The Wizard’s Shield

THE WIZARD’S SHIELD

By

Karen McCullough

Electronic Edition

* * * * *

Copyright © 2012 by Karen G. McCullough

First publication date: 2012

As: MAGIC, MURDER, AND MICROCIRCUITS

Second edition: 2018

Electronic Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

No part of this work covered by the copyright herein may be reproduced, transmitted, stored, or used in any form or by any means graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including but not limited to photocopying, recording, scanning, digitizing, taping, Web distribution, information networks, or information storage and retrieval systems, except as permitted under Section 107 and 108 of the 1976 United States Copyright Act, without the prior written permission of the author.

All rights reserved.

Author's Note: I try to produce as clean a work as possible. This book has been through several rounds of editing in an effort to eliminate errors of grammar, usage, and consistency. However I realize that even multiple editors will overlook some things, so I ask that if you find any errors in this book, you let me know. You can email me at karen@kmccullough.com.

DEDICATION

In Memory of

John and Patricia Goeller

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I’d like to thank all the family and friends on Facebook who helped with my choice of cover for this revised edition. I also have to give a shout-out to my fellow authors and the readers who provided feedback, particularly my sister Barbara Waite for her detailed responses, suggestions, and encouragement.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

About the Author

Preview of A QUESTION OF FIRE

- 1 -

Ilene smelled magic as she drove onto the bridge—scents of sandalwood and nutmeg, mixed with a sharper tinge of ozone. Michael’s magic. The aroma roused a trail of memories and evoked the same visceral reaction now that it had twelve years ago. Her pulse sped up and her stomach twisted with longing. Stupid, stupid. She was over him. Had been for years.

She sniffed again, more deeply, as a subtle wrong note in the smell penetrated her awareness. A fainter aroma of burnt coffee grounds mingled in. That wasn’t Michael’s magic, but there shouldn’t be another wizard on the island.

She glanced up through the windshield. Hazy, yellow-orange streaks of warding floated above. Michael’s scrying system. Could it identify her specifically or did it just warn him that someone with power approached? How would he react if he did know it was her? Throw her off the island, most likely, and tell her not to come back.

She planned to stay only long enough to deliver the letter from her father and get the information the Council needed, anyway.

A group of cyclists peddled ahead of her on the bridge, dragging her attention back to the road while she negotiated around them. The bikers all had packs hooked to their bikes and strapped on their backs. They spread out across more than half of the two-lane width. They had to be sweltering in the August North Carolina heat, but each waved cheerfully as she passed them in the left lane.

At the crest of the bridge she caught a glimpse of her destination.

She’d been told Michael Morgan’s home was the largest house on the island and sat on the only piece of high ground. The hulking Victorian-style mansion fit the bill on both counts. No light-colored paint or gingerbread trim softened its stolid proportions, harsh angles, and weathered-dark cedar siding. The place would make a perfect setting for one of those old-fashioned Gothic romances she occasionally picked up in a used bookstore.

Of course, no one but another wizard would see the colorful swirls of magic drifting around it. She could only spare time for a quick glance around, but it was enough to find the signs of a different power in the shading of green to the south.

She lost sight of both house and olive streaks as she headed down toward land. Enormous twisted live oaks, bearded with Spanish Moss, lined the road, interspersed with the occasional Palmetto palm. Modest, low houses stood well back from the pavement behind the trees. They lazed indifferently in the sweltering heat and humidity, not feeling the prickle of the warding magic that sensed her.

Seconds later a different wave of magic hit her.

More accurately, it slammed into her Toyota as a gale-force wind, sending it veering off to the left, almost into the front yard of the closest house. Fortunately her reflexes clicked in before her brain could recover from the shock. She twisted the wheel and barely missed a Palmetto palm whose leaves sat still and calm except where the breeze of the car’s passing made them flap. Just when she thought she’d regained control, the wind struck again, from the opposite side, and she struggled to keep the car from rolling off the other way.

