Brenwyn looked as if she were pretending to be elsewhere.
“Were these some of your people?” Eleazar asked her.
“Define ‘my people,’” she parsed.
“They were trespassers,” Marc snapped. “A bunch of punk kids who thought they were going to raise the devil.”
“I would guess they were not friends of yours,” Eleazar said to her.
“Definitely not friends,” Brenwyn murmured. “Not anymore.”
Marc swung his legs out of the bed and stood unsteadily. He was wearing black boxers for modesty and several feet of medical tape for cracked ribs. There were more bright red burns on him than Eleazar cared to count.
“Marc Sindri,” Brenwyn asked harshly, “what do you think you are doing?”
“I am going to the bathroom,” Marc replied in a matching tone, “to see if I am passing blood in my urine. Do you mind?”
“Let me help you.” Brenwyn slid under his arm as easily as if she had been born there.
Marc tottered off to the bathroom with Brenwyn’s assistance. Eleazar saw even more burns and bruises on the backside of Marc’s body. After Marc sequestered himself in the bathroom, Eleazar spoke up.
“How many of them were there,” he asked, “and what in the bloody Hell were they using on him?”
“There were nine of them. As far as weaponry, let me see . . .” Brenwyn seemed to be ticking off items on a mental abacus. “There were knives, a sword, burning clubs, red-hot rocks. No, that was Marc throwing that. I suppose that was all.”
“What was it that burned through his clothes to his skin in one clean stroke?”
Brenwyn bit her lip.
“You had better ask Marc about that.”
“You were there.”
“Still . . .” she murmured.
The toilet flushed and Marc shuffled out of the bathroom. Brenwyn helped him past Eleazar and back to the bed.
“Good news,” Marc grunted. “The kidneys are working just fine. Unfortunately, my knees aren’t strong enough to stand too long. I guess I pee sitting down for a while.”
“No worries, dear.” Brenwyn guided him back into bed. “We will have you on your feet in about a week.”
“I hate to bother you, milord, while you’re in the midst of such a pleasant recuperation,” Eleazar said. “But what ended up scorching you like an overdone marshmallow?”
“You didn’t tell him?” Marc asked Brenwyn.
“I thought you would like to choose the story that sounded the most credible,” Brenwyn said.
“Naw, let’s tell him the truth.” Marc took a deep breath and launched into a running start at his explanation. “I was attacked by a flaming winged serpent created by an evil magician’s spell. That about it, Brenwyn?”
“Adequate for general usage.” Brenwyn nodded curtly in agreement.
“How many times have I warned you not to meddle in the affairs of wizards?” Eleazar explained. “They are subtle and quick to anger.”
“I have an important job for you, Eleazar.” Marc slipped back into bed with a groan. “I want you to take ten or twelve warm bodies up on a clean-up detail. There’s an unauthorized bonfire off the main trail. I want everything out of there. Trash, knives, rocks, ashes, everything. Everything you find that nature did not put there, I want gone.”
“Can I keep anything pretty I might find?”
“No!” Brenwyn exclaimed, much too loudly for Marc.
“What she said,” Marc seconded with a grimace of pain. “You don’t want any of that crap around your trailer. Trust me. Bury it.”
“Bury it?”
“Bury it deeply.” Brenwyn added.
“And watch out for the skinless bunnies,” Marc said. “There might be one or two of them left.”
“Oh, that place,” Eleazar said, brightening with recognition. “I know where that is.”
Marc and Brenwyn fixed baleful eyes upon him, as if he had just confessed to an unnatural liaison with a sheep.
“And why didn’t you tell me?” Marc asked. “I could have avoided getting beaten like a Salisbury steak last night.”
“I tried, milord.”
“That morning,” Brenwyn said, “with the scary trees?”
“That was it. At the time I didn’t know . . .” Eleazar continued in his best Glinda the Good Witch imitation: “If you were a good witch or a bad witch.”
Marc grimaced in pain as he tried to settle into a comfortable position.
