Changespell 01 Dunn Lady's Jess

by Doranna Durgin

  "Have a chair, Jess," Jaime said softly.

  Jess backed into the seat and Eric's hand fell on her shoulder, quiet and supportive.

  Carey took no notice. He dug into the cavernous pockets of the saddlebags and mined the contents, depositing a horseshoe, a handful of nails, and a small hammer onto the table. A light, oiled-canvas slicker followed.

  "We haven't taken anything," Jaime told him. But the pouch of gold came next, and she amended, "Well, not quite true. We took one gold piece and cashed it in. Jess needed something to wear."

  "You're welcome to all the gold if I can get back to Arlen with—" he came up with the sealed document and brandished it with a sigh of relief, "—this."

  Eric reached over Jess' shoulder for the document, and Carey surrendered it only after a painfully reluctant pause. "And just what is it?" he asked, looking again at the strange paper and the dark wax that sealed it. Beside the seal were the runes he and Dayna, and then Jaime, had puzzled over. His eyes widened and he glanced from the dark ink to Jess and back.

  "Yes," Carey said. "It's the same as the brand. It represents Arlen's name."

  "How come you speak English?" Dayna asked abruptly. Eric looked at her in mild surprise while Jaime's eyebrow raised in appreciation of the question.

  "Jess didn't," she contributed. "Although she seems to have picked it up pretty damn fast."

  Carey suppressed most of his amused laugh. "I'm not surprised at that," he said. "She's been listening to me ever since she was a foal. She had most of the words in her memory—just not all the meanings."

  "She knew 'blanket' well enough," Dayna muttered.

  "'Food' went over pretty big, too," Eric added. "But why English? I know Americans tend to think it should be the universal language, but I don't think this is quite what anybody had in mind."

  Carey shrugged. "Magic," he said simply.

  "Magic," Dayna repeated flatly.

  Carey ducked his head, scratching the back of his neck in a vaguely embarrassed way. "Unfortunately, I can't tell you exactly how it works."

  "Convenient." This, too, a mutter from Dayna.

  Carey's head raised sharply, a flash of anger replacing the chagrin. "If I understood magic that well, I wouldn't be a courier, now, would I?"

  "Just tell us what you do understand," Jaime interposed, shooting a warning glance at Dayna.

  Carey's hand went to the neckline of his shirt, flattened against his breastbone as if searching for something, and fell away, empty, to rest on the table. Jess had often seen the small colorful stones he wore hung on a chain, and she wondered where they'd gone, and why they were important. He caught her questioning gaze and gave her a nod: affirmation.

  "I suppose the easiest thing is to tell you why the document is so important." He took a deep breath and appraised their somber, attentive faces. "Until recently, no one in my world suspected that you existed. I suppose we should have wondered—the less conscionable and more stupid among the magic users traffic with unspeakable monsters every time they figure out a new way to circumvent the checkspells."

  "Checkspells," Jaime repeated. "Laws?"

  "Oh, we have those, too—but the checkspells deal only with magic. When the Wizard's Council—which is independent of all the little countries in my land—can agree long enough to decide certain magics shouldn't be used, they figure out a checkspell and set it in place. It more or less nullifies that particular spell, if anyone is of a mind to try it anyway."

  "Sounds sensible to me," Eric nodded.

  Jess listened, entranced, learning about her own land for the first time, and fitting the explanation into a hundred different pieces of memory.

  "The tricky part," Carey went on, "is that there's always a gap between the discovery of a new spell and the formation of the checkspell. Normally it's not too much of a problem; little spells are discovered every day, and even the ones that could cause potential mischief don't get a lot of attention right away. There's usually enough time to do something about it."

  "I'll bet we fit in here somewhere," Dayna said.

  He afforded her the barest sideways glance. "Occasionally, someone comes up with a new spell that's really revolutionary, and then there's a scramble to keep it classified until it can be evaluated and checked. And that's what I have here. A spell on its way to one of Arlen's associates."

  "And one that Derrick wants," Eric concluded.

  "Derrick's employer, most likely," Carey said. "Calandre."

  "Pretty name," Jess murmured.

