Enchanted Again

by Robin D. Owens

“The spring equinox,” Pavan said.

  Again there was a sweep of the elf’s glance up and down Rafe. “It’s barely possible that you might find the dagger before then. If so, contact Eight Corp.” Pavan hesitated. “If we should fall, ask for Cloudsylph.”

  Hartha gasped. “The air royals.”

  Pavan nodded. “The King and Queen of Air are aware of this situation.” A smile, this one unamused, twitched on and off his lips. “I doubt that they will perish.”

  Vikos grunted. He stood, too. “Don’t know what we’ll face from the Darkfolk, but doubt any of the royals will die.” He shouldered the elf’s thigh, but the elf didn’t move. “And we’re damn good warriors.” Now his gaze studied Rafe. He nodded slowly. “You compare well to your forebears.”

  Rafe seemed to freeze beside her, he mouthed, “Thank you,” but his voice was so low that Amber didn’t hear him.

  “’Welcome,” Vikos said.

  “What about Conrad?” Rafe asked.

  “Who?” Pavan and Vikos said in unison.

  “My friend, Conrad Tyne-Cymbler.”

  “That is for another time and place,” Pavan replied evenly. “We must go.”

  Then the elf was gone.

  Vikos burped and glanced around. “This is a good place.” The dwarf bowed to her and Rafe, nodded toward each of the brownies. Then he moved to the middle of the living room, into the center of the circular floral rug, and began stamping and turning.

  Amber began to feel a deepening of the atmosphere. Was it being infused with magical energy? Earth magic energy? She thought so.

  The dwarf started a low, raspy chant, turned in place. Amber’s ears popped.

  As if they couldn’t contain themselves, the brownies hopped from their perches and began to circle him, chanting, too.

  And there were four—a man even littler than Pred and scruffier than Amber would have thought a brownie to be.

  And a fat calico cat who sat smiling and purred loudly. Jenni’s cat.

  Amber watched, openmouthed. Rafe had leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms.

  The house started vibrating as if the air inside moved like it was a huge drum. Sound slid up and down through the space of roof and basement and walls. Small tinkles like china chimes, then the ringing of bells, little bells like the brownies had on their shoes and the sleigh bells on one of Amber’s side doors, to a last, huge bong of a great church bell.

  Then silence, one final sentence in dwarven that sounded a little lower than her hearing would go, and Vikos bowed again, his face sober. “Blessings upon this house.”

  Amber let out a breath that had been compressed in her chest. “Thank you.” She bowed back to him, wondering why she’d deserved such a blessing.

  The cat and the smallest brownie disappeared.

  Vikos nodded once again at Amber and dematerialized, too.

  “The guardians were here.” Pred breathed heavily through his nose with little snorts. “The guardians.”

  “We saw ’em,” Tiro grumbled, but he’d turned toward the west as if he continued to sense Pavan and Vikos.

  “Why do you call them the guardians?” Amber asked.

  “They are older than the royals, the Eight,” Hartha said, whisking away the crumbs around Vikos’s seat. “They didn’t leave Earth when most of the great Lightfolk did, in what you humans call the fifth century. They stayed to keep watch on the newly elevated royals.”

  “Uh-huh,” Rafe said in a tone bordering on disbelief.

  “Eight royals?” Amber asked. “Earth, air, fire and water?”

  Hartha nodded. “A mated couple for each.”

  “But only two guardians?” Amber asked.

  Hartha frowned. “I think there were always only two. Not many wanted to stay on Earth where magic was thinning.”

  Rafe made a noncommittal noise and Amber found herself nodding her head. A lot of this was escaping her, too. Not very logical. Not very believable. But very real.

  “And we saw them, the guardians!” Pred wrapped his arms around himself, his ears rolled down and up a couple of times. “We took part in a great Lightfolk’s blessing! That should help with the death curse energy.”

  Rafe shook his head, rubbed the back of his neck. Then he picked up his computer tablet. “I left this in my duffel in the Jag, which is parked outside.” He stared intently at Amber.

  She shrugged. “Magic.”

  He turned the small computer on. “It’s fully charged,” he said.

