by Ann Macela
“So what? A lot of nonpractitioners react that way,” he retaliated.
“You know,” Gloriana put in with an innocent tone matching Daria’s, “just the other day, Mother and Daddy were wondering when you and I were going to find our mates now that Daria’s found Bent.”
“I don’t need such nonsense from you, too,” Clay complained, pointing his finger at her. “Bent, give me some help here.” He extended his hand toward his brother-in-law.
“Hey, I’m just telling you what they were saying.” Gloriana carefully folded her napkin and shrugged at him, but her face displayed a gleeful smile.
Bent looked from one woman to the other. “Daria, give your brother a break. You know what it’s like, finding your soul mate and then getting used to the idea. That damned imperative can make it downright painful.” He rubbed his chest as if it still hurt.
Clay recalled the story of the imperative’s “persuasive” techniques it used on Bent and winced in sympathy.
“Clay teased both of us enough. You remember.” Daria assumed a smart-alecky voice. “How many soul mates does it take to screw in a lightbulb? Two and nobody cares about the lightbulb.” She went back to her normal tone while Gloriana laughed. “It’s time he got some of his own back,” Daria told her husband. “Well?” she asked Clay.
“No, I don’t think so,” he answered, but a sharp pain hit his solar plexus, as if he had been stabbed with a hot ice pick. He hid his grimace behind taking a drink of water.
Her eyebrows raised, Daria just sat there, looking at him.
“It could be,” he admitted, as memories of the kiss flooded his mind. His chest grew pleasantly warm.
He slumped in his chair. “Hell, I don’t know.” The ice pick jabbed him again. What the hell was going on with his stomach? Well, worry about that later, he told himself. This business Daria was talking about was much more serious.
He waved his hand in surrender. “Yeah, all right, it might be.” The pain ceased, and the warmth returned, accompanied by a tingle. It felt like his magic center was grinning.
He replayed the memories of last night and the night before. Those kisses, those leave-you-weak-and-hurting kisses, those can’t-get-enough-of-her kisses. If Francie was his mate, then no wonder she’d affected him the way she did, more than any other woman. No wonder he had so much trouble sleeping. All he could think of was her. “God, if this is what you went through, I apologize for all the teasing.”
Bent chuckled. “And it only gets better—or worse, before it gets better.”
“Thanks a lot,” Clay muttered. “You’re a big help.”
“Now comes the real question.” Daria sobered and looked him straight in the eye. “When are you going to tell her about us, what we are?”
The deal he had made with Francie came back to him: No camouflage, no artificial barriers. Only the truth. Now he knew the source of the idea and his notion last night of telling her about his wizardry—the imperative’s handiwork. “You’re right. I owe it to her to tell her all about practitioners and soul mates before . . .”
“Before you’re irrevocably bonded,” Daria finished for him.
Clay nodded. “She has to know what she’s getting into, doesn’t she? I need to do the same thing you did with Bent, don’t I? Lay it all out for Francie.”
“I concur,” Bent said as Daria nodded. “If you’re feeling the way about Francie like I was about Daria, with your control hanging by a thread, the sooner the better.”
“Thanks for the advice, I guess.” Clay rubbed his hand over his face. “I need to think about this before I do anything. I’m still not totally convinced she’s the one. We’ve only been out twice. I hardly know the woman.” He thought his last sentence sounded hollow, even to himself. His center gave a flutter, as if it was laughing at him.
“Let us know what happens,” Daria said. “But first, let’s clear the table. Glori, shouldn’t you be hitting the road if you want to get home by nine o’clock?”
“As much as I hate to leave just when the discussion’s getting good, you’re right,” Gloriana said. “But y’all have to keep me posted. Shall I mention any of this to our parents?”
“Glori, if you have any regard for me at all, please don’t say anything to Mother or Dad,” Clay pleaded. “I don’t need them on my back.”
“Okay, but it will cost you, and I’m not making any promises, either. You know how Mother seems to pull secrets out of us as easily as she makes up healing potions.”
“Only too well,” Clay said with a grimace.
There was a flurry of activity as the foursome cleared the table, said good-bye to Gloriana, and watched her drive away. Clay and Bent helped with the dishes and talked sports. Daria did not bring up Francie or soul mates again.
“I’ve got to be going,” Clay said when the chores were finished. “Thanks for dinner.”
“Good luck with Francie,” Daria told him as she hugged him.
“If we can lend moral support or Daria can turn us into dragon illusions or anything as a demonstration, let us know,” Bent said as he walked Clay to the front gate and out of Daria’s hearing. “You know, I don’t envy you. I wanted Daria so badly, I didn’t care what she was or if some relative who didn’t like me would turn me into a toad. But I don’t have the slightest idea how it will be for a woman on the other side of the equation. Women take things so differently from men. God knows, Daria agonized over the whole situation for days.”
“Yeah, I remember what both of you told me about the experience. But, damn, the pressure’s incredible, isn’t it? And the whole concept of some ancient whatever-it-is pushing you together, not to mention the consequences, takes some getting used to.” Clay rubbed the back of his neck where the muscles had not relaxed since Daria’s interrogation.
