by Cat Adams
She couldn’t think of anything she wanted more, either. All they had to do was follow the trail of gray fur that ended with the fluffy lump on her bed. She doubted Mr. Whiskers had moved all day—he’d even slept through the security company invading every room in the house with noisy power tools. She’d swear he was dead except for the content rumbling that made the fur rise and fall. But he was soon interrupted by Tal picking him up gently and setting him on the floor. “I fear there won’t be room for you tonight.”
The cat looked at both of them indignantly before baring white fangs in a yawn and walking out the door to begin his nightly patrols. She’d put food down for him when she fed herself, and he’d find it when he was hungry.
“We should probably leave the door open so we can hear … things.”
Tal nodded. “I placed spells of security, alarm, and attacking on the door. Since they already defeated the wards Alexy cast, they’d be expecting new ones on the room. I’m hoping they won’t notice them on the door. The alarm of clarion trumpets should wake us and we should be able to get to them before they can stop the door from assaulting them.”
“Can you guys get through a dead bolt? I wasn’t sure what all to do to the door.”
He shook his head. “We can create physical items, but can’t really affect those that already exist, except by sheer destruction. Guilders can’t manipulate a lock without picks, but someone could craft the picks and then use them, which is why putting a block on magic in the room seemed prudent.”
A movement of light caught her eye as the red digital numbers of the clock changed to one A.M. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been up this late—and after waking in Vril at three. Sheesh!
Tal closed the door until there was just a crack showing, about the width of the cat and then shrugged at her raised brows. “We might need some small measure of privacy, after all.” He walked toward her, pulling his shirt over his head as he did. She’d never gotten the chance to really look at him last time, since she’d been too busy feeling his body to bother looking. Her body tightened just watching all those muscles flex. When he reached out his bare arm toward her, she noticed a small design on his upper arm—a stylized sun. She couldn’t help but touch it and he let out an appreciative sigh as she stroked her fingers over the mark. It wasn’t raised like the one on his forearm, but didn’t look like a tattoo, either.
She planned to ignore it, wanted to, but her mind switched tracks, moved from fun back to work. “Is this a birthmark, too? Does it glow when you craft?”
He looked at it and gave a small shrug that moved her hand. “No, it’s just a tattoo. It’s the symbol of the mage guild, given to me when I entered the academy. Everyone got one, so the instructors would know at a glance that a student had been tested and what sort of magic they could craft. I don’t really know whether it glows. I can’t say that I’ve looked. Normally, I’m crafting with clothing on … or at least not in front of a mirror.”
“Do some magic, then.” She pointed to her dresser. “Light those candles.” This time he did magic without a word. He simply flicked a finger, the opal glowed, and flames appeared inside the cobalt glass holder. But she saw all that from the corner of her eye, because she was watching the mark. “Yeah, it glowed a little.” A smile pulled at her lips. “Perfect.”
He shook his head. “What? What have you thought of?”
There was no time to explain, and she really didn’t think she could explain it. She patted him on the arm and moved past him. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Her studio was on the ground floor, near the kitchen so she could wash up in the sink and not get dye all over everything. She lifted the light switch and started eyeing her jars of dye. She couldn’t get her mind off the memory of her foot heating up when the water in the well was sucking her down, or the bubbles that rose from her foot to give her air. The designs above her toes had never disappeared, even though they’d just been painted on. “Let’s see—” she muttered softly, remembering that pretty rhyme from long ago, when Baba painted them. “Blue for the water where life was born, yellow for the sun that keeps us warm, green for the leaves that fill the air, and black for the earth that’s never bare.” She reached for the yellow dye bottle as well as the slender pointed paintbrush she kept around for touch-ups. Then, almost as an afterthought, she added the bottle of red dye to the pile. It was the color on her foot of the fifth design, the meander road … the symbol of the Parask. A road with no end, eternity—from where evil could never escape to harm.
Burdens in hand, she started back up the stairs. Time to see if I can make a little magic.
