“Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop,” he whimpered, moving his arms like he wanted to put his hands over his ears, but Marcia and I hung on and kept his hands down.
“We can help you,” I said. “Now that we know about it, we could break the spell. You could help us beat him, and then you’d be free.”
He gave a scream of fury and lunged away from me, but I refused to let go even as he tried to wrench his arm from my grasp. My purse slid off my shoulder and I couldn’t get it out of the way without releasing him.
“Hey, buddy, drop the purse and leave the ladies alone,” a guy passing by said, raising his fists at Idris in a threatening way. Idris took advantage of the distraction to worm away from us and take off. Of all times to run across a chivalrous New Yorker who wasn’t willing to look the other way, I thought with a groan. “You okay, ladies?” the guy asked.
I curled my fingers up so he couldn’t see the blood under my fingernails. “I’m fine, thank you.”
“You need to call someone? Or need someone to walk you home?”
“No, thank you, I’m okay. It’s not far. Thank you for coming to our rescue.”
He reluctantly let us go, and we hurried away. I fumbled for Owen’s cell phone as we walked, then hit redial and got Sam. “I found him,” I said. “Idris. He got away, but he can’t have gone far.” I gave the location and the direction Idris had run. “But Sam, it’s worse than that. They’re planning to make it look like Owen kills Merlin trying to escape.”
“Just relax, doll, we’re keeping the boss safe, don’t you worry, and we do have a plan.”
“Katie, it’ll be okay, right?” Marcia said when I got off the phone. I couldn’t tell if she was looking for reassurance or offering it.
“I don’t know. Everything’s out of control, and I have no idea what we can do.”
Chapter Nineteen
I took the train to James and Gloria’s town on Sunday afternoon, and James met me at the station. When I got to their house, I saw that there were new family photos on the fireplace mantle and bookshelves in the living room. On my first visit, I’d thought it odd that there were no pictures of Owen growing up, but they seemed to have decided that showing pride in their foster son could no longer be held against them, and they’d gone all-out. Gloria left me in there to get settled while she made tea, so I took the chance to study the pictures.
As Rod said, Owen had been a small, skinny kid with thick glasses. Until his late teens, he’d shown only hints of the good looks he’d grow into. The family portraits had a distinct sense of distance to them, as though he felt he didn’t really belong in them. He didn’t smile in many of the pictures, only in a candid shot where he was playing with a large German shepherd and seemed unaware of the camera and in one that must have been taken at Halloween with an older boy I recognized as Rod, with both of them wearing costumes. Owen was dressed as Robin Hood, while Rod wore a tux and carried a toy gun, so I assumed he was James Bond.
“They cannot tell me I’m not allowed to feel like a mother anymore,” Gloria’s voice said behind me, and I turned to see her standing straight and upright, a tea tray in her hands and her chin raised defiantly. I knew I wouldn’t want to be the Council member making accusations against her boy. Her expression softened a little as she added, “I heard what you said to him at his house the other day. Thank you. I hadn’t thought of it that way before, but you were right.”
“Well, he is a special guy, and I think you had a lot to do with that.”
It was a more comfortable visit than my first one, but it was still awkward staying in the Eatons’ home without Owen there, especially given the reason that Owen wasn’t there. I’d hoped that they might know something about whatever Merlin had planned, but they didn’t know any more than I did. I had a feeling none of us got much sleep that night.
The next morning, they made me drive their ancient but perfectly maintained Volvo, since James said his eyesight wasn’t up for driving outside their village. I had to move the seat forward and then adjust to driving something other than an old pickup truck with a stick shift. Having Gloria in the front seat watching everything I did didn’t help matters.
The Council’s headquarters was farther up the river in one of those mansions built by nineteenth-century robber barons—at least, that’s what it looked like, but the building seemed so ancient that it could have been transplanted directly from Europe. It looked like a spooky old-world abbey, and the entire place reeked of magic. My skin hummed from the power, and I wondered what it felt like to magical people.
The entrance was innocuous enough, with a butler meeting us in a foyer that wouldn’t have been out of place in any old mansion, but then he led us deeper into the house to a great hall, and I knew this wouldn’t be a pleasant social occasion.
