Sorcerer's Luck by Katharine Kerr
“Maya, look,” he said. “You’ve got a real talent for sorcery. Did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t.” I tried to smile. “I don’t want to, either.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“Who says I’m afraid?”
Tor considered me for a couple of uncomfortable minutes. He arranged his nerdy smile and shrugged. “None of my business. Sorry. So what do you think of the job?”
I shocked myself by finding it hard to speak. I wanted to scream, I don’t want this talent! I’m so getting out of here! The rational part of my mind thought about the money. I took a deep breath.
“I guess it’s okay,” I said. “It depends on what happens next.”
“The darkest moon night’s almost past. The lunar energies, they’ll disrupt the sendings. And so will you if there are any.”
“Well, we can hope I will. How long—”
“Prime time’s over as soon as the first sliver of the new moon appears in the sky.”
“So things will be cool after that?”
“I only wish. Look, he’s got to be really powerful to send illusions like that. But you turned them aside. That means he’s lost this first round. He’ll try something different next, I bet.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, but he’s not going to just give up.” Tor spoke quietly, calmly. “You felt the malice, didn’t you? He hates me, whoever he is.”
That night I went to bed with the question, stay or quit? Rationally I knew I should turn down the job, get out of the flat, forget I’d ever met Tor Thorlaksson. The money wasn’t enough to keep me there. I could find another part-time job if I really tried. No one would ever make me talk in a language I didn’t know again.
But I kept thinking about the theory behind what I’d seen. I could remember my father talking about the astral tides and elemental forces that influenced magical actions. Tor’s “energies” fell into the same category, I figured. If only I could figure out how to tap them! I realized that if I came to trust Tor, really trust him, then maybe he could teach me how to deal with my disease. I needed élan, life force, magical energy. He knew how to get it—maybe.
Even if it sounds far-fetched and crazy, you snatch at any hope you see when you know you could be dead before you hit thirty.
Chapter 3
I went straight to school from Tor’s place on Monday. When I came back to my basement studio that afternoon, the smell of mildew hit me in the face. Somewhere there had to be another leak. I walked around, examined the ceiling and the walls, saw nothing—then looked behind the tin box of the shower. Gray mold clung in a filigree on the wall. I nearly screamed, but I reminded myself that I had a little extra money. I could buy cleanser to kill the mold and a bag of sponges without jeopardizing my food budget.
Monday’s mail brought me my monthly check from the burger joint. I parked near my bank and walked over to the ATM in the bright hot afternoon. The sunlight hurt my eyes even though I was wearing sunglasses. Standing on the concrete sidewalk made my knees and ankles ache, a danger warning, symptoms of low élan. In a few minutes, I knew, I’d start to sweat, but I felt cold, clammy rather than too hot. In the small crowd at the machine, one rude guy stood way too close to me. As the line moved, I started forward, then abruptly stopped. He plowed into me. During the couple of seconds we were in contact, I managed to suck up some of his élan, which hovered like thick mist around him. It seemed to slide down my throat like a comforting sip of brandy.
“Jeez,” he said. “Sorry.”
The two middle-aged women in front of me made loud remarks about pushy young men.
“It’s okay,” I said to them. “I’m not hurt or anything.”
Just the opposite—the pain in my legs had disappeared. The guy made sure he kept his distance after that, unfortunately. I needed more élan. In the crowded supermarket, a skinny shrew of a woman pushed past me at the vegetable display to grab the primo head of broccoli I was aiming for. As her arm swept along mine, I sucked up a long swallow of her life force. My eyes eased, and the bright light over the display dimmed to a comfortable level. She got the broccoli, but I noticed that when she turned away, she shook her head and rubbed her forehead as if it suddenly ached.
I’d taken too much from her. If I could have apologized, I would have. I hoped she’d recover, even if she was a bitch. I did no more hunting in the market. When I got outside with my purchases, the sunlight looked normal, no longer painfully bright.
