Chapter Nine: Accidental Magic

Wordy brought both vambraces up, grinning fiercely as a brilliant blue light appeared in front of them and absorbed the curse. His opponent gaped at him, shocked, and Wordy took full advantage, lunging and going for an uppercut.

"Depulso," the other man snapped, hurling Wordy sideways into the altar. "You think you can challenge me?" he demanded, sneering. "You're just a Muggle, Constable Wordsworth." Anderson spun his wand, almost lazy in his movements. "So, your pretty little set of goblin armor can take Percutio…I wonder if it can take this! Crucio!"

Wordy didn't have time to get his vambraces up before the spell hit and then his world dissolved in pain; he screamed involuntarily, unable to move, or fight back, or even curl into a ball. It felt like his entire nervous system was on fire and he writhed under the torture spell as his opponent laughed, high and cruel. As his screams echoed off the crypt walls, both girls wailed in terror.

Greg Parker jerked around, nearly crying out his constable's name as he felt raw pain slam into him, buffered, thank God, by his meager magical core. Still, he staggered into the wall, attracting Ed's attention at once; the team leader flew to his Sergeant, bracing him as Greg panted, fighting the instinct to curl up and hide from the waves of pain flowing through him. "What's wrong?" Ed demanded, eyes intense.

"Wordy," Greg gasped out, "Wordy's in trouble." Trouble was an understatement as his constable's agony hammered at Parker, taking his breath away.

Ed's eyes went wide with fear and he snapped around, searching for any sign of his best friend. "Guys," he called on the comm, "Find Wordy…NOW!" The team leader had to snap back around to catch his Sergeant as Parker's knees gave, the Sergeant suffering under the Cruciatus Curse just as much as Wordy was, though thankfully not quite as intense. Grimly, in spite of the agony, Greg clung to the 'team sense', determined to find his constable.

Claire's mental dance of victory that her Daddy had found them first was cut short by his appearance and now – now her Daddy writhed under a magic spell…as helpless as Amanda had told her he would be without magic. But Amanda didn't look triumphant or smug, she looked furious.

"Stop it!" Amanda shrieked loudly. "That's an Unforgivable; STOP IT!" She launched at him, grabbing at his wand and crying out herself as the spell hit her for a few seconds. With a snarl, he backhanded Amanda, knocking her back into the corner. Claire's Daddy, still twitching and jerking from the evil magic, tried to crawl forward to put himself between the girls and the bad, bad man. Claire, sobbing, wanted to go to her father, throw herself in his arms, and know that everything would be just fine, but she knew it wouldn't be. Her Daddy didn't have magic, didn't even have his gun. So the little girl closed her eyes and wished, with all her heart and with all her soul and with all her strength, that her Daddy had a weapon to fight the bad man with.

It hurt, oh, Lord, it hurt. But if he didn't do something, Amanda and Claire were as good as dead and he'd rather die himself than let them get hurt. So Kevin Wordsworth crawled forward, stumbling to his feet and jamming his thumb on his radio. "Sarge, Sarge, I found them," he croaked, only to hear…nothing. Not even static; he looked down at his radio and realized…it was dead and he was on his own. Wordy swallowed, but forced himself forward, staggering in between the two little girls and their abductor. "Leave them alone," he rasped, as loudly as he could, bracing his feet and curling his fists.

Laughter rang out again, mocking him. "Do you understand now, Wordsworth? I can do anything I want to them and you can't stop me!"

Magic is an odd thing…it seems, at times, to follow no rules of physics, no rules of science, only limited by a witch, wizard, or Wild Mage's imagination. But magic, just like anything else, does have rules, does have limits. Thus, though the Narnian weapons given to Team One by the goblins were magical, they could not act by themselves, could not simply disappear from one location and reappear in another.

But the magic used to forge them, used to weave the protective spells and runes was powerful, ancient, and based on the Deep Magic of Narnia. Born out of Love so great as to be unfathomable, the Deep Magic sensed Claire's desperate plea on her father's behalf and acted. Her fledgling magic mixed with the magic in the weapons and they began to glow before vanishing from their place in a flare of light blue. And if, for a moment, the echo of a Lion's roar was heard, well, Someone was looking out for both father and daughter.

When the sheer agony died down, Greg finally got a fix on Wordy's position and yelled to get his team's attention. The entire team bolted out of the house, following their Sergeant, who raced for the nearby crypt at an all-out run, gun drawn and murder in his eyes.

Anderson sneered at Wordsworth, twirling his wand high and cackling anew at Wordsworth's utter helplessness in the face of real magic. He debated which spell to use next, then froze as blue light cascaded around the Muggle. When the light faded, Wordsworth had a sword and shield in hand and looked just as startled as Anderson felt.

"Expelliarmus!" Anderson snarled, angling his wand at the new weapons. They didn't even twitch, making Anderson draw back, stunned and finally a touch fearful. "Accio (2) sword!" Again, the sword didn't even twitch.

Wordsworth snarled and lunged, sword coming down right at Anderson's wand. The wizard pulled back, whisking himself out of Wordsworth's path and sending another Depulso at the constable. Wordsworth brought the shield up, blocking the spell, and the fight was on.

Magic lit up the chamber as Anderson fought, harder than he'd ever imagined he'd have to fight against a mere Muggle. Wordsworth blocked most of the spells Anderson flung at him, never more than a step or two behind the rogue Auror, forcing him back with that gleaming sword that reeked of Old Magic. After a minute or two, Anderson realized that Wordsworth wasn't going for him, he was going for his wand. The very thought outraged the Auror and he dispensed with the milder Light spells, snarling, "Sectumsempra (3)!" at the Muggle. The shield, reeking just as much as that bloody sword of Old Magic, blocked his curse yet again and Wordsworth's next swing missed Anderson's wand by a hair.

"Enough!" Anderson bellowed, leaping away from the Muggle and landing in the crypt's doorway. Turning, he sneered at Wordsworth. "Truly, I am…almost impressed…Muggle. Were you magical, I would have been pleased to fight at your side. But – " Anderson sneered again, " – sadly, you are not and never will be. Good bye, Constable Wordsworth." His wand tip glowed a vivid green and he snarled, "Avada Keda…"

"Stupefy!" rang out and Anderson had a moment to wonder who had found them before the spell impacted his back and he fell.

Wordy cringed, well aware that there was no magical block for the Killing Curse, but at the second shout and Anderson's collapse, he blinked in surprise, then shifted, peering into the gloom beyond the lower level of the crypt he, Claire, and Amanda were in. A man stepped in, pale as he looked down at his former colleague. The wand in his hand aimed toward the rogue Auror and disgust was already entering the newcomer's eyes. Behind the newcomer, Wordy heard the rest of his team clattering down the steps of the crypt, skidding into the room only to halt and stare at what they'd found.

In the light from Sarge's flashlight, Giles Onasi swallowed hard, looking down at the fallen Auror Anderson; then he looked past Wordy to the two little girls, both of whom were now clinging to the tall, husky constable.

"Easy, girls," Giles whispered, "It's over…you're safe now."

[2] Latin for 'I summon'

[3] Latin for 'cut always'