Beyond Magic (Magical Love Book 1)

by Lizzie T. Leaf

  “Love is need, love is joy,

  Love is desire, love fulfils.

  Sumba dee mo aaa nu.

  Sumba dee mo aaa nu.

  Sumba dee mo aaa nu.

  Bring a soul mate to me.”

  The candle flickered slightly, probably from the escape of the breath she’d held. Fighting back the disappointment that flooded through her, Emma chided herself for being so silly. What had she expected? An earthquake? The appearance of a naked god in front of her? Like that would happen. Chants wouldn’t bring her a man, let alone her soul mate.

  “Sire, the Nordic god Odin insists he needs to see you.”

  Oberon bit back a smile at the stuffy announcement from his assistant. The dwarf resented anyone who interrupted his king’s meditation or research time, deity or not. “Very well, Tomtom, show him into the library. I have finished my work in the lab for now. Why don’t you have the kitchen send a bottle of the dandelion wine of which Odin is so fond?”

  Oberon sniffed the potion he was mixing to take the curse off the wart-less warthog. Just as he suspected. The mixture needed to rest a few hours before he had it delivered to his client. Quickly, the king tidied the lab, hung the grey smock he wore for his work on the back of the door, and went to greet his visitor.

  What brings the Nordic God of Wisdom and War to my door today?

  Oberon made his way from the far tower where he kept his laboratory to the main castle area. Since the joining of his daughter, Shaylee, and Odin’s son Annarr in marriage almost a century ago, the god stopped in occasionally, but usually because he needed something from the faeries.

  Oberon paused at the door. The Nordic deity stared into the flames blazing in the fireplace. The biggest problem with an underground kingdom was the constant need for heat to keep away the damp, even now in the summer.

  “Odin, my friend, what brings you down to my humble realm?”

  The large, burly male turned and winked with his good eye. “The chance to sample your fabulous wine, what else?” Odin swirled the golden nectar in the glass before he took a sip. “It also gives me the opportunity to catch up on what my son is up to. I understand he and Shaylee have returned to live here in the faerie realm. Done with mortals problems for a while, are they?”

  Strange, Odin all but ignores his son. He thinks him useless in his lack of true power. There is more to this visit than his concern for Annarr.

  Oberon poured himself a glass of wine. “If only it were so simple. My daughter decided she wanted to live among her people again, but after only a few weeks, she became bored. Then she determined she and Annarr should go on what I believe is referred to as a cruise.” The faerie king shook his head. “I’ll never understand why your son allows her to rule his life. Then again, who am I to question his need for peace? When it comes to my daughter, I capitulate often to avoid conflict.”

  Odin laughed and tossed back the contents in his glass. “Annarr always needed someone to give him direction. I believe their decision to live on earth was the first one he actually helped to make. His mother, Aphrodite, pretty much thought for him when he was growing up—the times she was around that is. Never saw such a mama’s boy.”

  Ah, yes, the fling between Odin and the Aphrodite, the Greek Goddess of Love, that resulted in the birth of their love-child, Annarr, had caused quite the scandal. Zeus, leader of the Greek gods, was none too pleased with his daughter-in-law over the manner in which she flaunted the relationship in all the immortal worlds. Nor was Odin’s wife, Frigg. Maybe it was better for Annarr to have been raised in the household of an absent mother than in a home ruled by a vindictive stepmother. If Odin had taken the boy to live in Asgard, each time Frigg set eyes on the child, he would have been a reminder of her husband’s infidelity.

  “And our luck had it he met my daughter.” Oberon sighed. “At least she has someone to direct. Boss around, I think, is what their son, Ian, calls it.”

  “Ian.” Odin’s face lit up at the mention of their mutual grandson. “It really is too bad his parents insisted he be raised in the mortal world. The things he could accomplish in ours. Without a doubt, he is the most gifted of my grandsons.”