The thefts gave me enough energy to scrub down the mildew when I got home, but the smell of the cleanser drove me out of the studio. I took my backpack and laptop with me so I could leave the window open to let the place air out. I owned nothing else worth stealing. I sat in my car out on the street and wondered where I could go to pass some time. Maybe I could find a crowd where I could steal more élan.
The memory of Tor’s flat haunted me, the beautiful rooms, the comfortable bed, the good food he’d fixed for me. I kept remembering him saying that if I wanted, I could live there. What would it be like, I wondered, to share a flat with a sorcerer who claimed he turned into an animal now and then? Terrifying, I decided. Unthinkable. Crazy dumb idea. I refused to live with sorcery all around me, especially not if he was going to tell me I had talent. I had to have a place of my own to return to after the days I worked.
But I kept thinking about him. He’d treated me really decently, not just by hiring me, but in normal ways. No one else had cooked a meal for me in years. He’d taken the time to make me a special breakfast even though he’d been tired. No one else had given me a comfortable bed to sleep on and made sure I had clean towels and good soap for a bath. And I liked the way he looked, lean but muscled, a strong clean jaw, thick sandy hair. I wondered what it would be like to kiss that cute dimple at the corner of his mouth.
“Torvald Thorlaksson.” I whispered his name, just once, before I realized what I was doing.
My phone rang: Tor.
“Hi,” he said. “Uh, you weren’t thinking of summoning me, were you?”
“No. Why?”
“I was just kind of thinking about you, and then I thought I heard you.” He sighed. “Sorry. I won’t bother you.”
“It’s okay. Really.”
A pause. “Do you want to go out for lunch?”
“Yeah, I’d like that. Let me tell you where I am. I’m sitting in my car.”
I gave him the cross-streets and hung up. In about three minutes, if that long, someone knocked on the sidewalk-side window of the car. I yelped, turned in my seat—Tor, smiling at me. Before I could say anything, he opened the car door and slid into the passenger seat. He rolled the window all the way down before he shut the door.
“Why are you sitting in your car?” Tor said.
“I had to do some heavy-duty cleaning in my apartment, and I’m letting it air out. Mildew behind the shower.”
“That apartment. It sucks.”
“Yeah. I’m afraid so.”
“You really could come live in my place. The full-time job. Room and board and five hundred a month.” He stared out of the windshield. “It was cool, having you there.”
“It was kind of cool being there. Well, until the noises started.”
“You got the better of those. You’d have your own room and your own bathroom.”
I reminded myself of the spell he’d tried to cast over me at the county fair. How could I trust this man? I’d only known him a couple of weeks. He watched me with sad brown eyes—the wild animal’s eyes, I thought. Not quite human.
“Are you going to be able to work two jobs once school starts?” Tor said.
“I’ll have to try. I won’t be able to go full-time. I only need to take nine units to keep my scholarship.”
“Shit, that sounds exhausting.”
It would be, but I refused to admit it.
“I get this feeling about you,” Tor went on, “that you’re always on the edge of being exhausted.”
“What’s wrong?” he said. “Maya, hey, I didn’t mean to upset you.” He opened the car door. “Look, I’ll go away. Think about the offer, okay? I just want to help—”
“Help with what?” I snarled at him and regretted it.
He winced. “I’m really blowing it,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
He got out of the car and started to shut the door.
“Wait!” I said. “I’m sorry, too. I don’t mean to be rude.”
He hesitated, then got back into the car, but he left the door open.
“You’re right about me being tired,” I said. “All my friends tell me I push too hard. I just don’t know what else to do.”
“If I hadn’t worked that stupid spell at the fair, would you feel better about the offer?”
“Yeah, I would.”
“I’ll never do anything like that again. I swore it on the runes, and I’ll swear it again if you want me to.”
