Sorcerer's Luck (27 page)

I told her the name of the hospital and gave her a rough idea of where we were inside it.
After I clicked off, I slid over close to Tor. He put his arm around me.

“He'll pull through,” Tor said. “It's a deep wound, but it missed the spine.”

I felt every muscle in my body ease, because it never occurred to me to doubt him.

When Brittany arrived, some fifteen minutes later, Tor spared me the job of telling her
what had happened. I huddled against him and listened to the clear, calm way he
organized the details. For the first time that day I understood them.

Roman had taken the bullet meant for me. At first I merely accepted the idea. It made
sense, explained why I'd ended up lying on the sidewalk. He'd been covering me
up, keeping me safe. Sure, okay. A couple of seconds later it hit me. He'd
taken the bullet meant for me. He'd known it could happen. He must have known.
He'd seen enough combat. He'd seen enough death. I began to tremble. I could
not stop, could not control the shaking, my hands, head, my whole body, not
even when I realized that Tor and Brittany were staring at me.

“He could have died,” I croaked out the words. “Protecting me.”

“Yeah,” Tor said. “Which is why neither of you have to worry about the bills for this. I'll
take care of it. I don't give a shit how much it costs. What the VA won't pick
up, I will.”

Brittany sobbed—just once—in relief. “Thanks,” she whispered.

“Welcome,” Tor said. “Now we wait.”

And we did, endlessly, it seemed. Brittany and I talked a little, but words failed me. She
brought out her phone and called Cynthia first, then the place that held the
group therapy.

Tor eventually went out to find the men's room. He also found a cart selling coffee
and brought three cups back with him. I sipped mine slowly to make it last out
of the sheer old habit of being poor. I'd just finished it when Devi
re-appeared.

“He's out of surgery. He did fine. He's in the recovery room, but he's not awake yet.
I'll tell you when he is, and one of you can go in then.”

“Good,” Tor said. “Did they save the bullet for the police?”

“I'll make sure they do.” She glanced at Brittany and quirked an eyebrow.

“His girlfriend,” Tor said. “The person he'll want to see first.”

Devi nodded, smiled, and left again. I heard men's voices out in the hall and went
tense, expecting the police. Instead, two men in civilian clothes walked in, a
Hispanic guy in jeans and a Forty-Niners jacket, a brown-haired white guy in
jeans and a Giants hoodie. The red and orange of those sports team pieces
struck me all wrong, weirdly festive to my addled mind.

“Thorlaksson?” the Hispanic guy said.

“Yeah.” Tor stood up.

“We're a couple of Cantescu's buddies. From his group. Y'know?”

“Cool.” Tor stuck out his hand.

They shook hands all round, and Tor introduced Brittany and me. Valdez and Williams were
their names. Williams never spoke nor smiled. Now and then he'd nod or frown at
something Valdez said.

“Group leader told us about your call,” Valdez said to Brittany, then turned to Tor. “I
thought we'd stop by and see if we could figure out who did this.”

“Good,” Tor said. “Let me tell you what I know.”

This time Tor edited his recital of the facts. Although he left out any reference to
sorcery, Valdez struck me as the kind of man who might have accepted the fact
that Uncle Nils could teleport or leap or whatever you want to call it. His
dark eyes had seen plenty of horror, I figured, and plenty of strange things, too,
when he mentioned that he and Williams had spent a lot of time in Afghanistan.

“Marines like Roman?” Brittany asked.

“Nah. Army Rangers.” Valdez grinned at her. “But for a Marine, Cantescu's a pretty good
guy.” He glanced my way. “I wouldn't worry about the guy who shot your brother.
We'll find him, unless he's lucky and the police get him first.”

“Cops just walked down the hall.” Tor kept his voice just above a whisper. “Careful.”

 “Oh good,” Valdez said. “I like to know our police force is on the job.”

The statement probably didn't fool the two officers who walked in, but they stayed
perfectly civil. What they needed to know, they told Tor, was if they had a
homicide on their hands.

“No,” Tor said. “He's out of surgery. Doing pretty well.”

“Good,” the cop said. “Glad to hear it.”

The two of them looked Valdez and Williams over, then exchanged a glance. They returned to
the hallway—to wait for the recovered bullet, I assumed.