Turbulent air changed direction from moment to moment, pushing the car one way and then another in an erratic pattern. For some moments Ilene could only clutch the steering wheel, fingers digging into the leather surface, holding on tightly to keep it steady. The tires lost traction and started to skid. She turned into it, allowing her to regain control just before she hit the nearest live oak. Her door scraped against a low branch as she swerved back onto the pavement. The force continued to batter at the car, however, pushing it to the left even as she fought to keep it in the right lane.

This was some kind of welcome to the island. Maybe Michael did recognize her. This magic didn’t smell like his, but it had been twelve years…

With hands locked tightly on the steering wheel, she tried to get a feel for the power assaulting her, seeking a way to block it or turn it aside. She gathered her own power to answer until she realized she dared not pull enough of her concentration away from controlling the car.

The vehicle veered into the other lane and began to fishtail.

Someone really didn’t want her on the island. The Toyota did a one-eighty, ending up moving in the opposite direction, back toward the inlet and the bridge. Seconds later, the span loomed ahead. The pack of cyclists was just rolling off it, coming toward her, spread out across the road.

A driveway ahead offered a place to turn around, but as she braked to swing into it, another blast of force jolted the car, and the tires lost traction again. The Toyota began to slide along the pavement at an angle. Panic sucked all the air from her lungs when she realized the cyclists were dead ahead.

Ilene looked around wildly, fighting to stay calm. She had only an instant to make a choice.

She swung the wheel to the right. It took an agonizing moment before the tires gripped and held. The Toyota jounced off the road, across a shallow ditch. She braked as hard as she dared, leaning into the steering. A sharper turn and she might just get past the huge live oak now looming too close ahead.

Oh, damn, damn, damn. God help me, she muttered as the car headed for the tree. She stood on the brake and rolled the wheel as far as it would go to the right. Not enough room.

The next few minutes blurred. A jarring thud accompanied a series of bangs and scrapes as the car’s front left corner hit an enormous limb of the tree. Ilene snapped against the seat belt. The air bag smacked her in the face. Metal groaned, bent, and shrieked as it scraped other pieces. Parts crunched and banged against each other. Glass and plastic shattered, spraying shards that clattered to the ground.

And then it was quiet. Too shocked to move, she lay against the wheel and the deflating air bag. Her heart pounded furiously, but she couldn’t seem to draw any oxygen into her tight chest. It took a few panicky moments to fill her lungs again.

Ilene lifted her head gingerly. That seemed to work, so she tried fingers and toes. All wiggled on demand, although the effort brought a sharp pain in her ribs. She hoped they were just bruised and not cracked or broken. An experimental deep breath made her gasp and hold herself very still against the knifing pain.

Noises outside the car distracted her. A group of helmeted cyclists tugged at the driver’s side door. The crumpled front must have messed up the frame, though. They couldn’t get it to budge.

Someone yanked open the passenger side door and leaned in. Ilene twisted her head to look at the man. Not one of the cyclists. He wore a short-sleeved blue work shirt and no helmet. Forcing her neck to bend a bit more, she met the gaze of the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen. Thready spokes of blue, in shades varying from deep navy to almost silver, wove together and meshed as they radiated from dark pupils. Another sort of shock jolted through her. They were familiar eyes, though it had been twelve years since she’d last seen them. Michael! It came out half gasp, half exclamation.

Are you all right? His voice rasped along her nerves, just the way it used to when she was fifteen and he seventeen. There was a harder edge there now.

I think so.

Can you move your legs? he asked.

Yes. She shifted her left leg. Damn, it hurts. Not broken, though.

One of the cyclists interrupted. I’m a paramedic. Let me check her out. Has anyone called 911?

Don’t bother, Michael said while yielding his place on the passenger seat to the cyclist. The only ambulance headed up to Danboro fifteen minutes ago. It’ll take it an hour or so to get back here. If we can move her, I’ll take her to the hospital. I’ll call someone to take care of the car also.

The paramedic asked her a bunch of questions and ran his hands over her legs and arms, along her neck, and down her sides. Ilene felt strange, almost distant from the scene, reluctant to move and indifferent to everything but the fact that Michael was there.

