by Alisha Basso
“I think it will.” He rose slowly. “I think we can generate everything we need with Venus. Why don’t we try a test?” He stalked closer.
“What do you mean?” I backed a step, into the wall.
But I knew what he meant. I knew, and because this was Rafe, a part of me wanted to try it.
He stopped before me, black gaze softening. “Just a test, Amaia. A practical test, not dangerous at all.”
“O-okay.”
He bent toward me. My eyes whispered closed. Anticipation thrilled through me as his heat and the dark smell of magic intensified.
He kissed me.
His mouth was warm and he tasted of arcane power. He felt like luxury, silks and rare spices and incense. His lips moved over mine, smooth, cream over satin.
The sensations were so sweet, so exciting, I couldn’t speak, could barely think.
Automatically my hands raised, my palms landing on a chest even hotter than his lips. And much, much harder—like palming boulders. My fingers dug in and I squeezed.
He growled encouragement. A big hand ghosted down my spine to splay over my hips, heat searing through my pants.
My hips tilted forward in response, pressing against him. He was a blazing inferno. I groaned.
At the cue he pulled me into his solid torso. His mouth opened and his tongue speared into me. I tasted fire, licked flames hotter than the sun.
Stars, this must have been what my parents felt.
It shocked me enough that I tugged away. Panted, “What…what are you doing?”
“Testing our Venus magic.” Sparks glinted from his eyes like real diamonds. “We are extremely compatible. We’d create much energy.”
“This would do it? Why were you preaching the A-bomb imperative?”
“I merely wanted you to call me while there was time. But if this works well enough, why not use it?”
Because a pound of flesh was easier to pay than my soul. I shook my head. “Why did I have to call you, anyway? Couldn’t you have just come?”
He raised a brow.
I blushed. Stupid Venus. “I mean, couldn’t you have showed up earlier, like back when a nice Calm would have worked to short-circuit this whole fiasco? I thought jinn had free will, like humans.”
“We do. But as an energy being, I have limitations. Though I can speak with you in the mental realm, connecting on the astral doesn’t mean I can locate you in the physical.”
“Phenomenal cosmic powers, no GPS.” I grunted. “Well, you could have asked me to call you. You didn’t have to trick me.”
“As your guardian angel, you trusted me. I liked that.” Color flagged his cheeks. “I didn’t want to spoil it.”
I gaped at him, not sure how to take that. “So you thought it was better to lie to me than to be honest and let me decide?”
Something flashed in his eyes that, in a lesser being, might have been regret. “You thought I was imaginary. I wasn’t sure you’d believe me. Amaia, I’m sorry I had to do that to you, but glad to be here at last.” He reached for me with his big hands.
I shied away. “No. You’re our last resort. Our final cannon if the guns don’t work. I still have two more things to try.”
“Venus magic—”
“Also a last resort. Don’t pretend. You’ve been in my head, and you know why.”
His mouth slowly closed, but his jaw was clamped and his lips were thin. He knew, but he didn’t like it.
“There are choices other than the energy pools and sinks. Artifacts store power, and we have a world-class expert onsite. Wizard Specialist Smith.”
“Artifacts hold a limited amount of magic. Venus—”
“If Smith doesn’t have anything that’ll work, I’ll go back to Chief Wenkermann. Make him round up a chant circle. Or defy him.” I stalked to the door and flung it open.
“Fine. I’ll come with you.”
Suddenly an eighth of a ton of body heat was behind me. I spun. A powerful, flame-licked chest confronted me. My insides erupted with molten lava. My brain flash fried. The only thought that escaped was This half-naked jinni, set loose on the Center? I backed into the hallway, barely managing a croaked, “No. Stay here. Please?”
He considered me with those fathomless black eyes. Finally he gave me a single nod. I bit my lip, turned away from that all-seeing gaze, and escaped.
** Rafe **
Rafe gaze was drawn helplessly to the sway of Amaia’s hips as she walked down the corridor.
He slammed his lids shut.
