“Jess!” Mark said, lunging after the gun as just as she grew bold enough to explore its various moving parts. He snatched it from her and she sprang away, eyes wild, ready to bolt.
“Lady,” Carey said evenly from behind Mark, command in his voice; she huffed, relaxing back into her more human reactions.
“Why?” she asked pointedly.
“It’s dangerous,” Mark said, pushing out the middle part of the gun and shaking out the pointed cylinders within. “Jess, we’ve got two of these things in the house now. I want your promise that you won’t touch them.”
Why could they touch them but she was not allowed? Though the question instantly came to mind, Jess swallowed that small rebellion and instead asked, “Promise?”
“It’s easier to tell you about breaking promises,” Mark said. “If you tell me you’ll never touch this gun, and then you wait until I’m gone and you pick it up, that’s breaking a promise.”
“It’s a Rule,” Jess offered uncertainly. “Carey teaches me no kicking, and I don’t ever kick. You tell me don’t touch, and I don’t ever touch. If I say I promise, then I mean I’ll follow the Rule.”
“That’s about right,” he said, which should have given her a sense of accomplishment for having mastered yet another concept of this perplexing world. Instead she wasn’t sure she wanted Mark to have this power over her. She wanted to argue and swish her tail and paw her front hoof against the ground; one bare foot came up and rested briefly on its toes, tapping ever so slightly.
“Mark—” Carey started, looking at that foot, but Jaime’s arrival cut the warning short.
She dumped her knapsack by the suitcase at the foot of the stairs, stared at the gun in Mark’s hand, and said shortly, “Where’d it come from?”
“Why didn’t you tell me Derrick had been here, and would recognize you?” Carey shot back at her.
Stunned at first, Jaime quickly realized the implications of the question. She covered her face with both hands, massaged her temples, and sat gracelessly on the bottom step by the suitcase. “I just didn’t think about it,” she groaned, pushing loose strands of hair away from her face.
“Well, it turned out okay,” Mark said, looking at the gun. “Wonder how he keeps coming up with these things?”
“His little weasel-bait friend Ernie,” Carey growled. “Same place he got the drugs he used on me. He found that guy within two days of our arrival here. I guess there are some things our worlds have in common.”
“Slimeballs. Great,” Jaime said tiredly. “Just what did happen?”
Carey shrugged, and no longer seemed interested in making an issue of Jaime’s oversight. “He came looking for the spell. He didn’t get it.”
“We found a great place to hide it, though,” Mark said. “Stuck it back in the crawl space under the porch.” Then his eyes lit up. “He got it open, Jay, did a spell on that seal and it peeled right off! Magic does work here!”
“At least, I can draw on Camolen’s magic,” Carey allowed.
“You can do spells?” Jess demanded. “You can take us back home?”
Carey looked at her for a long moment, openly studying her. “Is it so awful, being human?”
Jess was just as thoughtful. “No,” she said. “But it is hard not being a horse.”
Mark put an arm around her shoulders, the unloaded gun dangling casually beside her. “We’d miss you, human or horse.”
“Can you?” Jaime asked bluntly. “Get yourself home, I mean.”
“I doubt it,” Carey said. “But I’m going to study the spell anyway. It’s better than sitting around waiting for Derrick’s next try.”
~~~~~
Jess wondered if they’d noticed she hadn’t promised not to touch the gun—or suspect that she didn’t hold herself to a promise they’d discussed but she’d never actually given. She did, however, decide that the gun must be a dangerous thing; she needed to understand it before she made any final decision about it. Maybe she would decide it wasn’t something she wanted to handle—but somehow it seemed very important that she come to that conclusion on her own.
Which is why she went with Mark and Carey to the far edge of the paddocks, back by the tree line where they’d earlier hauled some rejected, moldy bales of hay. Armed with a pad of paper, a pencil, and a whole page of words to practice writing, she settled down cross-legged while Mark explained the gun to Carey, and replaced the pointed cylinders he called bullets. As she carefully formed the letters of her name, mentally identifying each one, he held the gun out before him and pulled the trigger.
Blam!
