Enchanted Again

by Robin D. Owens

  The bubble rose fast, vanished against the blue sky quickly.

  Cumulustre grinned at her. “We will see what it captures.”

  “Captures?”

  “You aren’t aware of what went on these past three months with Jindesfarne Mistweaver?”

  “No.” She huffed. “I’ve just started learning about the Lightfolk in the past couple of weeks.”

  Cumulustre examined her. “I can see that.” He hummed a couple of bars of music that Amber strained her ears to listen to, then said, “There is more magic in the world. Bubbles of pure magic recently rose from the core of the planet. Most of them popped and released magic throughout the world. I hope to find and capture a small one that will provide me with enough energy to reverse the binding I placed on your family and myself.”

  “Wow,” was all Amber found to say.

  “Again, this would not have been possible even a fortnight ago.” A smile that made him inhumanly beautiful appeared on his face. “I have been keeping track of one or two bubbles.” He glanced at her with a lifted silver brow. “If you want more detailed information, you should consult Jindesfarne Mistweaver Emberdrake, who lived next to you in Mystic Circle. Or Eight Corp, which is managing the melding of Lightfolk magic and human science.”

  “I heard about that melding. Visited Eight Corp.” She rubbed her arm where the djinn had burnt it.

  The elf’s lips firmed and she thought she saw lightning flash in his eyes, making them blue-white, then dark, then the standard bright blue. “I will ensure that you are welcome there.”

  Had he read her thoughts? Maybe. “Thank you,” she said. Then she finally remembered her manners. “Would you like something to drink?”

  Again he smiled like a boy. “I hear you have a good way with chocolate.”

  “I’ll get us some cocoa,” she said, grateful to go back inside the house. She needed her thick coat. He didn’t follow her in and that was a relief, too. She poured pure chocolate syrup into cold milk and zapped two drinks in the microwave, and was back in the yard with Cumulustre in under five minutes. She liked being with him.

  He took a mug from her, and drank from it, closed his eyes and sighed. “Very good.”

  “Thank you.” She drank her own. It wasn’t the best she’d ever made, but it would do.

  “I am not sure how much to tell you of the Lightfolk now,” he said.

  “Or my magic?”

  “You’ve been told as much as you should be about that.” When he replied his voice almost grated and his anger and disappointment resurged. Amber wished she had kept her mouth shut. He looked away from her, at the dry yard that was mostly cracked dirt.

  She scalded her tongue on the damn chocolate.

  A minute passed. Two. She drank and the atmosphere around her was infused with air magic simply due to Cumulustre’s presence. Her senses sharpened. She followed his gaze to the west, toward Mystic Circle, and thought she could hear the exuberant voices of Tamara and Jenni setting up the party she’d organized to welcome Rafe to the neighborhood. Tears pressed hard behind her eyes.

  She cleared her throat and glanced sideways at Cumulustre. “Do you know if Rafe got to buy the Fanciful House in Mystic Circle?”

  “He did.”

  “Thank you.”

  The elf’s expression was austere. Then his nostrils widened, his head tilted back as he looked into the sky and the man’s pure relief was the scent of lilacs in the air.

  Every breath they took was one of excitement and anticipation. She actually heard his breath hitch, saw his hands tremble around his mug. He yearned for his age as much as she wanted her youth.

  Soon she saw what he had. His blue-tinged bubble descended and within it was a smaller bubble swirling with color. As it came down, Amber saw that the colors were a mixture of those she associated with elemental magic. She flinched as she saw that most was fire-orange and red, but there was a good deal of white-blue-violet that was air, and a thick streak of the gold for earth. The least amount were a few tendrils of blue-green water.

  Cumulustre held out his hands and his bubble lit on them.

  “What is it?” Amber breathed, afraid she might pop one or more of the bubbles and that could be really bad.

  Cumulustre smiled and it was the first carefree one Amber had seen. Lovely. “Pure magic, given to us with grace by this planet, the Earth. With this energy and magic, I should be able to free the binding spell from us.”

