The Wellspring Read online

  “And right after that we’ll have a look around for Santa, the Tooth fairy, and Buddha,” she said dryly.

  “Buddha was a real person,” Jory tentatively ventured.

  “Yeah, but he’s dead so he isn’t likely to be hanging around here, is he?” she snapped irritably. Jory looked at his feet. “I want someone to explain why the Tahain Grotto thinks I’m the freaking Tooth fairy.”

  “The Wellspring,” Jory corrected her before ducking behind Brenna at a glare from Yule.

  “Except for being a Stunt, you’re a pretty good candidate,” Alex offered.

  “Hey, watch your mouth,” Hermes cautioned Alex.

  “I wasn’t trying to be insulting,” he replied.

  “Alex is right,” Alan added. “She looks just like the damn fountain. She could have posed for it.”

  “So they want to have sex with me on a rock because I happen to have a resemblance to a chunk of marble? Clearly the Tahain Grotto has an excellent stash of drugs and they know how to party,” Yule remarked incredulously.

  “That isn’t the only reason, of course,” Alex sounded offended on behalf of the Tahain Grotto. “There’s your lineage, the placement of your Family Grove on the power map of the world and how it aligns with the celestial charts—”

  “Really?” Yule was surprised, but she waved a hand. “Okay, that’s all pretty interesting, but as you pointed out, I’m a Stunt. Stunt trumps Wellspring, right?”

  “As interesting as this debate is, we need to get off the beach before some broadcaster leaks a query to the gossip channel questioning why my expedition was seen so far from its base camp on a thoroughly swept portion of the Shelf,” Marc interrupted. “Let’s get back to camp, change clothes, and rest before we go into the jungle.”

  The Falmont brothers were still strong enough to wind them all back to base camp then they, Brenna, and Jory immediately sought the shelter of their individual tents to rest while Marc pointed out the shower tent to Hermes and Yule suggesting they get started while he found clothes for them to change into.

  By virtue of clever temporary piping, the shower tent took advantage of a natural hot spring, directing concentrated water flow into individual canvas stalls and Yule allowed the water to ease the tension from her bunched muscles while she slowly went over the flurry of recent events. Simply assuring the Tahain Grotto that she wasn’t the Wellspring wouldn’t suffice. When fanatics got an idea into their collective heads, hard proof was all that would convince them they were mistaken and the only way to do that would be to cooperate with them. She felt a funny tension between her legs and told that part of her there was no way in hell she was climbing onto an altar with Prosser Teomond.

  And why was Hermes agreeing to go on this fairy hunt? Not that the Archetypum were fairies, fairies never existed, but they were equally nonexistent now. It would be like humans looking for living mastodons in a downtown mall. Sure, they existed once, but the last historically accepted account of an Archetypum was over ten thousand years ago, before the Sunder. He didn’t believe what the Tahain Grotto purported—did he? But what about Marc? She considered what he said to Hermes and frowned under the spray of water.

  Marc sounded like a believer.

  “Marc left clothes for us on a bench right outside the stalls, honey,” Hermes told her through the canvas, making her jump. “Do you want me to wait for you?”

  “No, you go ahead,” she told him. “I still need to brush out my hair. Jory told me where our tent is. I’ll find it, and I’ll try not to wake you.”

  “The way I feel, a mastodon could stroll through and I wouldn’t hear a thing,” he assured her on his way out and Yule started at that. It was as if he’d been reading her thoughts, but Hermes would never do that—would he? She shook her head, turning off the water and getting out of the shower, wrapping a towel around her body. It was just a coincidence, she didn’t need to start doubting her closest friend. She collected the khaki ensemble and hair brush (probably one of Brenna’s), and stepped into a dry shower stall to change.

  Footsteps outside the stall made her think Hermes had returned for her and she began to pull back the stall curtain when she froze, eyes wide. His back to her, Marc Woodmont was peeling off his ocean soaked clothes in preparation to take his own shower. She would have alerted him to her presence immediately, but he’d already dropped his pants and she was staring at the muscular globes of his perfect backside! She quickly and quietly closed the curtain and told herself she could get out of there once he started his shower.