I hesitated. I kept remembering how clean his flat was, no mildew, no gray streaks on the ceiling, no dope dealers on the corner, no worry about someone breaking in. Shape-changer, I reminded myself. He told me he turned into a bear of all damn things! What if it’s true?
“Think about it,” he said and shut the car door. “Let’s go have lunch. Not at a burger place. Like Indian food?”
“Sure do. Just tell me how to get to it.”
He laughed and gave me directions to a nice little restaurant in Berkeley. Since the lunch hour was long over, we had the place pretty much to ourselves, which meant we could actually hear ourselves talk. We ordered a dosa stuffed with curried vegetables to share, some sag paneer, and various side dishes, along with rose flavored soda for me and an Indian beer for Tor. While we ate, we chatted about nothing important, the food, mostly. At one point, the conversation drifted to pets.
“We always had cats when I was growing up,” I said, “but I couldn’t keep a pet where I am now. It would be animal cruelty.”
“For sure. My dad liked cats. He had an old tomcat that died just before he did. I didn’t tell him, though. He was so sick by then that it probably would have pushed him over the edge, so I just made up stuff about how the cat was waiting for him to come home.” He fell silent for a long minute. “I don’t know if he believed me or not.”
“You didn’t have him home? Y’know, the hospice program and all that.”
“I wanted to, but the idea really freaked my mother. It would be putting death into the house, she said. Dad didn’t want her any more upset than she was already, so he decided to die in the hospital.”
“Was that the house you’re in now?”
“No. We were living in Mill Valley then. Y’know, I’m sorry. I keep talking about gloomy stuff like Dad dying. I’m not real good at being social. Small talk. That kind of thing. I spend too much time alone.”
“I’m not real good at it myself.”
He smiled but said nothing more. For a little while we ate in silence.
“I like cats,” Tor said abruptly, “but I was afraid to get one once I was—” He lowered his voice. “bitten, you know.” He glanced around, but no one was in hearing range. “What if the bjarki killed it? They’re omnivores, bears. They eat animals when they can catch them.”
“They do? Crap! I always thought they lived on berries and honey.”
“Only in the kids’ movies. They even paw fish out of streams.” He paused to put the last piece of the dosa onto my plate. “If you’re going to be there for those days, I guess I could get a couple of kittens. You’ll be locking me in. They’ll be safe.”
“And I can play with them when I’m there.”
He smiled, and the cute dimple got a little deeper and cuter. We lingered over chai and halvah for maybe another half-hour. When we left, he shook my hand and strode away. At the corner, at a crossroads as he’d called it, he disappeared. As I walked back to my car, I had to admit that I wished he’d stayed a little longer.
Maybe I’m stuck with being a vampire, but I refused to sponge off my friends in that way or any other way. Tuesday I offered to pay Cynthia and Brittany back for the lunch they’d shared with me. They laughed and waved me off.
“What’ll you bet, though,” I said, “that my brother shows up soon? He always seems to know when I’ve got money.”
“What kind of drugs is he on, anyway?” Brittany said.
“I don’t know, for sure. It can’t be heroin, because I’ve seen him in short-sleeved shirts, and he doesn’t have needle marks.”
“He could be snorting it. I saw this on the news. People who never would have used needles, but they breathe this stuff in through their noses.” Brittany made a sour face. “Yuck! Real glamorous, huh?”
“Yeah, for sure! Maybe that’s it, then. Sometimes when I see Roman he’s really out there somewhere. He sees things moving that aren’t moving, letters on billboards, pictures, that kind of stuff.”
“That sounds more like opium,” Cynthia put in.
“I’ll take your word for it,” I said. “The only drugs he’s ever actually mentioned are painkillers, codeine and oxy-something.”
“He might use those when he can’t get the other stuff,” Cynthia said.
“Codeine’s super-addictive,” Brittany put in. “It’s bad all by itself. Not as bad as heroin, but still! Yuck!”