  "Pity it went to one so foul," Carey said, his expression darkening. "For it was she, Lady, who sent those men to chase us."

  Jess closed her eyes and shuddered, finding the memory of that chase all too easily summoned.

  "All right," Jaime said, stretching. "So you've got a really nifty spell and Calandre wants it. How'd you end up here? And why hasn't this kind of thing—visitors like you—been going on all along?"

  Dayna's light blue eyes narrowed. "Because they haven't known how. Isn't that right, Carey. That precious spell of yours tells them how to get here, and you don't have any way to keep them off our world. A thousand Derricks could pop in, or maybe even a thousand Calandres. We haven't got anything to check magic. What happens when they start summoning their monsters here?"

  Eric blinked at her, while a slow smile spread across Jaime's face. "Woman, I like your style," she said. "Sat there behind all that sarcasm and figured it right out, didn't you?"

  Carey, too, seemed taken aback. "I thought you were the one who didn't believe me in the first place," he complained.

  "That doesn't mean I turned my brain off," Dayna said smartly.

  "No," he agreed, and picked up the thread of her statements. "That's not even considering all the things you have here that we couldn't come up with checkspells to stop. Guns. Explosives. Machines that poison your air and land. Things that we've never even thought of, because so many of our needs are met by magic. Things that people like Calandre would introduce just to get an edge." His face was grim. "I've learned a lot since I arrived here, even though I spent most of the time tied up in that room. Derrick spent enough time watching that television thing. . . . And I tell you this—even though Arlen's concern was for your world, I've seen enough to know my world is in just as much danger."

  Eric regarded him with a puzzled look. "So what's the problem? You've got your spell, and Derrick's probably in some dark alley, hiding from the police."

  "Marion isn't big enough to have a dark alley," Dayna objected, a glint of humor finally showing in what had been an entirely too somber face.

  Eric rolled his eyes and poked her on the arm. "Smart ass," he murmured, not without affection.

  "The problem," Carey said, his hand drifting up to his chest again, "is that Derrick took my spellstones."

  "Is that supposed to make sense?" Dayna asked.

  Carey scowled. "I never said this was going to be easy to understand."

  "Just do your best," Jaime said patiently. "We're with you so far—whatever you're talking about specifically, it seems plain enough that Derrick has something you need before you can leave."

  "That's right. Arlen provides all his couriers with a certain number of spells. By setting them into an object—different kinds of crystals and rock, usually—he gives us something we can take along and use if the ride turns ugly."

  "For instance, if someone like Calandre sends someone like Derrick out to chase you down," Eric suggested.

  Carey nodded. "Usually it's a recall spell, which would take a courier back to the safety of his employer's dwelling. But Arlen is the only one who fully understands the spells that can cross worlds. He couldn't take the chance that someone after the document would be close enough to be included in the recall."

  "Then Calandre—or whoever—would have both the document and Arlen. It'd be impossible for anyone else to come up with a checkspell," Jaime surmised.

  Carey blinked at her. "Exactly. So he set the new spell for
me, twice—once to take us away, and once to get us back. But magic is a little tricky—"

  Dayna laughed out loud, then covered her mouth as he turned an annoyed gaze on her. "Sorry," she mumbled around her hand, the smile still in her voice.

  "—and some of it works on the principles of intent rather than direct instruction; all I knew was that language would be accounted for. I had no idea Lady would be changed like this." He scowled on her account. "I doubt he knew—it may even be a glitch in the spell."

  "Gives you confidence in the whole procedure, I imagine," Jaime said dryly.

  "I still don't get it," Dayna said, resting her chin on her hand, elbow on the table. "In order to use that spell, you'll have to trigger it from here. This world. You know, the one without magic."

  "I was told," Carey said, his dry voice showing his full awareness of the situation, "that the spell still has some connection to my own world."

  Jaime looked at him for a moment, and then rested her gaze on Jess, who sat wide-eyed, beginning at last to understand some of the aspects of her situation. "And if you're wrong?" she asked finally.

  He looked at her, facing both Jaime and the circumstances squarely. "Then I live the rest of my life here. Lady stays as she is. And Arlen assigns another courier to the same job, and tries again."

