Mirror Bound

by Kirsten Bij't Vuur

  that was more because he was formulating carefully than due to speechlessness.

  I knew he'd have no problem with silences, and Lukas waited for him as well.

  In due time, he spoke up: 'Thank you Melissa. You've just formulated very precisely what I have felt for years, but couldn't exactly put my finger on.

  That the pain I felt about the situation wasn't my own responsibility, but her parents indulging her inappropriately, at my expense. How could I force myself to love someone I just wasn't able to, not that way? I did suffer, and it damaged my ability to love another, for I was afraid to be unable to deliver in the end, again.

  And I suffered for that as well, for I might have lost you because of it. It was jealousy of Lukas that finally forced me to act. Had he not been here all the time, making me love him despite my jealousy, I could have put off taking my love for you into action for years. But however much I hurt, it does not compare to what Ilsa has suffered all those years, waiting for someone she couldn't have, starving her feelings, maybe even to the death. I wish I knew if there is still hope for her.'

  'Fear not, I will find out,' Lukas' voice now said, 'I have no history with the family but they know me and I think they trust me. I will visit, get myself invited to a family meal, and observe her, maybe even get to talk to her.

  Then I will tell you, and you will find closure.' It was clear that Paul was seriously considering this scheme, he would never be able to approach Ilsa again, and this was a good way to find out about his sister.

  I certainly felt the compliment to Lukas, that Paul would trust him with a woman he saw as his own sister, who had no experience at all with men, who had lived as a nun in her parents' house for years now.

  Somehow, Lukas' view on sexuality had shifted a little towards Paul's own, and that had increased Paul's faith in him. I thought that Lukas might break Ilsa's heart still further, being so at home in their society but adhering to a totally different moral standard, and with her so secluded that she was used to no male companionship at all.

  Lukas would strike her like a missile, impossible to miss her heart, inevitably disappointing her hopes of a lasting relationship, again. But she was Paul's past, and frankly I didn't care one bit about her fate, I wouldn't mind risking her heart if it would give him some more trust in his future with me. I saw him as a victim, and Ilsa as perpetrator, even though I suspected his need for

  control was probably a character trait, not a trauma caused by her behaviour Now my two friends cleared up their work space and washed their hands, task finished, and as ready for some dinner as I was.

  They laughed and joked on our way up, speculating on what I was planning to cook: 'It's your turn to make dinner, Melissa, we've cooked for the last week,' Lukas said. Paul retorted: 'Yes, will it be burned potatoes or overcooked vegetables today?'

  Truth is, they were right, I was not a good cook, and it was a job I hated doing, so I usually got distracted from it and then something would go wrong, indeed overcooking stuff or burning it. Thinking of the first time I ever had dinner at Paul's place, I pretended to consider what to cook, then said: 'You're both right, I think I'll make noodles tonight,' and as I knew he would, Paul immediately stepped in: 'I love noodles, but maybe it's better if I make them.'

  He really didn't like the idea of me spoiling perfectly good noodles, which I knew, but wouldn't let on. My goal accomplished, no cooking for me that night, and edible food into the bargain, I still pretended to be hurt, and got a few kisses to make up for it.

  It wouldn't do for them to realize I'd do anything to escape my turn to cook. I made a pot of tea, whilst Lukas plundered the cellar, and Paul chopped meat and vegetables. It didn't take a lot of time to prepare, and soon we were enjoying a feast of flavour, and a nice bottle of red wine.

  And then our speculations about the faeries started. 'What if a mage sneaks on to their grounds at night, stealing souls?' Lukas asked. Paul shook his head: 'That is virtually impossible, they have very strong wards on the whole park, in several different traditions, I've spent weeks there myself, weaving wards with guardian magic, and I would know if they had been passed by, even if I can't see into this mage's own territory. That is different, easier to do.'

  I suggested: 'May we conclude then that the perpetrator is someone that the family knows personally and allows access? Or could it be done at a distance?' This clearly made Paul think, and he replied: 'I think we may, Melissa, that may be important.