“Tell Cantescu we'll be back tonight,” Valdez said, “when he can see visitors. If he
gives us the money, we'll get it to The Man.”

“Thank you,” I said, “but I don't know where his clothes are. He put it in his jeans pocket.”

“I'll get it from the nurse,” Brittany said.

“Okay.” Valdez turned her way. “They're going to give him morphine, y'know.”

“Yeah,” Brittany said. “It's back to Square One, isn't it?”

Williams frowned, and Valdez nodded. “So it goes,” he said. “But they have to give him
something.”

Valdez said good-byes all round, and the two of them left. Tor and I stayed until Devi
returned to take Brittany into the recovery room.

“I won't leave him,” Brit announced. “I'll stay here all night if I can.”

“I can arrange that,” Devi said. “If his sister approves?”

I nodded yes.

 “Maya, you look exhausted,” Brittany said. “That's not good. I'll call you with updates,
and if anything changes. Go home and rest.”

“She's right,” Tor said. “We'll come back tomorrow.”

I followed Tor blindly as we walked through the maze of dull yellow corridors that stank
of cleaning products. He found the way to a door that led out to the hospital
parking lot. Watery streaks of sunlight broke through the fog above.

“Is it safe to drive home?” I said.

 “Probably, as long as it's light. And I've got something planned for Uncle Nils. It should
keep him busy for a while.” He smiled, the cold twitch of his mouth that always
frightened me. “Once it's good and dark. As the moon wanes, he'll wane.” He
glanced at his watch. “Shit, it's three o'clock already. Let's get over the
bridge before the traffic peaks.”

As soon as we returned home, Tor fed me élan. I flopped onto the couch while he cooked us
both dinner. I considered taking a nap, but once we'd eaten, I felt my strength
return. Tor insisted that I rest while he cleaned up the kitchen. I sat down in
an armchair and let the last of the sunlight pour over me from the west window.
When I looked out I could see the fog returning to distant San Francisco. I
took out my phone and called Brittany.

“We're in a private room,” she told me. “He's sort of awake. They hooked him up to a
morphine drip. The nurse told me they'll switch him over to pills in a couple
of days. But it looks like he's going to be okay.”

Except for his addiction, of course. They'd renewed it for the best of reasons without
even knowing what they'd done.

“He can move his legs,” Brittany continued. “That's the best news ever.”

For a moment I felt sick. My brother could have been paralyzed.

“Have you talked to a doctor yet?” I said.

“No. They want you to be here for that.”

“Okay. We'll come over in the morning. Once we're there, you can go home and check on
your grandmother.”

“Right. I'll need to. I called her, but I'm not sure how much she understood.”

We clicked off so she could eat the dinner Devi had ordered for her. Tor started the
dishwasher running and joined me in the living room. He stood arrow-straight at
the window, his arms crossed over his chest, and watched the sunset fading in
the west. The last of the scarlet light made his face glow like fire.

“When are we going to do the ritual?” I said.

 “Soon.” He turned around to look at me. “Now remember! I don't want you participating.”

“Even if you're in danger? Even if you're losing?”

“I'm not going to lose.”

“You told me that you and Nils were pretty evenly matched.”

“That was before he lost the last couple of rounds. Involving you is too risky.”

I wanted to agree, to be all meek and obedient. The thought of taking part in a sexual
ritual again terrified me. I knew now that it meant giving up complete control
of my self, mind and body both. I'd be nothing but a battery, a source of power
to supplement his. I gathered my courage and stood up to join him at the
window.

“If you need help, I'll do it,” I said. “It's worth the risk to me.”

He tilted his head a little to one side and studied my face. “You really mean that,” he
said.

“Yes, I do. I love you.”

“And I love you, which is why I don't want you running any risks.”

“I'd be in worse trouble if something happened to you. Nils would come after me for sure,
then.”

Tor turned half-away, then back again. “You're right,” he said. “Shit! I never should have
brought you into this. But I did, and I'm stuck with it now. Look, I'll do my
best to leave you out. But okay, if I really need another weapon, I'll ask you
join me in the center.”

“I'll be ready.”

“Something I meant to ask you. How did you know what I wanted, that other time? When I
asked you to come to me.”

