He studied my face a moment, then nodded as if he understood the distinction. “I would like it if you did not kiss him. Sexually, that is. I realize that kisses are not always sexual. Would that be difficult for you? I feel . . . uncomfortable when I think of you kissing others the way you kiss me.”
“Michael.” I cupped his cheek in my palm. “While I’m with you, I won’t want to dine on other men.” Though I might have to, if we couldn’t find a way for Michael to safely use node energy . . . but I wasn’t going to think about that, not now. “I certainly won’t kiss them.”
A smile broke over his face. “Thank you, Molly.” He reclaimed my hand and started walking. A little boy on the plane had taught him how to whistle—somewhat disturbing my sleep, I might add—and he did that now, whistling happily and without any discernible tune.
My heart was thumping as if we’d just negotiated some dreadful precipice. I cleared my throat. “You need to remember to call me Sandra.”
“That isn’t your name.”
“It’s the name on my ID.”
“I will think on it,” he told me.
CULLEN Seabourne is the most physically perfect man I’ve ever known. He’s blond, slimmer, and taller than Michael, with a pleasant but unremarkable tenor voice. But people don’t listen to Cullen. They stare at him, startled out of courtesy by such sheer, masculine beauty. He’s well aware of his effect on others and capable of using it to get what he wants, but looks don’t really matter to him. Magic does.
I didn’t trust him, not completely. But I liked him, and, oh, but he was a pleasure to watch. Heads turned in baggage claim as he approached us. Among other things, Cullen is a dancer, and he moves like music made solid.
“Hullo, darling,” Cullen said as he sauntered up. “Still in one piece, I see, in spite of ninjas and bazookas and such. But you have a new look. Nice,” he said, reaching out with lazy grace to stroke one finger down my cheek. “But surprising.” He leaned toward me.
“No kissing,” I told him firmly.
“No?” He pulled back, quirking one eyebrow. Sometimes I think everyone in the world can do that except me. “How interesting. I have a few questions.”
“I’m sure,” I said dryly. “But not here, I think. You brought your car?”
“You don’t think I’d trust my delicate skin to a taxi driver, do you? And you indicated a need for privacy.” Deliberately he turned to face Michael. “This would be the mystery man.”
“Yes. This is Michael.”
Who was staring. “You,” he said, “are most unusual.”
Cullen’s eyes narrowed. After a moment of study he said, “So are you. Though I’m damned if I can say what you are. Not quite human, I think?”
“No. But then, neither are you. I’ve always wanted to meet one of your kind.” Michael turned to me with a smile. “Did you know this is the only realm with Lupi?”
Oh, yes. That’s another thing that Cullen is. A werewolf.
CULLEN was currently living in a dilapidated little shack in the mountains outside San Diego. At least, that’s where he took us. I’m not sure he actually lived there. It looked ready to fall down, but it sat almost on top of a node.
“Quite small,” he told us as he pulled his dusty Jeep to a stop in front of it. “No more than a trickle, really. But enough for my purposes, since I’m the only one using it. I’m trusting you rather a lot,” he added, sliding me a glance as he climbed out. “I never bring people here.”
“I’m paying you rather a lot. Besides, you’re eaten up with curiosity.”
“True.” He flashed me a grin, then turned to Michael, who was studying the land around the cabin. “See anything interesting?”
“Just your wards. Nice work,” Michael said politely. “That low one—it’s to keep out vermin? Insects and such?”
Cullen went very still. “Oh, yes, I am definitely curious. Shall we go inside?”
The inside didn’t look any more solid than the outside, but it was slightly cleaner. There was only one room.
“Sit,” Cullen said, rooting around in a cupboard. “I originally trained in Wicca, if that means anything to you.” He took out an athame, two vials, and a small silver bowl.
“Yes,” Michael said, seating himself at the small wooden table. It looked sturdier than the walls of the shack. “It means you’re grounded in the basic energies of your realm, which is the best way to begin. With sorcery, though, I assume you’re self-taught?”