His rapid arrival surprised and worried her. Had he been responsible for the wind that caused the accident? She’d known he wouldn’t be happy to have her on the island. But he’d responded to her arrival even faster than she’d anticipated. Why was he being helpful now? Because there were witnesses?

The paramedic finished looking her over and checking for damage. I don’t think anything’s broken. Do you want to try to get out?

Ilene nodded, but her aching ribs made it difficult to slide across the seat. The young cyclist assisted her until she could swing her legs down to the ground.

Michael waited nearby as she tried to stand.

You sure know how to make a girl feel welcome, she told him, though the effect was ruined when she gulped on the last word. Her stomach lurched. Darkness gathered at the periphery of her vision, expanding rapidly.

Arms went around her shoulders and hips. Before the darkness claimed her completely, she felt herself being lifted and pressed against a masculine chest.

- 2 -

Darkness surrounded her. Where was she? The material pressing against her felt softer than she was used to, and the air smelled different. An odd, distant rumble waxed and waned rhythmically. She tried to lift her head, but nothing happened. Arms and fingers didn’t budge. Toes refused to wiggle; knees wouldn’t bend; hips wouldn’t roll. Nothing seemed to work. Panic formed a hard knot in her chest.

Where am I? The question came out as a raw squeak, but at least her voice functioned. What’s going on? What’s wrong with me?

No answer came. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she began to discern shapes, the outline of a door and the bulk of a chest of drawers. Pale streaks of light stippled the wall opposite the bed, suggesting that a window somewhere off to her left admitted slices of moonlight between the slats in closed blinds.

She could move her eyes enough to look around the room, but no other part of her responded. There’d been an accident with the car earlier. Had she been paralyzed by it? She remembered moving afterward, but maybe something else had happened later, after she’d blacked out? Another wave of panic speared through her.

It only lasted a moment. She could feel sheets beneath and above her. She vaguely remembered the hospital, too—nurses and a doctor poking at her, prodding her to move this way and that, asking lots of questions. They gave her a shot for pain, took X-rays, and after a while they said nothing was broken, and she could go. Memory grew fuzzy after that, probably due to the pain medication. A man—Michael—escorted her to a car, no, a pickup truck, and helped her in. After that, nothing until now. She must have fallen asleep.

But now she couldn’t move, though she could feel the bed covers against her flesh. She didn’t feel any obvious restraints.

It had to be magic. She reached out and found it easily enough. Air magic again. It smelled like sandalwood and sat just heavily enough to prevent her from moving, but not enough to interfere with her breathing or the flow of blood through her body. It wasn’t even a very strong spell. The man who’d set it knew she could find it and break it if she wanted to.

It comforted her in a weird, strange way. Did he know the scent was a favorite of hers? She couldn’t remember. It felt almost like Michael’s arms around her, holding her in a protective embrace. Which was wrong, all wrong. He’d tried to force her off the island, maybe even tried to kill her.

This magic still felt pleasantly cozy.

Ilene slid off into sleep again.

* * * * *

Miss McConnell?

The voice called a couple more times, forcing her to open her eyes and face the world. Sunlight poured into the room. Ilene squinted to see someone at the window, opening the blinds.

How are you feeling this morning? the woman asked with annoying cheerfulness. Any headache? Other aches and pains?

Was she a nurse? She had that sort of professional perkiness. At least she didn’t ask how we were feeling. Don’t know yet, Ilene muttered. Can’t move.

I’ll get Michael. He said you might not be able to. The woman crossed the room to the door.

Memory filtered back slowly through the morning fog in her brain. Never mind. I can take care of it myself. She was talking to an empty room. The woman had already gone

Her head felt fuzzy, making it hard to think. She wasn’t a morning person anyway, and that was compounded by the after-effects of pain medication. Ilene probed for the magic holding her in place and found it. A simple wind spell, just clumps of thickened air, pressed down on her enough to resist movement. It didn’t take much concentration to unwind it and disperse the excess air, although she did miss its sandalwood scent.

She pushed herself upright and immediately fell back onto the bed with a groan. Every muscle in her body protested the movement. A deeper ache stabbed at her ribs. The door opened while she gasped and tried to recover her breath without inhaling too deeply.

