Enchanted Again

by Robin D. Owens

  “Mmm-hmm.” Amber drank the tea, let the smell swirl up her nose. She put the cup down with a decisive clink.

  Rafe frowned and swiped his thumb against the icon.

  The room and the night transformed into a stony hilltop and a day with bright blue sky and white attenuated clouds.

  “What’s the day-night cycle?” Rafe asked, brows still down.

  “About twenty minutes. I’ve never timed it, and if there’s a mission limit, it’s measured in real time.”

  “Uh-huh.” He’d sunk into his balance and moved carefully around, looking at the waves of hills, more woods down below and the odd greeny-yellow patches that Amber knew was swamp.

  “Where are we?”

  “The Star Diagram safe spot in the Baldy Hills.”

  Rafe snorted. “Appropriate.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re wearing armor,” Amber said.

  Yeah, his clothes felt different, not as heavy. His body felt…safer.

  “It’s dragon armor. That means you’ve grown as a fighter and a magic user.”

  Rafe touched his chest—the padding and coat were gone. As he glanced down at his arms, he saw his new armor was a deep red. It wasn’t cloth or leather, not ceramic or metallic. He flicked a fingernail against it, but the sound gave him no clue as to the material.

  “Chitin,” Amber said.

  If he were a dragonfly, he supposed that was reasonable. His back felt odd. He flexed his shoulders. Two pairs of wings whirred, working the muscles of his back. Translucent with rims of red. He closed his eyes in disgust.

  “They’re very beautiful,” Amber said. She stepped back, as if to scan the whole of him. She looked just like she had the time before. Had she grown in fighting prowess as he had? Rafe thought the situation had changed her, too. But maybe Pavan’s game wasn’t measuring her, only him.

  Her brows raised and she hummed in her throat. “Ve-ry nice. You look buff and tough.”

  He glanced down, his armor was formfitting. There was a sword strapped to his left thigh, too long to be the manifested dagger. Pulling it out, he found a sabre. With red-flame runes engraved on the blade. Yeah, this was a game for sure. Still, he narrowed his eyes. There was something about those runes, he could almost…not read them…but sense what they said. They had energy. In fact, as he gripped the sword and carefully turned in place, he realized that it was more responsive to energies than his dowsing rods. There…in that direction in about a mile was a river. He didn’t recall seeing a river in his journeys in the game.

  Different place for higher level characters, he supposed. Another turn and his sword swept up, pointing to the pinkish purple sky and the huge moon. “Air energy, what’s there?” he asked Amber, even as his wings lifted him to hover off the ground. He felt a pull to it.

  “It’s the Cloud Castle in the air,” she said.

  An echo of Pavan’s voice sounded in Rafe’s memory. Present yourself at a Lightfolk palace on your thirty-third birthday to be trained. He wondered if the Cloud Castle of the game was like any real Lightfolk palaces. His heart thumped hard in his chest, his wings whirred, his palm sweated a little around the hilt of his sword. This did not feel like a game.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “Profile.” Before his mind’s eye he saw a picture of his face…complete with elf ears and a damn long ponytail, along with the notation that he was level twenty-two, had six powers of sword and six of wind and the skills that went with them. Nice. He had been working on his sword-fighting skills, and if you counted the practicing with the dowsing rod as magical skill, he’d been developing and flexing that muscle, too.

  His accomplishment badges included: air racer max extraordinaire, waterskim racer extraordinaire, sportsman max extraordinaire with a bonus in fast reflexes.

  “Nice,” he said.

  Amber nodded. “Yes, your profile is good.” Her eyes were warm. “Reflecting your recent accomplishments.” Her brows dipped. “Mine isn’t so good. I’m a level eight. And I’m still squishy.” She glanced around. “This is the forest of Zent. Too high for me. Any monsters here like shamblers or banshees can defeat me, and I can’t touch them unless I use extra powers and get really lucky.”

  Rafe linked arms with her. “Stick with me, babe. I’ll protect you.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” she said absently. “Inviting you to team.”