He’d thought himself prepared for meeting her in the flesh. Was prepared for a feeling of physical attraction.
“Attraction”, ha. Like a meteorite was “attracted” to the earth. Kissing Amaia had been like hurtling into the Earth’s atmosphere and nearly burning up before smacking into solid ground at terminal velocity.
He was stunned at how intensely physical this physical attraction was.
He opened his eyes just as she disappeared into the stairwell. He shook his head and shut the door. Had he really argued for Venus, not because it was the best solution—even though it was—but because he simply wanted to touch her more?
Desire bent him double, his body imploding at the thought. To touch her, to make love to her…he wanted that, wanted her, with every fiber of his being.
He didn’t understand that at all.
This wasn’t going at all the way he thought it would. He sank cross-legged to the floor, to try to meditate. The thinly covered concrete was cold and harsh against his buttocks, distracting him after so long in the noncorporeal state. He eased onto Amaia’s pillow instead.
His weight released a puff of air that smelled distinctly of her. Instantly his entire body burned. Startling, hot need shot into his groin.
He looked down at himself, at his tented pants. Curious, he touched the tip of the tent. A surge of desire billowed through him, making him gasp. Well. He’d wanted to be more human but hadn’t counted on it being so…interesting. It had been thousands of years since he’d felt anything but ethereal pleasures.
Compared to what he felt now, they seemed flat and dull. Disconnected.
He wanted to connect again, with her. With Amaia. Even the name brought him pleasure. But she had refused to engage in Venus delights. Her reluctance was because of her parents, though before taking physical form he hadn’t really understood that. Her parents didn’t love each other, so what? All sorts of strong magic existed independently of love.
He touched his erection again, gingerly. The hard flesh was so vulnerable, yet so full of potential for wonder. He was beginning to get the idea of what tied sex and love, beginning to understand Amaia’s reluctance. She was vulnerable but trying hard not to be. Hopeful that she might connect too and find pleasure, but afraid that it would end as her parents’ pleasure had, in bitterness and pain.
It decided him. For Amaia’s sake, then, no Venus.
Well, not until she wanted it.
* * *
I was huffing by the time I exited the stairwell on two. Should have used the elevator to conserve my air, but I was too driven to get away from the dark mountain of sheer force, of magic and power wrapped in testosterone, that was Rafe. My imaginary angel come to life was attractive in a way that was beyond handsome and heading toward car wreck. I puffed onward.
Special Projects was part cubicle farm, part science lab, part magically insulated warehousing. The Wizard Specialists here were responsible for finding, charging, and maintaining arcane artifacts—relics that could hold magic—and were a disconcerting mixture of heads-in-clouds and heavy duty energy.
Like a bunch of absent-minded professors in charge of the dynamite and guns.
Wizard Specialist Smith’s cubicle was immediately off the front bank of elevators. I could smell the sugar and mocha the moment I got off. As I panted toward him, he was pacing, deep in thought, latte cup forgotten in his hand, a lanky fortyish man in a corduroy jacket with elbow patches. I greeted him.
; He looked up, eyes brightening from misty brown to clear amber as they focused on me. “Jones. Did you see my latest find? Dug up near Cahokia.” He picked up a pair of tongs and used them to hold toward me what looked like an unassuming stone knife.
I took the offered artifact without thinking. The moment my flesh touched stone, the mother of all migraines burst behind my third eye. I nearly dropped the thing, switched to holding it with mostly fingernails. “What, exactly, is this?”
“Sacrificial knife.” He grinned like a little boy with a new toy. “Probably used to carve out hearts.”
Sweet Nostradamus on a trampoline, weren’t we already darkside enough? I set the knife on his desk. “I don’t suppose you have something a bit more karmically positive?”
“Hmm.” He tapped his upper lip with a thoughtful finger. “Hmm. There’s a slight problem with that.”
“What does that mean?”
“Positive charges don’t seem to take lately. Strangest thing. We haven’t been able to give anything a plus balance for a week.”
“Nothing?”
