Authors: Jacqueline Diamond
Daddy Warlock (3 page)
This lavish display, in the house Chance had purchased with his more than generous salary, had been an attempt to seduce him into the good life. If only his father valued his business acumen, instead of the hidden talents that could make them unimaginably rich and powerful.
Their eccentric family had always possessed unusual talents, including the ability to levitate small objects. Raymond also had a touch of ESP with which he tried to second-guess business rivals. Fortunately, from Chance's point of view, it had not proved very reliable.
Raymond had deliberately married a distant cousin in the hope of concentrating their abilities in a child. However, when his abilities began to develop during his teen years, Chance had recognized that it would be wrong to use them for personal gain. For years, he had kept his gifts a secret, even from his parents.
Sometimes he had wondered if he were being selfish. The ability to touch people's minds offered great potential for helping others. Once, by taking some of a friend's pain on himself, he had helped the man recover from the trauma of a motorcycle accident.
He was able not only to read others' thoughts but to influence them. That was the dangerous part. If such powers were misused, they could result in great evil.
Chance might have gone on keeping his father in the dark had it not been for an incident the previous month. He and Raymond had been driving back to their office from a studio where they were consulting on a film. As a traffic light changed, a tiny girl waiting on the sidewalk had pulled away from her mother and run into the path of a truck.
Seeing her danger, the child froze. There was no time for anyone to reach her, and the truck couldn't stop in time.
With a wrenching groan, Chance had flung himself into the girl's mind. With little practice in exercising his talents, he hadn't been sure it would work, but it had. Propelled by his internal command, she'd thrown herself aside just as the truck roared past with brakes squealing.
Exhausted, Chance had returned to himself in time to see the gleam of recognition on his father's face. Now Raymond was full of plans.
The sky was the limit, he declared. Once Chance put to work his skills at mind control, they could dominate
their industry, expand into other businesses and even influence legislation. The world would be theirs.
Wearily, Chance gazed around the courtyard. He loved this house, and he knew it would be difficult to afford the payments through honest work.
But tonight something unexpected had happened. He still wasn't quite sure how it had come about.
He hadn't meant to manipulate that delightful sprite into his bed. Entering her mind had been unintentional. In fact, he had the peculiar sense that she had entered his first, but how could that be?
The responsibility lay on his shoulders. Without meaning to, he had taken advantage of a very special lady. He must learn to rein in his powers; already, they had become dangerously strong. Tonight, they had overwhelmed him.
Until now, Chance had weighed the possibility of indulging his father a little without going beyond the bounds of fair play. But this ability to enter others' minds was more potent than he had expected.
He must cut his ties to his family and find his own way in the world. While earning a masters' degree in business, he had discovered an affinity for the financial markets. He must develop his talents in that directionâ without using magic.
At the memory of the woman's heightened sensitivity, Chance's body stiffened. He wanted her again, physically and mentally. He wanted to probe what had happened between them, and make sure she hadn't been harmed by it
But if he'd lost control once around her, it might happen again. At this point in his life, with his abilities coming into full strength while he yet lacked the skill to control them, he might injure her.
At least she shouldn't suffer any great distress from tonight's encounter. What had occurred had been at so deep a level of consciousness that he doubted she would remember it.
But, to be on the safe side, Chance had instinctively acted to protect his privacy by leaving a kind of posthypnotic suggestion. As far as his lady was concerned, he would be less than a phantom, scarcely a shadow of a memory.
She would go on with her life, only vaguely aware of a sensual experience that would seem more dreamlike than real. She would forget him, and perhaps that was for the best.
But he would never forget her. And he doubted he would ever stop wanting her, either.
Being in the first grade was mostly fun, especially in Mrs. Wilson's classroom, because she kept a chinchilla and two hamsters in cages. Also she read funny stories aloud and let you watch
Winnie the Pooh
cartoons during recess when it rained.
