by C. L. Roman
This I make a part of me
This I acknowledge as my birthright
This is who I am, now and evermore.
The wind died to a whisper and rain fell, soft and sweet around them. Maeve dropped down in front of Jackson and slipped the bracelet back around his wrist.
Seo vow agus geallaim
Le buíochas agus áthas
Chun Gaia
Chun Neala
Chun mé féin.
Ligean é a scríobh i gcroílár,
Ligean é a rinneadh i gcorp agus aigne.
His eyes drifting closed, Jackson repeated her words in English.
This I vow and promise
With gratitude and joy
To Gaia
To Neala
To myself.
So let it be written in the heart,
So let it be done in body and mind.
The strands of light performed an intricate dance over his skin, the bands weaving over and under each other in an arcane pattern, beautiful and strange, yet familiar and right.
The humming and the pain were gone.
Maeve released him and stepped back. Jackson climbed to his feet to stand, swaying and naked, in front of her.
She swallowed and tried to look away, but couldn't help stealing glances at him. "I should, um... I guess I should get you some clothes."
He looked down at himself with a wry grimace. "You guess?" The teasing note in his voice surprised her, and she looked into his face.
"It isn't like this is the first time you've seen me nude," he said, his eyes only half open. "We used to go skinny dipping, remember?"
Relaxing, she gave him a sly glance. "Well, for myself I don't mind so much. But there are other people in the park, so..." She rotated her hand and stopped with it palm up, muttering a short incantation. A shirt and pants materialized, draped over her arm. "Here you go," she said, and handed him the clothes, Solcruth resting on top. She turned her back politely as he put them on.
"So, are you ready for the actual lesson, now that we've taken care of your power issues?" She turned to face him again.
"Yeah, you could have conjured up some shorts, you know," he said, pulling at the crotch of the pants. "New pants are scratchy."
"Ungrateful is what you are. I could have let you walk out of here buck-naked, you know."
He slung an arm around her shoulders and lowered his head until they were nose to nose. "What? And terrify the wildlife?" He laughed, and his words blurred around the edges. "What a savage little thing you are." He slid his palms up her waist, aiming for her breasts. "But I have to admit; I love those dangerous curves."
Shrugging away from him, she put a hand on his chest. He stopped and squinted into her face.
"You're drunk," she said.
He shook his head slowly, with muddled intensity. "Am not," he said. "Haven't had a drop in days."
She raised one eyebrow and stared him down. "That's probably true, but you are drunk, just the same. Probably an after effect of the imbuement."
He reared back, offense tightening his slack features. "I am not imbuemented. I'm perfectly sober. Teach me a spell," he demanded.
Fighting back a laugh, she took his hand. "Come on, Jacks. Let's head back to the hotel and get something to eat."
Leering at her, he pulled her into his arms. "I know what I'd like to eat," he said and kissed her neck, his lips branding her skin with fire.
Leaning into his embrace, she kissed him, long and deep and slow, then pulled back. "I want you too, sweet Jacks. But I also want you to remember every detail of the first time we make love. So..." Deep purple light seeped out of her palms, and she sang the incantation in a throaty alto that sent his pulse into stuttering overdrive.
The next instant, they were standing in their hotel room. She released him, and Jackson fell back onto the bed, asleep before his head touched the pillow.
She sat on the bed next to him, watching his face as he slept. After a moment, she sighed. "Damn. I guess it's room service tonight." Picking up the phone, she called the front desk.
"Hello, we stepped out of the room for a bit. Have there been any deliveries for me?"
"Yes, ma'am. We have a package from Life-Trade, Inc.?"
"Perfect. Can you send it up and transfer me to room service?"
"Of course."
A few minutes later there was a knock on the door. When she opened it, a young man offered her a plainly wrapped box, smiled politely and left, pocketing his tip as he went.
Inside the package were the two cell phones she'd asked for, and a note.
Rumor has it that Balor returned from the Upper Realm in a bit of a snit. Not to mention the fact that the king was less than pleased when he returned empty-handed.
Dinael is saying you've been kidnapped, and they've issued a warrant for the arrest of a human - some guy named Jackson? Oddly enough, your mother isn't saying anything at all.
I hope you know what you're doing, Maeve. I don't think they're going to wait long before they come looking for you.
Love and hugs,
A
"Kidnapped, my ass. That was a quick jump from criminal to victim," Maeve muttered. She crumpled the note and dropped it into an empty water glass before burning it and washing the ashes down the bathroom sink. She couldn't allow Arcadia to get in trouble for helping her.
Checking the phones over, Maeve found they were fully operational, and untraceable. Arcadia knew her stuff. Too bad there wasn't much more she could do.
Another knock signaled the dinner delivery. Maeve stopped the waitress at the door, tipped her, and brought the cart inside.
A groan from the bed pulled her attention back to him.
"I'd like to let you sleep it off, Jacks, but I don't think we have that kind of time." Maeve opened her rucksack and pulled out a bottled potion. She held it up to the light, swirling the contents three times before uncorking it. Lifting the paper cover off Jackson's water glass, she tipped three drops of the pale gold liquid into the glass and stirred it in.