I suspected you’d be up before I got here.

She rolled over just far enough to get a look at him.

The general description hadn’t changed. Six feet tall, slim—although his shoulders had broadened, and his arms and chest looked more substantial now—curly black hair, medium skin that tanned readily, and the stunning blue eyes.

Michael Morgan had been an attractive boy. Twelve years had improved his looks, refining the lines of cheekbones and jaw to something leaner, tougher, and more graceful, still dominated by those spectacular eyes.

But time and events had wrought even more startling changes in other, less happy ways. They’d hardened him, putting tense lines beside sternly controlled eyes and mouth. The boy she’d known all those years ago had smiled a lot and radiated a warm, lively enthusiasm.

If that boy still existed, he was locked away deep inside a man whose face showed little more than controlled reserve. Only hints of tightly leashed emotions and something darker—old anger and pain—leaked past it. He looked like he hadn’t smiled in years and might have forgotten how to do it.

A prickling of sympathy lanced at her heart until she remembered why she’d come to the island. When the Council representatives had told her what he’d done, she hadn’t wanted to believe it, but now she wondered. Had he really turned into a man who could commit murder?

Despite it all, just seeing him again roused something deep inside her. She’d thought the flames between them long since extinguished, but it seemed a tiny spark might have survived. She couldn’t let him know that, couldn’t let it matter.

Why did you restrain me? she asked.

Nothing moved in his expression; no twitch or blink offered a clue to how he felt about her being there. You have bruised ribs. I didn’t want you to hurt yourself by moving suddenly without realizing. He paused a second. I should have known it would be wasted effort. The bitterness in the words stabbed at her heart again. He didn’t sound like the Michael Morgan she’d once known. The bleakness echoed the cold, shadowed expression in his eyes.

I always was pretty headstrong. Dad never was too successful at curbing it, she admitted, hoping it would soften his expression. It didn’t. Neither did the involuntary gasp she let out when she tried to sit up again.

It did move him to come to her side and adjust a pillow, then put an arm around her shoulders to help her move.

A tingling awareness heated her skin where he touched, even through the thin cotton of the nightgown. It startled her. After his betrayal, and all the years since she’d last seen him, it shouldn’t be happening. Nothing remained between them. That treacherous little spark was surely just an emotional reflex.

Her body hadn’t forgotten. No other man had made her feel the things that happened when he touched her. There had been enough others—in college and after—as she’d tried to bury the past, to ease the pain of his betrayal by finding someone who’d make her forget him. It hadn’t happened. She hated this and hated him for rousing it.

Fingering the soft cotton of the nightgown, she asked, How did I…? I don’t remember much after the hospital.

One corner of his lips crooked, but if that was amusement showing, it was a wry and ironic sort. Mrs. Wendall helps out with the house and the cooking. She put you to bed. I think the nightgown belonged to her daughter.

I’m in…your house?

I called around, but you didn’t seem to have a reservation anywhere on the island.

I’m at a hotel up the road on highway 17.

Why were you coming to the island? Direct and to the point. Michael used to tease a lot and enjoy playful word games.

I don’t suppose you’d believe I’m on vacation.

The coincidence seems stretched.

Ilene decided to go direct herself. Why did you try to stop me from getting here?

His eyebrows crooked slightly upward in surprise. I didn’t. She remembered that expression all too well, though she couldn’t remember it ever seeming so studied or deliberate.

That was magic slammed into my car as I got off the bridge. Irritation made the words come out sharper than she expected.

Is that why you were all over the road? I wondered if you’d taken up drinking.

You know what happened. I smelled your warding magic on the bridge. I didn’t realize it would come with more active discouragement. Do you greet all your guests with such enthusiasm or just all wizards? Or do you make a special effort for long-lost lovers?

He stiffened. His expression hardened into even sterner remoteness. For a moment he remained very still, just staring at her. Then he blinked, drew a breath, and relaxed enough to say, Lover seems an exaggeration as well. Teenage crush, perhaps?

It was more than that, and you know it. But it’s in the past. Why did you want to keep me from coming onto the island?

