The Sword And The Pen (12 page)

Outside, the rain had stopped and the sun was trying to break through the clouds. Brandon hustled the protesting Hillary into her rental car. He took the keys and drove them home.

*** *** ***

I stood at the window and watched the wizard stride away. His changeable moods confused me. If he valued his "phone" more than his horseless conveyance, why had it taken him so long to express his anger over its destruction?

Outside, the wind blew dark clouds across the sky, bowed tree branches to the ground and churned the river to liquid metal. A familiar sense of impending danger hung in the air.

Even before I'd felt that first jolt of lightning and been transported into a world of nothingness, I'd been on edge. At the time I'd attributed it to the coming battle with Roark, but now I understood my unease had gone far deeper. At some level I'd become aware that all was not as it seemed in my world. Things shifted, leaving me with the strange feeling I was reliving events again and again, but each time with different outcomes. I felt disoriented. No one else ever seemed aware of what I sensed.

Inside, curled together in their box, a tangled pile of black, white and grey fur, the phelines slept. So far my guardianship of them hadn't bestowed any wisdom--forget wealth or power--on me. Still, their presence satisfied a need I hadn't realized existed in me. They were mine to guard and love.

Blue-white lightning streaked across the sky. An answering rumble of thunder preceded the patter of rain against the window.

Restless, I wandered through the wizard's house, flipping on the lights as I went. It amazed me how quickly I'd come to accept the marvels of his world: light and heat without fire, vehicles that moved under their own power, markets filled with goods without guards, people living without fear. The urge to remain in this world tempted me. But what of those left behind in Barue: Mauri, Jole, Hausic and the others? If I remained here, what would become of them? Real or not, I'd given my word to protect and defend them.

The room at the top of the stairs where the wizard claimed to perform his word magic drew me in. The chamber was well lit by the large expanse of windows along the far wall, despite the darkness of the storm outside. A flash of lightning brightened the sky for a moment. Thunder shook the glass. Rain battered against the window, too, and pounded the water of the rushing river. I turned my back on the tempest.

A large wooden desk and a leather chair dominated the center of the room; papers and writing sticks littered the surface. On one side of the desk sat a strange rectangular object with a dull silver face. A smaller, flatter object covered with raised square buttons sat in the middle. Thick, snakelike things of grey and black trailed off the window side of the desk, their ends connected to the wall.

Opposite the windows, someone had painted an idyllic mural. Outside a village of quaint homes and businesses, fields of ripening grain seemed to wave in the breeze. In the town, colorfully clad people strode the streets and merchants sold their wares. Further out, farmers tended their flocks. In the distance a mountain range rose indigo against a blue sky.

If not for Roark and his quest for power, this could be my world. Grief and anger exploded inside me. Enraged, I swept my hand across the desk. The smaller rectangle crashed to the floor. Like a flurry of large snowflakes, papers flew into the air. Crumpling a sheet in my fist I sank to my knees and screamed out in rage.

Why had I been offered this choice: go back to a mindless life of war and heartbreak, all without true consciousness, or remain here with freedom of thought and abandon all I'd once believed in? Real or not, I knew I couldn't live with myself if I did the latter. Abandoning my people to Roark was not an option; without honor, freedom meant nothing.

A new thought struck me: Could I persuade the wizard to use his magic to assist my people? Of course, he kept disavowing he had any power. And, despite the wonders of his world, nothing I'd seen had convinced me otherwise. The man had machines and miracles, but I'd seen no real magic.

Since arriving in the wizard's--no, Brandon's--world, all evidence pointed to the fact that he was not a wizard. No, I concluded that another great power toyed with both of us. But who that someone might be, and what purpose they might have I had yet to determine.

And no matter the sacrifice, with or without Brandon's help, I had to go back.

The sound of a melodious chime diverted my attention. I looked around, but could find no source for the sound.

"Hello? Is anyone home?" a female voice called. "Brandon, are you here?"

I moved to the top of the stairs and looked down. A woman stood just inside the front door. She didn't see me as she removed and hung up her dripping coat.

