Sorcerer's Luck Read Free Page B

store and passing around a bottle of wine. As we approached them, I heard the dopers swear in shock, so I assumed they saw us vanish. The next minute Tor and I were walking on a tree-lined street with the dealers and the traffic left far behind.
    I glanced around and saw big houses set back from the street, surrounded by trees and gardens. I recognized the neighborhood as the fancy section of the Oakland hills. We stood high enough that when I looked downhill, I could just pick out the tree-shrouded campus of my college a couple of miles below. We’d ended up facing north, as far as I could tell, but our fast trip up had wrecked my sense of direction. In front of us I saw a white building. Behind it, the hill continued its rise.
    â€œHere we are.” Tor said.
    The white two-story house, blocky and squared off despite its peaked roof and chimneys, sat behind a short green lawn. The front garden consisted of one Japanese maple stuck in the middle of the grass. A side driveway led to a ramshackle garage. With its white stucco walls and red-tiled roof, the building looked older than the others houses nearby, which tended toward split-level sprawl, redwood decks, and very arty plantings.
    Tor took a smartphone out of his pocket. As we crossed the lawn on a flagstone path, I noticed a large sign in a lower window that displayed the name of a home security company. He turned his back on me, did something with the phone, then put it away. He took a key ring out of another pocket and unlocked one of the two front doors. Over the lintel hung a wooden plaque carved with strange, spiky letters—runes, I figured.
    â€œThe bottom floor’s my work space,” Tor said. “The top flat’s where I live.”
    It was a lovely flat, too, with hardwood floors and walls painted in rich colors. He led me into a room with big windows: one on the east wall that looked down to the college and Oakland beyond, sparkling with lights, and a window to the west with a view of the Bay and the Bay Bridge, wisped with fog and glowing from the strings of lights along the cables. After my dark basement I felt as if I were floating in mid-air.
    On the floor lay a modern Persian rug in pomegranate red and white with black accents. He’d painted one wall in the same red; the rest were white. I gawked at the leather sofa and two leather armchairs with matching hassocks, a couple of real Tiffany floor lamps, built-in bookcases, and a fireplace finished in natural stone. Here and there in glassed-in niches on the bookcase stood antique Chinese vases. I also spotted a solid jade carved mountain scene that stood about 14 inches high.
    I was tired enough to be rude. “God, you must have money!”
    â€œYeah.” He sounded sorry about it. “Investments. Family money. Here, sit down.” He waved at a leather chair. “Do you want a drink?”
    â€œNo, I’d pass out.”
    I sat in the chair nearest the door, just in case. He took off his jacket, tossed it onto the sofa, then sat down next to it.
    â€œFirst off,” he said, “I went to the county fair to find you because of my rune staves. I cast them a couple of times. They told me that someone who could see through illusions was working in the middle of crowds. When I saw your name, I figured it had to be you. You do know what Maya means, don’t you?”
    â€œIllusion, yeah. My mother was raised by hippies. The name is supposed to make me remember to seek enlightenment.”
    â€œOh.” He considered this for a minute. “That’s not a bad idea, I guess, assuming you want your daughter to seek enlightenment.”
    â€œShe did, yeah. She’s doing it herself. She’s a Buddhist nun now.”
    â€œSo I bet the L stands for Lila. The play of illusion.”
    I nodded yes and stifled a yawn.
    â€œAnyway,” he went on. “Here’s the deal. I can offer you one of two jobs. Part-time means you spend three days a