“Not that lasts. The little we’ve been able to do drains mysteriously away.” He gestured at a dove statue chiseled out of pure white marble. “I charged that earlier today. Try it.”
Smith was our strongest artifact magus. I picked up the dove, braced for a zap…nothing. No zap, not even a tingle. It was just a hunk of stone. “There’s no stored magic.”
“The charge should have lasted days.” He shrugged, accepted the dove as I handed it back. “It’s probably nothing. A temporary glitch.”
A glitch on the eve of the Mayan Doom? Right. And my shortness of breath had nothing to do with lungs like moldy pumpernickel. “What about artifacts charged prior to this week? Are there any in the warehouse?”
“Well, I’d have to go through every relic on the floor…” His voice died away as he stared off in the general direction of arcane storage.
I cleared my throat.
“Reviewing inventory,” he murmured. “Level 1, Section A. White candle, no. Black candle, obviously not. Brass bell, possible…but no. Not at last reckoning.”
Since there were at least thirty-six sections and half a dozen levels, this might take a while. “Should I wait in my cube until you come up with something?”
No answer. Smith had started pacing again, chin sunk to chest.
“Wizard Smith? Will you let me know if you find an artifact?”
He grunted an assent. Either that or a badly digested burrito was swimming back upstream.
Well, I’d done what I came to do. If he thought of an artifact I could use, great. In case he couldn’t, I had to go on to Plan B, strong-arming Chief Wenkermann into convening a special circle.
I started for Wenkermann’s office. Since he’d already forbidden me to work on the Doom, this was sure to go well. Hopefully Smith would call me soon.
As I descended to the first floor, this time using the elevator to save breath, I argued with myself. Maybe I didn’t have to talk to the chief. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as I thought, that I could have beaten that wicked silver needle with only a small boost of power. An artifact, if Smith thought of one (and remembered to tell me). Or a different, faster stitch, or one using less energy or…or something. Something I hadn’t thought of, with my brain mired in my Venus parts.
I checked the time. Nine-thirty. Two and a half hours to the Ball dropping. Could I spare five minutes to think up possible Plans C, D, or E?
If Wenkermann said no…with a dollop of suspension…I’d have to have a backup plan anyway, right? So it was almost my civic duty to take just five minutes to think, so I could jump right into action.
I bee-lined to my cube.
Not chicken. Just practical. Better to come up with alternatives than face certain defeat. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.
I planted my butt in front of my computer and unlocked my session. Cracking knuckles, I prepped for some smokin’ research.
“Hidie ho! Are you Wizard Jones?”
I jerked around.
Waving fingers at me over the partition wall was five foot ten of fresh-faced female. Freckles and twin blonde braids made her look about eighteen, and huge round rose-colored glasses made her look like a refugee from the Seventies.
“Er, hidie ho. You are…?”
“I asked you first.” She laughed, high pitched and too wild.
“Um, so you did.” I smiled uncertainly. Security wouldn’t have let a crazy person in, would they? I took a quick peek on the ethereal. She gave off a weird echo, like an audio track out of synch. It touched me with unease. But that wasn’t her fault so I closed my third eye and covered my discomfort with a hearty, “I’m Amaia. And you are…?”
She smiled back, big white teeth so bright they’d knock a goat off its mountain. “I’m your new apprentice. Adept Francie Mica Frankie.”
“My…apprentice?” I wheezed it.
“Yep. Just finished my training. Well, except the karmic calculus. Never could keep those cosine thingies straight.” She laughed again like a demented doll.
“I can help you with that,” I said a bit weakly. “Sometimes it just takes knowing a few tricks.”
“Yep. Chief said I could learn all the wizarding tricks from you, Master.”
“Francie, it’s government magic. We don’t have masters here, only supervisors.”
“Whatev. Either way, I can’t wait to start Project FKME.”
Just what I needed, an overzealous, clueless assistant to babysit while I was trying to save the world. F**K-ME, all right. “Francie, I’m glad that you’re here, but I’m right in the middle of something—”
“Far out! I was hoping for some action.”
