Without hesitation, Nehor pulled the trigger. A blinding pulse of white light shot Chester in the chest, and the homeless man screamed before hitting the ground. Nehor stood over Chester when another of Geth’s men appeared at the end of the pier.
How are they able to materialize so quickly?
“It’s not him,” the second man said after arriving at Nehor’s side.
Nehor cursed as they looked through Chester’s pockets. The homeless man writhed but wasn’t able to do much else.
“Are you sure?” Nehor asked.
“Yes, this man is human. Look at his eyes. He’s covered them with an Earth substance.”
“Then we’ll have to kill him and toss the body into the harbor.”
“No,” the second man answered, “a corpse will only cause suspicion, which we do not need on this planet.” He pulled a vial from his pocket. “Here, this potion will alter his mind so that he will incorrectly remember tonight’s events. He will not remember the elven weapon, and he will be no harm to us.”
Without warning, the scene went black. I sat in my apartment, staring at an ordinary mirror, feeling my magic completely drained from my body, when a wave of dizziness overtook me. Right as Han Solo leapt onto my lap, I reminded myself never to use Earth magic to fuel my fairy mirror again. My head grew so dizzy I had to close my eyes to keep the room from spinning, and I passed out to the sounds of Han’s purrs.
I woke with a headache pounding through my temples. Rubbing my forehead, I looked through bleary eyes at the digital display on the microwave. 5:45. Had I really been passed out for so long?
The spellcasting hadn’t gone as smoothly as I’d liked, but at least I’d gotten some answers. As I’d suspected, Geth’s men had mistaken Chester for Mochazon. Chester’s medication was nothing more than a memory-altering potion. They’d used a basita weapon to stun him and had altered his mind so he wouldn’t remember. They’d even erased his identity in an attempt to cover their tracks, which was smart on their part. Had they killed the man, an investigation would have been launched to find the man’s killers, but since they’d only altered his memories, no one paid Chester any attention.
Except my OCD boss, Doc Hill. Thank goodness for his over-the-top obsessiveness.
Last night’s spellcasting had led me to the conclusion that Geth was closer than I’d suspected; it seemed he was one step ahead of me. But even with the revelation that Geth’s men were on Earth, I still didn’t know where to find Mochazon, and it seemed that neither did Geth, which left me at a dead end—at least where Chester was concerned.
But I still had one client left to visit—Miranda Hawkins, the University of Houston basketball player.
My bones ached as I showered and dressed. I couldn’t shake that fearful feeling that I’d gotten last night while standing outside my apartment. Like I was being watched. Like Geth was waiting for me to find the magical bloom so he could steal it away.
It made sense.
He wouldn’t have to do any work as long as I did it for him, just watch me until I found the bloom, overpower me—an easy task, what with his magical abilities that still apparently worked—and take the bloom for himself.
Simple, really.
I pulled on a pair of jeans and wore my charcoal gray sweater. I found my red knit scarf and slung it around my neck, hoping it would help with the chill.
The rest of my spare change went into filling up the Thunderbird. After my stop at the gas station, I made the hour drive up to the University of Houston. The trip went by quicker than I’d expected, but that was mostly because my mind was a million miles away.
I missed Kull. I wanted him here with me right now. If he were here, I wouldn’t worry about Geth and his men stalking me. I’d just let Kull finish the job he’d already started in the cavern when he’d taken Geth’s hand.
What would his sister think of that?
Had Kull found Heidel? If so, did she want to return with him? Kull seemed confident that she would, though I wasn’t so sure. Heidel wasn’t as loyal to her family as Kull believed. Even if Heidel did come back, I doubted she’d be the same person Kull remembered.
The traffic picked up as I neared Houston and followed the road signs to the university exit. The campus, I noted on arrival, looked like the typical college gathering place. Three-story, beige-colored buildings crowded around a sea of parking spaces. Short trees and shrubbery attempted to soften the concrete jungle’s urban feel.
I found the dorms and parked my car, taking my laptop case with me in case I needed it, although I doubted it would do much good. Then, I strapped on my backpack and made my way through the maze of buildings.
Hoary gray clouds hovered low in the sky, and I wrapped my scarf tighter as I found the right room. The gold numbers 629 tacked to the front of the door rattled as I knocked.
After the third round of knocking, I started to turn away, when the door opened. A girl with dark, puffy eyes stood at the entry. Mascara stains trailed down her cheeks, and her kinky hair was pulled into a ponytail, though pieces of it stuck up around her ears. Despite her demure appearance, she stood at least six feet tall.
“Are you Dr. Kennedy?” she asked in a weak voice.
“I am. And you must be Miranda Hawkins?”
She gave a quick nod.
“May I come in?”
She rubbed her nose with a wadded tissue. “Sure,” she said before ushering me inside.
Her dorm room was the typical model of efficiency. A living space and two bedrooms. Posters of famous basketball stars covered the walls. There were
