Treachery (The Magician – Chapter Twenty-Three)

This is the twenty-third chapter of the serialization novel I am working on, The Magician – < click here to read the other chapters if you missed them or have no idea what this story is about.

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Treachery

Swayed by the persuading of Evelyn to give Ignace a second chance, the collective Tamberlane, Rankin and Birdwhistle families still had a great deal of pull.  As soon as he could be moved, Ignace was brought by ambulance to the Tamberlane property where he had spent most of his formative years.  Though Alexander’s decree had forbidden him entrance to the mansion, Ignace was installed in what was once Constance’s first floor bedroom suite in the coach house at the edge of the grounds. Her magic had allowed her son to live there.

His legs remained stubbornly immobile.  It was unknown whether or not he would regain the ability to walk, since his spinal cord was still healing.  Until then, he was stuck and despondent, feeling as though he had nothing left. He spent his days in depression, locked in an endless cycle of darkness within his mind.  

Vanessa stopped by one morning, trying to persist in breaking down the walls he had stubbornly built up.  Ignace had refused to see her, as usual.  But that day, she brought with her a small package.

“Make sure he sees this,” she had told Dean, the nurse that was keeping watch over him.

“This” was an old tape deck with a tape that said Play me on it.

Ignace scowled as the nurse showed it to him as he sat in his chair, staring out into the small yard that separated the coach house from the mansion.  He didn’t recognize the tape or the words on it.

“Shall I play this?” Dean asked.  “It might be something interesting.”

“I don’t care what you do with it,” Ignace snarled.

There was silence for a few moments before a few keys were struck.  A giggle could be heard, one that sounded all too familiar to Ignace though it was brief.

When the dancing first notes started to fill the air, Ignace’s heart seemed to leap into his chest.  As the tune continued to play, something within him seemed to finally snap.  His mother’s music, the melody he first performed to, was streaming out of the speaker of the tape player.  

He sputtered and turned in his chair, wheeling himself closer to the tape player as tears streamed down his face.  As the music continued to play, he listened, lifting magicless hands into the air to dance along with the melody.

But all too quickly, the song ended, leaving Ignace’s hands in the air as tears came to his eyes.  It was the first real show of emotion he had exhibited in the weeks he had spent there.

He was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to get out of the coach house.  He knew he needed to feel the fresh air on his face.  But he refused any help from the hovering staff and family members.  He fairly bellowed at everyone to leave him alone.

His aunt had been summoned.  After hearing his ranting, she acquiesced.  

“Let him have his way,” Maria ordered the hired home carers that wrung their hands at the angry outbursts.  “It’s the most spirit he has shown in days.”  She then turned to her nephew.  “You can leave this house only after you have made yourself presentable, Ignace. At least let the staff help you with that!”

Two hours later, tired but clean, Ignace rolled himself down the sidewalks of the city, intent on getting to the park at the end of the street.  He was exhausted from the exertion, but he needed time to think.  The past few weeks were full of events he needed to process and he did that best when he was outside.

The Allium Museum of Magical History was positioned at the west end of the park, several monuments to prominent historical members of the community surrounding a beautiful garden.  The east end of the park was at the top of a bluff overlooking the great lake. Ignace rolled towards it, surprised that it was deserted at this time of day.  The wind gusted then, chilly and damp, and reminded him of why no one else would be out.

But Ignace didn’t mind.  He sat in his chair, bundled up against the cold.  And he kept coming back, day in and day out. As he sat in solitary silence, he ruminated on what he had lost and sometimes even on what he had gained. 

He still refused to do anything else, especially anything that had to do with trying to reconcile with the Tamberlanes.  He rebuffed comfort from Maria and Evelyn and shouted angrily at Reginald and Alistair.  Worst of all, he refused to see Vanessa at all.  She still had Nestor’s gift.  The emotions she felt could bring beauty and sadness.  She could feel while he had lost the ability to.  And while he knew he should not be jealous, he was notwithstanding.  And that ate at him worst of all.

It was as if he was taking on Nestor’s pain once more, committing that age-old folly again and again.  But he could not bring himself to let go.  Every time she was mentioned, even in passing, he thought of what he had lost when he saved her.  He wanted to paint the pictures like he had once done, like she was able to do now if she chose.  It seemed as though he would never be able to again. 

Be patient, he was told.  He was tired of being patient.  He was patient for twenty-five years of imprisonment performing his magic.  He wanted to be free to live the life he dreamed about.  But he did not know what kind of life that would be anymore.