  "Does he know we're here?" Jess, finally, began to take an active part in the conversation. "Will he look for us? Will he come for us, and give me back my running, the wind in my face?" She held her hands before her, regarding them with something akin to scorn. "These are not sturdy enough. My face is flat and I have no whiskers."

  Eric moved around to face her, taking up her hands and enfolding them in his. "Your hands are elegant, Jess, and so is your poor flat face. Jaime's horses will take you on wonderful runs—and you will learn to find the beauty that's still inside you. What about the Jess that speaks, and cries, and plays soccer—do you want to lose her?"

  Jess gave a humph that left little to the imagination regarding her feelings about this Jess. But she let him keep her hands.

  Behind him, Carey shook his head. "She is what she is, Eric. That's what I was trying to tell you earlier. Essentially, Lady will always be a horse. Magic can change form, but not essence."

  "This means you'll have to deal with Derrick again," Jaime said grimly. "If you want the recall spell."

  The edge of Carey's mouth quirked into a wry grin. "That shouldn't be too difficult to arrange. I'm sure he's still looking for me."

  "How reassuring," Jaime said. She tucked back some dark strands of hair that had escaped her French braid and said, "Look. I've got my own life here. I'm heading into a pretty busy show season, one I can't afford to screw up." She looked up from the thumbnail she'd been contemplating and caught Carey's carefully expressionless face, while Jess made no effort to hide her anxiety. "Relax, you two. I'm just saying that my life's got to go on. I can't arrange it around you while you figure out what you're up to. On the other hand, Jess is a real help around the place and I could use her at some of the shows I've got scheduled. So if you don't mind paying for your own groceries, you can stay on for a while."

  Carey sat stiffly, his face giving away nothing of his thoughts. After a moment Jaime's expression closed up, too, leaving only the confused hurt of an offer apparently refused. Carey took belated notice and hastened to clarify his thoughts.

  "I'm not sure you realize the danger," he said. "I don't know what the general rules of conduct are for this place—I get the feeling your television doesn't represent you any more accurately than our children's puppet shows—but I doubt Derrick is like anyone you've dealt with before. He's ruthless and he's already found contacts with his seamy counterparts here. If—when—he finds me, he won't hesitate to do whatever's necessary to get his hands on that document."

  "He can't be any worse than some of the people in this country," Jaime said firmly, and watched him until he gave her a nod, a succinct acceptance of her offer.

  Jess thought her head would explode if she tried to think about all these new things for one more minute. "I'm hungry," she announced boldly, and Carey laughed affectionately.

  "That's my Lady," he said.

  * * *

  The rest of the evening, in contrast with their conversation about magic, wizards, and alternate worlds, had been incredibly mundane, Jaime thought, staring down the barn aisle from the arena, watching Jess go about the morning cleaning. Carey was still in the house, sleeping; after the adrenaline of escape had faded, so had he, and he'd done it in a big way. She wouldn't be surprised if he slept for days, considering what he'd been through.

  Sabre walked up behind her and pushed her shoulders with his nose. He knew the routine: a few days before a show, she turned her competition horses into the arena and free-longed them, twice a day, enough to get the kinks out and keep them fresh. But it wasn't any fun, he seemed to say as he nudged her again, unless she played too.

  "All right, big guy," she murmured, shoving him away from her and raising the longe whip to a more attentive position. "Move out, then." With faked annoyance, he shook his head, laid his ears back, and struck out into a reaching trot. After ten minutes of it, he was ready for a good roll, and she left him to himself, tucking the longe whip behind the kick boards lining the lower walls.

  Jess was waiting for her by the arena aisle gate, the mounded wheelbarrow behind her. She seemed lost in thought, and didn't take her gaze from Sabre until Jaime was at the gate.

  "You don't look happy," Jaime observed. "Especially considering we finally found Carey."

  Jess shrugged, one of the gestures she'd completely incorporated into her new persona. She looked down at herself, and then at Sabre. "I am not me," she said, with the look that meant she didn't think she'd be understood. "Carey is Carey, but I'm . . . ?" Another shrug.

  "You're Jess," Jaime said. "And Jess isn't someone who's ever had to deal with Carey before."