Jess and paper exploded into motion. Blank pages fluttered, airborne, while Jess scrabbled away, not waiting to get to her feet before attempting speed.
“Ninth heaven!” Carey said, his voice holding the edge of anger that meant he, too, had been frightened. Then, quickly, he regained his composure and called, “Jess,” a mixture of command and assurance.
She exerted control over her reflexive flight and stumbled to a stop, spinning to face both the threat and Carey. It was the gun. It was the gun. The gun, and not any direct danger. Carey held out his hand and she slowly returned to them, determined to override the equine instinct with human reasoning, although her trembling and uncertain legs weren’t quite convinced. She reached Carey and he touched her arm, holding it in a brief but pacifying contact.
“Sorry, Jess,” Mark said sheepishly. “Even got Carey with that one.”
Carey shook his head. “Even after that night, I wasn’t expecting it to be so loud.”
“The gun,” Jess said faintly, and then cleared her throat and stood a little taller, declaring firmly, “Too loud.”
“Yeah,” Mark agreed, eyes widening at some sight behind her. “Better get your papers before they blow away.”
Jess jerked around, well aware of the havoc the perpetual mid-Ohio winds could cause. She ran after the loose papers, playing a little, rounding them up like a lead mare. By the time she’d gotten them all and found the pencil, Carey was pointing the gun at the target. Clutching her papers, Jess waited for the thunderclap of noise, and couldn’t help but flinch when it came. But she didn’t run. And when Mark led Carey up to the target, she was right on their heels.
“See?” Mark said, poking his finger into the hole that was there. “That was the first shot. I don’t know where yours went,” he added somewhat apologetically to Carey.
“I can’t believe it moves so fast,” Carey said.
“The bullet comes out of the gun, and makes a hole in the paper?” Jess asked, looking closely at the target.
“It makes a hole in whatever’s in its way,” Mark replied grimly. “Including people.”
Maybe this gun wasn’t something she wanted to touch, after all. Jess retreated to the long grass and smoothed her paper out on her knee. She watched the two men as she nibbled wood away from the broken pencil point to expose the lead, and went back to work. But she watched and she listened, and letters weren’t the only things she learned that afternoon.
~~~~~
Carey checked the clock over the kitchen sink as he rinsed the last of the dinner pots. Not his favorite chore, but he wasn’t being picky these days. Everything—his own personal whims and even needs included—was second to returning to Camolen, with the spell safely out of Calandre’s greedy little hands. So if Jaime asked him to do dishes, he did dishes. But he’d rather be out in the barn, caring for the horses. Lady would just now be finishing up with their evening meal, while Jaime worked with an advanced student who’d trailered her horse in for the lesson. If he hurried, he’d catch the last half of the hour lesson, and whatever his mixed feelings about being here, he was rabidly interested in Jaime’s riding and teaching techniques.
He slung the dish towel over the oven door-handle and hurried out to the barn, past the open hay stall and Lady—and then reversed his tracks and peered in at her. “Lady?” he questioned, unable to figure out why she was on her stomach on the upper le
vel of bales, her arms and head hanging off one end of the prickly mattress, her knees bent and feet bobbing loosely in mid-air over her bottom.
“Kittens,” she said, somehow perceiving the meaning behind his inquiry.
He stuck his head into the stall and found there were indeed kittens, young creatures wobbly on their feet, waving unsteady paws after the enticing stalk of hay Lady waved above them.
“I always liked the cats in the barn,” she said, almost dreamily. “I was a good horse, wasn’t I, Carey?”
“Usually,” he said, coming around to her head, crouching to pick up one of the kittens. It batted feebly at his fingers, purring.
The hay stem stopped its twirling, as Lady looked up at him. “What will happen to me when we go home?”
“Happen?” he repeated, not quite understanding.
She wrinkled her nose impatiently. “Will I be Jess, or will I be Lady?”
Oh, that was it. “You’re still Lady,” he said gently. “You always will be. And when we return home, I’m pretty sure you’ll be Lady on four legs again.”
“Am I Lady now?” she asked, more of a contradiction than a question. “I make my own rules now. Lady wouldn’t.”