The fear took hold of my lungs with icy hands. “I don't know,” I stammered. “I really
don't. My dad never would have told me about sex magic, and he's the only
person I can think of who might have known about it.”

“In this life.”

The words hung like a challenge between us. I took a step back. He waited, hands on hips,
head thrown a little back. I felt as if I were trapped in a staring contest
with a tiger. Eventually his mouth twitched in a smile.

“What's behind those shutters you dream about?” Tor said. “One of these days you'll
have to open them.”

I broke. I took a few steps away and stared out at nothing. Let the tiger pounce and kill
me—I refused to see the view that those shutters hid. I heard him move. He put
gentle hands on my shoulders and pulled me back to rest against him.

“I'm sorry,” Tor said. “I know better. I shouldn't push on you.” He kissed the top of my
head. “Still love me?”

“Of course.” My surprise that he'd ask that question returned my courage to me. “Do you
really need me to love you?”

“That's what I tried to tell you. Without you I'd shrivel up inside. You run that risk
when you're a sorcerer. You can turn as dry and brittle as dead leaves.”

He let me go, and I turned around to find him serious and oddly sad. I saw in his eyes
the deep melancholy you sometimes see in a wild animal's eyes, when they come
up to the bars of their cage in the zoo. They stare at you as if they were
begging you to let them go, but they know you can't open the cage door.

“It's not easy, being who you are,” I said.

“No. I can see why you don't want to open those shutters.”

Tor turned away and strode out of the room. I followed more slowly. He paused with his
hand on the door that led to the stairs down.

“I'm going to get things ready,” he said. “It's growing dark.”

When the waning moon finally rose, Tor led me downstairs. We changed clothes, as we'd
done the first time I'd watched him work. The clothes he put on surprised me, a
pair of red sweatpants and an old Cal hooded sweatshirt in dark blue. I knew
from my reading that red was the color of sorcerers, but the blue hoodie?

“It substitutes for the sorcerer's cloak,” Tor said. “It doesn't matter what you
wear, really. It's just a way of setting yourself apart from the mundane world.”

He gave me the same white T-shirt to wear for a tunic, but this time he'd drawn big runes
in a bindrune pattern all over it. “Yew,” Tor told me, “and Elk for protection.”
The resulting design looked like a bristling hedge or a wrought-iron fence, the
kind with spikes. For good measure he drew a Yew rune on my forehead with a
piece of chalk.

From one of the drawers he took out a knife with a wooden handle carved with runes, then
led the way into the ritual room. It smelled of different herbs, no fruit and
flowers this time around, but bitter things, sharp and vinegary. I noticed that
he'd used duct tape to cut the circle into eight sections instead of four.

“Sit in the west again,” he said.

I sat down cross-legged against the west wall. Tor carried the rune-knife into the center
of the circle and faced north. For about two minutes he spoke not in Icelandic
but Old Norse, a tribute to the ancestors. In the corners of the room the candle
flames jumped and flickered.

Tor stretched out his left arm and with the knife in his right hand slit the skin
from just below the elbow to a few inches above his wrist. I clasped a hand
over my mouth to keep from whimpering aloud. The blood welled from the shallow
cut along the back of his arm. He turned slowly through the circle, scattering
the blood onto the floor as he did. He chanted as well, a long string of
syllables and vowels—not loudly, but in the deep vibrated sounds of raw magic.
When he returned to facing north, he rested for a moment. He began to turn
again, and at each place where a line met the circle he called out the name of
a rune.

I saw them. As he brought them forth I could see them hovering in the air where he'd placed
them. The runes glowed red, a hot flickering red like fire seen through a crack
in a burning building: Ice at the north, then Thorn, Thorn, Torch, Torch, Hail,
Hail, and back to Ice again at the north-west. He raised his bloody arm above
his head and called forth Tiwaz, Tyr's Mark. All of them hung reversed except
for Ice, a straight line that has no reverse. On his arm the blood had stopped
oozing, but the scarlet line glowed like the runes and marked his hand between
his fingers. When he lowered his arm, the blood dripped. A shadowy form built
up beside him. A wolf, I thought at first. Tor snapped his blood-soaked
fingers, and the ghostly form sat on command—the malamute bitch come to assist
at the revenge on the man who had killed her so shamefully.