  “Yes?” Amber commented.

  He shook his head. “It was really low when it went into hibernation early this morning. Another story.” He frowned. “The dude didn’t even touch it.”

  “No, he didn’t,” Amber agreed.

  “It’s the meld,” Hartha said.

  “What’s that?” asked Amber.

  “The Lightfolk royals…Eight Corp…are working with human technology and magic to meld energy.”

  Amber stared at the browniefem and thought Rafe was doing the same. “Okay, that’s completely lost me. Can’t take any more.”

  “We have been blessed.” Hartha flicked her fingers in what Amber thought was her own brownie blessing. She liked it better when Hartha had been lecturing the elf on discourtesy.

  The browniefem came to stand before Rafe, head tilted as she scrutinized him. She nodded. “You have magic. Warrior magic, but most of it is bound by that green glyph. The sign of an elf spell.”

  “To be freed after his thirty-third birthday?” Amber asked.

  “Yes,” Hartha said. “But enough magic to see and hear us if he believes.”

  “And to manifest his dagger,” Amber said.

  The brownie woman shrugged. “We will go home now.” She let out a deep sigh, put a thin hand over her small breasts. “I am feeling better about Jenni if the guardians are helping her.”

  “She will be all right.” Pred smiled. His gaze slid to Amber. “But if she isn’t we get the house. She gave you a paper?”

  Amber dragged her mind back from pondering sigils binding magic.

  “Yes.”

  “It is not good to inherit a house due to violent death.” He raised his nose as he looked at Tiro. “Amber will not give you her house when she dies.”

  Amber choked.

  “Don’t need her house. Got my own.” Tiro vanished.

  “In some light-and-magic sucking place ruled by Bilachoe,” Pred continued pointedly. “Not like here in Mystic Circle in Denver, where the meld will happen and good magic will flow again first.”

  “Come along, Pred,” Hartha said. She grabbed his arm and they disappeared, too.

  Amber wandered into the kitchen to see if there might be any remaining cookies to pop into her mouth as she banished the thought of her own death. The brownies weren’t optimistic that she’d be able to refuse Rafe.

  She had to.

  One glance at the spotless kitchen showed a lack of cookies. She was still hungry, and Rafe had followed her.

  “Want a sandwich?” Amber asked.

  “Yeah.” He moved his shoulders around, as if he needed to release tension.

  “The neighborhood’s nice to jog in,” she said, going to the refrigerator and pulling out the variety of deli meats and cheeses that she had, stacking a loaf of bread on top of them, and carrying mustard and mayonnaise.

  He snorted. “I’ve nearly been killed twice in this neighborhood.”

  The packages slipped from her hands to the center island, and she thought back to the long conversation full of staggering information. “Those shadleeches?”

  “Yeah. Nasty things. Then nearly duplicated my father’s death, hit by a car.” He set down his tablet on the shelf of the corner cabinet and moved back to the island. He opened the bread bag and took out some slices, began layering meat and cheese.

  Amber’s spirits began to sink. An awful tension at the base of her skull told her she was going to make a mistake. “You truly almost died?”

  Rafe hesitated.r />
  “I don’t think you’ve lied to me since we’ve met. You’ve been upfront about your feelings and everything. Don’t start lying to me now.” She picked up a knife and slathered on too much mustard, slapped on thin slices of ham and thicker ones of sharp cheddar.

  He tossed the bag of lettuce he’d taken from the fridge to the island and leaned against the appliance. “Yeah, three times. First an attack by those shadleech things.” He pushed up his left sweater sleeve and she saw nasty red and shiny scars that looked like bites.

  Amber felt her eyes widen. She swallowed hard. Her mouth was too dry to eat her sandwich now. She went to the refrigerator and got out the pitcher of iced tea. “Then you almost got run down?”

  One side of his mouth lifted in a grimace. “Yeah, by a friend of mine, even. Don Brilliant of Brilliant Limos picked me up yesterday after our meeting when Conrad bailed on me.”

  Glug, glug, glug. The tea gurgled darkly as it filled her glass.

