Wilder Mage by CD Coffelt

statement noting the subject, the variety of tests, and the conclusion. His lips pursed as he read the results, and this time, his hand did not shake.
    Good. About time I showed some fortitude.
    For several minutes, he stared across the room with unseeing eyes. Then he reached for his cell phone and hit a number he thought he’d never use again.
    A stern, emotionless voice answered.
    “Contact—” he looked down at the top of the report in front of him “—Madre Twelve. Patch it through to me.”
    “Yes, sir,” the bland voice said.
    The gray-haired man waited, tapping his fingertips on the desk, thinking of the options and complications of this revelation. Knowing it would eventually become an issue didn’t make it any easier. He forced his drumming fingers to still. And now that it was here, most of his planning over the years sailed out the window like so many daydreams. Life was like that, throwing a wrench in the works when reality opened its crazed eyes.
    The anonymous voice returned. “I have the number.”
    “Connect me, please.”
    He heard the ringing, one, two, three; he was beginning to wonder if this would end in a one-sided conversation with an answering machine, when he heard the phone being picked up.
    “Hello?” answered an aged female voice.

Chapter Nine
    S able tried to keep her mind on the customer’s order, but the conversation from the bar intruded. She grumbled under her breath.
    “Excuse me,” said the woman. She waved one hand in front of Sable and ignored her two small kids as they punched each other and screeched like cats fighting. The woman’s sky-blue nail polish caught Sable’s attention. “I want two ice cream cones and a large malt.”
    “I’m sorry, but we don’t serve ice cream.” Sable glanced at the bar and gritted her teeth. She took a breath and focused on the woman and screaming kids. “We have pop, but nothing like malts or ice cream. Sorry,” she said again.
    “But you are an eating establishment. Why don’t you have ice cream?”
    “Because we don’t.” Sable sucked in another breath and tried to think soothing thoughts. It didn’t help and she felt the churning energies surrounding her emotions begin to gather.
    The sound of a particularly loud giggle made her turn back to the bar involuntarily, where two college-age girls were jiggling their assets. Justus was not looking at them, though. He watched her with narrowed eyes as he polished the bar in a circular motion. Well, crap. With that kind of look, Sable wondered what she had done. Again. She turned back to the lady. The two kids had taken their epic battle under the table.
    “Can I get you a soda?” she asked. The smile she plastered on her face felt hard, but the woman shrugged, unimpressed.
    The woman gestured at the front window seat, flipping her hand in the air. “What about those? Don’t you serve ice cream in those dishes?”
    Off to the side of the crystals, Sable had arranged vintage sundae glasses and cups. They ranged from golden amber to cobalt blue and filled one small shelf. The clear glasses held red marbles, and the woman was pointing at them.
    “No, they’re for display. They are from the last century and are very old.” Sable kept her voice as level as possible, but looking at the fluted glasses, she had an idea and pulled a spiral notebook from her back pocket. “So, do you want the soda?” she asked absently as she scribbled.
    “No, we wanted ice cream. Come on, kids; let’s go before something gets broken.” The woman walked to the door without a backward glance, and the kids tumbled after her, punching each other and squalling.
    “Brats,” she heard Bert say under his breath. He walked to her side and wiped the dark brown tabletop with a white towel.
    She kept her back to the bar when a giggle from behind her made her clench her teeth.
    “I know they’re just kids, but still,” Bert said. He looked at her and then snapped his towel in her direction. The loud