  The bubble and the magic seething inside was hypnotic, even more than Rafe’s shield and dagger. Her hopes glittered and swirled and changed with it, sometimes great and wondrous, sometimes aching in her tight chest beyond belief. She might get her life back! Tears trailed down her cheeks.

  “I think we may need some help. Do you agree to ask for some?”

  “Yes.”

  “Pavan? Tiro?” Cumulustre whispered.

  A moment later the elf guardian and the formerly grumpy brownie appeared. He saw Amber and tears spurted from his eyes. She tottered to him. “Shhh. Shhh. It’s going to be okay.”

  Tiro flung himself on her and wiped his face on her apron. His arms around her legs were strong. And wonderful. Friends. Bonds between old friends could spring up so quickly. Then he abandoned her to walk slowly over to Cumulustre, who wasn’t that much taller than the brownie, maybe eight inches. Tiro took off his felt cap and squeezed it in his hands, his ears drooped. “I failed you,” he said, his breath hitching.

  “No. You served me and my line well.”

  “I could not stop them from throwing their lives away.”

  “They did help people,” Cumulustre said with distinct unenthusiasm. He looked at Amber. “In my anger when I made the binding on my first daughter and cut myself off from my line, I didn’t know that I was affected by my geas, too. The only way to break the binding on us both was for you Cumulustre women to learn your lesson.”

  “Amber…Amber had learned.” Tiro blinked big eyes up at the boy elf. “Truly. But she loved the Davail.” Tiro sniffed long and hard. “She could not turn away from his death curse.”

  “Still flawed,” Amber said.

  “We shall see,” Cumulustre said. “If you are, this spell won’t work. I wish to lift the binding because it is no longer needed. If you had not continued to break curses, it would have fallen away by itself, but now the magical binding must sense that you have learned not to drain yourself for others. To put saving yourself and your energies first. The spell will make allowances for true love, but will probe your heart and your mind to know that what I wanted for my bloodline, strong women who know their own worth, is within you.”

  “All right.”

  “If Pavan and Tiro and I and you, yourself, Amber, are wrong, both you and I are doomed.”

  She held herself proudly, sent a glance to each one of them. “We are not wrong.”

  “It will take blood, mine and yours,” Cumulustre said.

  “Fine.”

  He pushed up his sleeve and held out his arm. A sharply pointed knife appeared in Pavan’s hand, gleamed in the sun. The older elf sliced Cumulustre’s wrist and his blood was like mercury, quicksilver. Fascinating. Pavan slit a vein at her wrist and deep red blood turned scarlet.

  Cumulustre took her hand and set his bloody arm against hers. Their blood mingled and the natural bond twined thick and fast between them, like a cable of sparkling blue-white, blood-red. Huge. She felt him, Cumulustre, and he was kin. Her throat closed. Kin, as she hadn’t had in twenty years.

  The bubble broke and the energy whipped out, and Amber was blinded by a flash. Then she was frozen. To her mind’s eye, it looked like her body was coated with clear plastic, then it broke open. Inside were glowing stars in a foggy mass, all bound with a golden net. The ends of the net were in her red-throbbing heart-star and her white mind-star. Not quite like a curse.

  She felt a tug at the cord and again she was inside, not out. The cord constricted—more, it slid like probes into her mind and heart, yanked
at her as if testing. All the times she’d broken curses flickered before her—sickness, emotional wounds, true love being shunted aside. The moment in the bar crystallized, her own words rolled through her. “I need to care for myself first. I am deserving of my own help and love.” Her feelings of inadequacy, she understood now, were because she’d been abandoned. Her mother and aunt had not loved her enough to stay, so she had to show people, everyone, she was good by helping others at the cost of herself. Not to mention that she did want to help people. But she had to put herself first.

  The golden net unraveled. She had time for a breath of magic-rich air or two before she was locked in agony. It felt like a strainer was going up her, cutting her into patterned pieces, checking every cell. Her feet went through the sieve and were minced, her bones sliced up her legs. When it reached her womb she began a long scream, thought it might be echoed by the sound of delicate glass breaking. Breaking. She was breaking, her flesh gobbets, and now her heart, her scream went on and on, her very last breath. Her mind dimmed and she would have passed out if she hadn’t somehow had a bright and sparkling fizz to lean against and gain energy, a small and solid presence that held her still and steady. Love that felt familiar to her. A tiny flame she could focus upon.

