The Wizard of Seattle by Kay Hooper Read Free Book Online

“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-clad 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 fect that the small, narrow windows were always shuttered. So eventhough 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 tall, 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