“July might stir memories of the tragedy,” Olicia said.

Niccolo Zafarti remembered that portentous night, when the telephone rang before his internal alarm went off, he knew it was bad, but hoped it was a wrong number.  He peered at the familiar digits on his cell phone and exhaled heavily.

“What’s up,’ he answered.  “One of Helena’s incantations backfired, didn’t it?”

“It’s not that, Mr. Zafarti.  I am sorry, but your sister is gone forever, trapped in a vortex.  She confronted Cyrus without reinforcing her powers, and he unleashed a whirlwind.  I am so sorry.”

Niccolo roared in anguish.  His sister had employed her training and had excelled, and had taken fledgling sorcerers under her wing, and Niccolo had to tighten security on the compound while she was bogged down in work. 

Niccolo wanted revenge so bad he could taste it.  His eyes blazed murderously.  His fists bunched at his sides.

“That was nearly two years ago and we still haven’t found him,” Olicia spoke with grave deliberation.  “I’ll try using the scribe again.”

“He may have put up a force field.”

Olicia glanced at the grandfather clock.  It was the thirteenth strike that drew her attention.  The front room was lit by dozens of votive candles.

Strangers rarely came onto Fonghorn, and the ones who did didn’t dare trespass on his property.  He had constructed his own protective barrier around the estate. 

Fonghorn was an unassuming village built mainly of stone and protected by spiked walls.  There was a bell tower that signalled the arrival of strangers.

The round table he and Olicia sat at Niccolo created himself.  Manufacturing furniture was his livelihood and he was a master at it.  Niccolo reached into his past for a lesson learned.   There were a few members of the Red Iron Clan powerful enough to put up force fields, but they were all dead,  destroyed by a sorcerer more powerful than them, his father, Paganus.

“I’m heading for the graveyard.   Call me if you get a bead on him.”  Niccolo frowned at the full-length mirror that was exposed.  “I thought I told you to get rid of that thing.”

Olicia hurried across the room, pulled the canvas securely over the loathsome object.  “Haven’t found anyone willing to haul it.  But I promise, if I have to, I will do it myself.  Shame though, such a beautiful-”

“That’s enough, Olicia.  Get rid of it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Niccolo’s gaze softened at the fear in his assistant’s eyes.  “I didn’t mean to yell.”  He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.  “I’ll be back before sunup.”

******

As the silver Jaguar blazed across the bridge, Niccolo jammed the gas pedal desperately trying to avoid the lasers.  Security was tight because of grave robbers.  Here he was in a cemetery that had been vandalized dozens of times in a four day period.  Golgotha had security beams that had enough juice in it to disintegrate a person.

He slowed the Jaguar once he was out of the line of fire, rounded a bend in the grassy, sealed-off section.  As he pulled up to a mausoleum at the west end of the bone-yard he noticed a woman in a flowing white dress.  There was a crackling of moans and whispers, then the rasping sound of sliding granite.  Before he could fully take it in, he saw a shadow dart across the grounds.  His father’s grave was just a few yards away.

Niccolo roared in fury, burst from the Jaguar.  He saw a flash of light out of the corner of his eyes,  felt the debilitating effect of the reflector.  Niccolo generated a fireball in the palm of his hand and hurled it at the minion.   Contact.  The reflector shattered and the minion burst into flame.  Niccolo caught his breath, generated a force field around himself.  A hiss and running footsteps sounded on the other side of the wrought iron gate.