“Magic can’t change what you are.” Carey lay a hand on her thick dark sand hair for a moment, then let it drop away. “You’ll be fine.”
She accepted the caress, but shook her head in disagreement. “I miss what I was—but to be Lady again, I would have to give up Jess. And now sometimes I think...I think maybe I would miss Jess.”
“And not go on the runs anymore? And what about the courier competitions—do you remember coming along with the Dun Lady when you were a yearling? She took second overall in those games. You were my choice for this year.”
“Was I?” she asked with interest. “That would be fun. Is that why you took me down Arlen’s stairs last fall? Were we practicing for a strange game?”
Carey blinked at the unexpected question, not eager to admit that somewhat dangerous prank was merely macho silliness. “No,” he said, through a cough, “that was just...a learning experience.”
“I had a lot of those,” Jess said somewhat remorsefully.
Carey smiled, well caught up in memories that revolved around the dun filly he’d raised and trained. “How about that stuffy guy who tried to buy you once—the only courier of some barely wizard, out to get a back-up mount. I’d just started you under saddle, and didn’t have any intention of selling you, but...” he shrugged, still crouched down in front of her, watching the memory rather than Lady. “Had to go through the motion, you know, for Arlen. So I let him saddle you up, and you’d stepped on his foot three times before you even got out of the barn cavern. And when he mounted, he dug your ribs with his toe, the clumsy oaf—you went straight up in the air, hopped twice, and took off with him—” and though the memory was still clear, Carey got no further, distracted by Lady’s laughter. She’d rolled over on her back to giggle, no doubt remembering the creek in which she’d dumped that unfortunate courier. He found himself smiling, then chuckling, and when she twisted her head around to look at him upside-down, he was lost, and they were both hopelessly caught up in laughter, set off anew each time they caught one another’s eye.
When they finally wound down, gasping for breath, suspended in a moment of complete ease with one another, Carey suddenly found himself wanting to reach for her and hold her close, to feel the lithe lines of her body against him. With a shock, he snapped back into proper perspective, where this dynamic creature was a horse, and not someone he could ever really call his—not if he wanted to be hers, as well.
His smile faded, and he stood, saying, “I want to see the rest of this lesson.” And then he left, but he could feel her puzzled gaze following him out of the stall, and, even though it was impossible, all the way down the aisle to the indoor ring.
~~~~~
It seemed like the learning never stopped. If it wasn’t reading and writing, it was new words, or discovering how to go to a nice restaurant and not embarrass herself, or even riding—although now the riding was more like a reward, after both dinner and Jaime’s early evening lessons. While Carey sat on the stool and stared with growing frustration at the spell he’d been meant to deliver and now counted on to take them both back to Camolen, Jess spent time on Sunny, making large circles around Jaime while she did stretching and relaxation exercises at the walk, trot, and finally the canter. As Jess’s vocabulary and the evenings grew longer, she was given the freedom of the entire ring, while Jaime stood in the middle and called out instructions. Derrick faded into an unpleasant memory, one kept alive mostly by the sound of Carey’s target practice.
Although Jess was more than satisfied with the flow of her life, Carey was harder to please. Mark’s lunch-time comment that Derrick must have given up and gone home earned him a glare of the highest order, after which Carey stalked out of the kitchen and into the basement to retrieve the spell, which he still secured each and every time he was through studying it.
“If only the job had been done,” Jess said somewhat mournfully, looking after him as he passed back through the kitchen on his way outside, into the steady rain of the gray day. “If he could know for sure what has happened at home....”
“Or if he was a wizard instead of a courier,” Jaime added with some asperity. “But he’s not, Jess. Sooner or later he’s going to have to accept that.”
“Did you think the same about me, when I wanted to find him?” Jess asked, adding, in case they hadn’t gotten it, “I did find him.”
“True,” Mark said. “But that was a little more within reach, Jess.” He stood and grabbed the light jacket that hung on his chair. “Well, ladies, I gotta get to work early today—gotta overlap Dayna’s shift so we can deal with some paperwork.”
Jess watched his breezy exit, but her thoughts were on Carey. “He seems so different,” she said wistfully.