  Stealing a soul is complicated magic, the soul needs to be transferred to another person or object directly, using spell components and maybe even physical contact.' I was amazed: 'Can a soul be transferred into an object?'

  Paul nodded, and said: 'Even a human soul, but the body generally doesn't go

  on soullessly, humans without soul tend to die within a week. It is as if our souls are attached more solidly, making them more difficult to remove and causing more damage in the process.'

  So, someone in the family, or staff. Lukas apparently had the same idea:

  'Could it be someone in the staff?' 'One can never be totally sure, but they generally hire folk from the same pagan tradition, and it would be very difficult to hide evil intent from accomplished mages like George and Frances,' Paul said, 'I wouldn't start with the staff, but if no other suspect turns up we might review them.'

  Now I finally connected the nagging feeling I'd had all day: 'That boyfriend of the middle daughter, Jonas, he has free access and he has seen every tree that was affected. He has been out there on his own, taking photographs.'

  Now Lukas interjected: 'I still have no idea what a photograph is, is it an object that could be used to put a soul in?' That struck me as a very funny thought, but to Paul it clearly wasn't. I could see an idea shaping in his mind, and he spoke in wonderment: 'Lukas, had you known what a photograph was, you would never have asked that question, for the idea is almost ridiculous.

  But you didn't know, and you did ask the question, and I automatically considered it, and I think you may be right: a photograph might capture a soul.

  Not a human soul, that is attached too tightly to our sense of self, to what we are, but dryads are not very complex creatures, and their souls are less, well, interwoven with their personalities, one might say.' Lukas and I looked at Paul questioningly, intrigued, but not understanding.

  Paul said: 'Let me explain to Lukas what a photograph is, then it will become much clearer, to you too Melissa.

  A photograph is an image of something, like a painting, but the likeness is taken much more directly from the object or the person involved, for it captures the light coming off of that object or person, and the image is an exact representation of it. To take a photograph one uses a silver plate, prepared especially with a solution containing mercury, which is then inserted into the camera, a sort of light tight box, and kept in the dark.

  The camera has a lens, a sort of eye, that is pointed at the object one wants a photograph of, with the lens still closed. Then the lens is opened, light falls onto the silver plate and an image forms into it. The lens is closed once more and the plate is kept in the dark until it can be fixated, stabilised with other

  chemical agents.

  Otherwise the plate would become totally dark as soon as it was exposed to light. But the point is: the plate is silver, and there is mercury involved, both are important components in the process of transferring a soul. What if the boy took a photo of the tree without realizing the dryad was even there? The soul could have been transferred to the silver plate, then fixated there, causing the poor dryad to go in search of it, probably to the place where the photograph currently resided, say, in the director's room of a factory?'

  'We have to ask Jonas where he sold his photographs, would you be able to sense the presence of a soul in it?' I asked Paul. 'I would, but you could probably do it better, say without touching it,' was his answer. 'Back to the estate then, to talk to Jonas. Knowing this may also make it easier to talk to any remaining dr
yads,' Lukas observed.

  At this, Paul looked expectantly at Lukas, and asked: 'Would you mind going by yourself, tonight? You can be there and back in an hour, and it is much safer for you, for I suppose you can keep yourself practically invisible in the dark?' Somehow, I got the idea that Lukas was hoping Paul would ask, did he have an agenda of his own?

  Lukas replied: 'No problem, it will be just like the old days, when running messages was my share of the chores. I loved it, the exertion of running, the contact with all kinds of people. Just tell me again what you want them to know, and what you want me to find out, and I'll be off right after dinner. I'll drink coffee there, they have the best I've ever had.'

  We finished our dinner with the satisfied feeling of being one step further in our investigation. Then Lukas clamped on his shoes, hugged us both, and went up the stairs, saying: 'I may be away for quite some time, Jonas may not be in yet. Don't worry about me, I can take care of myself.'