  What about this grandson interested Odin so much? For the most part, the god ignored his other offspring and their children. Oberon doubted it was Ian’s gifts alone. Possibly the connection to Aphrodite played into the mix. Oberon was sure the Nordic god still had a soft spot for the goddess.

  Oberon nodded. “And he has a mind of his own. Wonder where he gets that from?”

  Both immortals laughed.

  “If the truth be known, it is probably why his mother wanted to come back here. Ian ignored her efforts to rule his life.”

  Shared memories of the confrontations they’d witnessed between mother and son brought more laughter. From birth, Ian rejected the schedule his mother had laid out for him on when to sleep and eat. The tiny immortal did things his way and continued to do so as he grew into an adult.

  Tomtom cleared his throat, stopping both grandfathers from further comment. “My apologies Sire, but news has reached the castle. The hag DooNell has once again dallied in the life of another. This time a mortal.”

  Oberon sighed. He had addressed the issue with the old woman on several occasions. His instructions had been clear—no meddling in the lives of immortals with her charms and what not. Did she think moving into mortal lives was a way to get around his rules?

  “How so? What has she done this time?”

  “Word has it, Sire, that she is determined to help a mortal female with her desire to attract a soul mate. Unfortunately, the woman doesn’t care what type of being comes into her life since her only specification when she worked the charm was to bring her a male. You know the opening that leaves for the hag.” The stout dwarf shuddered. “The bearer of the news was unsure at what stage the process is in.” He shook his head, bowed, backed from the room, and closed the doors.

  “So another mortal female is unhappy with the males in her world. Why do they think immortals have the answers to their dilemmas?” Odin twirled the empty glass as the light from his unseeing eye reflected off the cut crystal.

  Oberon studied the Nordic God of Wisdom for a moment. “Of that, I think you are in a better position to answer than me, oh Wise One. Your experience with mortal females is greater than mine. I’ve lost track of the lovers you’ve taken on your earthly visits.”

  “Humph.” The burly deity set the glass on a table. “Someone has to educate them in what true passion is all about.”

  Oberon nodded to keep peace, but in his heart, he disagreed. For a ruler with so much wisdom, the Nord was a “do as I say, not as I do” ruler. He encouraged those who lived in his realm not to take their lust to earth, but he had a difficult time controlling his own desires. Odin didn’t set the best example, and from the tales told, most subjects followed his lead versus his instructions.

  Odin came to his own defense. “You have to understand, Faerie King. I have great passion and expertise. It is only logical I share it with those in need.”

  No reason to start a row with his friend Odin over the news that a hag under Oberon’s own rule had created mischief with her magic. “I understand, my friend. I only hoped your connection with the mortal world would give us some insight on why these women seek mates from our kind. Maybe the stories told by those who have encountered this passion and expertise shown by you and the other immortals who have roamed the earth is one of the reasons.”

  “Obvious, my good king. Look at our staying power in the bedroom.” Odin’s chest puffed up for a moment. “What earthly man can compare? In all areas, we are hands down the better selection over the human male pool.”

  “I’m sure you are correct, my friend. But I’m afraid the news we received in regard to DooNell is not the first time information of this type has reached my ears. She has interfered in human matches in the past and, on more than one occasion, has allowed her spells to cross into the immortal realm to
create havoc in both worlds. Now, I need to figure out if I can reverse what she has done, and if not, which immortal will be affected.”

  Again, he had to deal with the old hag who was almost as stubborn as his daughter. He hated it when the old woman created reason for him to reprimand her. She held a special place in his heart since it had been her meddling that brought him and Tanna together.

  “When you get this problem sorted out, maybe she could help us?” Odin’s grin gave a devilish glint to his good eye.

  The Faerie King eyed the other deity with distrust. “Help us? We both have wives, and I, for one, do not wish another.”

