by Cat Adams
His friend opened one eye and raised a brow while remaining cross-legged on the floor near where the portal had been. “Yes?”
“Finish up and then meet me downstairs. I think it’s time we had a chat with these ladies.”
Alexy closed his eyes and rubbed his free hand on his belly with a smile. “Bless you, guv. Save me a scone.”
With a nod that he knew Alexy wouldn’t see, he left the bedroom and headed down the hallway. The house was elegantly appointed, with heavy dark furniture that was obviously well cared for and slightly threadbare but clean Persian carpet runners that had been loom woven long ago. It reminded Tal very much of his foster mother’s home before the magic started to be rationed. That was one nice thing about the topside world. Wood products weren’t rare. Most at home had to be magically created, and were temporary—for entertaining. The ones here could remain unchanged for centuries.
He heard a tentative sound as he passed one room and backed up to investigate it. The open door revealed a cat staring at him from amongst rumpled bedcovers. It was a fluffy mass of the deepest charcoal with a pug nose and whiskers so thick and long they drooped at the tips. It mewed again in invitation and then cocked its head questioningly. Tal had always had an affinity with cats. They seemed drawn to his fire magic and he often found them following him around, seeking a warm lap to curl up in, when he was on topside patrol. He inclined his head and squeezed his eyelids together in what he’d learned was a friendly greeting to the species. Once again, the cat seemed familiar, but he couldn’t remember why.
The cat likewise closed eyes and squeezed and started to stand, probably to come for a pet, but he raised a hand. “Not right now,” he said quietly. “I’ll try to come back later, but I’ve no time at the moment.” He broke eye contact to affirm it and was pleased to see in his peripheral vision that the cat settled back into the deep piles of bedding.
He reached the living room again, where Candace had tried to convince them that Sela wasn’t in the house—even though she clearly was. But he remained convinced she hadn’t been lying when she said it. That told him that Sela had somehow gotten into the house without the others knowing. Perhaps through that twice-damned gate.
Muted voices from behind a slatted door off the dining room told him where the kitchen was. He paused to listen before walking in, and was glad he did.
“Tell me of this Sela. How does she come to live here?” The old woman’s voice was stern and disapproving and it affected the tone of the answer.
“You make it sound like some sort of back-alley drug deal, Baba. Sela was just my roommate. She’s lived here about two years and this is the first weird thing that’s happened. It’s not like I’m stupid. How could I have foreseen something like this?”
Candy’s tentative voice came from slightly farther away, as though she was on the other side of the room. “That’s not quite true, Mila. Don’t you remember how Sela rented the place? That was a little creepy, wasn’t it?”
“I do not know this word, creepy,” said the older woman. “Tell me of this.”
There was a long pause where the only sound was bubbling fluid that smelled of sweet herbs and flowers. It was similar to the tea his mother made, but a bit sharper. Finally, Mila spoke. “Yeah, I suppose that was a little strange. She just showed up one day and said that she was answering my ad in the paper for a roommate.”
Candy broke in. “Except that Mila hadn’t put in an ad. We’d talked about it, but she hadn’t decided for sure that she wanted someone living here.”
“At least until the probate finished. But here it is, two years later and they’re still fighting it. Thank heavens I work for a law firm, or I’d be bankrupt trying to keep this house.”
The old woman’s voice lost the anger and filled with a comforting warmth that told Tal while she might be stern, she cared very much for Mila. “Miss Armstrong was a good woman, Mila. She gave you this house in kindness. It will not be taken from you by greedy skusas who don’t respect their elders.”
“I hope so, ’cause it’s been going on too long as is. If I didn’t know how important it had been to Lillian that her nephews never got their hands on this house, I probably would have given up long before now. But yeah, Candy’s right. It was strange how Sela just showed up like that. She checked out, though. Good credit history, no criminal record, paid the rent on time, and didn’t mess up the bathroom. She’s been a good roomie overall. In fact, more than once she bailed me out between paychecks.”
“But where did she get the money?” Conversation in the other room stopped, and Tal realized he’d spoken aloud. The slatted door opened, and Mila gave him an annoyed glare.