  Why did that remark not put me at ease, but rather alarm me?

  It seemed as if he was going to do something dangerous, not just take a message to friends living a ten minute run away from home.

  Chapter 23

  Paul's comment echoed my thoughts: 'What do you suppose that was about?

  Is running to Sir Nomes that dangerous?' I replied: 'I think he may be planning something else, I hope it isn't something really foolish, and that he'll be careful.'

  Soothingly, Paul told me: 'Don't worry too much. Working together I've shared a lot of guys-talk with him, and he is not nearly as impetuous as he seems sometimes. He generally thinks things through really carefully, I think he's had a very solid education and quite a high profile job.

  It appears as if he is impulsive because his views on love are so different from ours, his people all share love freely whenever and wherever they feel like it, with whomever they want. We don't, so that seems impulsive to us, but to him it's normal.'

  He put down his tea towel and embraced me, and I put down the plate I was cleaning and returned the embrace with passion flaring up quickly. We kissed very intensely, and then he looked at me, head tilted, and asked: 'May I try something?' Of course I could only say yes, he was so sweet and so appealing, and still in his arms with him nuzzling my neck, I felt a tentative touch on my mind. As I got over the surprise and welcomed it, the fluttering touch bloomed into the powerful, familiar presence that connected so closely with me this afternoon, but without the clear goal of transferring energy.

  This time, it was just breathtakingly intimate, I could feel my own passion, but it was enhanced by a layer of deep-seated love, now stirring towards heated passion. I slowly realized that this was Paul's love for me, it was nearly frightening in its intensity, so much feeling.

  He had no problems showing his feelings this way, I hoped he was getting the same overwhelming sense of love from me. Strangely, I did not feel the need to rip the clothes off his body and make love frantically, somehow that could wait for a moment, first we stood entangled, kissing, exploring our feelings for the other.

  But our passion, rising steadily, took over in the end, and we helped one

  another out of our clothes, and made love on the sofa, slowly, taking time to feel everything twice, relishing every feeling first from ourselves, then from the other. It was a stunning experience, and when we were both sated we really needed some time to get back into the now, so the dishes waited a little longer and the kitchen stayed messy whilst we let go of the other's mind reluctantly and looked at one another in amazement. What just happened?

  But in the end, we got used to being alone in our mind again, and finished the dishes with new hot water. Everything cleaned up, we sat on the sofa with a cup of tea and a book on offensive magic, Paul judged it was time I learned to defend myself with and against magic.

  It was very interesting, frightening too, but I wouldn't have to practice alone for a long time yet, and I'd start small anyway, nothing really dangerous. I got to raise a really small fireball straight away, right there in the living-room, for Paul shaped a shield around the two of us to protect the furniture. It wasn't even hard to do, just shape an image of a fireball, not forgetting to make it really hot and keep my hands at a normal temperature, then channel power towards it and will it to be.

  And it was there, I could feel the heat scorch the tiny hairs on my arms, and the power draining out of me. As usual with anything new, it took a lot of energy, and after two tries I was spent.

  Paul wanted me to try once more, but using his magic energy this time.

  'Try gathering power from around you instead of letting it come from yourself. I'm the closest source of magical power, and I'll let you take it, not feed it to you like this afternoon.

  Being able to do that may save your life in dire need, but if you take it without permission or emergency, I'll slap your mental fingers, for you need to learn to use your own power to its limits, not get used to borrowing it.'

  Nodding in acquiescence, I shaped the now familiar image, heated it and gathered energy from outside my own being. And found Paul's, connecting to his mind quite naturally and easily, noting the intensely erotic feel was much less, probably because we'd totally exhausted it, some part of me observed dryly.

  The fireball was already there, growing and growing with Paul's nearly unlimited power, and, mesmerised by its rapidly expanding beauty, I stared at it in fascination, not even contemplating checking its size. When it stopped growing by itself, I was vaguely disappointed at first, then I realized it was

  still dangerously large for someone of my skills to hold inside a house, but it was already diminishing in size before I could feel fear.