  “Nor I. But our grandson could stand a little prodding toward the matrimony direction. His grandmother may be the Goddess of Love, but she’s not had any more success in her efforts to get him to seriously consider taking a mate than I have. Plus, she refuses to use a spell to direct him to a female. She views it as a conflict of interest since he’s her grandson, though I’m not sure when she developed such integrity.” Odin’s face lit. “Your hag may be able to use her magic to interest him in a female from one of our realms. It is time for Ian to take a mate.”

  So now we get to the reason for his visit. He wants my help to find a match for Ian. The Nord has a point. DooNell does have a gift for creating charms and magic that has brought lovers together on more than one occasion.

  Oberon nodded. “You could be on to something, my friend. But first, I must address the more imminent problem. Who is the target of her latest efforts? Let us hope I am not too late. If so, may the spirits from all our realms help them, as what is to be will be. One never knows the end result until a charm has run its full course.

  Maybe I should just slit my wrists and be done with it. That would be the quickest way to stop the endless pain that looms ahead of me the next three weeks. Lord, help me! And any other deity who might want to chip in their aid would be appreciated too.

  Emma needed all the help she could get with this group. Chaos started the moment everyone assembled in the baggage claim area. Peppered with more questions than hailstones from a summer thunderstorm in a matter of moments, Emma’s head throbbed. Plus, not one of them seemed to hear her name, even though she repeated, “my name is Emma,” several times. She became ”dear” in the blink of an eye.

  Twelve pairs of eyes stared at her. Emma took a deep breath and counted her blessings. At least the ladies were quiet for the moment. In the airport, they reminded her of a bunch of magpies whose nest had been disturbed. Thank goodness they’d finally made it through customs.

  The chance to enter past the “Welcome to Scotland” sign had been in doubt for a while. Tillie, the plump blue-haired woman, had been pulled out of line when her name matched up against the name of a person on the security watch list. After numerous questions, immigration sorted out the problem and she received the all clear.

  But at customs the feisty lady had taken exception to an inspector’s request to take a peek in her bags. “I’m not displaying my unmentionables for any foreign pervert’s pleasure,” she had loudly declared, and Emma had to run interference on that issue as well.

  Tillie continued to fume as she got on the motor coach. “Been a long time since a man’s plundered through my unmentionables.”

  Yep, at this rate, a long three weeks lay ahead. No one had told Emma that the dozen school teachers ranged in ages from sixty-nine to eighty-eight. Good grief, what happened to women at this age sitting on the front porch and enjoying their rocking chairs? Wasn’t this supposed to be the time in life when they only watched the world go by? Instead, she got to play shepherd to a group out to experience other cultures. They were determined to let the universe know the silver years were golden. And Emma’s usual good luck continued. She was now blessed to share their banner with them.

  The woman with the carrot-colored spiked frizz for hair raised her hand. “Excuse me, dearie.”

  The “dearie” grated on Emma’s nerves worse than an emergency alert siren test. Now she understood the dirty looks shot her way when she addressed individuals in a certain age range by “dear” or “honey. Talk about on-the-job sensitivity training. “Emma. The name is Emma.”

  Mildred waved away the correction “Of course, dear. Whatever you say. I just want to know, will we see any men in kilts soon? I want to see what they wear under them.”

  Dirty old woman. She asked that question at least half a dozen times before we got on the bus and stated the reason just as often.

  The smile plastered on Emma’s face numbed her cheeks, which went well with the knots across her shoulders. She’d need a massage to release the trigger points when this trip ended—if she survived.

  In an attempt to maintain her cool, she turned to Zoe, their step-on tour guide for Edinburgh, and managed not to clench her teeth when she spoke. “I’ll let you take this one, Zoe. What are our chances to see a few men in kilts?”

  “Very good, ladies. Very good. We shall get a good gander, especially tomorrow on our visit to the Royal Mile.” Zoe rolled the Rs in a musical way but she at least was understandable.

  Angus, the bus driver, had such a dialect Emma wasn’t sure she’d be able to understand where they were going or anything else he said once Zoe wasn’t around to translate.