  She sipped the tea. She’d brewed it too long and it was bitter. Hell. She met Rafe’s blue gaze. “And the third?”

  “This morning.” He jerked his head toward his computer tablet. “Like I said, it was low. Went to plug it in and got shocked across the room.”

  Amber coughed. “Rea-really?” she gasped.

  “Yeah. I didn’t touch the metal prongs of the plug or the outlet. Screwed up the inn’s electricity, too.”

  “Wow.” She took the time to put her sandwich on a plate and carry that and her glass to the polished dining room table, where she set them on a place mat. Again, Rafe followed.

  They ate awhile in silence before he said, “I didn’t mean to lay the guilt on you.”

  “Yes, you did. But you’re reconsidering.”

  “Yeah.”

  She took a big breath. “There’s a guest suite on the third floor. It was the attic and is just one big room with a small bathroom. Shower, no tub. The ceiling is finished.” She eyed him. “You should fit under most of it.”

  He looked around. “How many bedrooms do you have?”

  “I had my office down here, but Tiro’s made a bedroom of it.” She waved a hand. “Long story. So one bedroom upstairs is my office now. There are two others on the second floor, mine is the big one facing the street, and, like I said, the suite on the third floor. Two full baths on the second floor and a half bath down here, and the one on the third floor.”

  He grunted as he chewed his sandwich. When he was done, he said, “I don’t think number two has as much space.”

  “No, but it’s charming.”

  “What of your basement?”

  She wiggled her brows. “I haven’t looked down there since Pred and Tiro started messing with it.”

  At that moment the air changed again and dog barks sounded as the puppies shot through the back door Tiro must have opened for them. They went straight to their spot in the butler’s pantry and sounds of crunching and slurping came.

  Rafe smiled and she smiled back. He stood and took his plate and glass of water to the sink, rinsed them.

  Amber said, “The dogs need to be walked. Tiro will play with them in the backyard, but they need to get out. They might be a little protection. At least they bark at strangers.”

  Rafe slanted her a look. “You’d trust them with me, doomed to death?”

  She didn’t show her inward quiver. “Sure.”

  “You’re going to let me stay here, aren’t you?”

  She sighed. “Yes.”

  He inclined his head and for a moment looked as noble as the elf. “Thank you.”

  The dogs came over to her. She petted them fiercely.

  She praised their beauty lavishly, ran her hands over their young bodies. No, she would never jeopardize their lives. Never.

  They accepted only a few minutes of attention before nosing Rafe and getting pets from him, then sniffing at the chair where Pavan had sat and the hassock Vikos had used, then collapsing on their beds in the living room.

  Amber finished her meal and did the dishes while Rafe got his duffel from his rental car. She was looking across the kitchen at the corner cupboard at Rafe’s tablet when he came back in the kitchen. “Any coffee?”

  “Sure.” She’d just made a pot and gestured to him to pour a cup.

  “What do you think this ‘construct’ business is?” he asked.

  Amber had a vague idea. Pavan seemed to know Jenni well and had mentioned her game. Jenni worked as a story writer for a software gaming company that produced one of the most popular massively multiplayer online games, Fairies and Dragons. Amber didn’t want to say that to Rafe, though. She reckoned that all his games were real life and physically challenging.

  “Maybe we can determine that.” She nodded to his tablet.

  He picked it up reluctantly and they settled back on the couch.

  When he turned it on, the app icons showed on-screen. There weren’t a lot, certainly not as many as Amber had on her pocket computer.

  She pointed to a new icon of a fairy astride a dragon’s long neck. It was the last program in a row, next to one called “Fly or Die.”

  “A construct.” Rafe scowled. “I don’t like the sound of that.” He snorted again. “Manifesting the damn dagger.” He touched the icon.

  The world around them fell away.

  Chapter 11

  “THIS CAN’T BE real,” Rafe said, denying the circle of standing stones and the towering forest around him.

  “It’s a game,” Amber said, too cheerfully because the rain dripping down the collar of whatever he was wearing was sure cold and wet.

  She looked younger and was wearing some sort of silvery scale armor that conformed to her torso and shaped her breasts really nicely. Her pants were black leather and gored for easy movement and her boots were tall and black and cuffed. She had a silver tiara around her brow.

