Magical Memories

by Donna Fletcher

  “You’re most welcome. Now why the urgent summons?”

  Beatrice gathered her courage with a sigh and spoke. “The fairy community is concerned over the presence of the strange man in your cottage, and they requested that I speak to you on their behalf.”

  She paused to look at Tempest wondering if she would comment before she finished. When she remained silent Beatrice continued. “They worry that this man is Marcus returned, and they fear the outcome of the spell.”

  “They assume Marcus will not conquer the spell, but return to his old ways?”

  Beatrice nodded, her wreath tilting once again to the side. “They believe his dark side is stronger than even the smallest ray of light.”

  “And they expect repercussions for supporting me those many centuries ago.”

  “Marcus could never forgive. He will remember that the fairies stood beside you when you cast the spell that vanquished him, and he will see that we suffer.”

  “I would not allow that,” she said sadly.

  Beatrice spoke softly. “You still love him, don’t you?”

  Her smile reflected her sadness. “I will always love Marcus, but I know what must be done, and I will do it if necessary. The fairy community has nothing to fear.”

  “Is this stranger Marcus?”

  “I do not know for certain. There are moments I think he is and there are moments I doubt.”

  “Do you favor this mortal?”

  Tempest sighed. “Very much.”

  “Is he a good mortal?”

  A small smile broke free. “Good and caring.”

  “Then perhaps he is not Marcus, and there is no need for concern.”

  “There is always need for concern. If we do not stay vigilant, that is when darkness can once again descend on us.”

  “Then you are cautious with him?”

  Tempest had to be honest. “Not as cautious as I should be, though aware enough to protect myself.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help you?” Beatrice asked.

  Tempest shook her head. “No, though I appreciate the offer. This is between Marcus and me.”

  “And this man?”

  “Michael,” she said softly, and Beatrice smiled. “I will be patient and wait on the will of destiny.”

  “Many believed, and still do, that Marcus is your destiny.”

  “Yet destiny has a way of fooling the foolish.”

  “Do you feel you were foolish when it came to Marcus?”

  Foolish?

  One could be foolish in countless ways, and yet never realize she was a fool. So had she been foolish?

  “I’m not sure, Beatrice. At times I felt very foolish for even thinking that I loved him, and other times I felt foolish for surrendering a tiny part of myself to him, but I don’t think I was ever foolish enough to completely surrender myself to his will.”

  “If you had you would have lost yourself.”

  “I know, and that was unacceptable. My wisdom would never have allowed me to make such a mistake.”

  “But love affects people in strange ways,” Beatrice reminded.

  “Yes, everyone is different and reacts differently to love. That is why so much is written on the elusive subject. Everyone is trying desperately to understand it, capture it and hold on to it.”

  Beatrice shook her head. “When will they all learn?”

  “When they stop trying so hard and simply have faith in love; only then will they understand its true spirit.”

  “The lesson is too simple for them.”

  “But one well worth learning.”

  “Your love for Marcus, was it simple?” Beatrice asked.

  “Nothing with Marcus was simple,” Tempest said with a smile and a shake of her head. “Oddly enough though I understood him, and even enjoyed his company.”

  “You never feared him?”

  “Never,” she answered. “Fear makes one feel powerless and immobilizes when action is what is necessary. And of course, fear, greed, arrogance and such empowered Marcus.”

  “Many sought his skills for the wrong reasons.”

  “That empowered him all the more.”

  “Then whatever did you find attractive about him?” Beatrice shook her head. “I should say ‘interesting,’ since Marcus possessed extraordinarily handsome features.”

  “His mind,” Tempest said. “It fascinated me. It possessed such potential, such power, and such goodness to give to the world. I couldn’t help but explore the possibilities.”

  “And you still think there is a chance for him?”

  “There’s always a chance,” Tempest said. “All one has to do is take it.”

  Beatrice hesitated to ask, but understood she must. “If you love him, how then can you...” She couldn’t continue, especially seeing and feeling the overwhelming rush of sorrow that washed over Tempest. She finally whispered, “You have no choice.”

  Tempest spoke softly, holding back her tears. “There’s always a choice, Beatrice. We may not like it, but it is ours to make. Marcus must make his choice, and I mine. Hopefully his will be a wise one; I know mine will be.”

  The undeniable brought a brief moment of silence to the forest.

  “Tell the fairies they have nothing to fear, I will protect them as always,” Tempest said in a soft yet firm tone that signaled their meeting was at an end.

  Beatrice bowed her head. “We never doubted you would. We only wished to be prepared and to protect you as well.”

  “Your thoughtfulness is appreciated, but this time I must face Marcus on my own.”

  Beatrice fluttered her wings and floated up off Tempest’s hand. “I will be nearby if you need me.”

  Tempest smiled, nodded and then with a soft breath cast a protective spell around Beatrice. “Your flying skills will improve.”

  Beatrice grinned with delight. “Wonderful. No more bent wing. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Tempest said with a gentle laugh. “Now go and enjoy this beautiful day that smiles down upon us.”

  Beatrice flitted off with a quick wave.

