© 2013 Jennifer Allis Provost
Sale of the paperback edition of this book without its cover is unauthorized.
Spencer Hill Press
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Contact: Spence City, an imprint of Spencer Hill Press, PO Box 247, Contoocook, NH 03229, USA
Please visit our website at www.spencecity.com
First Edition: June 2013.
Jennifer Allis Provost
Copper Girl: a novel / by Jennifer Allis Provost – 1st
ed.
p. cm.
Summary:
After a life spent avoiding magic, Sara finds herself pulled into the Otherworld, and involved with a silver elf.
Cover design by Lisa Amowitz
Interior layout by Marie Romero
978-1-939392-02-2 (paperback)
978-1-939392-03-09 (e-book)
Printed in the United States of America
Copper Girl
Jennifer Allis Provost
SPENCE CITY
For those who never stopped believing in magic
chapter 1
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
My office, like most modern offices, cranked the air conditioning down to Arctic proportions during the summer months. Consequently, we workers arrived in the morning dressed in sandals and sleeveless tops, donned heavy sweaters upon reaching our desks, and ended up shivering by noon. Ironically, when our workday ended we were hit by a wall of oppressive heat the moment we stepped outside the main doors. No, this wasn’t a flawed system in the slightest.
That day, I wasn’t having it. I had the grand idea of spending my lunch hour outside, away from the icy wind stiffening my fingers and chilling my neck. After I unwound myself from the afghan I kept in my desk (and only used in the summer months), I gathered up my lunch and my phone and headed out for an impromptu picnic in my car.
What I hadn’t considered was that the office runs the air conditioning so cold because it was, well, hot outside. Very hot, in fact. So hot that the cheese was melting in my sandwich and the lettuce looked like something that had washed ashore months, maybe even years, ago. I was parked in the shade and had taken down my car’s convertible top, but I still couldn’t manage to get comfortable. I’d already shed my sandals and cardigan, which left me wearing my sundress and…
Dare I?
I glanced around the parking lot of Real Estate Evaluation Services, the ‘go-to firm for all your commercial real estate needs’, according to the brochures. No one, human or drone, was taking a noontime stroll, and, by virtue of my being on the far side of the lot, no cars were near mine. Most of my coworkers didn’t even have cars, so the lot was rarely more than half-full. What was more, from where I sat, I couldn’t even see the office.
I dared.
I took a deep breath and channeled my inner wild woman, then leaned the seat back and slipped off my panties. Removing that small bit of cotton made an incredible difference, and the heat became somewhat bearable. Enjoyable, even. Was that a breeze?
Ignoring my decrepit sandwich, I fully reclined the seat, set the alarm on my phone, and closed my eyes. A nap. Now that would make today bearable.
Suddenly, he is here.
Here.
Kissing me, holding me.
I know I’m dreaming, because he’s perfect. His lips are soft but insistent, his hands gentle. I glide my fingers across his back, feeling thick cords of muscle, before sinking my fingers into his hair. It’s superfine, like cobwebs, and when I crack an eyelid, I learn that it’s silver. Not gray or white, but the elegant hue of antique candlesticks and fine flatware. Cool.
I squeeze my eyes shut again, not wanting the dream to end any sooner than it has to. He kisses me once more, and I can’t help melting against him. His hand travels up my leg, up past my hip… shit! No panties!
I try twisting away, but he already knows. I feel his mouth stretch into a smile, and he moves to nuzzle my neck. “What’s your name?” he murmurs.
“Sara,” I reply. “Yours?”
“Micah.” By now, his hands have traveled to my waist, and he slides one around to stroke the small of my back. “Why did you summon me, Sara?”
“I didn’t,” I protest. “I don’t know how.” I would say more, but he nibbles a trail from my neck to my shoulder, and pushes my dress to the side. As for me, I let him.