  A rock thunked near his toes, broke apart to spell Sylvant has invited you to team with her. Do you accept?

  “Yes.”

  “Very cool,” Amber said as she watched the pieces of the rock turn back into a lump.

  “That stupid leprechaun isn’t going to show, is he? Or his equally stupid twin?” Rafe asked.

  “They’re only in the beginner’s forest area. We’re in the Baldy Hills.”

  “Huh.”

  “Check your mission list.”

  He found that his hand automatically went to his belt and he pulled out a square of paper. It said, Find dagger.

  His heart jolted and his breath came fast. He handed the sheet to Amber.

  “Wow,” she said. She drew herself up, handed him back his paper. She was close, but no longer touching him, and he missed that. “And you know what to do next, right?”

  He frowned.

  “Check your compass. It should show you where the dagger is.”

  Rafe swallowed. “Yeah?” Without thought the brass compass was in his free hand. It showed no location. “Nada.” He folded it.

  “Oh. That’s too bad.” She got her own list. “I don’t have anything at all.” Glancing up, her gaze narrowed. “Wait, there’s something on the back of your list.”

  He flipped it open, saw fancy dark blue handwriting. Amber leaned close and he held it so she could see, too. To find the dagger, follow the energy stream, then manifest it.

  “Yeah, like that’s helpful,” Rafe said. Same old, same old. “Where’s the energy stream?”

  But Amber was shaking her head. “I don’t know of any energy stream in the game. I don’t know to what this refers.”

  “Okay.” Rafe pulled his sword. “Really good dowsing rod.”

  Her eyes got large. She shrugged. “All right, you lead the way.”

  “Energy stream,” Rafe muttered as he tucked the list back into his belt. “Outside the game there are four elemental magics.”

  “Not here,” Amber said.

  Realizing he hovered a few inches from the ground, he stopped his wings, plunked back onto too-solid-for-his-peace-of-mind earth. With a click, his wings folded into a protective casing against his back and sides.

  “Cool,” Amber said.

  “We’re walking, not flying. That’s slow.”

  “Yes, but what do you feel with your sabre?”

  He looked into the sky and made a face. “That castle is still the greatest pull.”

  She shook her head. “They don’t let you in the Cloud Castle until—”

  “What?” he prompted.

  Her breath puffed out and she met his eyes and it was a little shock to see that hers were truly a gleaming silver and not the Amber he was used to. She still looked young, but her coloring had changed and he didn’t like it. She was now all pale skin with a hint of glitter and short silvery hair. He much preferred the real Amber. All honey and golden and luscious.

  “They don’t let you in the castle until you’re level thirty-five.”

  “Oh.” That sent a trickle of cold fear down his spine. Construct or not, this was a game, and real life and real magic and real death faced him outside of it.

  “Guess I’d better find the dagger.”

  “I’d imagine it would be worth a fantastic amount of experience points,” she said lightly, but he figured she was all too aware of reality, too.

  He set his feet down and tried to clear his mind, concentrate on what he could feel in the sword. Energy. River-water energy—but that wasn’t important in the game.

  Breathing deeply, he visualized the dagger and felt his lip
s curve as it materialized before him. He snatched at it with his free hand and his fingers passed through it.

  “Do you see that?” he whispered.

  “No.”

  He nodded and continued to scrutinize it, see it clearer than he ever had before. Pavan had called it a dagger, so had the Davail who’d died in the dream, but to Rafe it was more like a short sword, the length of his forearm. Cutting edges and a good, sharp point. The whole thing was a dark royal blue, almost as if it were enamel instead of metal. Just like in his dreams, white and golden starbursts appeared and vanished, like little exploding suns.

  Since it dazzled his eyes as he continued to stare at it, he closed his eyelids and tried to feel its essence as if it hung before him. Metal? Yes. Cool with zipping snaps of heat. Sound…a few tinkling, lilting, sparkling notes as if part of a melody that Rafe could only partially hear.