“Well, you might as well come in if you’re going to eavesdrop.” The door closed again, leaving him to blush in peace. But after a moment, when the silence continued to drag on, he was forced to take a deep breath and push open the door.
The same scent of flowers and fresh herbs, but far stronger, struck him the moment he entered the tidy kitchen, filled with bright colors and dark wood. Most of the floral scent originated from Mila. It was sweet, but not cloying—more the fresh subtlety of a cool orchard than a garden. Cherries and orange blossoms, with apple overtones. He realized he was just standing there, sampling the air while staring at her. And she was staring back, her nostrils flared and eyes wide.
It was Candy who cleared her throat with an impish smile that made both of them start. Mila’s face immediately dropped from the slight smile to a more disapproving expression that matched her earlier words.
“So, how much did you hear?” Mila tried to sound stern, but her light blush gave her away, and when he smiled, her eyes dropped to examine her oddly translucent teacup on the table.
“Introductions first, Mila. Where are your manners?” Again the younger woman reddened, all the way to her ear tips. The old woman dipped her head and waved a hand at an empty seat. Her thick accent made all of the vowels round and expressive. It was obvious English wasn’t her first language. “I am Nadia Penkin.” He sat down dutifully and dipped his head as she continued. “This is my granddaughter, Ludmila Penkin and her friend, Candace Hawkins.”
“Most people call me Mila.” She shrugged and caught his gaze again with those dark eyes, so that he barely heard her friend in the corner.
“And I’m Candy.”
Manners forced his gaze away from Mila once more. Bowing his head slightly, he decided that trying to pretend he was a simple human was useless considering Mrs. Penkin’s abilities … and her threats upstairs. “I am Craftman Talos Onan, a midlevel commander in the Overworld Police Agency. My friend upstairs is Alexy Duvrot. We are—”
“You are a mage. Your friend is an alchemist—a dirtdog,” said Nadia. “Fellow Guilders.”
“Baba, what is a Guilder?” Mila blurted the words out, her frustration apparent. “You keep saying that like I should know.”
Tal opened his mouth to reply, but again Nadia spoke up, in outraged surprise.
“How you not know, Mila? I tell you many stories when you are little about the Guilders. The caves … we go visiting when you are young.” She gestured to Candy. “I take both of you, so I can show you our ways. How you not know?”
Mila and Candy exchanged confused looks and shrugs. But moments later, Candy’s face registered understanding. “Wait! Do you mean the geeders? The tiny Ukrainian magic folk who live underground like fairies? Those stories?”
This time, Nadia’s face looked confused as she mouthed the words, but then she laughed. “Ah. I see. My English, it was not so good when I came here to America. I not say all the letters like I do now. Yes. Yes, these men are geeders. But proper is Guilders, and not so tiny. You see?” She patted a hand gently on Tal’s arm, then turned his wrist over to show the birthmark on his forearm. She fingered it a moment and furrowed her brow, making him squirm in embarrassment. His mark was faint and twisted—a mark that should belong to an apprentice instead of a crafter. “This is Guilder. He is mage
… fire guild. You see his mark? Like the one on your middle toe. His friend is alchemist, earth guild, like your baby toe. Sela, she was water witch guild, like your second toe.”
“What do you mean, like my toes? What do those designs you painted there have to do with any of this?”
The old woman looked taken aback by Mila’s words. She reared back in her chair and watched the young woman carefully for a long moment before asking a question that seemed as steeped in careful wording as a criminal interrogation. “You remember … Viktor’s gardens? Yes?”
Only Candy’s eyes widened in excitement. “Ohmygod! I loved the gardens! The spinning flowers, the wishing pond, and oh—remember all the Christmas trees?” She stared at her friend’s blank face in astonishment. “C’mon, Mila. How could you forget those purple whatzits? The sparkling flowers you begged your mother to buy for months.”
The grandmother’s voice was cold when she spoke, her eyes flashing from an anger that was so deep it could produce any result. Tal felt his hand tighten on where his focus should be and realized it might have been foolish to throw it through the gate.