  “That’s an excellent look for you.” She smiled.

  Rafe glanced down at himself. He wore armor, too. Not a good sign as far as he was concerned. His gear wasn’t metal, more like layers of stuff, maybe leather and silk and something else, padded where he might need it most. It glowed a dark green. He’d probably be near invisible in this forest. He shifted and realized he wore a groin guard. When he moved some more, he discovered it was the most comfortable guard he’d ever had, but he still didn’t like it or the implications.

  He shrugged and a long cape—looking a little too much like the elf’s for his peace of mind—moved around him in a glow that matched his armor. Magic.

  “What is this crap?” he said. “Where the hell are we?”

  “You’ve never played Fairies and Dragons?”

  “No. I’m into sports.”

  Amber turned slowly. Her hand had gone to her hip, where it looked like a wand was stowed. On her other thigh she wore a fantasy pistol made of ceramic or something. “Looks like the Standing Stones Sanctuary in the forest of Lin to me. We’re in the beginning zone of Fairies and Dragons. It’s a safe area. Players can only log off in a safe area.” She tilted her chin down a path. “The city of Van should be down that way. It has weapon shops, maybe your dagger…”

  Rafe grunted. “What will stop us?”

  “Oh, plenty of things will try, I imagine.”

  Rafe didn’t want to imagine anything. “Do I look like myself?” He crossed his arms and found heavy metal-studded gauntlets on his hands.

  Amber nodded. “Yes. Longer hair.” Then her lips curved. “You have elf ears.” She was grinning.

  “What!” Red outrage hazed his vision. He lifted his hands, but his gloves were too thick to really feel any curves or points. He became aware of something very, very wrong. “I have no weapons.”

  Her brows lowered. “You should. You’re a Red Dragonfly Knight.”

  “What?”

  “Heavy-fighter with a hint of magic. You have wings under that cloak, red, signifying an offensive fighter. As for weapons, you should have a knife and sword…”

  “How
do you know that?”

  She shrugged. “I looked at your player profile. I can see it as a scroll over your head if I concentrate.”

  He stared.

  “I looked at mine, too,” she said. “I don’t have a real character with these attributes in my game.”

  “Fairies and Dragons?”

  “Yes. Jenni Weavers writes the game. Everyone in Mystic Circle plays. Sometimes we even all log on at the same time.”

  They were all crazy.

  Frowning, Amber said, “All right, think profile. Maybe you’ll see—”

  “Profile,” he said. Before his eyes a ragged scroll of paper appeared. His name: Rafe Barakiel; weapons: claymore, main gauche. Secondary magic: wind defense.

  “Help me, help me!” cried a high voice.

  Rafe’s profile faded.

  Skidding to a stop on the path before them was a tiny round man in green with a tall hat. He bounced up and down. “I need help to rescue my pots of gold from my evil twin!”

  “Oh, the leprechaun storyline that Jenni wrote is live now!” Amber said. She sounded thrilled.

  “This blows,” Rafe said. “I’m outta here.” He pounded a fist against a slab and discovered himself back on the couch, hitting the padded arm with his fist.

  “Well,” Amber said, brows raised. “That was interesting.”

  “That was damn crazy.” Rafe stood and went to his duffel. “I’ll put away my stuff.” He stopped. “You play that game, Fairies and Dragons.”

  “I have it on my secondary laptop.” She paused. “The password is ‘changeling.’”

  “Right. Thanks for letting me stay.”

  Her quiet tone stopped him at the bottom of the stairs. “Magic, Rafe. We’re involved in it.” He heard her deep inhalation. “And that was fantasy and fun. You’ll remember that I can catch glimpses of the past.”

  He hadn’t. He looked at her. She was pale under her tanned skin tone.

  “That’s real,” she said, “and part of my life.”

  He gave the idea a little thought and approved of it. “That can be helpful.” Conrad had felt so and as much as Rafe was reluctant to think of the curse, it seemed the answers lay in the past. “Later.”

  She stood, her expression closed. “I have work. I’ll be in my office.”