Before revealing my presence, I took a moment to study her. A pale pink sweater with a deep V neckline clung to her full bosom. White trousers hugged her legs. The high heels on her dainty sandals only emphasized her meager height. A thick fall of shoulder-length blonde hair hid her face from my view.

She looked up and I caught my breath. With pale, cream-colored skin, high cheekbones, full pink lips and eyes the color of a summer sky, she had the countenance of the seraphs I'd seen depicted on tapestries.

Her delicate brows drew together and her soft lips hardened into a thin line. Her visage changed from seraphic to devilish. "Who the hell are you? Don't tell me Brandon actually found another woman." Then she laughed, and the look of displeasure on her face dissolved into satisfaction.

Unsure of how to answer--a situation I didn't care for--I said nothing.

Hands on her hips, she tapped her foot. "Well, whoever you are, come on down. I won't bite."

Wary of this stranger, I went down the stairs. Given her small stature I had no fear of a physical confrontation, but her stance told me she had weapons that relied little on physical size. When I reached the bottom, she craned her neck up to look me in the face. Next to her petite form I felt large and awkward, in both body and thought.

"My, you are a tall one. I wouldn't have thought you were Brandon's type. Oh well, guess there's no accounting for taste. I'm Wanda." Though her words were dismissive, her friendly tone and winning smile negated the barb. She stuck out her hand. "Brandon's wife."

Though the wizard had mentioned a wife, the reality of this woman crushed something inside of me. This was the female men wanted--petite yet well rounded. Not that I aspired to be wanted by men. All I desired from a man was his loyalty and his sword in battle.

That lie soured my stomach. I knew I wanted much more, but was loath to admit it.

Suddenly I remembered. I gave Wanda a cold look. "He said you were no longer married." Why had the wizard discarded this woman, exactly? Or had she left him?

The woman let her hand and gaze drop. "Yeah, well, that's why I'm here." Some of the confidence drained out of her voice and manner. "Seems there was a mixup with the paperwork and we're not officially divorced. Since I'm about to get married again, I need him to sign some forms. Can I come in?"

"You're already in."

"Literal, aren't you?" She glanced up at my face then looked away. Without waiting for an answer to either question, she moved into the main room. I followed.

"Nice place. . .if you like the country. I never would have supposed Brandon would enjoy living this far from civilization. I'm definitely a city gal. Have you known Brandon long?"

I thought back to what the wizard had told me about his books and answered, "Ten years."

"What!" Shock and a bit of hurt flashed across her face; then she regained her composure. Brows drawn together, she gave me a searching look. "Hmm. I never read them, fantasy's not my thing, but you look a little like the character on the cover of his books. That explains a lot. Living with a writer is hard, isn't it?"

She assumed I lived with the wizard.

"Even when they're home, they aren't there, are they? Always lost in another world. I swear, the characters in Brandon's books were more real to him than I was." She giggled, but the sound held no humor.

I forced myself not to jump to Brandon's defense. Though, why I felt the need puzzled me.

"Bankers like my Daniel are so much easier. 9 to 5 every day, and the rest of his time and attention belongs to me. A woman needs to come first in her man's heart. Don't you agree?"

With that I couldn't argue.

"What's your name?"

"Seri."

"Where is he, and when will he be back?"

"Town. I don't know."

"Quite the chatterbox, aren't you? Do you mind if I wait here until he gets back?" Her tone suggested that she intended to do so whether I minded or not.

"As you please." I shrugged and started to leave.

She curled herself on the sofa and grinned at me. "Could you get me a cup of coffee?"

Though not usually at a loss for words, this small female's self-assurance stole my desire to trade veiled insults. Who was I to dispute her right to be here? But I didn't have to provide her refreshment.

"Oh, what precious kittens!"

Her exclamation stopped me. I rushed over and snatched the box from her hands. The kittens stirred in sleepy protest.

"I wasn't going to hurt them." Her lower lip pushed outward in a way I knew men would find alluring. "I'm surprised Brandon let them in the house. He abhors animals. Calls them four-legged, fur-bearing varmints. I love them. That was one of the reasons our marriage didn't work out."

