'd only seen Stuart act this way once before. The cold detachment reminded him of the day Eleanor possessed him. Hadn't Rumsfeld said something about a mission? Maybe this was the beginning of Stuart's transformation into something different.

              It didn't matter right now. All he wanted to do was find Kit. He picked up his phone and called her.

              "This is Kit. Wait for the beep. Do your thing."

              He smiled briefly at the greeting. It was so much like her. Hearing her voice made him miss her even more, and heightened his anxiety.

              "Guys it went straight to voice mail."

              At this Hazel showed some amount of concern.

              "That's not like her. She may disappear, or ignore a call, but she'd never shut her phone off."

              Connor nodded, and Hazel put a hand to her mouth, her standard thinking posture.

              "I'm telling you, you're overreacting. I'm sure Kit is just fine, Dearie."

              Connor's heart dropped to his stomach, and Hazel took a step back, staring at him with a panicked look.

              "What did you call me?" Connor replied.

              "I'm telling you to calm down. She's just fine."

              "You can't possibly know that, and your lack of concern is a little infuriating. Don't you even care where she is?"

              "No. I care that she's okay. And I'm sure she is."

              "Stuart, she's basically missing and you're going to sit there calm and collected like you know something we don't? If you'd gone missing she'd be everywhere looking for you. But you're sitting here looking through a damn book!"

              "I don't like your tone."

              "And I don't like your attitude right now! You know who you remind me of? Rumsfeld. The last time I saw you this way was the night of the video. You remember, Stuart. Maybe you're still possessed after all, huh? Maybe bird lady got to you more than you think!"

              "Stuart what's he talking about?"

              Hazel's brow creased, and she took a few more steps backwards, not wanting any part of the confrontation, but seeming to have developed a newfound distrust of Stuart. Stuart never took his eyes off Connor, and now they stood face to face.

              "Stuart! What's he talking about?"

              He refused to answer.

              "STUART!"

              "It's none of your damn business!"

              He yelled at Hazel, but stared at Connor, and Connor refused to take his eyes off the irate man in front of him.
Unhinged
. That was the word that came to mind. Rage coursed through his veins, and Hazel began to cry.

              "What the hell is your problem?" Connor asked.

              "Back off, Galveston!"

              In an instant Connor understood what it meant to snap. He took Stuart by the shoulders and pinned him against the nearest wall, putting his face mere inches away from Stuart's. Hazel tried to reach out, but then thought better of it and backed up. Connor shouted at Stuart as loud as he could.

              "You don't have the right to run all over people! Snap out of it! I don't know what the hell has gotten into you, but until you figure it out I don't want you in this room! You're not going to make people cry and act like a dictator as long as there's something I can do about it."

              Connor threw him to the ground, unnerved that he wouldn't fight back, and stormed across the room. Hazel ran over to Stuart's crumpled visage, taking his hand in hers.

              "What's he talking about? What possession? What bird lady?"

              Her questions came like bullets from a machine gun, but she spoke them with the softness and sincere concern that only Hazel could muster in such a situation. Stuart raised himself to a standing position.

              "Stuart, talk to me. What's wrong? What happened? Whatever it is, it's fine, I just want to--"

              Connor turned around just in time to see Stuart take Hazel by the shoulders and throw her. She hit the wall hard and landed on the floor. Hazel screamed and began to cry, putting shaking hands to her mouth, and Stuart stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

              The slamming door shook Connor out of his stunned paralysis, and he ran over to Hazel, helping her sit up.

              "Are you okay?"

              "I'm fine."

              "Are you sure? He...I..."

              "I know. I'm fine. Really, Connor, I'm fine."

              She smiled, but the incident had robbed her of her joyful expression and sparkling eyes.

              "If you're sure."

              "I'm sure."

              "I'm so sorry. I don't know what's gotten into him."

              "I don't, either. But I know one thing?"

              She looked at him with a gaze of deep concern that reminded him of the girl he'd seen in the woods.

              "What's that?" he replied.

              "We've got to figure out what's going on. And fast. Before whatever it is tears us apart entirely."

              "Agreed."

              "I'll take the
Almanac
, you take the stack of books?"

              "Sounds good," he said. "Let's put an end to this."