Calling the Blood

by Elizabeth Bruner

  The breeze picked up and he was sure he was imagining the murmur of voices through the leaves. Patterns in the bark of the trees started to suggest shapes to his tired mind and he knew he'd have to leave soon.

  One more song, he decided, and knew he had to play one he'd written. If there was anything that was going to work, it would be that.

  The breeze picked up but it didn't touch him. The leaves shook in the trees but the air in the center of the circle was strangely calm. His hair tie was yanked out of his hair and long, thin fingers combed through it. The movements were familiar, including the ring that caught briefly in one curl, and his voice didn't falter.

  When the song finished, the fingers grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled. He remembered this, too, or his body did, and he laid gently back on the stone to gaze up at the beautiful woman who was demanding his attention.

  "Hello, Bard," she purred at him.

  "Princess," he replied, the smile on his lips genuine.

  Her skin was paper white with black lines in random places, resembling the aspens that surrounded them more than a little. The hair that tumbled around her was green and gold. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen and he suddenly understood why he would just walk away with her.

  She leaned down to kiss him, the tingle from his lips flowing to every part of his body until even his toes felt relaxed. When she pulled back, he knew he had a goofy smile on his face.

  He reached up then twisted and pounced in a way his body remembered though his mind didn't. They tumbled to the ground in the circle of aspens and she laughed as he pressed his body to hers, his hand behind her head to pull her close.

  They rolled and stopped with her on top of him, her forearms resting on his shoulders and her hair tickling at his neck.

  "I've missed you, my love," she pouted. "Why were you gone so long?"

  "I forgot," he confessed and regretted the pain he saw in her eyes. "I don't know how I forgot but I did. I wrote and sang and couldn't remember why it hurt to sing without you."

  "But you remembered."

  "Not entirely. My body remembers, my heart, but my brain refuses. Did you send Civig to remind me?"

  She shook her head and dropped another gentle kiss on his lips. His hand threaded through her hair and he pulled her back for another, deeper kiss, then rolled her beneath him to her squeal of delight.

  Her shortness of breath when they parted enough to talk sent a thrill through his core. "I cannot order one of the fae to cross the barrier. In truth, I didn't know that he could. I cannot approach it."

  "What happened when you tried?" he asked, stroking her face.

  "A great pain in my chest and weights in my feet when I tried to get near. The only thing that could tempt me was a chance to ease the pain of your absence."

  "I'm sorry my absence caused you pain," he said. "In truth, I did not know why I ached so badly but now, holding you in my arms, I understand."

  She smiled at him and the sun dimmed. There was nothing he wanted more than to see more of those smiles. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him down for another kiss.

  "Can you stay?" he asked. "You're here now, if we were to stand up and walk out to my car, could you stay with me?"

  "I cannot," she said sadly. "The same barrier that exists for me there surrounds the circle here. It is only through the intervention of my sisters that I am able to be here at all."

  "Your sisters?"

  Her eyes went to the trees surrounding them. "The dryads that love and care for these trees. They are part of this world and mine and so can pass more easily between them but only here, where their magic has roots. For a moment, they can allow me to visit, to make this circle more of fairy than earth."

  "Then we shouldn't waste the time that we have," he said and kissed her again. Hard, urgent, he couldn't get enough of her now that she was there. Her taste was intoxicating and he couldn't help but feeling that he was about to float away.

  She shifted beneath him and suddenly her legs were wrapped around his waist, one heel rubbing seductively across his ass.

  "I didn't bring a blanket," he gasped and pushed against her, rubbing hard against her core.

  "The leaves are enough," she said and arched against him.

  And they were. There was no time in the circle of aspens, nothing that could delay or hurry them as they took their fill of each other.

  When they finally parted, not sated but satisfied for the moment, Dan couldn't keep from touching her. She glowed, faintly but noticeable in the shade from the trees. Her eyes danced with lightning and her smile warmed him.

  "What would you have of me, princess, while you hold me captive with your charms?"

  "A song," she demanded. "If you are to be my captive, you must play for me."

  "Shall I convince you to set me free?" he asked with a grin. "Or beg you to keep me forever?"

  "Play what is in your heart," she said, placing her hand over it. "Sing to me about what you desire most."

  He kissed her, long and sweet, their banked desire stirring before he pulled away. When he reached for his guitar, the words formed themselves in his head, as though they'd been there waiting to be pulled forth.

  The song he sang was one he'd been trying to put down for months, years. It had nagged at him, like a sore tooth, but refused to be more than a formless thought in the back of his head.

  With his princess sitting in front of him, he sang about the entwining of humans and fae, of the fire and desire that burst between them. The air around him gathered as he poured himself into the song and he sang of his desire to keep her with him and bring her into his world.

  The pressure of the music pushed against him until all he could do was play. When he played the last chord, hit the final note, he felt a great weight pressing him to the earth that suddenly released. The air around him stilled then took up as though nothing had happened.

  "That was beautiful," the fairy princess said, tears falling from her eyes.