Micah raises his head, and I get a good look at him for the first time. His eyes are large and dark gray, like thunderheads, his features chiseled into warm caramel skin, and his unruly mop of silver hair seems to float around his head. He wears an odd, buff-colored leather shirt, made all the odder in this heat, and matching leather pants and boots. Boots?
“You did summon me,” he insists. “My Sara, you must tell me why.”
“Does it matter?” I ask. I pull him back to me, kissing him with all the passion I’ve never felt with anyone during my waking hours. Micah kisses me back, fingers deftly unbuttoning my dress while his other hand rubs my lower back. I’ve never felt so free, so alive as I do in Micah’s embrace, and I have no intention of rushing this. None at all.
My phone screamed for attention, thus ending the best dream that had ever been dreamed. Ever. I fumbled to silence it, then shook myself back to reality. I still felt warm and glowy from the dream, almost after-glowy. It wasn’t until I stretched and got tangled in my clothing that I noticed anything was amiss.
The strap of my dress had slid down around my elbow, and the dress itself was unbuttoned to my waist. What’s more, my bra was all askew and a nipple was dangerously close to freedom. I shot a quick glance around the parking lot as I fixed my clothing; luckily, there was no one around, either of the human or robotic drone persuasion. I hoped no one had gotten an eyeful of how I was apparently fondling myself in my sleep.
Some dream. Soon enough, I got the top half of my dress squared away and reached into the passenger seat, only to come up empty. My panties were gone.
Great. Either one of my coworkers had found me sleeping and stolen them, or a randy squirrel had absconded with my delicates. Hoping for the latter, I stuffed my feet back into my sandals and returned to the office and my ever-growing mountain of paperwork.
Speaking of the mountain there was a fresh sheaf of reports on my desk, ready for sorting. My title, if it can be called that, is Quarterly Report Collator.
This impressive moniker meant that I had the ability—no, make that the responsibility—to place various documents and reports in their proper order, usually alphabetically. I’ve even been known to utilize ascending numbers when the occasion warrants, a feat those who got paid far more than I did could not seem to manage. As long as they kept paying me, I was fine with my place on the food chain, low though it was. It sure beat the alternative--a luxurious but caged life as a sellout government shill, performing spells on command as if they were parlor tricks. My family might have lost much, but we still have some pride left.
I dove right into the heap of reports, for once appreciating the mindless work since it gave me the mental space to dwell on my dream lover. Why would a man in my dream claim that I’d summoned him? And what was with his getup? Micah had looked like he should be playing the part of a swashbuckling hero in a trashy romance novel, not hanging around in the parking lot of a midsized corporation specializing in commercial real estate acquisitions and liquidations.
And his name: Micah. I was certain that I’d never hea
rd it before, which puzzled me. If I were going to create a dream lover, wouldn’t I give him a regular name like Tom or Joe? A name I was at least familiar with?
I swiveled in my chair and called up my search engine. We are not, under any circumstances, supposed to use this bit of technology that is standard issue with each and every one of our ergonomically correct workstations. I’m not quite sure what the punishment for internet usage is, but I’ve always imagined ninjas dropping out of the ceiling and hauling me off to their lair. After enduring a mild torture session, I’m given a cup of hot sake and sent on my way.
I could have waited until I got home. I had a nicer computer and better, faster internet access than the office does, but I couldn’t wait. Not while the image of Micah’s thundercloud eyes still burned in my memory, inciting not-safe-for-work thoughts.
I typed in Micah: define, and the results page immediately listed a bunch of Biblical references. Mmm, not exactly helpful. I clicked around for a while until I found one of those sites that specialized in the meaning of names. It read thusly:
Micah ( mī ‘ kә ) he who resembles God.
Huh. My dream man was certainly attractive, but I didn’t know if I’d go so far as to call him a god. Then I remembered that there was a type of stone called mica, which also seemed like an unlikely source for me to pull a name from. In the midst of typing mica: stone, I was interrupted.
“Hey, beautiful.”