“Mostly. Now and then I run across a tantalizing scrap, or cut a deal with one of my reclusive compatriots. We don’t trust each other, of course, but we’re equally desperate for knowledge. There’s a man in Africa doing good work, a woman in Singapore . . . I’ve a contact or two in Faerie, as well, though they’re a closemouthed lot.” He gestured with the hand holding the bowl. “Sit down, Molly. I’m going to try a little creation of my own in a minute, a combination of truth and seek spells. First I have questions.”
I sat. All of a sudden I wasn’t at all sure I’d made the right decision, coming to Cullen. But what choice did we have? “I’ve told you how I found Michael.”
“Questions for him, love, not you.” He sat in the third chair, put his tools on the table, and looked at Michael. “You say you don’t remember who and what you are, where you came from.”
“I remember pieces. Not the whole.”
“Yet you saw what I was right away. You saw my wards—and knew what they were, too.”
“I gather that most people in this realm do not see the sorcéri.” He gave the word an odd pronunciation I hadn’t heard before.
“No. No, they don’t. You really aren’t from this world, are you?”
“That much I’m sure of.”
Cullen drew a deep breath, let it out slowly. “I have a feeling you know a helluva lot more than I do about magic. Why come to me?”
“My knowledge isn’t always accessible. I want to see if you can hide or disguise my use of the nodes. They—the Azá—track me that way. Molly hopes you can restore my memory.”
“You sound doubtful.”
“I am. I can tell you the spell I used to forget, but I don’t know if you will be able to devise a counterspell. I cannot, but being self-trained, you are accustomed to creating your own spells.”
“That will help.” Cullen’s eyes glittered with excitement.
Michael gave him an assessing look. “You’ll get nothing from me without my cooperation. Even with it, there is some danger.”
Cullen gave a bark of laughter and leaned back in his chair. “Danger? For what you could teach me, I’d risk hurricanes, lightning bolts, and an IRS audit.”
I was feeling worse about this all the time. Cullen glanced at me. “Don’t worry, love. If my conscience—an elastic creation, admittedly—snaps under the strain, you can still count on my sense of self-preservation. I know very well you’d make a bad enemy.”
“So would I,” Michael said mildly. “But we won’t be enemies, will we?”
“I hope not.” Cullen’s grin was little short of feral. “Oh, I do hope not.”
TRUTH spells were not safe to use on Michael. This time, the backlash lifted Cullen off the ground and slammed him against the west wall. Boards cracked, broke. He landed half-out, half-in, sprawled in the debris of the wrecked wall.
My ears were ringing, though I hadn’t heard a thing except for the wall breaking. I jumped to my feet. “Cullen!”
Michael’s hand snatched at me. “Wait. The roof . . .”
I looked up. Things were leaning alarmingly. “Hold it,” I told him, and hurried to Cullen. He was pale, motionless, and slightly bloody—but blinking thoughtfully at the sky now overhead instead of rafters. “Your boyfriend packs a punch, love.”
I exhaled in relief. “At least you don’t have amnesia.”
“No, I remember well enough what happened.” He pushed up on one elbow, winced. “At least one rib. It’s a good thing I’m Lupus.”
There were s
craping noises behind me, and a grunt. “I think that will hold.” Michael sounded dubious. “The blow was unintentional, Cullen. I am sorry.”
“You have amazing reflexes, then.” He took the hand Michael held out, grunting as Michael pulled him to his feet, and rubbed his side. “Or maybe . . . not reflexes. Defenses. Put there by someone else.”
Michael was very still. “You’re talented. Given the tools you have to work with, extremely talented.”
“You’re a construct, aren’t you? Made, not born.”
“Yes.”
That one word dropped into the well of silence it created even as it was spoken. So many words have power, I thought dimly, not just the magical ones. My voice, when at last I broke the silence, was small. “Michael?”
“I am sorry.” His voice was remote. He didn’t look at me.
“And you’ve remembered more than you’re admitting.” Excitement radiated from Cullen like heat from a stove as he moved closer to Michael. “I only caught a glimpse—but there’s so much inside you! Knowledge—vast amounts of knowledge. Power—”
“Knowledge is power,” Michael said sadly.