Mila walked in the room, carrying a pair of bottles of colored liquid, and a paintbrush sticking out of the front pocket of her pants. “Wouldn’t it have been easier for me to go downstairs than for you to drag all that up here?” He looked at her askance, wondering what she was up to. “Are those egg dyes?”
She swept a hand across the dresser, pushing small bottles and knickknacks to one side so she could put the jars down. “Room’s too small for two. I barely fit in there myself with the bench and shelves. And yes, they’re dyes.” She started to unscrew the tops and pointed at an elegant chair in the corner of the room, heaped with clothing. “Bring that over here and have a seat. You can just dump the clothes on the floor. I forgot to bring the laundry basket upstairs last time I did a wash load.”
Her voice had changed from warm and soft to commanding, businesslike. He crossed his arms over his chest and didn’t move toward the chair. “First tell me what you’re planning.”
She let out a harsh, frustrated breath as if every moment he took to understand was wasting time. But when he didn’t move except to raise his brows purposefully, she leaned one arm on the dresser and regarded him. “I’m going to fix that birthmark. The same way Baba did my foot. So if you could please sit down? I’m tired and trying hard not to sound as cranky as I feel.”
Seeing her like this was a valuable insight, for it said she was willing to show less than her optimum personality to him. Kris had once told him that a woman has to feel very comfortable with a man to show her … aggressive side if it’s not her normal state. But it raised his own, because he refused to be bullied. He wondered how she’d react to having her own words thrown back at her. “No. Not another step until you explain what you’re intending.”
If she recognized the reference to when she was at the Tree, she gave no sign. “It’s not rocket science, Tal. I thought you could figure this out. Baba painted my foot. Paint that stuck and has remained unchanged for over twenty years.” She pulled the paintbrush from her pocket. “I dip this in the dye and darken the line of your birthmark. Although, maybe it would work better if I first outline it in hot wax, like a pysanka. Not sure about that part yet. Anyway, I do it with purpose, like you said. If it works, you should go up to full strength. If it doesn’t work, you have a little dye to scrub off in the shower. No big deal.”
If his face revealed any of the outrage or fear that filled him, he must look horrified indeed. “Yes, big deal. Not sure? Should? Maybe? You are a magicwielder, Mila. Those aren’t words you dare use to begin a crafting, and certainly not on my body. What if instead of just rinsing off dye, I’m no longer able to craft at all? What if it kills us both?” He shook his head and took a step backward, almost involuntarily. “No. It’s not important enough to me to risk it.”
She sighed and lowered her head with a small shake. “Would you please just trust me?”
“The last time I trusted you, you stole my faith.” He didn’t intend for the words to slip out, but once in the air he couldn’t take them back. They were bitter, accusatory, and made a great tightness in his chest form. He thought he’d gotten past it, but apparently he hadn’t.
She looked up then, her mouth wide with shock. “What?”
He turned away from her to stare at the door, unable to look at that expression—so surprised, so completely unaware of the effect she’
d had … the damage she’d done. “For centuries we’ve believed the Trees are sacred, born fully formed of the earth itself and possessed of a pure spirit that guides us. They called us home from the overworld to begin a new life underground. They led us away from the corruption of mankind, to where we wouldn’t have to hide our crafting from view or bury it amongst the science that humans favored.”
He threw up his hands in frustration and turned around to find her sitting on the bed, a look on her face that was close to tears. But he wouldn’t hide from this nor shy away because of a little discomfort. “But then along you came, with no knowledge at all of our ways, took our truths and spit them back as lies. The Trees are just trees, magic we felt was Tree-given is just pretty eggs made by other Guilders and stuffed inside the branches. Our guiding spirit is nothing more than smoke. So you tell me—why should I trust you in this … painting session that could end everything else I know?”
Tears were now rolling freely down Mila’s face. Her voice came out in a whisper. “Oh, Tal—” She cleared her throat and then stood. Her hand touched his and while he didn’t pull away, he wasn’t sure he welcomed her touch. “I had no idea. This is all so new to me that I never gave your history a second thought.”
