Enchanted Again

by Robin D. Owens

  Then Sargas was there. I can fixs! He zoomed through the screen door, thankfully not burning a hole in it. The firesprite flashed along the droplets and stream of champagne until he came to the puddle, then sucked it up. Even as she wondered whether alcohol affected the sprite, all traces of dampness were gone…and the dark green of the bottle had melted and merged into the concrete floor of the porch. A rather pretty effect but a little unexplainable and Amber couldn’t help but think of the brownies again.

  Sargas flickered near the pastry box. “Chocolate insside,” he said, with a slight mournful note in his sizzle. He couldn’t get in the box without torching it.

  The color of Tamara’s label showed Amber that cookies were inside. She hadn’t lost her sweet tooth. With measured steps and motions she picked the box up and took it inside, giving Sargas a double-fudge chocolate chip cookie and returning for the flowers. She’d keep them until they died, as her former life had died, as Rafe’s love for her would die.

  He’d leave Denver soon enough. Before she went into assisted living.

  “Pavan!” Rafe yelled, visualizing the elf, sending all his magic out into a call. “I need you here! Pavan!” He scrabbled for his computer tablet in the midst of the books on the coffee table and clicked it on, stabbed at the program “Journey to Lightfolk Palaces,” thought of the elf again and yelled, “Pavan!”

  A column of blue-violet sparkles appeared in the dim living room, then solidified into the elf guardian. The dude actually looked tired. Rafe stared. “Sorry for my impatience.”

  Pavan grimaced. A staff appeared in his hand and he leaned on it. Rafe gestured to the big, soft chair. “Please, sit.” He kept himself from shifting his feet or pacing until the guy sat. “Can I get you some cocoa or something?”

  The elf leaned back, closing his eyes. “Brandy would be good.”

  “Okay.” Rafe went to the cabinet that held Amber’s liquor and sorted through it. Yep, she had an excellent label of brandy. When he pulled it out, Tiro was there with a snifter that appeared too delicate to be glass. Something an elf would drink out of, Rafe supposed. He took the cup with a nod to the small man.

  “The brownie is agitated, too,” Pavan said. His eyes were still closed and he appeared nearly boneless in the chair. Rich magic—air-elemental-magic—emanated from him in small swirls of light. Rafe figured the elf could still move fast and deadly if he wanted, and when his hand closed around the snifter Rafe offered, he was sure of that.

  “What has happened?” Pavan asked after taking a sip of the liquor.

  “Bilachoe is dead.”

  Pavan opened his eyes. His mouth curved faintly. “Excellent.” Another sip. “You killed him?”

  “Sort of.” Rafe grimaced. “Amber Sarga broke my curse. That and one of my weapons did it.”

  Pavan’s brows went up. He stared at Tiro. “You didn’t stop her.” He didn’t wait for an answer and snorted. “No one could ever stop those women of Cumulustre’s line. I hope Cumulustre didn’t die from this.” Pavan’s tone was as sharp as Rafe’s dagger. The elf glanced at Tiro, who cringed. “She’s still alive, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.” Then Pavan turned his bright blue stare on Rafe. “You’re right. Your curse is gone. You can fulfill your destiny, the destiny of your line.”

  There was silence as Pavan’s eyes went distant and he drank his brandy. With discreet gestures, Tiro pointed to the kitchen, mimed eating. Rafe recalled that dark chocolate went well with brandy. He went and got a candy bar and even put it on a plate.

  With a nod of thanks, Pavan set down his drink on a table, bit into the chocolate, then turned his attention back to Rafe. “You called me thrice. What do you need?”

  Rafe straightened his shoulders, glanced at the elf’s eyes, then focused on his mouth so he wouldn’t be snared by the elf’s power. “Amber aged. I want that fixed.”

  “Fixed,” Pavan said in a voice that seemed to freeze the air between them.

  “Yes.”

  “You dare to bargain with me?” Frosty amusement.

  “No. No bargain. A request.” Rafe swallowed. “I’ll do what needs to be done.”

  A slight sigh came from the elf and there was something about it that let Rafe’s muscles ease.