  What of his other senses? He knew what it looked like, sounded like, smell—? He drew in a lungful of air. Rock…the Baldy Hills, woman-but-not-quite-Amber so he dismissed that scent, and…deepness. That was the only word that occurred to him, a sharp tang darker than citrus. Like deep space. Could it really be reflecting space? Like the universe? “Cosmos,” he said, and his sword jerked his arm to the right, hard. “The Cosmos Dagger.”

  That rang in his head like the last clang of the hammer that had forged it.

  “The Cosmos Dagger,” said the woman who wasn’t quite Amber, some squishy character not as strong or as intelligent as the real one. He opened his eyes to see her. She’d been frowning, but twitched her lips up when she saw he was looking at her.

  “The Cosmos Dagger.” He nodded. “You’ll write that down in case—for my cousin, right?”

  “If necessary. But let’s go find it.”

  Now that sounded like her. Cheerful. Optimistic.

  He realized he liked that about her more than any other feature of her personality. More than he liked the looks of her breasts in the scale armor, or how her pants tightened over her butt as she walked in the direction his sword was pointing.

  Tightening his grip on the sword, he commanded, “Lead me to the Cosmos Dagger!” Sure enough, he got a strong pull of direction from it. His breath filtered out of his chest in motes of relief. He would find the knife. He would damn well manifest it, and then he would see about destroying the evil being who’d caused so much death and grief to his family. Oh, yes, Bilachoe had a lot to pay for, and Rafe Davail would do his best to call Bilachoe’s account due. Rafe swished his sabre up and down in a quick salute. “My name is Rafael Barakiel Davail, prepare to die.” More than bitter fear lay on his tongue now. The hot spice of anger and vengeance.

  Amber looked back at him, her brows knotted, concerned.

  And game monsters—banshees—attacked.

  Three dropped from the trees, white wraiths, misty tatters, claw-fingers outstretched. Amber screamed and fell to the ground, rolled, hopped back to her feet, cursing. She flung out her hands. “Cocoon!” Silvery strands shot from her fingertips and encased him, then her in silvery web armor.

  The noise was horrendous, his sword sang and the red runes sizzled as they slashed through the wisp beings, vanquishing two of the three. The last one touched him, cold penetrated and his fingers dropped his sabre. “Spellfire!” Amber whirled a whipping web of fire, cast it on the banshee. A ululating wail and it splintered into sparks.

  Harsh breaths sounded in the air and Rafe understood it was Amber and him.

  “Did that feel too real to you?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Yes.” Putting a hand between her breasts, she said, “My heart’s beating hard and rapidly, and I’m pretty sure I had a good adrenaline surge.”

  “Ditto.” He could hear his own breathing, unlike in the game. His wings flicked out and he rose a few inches. “Dragonflies,” he muttered. Though the feeling of hovering was cool, he was pretty sure he didn’t like the fussy wings. They didn’t look strong enough to really haul ass, and he was afraid for them.

  “Fairies,” Amber corrected. “We’re fairies. Dragonflies and webspinners and all the others.”

  “God.”

  He slipped over the countryside and realized the reason his wings had deployed was because there was swamp. Amber flew beside him. Her wings were shaped differently. More like moth or butterfly wings, he supposed. Or regular fairy wings.

  He still didn’t believe he was doing this. The bar fight earlier that evening was much more his thing, part of his world, understandable. This was just…freakish.

  Like magic.

  And curses.

  And a knife called the Cosmos Dagger.

  Then shamblers rose from the ground and lumbered toward them. Large, gross, rotting moss-green monsters with lumplike heads. Burning green eyes showed through the plant-encrusted things.

  Unlike the computer game, they smelled. A stench of decomposition rose with each of their steps.

  Chapter 19

  AMBER WENT PALER. That didn’t happen in the game, either, characters changing colors from fear. Skin color could be anything. Characters could turn other colors from magic use, yes…fear, no. Made Rafe feel that hearts—and blood—might actually be involved here and that wasn’t good. What happened if they died in here?

  Only Tiro was in the house with them. Would they have to depend on Tiro?

  “Out! Game over! Off!” he shouted. Nothing happened.

  “We can’t exit. We aren’t in a safe zone,” Amber said.