But Harry Blayne hated lunch. He didn't actually hate
his
lunch, because Mommy put good things in it, like granola bars, and celery sticks stuffed with peanut butter, and blue-colored juice. But he hated lunch because John Abernathy the Third always sat at his table.
John Abernathy made fun of the fact that Harry didn't have a daddy. John had
two
daddies, one for weekends and one during the week.
Also, John was a lot bigger because he had repeated kindergarten, and he could make a peashooter out of his straw and whap Harry with it so Harry nearly choked on his granola bar. The teachers never saw John do it, either.
Today was even worse, because it was Friday and the cafeteria was serving pizza. Harry was stuck with his usual lunch because Mommy didn't earn much as an office manager, so he always had to brown-bag it.
John had bullied an extra piece from the little girl next to him. Now, while the lunch monitor was on the other
side of the room, he leaned across the table to pester Harry.
“Well, look at Scary Harry!” teased the bully. “Don't you like pizza? I've got two pieces. Bet you wish you had one!”
“Choke on it,” muttered Harry.
“Would you like one?” taunted John, holding out a slice of pizza with two tempting circles of pepperoni on it. “Come and get it, Mr. Stupid!” Some of the other kids laughed nervously.
“I don't like pizza,” said Harry, even though he wasn't supposed to lie.
John waved the slice so the smell made Harry's stomach rumble. “Well, that's good. I
love
pizza. Did I tell you my daddy buys me a whole pizza anytime I want?”
It wasn't fair. Harry could smell the rich sauce and almost taste the thick cheese. The worst part was that any minute John was going to stick that delicious thing in his mouth.
Then Harry got an idea. It was something he'd been playing with in their apartment, but it upset Mommy, so he only did it in his room now.
He stared at the slice. It quivered, just a tad. John was grinning. “Boy, you really want it, don't you? Maybe you could trade me something for it. How about that new watch you got for your birthâ”
With a faint whoosh, the pizza flew through the air, right into Harry's hand. He stuffed it in his mouth before John could grab it back.
A flurry of childish voices could be heard. “Wow!” “Did you see that?” “What happened?” “Harry made the pizza fly!”
“You stole my pizza!” roared John.
“It likes me better than you,” said Harry, or that's
what he tried to say, but with his mouth full, it came out a mumble.
“Thief!” John picked up a fork and, to the collective gasp of the watching students, flung it at Harry.
There wasn't time to think or duck. Harry could feel his mind reaching out, very calmly, as if everything had slowed down, and this invisible hand grabbed the fork and heaved it back the way it had come.
John's shriek silenced the cafeteria. A red mark on his forehead showed where the fork had hit.
A fifth-grade teacher stood in the aisle staring at Harry. With a gulp, he realized that she'd seen him make the fork turn around in midair.
Mommy was going to be really, really mad.
T
ARA PUSHED OPEN
the door to her apartment and staggered inside. She hadn't realized there was so much personal stuff in her desk at work until she had to clean it out.
The bright light of midday washed across the living room, picking out every ugly detail of the stained carpet and the threadbare couch. This wasn't the kind of place where she'd imagined herself living and raising a child. Now she was unsure she would even be able to keep this.
Downsizing. Rightsizing. No matter what they called it, the result was that after six years as an office manager, Tara Blayne, single mother, was out of a job.
She dumped the armful of notebooks and desk accessories onto the scarred coffee table. She couldn't turn to her father, who had refused to accept her phone calls or respond to her letters all these years since she decided not to put Harry up for adoption.
Tears threatened to wreck Tara's composure, but she rubbed her eyes fiercely. This wasn't the end of the
world. It was just one more setback. At least she had her son, the most precious part of her life.
Maybe she should have listened to Denise and tried to find the father after she discovered she was pregnant. He'd been rich, Denise had pointed out. He ought to help support his own child.
