Kay Hooper - The Wizard Of Seattle

But if her shield hid from him the chaotic emotions he evoked in her, it did nothing to help her cope with them. And because of that failing of his-that lacking, that missing something that made him refuse to see her as a woman-she had the added burden of feeling in limbo, suspended in some bewildering emotional purgatory between woman and child.

So Serena returned to the question once again. How much longer could she go on? The pressure was building inside her; she could feel it. She thought he felt it, too; his occasional business trips out of town had been more frequent with every passing year, and she had to believe the trips had something to do with the increasing tension that lay just under the tranquil surface of their lives.

If he had not been so often remote, especially in recent months, she might have gathered courage and brought up the subject. But he had been.

She couldn't risk it. What she feared most was being sent away, being banished from his life. He was capable of such a merciless act, she thought, given a good enough reason. Though he had never been cruel to her and she had seen no evidence of it, she sensed a streak of ruthlessness in him-perhaps the price he paid for the incredible power he wielded.

Serena was too familiar with the scope of that power to have any wish to put her fete to the test. She wasn't that desperate, not yet. But time was running out. The pressure was building, and something had to give.

Still ignoring the television that was now broadcasting some old movie with melodramatic music, Serena went to one of the windows and stared out. She felt very much alone, and oddly afraid.

It was raining again.

The blinding flash of pink, purple, and blue sparks was wrong, all wrong, and Serena winced even before the deep voice, coming from a dark corner of the room, could reprimand her.

"You aren't concentrating ."

"I'm sorry, Master." The proper humility, apology, and respect were present in her voice, but all were belied by the wry amusement shining in her vivid green eyes. In deference to him she was obedient to the longstanding rules governing the behavior of an Apprentice wizard-but only in this workroom. And only when he was teaching her.

From the very beginning she had refused to assume any kind of subservient manner, and Merlin had been wise enough not to insist on many of the ancient and decidedly outdated customs between Master and Apprentice.

" Why aren't you concentrating?" He emerged from the shadows where he'd been observing and stepped into the candlelight, showing her the lean, handsome face and brooding dark eyes of her Master wizard.

"I just have a lot on my mind, I guess. The party last night, for instance," she explained, gesturing idly with one hand and jumping in surprise when a thread of white-hot energy arced from her index ringer to ignite a nearby lampshade.

Merlin hastily waved a hand, and both watched as water appeared out of thin air to douse the tiny fire. The Master turned to his Apprentice in exasperation, and Serena spoke quickly.

"I didn't mean to do it."

"That," Merlin said witheringly, "is the whole point."

Gazing in admiration at the dripping lampshade, Serena ignored the point. "Why won't you teach me to summon water? I can summon fire so easily, it's only logical that I should learn to put out my mistakes."

Ignoring the request, Merlin said, "Stop saying summon , as if the elements are lurking about just waiting to be called to heel."

Serena bunked. "I thought they were."

"I know. But they aren't."

"Then…"

A brief spasm of frustration crossed Merlin's face. "Serena, I can't seem to get it through your head that wizards create . This is what sets us apart from witches, warlocks, sorcerers, and the other practitioners of… magic." The definition was wholly unwilling; Merlin hated putting labels on anything, particularly his art. "We create. We do not need to harness existing elements. We are not limited to that."

"All right. So teach me to create water."

"No."

Serena sighed with regret and unsnapped the Velcro fasteners of her long, black Apprentice's robe. Sweeping it out behind her, she sank down on one of the cushions scattered over the floor and contemplated her jean-dad legs. "I suppose you have a reason?"

Merlin, wearing his midnight blue Master's robe, moved about the dim room, blowing out their working candles and turning on several lamps. Their workroom, tucked up on the third floor underneath the rafters of the house, was always dark owing to the fact that the small, narrow windows were always shuttered. So even though it was the middle of the day, some artificial light was necessary.

The candles were used during work for two simple reasons: they provided a more organic light; and the energy expended during the practice of the wizard's art, particularly when the wizard was an Apprentice and lacked perfect control, tended to cause any nearby light bulbs to burst. In fact, those energies tended to play havoc with anything electrical, which was one of the reasons Merlin had chosen this attic room in which to teach Serena; it was as far as possible from most of the modern appliances in the house.

"Yes," Merlin said in answer to her question. "My reason is a vivid memory of what happened the first time I allowed you to try and create fire."

Her lips twitched, and Serena sent him a look from beneath her lashes. "That was years ago. I was just a rank beginner in those days. And besides, you put the fire out before it could do any serious damage."

"True. However, I doubt my ability to hold back the floodwaters of your enthusiastic creation."

Merlin unfastened his long robe and hung it over a stand in one corner of the room. like Serena, he wore beneath it jeans and a sweater, which revealed a tail, broad-shouldered form that held the considerable strength of well-defined muscles as well as might from less-obvious sources. Serena couldn't help watching him, her expressive eyes still guarded by lowered lashes.

Though he might have been any age and looked to be about thirty-five, he was certainly in his prime. Still, Serena would not have dared to guess how many years-or lifetimes-he had put behind him. In response to a long-ago childish question, he had said with a grimace that he was quite mortal. She hadn't believed it then, and wasn't sure she did now.

He was a compelling man physically, attractive to women of all ages. The young ones found his face exciting, and the older ones imagined tragedy in his black eyes and thought he needed taking care of.

Serena knew better.

"I wouldn't create a flood," she assured him. "Maybe a little waterfall, but not a flood."

Merlin gave her a look and opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say a word, the bulb in the lamp nearest Serena exploded with a pop. Only the shade kept her from being pelted with shards of glass.

"Serena, turn it off !"

"I know, I know." She closed her eyes and concentrated on corralling her wayward energies, drawing them in, tamping them down, erecting a kind of barrier inside herself to hold them in. It was something that tended to happen after a lesson, this "spillover" of her energies, particularly when her concentration was erratic.

Merlin had repeatedly tried to teach her that there was indeed a "switch," that she would someday be able to "turn off" her energies-something he had perfected long ago-but it was one skill Serena had failed to master.

She had, however, learned to restrain and cloak her energies well enough that she usually didn't explode light bulbs or cause other electrical problems merely by walking past.

Merlin, alert in case she needed his instruction, waited until she relaxed and opened her eyes, signaling her success. He went to get a replacement bulb from a well-stocked closet. Serena watched him dispense with the broken pieces of the exploded bulb with a flick of his finger, then screw the replacement into the socket.