“There you were, carefree bachelor, then wham?” Bent said with a grin, hitting one fist into the other palm for emphasis.
“Wham is right.”
“But you already know she’s worth it, don’t you? Speaking from experience, you’re going to be vacillating between frustration and euphoria. Are you going to accept the inevitable or fight?”
“I don’t know. Part of me is asking if Francie really is the one. I mean, I’ve dated nonpractitioners before, and the practitioner rules for women don’t apply to them. I can make love to them and not get caught in this irrevocable bond. Is she just another one of them, and the chemistry is stronger than usual?
“But part of me is feeling like something very important just happened, and it’s going to take some getting used to. This is the trapped feeling Daria talked about, isn’t it?” At the same time, however, he felt wonderful, if frustrated. Would Francie feel trapped by the phenomenon—the soul-mate imperative? The annoyance in his chest returned.
“I think Daria felt ambushed before the attraction kicked in,” Bent said. “She kept talking about free will and making up her own mind, not merely accepting such a medieval concept, not being forced, being in control, that sort of thing. When she finally accepted the idea for herself, then she worried I would feel trapped or bamboozled.”
He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “I have to tell you, the idea of being soul mates, committed for life and all the rest, scared the hell out of me at first, and that’s putting it mildly. I fought it for a while, and the damn thing almost killed me. The imperative won in the end, but it wasn’t easy on either of us.”
“Just what I wanted to hear,” Clay said with a sarcastic grimace. The damn irritation increased, and he rubbed it again.
Bent’s eyebrows shot up as he saw what Clay was doing and he grinned. “Got an itch?”
“Yeah, something bit me, I think.”
“Clay, ol’ buddy, I hate to tell you this, but this bite wasn’t from a bug, not the six-legged variety, anyway.”
“What are you talking about?” He looked down at his chest, as if he could see through his shirt.
“Daria and I both had the same sort of
itch. It went into a pain for me, and I thought I was getting an ulcer. It’s right over the center of your magic, isn’t it?”
“So what?” Clay asked as he scratched. Then it hit him like a blow to the solar plexus, and he flattened his hand over the spot. “Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes.” Bent started laughing again.
“But you’re not a practitioner. How could you itch?”
“Hell if I know. Francie probably itches, too. It’s a sure sign, or so your father told me after the fact.”
“I’m doomed.” Clay could only shake his head.
“And remember, being soul mates just gets better all the time.” Bent had a smug grin on his face.
“Yeah, assuming I survive the notification process.” Clay clapped him on the shoulder and left before Bent told him something else, anything else he didn’t want to know.
CHAPTER FIVE
When he returned to his home in West University Place, Clay wandered out onto the deck in back. A few leaves had fallen into the swimming pool, so he picked up the long-handled net and removed them. The manual labor did nothing to stop his thoughts from repeating the entire conversation with his family.
Soul mates. Holy hell.
He’d always assumed he’d find his mate in the ranks of practitioners. Damn, he knew every single female witch in Texas and many other places. He’d even dated a few, but that had been more like going out with a sister. None had generated any sparks, but then, they wouldn’t have. No soul mate, no sparks, by definition. He certainly hadn’t taken any of them to bed. Female practitioners always went to their soul mates as virgins. No soul mate, no bed, either, for women. That’s just the way the practitioner world was.
Few male practitioners, himself included, were virgins. Usually quite the contrary. He chuckled as he remembered his mother’s comment when Daria asked why it was the case. “All that testosterone,” she’d said with a matter-of-fact wave. He’d dated a number of nonpractitioner women, and while he’d enjoyed their company, both in bed and out, he’d never stayed with one woman very long. He’d had no desire to—probably part of the male side of the soul-mate situation.
What was Francie? Was she a virgin? Nah, she couldn’t be. Not at her age in these times. What about his other conclusion? That some bozo must have misused her to make her so skittish, to cause her to retreat into those horrible clothes and behind those big glasses? He still believed in that. Damn, he’d like to get his hands on the bastard.
On the other hand, though . . . If the idiot hadn’t treated her badly, she might have believed she was in love with him and might even have married him. Nonpractitioner women were known to marry the wrong men. He’d never have looked at a married woman, and he’d have lost her before he even found her. Now there was a gut-wrenching thought.
So what was he going to do?
Run? Fight it? Deny it? Probably none of those would do any good. At least not according to Daria and Bent. A little jab in his center confirmed his conclusion.
Clay leaned on the net handle and stared at the water rippling softly in the slight breeze. How did he feel about the whole situation? He was thirty-four years old. Most men were married by then. He had to admit, the bachelor scene was beginning to pall. And coming home to an empty house, having no one he could share his life and accomplishments with, no one to share his bed—it had all become increasingly dissatisfying.
He grunted. Who was he trying to kid? Basically, it sucked.
No camouflage, no artificial barriers. Only the truth.
He had to be truthful with himself, as well as with Francie. He wanted her with a blazing, red-hot passion that lit up the sky and dimmed all other past attractions to the strength of one candle.
What was even better, he knew they were destined for each other. None of this “will she or won’t she” nonpractitioners had to go through. No hassle. She was his.
