Calamity's Child by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee and Steve Miller Page B

moment later, he heard the door to the parlor
slam.
    "How very maladroit of me," Nicky
murmured, around a sigh. He allowed his head to fall back against
the chair, and closed his eyes, wishing that Benjy would
come.
    The chair was comfortable
and he was very tired. And it really would
not
do to fall asleep before he
had a chance to speak to Benjy. Grimly, he pried himself out of the
chair and wandered back to the shelves.
    He was browsing the novels when a
gleam caught his eye, back among the dark books. Aletha liked to
hide those things she had identified as precious, according to
Benjy; and her taste appeared to run to shiny.
    At great peril to his sleeves, Nicky
reached back and slid the object out, discovering nothing more
precious than a silver cigarette case. He frowned down at it,
noting Benjy's initials, and a slight shimmer across the surface,
as if --
    Behind him, the door opened. He
turned, slipping the case into his pocket.
    "Nicholas! A thousand apologies for
keeping you cooling your heels!"
    Nicky smiled. "It wasn't as long as
that."
    "Well, you're kind to say so," Benjy
said, running a hand through his already disordered hair. "I
suppose it's about Wolheim? The news report said the circumstances
were suspicious, and I thought of you."
    "Yes, it's precisely about Wolheim,"
Nicky said. "Listen, will you, and see what you make of
this."
    Quickly, he described the scene as he
had found it: the grotesquely transformed body, the cocoon of
spells, the lack of signature.
    By the time the tale was told, Benjy
was shaking his head. "I can't help you, I'm afraid. Wolheim didn't
confide in me, if you're thinking that this is one of his own
projects, gone hideously wrong." He frowned. "Though, how he might
have achieved that affect -- and there would have been a signature
in that case -- his own."
    "Too true. I'm wondering though,
something along the lines of your stored spell
system..."
    Benjy blinked, then shook his head
again. "No, old man, it's not like that. Even if Wolheim had
managed to completely overload his vehicle, the spell would still
have shown a signature -- his." He moved his shoulders. "A stored
spell is the same as any other -- just held in abeyance for a bit.
I'd show you just how it is -- but my prototype's gone
missing."
    "I see." Nicky frowned, wishing he
weren't so desperately weary. "Do you know of any enemies Wolheim
may have had?"
    "Besides myself, you mean? Only half
of the practical magicians on the town -- and half of the
philosophers, too."
    Despite his weariness, Nicky smiled.
"Explosive on all fronts, the late doctor."
    "That he was." Benjy shrugged. "Not
very helpful, am I?"
    "Not yet, but I expect you will be. I
would appreciate a list of those people you know Wolheim had
offended."
    Benjy sighed. "Is tomorrow morning
soon enough? You understand, it's a project which will consume some
time."
    "Thank you," Nicky said with a weary
smile. "Tomorrow morning will be soon enough."
    *
    "Nicky?" Nora's voice wafted into his
dressing room. "Whose cigarette case is this, darling?"
    He shrugged into his jacket and walked
out into the main room. Nora, adorably tousled in her carmine robe,
was fiddling with the catch on the silver case.
    "Oh, it's Benjy's," he said. "There
was something odd about it and I wanted --"
    Across the room, the case sprang open
with a loud swell of music and an expanding yellow cloud of a
thousand tiny butterflies.
    Nora squeaked and dropped the case;
Nicky leapt forward and caught it before it hit the rug. On a
higher plane, the butterflies reached the sky-blue ceiling, and
melted into snowflakes, embracing the two of them in a brief,
indoor snowstorm. The snow dissipated, leaving behind a lingering
sense of cinnamon -- the magical signature of Benjamin
Hillier.
    "What in heaven's name --" Nora
gasped, but Nicky was holding the silver case, his face perfectly
blank. She sighed, rather unsteadily, and went over to the table to
pour herself a cup of coffee. By the time she had