Tears came to his eyes.  He knew he was being unfair, especially to Vanessa.  After all, she had freed him and treated him as if he had mattered.  She continued to show that he mattered by freeing his friends.  He wished he had not pushed her away and wished he could tell her he wanted her to come back.

Almost on cue, she appeared in the park where he was sitting.  For over an hour she sat on the ground near him and waited for him to speak.  She wrote notes for her paper on a notebook, looking up at him every so often with a smile on her face as she adjusted the woolen hat atop her head or the scarf about her neck. 

“Why are you here?” he finally spat out.  He immediately felt guilt for treating her as such, but the emotions were still raw and still too hard to process.

“Because I feel the need to be,” she replied.

“Leave me alone.”

“No,” she returned.  

He began to roll away, to return to the mansion.  He refused to look back, though he was mad at himself as well for pushing her away yet again.  He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he did not hear any of what had been going on behind him.  He got only about fifty meters away though before he heard a shout.

He knew before he turned the chair around that it was Vanessa who had emitted the scream. It was a startled and fearful one that seized him with apprehension as he spun the chair around.   His eyes met with a sight he never thought he’d see.  A familiar form was holding Vanessa at knifepoint at the park. 

“Vittorio,” he muttered.

“Hello, Godding.  I was happy to hear that Lorenzo did not kill you.  That is good news.  Will you be ready to tour again?”

“What are you doing?” he asked, keeping his tone neutral.  He sounded almost bored as he rolled his chair a bit forward, hoping to close the gap.  Instinctively he knew that if he got close enough to his cousin, he could save her again.

Ancilotto tightened his grip on the young woman.   As he did so, he started to cast a spell as well.  It made Ignace freeze, for it was one he knew full well.  It was the spell of binding.

One wheel rolled over a dry twig and snapped it, causing the small man to jump, breaking the cast.  He pressed the knife he was holding closer to Vanessa’s neck.

“Don’t come any closer,” he ordered.  “I will kill her if you do.”

“What’s your plan, Vitto?” Ignace asked, locking the wheels of the chair, and moving his hands to his lap, holding them open.  “You planning to kill us both?”

The majordomo laughed.

“Silly magician,” he replied.  “I don’t want to see such a fine trinket such as either of you ruined.  No, I’ve come to claim you back and find a way to claim her.  Can you imagine the shows we could put on?  The money we could make?”

“I have no magic,” Ignace said.  “It’s gone.  Lorenzo took it when he shot me.  I have no abilities anymore.”

Vittorio shook his head.

“I can taste it, just as I can taste the beautiful magic within her,” he hissed, pulling on Vanessa again.  “I know it’s still in you.  I just need to find a way to release it.  I shall make you powerful again so you can make me powerful once more.”

Ignace blinked in surprise as he stared at the man.  Vittorio was never powerful.  He was Lorenzo’s right-hand man, always in the shadows, always doing as Lorenzo had bidden him to do.  

“What are you talking about?” he asked softly.

Vitto cackled as he concentrated on his spell again.  

“Do you think Lorenzo was really in charge, all of this time?  He had the magic to begin persuading others to work with him, to bind themselves to him, yes, but he couldn’t control you without help.  So he enlisted sad little Vittorio Ancilotto.  He recruited me, but not in the slanderous ways he recruited you and all of the others.  He found me in a sad, pitiful job.  I didn’t have his courage, but I had power he could not begin to fathom.  He needed me once he saw what I could do.  He saw the way I could weave his magic and my own into each bead.  He saw my ability and so he made a proposition that suited us both.  I was to be his majordomo.  I became someone.”

Ignace shook his head.  “He used you too.”

“No, Ignace.  He did not!” Vitto spat out, yanking Vanessa about as he did so.  

Ignace could see the fear in the girl’s eyes and tried to think of any solution. 

Vitto continued.  “I used him to do my bidding.  I wanted to travel around the old country and weave the lives of those that despised me into my own, but I had no chutzpah to do so.  I needed a front man.  Lorenzo was the perfect one.  He knew enough magic that he could help with the bindings and the charisma I lacked.  We had a perfect partnership, or so I thought.  But then he betrayed me.”

“We came back here to the new country,” Ignace said, slowly moving his hand across his lap. 

He found that if he concentrated, he could begin to use a bit of his magic again.  It heartened him to discover that, but he had to control his facial expressions.  As he kept his face as stoic as possible, he cast a spell that was colorless and soundless.  It unlocked his brakes and slowly began to move the wheels of his chair so that he could inch forward.  It was going to be agonizingly slow, but he knew he had to save his cousin.  He hoped that if he kept Vitto talking and not casting his magic, he could do that.

