The Magician's Dream (Oona Crate Mystery: book 3) by Shawn Thomas Odyssey Page A

of wood. It had been her father’s magnifying glass, and though he had not been a magician himself, Oona always felt a part of him was with her, guiding her, when she held it in her hand.
    The thought reminded her of the very people who had been responsible for his death, and that they were out there now, back at their nefarious deeds.
    “Actually, a link with the house does not require a conductor,” the Wizard said. “But once you have achieved the initial link, and you wish to use that power to achieve some task or another, a wand is then most advisable. The power you are connecting with is like that of nothing you have ever experienced before, Oona. I fear that your magnifying glass, as fine as it is for everyday spell work, may not be up to the task. I could not guarantee its safety, and I know how much you cherish it. You would not want it ruined.”
    Oona nodded thoughtfully, her nerves doubling up inside of her.
    “Oswald’s wand,” the Wizard continued, “is perfectly suited for this task. Now, are you ready to link with the house?”
    Oona shook her head no, but what came out of her mouth was: “I suppose.”
    Uncle Alexander smiled reassuringly. “Come now, don’t look so frightened. As I said, Samuligan will not hurt you.”
    She let out a quick tsk sound, not because she disbelieved her uncle, but because it wasn’t Samuligan she was afraid of. Well, mostly it wasn’t Samuligan. Rather, it was the magic she was about to connect with that she feared. She had experienced great power before, her own, and had thought that magic barely controllable. Though she did feel somewhat comforted with the fact that both her uncle and Samuligan would be here if anything went too wrong . . . she hoped.
    “Now, what I want you to do is stand here, beside the desk, and face Samuligan. Once you link with the house, he is going to do everything he can to keep you from leaving the room.”
    Oona took her place beside the slowly breathing desk, glancing at Deacon as she did so. He was shifting nervously from one foot to the other. Samuligan stood directly in front of her, his menacing armor clinking as he, too, shifted from side to side.
    “May the best man win,” the faerie said.
    “But you are not a man, and neither am I,” she said.
    “Lucky for us,” he said, his eyes flashing wide. “I’m pretty sure a man could not do this.”
    The faerie tilted his head back and pulled a three-foot broad sword from his mouth.
    Deacon tutted from the mantel. “A carnival man’s trick.”
    Samuligan raised an eyebrow at the raven. “Ah, but could a carnival man do this, as well?”
    And to everyone’s astonishment, he raised a gauntleted hand to his mouth and withdrew an entire wooden shield, the edges stretching his grin bizarrely as it slid from the cavern of his mouth and slipped quite neatly onto his forearm. Upon the surface of the shield was a painting of Samuligan’s own face, one eye closed in a perpetual wink.
    “Now you’re just showing off,” Deacon said, though he could not mask his tone of amazement.
    Oona turned abruptly to the fireplace mantel. “All right, Deacon, please stop encouraging him before he pulls a war stallion out of his mouth next, and I am forced to battle him on horseback.”
    “Let’s get started,” said the Wizard. “Now for your first time I am going to act as an intermediary between you and the house to start your link. You will need to take my hand to do so. But once you have tapped in, you will be free to release my hand, and will remain linked until you reach the front gates.”
    Oona nervously placed her hand in her uncle’s. The two of them stood side by side, facing Samuligan, and before she had even a moment to wonder what would happen next, she heard her uncle’s voice in her head as clearly as if he had spoken directly into her ear.
    “Profundus magicus ! ”
     
    ***
    The surge of magic was instantaneous, as if she had been struck by lightning. And yet the