  She finished drying off and pulled on the shorts and matching shirt, which were slightly too big, making her sure one of the men volunteered a set of clothes since Brenna’s would obviously never fit her. Everything about her was long and sleek and built for speed, like a racecar. While Yule was—what? The family minivan? She shuddered. Come on, you’re better than that, you’re like a—luxury town car. I may not go as fast, but I’ve got all the toys to give the most comfortable ride possible. She started to giggle at her self-advertisement then clapped a hand over her mouth. Marc is right across the divide from you! But in a second the water spray started and she sighed in relief. He hadn’t heard her. Now to make my escape.

  She gingerly parted the curtain to peek out—and froze like the marble fountain she so closely resembled. He hadn’t closed the curtain to his stall. Barely eight feet away from her, his back currently turned toward her hiding place, Marc Woodmont stood naked under the spray of hot water!

  Her eyes roamed guilty over his muscular back, following a rivulet of water that tracked down his spine and into the cleft of his firm buttocks. She felt her mouth go dry and knew she had to get out of there, but wouldn’t he see her if she moved? Then he was the one who moved, turning toward her, his head tossed back, under the spray of water. Streams cascaded over his broad chest, through the almost blonde patch of chest hair, down over flexing abs, briefly pausing at his navel before parting around the half-hard flesh nestled in a thatch of pale cocoa hair.

  You have to stop watching! she scolded internally. What if you were the one showering and he was peeping? It’s wrong and—oh, my Grove, what is he doing with his hand? she asked silently as his right hand massaged his chest with liquid soap then slid lower to firmly scrub his defined six-pack. Please, don’t go lower! she silently begged. There’s something wrong with my eyes and I can’t stop watching you so please, don’t go lower!

  In direct opposition to her plea his hand dipped lower to thoroughly scrub his package—rather too much she imagined until her throat tightened and she felt a funny spasm in her stomach. Groves and Grottos, he was masturbating! She didn’t want to believe it because she was sure this was now a felony criminal act of some kind, but her hand refused to shut the tiny part in the curtain and her eyes pretended they didn’t know how to close, she wasn’t even sure she was blinking.

  Marc’s eyes remained closed while his hand worked the shaft of his now complete erection and she wondered what he was thinking about then told herself to stop thinking about that and focus on how much trouble she’d be in if she couldn’t escape unnoticed. His abdomen tensed and he bit his left fist to stifle a groan as his hips jerked involuntarily toward his secret watcher and she knew he was about to come.

  “Yule.”

  By the Magic that made us, did he just say my name?

  “Yule, honey, wake up.”

  That was Hermes’ voice! She’d been discovered and— Her eyes snapped open and she gave a small cry of surprise to find Hermes leaning over her with a concerned expression. She sat bolt upright, looking around. She was sitting on a bench in the dry shower stall, dressed except for shoes.

  “You’re okay, honey. You were taking so long I came back for you. I guess you dozed off.” He helped her to her feet and she looked out the open stall curtain worriedly. The stall opposite her was empty. Yes, it was damp, but she’d just used it so that explained that—didn’t it?

  “Hermes, how did you know I was in troubl
e?” she asked suddenly.

  “Trouble? You were just taking so long—”

  “Not that, Atlantis,” she clarified. “How did you know I was in trouble?”

  “Well, I just—”

  She gave him a shove as they exited the shadows of the shower tent into the sunlight. “Don’t tell me some story about intuition or rumors! You were at that pool at the precise moment I was in the most danger! It wasn’t a happy coincidence, so how did you know?”

  “It’s my job to keep an eye on you,” he said this without apology.

  “But you couldn’t have come to—” She broke off and shoved him again. “You imped me, didn’t you? Where was it? In my bags, my earrings—?” Her eyes widened. “No, it couldn’t have been because I’ve changed my clothes and my jewelry which means—” She began combing through her hair and wiggling fingers into her ears. “Where is it? Where’d you hide it?”