Far out? “Um, that’s an interesting term.”
“Yup.” More headache-bright teeth, with the added insult of sparkling dimples. “My Grannie raised me. She always said being sunshiny-nice is a virtue. ‘Gotta feed that ol’ positive karma,’ she used to say. I talk like her. So what are we doing?” She trotted into my space, revealing skinny jeans so tight she was camel toed and a checked shirt tied at the sternum with nothing between her and the knot but five inches of double D. Platform tennies completed a look that was an odd combination of wholesome and hooker.
I blinked. We didn’t overdress in the Center, but business casual did not include naked, um, belly buttons. “How long have you been working here?”
“Just hired. Starting Monday, but I’m a go-getter, thanks to Grannie. Chief Wenkermann hired me personally.”
“I see. Look Francie, if you’re my apprentice, that means I’m your mentor, right? Mind if I give you some advice?”
“Sure thing, Master. What super-wizardly thing do you wanna teach me?”
“Not your master.” I closed my eyes, counted to three, and opened them again. “The thing is, this is the government. Even magic involves politics. When you come in Monday, keep that in mind. If you dress seriously, you’re more likely to be taken seriously.”
Her head tilted, braid ends tickling her cleavage. “You don’t take me seriously?”
“What?” I blinked again. My brain felt oddly fuzzy. “No, of course I take you seriously. I mean other people.”
“Sure. Other people.”
Was that sarcasm edging her voice?
“Not you. You’re way too clever.” Just before she turned away, a gleam in her eyes made her look far older than eighteen.
I sighed. “Francie, I look forward to working with you Monday. But right now I’m in the middle of another project—”
“You go ahead. I’ll just watch my clever Master mentor.”
“I’m not your master—what are you doing?”
“Taking notes.” She dug between her boobs, her cleavage rippling like twin gelatin molds.
I smacked my hand over my eyes, but as the great philosopher said, “What is seen cannot be unseen.”
A sudden whump made me uncover. Francie had planted her butt on my co
unter top, hard enough to make the cubicle walls shudder. With a triumphant flourish she produced a pink flowered notebook and matching pen while several pages of my project notes, dislodged by her behind, fluttered lazily to the floor.
“Oopsies.” She smiled at me expectantly.
Make Positive Karma. I gritted my teeth and rose to gather the papers myself.
The instant I was up, she slid into my chair.
I spun but she was innocently pointing at my laptop screen. “What’s this?”
I nearly said The Mayan Doom but remembered Chief Wenkermann threatening me with my own suspension-style doom if he heard another word about it. So Ix-nay on the Oom-day. But I could make it a teaching moment. “You’ve had basic karmic math, right? See if you can interpret it.”
“Hmm. It’s a graph.”
“Uh, right. But what is it showing?”
“Public fear, I guess.”
I was about to say “Good job” when she clicked her pen several times, ka-click ka-clickity-click. She seemed to have a knack for maximum irritation in the most sensitive place, like jock itch. I just said, “Right again.”
“Is this for Project Y12 Serenity? I’d love to get some hands-on training with those mass hypnosis spells.”
Another teaching moment. “Francie, if you’re going to work here, you need to know the technical language. We don’t do spells. We use ritual language to clarify our thoughts and intentions.”
Ka-click, scribble scribble. “Spells, uh huh.”
Was she wearing a braincoat? I started to give her a karmic poke but reminded myself I was more mature than that. Besides, the mental poke has a nasty kickback. “Colloquial terms are fine for the general public, but we have to be more precise. It’s not a spell, because magic doesn’t exist. Only science exists.”
She looked up. “But you’re a witch.”
“I’m not—it’s just a label, right? Something to—”
Ka-clickity ka-click.
My right eye started twitching. I had to do something or I’d use that pen for an impromptu lobotomy, me or her I wasn’t sure who. “Say, why don’t I introduce you around?” I tossed the papers on a spare surface and started out.