She sat next to him on the bed. "Jackson? You need to drink this."
He groaned but refused to wake.
"Come on. Don't make this any harder than it has to be." She stuffed another pillow under his head and held the glass to his lips. "Just... open your mouth. Good. Now swallow... no, don't spit it out, ya wee idjit. Swallow it."
He took a sip. "OK Gran," he mumbled.
Maeve sat back. "Really?"
He opened one eye. "No, but you did sound like her for a minute. What is this stuff?"
Already, the slurring was gone from his speech, but his eyes were stuck at half-mast, and his color wasn't good. "It's a restorative potion. Drink the rest." She pushed the glass into his hand.
"Potion? Like, from witches, and stuff?"
She rolled her eyes. "I made it, and I'm not a witch."
He frowned but tossed back the rest of the drink. "Well, if I die, bury me in Cassadaga."
"You aren't sick. Just a little power-drunk. What your grandmother gave you was a good deal more than I expected. If I'd known, I'd have given this to you beforehand, rather than after."
"Yeah, that's the trouble with hindsight. Twenty/twenty, but usually not all that helpful."
"Still hungover?" she asked, not without sympathy.
He made a more or less signal with his hand, and rubbed his forehead.
"Come and eat. That will help too."
He dragged himself over to the table and sat down while she pulled the silver covers off the food. They ate in silence for several moments, and the remnants of his headache faded with each bite.
Finally, he looked up at her. "I owe you an apology." He focused his attention on his plate, glancing up at her without lifting his head.
"For what?" she asked, sounding genuinely surprised.
"Well, for a lot of stuff. Getting you into this in the first place springs to mind."
She shrugged. "I make my own decisions, Jacks. I didn
't have to come back. Get myself involved. I certainly didn't have to shove Balor back into Aelfholm and cast a traveling spell to get you away from him."
"And I didn't have to, umm, kiss you either."
She sat back in her chair, eyeing him with amusement. "It was more along the lines of feeling me up," she said and laughed when he colored. "But really, I kissed you, so..."
He looked up, smiling. "You did, didn't you? So that must mean you're at least a little interested?"
"At least a little," she conceded.
He swallowed a last bite of bread and sat back. "We always had that, didn't we?"
"What?"
"Honesty. We played games together, but never with each other." He ran a hand along her cheek. "I've missed you, Maeve. Even when I didn't know who I was missing."
She leaned in, and he met her halfway, brushing his lips against hers, and cradling the back of her head in his palm. She looked up at him, her breath faster, and softness in her eyes. "I missed you too." Their lips met again, and once more, before she pulled away. "But none of that is going to matter if Balor finds us before you are ready."
“All right.” He looked around the room. “Where are my shoes?”
With a sigh, she muttered an incantation and his boots appeared on the floor next to his feet. Pulling them on, he quirked an eyebrow at her. "Back to the park?"
"Yes, but this time you're going to take us there."
"I think I can handle an elevator ride." He laughed.
"No, not through the hotel. With magick."
"I thought you said we were too far up for me to tap into those... whatever you called them... ley lines."
"We are, but Solcruth doesn't need those. Just tell her what you want. She has her own power."
Jackson ran his thumb along his ear, his mouth folding into doubtful creases. "If you say so," he said after a moment. Holding his arm out in front of him as if the bracelet might suddenly break free and attack him, he said, "Take me to Central Park."
Nothing happened.
With a sigh, Maeve pressed his arm down. "No. Solcruth is a creation stone. She operates by making... things. A passage, a door. Think about how you want to get to the park. Without being seen, without alerting our enemies. Also, where in the park do you want to arrive? Somewhere without people, secluded?"
He nodded. "I'll try again." He thought about it for a few minutes. "Make a door to where we were before, just after the power-spell-imbuement thingy."
Maeve thrust out her hands. "No, wait..."
Too late. A tree-shrouded oval opened in front of them, like a window that bypassed the distance between their room and the clearing in the park. Through it, Jackson could see himself sliding his hands over Maeve's body.
"Tell her to close it before we see us!" Maeve whispered.
"What?" Jackson took one look at her set face and reconsidered his question. "Un-"
"No! Tell her to close the way."
"Umm, OK. Solcruth. Close the way."
The window winked closed.
"What was that all about?" he asked, turning to face Maeve.
"Two things — One, do whatever you can to avoid crossing your own timeline."
"Why? What would happen?"
"I don't know for sure, but they always taught us that crossing time-lines is not good. Plus, seeing your future self has to be hard on the psyche."
"And two?"
"Don't ever try to uncreate something. Anything. Ever."
"Why not?"
"With magick, nothing is impossible. But there is a cost to every action you undertake. Every spell is a transaction. You pay for the effect you create with energy — yours or something else's.”
"You said Solcruth had her own power."
"She does. For creation, not destruction. So, you'd have to use your power. And uncreating things -- abolishing matter or energy -- is unimaginably expensive. It doesn’t take much to transform something, or divert it, remake it, change it, whatever. But you can't make it not exist without enormous cost."