  “I think you already have,” Pavan murmured. “Done enough. Though you will be expected at a Lightfolk palace on your thirty-third birthday.”

  Rafe nodded, focused on the pale pink lips. “I’ll be there.” He took a breath. “I’d like Cumulustre to be notified that his last descendant needs him to release his binding.”

  “You know nothing of this matter.” The icy shards of words were back, aimed at his chest, and, dammit, stabbing toward his fast-beating heart.

  “I know something,” Rafe contradicted. “But not all. I’d like Cumulustre notified that Amber needs him.”

  The scent of ozone came, lightning sizzled in the fireplace, igniting the logs, thunder rolled throughout the house and the dogs howled. Tiro crawled under the afghan on the love seat where he was sitting and behind a pillow. Rafe was battered by the air in the room. He swayed and sank into his balance but he didn’t fall.

  “I will consider it,” Pavan snapped and left, brandy snifter and drink, chocolate and plate and all.

  Rafe grinned in relief, rolled his shoulders. “That went well.”

  Tiro laughed hysterically.

  At the end of the day, Amber knew she had to tie up the last knot. So she called Tiro. She was propped in bed, with Sargas glimmering on the bedside candle. Even though the pilot light in the oven was better for him, he’d wanted to stay with her.

  She looked at the brownie. “You were right, all along.” She strove to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

  Instead of a sneer or a smirk, he lowered his head, but Amber gasped as she saw brownish tears fall to the rug. “I did not want this. I never wanted this,” Tiro said, nearly a sob.

  Amber reached for a chocolate candy nugget and offered it to him. He shook his head in denial.

  “Age and death happen to us all.” She smiled and felt her face fold into lines. “It’s not so bad. And you can be sure that I’ve learned my lesson. Too late, perhaps, but it’s done. And now you are free. Go to Cumulustre and tell him.”

  The brownie ran forward and hopped onto her bed, hugging her and getting snot on her nightgown. That didn’t matter much, either. She patted his head. “It’s fine, Tiro.” Her own voice was creakier than she cared for. “You did your best and you did help me.”

  He lifted his head and his eyes were huge, his split pupils nearly round. “You helped a lot of people.” His sniff was loud and wet. “So did all your line.”

  Amber smiled. “That’s not too bad a heritage.”

  “No.”

  “And Rafe is fine?” she asked lightly.

  “He hurts and is angry.”

  She held out the rest of the bag of nuggets. “Here you are. I release you from your binding. Go to Cumulustre now.”

  Tiro peeked at her. “He will be angry with you.”

  Amber laughed, spread her arms wide. She’d learned acceptance of limitations more now than ever before. “What would he do to an old woman? Let him fuss.”

  Tiro took the chocolate. “I will tell Cumulustre. He will be angry, but I don’t care. I am staying with Rafe at Mystic Circle.” The brownie vanished.

  And once more she was alone.

  Chapter 31

  THE NEXT DAY a knock came at Amber’s door and startled her from a doze. She turned to see out the front window, but her body didn’t twist well, especially not with a laptop on her knees. She set it aside, missing the heat—she was often cold, now—and groaned to her feet. She grabbed the quad cane she was no longer too proud to use and thumped the three feet to the doorway. The diamond-paned glass in the door showed an exquisite face and silver hair. Pavan, the elf.

  She opened the door and stood holding the handle.

  “So the Cumulustre line is finally dying, without learning thei
r lesson,” he said.

  Not even rudimentary courtesy this time. Fine with her. “I learned my lesson fine, and my ancestresses probably did, too.” Amber was glad her teeth were still strong, she bared them in an angry grin. “And this Cumulustre, this Sarga, ensured that the Davail line lived, a bloodline you seem to believe is important but which the Lightfolk did not safeguard. So don’t tell me that I didn’t help. That I didn’t give you a result that you Lightfolk wanted.”

  His lips lost their curl. “We lost track of the Davail bloodline. Furthermore we were bound not to interfere.”

  Amber shrugged. “That’s your story. I was able to track that bloodline easily enough.”

  “It’s the truth, and you used computers and modern technology that wasn’t available to us.”

  “Don’t tell me you couldn’t have found him by tracing his magic.”