I glanced up and saw Floyd, the office sleaze, hovering at the edge of my cubicle. Better and better. I clicked off the browser and nonchalantly swiveled away from the keyboard. To throw the ninjas off my trail, of course. “You and Juliana heading over to The Room tonight?” he asked.
The Room is a local hangout, stocked with stale beer and watered-down liquor, not to mention a floor that has never, ever been mopped. Not. Even. Once. But it’s cheap and close to the office, so we all go. Since I started working at REES, I’ve been a regular. “We haven’t discussed it.”
“Everyone’s going,” Floyd pressed. “C’mon, I’ll buy you a drink. You like gin and tonic, right?”
I heaved the stack of reports from my lap to my desk and uncrossed my legs, squarely planting my feet in order to deliver the Keep Away From Me speech to Floyd yet again, when I remembered my lack of undergarments. Quickly, I snatched my afghan from where I’d tossed it before lunch and spread it across my lower body like a shield.
“Whatever,” I mumbled, which Floyd counted as a victory.
“See you there,” he drawled. I hate him.
I spent the rest of my shift with my thighs clamped together, having mild anxiety attacks whenever I stood. Or sat. Or reached for anything. Needless to say, by the end of the day I was more than ready for something eye-wateringly alcoholic. Juliana, my best friend and REES’s office manager, was game, as she usually was, and we made it to The Room in time for happy hour. Normally, I feel like I’m in her shadow, what with her long, dark hair, matching eyes, and the body of a pre-war pinup girl, but tonight I didn’t care. Right about now, a little overshadowing was just what the doctor ordered.
After a few bowls of pretzels, and more than a few cocktails, I confessed my al fresco state, to which Juliana and I clinked glasses and downed a few shots in honor of my missing panties. Floyd, the scum, welshed on his promise of gin and tonic. I really do hate him.
chapter 2
Happy hour turned into last call, and Juliana gladly accepted my offer of crashing on my couch. We were forever staying over at one another’s apartments, since we lived on opposite sides of town. Not to mention that Juliana didn’t own a car and public transportation was both expensive and unreliable. If you counted on the bus schedule, you might get caught out after curfew, and the Peacekeepers, our friendly neighborhood law enforcement goons, weren’t known for their understanding natures. Since neither Juliana nor I wanted to pay the late penalty, whoever’s place was closer to the side of town we ended up on invariably became our resting place for the evening. Since I lived closest to The Room, I played hostess more often.
While Juliana settled herself on the couch, I grabbed a quick shower, only to end up standing before my closet, dripping wet, overthinking what I would wear to bed. Like it mattered, right? Normally, I’m a tank top and shorts girl, but there was this cute, just sexy enough nightie that hung out in the back of my closet. Pale lavender silk, I’d bought it almost a year ago for a boyfriend who hadn’t lasted long enough to see it. His loss, really.
I unceremoniously dropped my robe and slipped the nightie over my head. The lace bodice was so revealing I was practically topless, and the short skirt Roated over my hips. As I pulled on the matching panties, I deliberately did not question why I’d decided on this outfit. Then I Ripped off the air conditioner (whenever it runs while I sleep, I get a headache), opened the window, and climbed into bed. In no time, I was asleep.
I felt him before I saw him, his firm body pressed against mine, his lips caressing the back of my neck. Micah. I rolled over to face him; even in the darkness of my room I could see he was still in that weird brown getup, boots and all, but I didn’t care. Hopefully, it would be gone soon.
“Micah,” I murmured, savoring his name on my tongue. “You’re here.”
“I heard your call, my Sara,” he murmured. “You’re wearing more here,” he continued, tracing the edge of my panties, “but less here.” His deft fingers danced across my lacy bodice.
“Do you like it?”
“I do.” Micah hooked a finger inside my panties and drew them lower. “I most certainly do.” We remained wrapped up in each other for long, blissful moments, until he spoke again. “I am so glad you called me again, my Sara.”
“Why do you keep saying that?” I asked. Yes, I argued with a dream. I am a psychology student’s dream case study. Ha ha. Dream. “You’re not even real.”