“She’s forgotten because she was made to forget.” Then started a string of words that were more muttering than conversation. Nadia touched the golden necklace she wore and then threw her hands wide as though to embrace the Tree. “She promised … swore on her mark she would not do this thing. Who knows what might be altered, or lost inside the mind? No, it must not stand. But first I must know more from your mother, Mila. It was done to you a very bad thing.”
Mila’s face grew alarmed, as it should. If she was right … craters, a memory alteration spell. That must be what Nadia was alleging happened. It was illegal in all the known realms, so she was right to be angry with whoever had done it! To remove the training of a Guilder forcibly was dangerous in the extreme. It could cause wild manifestations of magic because of the loss of knowledge of how to control the power.
Tal cleared his throat to catch their attention. “That could have legal repercussions if true. Please tell me … I’ve never felt magic such as yours. What guild do you craft under? Who should I contact to report this violation of your granddaughter?”
Mrs. Penkin growled, a deep snarl that could easily have come from an angry animal. “To tell that tale, you must first be refreshed. Mila, you will tell me what refreshment he requires, please.” At Mila’s startled expression she rolled her hand. “Quickly, quickly. You must think … what is that expression … on your toes now. We must learn what damage has been done.”
“But how—” Her confusion was obvious as she raised her hands in frustration. “If this is something I used to do, I don’t remember it. I just don’t remember, Baba. How can I?”
Her grandmother sighed. “Is like egg rolling, yes? You use your other eyes to see his pain and weaknesses. Close the eyes that see this world to see the next. Try hard to remember how we played the healing games. You will have to fight to find your past, Mila, to find the truth of my words. At each of us you look, tell us what we need.” She clapped her hands sharply, making all of them jump.
Mila looked to Candy for guidance, but she just waved her hands before raising herself to sit on the dark granite countertop. “Not my thing, remember? I never could see sickness like you guys could. Can’t focus what’s not there, sweetie. But c’mon. You used to do it all the time. I’ll bet if you try you can.”
Tal stood up to go back and join Alexy in investigating. There was nothing to be learned here that wasn’t simple curiosity. He wanted no part of an apprentice’s attempt to rediscover her magic. He didn’t have the time or energy to waste fending off miscast spells.
But it was as though the old woman had read his mind. “No fretting, young mage. Mila was very skilled for one so young. She will remember if she tries. Sit, please, yes? This will help you and your friend greatly. My mark’s vow.”
That stopped him. A Guilder didn’t call upon their birthmark to make an oath lightly, and her eyes bore out the promise when he turned to meet them. Under the circumstances, he shouldn’t trust her—shouldn’t trust any of them. And yet he did. He’d learned to trust his instincts, in the same way he’d trusted them to leave his post and check the prison perimeter. He tried to put aside his concerns and open himself to the experience. Perhaps there were things here that could benefit him. And he really had no idea where to start searching for the gate until Alexy was done. “Very well. But I must insist that no magic leave the premises, nor change any aspect of the evidence. And, if either of us is attacked, we’ll defend ourselves by the full measure of the Saxon Accords.”
Mila and Candy had wide eyes from his warning. He had seen the look before, and it mollified him slightly, because it was born of both fear and lack of understanding, rather than any sort of deviousness. But Mrs. Penkin merely nodded. “Is fine. I would expect such a response, but we will not attack, yes?” She held up a hand and pointed it to the stove in the far corner of the large room. “Mila, you will stand there so you can see us without turning.” When she didn’t immediately jump to her feet, the grandmother clapped her hands again. “Come, come. We have little time and much to do. The mage will not harm us so long as we do not harm him or hide things from him. Those are the elements of the Accord.” She turned her head and raised her brows. “Yes?”
A quick nod was all he could manage before Mila was on her feet and stepping lightly to the corner of the room. His eyes followed her automatically, even when he tried to pull them away.
“I’ll do my best, Baba. It’s been a long time, but hopefully it’s like riding a bike, and I’ll remember as I go.”