  "Yes," Jess said with a small sigh.

  "Forget it," Jaime said. "Just go on being Jess. Finish Reading For Tomorrow, keep working with the horses, and go on learning about the things you do or don't like. Carey's got a lot of decisions to make, and he's probably not worrying about what you're up to."

  Jess looked at Sabre again, and this time brightened a little. "First show this weekend," she observed. "You still want me to come?"

  "You'd better believe it," Jaime said emphatically. "I need someone there who can take care of the horses without constant direction, and you can do that."

  Jess nodded and turned back to the wheelbarrow, balancing a bigger load of old bedding and manure than Jaime had ever dared. The conversation, Jaime felt, had not entirely appeased the young woman's worries. She needed what Jaime herself needed: distraction. She glanced at her watch. She had a lesson scheduled in fifteen minutes, but beyond that, and the chores of packing the show trunk and horse trailer, her day was dismally short of distractions. "Jess," she called, as Jess and wheelbarrow were about to disappear out the open double doors, "would you like to try riding today?"

  It was an impulsive suggestion, and an activity Jess had never shown any interest in—but perhaps Jess was equally aware of the need to be doing. "Yes," she said simply, and pushed the wheelbarrow out of sight.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes into Jess' lesson, Jaime was all but convinced the whole idea was her biggest mistake of the week. Month, maybe. Looking the perfect equestrian in a pair of Mark's breeches and snugged into his expensive but seldom used riding boots, Jess had walked into the arena like an instructor's dream: long-legged, straight-backed and leanly athletic. And the illusion had shattered the moment she sat down in the saddle.

  Somehow, Jaime had expected Jess' intimate knowledge of horses to translate into the reactions of a good rider. Thank goodness she'd followed policy, and put Jess up on her most trustworthy mount. Sunny wandered amiably around the outside track of the arena, while Jess sat, stiff and awkward, her hands clenched on reins that hung us
elessly along the gelding's neck.

  "Whose idea was this?"

  Carey. Jaime glanced at him, confirming what she'd thought she'd heard in his voice: the faintest tinge of derision. "It was my idea," she said calmly, returning her full attention to Jess. "Jess, just relax. You know Sunny's a great beginner's horse; he knows what he's doing."

  "What did you think, that she would be a natural, just because she's a horse herself?"

  Since that was exactly what Jaime had figured, she bit back the angry denial she'd like to have snapped at him. What was he doing out of bed, anyway? He looked . . . fragile, and not ready to face the world. "I had no idea she'd be so frightened," she allowed, taking his appearance into account as she moderated her voice. "Since you seem to know more about it, maybe you have some suggestions that'll help."

  Carey shrugged, grimaced, and rubbed his sore arm. "I never would have put her up there," he said. "Not unless she asked me to."

  "It didn't take any convincing," Jaime said sourly, not sure how much longer she would be able to take his attitude. "Jess, come on down to this end. We'll put you on a longe line—that way you won't have to worry about guiding him. All you'll have to do for now is sit on him."

  But the change brought little improvement; instead, Jaime felt that Carey's presence was making Jess more nervous. She sat so stiffly that Sunny, feeling her unmoving seatbones, began to offer halts, trying to respond to her apparent signals. Finally Jaime said, "Jess, you're not happy with this, are you?"

  Jess mutely shook her head, though it was obvious she didn't want to admit her feelings.

  "Are you frightened of him?"

  "Of Sunny?" Jess blurted in surprise.

  "No," Jaime smiled. "I see not. Try and give me a clue, kiddo—we're going nowhere here."

  "If I do the wrong thing," Jess said hesitantly, staring down at the reins in her hands, "then it hurts him."

  Ah. Jaime glanced at Carey to see if he'd lit on Jess' meaning as clearly as she. He had indeed tuned into them, lifting his chin from where it had rested on his fist, atop the gate.

  "Okay," she told Jess. "I think we can work on that. First of all, I want you to know that as long as you're just sitting up there, moving with him while he walks around in this circle, you're not going to hurt him. Don't worry about what you might be doing tomorrow, or next week, or even ten minutes from now."