“Yes.  We came back here.  Lorenzo wanted to show the new world what he had become.  He wanted to prove he had control of you to your family.  He thought he could win back the love of that silly Tamberlane woman if he showed her what he could do.”

Ignace looked about, trying to come up with a solution.  He also noticed that to any passerby, the three of them looked as though they were having a chat free of any dangers.  Vito had somehow cast that illusion when he grabbed Vanessa.  But Ignace could see through it.  He hoped Vanessa could see it too.

After all, the magic they had already defeated these spells once.  He just needed to try to find it within him again.

Almost instantly, a plan came to mind.

Ignace leaned forward in his chair as if he were in pain, grimacing with the theatrics he had honed over the years.  The entire chair lurched on the brick walk, dumping him onto the ground, where he collapsed with a dramatic groan.

“Ignace!” Vanessa shouted.

Vittorio also let out a yell, lunging for him.  His meal ticket had crumpled to the floor.  The movement caused Vanessa to break free of the magic that was working to bind her.  It also shattered whatever magical illusion the majordomo had cast, just as Ignace had hoped it would.

As Ignace lay on the ground, he heard the shouts from passers-by as Vitto’s intent was made clear to bystanders.  Wielding the knife like a madman, Vitto lunged for Vanessa.

But the young woman had already gone on the defensive, putting herself between the assailant and her disabled cousin.  She lifted her hands and began to cast her own brand of magic. The colors filled the park as bystanders fearfully kept their distance, many on phones calling police or taking video of the struggle.  As Vanessa let loose the emotions that swelled within her and the magic swarmed around them, Vitto yelped.  He struggled to stand his ground, since he was being pushed back by the magic as it attacked him.  

Ignace let out a groan as the colors also dashed against him, calling to him.  He quit his struggle to get up and rested his head on his arms on the concrete as he let Vanessa protect him from the fury of the domoniketes that raged.  She was using the magic they had been born with to protect him in this fight.  She was putting herself in harm’s way.  And rather than fight it, he let her do just that.  He knew that he had to.

Vanessa closed her eyes and continued to paint with colors, singing the song of her soul as the emotions she fought with for so long took over her.  It was a song of gratitude and forgiveness.  It was the song of Nestor’s folly and Constance’s tears and the history that decreed that no one could abandon the family without being forgotten.  It was a song of mourning Benedict’s death and the words she wished she could have taken back.  It was even a song of sadness over the death of Lorenzo, though Vanessa would never admit it out loud.

Unlike the family members who let their emotions take over the magic they were born with, Vanessa channeled it, using it in a way none of her family ever seemed to do.  She was using Nestor’s gift to defend and protect instead of attack.  She was using it to heal and repair the fractures that had caused both of them damage. 

Ignace closed his eyes, gritting his teeth against the sensations as the magic began to flow around him and through him.  He flexed his own hands as he groaned from the pains that were healing him.  Vanessa’s powers seemed to be calling to his powers that he thought were buried in the shooting.  He screamed as his magic rushed forward, filling him anew. Suddenly, the most vivid shades imaginable washed from him as he joined Vanessa in painting the park with colors.  The magic mixed and mingled, creating a scene like no other.

A giant, shadowy Nestor appeared in the midst of the scene, fighting his own battle against those who had hurt Helena.  He battled hard and fiercely and defeated those who had angered him with his colors.  The raw emotions of his sister’s death filtered through, painting a darkness that thundered and stormed as the emotions were felt by all.  The oak was struck.  It had lost all of its leaves.

In this onslaught, Vitto had dropped the knife and threw his hands up, trying to brace himself against the powers that were flooding around him.  No damage was done to him, he was locked inside a defense that seemed to block anything he tried to break free.  Never had he experienced such an assault on his own powerful magic before.  It suppressed him, encasing him in a prison, locking him inside the emotions the two pathomotus magicians had felt.

Even the bystanders were affected by the magic.  They felt the emotions of the pictures as they stood, watching the display of color in shock and fascination.

But then there was a brilliant light that washed the park, swirling around every single occupant as the two pathomotus magicians cast a final picture.  The scene changed as two people shrouded in shadow embraced, healing the rift that had separated them.  The tree sprang to life, coming back to all of its full foliage and glory.

And Vittorio Ancillato was encased in a prison of prismatic color, screaming silently as the sirens of police vehicles whined in the air.

Click here for the next chapter – Reconciliation

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Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction written by K. S. Wood, and thus is copyrighted 2024. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.  No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.  All rights reserved.

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