  And it was done.

  Chapter 32

  SHE LAY ON the dirt, panting. Someone else was, too. “Thank you, from both of us,” said a weary, musical voice. “You may go.”

  “Glad to,” said a strained, equally musical one, and a rumble grumble grunt that might come from a brownie.

  When the pain subsided and she got enough breath, she lifted a weak hand to her eyes. Her fingertips felt crust gluing her lashes to her cheeks. She rubbed them and looked up and deep blue sky greeted her. The most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

  She felt heavier. Not just in muscle mass, but in her emotions, her heart, her mind. But who wouldn’t after something like that? She got one elbow under her, propped up on it, and found herself looking at a gorgeous naked male elf. Who stirred no emotion in her.

  Cumulustre. Then emotions slammed into her. Kin. Loving kin who had held her and helped her through the ordeal, along with the absent Pavan and Tiro.

  Me, too! came a tiny voice in her mind.

  Sargas. Yes, you, too, she sent mentally.

  The elf grunted and sat up, and between blinks he was clothed in fluid white stuff that looked like armor. Then he stood with inhuman grace and glided over to her, offering a hand.

  “It worked!” She took his hand and rose easily, her muscles moving smoothly. She saw her hands, the skin was tight and pretty and she couldn’t stop a gulp of tearful relief.

  Cumulustre squeezed her fingers and dropped them, stepping back to study her. Faint frown lines creasing his brow. “I can see that you have learned other ways to break curses beyond the major one. Interesting.” He paused, flashed a brilliant smile. “Well done.”

  She stood tall, lifted her chin. “My gift has grown.” Perhaps it would have always evolved to what she had now—options to use her major magic. She didn’t know. But she’d definitely learned her lesson. “I’ve grown.”

  “I can see that…daughter.”

  Pleasure flushed through her, heating her cheeks. “Thank you, sire.”

  Another hesitation as he studied her head to foot, then he said, “Unlike most elves, I have no other bloodlines.” His mouth turned sour. “I didn’t have the vitality to beget them after the binding was in place.”

  Amber started to snap at him but was forestalled by his raised hand.

  “My foolishness as well as your foremother’s.” Grief passed over his face and Amber thought that however long he’d lived, the loss remained fresh, a consequence of longevity. Once again he focused on her face. “I can see her in the shape of your eyes, even after all these generations.”

  They stared at each other. Amber only saw a beautiful elf, not much older than she.

  “I have heard that your home is in Mystic Circle.” He glanced in that direction as if he might be able to see through six blocks.

  “Yes.”

  “And you have a lover, perhaps a mate.”

  Anxiety twisted her stomach. How much of what she’d told Rafe was true? That they’d only loved because of the desperate circumstances. She loved him, would always love him, but what about his feelings? “Perhaps,” she said, and shifted her balance.

  Cumulustre chuckled. “And I can see that you are impatient to see him. I, too, am impatient…to see the next generation.”

  The heat that had subsided on her cheeks rose again, just as hot. Cumulustre’s smile was sly, his eyes half-lidded. “Go seduce him.”

  “No magic!” she snapped, found her palm pressing against her heart. “I couldn’t bear it if you influenced his love with magic and it faded—the magic and the love.”

  Lifting one brow, the elf said, “There is always magic between a man and a maid.” Now his eyes turned bright laser-blue and snagged her and she knew she’d been wrong to look in them directly. He could do anything with her.

  His voice was equally mesmerizing. “I see that you love him truly and for a lifetime. I see that the bond between you was forged by such circumstances and under the effect of the awakening of your magic that it was strong.”

  Was being the significant word. Though the fact that Rafe had stayed and asked for help gave her hope that what they had could grow stronger.