  She got that right.

  “Shamblers,” Amber said, flexing her fingers. “Hard to kill.”

  Rafe drew his sword. “Is it better to be on the ground or hovering like this?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’re teamed with me,” Rafe said. “That means you’re at my level.”

  “But I don’t have twelve powers. I only have four.”

  “Uh-oh. Can we fly away?”

  “They’re worse in the air and we don’t dare go over the Many Mouths Swamp. The shamblers have these sticky tendrils that will pull you into the mouth of the swamp. Being eaten’s worse than being beaten.”

  Rafe winced. “They’re slow.”

  “They’re here!”

  And Amber flung a spell and they fought. The noises of blows, the fight, was as he’d experienced in the game. But the vibration of the sword up his arm as it struck the shambler in the chest was all too real. Ichor spurted.

  And, yeah, there was blood on his part. Blood never appeared in the game. A whiplike stem cut his cheek. He bled. Then a ruffly tendril wrapped around his arm, jerked. He yanked back and ripped the limb from the monster. It yelled. More gore, and the ground was getting slippery. His wings had closed.

  He lunged, got the shambler in the chest, the thing fell. He spun…and this time it was a game-body-move, virtual teaching, and he sliced another one.

  Then he was hit, bad. He felt the blow cave in a rib, knock his senses silly with pain. He gasped and his sword dropped from his hand. Two monsters jumped on him and nausea jagged through him as they fell to the marshy ground.

  “Webcast explode!” shouted Amber.

  The bodies atop him were flung away, came down somewhere else with rattling thumps and groans.

  He saw huge studded boots with huge wicked rowels aiming for his face. Fear—and need—punched through him. He reached, found something, raised his left arm and the foot hit a round glassy thing and the beast yowled in pain.

  His right hand closed around a hilt. He thrust, saw a blue blade, heard a terrible scream.

  Heavy, thudding footfalls announced backup. Not for them.

  “Ambush by greenspurs, five levels higher than us! We can’t win,” Amber cried. She rushed to his side, grabbed his biceps. “Flee!” She yelled a spell and smoke puffed around them.

  And they weren’t in the swamp.

  They were somewhere else bright with soothing light that filtered through him and healed him. His bruises vanished, as did the sting on hi
s cheek. He rubbed it and encrusted blood flaked under his fingers, but he felt no scar.

  He opened his eyes and knew he was in the recovery area of the Fairy Dome, a place of safety and healing. He was propped against a large stuffed bolster in a small circular depression, carpeted with patterned rugs and pillows around the rim.

  A small moan as a body crumpled beside his. Amber. He blinked. She was literally white, pallid with blue lips. The circular brooch on her chest that indicated her health showed black with only a thin line of silver. She’d used all her power to save them—to save him.

  Good thing this was a game.

  He was shaken and panting anyway. He looked down at his own brooch. Full power, full health.

  When he glanced back at her, the brooch showed she was regaining health and power slowly. Frowning, he stared at her profile. Under “Flee” power it said, Save team, drain yourself. He didn’t like that, but done was done and he sure hadn’t known how to save them.

  Meanwhile, he felt great. He rolled and sat, stroking her hair back from her head. It was wet with sweat, though all he could smell in here was…elves. Honeyed air energy.

  No other players were in the dome with them.

  As her color returned and her breathing eased, he drew her up against a big pillow, cradled her in his arm. “Thanks.”

  “No problem,” she whispered. “Not sure what would really have happened.”

  “Me, either.” The wounds had been real. So had the healing.

  She leaned against him, and he liked it, but couldn’t feel her body well because of his armor. He wasn’t sure how he could take it off. If he could take it off. His body was reacting to her, though not as much as if she’d had her true scent or appearance.

  They were quiet and he decided to savor the moment. What were the rules of this screwy game of Pavan’s? Could he have sex with Amber? Who would know? Was someone watching them? Monitoring?

  Yeah, another thing he really hated about this game. He didn’t know the rules.

  “I’m all right,” Amber finally said, but she didn’t move from his arms.

  “Good.”