Why should I want you here, Ilene? he asked. But then again, why would it matter so much that I’d try to keep you away?

And why did that cause a funny clenching in her stomach? She knew he wouldn’t want her here. I’d like to know that myself. The wind didn’t happen by itself. I couldn’t read your signature on it, but… If you didn’t do it, then who did? There’s another wizard on the island?

I think I’d know if there was.

I think so, too. And I caught a hint of another scent and saw other colors. You know who it is?

He inclined his head in a wry nod. I know there’s another one now. I can’t help but wonder why.

She watched his eyes, wondering about his evasive answers and carefully controlled expression. She could sense the power that hung around him, the characteristic aroma of Michael she remembered from all those years ago. He’d been a strong mage then, but if what she’d heard was true, he’d become even more dangerously powerful since. The aura around him tended to confirm it. His evasiveness suggested some of the other stories she’d heard about him might be true, too.

Why don’t you want to answer my questions? she asked.

Neither of us wants to give away much information. His lips curved into a bitter half-frown. Strange, isn’t it, Ilene? When you consider that we used to tell each other everything.

She didn’t want to delve into those memories. Everything about him was a painful reminder of a time she’d tried desperately to forget.

A knock at the door and a creak as it opened saved her the necessity of answering, a good thing since she was starting to feel out of her depth. The muzziness left by the pain medication and a long sleep still fogged her brain.

Mrs. Wendall entered the room bearing a tray. She smiled at Ilene and beamed at her employer. Can you eat some breakfast, Miss McConnell? she asked.

The heavenly aroma of coffee already had her trying to sit up straighter. Michael again lent a hand to help her, provoking the maddening tingles where he touched.

A swirl of warm air raced down her arm from shoulder to wrist, just brushing over the skin. Small hairs stood up along its path. Her blood heated and skin sparked with a series of tiny shocks where it touched. Michael’s magic, damn him. He was teasing her, knowing she couldn’t say anything about it in the housekeeper’s presence.

I’ll leave you to eat your breakfast in peace, he said. Nothing in his expression acknowledged what he’d just done. We’ll talk more in a little while.

Michael? she called as he reached the door.

He stopped and turned back, raising an inquiring eyebrow.

What happened to my car?

I arranged for it to be towed to a place I trust for repairs. They should call me today with an estimate.

Thank you. Is it salvageable?

He shrugged, the action highlighting the breadth of his shoulders. I didn’t get a good look at it. I was more concerned with how damaged you were.

Ilene sighed as she considered what the cost of a new car would do to her budget. She’d have to call her insurance company and rent another one. Did you see my purse?

Didn’t look for it. I suppose it’s still in the car. I’ll ask Darren to check. Enjoy your breakfast. He turned and left the room.

Mrs. Wendall set the tray on a small table near the bed. Is there anything else I can get you? the woman asked as she turned to go.

Ilene surveyed the tray. Eggs and bacon, toast, jars of fruit preserves, a serving-sized box of cereal, a pitcher of cream, packets of sugar, a carafe of coffee, and another she assumed was hot water since it rested beside a stack of teabags.

This looks like enough to feed me and three other people.

The woman smiled and shook her head. Just eat what you can.

Unless she’d been doing more magic than normal, Ilene usually had only a piece of toast with jam for breakfast, but the rumbles from her stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday, and that had been only a quick sandwich. Even if she hadn’t spent the energy trying to counteract the spell battering her car, she’d be needing the food.

After finishing all of the eggs and bacon, a respectable amount of the rest, and two cups of coffee, she pushed herself up from the bed and stumbled over to the bathroom. One look in the mirror made her shudder. Not that she was trying to attract anyone here, of course, but she still hated looking like something the cat had dragged through the mud and over gravel before depositing on the doorstep. She turned on the shower.

The hot water streaming over her body felt heavenly, loosening tight muscles and relieving the ache of bruises. By the time she’d washed, shampooed, dried off, and wrapped herself in the towel, she felt almost human again.

Moments later, the room door creaked open and the housekeeper peeked in. "How are you feeling? I brought some clothes. The Crossetts’ daughter is about the same