  Hermes grasped her hands when she drew curious glances from other members of the expedition who were going about their daily routines. “All right, I’ll show you, but not out here. Come on.” He took her arm and ushered her to a tent which was apparently theirs, based on their scrubbed clothes drying over a makeshift clothesline strung just beside the front flap.

  Yule faced him angrily once inside. Well?”

  “Don’t give me that attitude,” he told her firmly. “If you think I enjoy spying on you, you’re wrong.” He gently combed through her damp hair with his long, strong fingers. “But when you’re determined to go off on these adventures I’m duty obligated to find some means by which to accompany you.”

  “You’re not my guardian anymore,” she reminded him.

  “The estate still pays me to counsel you.”

  “Spying isn’t counseling.”

  “Don’t quibble when I saved your virtue from that politician,” he scolded before brightening. “Ah, there it is.” He withdrew his hand from her hair. Perched on the tip of his forefinger was a fuzzy dot that perfectly matched Yule’s hair color.

  “An imp mite? You stuck an imp mite on me?” Her eyes blazed. “So you’ve been watching and listening to everything I’ve said and done? You’re unbelievable, Hermes! I’m a grown woman!”

  “Who was very nearly a sexual sacrifice!”

  “Maybe I would have enjoyed it, did you think about that?”

  “Don’t try to shock me, it’s impossible,” he assured her.

  “You spied on me!”

  “Are you upset that it turned out so well?”

  “Do you spy on me all of the time?”

  “Not all of it, no,” he replied frankly.

  “You’re such a—a,” she blustered.

  “Good friend?”

  “A jerk,” she finished.

  “I take it back, I’m shocked.” He smiled and caught her elbow when she would have turned her back on him. “Don’t be angry. You know I always have your best interests at heart. Spying is naughty, but I promise I was discreet.”

  “You still treat me like I’m a little girl.”

  “Nonsense, I treat you like a desirable young woman who doesn’t have a clue that there are bad men in the world who want to use her for bad things.” He gently pushed back her hair from her face.

  “What does that mean?” she asked with growing suspicion. She caught his hand when he didn’t respond right away. “Hermes, what makes you think that anyone would want to use me for anything? I’m no one, nothing, a Stunt—”

  His hand tightened on hers, his gaze passionate. “Never talk about yourself that way. Your Family has one of the longest and richest histories of magic folk and even if you were born normal there are spell-casters who’d happily see you married into their Families just for the sake of bragging rights.” He leaned closer to her and for the first time Yule felt a hint of the intimidation she’d heard Hermes inspired in others. “And there are others who’d do worse. I was made your guardian because your mother and father knew they could trust me to protect you and I’ll do it whether you approve or not.”

  “You have, haven’t you?” she asked, some events in her life beginning to make sense, like pristine pillars rising from muck. “You walk down alleys and meet Mr. Hotbody, but I walk down alleys and meet power poachers and spell-snatchers. It’s never made sense because those people use tracking spells and sniffing imps to hunt just the right marks—but I don’t have the kind of power to make me a mark unless. . . .” She felt dizzy, as if she stood on a school globe that some child just gave a spin. “Hermes, am I—?”

  He slipped a supportive arm around her. “I don’t know, honey. Your mother was the pre-eminent psycho-archaeologist before Magus Teomond and much of her work revolved around confirming the truth behind the legend of the Wellspring. Your father was a respected historian whose access to the archives on Atlantis led him to write many biographies about historical Family figures—and when the two of them turned their focus on the single project. . . .” He slowly released her when it seemed certain she regained her equilibrium. “There are artifacts your mother discovered and passages your father found that suggested a familial connection to the legend of the Wellspring, but they never shared the details with me. If they hadn’t died, great things—world shattering things—were expected from their next publication.”

  Something in the depths of his dark eyes chilled her. “My parents died in an accident on the wind while coming home from Shangrilonn—didn’t they?”

  “Their travel spell failed and they fell into the ocean, just as it was reported,” he told her quietly, his eyes leaving hers for moment only to return with a haunted caste to their dark color. “And it is generally assumed it was an accident.”