Sure enough, Roman smelled money and tracked me down. On Wednesday the three of us had just come out of class when we saw Roman walking toward us across the lawn. In the hot bright noontide he was wearing a pair of torn-up jeans and a faded olive khaki T-shirt, but at least they looked clean. He smelled like he’d had a shower and a shave recently, too.
The T-shirt hung loose on Roman’s chest. He’d cinched in the jeans with a belt. I hated seeing him look so hungry, but if I gave him cash, he wouldn’t spend it on food. He smiled at me, a wan little twitch of his mouth.
“Maya?” he said. “Can I um uh talk with you? Just for a minute.”
“No,” I said. “I’m not giving you money. I’m not going to help you hurt yourself.”
He blushed scarlet, glanced at Cynthia, then turned around and took a few steps away. I could guess that he’d just realized my friends knew about the drug problem. I’d humiliated him without meaning to. When I went after him, he kept his back turned toward me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But I get so worried about you I have to share it with someone.”
He turned around, trembling, and stared at the ground in front of my feet.
“Ro, please listen!” I used his childhood nickname on purpose. “Please! Can’t you get help somewhere? You’re never going to be able to quit on your own. I know that.”
“Yeah, so do I.” He spoke so low that I could barely hear him. “The counselor says there’s a program. I could go to a group session today. But it costs twenty bucks.”
I could afford to help him. I’d earned three hundred dollars over the weekend. I was just so afraid that he’d spend it on pills.
“If I gave you the money, would you go? Would you really go?”
“Why lie? Probably not.” He looked up and took a step back.
Brittany had come up to join us. She considered Roman in a way I can only call clinical.
“You need to rebuild,” she announced. “Vitamins, B vitamins, just for starters. And C. Users always need C. Your aura’s a mess.”
“Another nut like Dad!” Roman said. “What the fuck?”
Brittany ignored the language and turned to me. “If you gave me the money, and I drove him to the session, he couldn’t spend it on drugs.”
I goggled, I’ll admit it. Brittany, have such a practical idea? Cynthia walked up and laid a hand on my shoulder.
“I’d let her try if I were you,” she murmured.
Roman took a ste
“What about it, Ro?” I said. “Will you let Brittany drive you in?”
He hesitated, then glanced Brittany’s way. What he saw made him stare fascinated at her. The drugs had such a hold on him that he hadn’t noticed her looks before. She was slender and beautiful, with long blonde hair and big blue eyes, currently filled with sympathy.
“Look at those.” Brittany pointed at his right forearm, tattooed with the Marine Corps logo and a bulldog in a helmet. “Some devil dog you are, if you can’t take a challenge like this.”
Roman swallowed heavily and continued staring at her.
“Well?” Brittany set her hands on her hips.
“Okay, yeah,” he said. “Thanks.”
I handed over the money. Brittany gave me a small, strong smile and a nod of her head, then slipped her arm through Roman’s and led him off toward the parking lot. In a condition close to shock, I watched them go. Cynthia laughed under her breath.
“Brittany loves a rescue project,” she said. “Usually it’s stray dogs, but I think she’s just branched out. Your brother’s awfully good looking when he’s healthy. She really does know nutrition, you know. She’s not as stupid as all that occult stuff makes her sound.”
“Oh yeah. I’d never deny it. And don’t think I’m not really grateful. I’m just surprised.”
“At what? That she thought of it?”
“No, that he went for it. Oh god, I hope it works. The group therapy, I mean. I hope to god it helps him.”
Brittany called me a couple of hours later, while Cynthia and I were having coffee in our usual cafe. With her pushing him, Roman had gone to the session, which, it turned out, was actually free, because a well-known local charity ran the program. He’d been scamming money out of me. No, I reminded myself. It’s not him. It’s the drugs, maybe heroin, maybe painkillers, everything he takes. That’s what’s goading him to get money out of me.
“I used the twenty to buy him some good vitamins,” she told me. “And made him promise to take two a day. I hope that’s okay, and you didn’t need the money back.”