Read Page 7

“We’re not under the jurisdiction of any of you,” one of the captives protested. “We answer only to the Elf Lord.”

Granny tapped me on the arm. “While those idiots fight it out, let’s get home. Dinner’s getting cold, and there’s no point in us standing around. You did your part by drawing them out, apparently.”Advertisement

The MSI security team and the Council surveillance team didn’t seem to notice us leaving, they were so caught up in their argument. I figured if they needed us, they knew where to look. It was a relief to get safely inside Owen’s heavily warded home and sit down to my grandmother’s homemade pot roast with all the trimmings.

“What was all that about?” I asked after eating enough to mollify Granny. “Sam seemed to know it was coming.”

“That’s what it looked like,” Owen agreed. “I don’t think the Council guys were supposed to be in on it, though.”

“And elves?”

“Maybe they think I’ve got that brooch or they think I destroyed it and they’re out for revenge. I understand there are rumors all over town about what happened to it.”

“Eat!” Granny ordered, pointing her fork at his nearly full plate.

“I destroyed the brooch,” I said. “Maybe I should put out a press release.”

“It’s probably best that not too many people know what really happened,” Owen said, then he noticed Granny’s glare and dutifully put a bite of roast in his mouth.

“I wonder what Sam’s plan was if you hadn’t shown up, Granny,” I said. “I guess you got my message just in time—you did get my message?”

-- Advertisement --

pqdm.comads300x250--

“Loud and clear. But what are you people teaching her?” she demanded of Owen. “That was the worst mental call for help I’ve ever heard.”

“It worked!” I protested.

“We actually haven’t taught her that at all,” Owen said with a proud smile at me. “She must have figured that out for herself.”

“Then teach her properly before she needs to do it again. My ears are still ringing.” Then she turned back to me. “What have they been teaching you, if not how to properly call for help?”

“Today we worked on some defensive shields that should mimic the effect of being magically immune.”

“Hmmph,” she muttered, and I knew I was in for a magical lesson, Granny style, as soon as the table was cleared. She and the MSI people had very different approaches to magic, since theirs was more analytical and based on rigorous study over the centuries and hers was more of a folk art handed down through generations of people who were mostly isolated from other magic users. I hadn’t even known that there was magic in my family until earlier in the year, and then it turned out that my mother’s side of the family tended to be either wizards or immune to magic. I had one brother who was a wizard and one who was immune.

By the time Owen called a halt to the post-dinner magical workout, I felt as drained as if I’d just done an intense session at the gym. I wondered if magic counted as cardio. “I’m getting totally mixed signals on magic, between Rod and Granny. Who am I supposed to believe?” I asked him as he walked me home.

“Whichever works best for you,” he said with a shrug. “The only ‘right’ way in magic is the way that works with the least power and without hurting anyone. A lot of it is trial and error. Your grandmother does have some interesting approaches. With the lower levels of available magical energy to draw from in your hometown, she’s really good at making efficient use of resources. I’ve incorporated some of her techniques into my research.”

“If you tell her that, she’ll be impossible.”

“Which is why I haven’t told her,” he said with a wry grin. “If something comes of it, though, I’ll owe her royalties.”

We reached my front door, and he kissed me good night before saying loudly, “I don’t have any evil scheming planned for the night, but I’d appreciate the escort home, if you don’t mind.” With a smile, he added, “I might as well take advantage of the hassle. See you tomorrow.”

When I got upstairs to my apartment, Nita, my one roommate who didn’t know about magic, was sitting on the sofa with a big bowl of popcorn in her lap. “Oh, good, you’re home,” she said without moving her eyes from the television screen. “Marcia’s working late and Gemma’s out.”

“I had dinner with Owen.” I joined her on the sofa. She was watching one of those romantic comedies where people fall in love in a montage set to a pop ballad. The couple went on a picnic in the park, went boating on the lake and nearly fell in, danced on a rooftop in the rain, and stared dreamily into each other’s eyes across a restaurant table. pqdm.com