Her revelation startled me. Nothing I'd seen bore out her statement. Though he didn't seem enamored of the phelines, he'd been gentle with them. From my experience, hate did not inspire kindness in men. Blinking and yawning, the kittens started to mewl and wiggle around.

"Can I hold them, please?"

Her soft appeal eased my apprehension for the kittens' safety. I put the box on the sofa and sat down next to her. "Injure them and you'll regret it."

"We're going to have to work on your conversation and social skills." She chuckled and picked up the gray kitten. "Do they have names?"

"The grey one is Ty." Their names popped into my head. "Dee is the black one, and this is Nix." I picked up the adventurous white kitten and, despite my misgivings about this woman, our shared laughter at the antics of the kittens dissolved my antagonism.

*** *** ***

"Unless I'm mistaken, it looks like you have company." Hillary pointed to the classic, baby pink Cadillac convertible in Brandon's drive. "Or is that your visitor's?"

Brandon pulled Hillary's car to a halt and leaned his head against the wheel. "No. It's Wanda's." Could things get any worse? Wanda and Seri alone together? Which one would survive? There was only one way to find out.

"Wait here," he ordered.

"Hell, no." His agent jumped out of the car and followed him. "This I've got to see."

Brandon's mouth fell open as he stepped inside the front door, Hillary crowding in behind him. Seri and Wanda were sprawled on the floor, laughing. The three kittens crawled over them, attacking the fingers they wiggled.

The sound of Seri's easy laughter tugged at his heart. In the short time he'd known her he'd never heard her laugh. Chuckle, but never a full laugh.

Yipping in excitement, Hillary's dog Muffin launched herself out of the bag. Not much bigger than the kittens, she landed in their midst. Chaos ensued. Hillary screamed.

Arching their backs at the intruder, the kittens spit and hissed. Muffin lunged and they scattered. The gray kitten jumped on Wanda. Its tiny claws pricked through her sweater. She shrieked. Seri tried to grab the fleeing kittens, but they eluded her grasp.

Muffin charged the white one and got smacked in the nose. With a yelp of pain, she darted between Brandon's legs just as he started forward. In his attempt to keep from stepping on the dog he tripped. Arms wind-milling, he fell. Hillary grabbed for his shirt but missed.

Seeing a kitten directly in the path of his fall, at the last second Brandon twisted his body away from the open area. His head thudded against the edge of the hall table.

The lights went out.

*** *** ***

At first I watched the scene unfold with humor. The sight of Brandon flailing his arms as he tried to avoid stepping on the yapping little canid, while Wanda shrieked and the other woman attempted to grab the creature, couldn't help but make me smile. Then Brandon fell. His head hit the table with a dull thud and he lay still.

"Oh, no! Brandon! Is he bleeding?" Hands fluttering, Wanda backed away. "I can't stand the sight of blood."

The other woman pushed past and placed two fingers against his throat. "No, but he's unconscious."

"Maybe we should call 911," Wanda suggested.

The other woman looked around the room. "I don't see a phone." She pulled a small object from her purse and poked at it. "I can't get a signal on my cell, can you?"

Wanda grabbed a bag off the floor and took out a similar object. "No, but. . ."

The two women ignored me as they argued over what to do. Brandon groaned and they both jumped back.

The sight of him lying hurt and defenseless shook me in more ways than one. Despite his obvious lack of magical ability, his words had brought me to life. He anchored me in this world. If something happened to him, what would become of me? Would his death mean mine as well, or would it prevent me from leaving this world?

Yet, his helplessness struck me deeper than this selfish reaction. From my first moment of self-awareness his voice formed the center of my universe, the shining star I reluctantly circled for light and warmth. In the few hours I'd known him, his kindness, humor and compassion intensified my feelings for him to a level of caring I'd sworn never to allow myself again.

Since Roark destroyed my family, my sole reason for life had been to end his reign of terror. Aside from basic physical requirements such as food and shelter, I rarely thought of what I needed or wanted from life. I pledged my skills to defend those under my protection, but I refused to open my heart to them. Doing so left a person vulnerable. This sudden concern for another disturbed me, made me question my purpose.