“What?” Jaime asked blankly. “Have you started in the middle of a thought, Jess?”
“Carey,” Jess said. “I know I saw things...differently before I came here. But not so different as this.”
“He’s got a lot on his mind,” Jaime offered.
Jess shook her head. “I know. He wants to do his job, for Arlen. He wants to get us back home. But I miss him.”
Mystified, Jaime asked, “What do you mean, different? How?”
A shrug. “More...open,” Jess said, searching for the words that would go along with the man who had cared for her. “Easier. Now he closes his eyes and walks along his trails very fast.” She clenched her fists, closing her eyes and putting his most determined expression on her face. Then she looked at Jaime and said, “You would like that other Carey better, I think.”
“He’s got an awful lot on his mind,” Jaime repeated, then sighed. “And I’ve got an afternoon of lessons to get ready for. Had to get them out of the way early this week, so I can leave early for the show.”
“You still want me to stay home?” Jess asked wistfully.
“I’m only taking Sabre,” Jaime replied, patiently considering the number of times she’d answered this particular question. “I don’t really need a groom, but I do need someone here I can trust to exercise the horses. None of the other students can do it this time, and Mark’s working this weekend.”
Neither of them mentioned Carey. Jaime had seen him ride, had been openly impressed, but had unspoken reservations that Jess could clearly read in her significant silences. It was no wonder, she thought, for Jaime had only seen this one side of her master-now-friend, the headstrong, determined side—not the side that knew how to speak in the diplomatic language a horse could welcome. Jess sighed, loudly.
“Did I mention,” Jaime said casually, “that I want you to exercise Sunny and Sarah under saddle?”
Jess responded with the ear-perked head tilt that was well part of her now, and Jaime laughed. “You can free-longe the others—Mark’ll have time for JayDee, and Leta’s owner will b
e riding this weekend herself, so don’t worry about them.”
Tossing her thick dun hair, Jess said airily, “I wasn’t,” but they both knew it was bluff. It didn’t matter. She was to ride Sarah, on her own!
“I’m going to get JayDee from turn-out,” Jaime said, amused affection still in her voice. “Would you make sure her grooming tote is out where Cindy can find it?”
Jess nodded and picked up both of their lunch plates, but never made it to the sink with them. A blast of thunder reverberated through the barn and house, chasing itself around the spacious confines of the arena until it rumbled into silence. The shatter of the plates on linoleum was lost in the angry sound.
An instant of silence followed; then the clamor of frightened horses rang out from the barn, hooves smashing against solid plank walls to punctuate the shrill screams of terror.
“My Lord!” Jaime gasped. “The horses!” They ran from the house and Jess passed Jaime in the rain, sprinting through the long aisle and into the arena, where she knew—she knew—Carey had tried to work magic. Behind her, Jaime ran from stall to stall, peering anxiously at each of her charges and murmuring ineffective reassurances.
Carey sprawled in the center of the ring, a twisted, broken-doll pose, face down in the dirt. Jess didn’t slow until she reached him and then fell over herself to stop in time, her throat filled with the terrible fear that he was dead. She wanted to grab and shake him but somehow restrained her touch. Instead she gently lay first her hands and then her head against him, lost in the not-knowing of what to do. So still. So limp.
But then he stirred, and groaned, and said, barely audible, “Oh, shit.”
“Carey,” Jess said breathlessly, straightening to look at him. There were no marks on him, no blood anywhere; as he got himself upright, his legs sprawled before him and his arms propping him from behind, he looked no more than stunned. “Carey, what did you do?”
He squinted at her, shook his head with a tiny, puzzled gesture. “What?” Then his eyes widened, and for the first time Jess saw the thin sheaf of smoldering papers centered in the ring; a quiet line of smoke spiraled up and lost itself in the rafters as they both stared, agog, at what they had fought so hard not to lose. “I didn’t—” he started, and frowned, shaking his head again, continuing anyway. “I only wanted to do the very first part,” he whispered. “I wasn’t really going to try anything...not here, with the horses. I just wanted to feel the magic.”
The Changespell Saga Page 13