But Tara couldn't bring herself to do it. For one thing, after they discovered they'd misread the street sign and landed at the wrong party, she'd been overwhelmed by a sense of shame at her behavior.
Plus she had such a vague recollection of the man that sometimes she wondered if she'd been drugged. Of course, there was no way of proving that now. But he must have been a terrible person to take advantage of her that way.
And if he
was
rich, that meant he could afford the best lawyers. These days, plenty of men sought custody and got it.
The sharp buzz of the phone startled her. Who would be calling in the middle of the day, when no one was supposed to be home?
“Mrs. Blayne?” came the voice of the school secretary. “I tried your office but they said you'd left. The principal has requested that you come to his office right away. I'm afraid there's been a discipline problem with Harry.”
When she related, with apologies for the implausibility, what had happened in the lunchroom, Tara felt a jolt of dismay. She'd tried to tell herself that what she'd seen Harry do with his toys had been a misperception. But now a teacher had witnessed the same thing.
Either the world was going crazy, or Harry's father had been a lot stranger than Tara imagined.
IT WAS NEARLY EIGHT
o'clock by the time Chance got home from the office, and he still needed to put in a couple of hours on the computer.
As he crossed the driveway from the garage, his steps crushed some alyssum that had infiltrated the cracks, filling the spring air with the flowers' honeyed essence. Involuntarily, he imagined his lady beside him and how she would relish the gentle fragrance. But she was only a ghost of a memory, elusive as a moonbeam.
At his approach, colored floodlights bathed the front of the house. The stucco had been painted last year, an earthy tan, and the trim redone in chocolate.
As his financial consulting firm prospered, Chance should have redecorated long ago, but something had stopped him. The ugly marks left by the castle facade had served as a reminder of the Halloween that had been the turning point in his life.
Everything that had happened since had come from the lessons he learned that night. Even when the paint deteriorated into an eyesore, it had been hard to give up the last tangible reminder of that night.
Every once in a while, over the past seven years, Chance had felt the urge to track the lady down. But even now, he wasn't sure he might not somehow harm her if they met again.
He had struggled to gain control over his abilities, but there were no classes in how to keep from invading other people's minds. So he had found his own way, beginning with meditation and proceeding to a study of Eastern and Native American beliefs.
Gradually he had schooled himself to erect an imaginary glass wall between himself and others whenever temptation beckoned. It worked, but it made him feel shut
off, as if he were wearing gloves when he yearned to touch the surface of the world.
His father still believed Chance's success as an investment adviser and stockbroker must come from trickery. Sadly, the man couldn't understand his son's attachment to ethics.
Some things, Chance supposed as he mounted the front porch, never changed. He loved his father, but he doubted he and Ray would ever be on the same wavelength.
To the computer, he said, “Today's password isâ¦ketchup.”
“Wrong,” it said in a dry, nasal tone.
“Oh, shoot. That was yesterday.” Chance wished he could make the thing recognize his voice. He supposed he could carry a remote control, but then he had to worry about losing the dam thing. “It's mustard.” He was working his way through the condiments this week.
As the lock released its grip, a deep sigh arose from the house. “You're late again. I don't suppose you've eaten dinner, have you?” Its whiny voice lay in the hightenor range.
“No. What've we got?”
After an almost infinitesimal pause, the computer said, “Tuna salad. Curried rice. Yogurt, assorted flavors. You ought to eat the rest of that fried chicken you brought home yesterday. As you know, Rajeev's a vegetarian.”
“Thank you for your concern.” Shouldering his way through the door, Chance wondered what perverse impulse had led him to design a computer program that nagged.
As he entered the living room, wall sconces bloomed with light. The voluptuousness of the velour couches, lacquered chests and Persian carpets struck him as gaudy, but he never spent time in this room anyway. His housekeeper
had to clean the darn things, so Chance had allowed Rajeev and his sister, who also lived on the premises, to pick the furnishings.