  Cumulustre glanced away, releasing her from his thrall. “I will visit you in Mystic Circle in the future.” His whole expression went to glowing happiness. “Now I must mend my own ties with my kind, visit my own friends who have grieved not to see me these many years.” After a flourishing bow, he disappeared.

  Amber was filled with energy and hope and the need to claim Rafe as soon as possible. She didn’t know how long he might grieve for her, but was sure it wasn’t going to be years. She could only hope that he hadn’t already moved on.

  She ran to the back porch and got her large suitcase, threw her clothes and her laptop and the few other things—a mug, candles—she’d brought or purchased into this new life with her.

  “Sargas?”

  “I am here,” he said, flaming long on his three-wick candle. He shot toward her, streaked around her and back to his wick. “You are harder.”

  Her muscles felt firm and strong. “Not as squishy, for sure. Can you call the firesprite who helped transport you here to take you back to my home in Mystic Circle?”

  “Yesss.” He sparkled orange and red. Excitement and joy? “I love Mysstic Csircle!”

  “Me, too. I’m sure there will be enough chocolate there to pay her off.” Amber frowned. “I had ingredients for a chocolate pie. I can’t see Rafe making that. As long as we have milk, we should be good.” Her lips turned down. “Though I’d like candied violets. Maybe the brownies will make them for us.”

  “We do not ussually get to eat flowerss.” Sargas sounded intrigued.

  “All right, promise her a chocolate pie of her own, with violets. If not today, then tomorrow. I can do that myself if need be.” Even if she had to buy violet plants for the blooms. She glanced out the backyard. No violets here. Dandelions were beginning to poke out yellow heads. The only hint of green in the dry yard.

  She turned away from the window at a hiss, only to see the firesprite and Sargas merge and flash out of sight.

  And she was left alone in this house.

  Panic rose to coat her throat. It was, really, a very nice house. But it had been a place of despair for her. She never wanted to come back. So get all that she could cram in the wheeled suitcase and leave. The small amount of food in the refrigerator and any mess could be taken care of by a cleaning service or brownies. Someone else.

  She did a quick scan for stuff, tidied as she went, left the canes and the walkers in the back porch. Double-checked that she had all her documents, electronics and books. The suitcase wasn’t organized, very helter-skelter, but she shut it and zipped it anywa
y, and headed for the front door. She locked it behind her and bumped down the steps to the sidewalk. She wanted to leave the key in a bush or the mailbox or under a rock or flowerpot. That wouldn’t be responsible. So she shoved it into the outer pocket of the suitcase and began rolling it away, nearly trotting. It felt good to run. She didn’t care about the stares she was getting from a neighbor or two. She was outta there.

  She didn’t look back.

  “Spark has returned,” Tiro said.

  Rafe grunted. He was in his usual position during the time he wasn’t training. His spine was curved into the pillows of the living room couch, feet on the coffee table, deep in the game of “Journey to the Lightfolk Palaces” on his tablet computer. It was fully as realistic as the despised Fairies and Dragons that he’d been glad to see fade from his app screen.

  The program was more of an adventure quest set on an Earth dotted with towns instead of great human cities. He had to sense magic and follow streams of it. On the map, Mystic Circle was a gorgeous whirlpool of balanced magic, as was the area surrounding it—Denver. Another deep well of it showed a few miles away from the cul-de-sac where he thought Eight Corp was. Though the company was considered a Lightfolk Royal Holding, it was not marked with the symbol that showed a “palace.” Rafe had actually read the instructions of the game.

  He’d journeyed hundreds of miles and thought he found an Earth palace near Yellowstone National Park. Tiro would not confirm nor deny. The Mistweaver brownies were busy taking care of Jenni Mistweaver Emberdrake and her new husband, Aric Paramon, who’d arrived unexpectedly.

  Rafe had actually thought he’d seen them come out of a tree in the park in the middle of the cul-de-sac during one of his dawn runs. Whatever was going on at the house next door, it was taking up a lot of time and brownie service and magic. He and Tiro were living on take-out from restaurants a few blocks away and Rafe’s scrambled eggs.