He nodded and couldn’t help the bitter laugh. “And that’s the hardest part to bear—knowing it was all an accident for you. The scroll from the garden could have been any other fairy tale, until it came true.”
Now she let out a little sniff that carried a similar bitter humor. “Or geeders who live in burrows like squelk coming to life and stepping out of a glowing gate in my spare room? In that, I do know how you feel.” But then her face filled with something close to wonder and she squeezed his hand. “But don’t you see, Tal? You’re taking the bits of what you know that have just been altered as proof positive that the whole story, the whole belief system, is false. It’s throwing the baby out with the bathwater. There’s nothing in that scroll that said the Parask planted the trees. I read it again, so I know. I mean, who ever heard of underground trees that give off magic instead of oxygen? And illusion aside, what trees can live in darkness and still produce green leaves and fruit?”
The question was a good one, but he didn’t have an answer. “But it’s …”
She smiled then, and it was filled with hope and something that tied his stomach in knots and made his heart beat faster. “Who says the spirit doesn’t exist? Who says it, or he or she didn’t create both the Parask and the other Guilders in a sort of check and balance, to teach humility and cooperation? Conjurers can make magic from life energy but can’t use it … you can use it, but not create it. I mean, I was raised to believe in another God, but the principle isn’t all that different—we’re all the same, yet all unique, so be nice to each other because we all have to live together and depend on one another.” She leaned in and kissed him gently on the cheek. “I don’t think I proved your spirit doesn’t exist, Tal. I think I proved it does.” She winked and let go of his hand. “Now, I’m going to run down and get my kistka while you mull that over. Then I’ll do your mark if you want me to, and think you can trust me to do it. If not, then you know where the spare room is. I’ll just go to bed and we’ll see how we’re both feeling in the morning.”
He stood there, blinking like an idiot as she walked out, trying to wrap his head around the concepts she’d raised. Was this why Alexy had seemed so excited when he’d learned of Mila’s healing? Could his friend’s faith have made the leap to the logic … the leap he himself hadn’t until this moment? Because she was right. Someone or something had given her people the gift of creating magic. Why not the Tree spirit? For they were called home to Agathia, too. It was only the other Guilders who pushed them away in arrogance and fear. Could it be that the guild priests who had later become Tree gatherers had done it intentionally? What had crafters believed in before the Trees? Was it the same God that Mila did? They lived and loved among one another once. after all.
What was it King Mumbai had said to Dareen—that Stella forcibly opened his eyes to see the whole truth? “What a good queen should do.”
“I’m sorry … what?” Mila had come back in the room, carrying a well worn red kistka. paint flaking off beneath the blackened metal tip.
He shook his head and smiled. “Just remembering some good advice.” He grabbed her arm before she made it past him and kissed her gently on the lips. “Thank you for helping me see past my blindness.”
She smiled and licked her lips, as though reaching for the last taste of something sweet. “We all have blind spots. Sometimes what it takes is a little outside perspective. Are you better now, or should I just put this stuff away?”
He nodded and realized that everything in the room seemed a little brighter, as though a dark filter had been lifted from the colors. His heart was beating not just faster, but stronger. “Yes, I think I’m better now. Better than I’ve been in a very long time.” He looked at his mark and while he felt the fear beginning to creep in once more, it was softened … tempered by something. Trust. Her skill was undeniable and her instincts sound. He could do far worse than to have her mend him, and now couldn’t imagine any harm befalling him. “I’ve still no idea if this will work, but I do trust you.” Another smile that reflected the sensation that was growing in his chest. “How could I not trust the woman I seem to have fallen in love with?”
Again those wide green eyes and dropped jaw that made her mouth look so kissable. So he did. It was worth being stabbed by the sharp metal in his ribs as he took her into his arms and tasted the sweet fire of her mouth. He rained kisses from her mouth to her ear and then to the curve of her shoulder while cupping her breast and flicking a thumb against her hard tight nipple. He wanted to lick that nipple again, pull on it, bite it and hear her moan and grow wet and ready for him.
