She had lost him again. “Do you suppose,” he asked, “that we could scrounge some lunch? I’m starving.”

“I suppose,” she had laughed easily, but her eyes searched his with a hunger that was not for food.

Wizard opened his eyes and stared down at the pipe in his hand. He held his throat shut against the hot smoke and passed the pipe to Lynda. “You are feeling fine,” she told him. “I can tell by your eyes. Isn’t it funny. Mitch? When we get stoned, I talk even more and you get even quieter. I don’t think you’ve said a word since you finished the wine. Are you still in there?”

“I don’t know.” He gave her a sad and foolish smile. The I-Don’t-Know Wizard. That was him- He watched her drawing on the pipe and holding it down and then whistling smoke. She passed it back to him and rose languidly.

He was still holding his hit when she flapped the hat in front of him. “Put it on,” she demanded with a giggle. “I’ve just got to see you in the complete outfit. When I first saw the hat in the bag, I didn’t realize it went with the robe and cloak.

Let’s see it on.“

He set the pipe down on the table. He took the midnight hat from her hands and gazed in melancholy at its bent tip. “I don’t think I want to,” he said softly. Just looking at it filled him with the sadness of opportunities lost. “Put it away,” he requested, and handed it back to Lynda.

“Oh, come on‘” she urged, and before he could protest any more, she set it atop his head. He cringed his eyes shut. expecting the flash of magic and the tingle of power against his skull. Still expecting it. Fool. He heard only Lynda’s drawnout giggling. He opened his eyes to her.

“It’s perfect,” she gasped. “Oh, geez, it’s perfect. You really do look like a wizard. I never would have believed it. But with the robe and the cloak and the hat, I mean, your eyes have that mystic look, that kind of sad and weary look you see in old fairytale books about kindly wizards. It would be even better if you had a beard and mustache. But even without them, you really got the looks for it. Come on. sorcerer, work me some magic. Draw me one of them pentagon things and summon a demon. Do me a magic trick. Got any rabbits in that hat?”

“That’s a magician, not a wizard,” he told her, trying to smile with her. “And they’re pentagrams, not pentagons.” He tried to bring the words out lightly. But the skin of his face was stiff with dread, and a chill had invaded him when she spoke so lightly of summoning demons. His required no summoning. They lurked always, chill on the back of his neck.

Would he ever feel warm again?

“Oh, come on, magic man,” she pleaded in a voice gone husky. “Do a trick for me.” She paused infinitesimally. “Or turn a trick with me.” She giggled suggestively. “I shouldn’t tell you this, I really shouldn’t.” She dropped down beside him and put her hand on his knee as she lowered her voice to a naughty whisper. “You’ll think I’m kinky or something. But that outfit kind of turns me on. It makes you look so strange and wild somehow. And just now, when J looked at you, I remembered that you had nothing on underneath it. And I felt this kind of a tickly shiver that began you-know-where. You know, I always wondered why men were turned on when they found out a woman didn’t have a bra or panties on. Now I know. It’s the thought of you just being kind of loose and reachable under there.” Her hand dropped to his ankle and began to creep up under the robe.

Wizard flowed to his feet. He removed the cap from his head and let it drop with a thump upon the table. His newfound verbal skills rescued him. “Don’t you think you’re asking a bit much of me? You feed me a big meal after I’ve been cold and wet all day, pour a bottle of wine down me and men get me stoned. About all I’m ready for is eight hours of sleep.”

“Oh, you!” Lynda rebuked him, but she looked more tantalized than refused.

Wizard stood looking slowly around the room. He felt a lucidity upon him, an awareness that had been missing for a long time. He could not remember what had so engrossed him that he had been blind to his own life passing. Things were going to be easier now. What had he been thinking of, to try and live like this? For what? He was letting it go now, with relief. He was moving in with Lynda, flowing back into the stream of reality. She’d help him. He’d get some clothes, sleep in a bed at night, find a job…

“Lynda, what kind of a job should I look for?” ‘

She shrugged lightly. “What did you use to do?I‘

“I was a sniper.‘ The words came quickly, without any thought. They extinguished me flames of change that had burned so brightly just an instant before. But Lynda laughed.

“No, dummy. Before the army.”

“I was a kid.” Those words came heavily. Truth was on him, he thought to himself, and then tried to chase the phrase away. No magic about it. It was simply true and he had said it.

“Well, baby, hate to tell you this, but there’s no money in being a kid these days. I haven’t seen any Help Wanted: Sniper ads, either.”

“Neither did I. ”A jacket of ice squeezed his soul. The scene leaped up in his mind, as bright as the flame. He was signing the papers, nodding as the recruiter reminded him that he couldn’t guarantee he’d get the engineering training, but that there was a good chance of it. No more money to finish college, so what the hell. Such a deal. So he hadn’t ever built a bridge or a road. He’d blown up a few. He’d learned things in the military he’d never have learned anywhere else. And he had been good at them. Damn good. Better than anyone else in his outfit.

He’d gone places no one else would go. Eyes like an owl, nose like a wolf, walking sorter than a spider in the night. He’d been so damn good. And proud of it; they’d all been proud of him. Until he came home.

The high was evaporating. He looked for the pipe, but it was out. He waggled it at Lynda, who took it and began to fill it for him. He watched impatiently as she lit it and drew on the weed to glow. But when she smiled and handed it to him, he just stared down into the bowl. “It’s not here,” he said softly.

“What isn’t, baby?”

“Peace. Love. Freedom. Bullshit. There’s nothing in here but burning leaves.”

“Buds, baby. That makes all the difference.” She took it back from him and sucked the smoke into her lungs. She swayed slightly as she exhaled and gave him a softly unfocused smile.

“Hey, magic man,” she said huskily. He looked at her. “Hey,” she repeated low. “Come here.”

She advanced on him and embraced him. He stood cold within her arms, suddenly wondering why he had been so passive as to allow her into his life this way. He hadn’t been looking for this type of involvement, still didn’t feel ready for it. Didn’t want it, he admitted reluctantly. So why go along with it? Because the lady wasn’t taking a polite no for an answer. She bumped against him and he staggered back a step.

She was not a dainty woman. It was like being nudged by a cow. The edge of the mattress. brushed his ankles. ‘Take me down, magic man,“ she whispered urgently, rubbing against him.

“Not right now.” Games. She was playing a romance game, with him as a prop; he was playing a delaying game. She had fed him and stoned him and wanted her due. But he needed to think carefully right now, not be a toy for someone else’s passion. Couldn’t she see that? Was she so oblivious to his moods?

“Don’t fight it, baby. Go with it. I’ll make you feel good.”

Her wandering hand groped through the robe. His pulse quickened in spite of himself.

“No!” he growled, feeling the sudden high rush of anger.

Strength coursed through him and his frustrations focused on her. He gripped her wrist tightly, putting a turn on it. The pain put a slight twist at the corner of her smile.

“Do it, baby,” she whispered. “Hurt me a little and love me a lot. Show me your claws, magic man. Make me do what you want. Make it wild and new for me.”