  With relief, Emma sat down and let Zoe field the barrage of questions as each woman fought to get hers answered first—the loudest winning out. The honor usually went to Barb and her “take no prisoners” approach to get first response. Her salt and pepper curls bobbed if someone managed to slip in a complete question before her.

  Emma wasn’t sure why the group directed their questions to Zoe anyway. The angular Rita, with hair the shade of steel that matched her glasses frames, spit out answers before the poor tour guide could respond. What difference did it make if Rita had her history confused in most instances?

  When the motor coach pulled up in front of their hotel, Emma made her escape to the front desk ahead of the pack. She jumped off before the bus came to a complete stop and instructed the others to remain in their seats while she confirmed their reservations.

  Please, please. Just one minute of quiet.

  The wind responded to her request to remain on the bus better than the gaggle of women who followed her. Obviously, the universe chose to ignore her prayer for a little peace.

  Navigating room assignments didn’t prove to be any easier than the trip through customs.

  “I’m really sorry, sugar, but there is no way I can stay in a room that high.” Sue Ann fanned herself like a true Southern belle, in what appeared to be an attempt not to faint, when she heard her room was located on the fifth floor. “Heights just scare me to death.”

  The frustrated desk clerk managed to find an acceptable ground floor room before Emma acted on her impulse to strangle the delicate flower.

  “Ladies.” Emma raised her voice to get the chatterers’ attention. “Ladies!”

  A deafening silence followed her bellow.

  “No need to shout, dear. We’re not deaf, you know.”

  Emma scanned the group, unsure who had made the comment, and bit back the “couldn’t prove it by me” retort on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she lowered her voice. “Ladies, it’s been a long day for everyone.”

  Especially me.

  “I suggest you take a little time to rest and freshen up. We’ll meet in the dining room at seven o’clock for dinner to kick off our tour.” Emma stifled the sigh of relief that threatened to escape as the group turned and trooped toward the elevator.

  Finally, blessed silence.

  Emma saw no need for a get acquainted dinner. This group all came from Atlanta and belonged to the same retired teachers association. If anything, they knew each other too well, and none of them seemed to have a problem telling the others what worked best for anyone. She walked into the private room she’d reserved for tonight’s dinner and discussion of their itinerary to find everyone already seated. They’d left her no choice but
to take the only empty chair at the head of the table.

  “You know, Emma dear, we all noticed you’re a little tense.” Mary, who appeared to have the kindest disposition in the group smiled and brushed a snowy puff of hair off her left eye. “You’re single aren’t you?”

  Shocked at such a personal question asked by a woman who looked like Mrs. Claus, Emma eyed the speaker in distrust. Still, she couldn’t stifle a tiny surge of elation that someone in the group actually knew her name, even if she had thrown in “dear.”

  On the other hand, she resisted the urge to wipe the sweet smile from the older woman’s face with an explanation. Her marital status was no one’s damned business. Instead, she decided a nod would serve as the best course of action—and she waited for the other shoe to drop.

  Mary shot a smug glance around the table. “We thought so. That probably explains why you get so uptight.”

  “What?” Emma stared in disbelief. She’d had enough. It was time to put this group of busybodies in their place. “What business is my marital status to you ladies? As I recall, the contract I signed was to lead a tour, not share my personal life.”

  Ouch, that really came out harsh. As a tour director I’m supposed to be patient, not bitchy.

  “I told you so.” Mildred’s orange frizz bobbed up and down. “It’s okay, dear. Not getting any tends to make one a little testy, especially when you’re younger.”

  The comment sent the sip of water in Emma’s mouth down the wrong way.

  Tillie, the senior member of the group sitting on Emma’s left, pounded her on the back. “Are you okay, dear?”

  Finally, Emma managed a strangled “yes” and wiped tears from her eye as she struggled to clear her throat. The last thing she needed was to have an eighty-eight-year-old woman resuscitate her. “I’m fine. Really.” She blinked to clear her blurry eyes.