The Magic Cottage

possession of Magic?

The possession of Magic. Now that just couldn't be! Not me, not Mike Stringer, skeptic and part-time infidel. But I was being carried along by something that had little regard for my own self- doubt and confusion.

'Mike . . .'

Val was resting against the table, hands on either side clutching the edge. She looked shocked, and that was hardly surprising with all that had happened since she'd stepped inside the cottage. Now, though, she was growing curious about me, sensing the change that was taking place.

I don't suppose that change was visible in any real way, but she knew it was happening all right. Of course, there might have been blue sparks shooting from my ears for all I knew, but I didn't think so. The shift in my mind was slight, however, otherwise I think I'd have been totally overwhelmed by this metamorphosis.

The funny thing was, I was afraid, but the fear didn't frighten me. Does that make sense? The fear excited me, because this was something new, and with the acquisition—or I should say, the releasing—there came a feeling of well-being, an essential element that helped balance the power. Imagine being born blind and then, one day, a knock on the head enables you to see (the ability having been there all along). Think of the excitement, the awe for everything around you. The fear of it.

Yet still I wasn't a hundred percent certain. Flora's touch and thoughts had instilled the knowledge, flicked the switch of awareness, but what the hell?—I could have been hallucinating. There was only one way to find out, and a nervous thrill flushed through me as I headed for the stairs.

Val attempted to grab my arm as I passed, but something made her withdraw her hand before she made contact.

I ran up the stairs, ready (and eager?) for combat.

The Synergists were waiting, but were in some disarray; it wasn't just Mycroft's evident panic, nor my approach, that had caused their disorder.

A blue-violet sheen emanated from every object in the round room—the sofa, the chairs, the units, books, pictures, the mantelshelf, the windowframes, curtains: everything—bathing the room in its eerie light, the ceiling light itself tainted by the electric color. Spielberg himself couldn't have produced a more startling effect. To a lesser degree, but equally mind-boggling, the same glow outlined the living bodies in the room. If someone had snapped their fingers, static would have thundered in the air; if someone had sneezed, air currents would have created a storm.

The round room was alive.

It throbbed and hummed with its own power, but there was no sound and there was no movement: its existence could only be sensed and wondered at.

I stood in the doorway and felt the room breathe on me. Off to one side, Gillie was being helped to her feet by the girl called Sandy. Others were peering anxiously around at the walls, the furniture. Neil Joby looked about ready to throw up again. I watched as one of the men touched the drawing-board easel beneath the broken window and quickly drew back as the glow spread along his arm, strengthening his own light for a moment. The Bone Man was there and I could tell he wanted out, only I was blocking the doorway; he stood frozen in a loping attitude. Kinsella still had hold of Midge, and he seemed calmest of all.

Even calmer than Mycroft, who was near the center, his eyes for me alone.

Now was the testing time. I gulped.

First, Kinselia.

I was hesitant—and who wouldn't have been in my position?—so maybe that was why it didn't work immediately. I needed time and experience to build confidence, and had neither.

Kinsella suddenly found himself with an armful of goat. I've no idea why I chose a goat—it just flashed into my mind and I transferred the thought into his arms. Unfortunately, the image was only fleeting: Midge was back there under his grasp before he had time to register surprise and let go. His astonishment followed a second later, but he still held on to her, his jaw dropped and eyebrows arched. He blinked, thinking there'd been some mistake, and Midge struggled to free herself.

Nonetheless, something had happened and that at least lent a grain of credibility to what I was asking myself to believe. I could do it! I only had to concentrate hard and it could happen! I'd been wrong all along about Midge: she was certainly an important element in all this, a catalyst of some kind, but she wasn't the successor to Gramarye. Oh no, it was me, for Chrissake! Me! But now wasn't the time to ponder.

My thought struck again, and I tried to sustain it, already learning the tricks, or the art, or the craft, of Magic. Kinsella discovered he had an arm-lock on a grinning python. The image was more than momentary and, with a girlish shriek, he let go.

Midge collapsed to the floor.

'Get over here, Midge!' I yelled and she began crawling, not understanding why the American had dropped her and probably not caring—she just wanted to get to me.

But Mycroft's cane prodded her back and froze her there.

'Do you think you're a match for me?' Mycroft shouted in my direction.

And, honest-to-God, I chuckled. I think hysteria had returned and was sweeping me along at that point.

He became undeniably enraged—I suppose he felt I was mocking him (and maybe he'd got it right). He aimed his cane/wand and the doorframe around me burst into flame. I stumbled back into the hallway, singed and frightened, as the opening became a door of fire.

I had time to notice Val watching me bug-eyed from the stairway, her horrified face lit up by flames. I'd never known her lost for words before, but to give her credit she did her best to speak. All she managed was to flap her mouth.

'Don't ask,' I said to her.

Then I plunged back through the fire-filled doorway without giving myself time for further consideration, because at this stage of the game either I believed or I didn't—there were no halfway measures.

I heard Val's raspy scream, but other noises inside the room quickly drowned that. The fire behind me instantly snuffed out and I found I wasn't even scorched.

Mycroft and I faced each other across the room, while around us his Synergists moaned and groaned, not particularly concerned with me, more interested in what was going on around them. Everything in the room—the supposedly inanimate objects, I mean—was not only weirdly glowing, but was now pulsing: chairs, units, even the walls, were now all beating like odd-shaped hearts. The carpet was moving as though strong hands underneath were pushing upward. And the glass fragments that had been scattered from the windows were oscillating inches from the floor like jumping-bean crystals. Bone Man was reaching for a window catch, several followers jostling him from behind, eager to be off and away from the cottage; but when he clasped the metal catch his body vibrated and what hair he had crackled as if he'd been shocked. He leapt away, taking the others with him in a tumble of thrashing arms and legs. There were screams from women in the room (and no doubt from several of the men) and I saw that Joby had finally given up the contents of his stomach, except his vomit refused to leave his body completely—it flowed down his neck and chest and over his shoulders in a lumpy coating. Bricks and soot crashed down into the fireplace, a cloud of dust spreading outward to curl and linger in the air; the fungus on the walls seemed to be bubbling putrescence.

The round room had lost a lot of its charm.

Mycroft was mouthing something I couldn't quite catch over the hubbub; I guess it was an incantation rather than a grumbled complaint, and I wondered what he had in mind. I soon found out.

A web began raveling itself around me, pinning first my arms and then my legs, spinning round and round, taut like fine steel, covering my chest and lower body, taking no time at all to join the weave that rose from my thighs. The silver web crossed over my shoulders and I saw there were scores of tiny spiders among the strands, busy at work, darting hairy-legged to and fro. The cocoon grew rapidly, taking less than a minute, soon reaching my throat, where it tightened. In fact the whole mess became tight, so that I had difficulty in breathing.

Midge was on her knees, held there by Kinsella, whose hand dug into her hair. She shrieked out my name.

And me, scared? Yeah, more than I can say.

But I forced a calmness on myself because this was only trickery, only as real as my own mind allowed it to