  Tempest took a moment to digest her own words. Choices weren’t easy, but they were necessary. She had made many difficult choices in her long lifetime, but she couldn’t bear to think of how difficult a choice it would be to send Marcus from her life forever.

  There was still Michael, of course, but more and more she was beginning to come to the realization that Marcus lurked beneath his surface. Eventually he would emerge full force, his powers as strong as the day she had sent him away.

  What then?

  Choices.

  She raised her hand and with a gust of wind and light she transported herself back to the cottage, just outside the front door. A gentle twist of the handle and a soft push and the door opened quietly. She didn’t want to disturb Michael if he still slept, and if not, she wanted to make a discreet entrance.

  The door suddenly flew wide open and she almost tumbled in if it hadn’t been for Michael’s firm hand to her arm.

  “Where the hell have you been?” he asked with an anger that surprised her since it was concern he actually was feeling.

  He continued, giving her no chance to answer. “I’ve searched this entire house looking for you.”

  She couldn’t take her eyes off him. He wore black jeans and a black knit sweater that defined his hard muscles, every one of them. And his hair fell unruly as usual and only added to that air of mystery and danger.

  “Are you listening to me?” he snapped harshly. “Where did you go?”

  She answered with the first thought that came into her head. “For a walk.”

  “What?”

  She eased herself from his tight grasp and removed her cloak to hang in the hall closet. “I went for a walk.”

  He folded his arms over his chest, defining his arm muscles. They were impressive. “That must have been some walk, given that you’ve been gone since just before dawn.”

  “How did you know th
at?” she asked, walking past him and heading for the kitchen.

  He followed without the support of the crutch, having mastered walking with the added weight of the cast. “I woke early and saw that your bedroom door was open, so I assumed you had gotten up. I came down here to help you fix breakfast. When I didn’t find you here in the kitchen I returned upstairs, and when I didn’t find you there I started searching the house.”

  Tempest made coffee and set to work gathering eggs, peppers, onions and ham to make omelets. “I felt the need for fresh air.”

  He shook his head. “At dawn? And that dress isn’t exactly fit for walking in the woods.”

  She ignored the dress comment. “Dawn is the perfect time in the woods. The sun slowly wakes nature and it is a beautiful sight to watch.”

  He grew so frustrated that he knew if he didn’t do something, he was going to lose his temper. He got busy setting the table. “Sometimes, Tempest, you don’t make sense.”

  She chopped the peppers and onions. “Sometimes, Michael, it isn’t necessary for things to make sense.”

  He was about to respond when she turned a stunning smile on him that left him speechless.

  “Thank you for worrying about me.”

  He felt as if he’d been sucker-punched. All he could do was stand there and gawk at her like an infatuated young boy. He had thought her beautiful, but with that soft, sincere smile, she was stunning.

  No, he wasn’t being honest with himself. He thought her sexy standing there in that white wool dress that accented every curve and mound of her shapely body. He even found the way her body swayed slightly as she beat the eggs in the mixing bowl...sensuous.

  Damn, but he was attracted to her, though it wasn’t only an attraction. He had thought he’d go crazy when he couldn’t find her. His heart pounded, his mind went wild with possibilities and he felt helpless to doing anything but wait.

  Patience was not one of his stronger virtues, especially when he realized he cared for Tempest more than he wanted to admit. And he hadn’t allowed himself to care for anyone in a very long time. Caring always seemed to lead to disappointment and pain, and he was tired of feeling both. Yet he couldn’t ignore his emotions; they overwhelmed him and he could think little of anything else. Of course, being secluded here with her in the cottage didn’t help, though it allowed him to get to know her. And the more he did, the more he liked what he learned.

  So where would all this lead?

  Nowhere.

  They were two different people from two different worlds.

  “You seem preoccupied. Am I the cause?”

  Her question shook him out of his reverie and he smiled at her perception. “That you are.”

  “I didn’t mean to cause you worry. I’m truly sorry.”

  He shrugged. “It’s really not your fault. You’re entitled to come and go as you please and owe me no explanation.”

  “But you are a guest here, and I should have been more considerate.”

  “I don’t think you know how not to be considerate, Tempest.”

  “I have my moments,” she said with a gentle laugh.

  “I can’t see you getting angry.”

  Her laughter grew. “My name is Tempest.”

  “Can throw a tantrum, can you?”

  She thought of the times she displayed her temper and the consequences, and her voice turned soft when she answered, “Only when necessary.”

  He saw how her words affected her and felt her sense of regret. More and more he seemed to be attuned to her emotions and he had to admit that he liked the strange connection.

  His eyes met hers and for a brief instant he felt as if they stepped within each other and touched souls. She appeared to sense the same, for her hands trembled and she hurried to place the plates she carried down on the table.

  He stepped up behind her, slipping his arm around her waist and pressing himself against her. She tensed and he ran kisses along her slim neck to her ear and whispered, “Relax. I only want to hold you a moment.”

  Her body responded, leaning into his, and she rested her hand on his arm and surrendered to him with a sigh.