  “A lot of humans have elven magic.”

  “A lot of bloodlines are specifically engineered? That must make a difference.”

  His voice hardened. “And here’s another truth. Your ancestors lost track of Cumulustre. And every single time you broke a curse and aged yourselves, you hurt him, too. You think a binding only goes one way? He would not survive another one of your kind.”

  “No.” Her hand trembled to her chest.

  “Truth.” The word literally rang like a silver bell. “My friend Cumulustre is nearly as bad off as you are.”

  “Oh, no.”

  Pavan angled his chin. “Do you want to continue to speak of this out here?”

  “No.” She stepped away from the door and took the cane, moved slowly into the kitchen. “What do you want to drink?”

  “So gracious,” he mocked.

  “You’re in.” She turned on the burner under the kettle. “What do you want?”

  “I recently visited Rafe.”

  The mug she’d had in her hand fell a few inches to the counter, rolled off and shattered on the tile floor. She just stared at the mess, thinking how long it would take her to clean it, not wanting to think of Rafe and her shattered relationship and heart.

  “How is he?” she asked. Her voice sounded thin to her own ears.

  “Not well.” With a gesture, Pavan reversed the damage of the cup until it was whole and sitting next to the kettle.

  “Sick!”

  “Not physically.” An unamused smile came and went on the elf’s face. “He is in as good condition as ever. Mentally, he is stunned and not thinking well. Emotionally, he is wounded and bleeding.”

  “I am sorry for that,” she whispered. Blindly, she reached for the hot chocolate mix and dumped teaspoons of it in both cups.

  “He did not ask for you to save him. You made that decision without advising him or his input.”

  Sargas came to sit on the burner fire and flared outward to Pavan. The elf’s eyes widened and he stepped back.

  “Amber iss a good persson.”

  One side of Pavan’s mouth lifted in a charming smile. “A protector?”

  “Yes. Thank you, Sargas.”

  “Sargas,” Pavan murmured. “He took your name.”

  “Yes. And what you said about me making the decision about Rafe without talking to him is true. I love…loved…him. I saw him about to die during that duel. A duel no one else observed, helped us with. I saved him and I paid the price.” She lifted her chin defiantly, but didn’t look the elf in his eyes. She wouldn’t let him bespell her. Then she felt the wetness of tears traveling down the creases of her cheeks and had to stop a sob of mortification. Fumbling in her apron pocket, she pulled out a tissue and wiped up. “I had learned my lesson, believe me, but I could not let Rafe die.” She shrugged, feeling the weight of his scrutiny.

  “Perhaps I do believe you.”

  The kettle whistled. She lifted it. It wasn’t full. It only had enough water for a couple of mugs of hot chocolate. Gritting her teeth, she forced her hand to be steady as she poured. The scent of chocolate rose and it was comforting.

  Pavan twirled his finger in the air and the water and cocoa mixed. Amber stirred her own with a spoon. She drank and it was good, warming her stomach.

  “Rafe asked me to contact Cumulustre that he may break the binding on you and restore your youth.”

  Now her stomach clenched. She was too afraid to hope. Had given that up. So she drank and when she could, she said, “But the binding works both ways and Cumulustre is harmed.”

  Pavan nodded. “He might or might not have the power and the magic to allay or reverse his original spell.”

  She looked him in the eyes. It hardly mattered whether Pavan caught her in a spell or not. “I understand. And I understand that you might not want to tell him of Rafe’s request. I made my choice, and I would do the same again. You do as you believe right.”

  The elf drank down the hot chocolate, waved and his mug was clean. He took a stride back from her and for the first time, she saw respect in his eyes.

  He bowed. To her. “Your courage is more than I thought.” Then he was gone.

  Amber snorted. “The foolhardiness of my bloodline was never in question. Only our intelligence.”

  Even two days later it was becoming harder to get out of bed in the morning. The few jobs she had didn’t seem to hold her interest. She tired easily and was cold nearly all the time. Staying in bed was lovely.

  Sargas flickered onto the bedside wick. He spent the nights on one of the pilot lights in the stove, and was moving around the smaller bungalow more easily. Amber had candles evenly spaced throughout the house.