Cullen stopped in front of Michael. “What are you?”
“I cannot tell you.” At last Michael turned to me. There was grief in his eyes, old grief and fresh, the raw mixed with scars from other earlier woundings. “Not will not, Molly. Cannot. The way I am made, some things are not possible for me.”
“You could have told me more than you have.” I made it a statement, not a question. I was already sure.
“When we met the state cop, much came back to me. Not everything—I am still in pieces, and they don’t all fit together. But that I was made, not born . . . yes. I could have told you that.”
“You didn’t trust me?” I whispered.
He lifted one hand as if he would touch me, then let it drop. “The place where I’ve lived is a good place. Not a world as you are used to worlds, but there is much beauty, much to learn. But it is remote. Few are able to cross, and the others who live there are further from human than I am. I was . . . lonely.”
I swallowed hard. “Did you think I wouldn’t understand loneliness?”
“I wanted you to see me as a man. Not a thing.”
My breath huffed out. “Good grief, is that all? You are a man.”
“This is not the body I wore before I came here. Things there are much more fluid. I . . . borrowed the pattern for this body from a friend.”
I shook my head. “Great Mother of Heaven! You think I’m fooled by that delicious body of yours? I was pretty sure that wasn’t your original form. Good grief—you scarcely knew how to walk when you first arrived.”
Hope woke in his ocean eyes. “You were supposed to assume it was my wounds hindering my movement.”
“I did, at first. But this is my area of expertise, Michael. If anyone in this realm or any other knows about men, I do. Made or born, you are definitely a man.”
“Then—you do not mind what I am?”
“I started out human, then became something else, too. You started out something else, then got some human mixed in.” I shrugged. “What’s to mind? You’re Michael.”
He whooped, grabbed me, and whirled us both around, kissing whatever part presented itself—my hair, forehead, shoulder. Quick, peppery kisses that stung life into me. Laughing, I seized his face in my hands, and kissed him back.
Until hard hands thrust the two of us apart.
“Good lord,” Cullen gasped, one hand still on my shoulder, one on Michael’s. “It’s not that I wasn’t enjoying the show. I can’t remember when I’ve gotten this hard watching others kiss, being more interested in participating than spectating. But you were drawing down hard from the node, Michael—and Molly, I thought you couldn’t take without intercourse?”
I gaped at Michael, appalled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—I don’t know how I did that.”
He shook off Cullen’s hand, and ran his own hand through his hair. “It’s my fault. I’m supposed to control when I draw. If she was watching . . .”
“Well.” Cullen shrugged. “It’s a small node. Wouldn’t be easy to spot, even drawing like you were, and I stopped you fast enough. I’d say it’s unlikely anyone could have located you, but we don’t have guarantees, do we? You’d better not do it again. However . . .” His eyes gleamed. “We do have an idea. At least, I do.”
He stopped there, dragging it out. “Well?” I snapped.
“I think I know how to hide Michael’s, ah, signature, when he draws. But I want to renegotiate our terms.”
“You want more money?”
“Money?” He made a disgusted noise. “What use is that? I was going to use what you paid me, Molly my love, to try to acquire more scraps. I don’t have to settle for scraps now.”
“What do you want?” Michael’s voice was ominously low.
“As much as I can get, obviously.” Suddenly Cullen laughed. “If you could see your faces! I haven’t turned into an evil wizard before your eyes, scheming to steal your souls and take over the world. I don’t want them, for one thing. For another,” he said wryly, “Michael could squash me like a bug if I tried anything. No, I want to learn. I want Michael’s time for, say, a month. I want to ask questions, learn from him.”
“I’m not allowed. No,” Michael said to Cullen, holding up a hand. “This isn’t negotiable. I thought at first that your realm had just drifted apart from the others, but it’s more. You’re under interdict. I don’t know why, or who established the ban. Those pieces are missing. But I am not allowed to give you the knowledge you want.”
Cullen’s face tightened. “A week, just a week, then. I could spend a lifetime studying my scraps and not learn as much as I can from you in one week. Do you know what that’s like? All right—one day, man!” He was fierce in his need. “Just give me one day.”