  Now I also felt Paul's subtle mental touch, and knowing he had taken it under control for a moment, I felt relieved and at the same time, deadly tired. Back in control now, I let the fireball dissipate further, and when it was gone I allowed myself to sink against Paul and felt my eyes fall shut.

  I woke up with a headache when I was lifted up and carried up the stairs. Paul laid me on the bed lovingly, stroking my hair and kissing me tenderly. He whispered softly: 'I'm sorry love, somehow I seem unable to be reasonable in my expectations, I keep overtaxing you. Please believe me when I say I'm not trying to kill you. Are you comfortable?'

  I said: 'Headache.' He looked really pained, and promised: 'I'll get you a painkiller first, and then I'll help you undress. Again love, I'm sorry I let this happen, but I'm proud of you that you got control back and didn't faint until it was safely gone.'

  He kissed me again and left me for a moment, then came back with a powder and a glass of water, and he helped me up and handed me the powder and after that the glass. Then he held me against his chest for a while, and his warm presence and familiar smell relieved part of the pain until the medicine took it away completely.

  I then vaguely felt my dress being removed and the blanket pulled over me, and I thought I heard a voice say: 'I'll wait up for Lukas, I'll be downstairs.

  Love you.' Then I fell asleep.

  When I woke at first light because I had to use the privy, I found them asleep, each on one side of me, so I never knew what had happened that night until much later that day when I returned home from work.

  I was surprised to find Lukas still asleep, for he was usually up with the sun, but both men were looking quite well, just fast asleep, breathing quietly. Very careful not to wake anyone up, I moved down to the foot end of the bed until I could get out without disturbing the sleepers. I took my blue dress upstairs, found I was still wearing the necklace with the little horses, and decided to wear it to work today.

  Tiptoeing out of the bedroom, I went upstairs to my own apartment and showered and dressed in one of my work suits. My hair was pinned tight in a moment, and I decided to take a good breakfast, I was ravening, probably because of the magic use.

  As we usually ate in Paul's place now, I didn't have much food in my own place anymore, so I went back down, made a pot of coffee and ate
heartily, feeling much better after a good night's sleep, a cup of strong coffee and with food inside me. I left a note for the men, just to let Paul know I was fine.

  Soon I was on my way to work, and when I arrived I immediately checked the copper connection pieces for the piping. All were fine, so I went to the cabin, hoping to find the architect there. He was there indeed, and we went over the calculations together.

  He looked at me intently, then observed: 'Do you know that the horses on your necklace really seem to move?' He had never remarked on anything in my appearance before, so this was quite a surprise, and I felt the compliment for Paul's artistry.

  I replied: 'I've noticed, yes. Isn't that amazing?' The man nodded in assent, and said: 'Whoever made that must be an artist of some renown, though I wonder why he or she would spend so much effort on copper instead of gold or silver.

  It deserves better, though the colour matches your hair perfectly.' That made me smile, and I said: 'That is exactly what the artist said, that the colour matched my hair.' The man was amazed: 'You know the artist personally?'

  Now I laughed, and said: 'He's my landlord, and he is an inventor who makes state of the art boilers and steam engines out of copper, bronze and even cold hard iron. This is an experiment of his, part of a small series of jewellery he made in his spare time.'

  'Aha, that explains the copper, it is the material he's used to and well-suited to an experiment outside of one's speciality Will you tell him for me that it is worth making it in silver or gold as well? It is exquisitely made, and I'm convinced it would sell quite well, even to rich spoiled ladies who are used to the best.' I thanked him in Paul's name and promised to deliver his compliments where they were due.

  Then I took my tour of the building, realizing its completion was imminent and my time here was nearly up. I was certain to get another project from the council, but I was also starting to wonder if I should try to move up a notch, learn how to design buildings myself.