  Chapter 6

  At first, Nathan hadn't wanted to leave the motel. While it seemed the manhunt was over, or had never really started, he'd enjoyed the time they'd spent hiding together. Now, they were back to their lives, still living in the cheap apartment on the bad part of town.

  When the magic hit, he was lounging on the couch and could hear Winifred doing dishes in the kitchen. His heart pulsed hard then started to race, his vision flashing red while he could hear his blood rushing through his ears.

  Was this the way it ended?

  When the panic about the racing heart subsided, he realized it wasn't pain he was feeling but a rush of blood and pleasure unlike anything he'd ever felt.

  "Winnie!"

  "Nate!" she exclaimed from the other room. She rounded the corner, her hand pressed against her chest, her face flushed.

  "You felt it?" he asked, excited.

  "Yes. What was it?"

  "I thought I was having a heart attack. But if you felt it too, it couldn't be that."

  "Does it hurt?" she asked him. "It doesn't hurt for me."

  "No," he agreed. "It feels really, really good. Like that night-"

  "Like that night in the hotel after the fight. When we both went a little crazy..."

  "We made love covered in blood," he remembered, licking his lips. "Not covered as much as I think we both thought we were but it was..."

  "Magic," she finished for him. "It was magic and I didn't think we could ever do that again."

  "So why do I feel like we could now?"

  They looked at each other, both recognizing the manic look in the other's eyes and started for the bedroom. It was a small apartment and they made it to the bed but just barely. Frenzied touches turned to ripping and tearing at any and all barriers between them.

  Claws grew from her fingertips and his became blunted and forceful though neither of them noticed until she ran her nails down his back. The scent of blood drove them both into a frenzy of blood and lust. Nothing
else existed but their own desires.

  After, their bodies tired and mildly sated, Winifred looked around the destroyed room.

  "Did we do that?" she asked, nodding at the shredded fabric strewn about the room. Whether it was clothing, blankets or curtains was impossible to tell.

  "We did," Nate said with a smirk. "Not sure which of us did what but that was wild."

  "Mmm," Winnie agreed, laying back against the bed. Idly, she picked up a feather and started running it over her chest. "We're going to need a new bed."

  "A sturdier one," Nate agreed, laying a kiss on her arm, then biting it. He meant to do it gently but his teeth pierced her skin and blood flowed down her glowing white skin. She shivered but didn't seem to notice the fascination with which he watched the blood make it's way down her arm.

  Rubbing her legs together, Winnie suddenly noticed the feather in her hand. "Where did we get a black feather?"

  "It was on your shoulder," Nate said and leaned forward to run his tongue up her arm.

  With another shiver, she sat up and looked around. "But, where did it come from?"

  "It's not from something you own?"

  "No, I don't buy faux feathers and I could never afford anything that had real feathers on it. And this looks like a raven feather or something, not the kind of thing they usually put on cheap jewelry."

  "There's another one," Nate said and reached up to grab the feather on her shoulder to show her.

  Winnie winced in pain. "Why are you pulling on my hair?"

  "I wasn't, I was grabbing the feather off your shoulder but I think it's attached to your hair or something."

  Her growing desire momentarily forgotten, Winnie swung her legs out of the bed and strode to the bathroom mirror. Sure enough, he was right, there was a black feather resting against her right shoulder. Reaching up to grab it, she felt the pricking in her scalp that told her it was attached, not to her hair, but was actually growing out of her skin.

  "Okay, okay, okay," she said, her heart beating against her chest. "I'm not panicking, not panicking, not panicking. I have feathers. I'm growing feathers. I'm-"

  Nate appeared in the doorway, nude except for his hat.

  "Why are you wearing that?" she demanded, her panic momentarily derailed by the sight.

  "Why am I wearing what? Are you okay?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

  "The hat," she said, her voice growing more strident. "You're wearing the damn hat. I know it's your favorite but now is not the fucking time!"

  Holding up his hands, Nate backed up slightly. "I didn't realize it would bother you. I'll take it off, if you want. I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

  "I'm fine," she said then shook her head. "I mean, I don't know why I'm suddenly growing feathers but I think I'm fine."

  "Alright," he said and grabbed the brim of his hat. He frowned and pulled harder. "What the fuck?"

  "What's wrong?"

  "It won't come off," he said, grabbing the bottom edge of the hat and pushing. His hair moved under it but the hat stayed put.

  "What?" Winnie asked and reached for it. Heat jolted through her arm as she grabbed the bill of the hat and tiny trickles for blood started to flow down the side of his face.

  Nate reached up and touched his face, smeared the blood and looked at his fingers. "Fuck," he breathed, then took her place at the bathroom mirror.

  That's when Winnie noticed the scratches down his back. They were deep, surrounded by dried blood and looked like they had been healing for weeks instead of minutes.

  "What happened to your back?" she asked, reaching out to touch the damage. When she saw the claws on her hands she screamed.

  Chapter 7

  Christopher woke up on the floor of his study with a hell of a headache. It was the kind of headache where the world doesn't quite stand still, the lights create a dazzling light show even with your eyes closed, and the only thing that might relieve it is to stick your head in a vice in a freezer.