The room was beyond imposing. The ceiling went higher than I would have thought possible in the building I’d seen from the outside, and it was braced with heavy beams the size of giant trees. The floor was made of flagstones worn smooth with time, and the walls down one side were paneled in dark, intricately carved wood, while the other side held stained-glass windows depicting the history of magic.
At the head of the hall stood a massive rectangular table set on a stage so that it loomed over everything. The chairs behind that table were equally massive, the backs going well above the height of even the tallest man, and they had magical symbols carved into them. I noticed that the floor also contained those symbols, formed out of a darker stone, but they were difficult to see unless you were standing back and got a broad view. In the middle of the pattern, directly in front of the high table and reaching almost to the front row of wooden spectator benches, was a circle formed out of the darker stone. I wondered what those symbols did—maybe they were wards or one of those magic-dampening fields?
Gloria turned to James and said, “Go help him get ready.” James nodded and left, carrying a garment bag. “They had best let him prepare to face this,” she said, her tone making it clear they would answer to her if they didn’t. She led me to the front of the room, where we took seats on the front row of benches. She sat with her back perfectly straight, her hands braced on her knees.
James joined us a few minutes later, sitting on Gloria’s other side. “He said he was thankful for the suit, but he was perfectly capable of dressing himself,” he reported.
Gloria took his hand and asked, “How is he?”
“Calm. He doesn’t look like he’s slept much, though. He did have all his limbs and fingers, and I didn’t see any bruises, so I don’t think they’ve mistreated him.”
“They wouldn’t dare.” She checked her watch. “I cannot wait to get this farce over with.”
More people trickled in. I recognized some of the Eatons’ neighbors, along with many of my friends from MSI. Rod sat by me, and then Ethan sat by him. Ethan leaned across Rod to say, “I offered to provide representation, but they assured me my law degree wouldn’t be of much use here.”
“I’m sure he appreciates the gesture,” I said with a weak smile.
“The situation is insane, anyway,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t get it.”
“That’s because it’s entirely trumped up,” Rod muttered. He glanced over his shoulder and said, “Uh oh, my parents are here.” I felt a faint burst of magic, and I assumed that meant he’d dropped his handsome illusion, or at least adjusted it so it didn’t affect his parents. I could see why, since he looked just like his father, and it wasn’t exactly a compliment to change his appearance so drastically.
I managed not to respond too strongly when Owen’s boss entered. I knew that meant things were quite dire, since Mr. Lansing rarely left his office, thanks to a magical industrial accident that had turned him into a giant frog. He had an illusion that made him look human to most people, but it took a lot of effort, so he usually sent Owen out on his behalf. I saw the frog, since illusions don’t work on me, and seeing a giant frog walking around is more than a bit disconcerting.
Jake came in and sat near the back. He wore a conventional suit and had his hair neatly combed, so it took me a moment to recognize him. Isabel sat next to him, and Trix was with her. Sam and a few other gargoyles perched in the rafters. The whole gang was there.
But it wasn’t just familiar faces filling the hall. The place was packed, and I didn’t recognize most of those people. Many of them craned their necks, looking like sightseers, and I wondered if this was the magical trial of the century, something people attended out of curiosity.
“Do you think Ramsay or Idris will show?” I whispered to Rod.
“Idris, no. He was in legitimate custody and escaped. Ramsay, I don’t know. He lost his seat on the Council when he handed the company over to Merlin, so he has no official standing here anymore, though he certainly has kept his hand in the game.”
“Speak of the devil,” I muttered as a stirring in the crowd heralded Ramsay’s arrival. It was like a cross between the pope and a popular politician as he made his way down the aisle. The people he didn’t shake hands with reached out to touch him, like they thought some of his magic might rub off on them. That charisma spell of his must have been a doozy, I thought. He nodded cordially to us as he took a seat on the front row on the other side of the aisle. I reminded myself that the way he’d arranged things, I’d only make myself look like a villain if I launched myself at him and knocked his lights out. That didn’t stop me from forming fists and fantasizing about doing so.
Gloria elbowed me sharply in the ribs as a hush settled over the room. I turned to see that the Council members were filing in to take their seats.