At that, Micah raised his head. “I am as real as you are,” he replied, somewhat indignantly. “Twice now, you have called me to your dream.”
What? No, no, no, no, that’s not good. Not good, not good at all. “That’s not possible,” I whispered.
“It is more than possible, my Sara. It has come to pass.” Serious now, Micah sat up and took my hands. “I have watched you often, gazing toward the entrance to my lands. I’ve always felt your power. Still, until earlier today, I had no idea that you were a Dreamwalker, as I am.”
He said it. He just had to say it. “Don’t say that!” Micah looked hurt and confused, so I amended, “If anyone hears you, there’ll be questions.” I glanced toward the open window, but I neither saw nor heard a drone whizzing by.
Micah nodded, but his brow remained furrowed. “As you wish.”
“I still don’t understand,” I continued, moving to sit up. “You say I was looking toward your lands, but I don’t even know where you’re from.”
“Where you put your mechanical for the day,” he replied as he tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “The trees you favor mark the entrance to my domain.”
Once I figured out that “mechanical” meant “car”, I considered where I parked in the office lot. I’d always chosen to leave my convertible in the back of the lot, mainly because it was a nice car and most of my coworkers, like most everyone else these days, were dirt poor. I didn’t want to answer any questions about how I could afford such a nice vehicle if I didn’t have to.
But Micah was right in that I’d always favored one particular spot. It was situated in front of two pine trees, their massive trunks wound together like a lovers’ embrace. I’d never seen anything like it, certainly not in such big trees, and they’d captivated me from the moment I saw them. And yes, I gazed at them often.
“The pine trees?” I asked. Micah smiled when he nodded. But that didn’t answer my questions, since they weren’t in front of a door or path. There wasn’t even anything behind them, except the electric fence separating REES from the property next door.
Suddenly, my eyes widened in shock and recogniti
on, and I grabbed a handful of his silvery hair, exposing a set of pointed ears. “You’re an elf!”
“Micah Silverstrand, Lord of the Whispering Dell,” he replied, with a polite nod. Rubbing my temples, I considered my situation. I was in a dream that wasn’t a dream, sitting in bed with a man whom I’d thought was a mere figment of my imagination, but who happened to be some sort of royal elf. And a Dreamwalker. Like me, though I had been oh, so careful to forget all that. Maybe—hopefully—I was just really drunk.
But… I can’t explain it, but as I looked at this elf, with his silver eyes and fluffy hair, he was more real to me than anyone else I’d ever known.
“I’m sorry, Micah,” I said at length. “I didn’t know I could call anyone this way. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.”
At that, his pale brows nearly touched. “When you offered a token and lay nearly bare before me, I assumed you wanted me.” Token? Oh, right, my panties. “And tonight, you have bathed for me, attired yourself as a queen, and have allowed me ingress to your chamber. What else was I to think?” I stared from the open window to my silk nightie. Why had I put this on? Had I been calling him, subconsciously? Could I even do that? I didn’t know. But I couldn’t do it again. Not unless I wanted to end up like Max.
Micah was still speaking, so I met his gaze. “When I learned that you are of metal, as I am, our attraction became clear.” Crap. He knows I’m an Elemental, too?
Of metal. There are two ways one can learn the workings of magic: years and years of rigorous study, or by simply being born to it. If you’re born into a magical bloodline, you’re said to be touched by an element, either earth, air, fire, water, or metal. The nature of your element is passed from father to child, just like a surname. Once in a while, someone is born touched by more than one element, but that’s awfully rare.
You also take on the characteristics of your chosen element, or rather, the element that’s chosen you. For instance, those touched by fire tend to be quick to anger, and those of earth are stubborn but loyal. I’ve never met anyone who admitted to being touched by water, but I’ve always imagined them as cowardly. And air? If you’re knows what they’re like? Flighty, perhaps?
Copper Girl Page 1
