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

immense magical force was instant. And so was Samuligan’s attack.
     
    ***
    He shot up out of the pond, his long black cloak and cowboy hat scattering water in every direction. Covered in moss and slime, Samuligan darted toward the pond’s edge, where the metal ball lay vulnerable and defenseless.
    The World of Humans! Oona thought. He’s going to get it before I’ve even started.
    But in that same instant, something else occurred inside of her. Not a thought . . . at least not her own. It was the power of the house pouring into her, and she suddenly understood that she did not need to think of something to do, because the house was going to think of something for her.
    She raised the wand as Samuligan came splashing to the edge of the pond, his long faerie fingers groping for the metal sphere. She acted on instinct—or on the house’s instinct—it was terribly confusing to try to differentiate between the two.
    She turned the wand upward toward her shoulder so that its tip touched Deacon’s chest. He cawed in surprise as Oona shouted: “Ani voxsis!”
    With a harrowing cry, Deacon launched from her shoulder like a bullet, claws engaged. He latched onto Samuligan’s wrist and hurtled upward.
    Oona flicked her wand and Deacon soared toward the sky, Samuligan dangling beneath him. They flew high into the air and hovered just above the tops of the trees, and it occurred to Oona that the magic was imbuing Deacon with supernatural powers. No normal raven could possibly lift a six-and-a-half-foot-tall faerie from the ground, and as she watched Samuligan struggle to free himself from the raven’s iron grip, she noticed an aura of light surrounding Deacon. The light radiated from his wings in shimmering rays of yellow against the purple-blue sky.
    She raised the wand above her head, whirling it in a circle, and Deacon followed the looping pattern, gaining speed. Tracers of light jetted out behind him like ribbons. Samuligan’s boots flew off in different directions, yet his cowboy hat remained remarkably secure upon is head.
    At last Oona gave her wand a second flick and shouted: “Fanissium!”
    Deacon’s shimmery glow vanished, and his claws disengaged from the faerie’s wrist. Samuligan went flying. He tumbled through the air before landing quite nimbly in the topmost branches of a nearby tree. His eyes twinkled, his toothy grin as wide as the moon as he looked down at her and held up one finger.
    “One try down,” the Wizard said, sounding quite pleased. “Very good, Oona. That was quick thinking, to enchant Deacon.”
    Deacon settled himself on a low branch and ruffled his feathers. “You might have asked first!”
    Oona shook her head. “Sorry, Deacon, but there was no time. And besides, I can’t say for sure that it was me who thought of it.”
    The Wizard’s bushy eyebrows rose slightly, and Oona thought she detected a smile. “Yes, sometimes the house can act of its own accord, doing what it believes best. It brings up the question of who is the master, the magic or the magician. But that is a philosophical debate for another time. Samuligan still has two more tries to get past you. Remember, the World of Man is relying on you.”
    “The World of Humans ,” Oona said.
    She glanced back toward the top of the tree to where Samuligan had landed catlike upon the upper-most branches. He was nowhere to be seen.
    “That scoundrel,” Oona said. “Where has he gotten to?”
    All seemed silent. Across the pond, she could make out what appeared to be several couples lounging on picnic blankets and staring in her direction. They had no doubt noticed the incident with Samuligan and were keen to see what was going to happen next. So was Oona. She tensed, casting anxious looks in every direction.
    And then she heard it, a woman speaking very loudly. At first Oona could not make out what the voice was saying, but it was definitely getting louder, getting closer.
    Oona whirled around and peered down the paved