He felt an inner glow right in the middle of his chest. A warmth spread through him, and the itch turned into a happy little tingle. He rubbed the spot and felt himself grin. Evidently the imperative agreed with him.
Okay, what now? He had a job to do—catch the damn hacker. The question was, how to do it and handle the urge to claim his soul mate at the same time?
Did he himself have the strength to hold his attraction to Francie in abeyance, to stay away from her, not engage in any more kisses, certainly not take the physical side any further until this hacker mess was over?
Not without going crazy. He couldn’t stay away from her. He had to work with her to trap Brenner. Maybe he could treat her like he would if she were a practitioner. What was it his father had told him way back when? Oh, yeah. He could remember the exact words.
“Warlocks seem to be preconditioned—it’s in our genes or something—to let our women come to us,” his dad had told him. “My grandfather told me our patience comes from the way witches were mistreated in the past, when they were beaten or raped or worse. They have to be sure we’re not out to hurt them. They have to trust us. You’ll know when she’s made up her mind.”
Francie wasn’t a practitioner, but the same rules had to apply. So he’d take it slow. Get to know her, let her get to know him, gain her trust. Definitely not heat up the physical side with more than a few kisses.
Did he have the internal strength to resist taking the physical to its logical conclusion? He groaned to himself. From all he’d heard about the imperative, it would be a close contest, a real trial of his self-control. But it would all be okay in the end.
Soul mates were destined to be together. She wouldn’t be able to resist him.
He agreed with Daria and Bent: he had to tell her about practitioners and the whole bit. But they had to catch Brenner. Should the job be the first priority? Put off telling her until they had plenty of time and no distractions? God knew, it was going to be hard to concentrate on the hacker with all this soul-mate business churning him up.
Well, hell. He rubbed his chest as he realized he was already a goner, already accepting that Francie was, in fact, his soul mate. It had to happen sometimes, he guessed. Practitioners always found their soul mates. What had Bent said? The idea of it scared him half to death? Oh, yeah.
On the other hand, look at the benefits. No, benefit, singular, all in one package: Francie.
How would Francie react when she found out about him, his abilities, the practitioner world? About her being his soul mate? Bent had a point about women being different from men. He himself had seen it in his sisters often enough. Look at the fight Daria had put up, all her talk about wanting to be her own woman, not be subject to medieval matchmaking.
Francie was already skittish, although for reasons he didn’t know—yet. He’d have to bring her around.
He wouldn’t fail. He couldn’t fail. After all, in the end, the soul-mate imperative would have its way. He felt a huge rush of confidence, and his magic center warmed up, as though it was smiling.
Maybe he could reconnoiter the situation, sound Francie out, bring up the subject of magic, see what she thought before he laid it on her. Prepare her, sort of. Pave the way. Yeah, good idea. Clay looked at his watch. Eight o’clock. He’d give her a call like he promised.
He walked inside to his desk, sat down, picked up the phone, and punched the buttons.
Francie answered on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Hi,” he said, wondering if she had been waiting for his call. “What are you up to?”
“Just checking my e-mail.”
“I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“No, not at all. I was just sitting here by the computer.”
He grinned to himself. She had been waiting—must be the SMI at work. She sounded a little flustered. “How’s Tamara?” he asked to change the subject.
“She’s fine. She dropped by this afternoon. On their date Kevin said something about ‘big plans at work’ but didn’t elaborate. She thinks it’s a sales promotion. I told her about my working late this week.”
“Good. Let’s hope he’s anxious to hack into Brazos and takes the bait for Thursday.” He paused, but she didn’t fill in the gap.
“So, what did you do all day?” he asked to keep the conversation going. Why was he having such trouble talking to her? Why wasn’t she responding to him like she did last night?
“Just the laundry, a little cleaning, grocery shopping, some other stuff, nothing special.”
“I had dinner at Daria’s. Gloriana, my other sister, was in town and wanted to get back home, so we ate early.”
“That must have been nice.”
Man, getting her to talk to him was worse than finding a bug in a computer program without a spell to help. “Yeah, it was. Daria’s a good cook. Bent, he’s her husband of two months, but I think I told you that already. Anyway, he has fit right into the family, and it’s always fun to hear what Glori’s up to.” God, now he was running off at the mouth. He cleared his throat. Get to the point, Morgan. “We had an interesting discussion about magic.”
“Magic?” Francie asked. “Like magicians? Magic tricks? Or more like TV with all those special effects? Or fantasy stories?”
“No, more like the existence of magic today, extraordinary abilities, inexplicable talents, both generally in the universe and specifically in people. To manipulate energy and matter. Not the goofy stuff in movies or the magical aspects of religion. Just ordinary magic.” God, he was so lame.
“Uh-huh.”
She sounded wary, or like she was humoring him. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling, happy at least she couldn’t see his face. “So, do you believe in magic? If somebody might be able to work magic?” He almost crossed his fingers in hope.
“That magic exists? That a person might be able to do something by casting a spell? That sort of thing?”
“Yeah.”
She was silent for a few seconds. “No, I can’t say that I do.”
Her words ricocheted through his system and left him feeling like a spell had gone bad and erased all the data on his hard drive. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