“We’ll continue this later,” Marc rumbled in a warning tone. “Get that crew together right away. And fill out an IOU for a stiff beating and leave it in the petty cash drawer.”
“You had better go now.” Brenwyn took Eleazar by the elbow and guided him to the trailer’s door. “When his blood pressure goes up I am sure it goes to the bruises first.”
“Certainly,” said Eleazar as he drifted away with her. “Rest well, mon Capitan!”
Brenwyn nudged him out the door with a finger to her lips and a quick wink. Though he was definitely leaving, Eleazar had no idea if he was coming or going.
* * * * *
Though she had not intended it, Brenwyn had wound up Eleazar and spun him off on his way. She promised herself she would make amends when next she saw him. However, she had another man to deal with at the moment.
She worked her way back to the bed as Marc attempted the prodigious task of finding a position on his back that did not cause him pain. In spite of the bruises and bandages, he looked to her like a knight in battered armor. Brenwyn sat down on the edge of the bed and smiled down at him sweetly. She had always liked to think of herself as a strong, independent woman, but she was not totally immune to a fairy-tale rescue. Though Marc had not been the first of her friends or lovers to be attacked by Jeremiah, he had been the first to defeat him in a technical knock-out.
“I have never had a knight in shining armor slay a fire-breathing dragon for me,” she cooed. She did not share the irony that it was Marc’s own abilities that had made it possible for Jeremiah to conjure the dragon.
“It was leather armor and that’s charcoal now.” He moved to one side to relieve the pressure on the burn across his back.
Brenwyn gently stroked the unburned portions of his face.
“You are a bit of a briquette yourself, now,” she said. “You need to go back to sleep. It will help you to heal more quickly.”
“Hmmph,” Marc grunted in frustration. “This is the second time I’ve gotten you as far as the edge of my bed.”
“Well, you might have gotten me a bit further if you had listened to me.”
“And miss my chance to slay dragons?” Marc smirked.
“And you are half-slain yourself,” she said. “You do not need to play the hero for me. I love you anyway.”
Unfortunately, that was enough to encourage Marc to think of something beyond his injuries.
“Enough for a little kiss?” he asked.
Brenwyn drew back a little bit.
“You are not well enough for that,” she said.
“For a kiss?”
“You are thinking of far more than that.” To be honest, the lurid images running through his mind were having a stimulating effect on her.
“I’m just remembering how you were right after the circle last night,” Marc said. “That’s hard to put out of your mind.”
“I do not care what has gotten hard,” she scolded. “You will have to forget that, unless you are entertaining a death wish.”
Marc thought about that quietly, almost below the threshold of Brenwyn’ senses.
“Then, maybe a kiss, just for good night?” he asked hopefully.
“Behave yourself.”
Brenwyn threw her hair over one shoulder to avoid smothering Marc as she leaned down. She kissed him gently, being careful to avoid the split on one corner of his lip. They looked into each other’s eyes and kissed again. The quiet voice that warned her of imminent disaster in her head was not as loud as those c
oming from other parts.
“This is a bad idea, Marc,” she said.
“If you kill me,” Marc whispered, “I’ll die a happy man.”
Marc caressed her cheek with one bandaged hand and pulled her face back down to his. She shifted her position on the edge of the bed, surrendering totally to the moment. She was truly done with being smart and responsible. She had her knight in battered armor and several hours alone.
Brenwyn put too much of her weight on a stack of glossy magazines on the floor. As if conspiring to thwart their romantic moment, they slipped out from under her. Brenwyn crashed face-to-face into Marc and the whole of her weight settled against his chest.
Marc screamed as if he had been hit with a hot branding iron. Brenwyn nimbly leapt off the bed and away from Marc. She rubbed her lips where they crashed into his teeth, though that hurt far less than her pride.
“Oh Marc, I am so sorry,” she said. “I told you that was a bad idea.”
“That’s all right,” Marc whimpered. “I’ll heal in time.”
Brenwyn, being very careful to have both feet on the ground, settled Marc into a comfortable position.