Turning to his right, he wandered down a hall to the kitchen. Shining butcher-block counters, freshly waxed linoleum and gleaming stainless-steel sinks testified to Rajeev's efficiency. Prompted by the computer, the toaster oven was preheating.
Chance peered into the refrigerator. Using his mind, he shifted a few items until he could retrieve the chicken. Levitating objects might be a mere parlor trick, but it was good for mental discipline.
After putting the chicken in the oven, he ambled down the hall to his bedroom suite. He'd always slept in the tower until that night with his lady, but since then it had brought back too many vivid memories.
He needed to forget the woman and move on. Chance aroused plenty of feminine interest in the course of his work. Why couldn't he bring himself to return any of it?
As he unknotted his tie, the sudden blare of recorded music stunned him into nearly strangling himself. After the initial startled moment, his senses identified a sultry tango.
Slipping into jeans and a polo shirt, Chance adjourned to the courtyard. There, beneath spotlights, two exotic figures tormented each other across the flagstones. A man's shiny shoe stamped out a beat, a multicolored skirt snapped and a lithe female body twirled as two pairs of black eyes met and defied each other.
“Extension!”
“Hand position!”
“Tilt your head!”
“Too slow, too slow!”
The words rasped in time to the music. Sweat beaded
on dark skin. Faster, faster they pounded, until the dancers flung themselves into a back-bending, arm-bracing finale.
“Well?” said Rajeev, pushing his sister unceremoniously to her feet. “What do you think, eh?”
“Better,” Chance decided. “You're definitely getting the hang of it.”
“But do you think we have any hope of a trophy?” asked Vareena, smoothing her skirt. Although five inches shorter than her brother, she had the same dramatic coloring and erect posture.
Three years agoâa year after Rajeev came to work for Chanceâthe pair had fallen in love with dancing while watching the movie
Strictly Ballroom.
A clerk at a convenience store, Vareena practiced with her brother whenever possible. Now the waltz, the paso doble, the tango and the samba echoed through Chance's dreams.
“As much hope as anyone,” he said. “Great costumes, except⦔ He changed the color of Vareena's hair ribbon from green to a shimmering rainbow. “Think you could find a fabric like that?”
“Truly wonderful,” said Rajeev.
Vareena removed the ribbon and studied it. “Yes, yes, very nice. I will look for it.”
Chance relaxed his concentration, and the green color returned. The brother and sister applauded. They never lost their appreciation of his antics.
On the way back to the kitchen, he wondered why he had ever thought hiring a housekeeper of Indian descent would complement his interest in meditation. Anything even faintly mystical bored Rajeev to tears.
The tantalizing scent of fried chicken made his stomach rumble as he fixed a plate of food. Grabbing a can of soda, Chance moved down the hall to his master suite,
where he had equipped the front den with a laserdisc player, a big-screen TV and a Pentium computer with CD-ROM and a huge selection of games.
Dropping onto the couch, he flicked the TV to the local news. What followed was the usual jumble of car chases, picketers, politics and weather. He was about to switch it off and retreat to his home office when the announcer's words arrested him.
“Now for a tale of black magic, or white magic, in a most unlikely setting! Find out where, when we come back.”
It was probably a story about a psychic fair, Chance supposed, but he needed to find out. The Powers family was unusual in its gifts, but not unique. If someone with real ability was giving a demonstration, he wanted to know about it.
Most people, of course, would do almost .anything to keep such talents secret. If you didn't, people dismissed you as a kook. Chance's cousin Merton had nearly derailed his accounting career by getting drunk at a party and literally juggling some booksâhands-free.
If one person had been born with the ability to read minds, it could happen again. The next recipient might not be so honest, either.
The commercials ended and a microphone-wielding reporter posed in front of a low building. “Two first graders were suspended from Palm Mesa Elementary School earlier today after one of them allegedly threw a fork at the other. School officials claim the intended target mentally flipped the fork in midair and made it strike the first child.”