Legend of the Sorcerer Read Free Page A

misinformed literary analysts” and that was “frustrated wanna-be writers”—otherwise known as editors.
    Cai raised a hand, even as Alfred’s gaze shifted to his computer screen. “No, she bagged that revision once I explained how it wouldn’t fit in.”
    “Well, if she’d half a brain in her narrow-minded head, she’d have never questioned—”
    “Don’t pick on Eileen, you like her, remember?”
    “Yes, I do. What is the problem then if it is not the lovely Eileen? Nice Irish lass. A pity she’s married. Children, too.”
    Cai merely tightened his smile. “The only I thing I lust after is her editorial skills.” He needed to contact her, he thought, and very possibly the local police. Was someone out there right now, torturing one of his readers? It seemed more fictional than real. But one look at any daily paper proved reality was often stranger than fiction. He just didn’t need this wacko to be his reality.
    “Well, lust in one’s work is always a worthy thing, lad, but you mustn’t ignore your more earthly needs. A man can’t live in his mind alone. It stunts the imagination,disconnects one from the emotions necessary to bring the words alive on the page.”
    Cai sighed, knowing he was in for one of Alfred’s lengthier speeches on the sins of ignoring the flesh. He didn’t need this reality, either. He glanced at the screen, but turned his attention back to Alfred. One problem at a time.
    It was often the only way he managed to get through the day.

T HREE

    J ordy sipped her morning coffee and stared out over the water wafting through the mangroves. Maybe she could do her own investigation and find the woman in the pictures. “Yeah, right,” she murmured. Joe Friday she was not.
    She focused on the water lapping the mangrove roots. She should start painting here, and use the real thing as inspiration instead of the images from the photos.
    Chicken. She should bag this and go home.
    Would the police do anything? If no one was pressing charges, maybe they wouldn’t care.
    Painting. Think about painting. She did some of her best thinking while she worked. In fact, when her mind wandered, the most creative of her creatures emerged from the clay, or from her pen. She usually did a series of ink drawings for new sculptures. Other times she just went directly to the clay and let the creature out. Right this moment however, the only creature begging for release was the haunted woman in the photographs on her dresser.
    She headed inside, closing the balcony door behind her. After a hot shower and a talk with the desk clerk, she was on her way to the police. So okay, maybe she was stillrunning. But trying to help someone else felt good. Besides, she honestly had zero interest in water colors.
    It was almost lunchtime when Jordy emerged from the Mangrove Key police department. Sgt. Winston had been solicitous and kind, smiling reassuringly as she’d asked several hypothetical questions before getting to her real reason for being there. She realized the officer thought she was the victim herself. His demeanor had undergone a dramatic change when she’d revealed the truth. He explained that the type of assault and battery done to this woman was very serious and indeed a punishable offense that did not require the victim to file charges. The state could do so on its own.
    He had her fill out a report and seemed so earnest. She wanted to believe he would do something, even though he’d warned her that it was possible the woman and her abuser were no longer in the vicinity.
    Sgt. Winston had thanked her for her concern and told her that she was free to go.
    Jordy knew she had done all she could, but she wished that she could have done more. She pulled into the hotel parking lot deep in thought. Then she saw the eye-catching sign. Before she could change her mind, she peeled the hot pink paper off the hotel manager’s office window and stepped inside.
    She emerged minutes later with a new job as the