“I guess I’m going to have to be a good boy until I recuperate from the last time you propositioned me.” Marc smiles wistfully up at her. “Is that all right with you?”
“Of course it is, darling.”
She leaned down and kissed him very gently on the cheek. He lifted his head to meet her and winced in pain.
“Oh Marc, where does it hurt?” She stroked his forehead, which had grown two inches wider from his hair being burned back towards the crown of his head.
“Anything covered with skin.” Marc grunted. “I got a little excited just now and even that hurt.”
“Oh, that will be very difficult to bandage,” she giggled at the thought of wrapping medical tape and a splint on that. Several barnyard terms bubbled to the top of her mind, which made her discretion and decorum seem even more ridiculous.
Her lady-like giggle turned into an uncontrollable contagious laugh. Marc joined in, laughing and grimacing alternately.
“Oh, please . . .” Marc wheezed. “Don’t do this to me. I’ve got cracked ribs, too.”
Brenwyn turned her back on Marc and tried to shut everything out of her mind. She pressed her hands together, the fingertips touching her lips, and closed her eyes. She steadied her breathing, using classic meditation techniques Musetta had taught her over a decade ago. For the moment, all she registered was the air coming in through her nose, falling to the bottom of her lungs and then escaping through her lips in an eternal circle.
When she once again felt poised and composed, she turned back to Marc and opened one eye. She could not help but smile when she saw Marc still wheezing and chuckling weakly. Brenwyn blanked her mind and regained control.
“You had better behave yourself,” she warned, “or you will laugh yourself into an emergency room visit.”
“I know,” Marc said, his voice on the edge of laughter, “but I am so exhausted, a root canal would seem funny.”
“I know,” she replied. “I am almost to that point myself. Just take slow deep breaths and try to relax.”
Brenwyn climbed onto the bed and knelt beside Marc.
“You’re not going to hurt me again, are you?” Marc asked in a small, sleepy voice.
“I will,” she said sternly, “if you do not cooperate. You really need rest. Just close your eyes and think about something calm and happy. Strolling the aisles of a hardware store, perhaps.”
“I could do that.”
Marc closed his eyes and Brenwyn could tell he imagined himself in the power tool aisle of Harbor Freight. A tranquil smile crept across his face.
Brenwyn silently raised wards around her and Marc and tapped into the power of the earth beneath the trailer. She collected the power between her hands, rolling it as if it were an invisible ball between them. After a moment, she leaned down and placed her hands on either side of Marc’s head. She gave him a long, chaste kiss and, after she pulled away, blew gently in his face.
“How is the pain now?” she whispered.
“I don’t care.” Marc murmured dreamily. “What was that you did to me?”
Brenwyn felt a surge of pride in her accomplishment.
“A little trick taught to me by a friend of a friend who claimed to be a follower of Rasputin,” she said.
“Oh. Okay.”
“So, are you feeling better?” She could tell he was pleasantly numb, but it was always polite to ask about these things.
“I’m all . . . floaty.” His eyes were becoming unfocused.
Brenwyn leaned in close.
“I have a proposition for you.”
“No sex, I hope,” Marc slurred.
“No sex. Though I never thought I would hear that from a grown man.” Brenwyn took a deep breath. “We are going to pretend we have just had really great sex and are snuggling in bed afterwards.”
“Really great sex?” Marc brightened though still nearly asleep.
“The best you have ever had,” Brenwyn asserted.
“You too?”
“Definitely.” Marc was getting too involved in this conversation. Brenwyn tried to guide it to a quick ending. “Multiple orgasms, visions of the Goddess, everything.”
“Good,” he muttered. “I try to be considerate.”
“Shhh,” she said. “Move over a bit.”
Brenwyn slipped under the covers and snuggled her backside against Marc. She smiled contentedly and closed her eyes. Marc slid his arm across her body; one hand easily cupped her breast.
Brenwyn opened her eyes and raised one eyebrow.
“And what might that hand be doing there?” she asked coolly.