Once in the corner backed by the stove, she took a solid stance and cupped her hands lightly at her sides. The muscle memory of the act seemed to surprise her and she let out a slow breath then looked relieved.
She closed her eyes and a shudder overtook her. Without warning, a cloud of energy settled around his shoulders. It was fluffy, frothy, like being covered in cotton, fresh from the fields. He closed his eyes and could see the net of magic that she’d thrown around the room. No mere spell, this. She was the energy, and he could feel it press at him, raise the hairs on his skin until he shivered with anticipation. His own power, what little was left, rose to greet this tentative touch, and it leapt up like pouring fuel on a flame.
He was enveloped, consumed, and the force of it made him place palms on the table to keep from falling out of his chair. With a gasp, he opened his eyes and could see the magic in the air … ghostly tendrils that dipped and danced, but with purpose.
Candy was awestruck, her eyes following the threads around almost hypnotically. Nadia Penkin merely smiled and nodded, as if to say, You see? She has been trained.
The magic began to swirl around him now, in tighter circles. He caught his breath and closed his eyes once more as the cottony sensation turned to an urgent stroking that did more to his body than simply raise hairs.
Every nerve was alive and raw as strokes became pinpoint prickles that both hurt and felt wondrous. The scent of flowers became pine needles, then fresh dew on a cool morning. Trickles of water rolled down his face, or maybe it was just his imagination. But he certainly wasn’t imagining how his body was hardening, in a skin-tightening rush that began to heave his chest. It was only through sheer willpower that he didn’t snarl and rush across the room to grab Mila and kiss her. He wanted to run hands along her sweat-soaked bare skin, bury his face in that long hair and have her until his flesh was satisfied. Even gritting his teeth couldn’t keep back the involuntary moan as he struggled, and that’s when he saw Nadia’s brow furrow with the beginnings of concern.
When he finally turned his gaze to Mila, she was wide-eyed, her hair blowing in the wind of energy she was creating. She was beautiful, wild, and as hungry as he.
He watched without moving has she moistened pink lips nervously. Her nipples hardened to tiny pebbles under her shirt as he stared, as the magic began to affect her, and she squirmed in he
r stance, trembling with need.
She shook her head frantically as if to fight off the sensations, but she was losing. It only made it that much more difficult not to bolt from his seat. He closed his eyes again and concentrated on the patterns of colors. But even they were erotic in his current state, flowing and dancing … sometimes fluid and other moments twitchy and desperate. His hands ached to touch something and nothing he did could end it, not with the taste of magic in the room.
Finally he could stand no more—he didn’t care who would see, or what they would think. He opened his eyes and stared at her, looking for some sign. Her lips opened and she reached out one hand. When he stood, she moved forward in anticipation and even Nadia’s frantic hand pulling at his cloak wasn’t enough to stop him.
But then the telephone jangled, harsh and jarring. Just that tiny sound was enough to break the spell and Tal was able to stop himself before he reached her.
“Hello?” When he heard Candy answer he looked up and realized it was her mobile phone that had rung, rather than the house unit. Mila was looking rather sheepish, leaning against the oven door with head hung, contemplating her shoes. Tal couldn’t help but admit that he felt the same. Tree help me, the things I was thinking. His own mother would have backhanded him if she’d known and he was a little surprised that Mrs. Penkin, while watchful, wasn’t berating him.
“A tonsillectomy? Why didn’t you tell me before?” Candy jumped down from the counter, landing on the tiled floor with a bang that turned all eyes to her. “Of course. I’ll meet you there in an hour. Which hospital?”
The woman didn’t act panicked, so it apparently wasn’t an emergency. But it took Tal a moment to realize that he felt capable of taking on an emergency, when moments ago he would have had to struggle to sprint out to the roadway.
He was energized, refreshed in a way that seemed to lift years from his shoulders. The sensation was familiar from long ago and it told him which guild these crafters hailed from, even though it wasn’t possible. He feared even uttering the name out loud, for the guild house of the Parask, the soul-conjurers, lay deserted, burned to the ground by fearful topsiders. And for good reason, if whispered tales were true.