  Yule felt sick and disoriented. She sat on her cot staring at the canvas wall of the tent. “You suspected they were killed and you never told me?”

  Hermes slowly sat on the cot opposite her. “There’s absolutely no evidence to indicate it was anything other than an accident,” he replied evenly. “I wouldn’t drag you into my suspicions without more than just my gut feeling.”

  "Then you’re saying—”

  “I’m saying it could have been an accident.”

  “He didn’t want me to come,” she remarked dully.

  “What?”

  “Marc didn’t want me to come to Shangrilonn.” Her eyes wandered back to his. “It wasn’t an accident that he accepted my application to work on the Reclamation Project, was it?”

  Hermes shook his head. “He studied your parents’ work in college, formulating a theory built upon the foundation they laid—it was just a matter of funding an expedition to Shangrilonn to launch further research or be accepted by a group already going.”

  “Did you know all of that, about Marc?”

  “No,” he replied earnestly. “I’d have never allowed you to participate if I’d have so much as a glimmer about his interest in you. His real research was hidden in theories about the Archetypum, he never mentioned the Wellspring—the paranoid asshole. Clever of him, actually.”

  “I think I’m going to throw up,” she told him.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Can we just go home and forget all of this?”

  “I wish we could, but it isn’t safe. Now that the Tahain Grotto knows Marc’s involved they’ll be coming to Shangrilonn looking for you. The source mining camp is a long way from here and this camp is in the middle of a spell-blind, so we aren’t going to be easily tracked. Lie down, honey.” He guided her to lie back on the cot. “Get some rest. We’ll be heading into the jungle in less than two hours.”

  “You mean we’re actually going to look for the Archetypum?”

  “Marc is not only convinced they exist, he thinks your parents found them, and that they were killed to prevent them from bringing back whatever information they learned.” Hermes gently stroked her hand. “Sleep. You can think through all of this later. It’s going to be a long walk, you’ll have plenty of time.”

  "Can’t sleep. . . .�
�� she drowsily argued even as she felt a sudden surge of sleepiness was over her, but she couldn’t accuse Hermes of casting a sleeping spell because she was already closing her eyes and drifting away. She wondered if she would dream again, and wondered of whom she’d dream. Marc? She didn’t think so, but something nagged at the back of her mind. Had she already dreamed about Marc? If she had, what had it been about? She couldn’t remember, and then it didn’t matter as soft darkness closed around her thoughts and she slept.

  ***

  Less than two hours later, Yule stood with the members of Marc’s expedition while he briefly explained the route they’d be taking. The jungle drowned in teal, submarine shadows as they entered. It was suffused, too, in the mildly nauseating miasma of decades-deep decaying plant matter made thicker, but less sickening by the heady fragrance of exotic blooms. Somewhere close a pair of invisible parrots argued about some avian matter with gravelly voices. Higher up in the canopy floated the melodious discourse of smaller birds, and from a distance not so great that their group missed its observation, a monkey heckled them vociferously for their trespass.

  They walked in single file, the spell-caster in the lead using magic to harmlessly bend back branches and vines from their path while the film buffs among them joked at the odd sense of feeling as if they’d taken a wrong turn onto a vintage Tarzan set. Yule would have felt more comfortable if she had a gun or even a machete, but the spell-casters were unconcerned with any dangers the jungle might present. They all had enough power at their command to repel or destroy any animal threat. Yule didn’t have that luxury of self-confidence, she had to depend on their power, and knowing Brenna was as aware of this as was she made her resent that protection.

  The jungle and its overwhelming bounty of life overwhelmed and humbled them and for more than an hour not a word passed between them. Yule supposed those adept at telepathy could have held lengthy conversations without her knowing, but she didn’t think they were. The path took a gradual and steeper upward direction and a large creek joined their trek, rushing loudly in the opposite direction. Eventually they had to part company with it because its banks no longer held it back entirely, branches threading out like creeper vines around strange trees that grew up from roots holding them aloft like multiple legs. Ferns filled the open spaces, some drooping like green ostrich plumes, some fanning toward the sky like emerald peacock displays.