“We just had really great sex,” he muttered innocently. “I thought you wouldn’t mind that.”
“Do not get yourself worked up now. You will ruin a perfectly good spell.” Brenwyn slid the roaming hand to rest on her hip.
“Sorry.” He said. “I find you hard to resist.”
“I know,” she replied. “You, too.”
Brenwyn turned toward him and gently blew in his face.
“Sleep,” she whispered.
“I don’t . . . know . . . if . . .” Marc’s voice drifted off as his eyes slammed shut like screen doors.
Brenwyn snuggled up to him again with a smile and closed her eyes.
“Sweet dreams, my beloved,” she whispered as she closed her own eyes.
* * * * *
Michael and Eleazar hunched under the window, each of them pressing a stethoscope to the trailer’s side. With the sounds of two sets of deep breathing coming from within, the contest was definitely over. Michael stood and removed his stethoscope. Eleazar followed his lead.
“Definitely no sex there,” Michael said. “All right, Eleazar, you owe eighty bucks now.”
“Aye, you’ve won fair and square,” Eleazar responded. “But do I still have to floss your teeth?”
Michael thought for a moment, and then shook his head.
“Naww.”
Chapter 15
Men with Power Tools
ELEAZAR LOUNGED ON MARC’S COUCH and enjoyed a sumptuous breakfast of bearclaw and coffee. As he listened to the sounds of morning ablutions coming from the bathroom, he contemplated the ragged condition of his leather renaissance boots. There had been quite a bit of wear and tear on them during his lord and master’s recuperation.
“Do we have all our crews ready?” Marc called out through the open door. “Chainsaws fueled and oiled?”
Eleazar pitched a mock salute with his pastry-bearing hand.
“Your loyal troops only require you to lead them into battle, sirrah,” Eleazar declaimed. “Those upstart trees will regret ever starting this dispute.”
“I want to sweep through those woods like Sherman marching to the sea,” Marc said.
There had been something in Marc’s scrambled mind Eleazar had not been able to de
cipher the past few days. He decided to make another attempt at interrogation.
“So, this is a military expedition?” Eleazar asked. “That is why we’re attacking at dawn?”
There was a long pause filled only with the sound of running water.
“Something like that,” Marc finally said.
Eleazar pressed on in the hope of getting two consecutive sentences out of his fearless leader.
“So why are we taking the time for you shave?”
“Because I look like crap,” Marc snapped. “How can I command respect with half my hair burned off? I look like the latest alien race on Star Trek.”
Marc leaned out of the bathroom for Eleazar to see. His head was now as clean as a baby’s backside, save a few dabs of shaving gel hanging around his ears. His eyebrows were the merest suggestion of a gray on skin still mildly pink from second degree burns. Somehow, Marc magically retained a three-day’s growth of beard.
“What do you think?” Marc asked.
“You look like McConaughey in that dragon movie,” Eleazar replied candidly.
“Thank you.” Marc smiled. He looked to be flattered at being likened to a movie actor.
“He looked like crap, too, milord.”
Marc frowned and, wiping a black towel across the back of his head, returned to the bathroom.
“There is one final question,” Eleazar called out in a wheedling tone, “that no wise man would ask.”
The water stopped. Eleazar could hear Marc’s heavy sigh in the new silence.
“So, you’re dying to do it,” Marc said in a tone of abject resignation. “Fire away.”
Eleazar put down his coffee and bearclaw in case there was a need for sudden free movement.
“Why are you ditching Brenwyn?” he asked.
“What makes you say that?” Marc’s attempt at nonchalance was not convincing.
“For the last four days,” Eleazar related in the same tone and cadence of a bedtime story, “a beautiful woman appears at seven thirty each morning to serve you breakfast in bed. She favors you with a kiss to keep you warm and disappears into the West. She returns at a quarter till eight in the evening with a hot supper, herb tea, and chocolate. You have the pleasure of her company until your bedtime at half-past nine, when she, unfortunately, leaves you to sleep alone.”
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