I wasn’t sure quite what to expect, since nothing in the magical world ever turned out to be what I expected. Robes would have been a good guess, maybe with stars and moons on them, like something out of a storybook, or maybe just solid black, like judges’ robes. Tall, pointy hats would have been appropriately magical. In short, they should have looked like Merlin’s “Merlin” outfit.
Instead, it pretty much looked like a city council meeting, aside from the Old World setting. The Council members wore regular business attire, but with elaborate chains of office draped over their shoulders and floppy beret-like hats, like some faculty members wear for college graduation ceremonies. I was surprised when Merlin was the last one to enter. He paused to shut the door before taking a seat on that end of the table. I hadn’t realized he was also on the Council, but it did make sense, given his position in MSI, which was the commercial arm of the magical establishment, as well as the fact of who he was. They couldn’t possibly have a magical council without Merlin being on it. His being an actual Council member explained why Ramsay rankled him so much with all his talk about being privy to what was going on with the Council. I scanned the faces of the wizards on the Council to get a sense of the people sitting in judgment, but Merlin was the only who looked familiar or friendly.
The feeling of magical power in the room intensified, and I got the impression the entire room was being put under a spell. That was confirmed when the man sitting in the middle seat stood, pounded a carved staff as tall as he was on the floor, and said, “This room is now sealed. No one may enter or leave until the proceedings are concluded, except by special escort, and the world outside is now separated from us. No one outside may observe or listen to these proceedings, and those inside may not speak of them outside these walls.”
Well, except for me. And Ethan
, I couldn’t help but think. I wondered if they’d bother with an oath to hold us to that or if they even realized there were magical immunes in the room.
“This meeting of the North American Magical Council is now in session,” the wizard in the middle said with another strike of his staff on the floor. A large ceremonial gavel sat on the table in front of him, but it looked like the staff was the real sign of power. I’m sure Freud would have had something to say about that. “There has been a request to add an agenda item: A petition from Mr. Ivor Ramsay to grant a seat on this Council to the chairman of Spellworks and to reconsider the MSI seat, as that organization has failed to provide proper leadership to the magical world. We will address that issue after we deal with the primary matter that brings us together today. Now, bring in the accused.” He pounded his staff again.
There was a shimmer in the air around the doors beside the Council’s table, and then the doors opened. The black-clad men came in, guiding Owen by the elbow. He was dressed in a dark suit, and if his hands hadn’t been bound behind his back, he’d have looked like he was having just another day at the office. Even the dark circles under his eyes were all in a day’s work for him.
They brought Owen to stand in the middle of the circle in front of the elevated table, and he looked very young and very small with the Council looming over him. I’d seen what he could do using magic, and I still didn’t think anyone could imagine him to be a threat given the way he looked. The crowd murmured, like they were discussing Owen’s appearance, and I hoped they, too, thought he looked harmless. I felt Gloria tense next to me. She reached to take my hand and clutched it fiercely.
Merlin stared Owen down with a glare that made me squirm uncomfortably, and it wasn’t even aimed at me. Owen seemed to be studiously avoiding looking at Merlin, but that wasn’t the kind of glare you could ignore for long. Even if he didn’t see it, he had to feel it. Once he finally caught Owen’s eye, Merlin’s expression changed. His lips moved ever so slightly, but I couldn’t make out any words. I couldn’t see Owen’s face to get a sense of what he was doing, but his head nodded a fraction of an inch before he turned away from Merlin. I got the feeling that something had been communicated between them, but I wasn’t sure how. They both had a tendency toward eerie knacks, but I’d never heard about either of them being able to communicate telepathically.
The head wizard peered through his reading glasses at a sheet of paper he held and said, “Owen Morgan.”
“Palmer,” Owen corrected, in a voice that rang through the room. “My legal name is Palmer. I was adopted by Stan and Lisa Palmer when I was an infant. Their parental rights were terminated and I eventually became a ward of this Council, but my name was never legally changed. As far as I know, there is no proof of my parents being the Morgans. That is merely an allegation. I have no record of who my birth parents were.” That was one upside of not having had the chance to get that envelope from the fire station, I thought. He could say with absolute honesty that he didn’t know his parentage.