  “I like the feel of you,” he said, nibbling along her neck.

  “And your taste is magic.”

  His nibbles turned to teasing bites that tormented her senses. She warned herself to remain passive, not to respond too ardently, but her neck had always been extremely sensitive and...

  She shut her eyes tightly. Marcus always teased her neck with his lips and teeth. He knew the effect it had on her and used it to his advantage often. The thought sobered her senses.

  “The omelets are getting cold,” she said softly, though when he gave a gentle bite to the crook of her neck, she moaned.

  “I don’t care,” he said, and turned her around in his arms.

  “I’d rather taste you.”

  His mouth was on hers as she opened it to respond, and he kissed her like a lover long denied. And she didn’t deny him; she couldn’t, she didn’t want to. She wanted to taste him as badly as he wanted to taste her.

  They savored each other, their kiss hard, then soft, then demanding, then surrendering until they both turned breathless from their passion and their foreheads came to rest against one another.

  Silence reigned for several moments until they finally parted and quietly took their seats at the kitchen table. With the awkward silence continuing, they passed the plate of toast and butter back and forth and began to eat.

  Michael broke the silence. “I’ve been working on deciphering those symbols in my room.”

  Relieved by the change of subject, she eagerly responded. “Tell me what you’ve learned.”

  “I did background work on the symbols, starting with their supposed origin, though I get the feeling that the books have missed something there.” He shrugged. “But I’m working with what I have and the different variations. The one problem I faced was that I wasn’t certain where on the wall the spell began and I didn’t want to start at the end and work backwards.”

  “Did you determine the starting point?”

  “I think I did; at least, I’m assuming it’s the starting point and I intend to go from there.”

  Tempest understood the relevance of his deciphering the spell. That was one of the reasons she placed him in the room.

  “Interpret anything yet?”

  He poured himself another cup of coffee. “Again, I can’t be certain, but I think it begins, ‘With my love’.”

  Tempest kept firm though trembling fingers gripped around her teacup. Michael had just spoken the first three words of the spell.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Michael lay in bed reading. The hour was late—almost two in the morning—but he was so engrossed in the book that he couldn’t put it down. Bear, as usual, was curled against his chest. The cat had become his constant companion, following him wherever he went. He kept him company in the greenhouse while he tended his thriving group of plants. And Bear was careful in guiding his steps, running up in front of him when an object lay in his path or yawning loudly and as close to his face as he could possibly get when he felt it was time for them both to nap—a favorite pastime of his.

  He stroked the sleeping cat as he continued reading about witches. It was amazing what witches were believed capable of doing and inflicting. If a person actually had such tremendous power at her disposal there wouldn’t be anything that could stop her. It was believed that a witch could call down lightning and hail; that she could descend darkness over the earth at her whim and that she could destroy crops and farm animals. If a child was stillborn, the death was blamed on a witch who robbed the baby of his breath at birth. A witch’s curse was also known to make a man impotent or a woman infertile.

  And, of course, a witch could fly the night skies on a broomstick, and she danced naked in the fields during a full moon and copulated with the devil. The sad part was that many learned people wrote books professing these foolish beliefs and in
stilling such nonsense in the masses—until it created hysteria and caused many innocent people to suffer.

  Michael had learned through his numerous world travels that beliefs built on ignorance caused unnecessary suffering, and yet the practice continued to bring death and destruction along with it. That seemed far more evil than riding a broomstick or dancing naked in the moonlight.

  He wondered how Tempest had faired during the burning times. Had she feared for her life? Had she attempted to help the innocent? Had she hid away from the awful chaos? He had asked Tempest when her ancestor had lived and how old she was when she had passed on, but she couldn’t answer.

  She insisted that any information would just be speculation since she had heard so many stories herself that she couldn’t determine fact from fiction.

  Bear suddenly lifted his head, his eyes wide, his ears alert.

  He cocked his head as if listening and in a flash he flew off the bed. Michael didn’t waste a minute, and followed, though not at the same speed.

  Michael saw Bear’s tail disappear into Tempest’s bedroom as he hobbled into the hallway. Her soft anguished cries could be heard where he stood and he hurried along remarkably fast for a man with an ankle cast.

  Bear was sitting on the bottom of the bed, his eyes intent on Tempest who turned and twisted and looked to be in the throes of a horrible nightmare. The cat glanced back at Michael and meowed as if demanding he help her. Bear didn’t need to ask; Michael went instantly to her side, slipping under the quilt though resting his injured ankle on top of it as he gathered her in his arms.

  She grasped onto him, her arms wrapping tightly around him, her head pressing anxiously against his chest and her body trembling as she moved it firmly against his.

  He kept her rooted to him with a solid embrace. She was going nowhere, nor did she seem to want to. He ran one hand in soothing strokes up and down her back against the purple silk pajama top she wore. The buttons had come undone during her fitful sleep and had partially exposed her full breasts. The peachy mounds lay firmly against his hard chest. Her bare legs straddled his one leg and he could feel the intimate heat of her spread over his warm flesh.

  He warned himself to be good. Be a gentleman.