  Long, deep breathes allowed him to think through the pain and he eventually realized that the floor beneath him was vibrating and slightly warm. The air he was breathing in had currents and notes to it that he'd never noticed before. Not so much a scent, though there was a hint of that as well, but distinct patterns he couldn't quite pinpoint.

  When the light show behind his eyelids stopped, he opened them slowly and was assaulted by the light show that surrounded him.

  Colors were everywhere and they brought with them heat and scent like he'd never before dreamed. It all threatened to overwhelm him again and he remembered vividly what it was like to suddenly start to understand magic for the first time. He felt like a novice all over again.

  So, he went back to the basics. One of the very first things his father had taught him was to ground himself, to keep himself stable and steady in the face of whatever was to come.

  Deep breath in and out, let the energy flow through, do not be carried away with it. This time, though, he could feel the energy enter with the air and course through his body, out of his feet and into the floor below. It was a heady feeling and, if he hadn't been braced for something like that, he could have spent the rest of the day just letting the power flow.

  Instead, he took a few more breaths and sat up. Crossing his legs, he grounded himself again, this time feeling the energy take a more direct route through the top of his head and out his butt. It tingled while it ran through him, like a minor though not unpleasant electric shock.

  That was when he realized that the floor beneath him really was vibrating. He'd been focused on the patterns swirling around him that he hadn't looked at the more solid object directly beneath him. It was full of power and energy, some of it old, some of it new. He watched the floor as he grounded himself again and saw the power flow through him and through the floor, some of it joining the swirling patterns that were already there.

  It suddenly dawned on him that he was creating a place of power.

  More ideas and theories started to rush through his mind. He reached for his latest book and saw he had only a few pages left. Everything else was full though he didn't recall writing in it. Certainly the penmanship was much neater than his own tended to be.

  His pen floated up to the book, poised to make new notes where he had left off.

  Blinking slowly, he focused on the pen, trying to find the threads that held it aloft and found he could make the colors sharper. The closer he stared at it, the more refined the forces controlling it became until he could make out the texture and scent of each magic that went into the pen.

  He started nodded forward and his eyelids felt heavy before he realized how much time he'd spent exploring the magic in the pen. The pen itself wasn't, in the final analysis, magical. It was wrapped in so much power, though, that it would be hard to separate the magic from the object.

  Mentally, he'd begun noting and naming the different forces at work and categorizing them. Concentrating this time, he called a blank tome from the shelf and had it laid open on the stand in his office. Then, he looked at the pen and sent all of his thoughts at it with the instructions to write them down. The pen lifted, went to the tome, and began writing.

  Christopher waited and rested where he sat on the floor, his body strangely heavy and his mind tired. With a groan, he pushed himself to his feet and went to see what the pen was writing.

  They were his thoughts, laid out neatly in a script he suddenly realized was identical to his third grade teachers, and accompanies by diagrams and illustrations he could visualize but could never have drawn himself.

  Finally, he looked out the window and realized why he was so tired. The sun had gone down and the moon risen while he had observed the forces of magic through a finer lens than he'd ever dreamed possible. An ache in his belly reminded him that he hadn't eaten since that morning, either.

  Hoping that the pen would continue writing without him there, he stumbled down the stairs to his kitchen, where he saw the Fairy Queen sitting at
his kitchen table drinking a cup of tea and reading a book.

  "Um, what?" he started.

  "Well, it's about time you made it down here. I thought you were going to make me have dinner by myself tonight," she said, not looking up from her book.

  "Dinner?" he asked, his mind trying to shift gears. "Did I?"

  "Ask me to dinner?" she asked. "Not in so many words but I knew you were going to want to talk to somebody about what happened today and your last invitation to talk included dinner."

  The Fairy Queen finally looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "Was I mistaken?"

  "Um," he said and shook his head. "Not mistaken, just slightly ahead of me this time. I would love to treat you to dinner. I just need to figure out what I have that's fit for a queen."

  "Nothing," she said with a small smile. "I already looked. And, since I have imposed myself on you, this time it will be my treat. And I won't insist you dress for it since you don't seem capable of doing so right now."

  Christopher looked down at his jeans and old sweater and grimaced. "I don't usually dress when I'm spending the day in the study."

  She snorted. A delicate, ladylike snort but one that surprised him. "Honestly, I half expected to find you in your armor. This is much better for my purposes."

  "Purposes?" he asked, his mind finally pulled onto the subject at hand. "You have purposes?"

  "Plans, even," she said with a wink. "Nefarious ones, I assure you, but they start with feeding you properly."

  Chapter 8

  Dan walked into his apartment feeling strangely drained and excited. Samireal was real and his memories of her were slowly coming back to him. Moments, captured by strong emotions, played through his brain and he could feel himself longing for her again.

  "You're back!" His gnome friend cried, jumping off the couch. "And you saw her!"

  "How do you know I saw her?" Dan asked, setting his guitar carefully in the stand next to his couch.

  "You have that look. Like you got smacked hard in the face with a, erm, pleasure spell."