She went limp and pliant in his arms. He let out a small, possessive growl and slid his teeth along the pulse in her neck, which was quickening wickedly, throbbing in time to the urgent pressure of his cock. “The only question is whether I can stand to wait to be inside you again until after you do your crafting.”
She shivered hard enough to raise bumps on her skin and let out a nervous chuckle. “I might forget how if I don’t do it now. I seem to lose my mind every time you touch me.”
He leaned back just slightly, inches from her face, and let his lower lip slide across hers while he continued to tease her breasts. “I like that,” he whispered. “I like that I drive you mad. You drive me nearly beyond my limit of restraint.”
She stared at him strongly, her eyes intense enough he couldn’t help but look. “I love you, too.” She touched her lips to his softly and ran a slow hand across the swelling in his crotch, weakening his knees. “It doesn’t make any sense, but I do. And I swear I won’t do anything to hurt you. I’ll make you better.”
He pulled her hand away from him before he couldn’t turn back from the need and released her breast with a final pinch that pulled a gasp from her. “You already have.”
Once he got used to the sensation of the hot wax on his skin, it wasn’t too bad. The trick was that they had both gotten so aroused that it was difficult to make the wax cool enough to be a barrier for the dye. Finally Mila resorted to going downstairs and retrieving a tray of ice cubes. After that, it was no trouble at all to finish her crafting. She dipped the funnel of the kistka right in the scented candles on the dresser and shrugged when he raised brows. “They’re beeswax, and I didn’t feel like hauling up that huge block in the studio.”
He wanted to say that it felt amazing or that magic filled the air. But it just looked like yellow dye, his mark darker for the intense brightness of it, so when she asked, “Feel anything?” he could only shrug.
“Nothing at all, other than my arm’s cold. And what are you doing now?” She had moved the kistka to a new spot, just below his guild mark.
“Oh, nothing. I just thought I’d do a couple more pictures while I was here and in the mood
. This one will be an oak leaf, which is the pysanka symbol of spiritual strength—in case you ever feel lost again.” It was done in seconds, before he could really react—her hand moving swift and sure now that she’d figured out how to make the drawings on skin. “And this one is our symbol—the Parask road, so evil gets lost and can never reach your soul.”
“Not, of course, as any sort of reminder of you?” he said dryly, which made her smile.
“Of course not. But it is sort of common—artist’s license. Call it a signature of my work.” With a chuckle, she blew out both candles, apparently done with her crafting.
By the time she rubbed off the wax to reveal the bright yellow markings, he was laughing along with her. It didn’t last long, though. Not after she turned those wide eyes to him again and parted those luscious lips a tiny bit. He leaned in and kissed her again, moving his jaw against hers until he heard the kistka clatter to the wooden floor. Then it was just a matter of pulling her off the rolling desk chair she was sitting on into his lap. The weight against his sudden erection made him moan and shift until he found a spot that wasn’t so sensitive. He pulled back and pushed back a long curled black hair that had fallen across her eye. “I think it’s time for bed.”
He reveled in the way she squirmed as he slowly unbuttoned her blouse, kissing his way down her chest with each bit of skin that was revealed. She kicked off the light slip-on shoes she wore—much better than the heavy boots that required unlacing. She helped things along by standing up to pull off her pants and underwear. “I’d do it slow, but my poor body’s just about worn out. I don’t want to waste what energy I have left.”
He couldn’t argue, since he felt the same. So he just smiled and followed suit. She reached for his erection after he was fully nude and his brain stopped trying to think. Slowly she stroked him until every inch in his body was screaming for release. He heard the ripping of plastic and then a new, wet sensation over the sensitive nerves. His eyes opened and he saw that she’d found the box of condoms he’d bought on his way here and had put one on.