"So, if I told her to make the portal not exist, then what?"
"Maybe nothing. Solcruth might try to obey you, but it's not what she does, so it's possible, depending on how you framed the desire, that nothing would happen. More likely, your own magick would take over, because your magick isn't limited in the same way hers is. But that isn't better."
"So, what would happen?"
"I think the end result would be a vacuum — a kind of hole in reality."
"Reality isn't a —" He stopped, unable to come up with a comparison. "That's not possible."
"Have you never heard of a black hole?"
Jackson shook his head. "That's not a real thing. Just a weird theory some scientist came up with."
"It is a real thing, but we don't need to get into that now. What I meant was, uncreating produces an effect similar to a black hole. It tears a rip in the fabric of reality. And then everything in the vicinity gets sucked inside and destroyed."
"Including the mage who cast the spell."
Maeve nodded. "Usually, yes."
"Well then. No uncreating things. Check." He slid her a sidelong look. "Anything else I should know before I try again?"
Folding her arms over her chest, Maeve shook her head.
"Solcruth, make a door to a secluded area where Maeve and I can practice magick in peace without being interrupted by anyone."
An oval expanded in the center of the room. Beyond it, Jackson could see a sunny clearing, encircled by massive trees, their twisting branches so tightly intertwined that he couldn't see past them to the rest of the wood.
Maeve walked through the opening, and he followed her. She looked around. "Amazing."
"What?"
"Look around; what do you notice?"
He followed her gaze. "I see a tight ring of elms." He shrugged. "So?"
"Well, I can't know for sure, but I think Solcruth created this space just for you. We might be in Central Park, sure. But listen..." She cocked her head. "No voices, no traffic noise. I hear birdsong, and the occasional squirrel in the trees, but I'm guessing no other mage has ever stood here."
A shiver passed through Jackson's midsection, and he took a deep breath. "We better get started."
"All right. But first, you need to name it."
"I need to...What?"
"Name it. If you ever need to get here in a hurry, you'll want to be able to tell Solcruth where you want to go. Having a name for it makes it easy to be specific."
He rolled his eyes. "OK. How about..." He looked around, taking in the tall grass and open sky. "The meadow."
"Not exactly poetic."
"I'm not a very poetic guy."
It was her turn to roll her eyes. "Fine. Take off your shoes."
"Again?"
"Are you going to question everything I tell you?" She kicked off her boots. "Take off your shoes so you can feel the node."
He loosened the laces and toed off his boots. The moment his feet touched the grass he felt it. A pool of energy flowing under the soil, rich and bright with power, like a thousand butterfly wings against the soles of his feet.
"It tickles, a little," he said.
"You'll get used to it. Once you know how you won't have to be barefoot to find the lines. Just stretching out your hand will be enough so long as there's nothing else in the way."
He held his hands out parallel to the ground, palms down. Instantly a prickling sensation spread across his skin, similar to the buzz he'd felt before the imbuement, but less threatening.
"Remember, every spell you cast is, at its most basic, a rearranging of energy and substance. You use the power of the ley lines to make, not to create."
"What's the difference?"
"To create is to call something into existence out of nothing. To make is to use existing materials to build something new."
"And I'm not allowed to create things?"
"It's not a matter of being allowed. Channeling that much
energy would probably kill you. At the very least, it would fry your nervous system."
"I don't understand."
"You will, once you make something." She looked around until she found a small stone, picked it up and dropped it into his hand. "Turn this into a cup."
"Don't I have to say a spell or something?"
"Spells are just a way of focusing your mind. Some use them, especially for complex operations, others don't."
"So, I don't need to make a little poem, telling it what to do?"
She glared at him.
He stared at the rock.
"Visualize what you want the cup to look like," she said. "Channel the power of the lines through your body, into the stone. Bend it to your will. "
"Change," he said.
The rock stared at him.
"To channel the magick, you have to open yourself to it. Just like with the imbuement. You are resisting it."
He clamped his lips together and closed his eyes. The prickling intensified, rubbing across the bottoms of his feet like sand at the beach, pressing between his toes. He dug his feet into the soil, and it pressed into his skin, seeking entrance.
Maeve's hand settled on his arm, startling him, and his resistance snapped. Magick roared through his feet and up his legs, carving a channel through his body to his hands.
The rock exploded into a shower of tiny pebbles.
Maeve wiped a fine spray of dust from his cheek. "That's a start," she said. "Do you see what I mean by channeling?"
"Yeah, it was like an electrical current traveling along my nerves. Not painful, exactly, but definitely hot."
"Exactly." Picking up another rock, she dropped it into his hand, and he caught it automatically. "Let's try again."
By the end of the day, Jackson thought he was getting the hang of it. He held up a beer mug and smiled.
"I think this counts as a success," he said. "Don't you?"
"That depends. Does it look like what you pictured?"
"Yeah, right down to the color and the logo on the front."
"Good. Turn it back into a rock."
He rolled his eyes and complied.