“One spell.” Michael’s face was granite. “One spell, of your choice—within reason. No transformations.”
Cullen spoke flatly. “Not enough.”
“We don’t have to deal with you,” I said mildly. “If the idea is any good, chances are one of us will think of it, sooner or later. More likely Michael than me, I’ll admit.”
Cullen wore an odd little smile. “I doubt this particular notion would occur to him. Even if it does, he’ll need help. Because he isn’t much at creating spells. Are you?” he said directly to Michael. “You’ve got more facts lodged in your head than NASA’s mainframe, but you don’t know much about building from scratch.”
“I wasn’t made to create, but I can do it.”
“Well enough to trust Molly’s life to a homemade spell?”
His eyebrows pulled down. His gaze darted to me, then back to Cullen. “Explain.”
“Not until you agree to my terms.”
“Then I suppose we must leave. And then, sooner or later, the Azá will find me. They will either kill Molly, or not. And I will either kill more of them, or not—but eventually they will have me, and turn me over to their goddess. Then she will have access to all that you covet.”
Cullen flung up one hand—a fencer’s gesture, acknowledging an opponent’s coup. “And civilization as we know it will come to an end? All right, all right. One spell. You’ll give me a little time to think of what I want, since I’m to get just the one?”
Michael nodded. “And your idea?”
“Is simplicity itself, in principle. Probably not in execution.” He threw me a roguish glance. “It’s right up your alley, sweetheart. All you have to do is make love.”
Chapter 11
IT wasn’t simple, of course. Michael and Cullen spent the rest of the afternoon discussing the details, arguing, now and then pausing to draw a glowing symbol in the air. But the premise was fairly basic.
Not that I understood it. Michael and I would change places, as far as the nodes were concerned. Instead of me drinking from him, he’d draw power through me. Only I’d still be tapping the magic throu
gh him, which is what I didn’t understand. Somehow, though, the nodes would “read” my pull, not his. And I was mostly human, natural to this realm, so no one would be able to get a fix on me.
“Your energies are already muddled up together, love,” Cullen had told me when I expressed bafflement. “Not that I have a clue how you did that, but that’s what I saw when you went into a liplock. It’s why you were able to begin feeding short of, ah, the usual ritual. We’re just going to muddle things a bit more thoroughly.”
There was a catch, of course. Isn’t there always? Once we were joined this way, I would have to feed through Michael. And only him.
It was a long afternoon. The sun was low by the time they agreed on the basics and finished their preparations. Michael took me aside. “I’m not sure I should do this,” he said, smoothing my hair back. I couldn’t read his expression, but his body was tense. “I know you agreed, but you don’t—you can’t—understand exactly what you’re agreeing to.”
I smiled tenderly. “You didn’t know what you were getting into last night, did you?” Then laughed at my accidental pun. “Well, maybe you knew, technically. Me. I’ll trust your experience in sorcery, just as you trusted mine last night.”
A smile eased, but didn’t erase, the tension around his eyes. “Then we are ready.”
“Good,” Cullen said from behind me. “I’ll start walking, then, and give the two of you a little privacy. I hope you won’t linger in the afterglow too long, though. I’m eager.”
They’d agreed that Michael would give Cullen his spell—one involving illusion—after our ritual was completed, when Michael could safely draw from the node. “You are considerate,” Michael said, turning to face him. “But that won’t be necessary.”
“Won’t be . . .” Cullen’s face worked. The blood drained from it. “Damn you!” he whispered—and his eyes rolled back.
Michael caught him before he hit the floor, and lowered him carefully. “I am sorry,” he said to the unconscious man.
My heart was hammering in my throat. “What did you do to him?”
“He will sleep for many hours. When he wakes, he’ll remember very little . . . that you brought a fellow sorcerer to visit him. That he and I exchanged spells, discussed some things, then you and I left. It won’t be perfect,” he said, straightening Cullen’s legs so he could rest comfortably. “I can’t build a memory as vivid as the real thing. But I’ve also planted an aversion in him. He won’t want to examine his memories of this day.”
Cravings Page 21