  “The big flame iss in the ssky!” Sargas said excitedly. He loved watching the sun come up.

  Amber missed her eastern bedroom window. The front of the house still faced east, but her tiny bedroom was on the north side off the living-dining room. She’d also determined that she’d moved too far from the business district. The walk there and back was beyond her. So she was more isolated and she didn’t like that.

  “Get up and look at the ssky ball!” Sargas said.

  She smiled. Her tiny cheerleader. And there was something about today that she’d been anticipating. She didn’t recall what, but she’d check her computer calendar during breakfast.

  So she dressed in sweats and added an apron and sweater. When she consulted her calendar her omelet turned cold and rubbery in her mouth. It had been a week ago she and Rafe had received the journals, the duel challenge had been sent. And she’d organized a get-together with everyone on the cul-de-sac to meet Rafe. She’d been so proud and happy then. So sure somehow they could defeat Bilachoe in the next few months.

  And she was tired again. But there was work. When she finished these two cases, she’d leave this place for assisted living. Maybe she’d take a senior cruise.

  Sargas shimmered happily in his candle bowl on the breakfast table. No, scratch the cruise.

  She was washing her dishes and looking out the window at the dry and pitiful backyard when a silver streak cut the blue sky, hit the center of her yard with a smacking, lightning crackle and formed into an elf.

  The smallest elf she’d ever seen.

  A young elf, no more than a boy of about seven or eight.

  Her skin goose-bumped as she got a bad feeling. He came up to her back door and banged on it with a small fist.

  She went through the back porch and opened it. They stared at each other and her mouth dried.

  He sighed and shook his head. His manner and his eyes weren’t that of a child. He offered a fine-boned small hand. “Cumulustre.”

  “So you, uh, became younger as we aged?”

  “Correct.”

  Amber bit her lip. She knew to the depth of her bones then something none of her ancestresses had. While they’d been hurting themselves, they’d hurt this elf, deeply, consistently. They’d been so wrong.

  “Amber Sarga.” She took his hand and there was a sweet connection there, like coming home. She told herself it was only elven magic. “Come in.”

  Her ultim
ate ancestor studied her with eyes the color of the sky. “I think you should come out. When was the last time you left that abode?”

  “Yesterday afternoon.” She’d sat on the front porch and talked to the neighbors when they’d walked by and introduced themselves.

  His head tilted, showing a pointed chin. He must have been a beautiful man. With a sweeping gesture, he indicated the backyard that was mostly dried and cracked dirt with a touch of green. “This place doesn’t hold any indications of you.”

  She hadn’t been out in the back. It had been too depressing, and she didn’t have the strength to garden, nor the will to change someone else’s place into her own vision.

  “Pavan visited me,” Cumulustre said. A brief, sour smile. “I don’t often go among my people in my condition.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He snorted. “Pavan informed me that you were in trouble.” A couple of beats of ironic silence this time. “As if I didn’t know. He said that your lover, a Davail, requested that I break the geas, the binding I laid upon your bloodline.”

  Hope ached through every cell, must have filtered from her eyes. She wanted to curl up with the pain but would not do so before this arrogant elf, one of her ultimate forebears. Still, she had to swallow to gather enough spit to speak, and wet her lips before the words would issue with aged whisperiness. “You could do that? Reverse our problems?”

  The boy nodded, face impassive but storms moving in his eyes. “Now I can. It would have been difficult even two weeks ago. Nearly impossible.”

  She kept her spine straight. “I would have chanced it.”

  His lips thinned and he jerked a nod. “So would have I. It would have been a touchy business to see if the siphoning of age from you to me would have killed us both or only one of us.”

  Amber reckoned she might have been the one.

  “But now I have a much better chance.”

  “How?”

  He smiled and his lips curved boyishly, though his gaze remained older than hers by centuries. “Like this.” He set his palms inward and about two feet apart, curving his fingers. As she watched a shimmer began in the air, then formed into a thin bubble. At first it was iridescent, then the skin of it took on a faint hint of blue. His hands moved to the bottom of the sphere, cradling it. Then he pushed it up into the air.