The Wellspring Read online

  “Why are you so quiet, Yule? It’s not because Teomond gave you the cold shoulder? He did, didn’t he?”

  “Not just cold, frosty,” she admitted quietly. “When he didn’t answer any of my emails I thought he might prefer face-to-face conversations so I went over to the State House and inquired about gaining an audience with him. I imagined that the very worst he may do was to send me away on the wind. His personal assistant regarded me like he’d caught me wearing muddy boots on their Persian carpets and told me Magus Teomond wasn’t in. When I said I could wait, told him who I was and why I was there, he informed me that there was any number of legitimate organizations seeking grants, favors, reparations and the like and that if the Project wanted serious consideration it should send a serious representative. He spoke to me as if I had less business there than a natural human without a single spell-caster in their lineage and certainly wouldn’t waste his time in bringing my request before the—”

  “Entirely my fault,” Marc interrupted. “In hindsight I should have anticipated that reaction. Jory made some cautionary remark, I remember, but we were all so excited and eager to begin that I allowed everyone to rush off on their individual missions. It’ll be fine, Yule, I’ll take care of it.”

  Yule wasn’t over feeling the intentional slight and Marc’s attempt to reassure her only refreshed the knowledge that magic folk felt she was handicapped. “He was older, and impossibly stoic. He seemed distracted by some other issue and treated me as if I was somehow responsible! His sole intent, from the moment he laid eyes on me, was to eject me from the building. To make matters worse, that’s when he walked in. He looked perfectly Mephistophelean in a black-on-black suit and his hair swept back, not fallen forward like he wears it in public. I could see him tense when he saw me, like a hunting creature when it catches a new scent and is trying to decide whether what it smells might be tasty. And then I swear I saw him struggle to repress an expression of upset—or even disgust!”

  “Surely not,” Marc protested, smiling.

  “You didn’t see his expression,” she replied, the insult she felt undisguised. “Before I had a chance to say a word, even a simple greeting, he said, ‘Absolutely no personal audiences for the next few days, St. John,’ and his assistant said, ‘Certainly, sir, but Magus Snowden is already awaiting you in your office,’ and he nearly collided with me to move me from Prosser’s path, held open the office door and blockaded my view of the interior until Prosser went in. After that he said some perfunctory apologies and actually winded me out of there without my permission! Like I was trespassing! Worse, like I was a trespassing normal human. I didn’t have a shadow of a chance to speak to him and I feel so damn—ineffectual.”

  “You’re hardly ineffectual,” the supportive tone returned to Marc’s voice and expression. “I have no doubt you did your very best.”

  “But I’m leaving for my Retreat this weekend,” she worried aloud, ignoring his attempt to comfort. “It doesn’t feel right, leaving while this is unfinished. I’m the one who talked you into letting me make it my personal project.”

  He smiled at that. “Charming as you are, I can resist you,” he assured her and Yule felt her cheeks warm. “Go to your Retreat, relax and leave it to us. You deserve the break.” They vanished from the Grove in mid-step, appearing in her driveway when the step finished. “We value your contribution and I appreciate your dedication to the Project, so stop all of this personal denigration. I’ll see if I have any better success in getting an audience with the Magus.”

  He stopped in the drive about fifty feet from her bungalow door and she stopped beside him. Clearly he wasn’t distressed over what she felt was a colossal failure, and that only served to heighten Yule’s sense of personal deficiency. She quietly replied to his parting felicitations and continued lethargically up the drive to her door. She discovered she was unable to dismiss her lack of success in the endeavor; a burgeoning impression of an unresolved situation needled, and the image of Marc’s conciliatory expression rubbed proverbial salt in her metaphorical wound. Was there anything more she could do?

  She suddenly turned back to Marc without knowing what she planned to say, but he’d vanished from her driveway, riding the wind to another errand. She sighed and went into the bungalow seeking solace in the local broadcast of spell-caster gossip in the ensorcelled vanity mirror given to her by Hermes. He would scold her for indulging in such tawdry speculations, but the possible intrigues of other lives helped distract her from personal problems...and brooding.

  Magus Prosser Teomond either had no spare time for unscheduled meetings or no time for meetings with her. Brenna Nova thought sending someone like her to make contact with someone like Prosser was tantamount to a slap to the face. Marc remained diligently supportive, certain she’d done what was possible, but if he was so sure why wasn’t she?

  Magus Teomond’s home sprawled on a street of exclusive addresses in an area called Bahatego Bay, one of the popular tropical garden zones created when the magical realm melded with the mundane dimension. Every house was barely visible from the street, protected by various fences, walls, or decorative landscaping. Yule, standing in the shadows of a small clump of palms while cool rain pelted her, thought the houses looked too manicured and quiet to be occupied, especially by families. It was as though everyone living on that street agreed to remain indoors to preserve the showcase quality of the place. She imagined the laughter of children at play would be as alarming to these residents as lightning strikes in their swimming pools. Lightning was just what she’d like to strike Magus Prosser Teomond.

  She had no problem finding his private residence. A few minutes watching the gossip broadcasts distributed that information readily. House of celebrities and other public figures were watched and admired almost as much as were their famous owners. She couldn’t fathom why the direct approach hadn’t occurred to her sooner.

  The low-slung, dark Jaguar flowed past her place of concealment and down the shadowy driveway so swiftly she had no opportunity to reveal herself as she planned, before the car entered the estate. She thought she might go to the door anyway, but stopped while still in her place of hiding. A woman wearing a designer evening gown and sumptuous fur wrap was with him.

  Correction, a young nymph or demigoddess fresh from the fabled Family of Cyprus, her ebony mane and olive skin fairly radiating old power that made Yule’s skin tingle even from a distance. Their body language told her she might as well forget about seeing Prosser for the remainder of the night.

  The following evening was balmy and rain-free, the British racing green Jaguar was already sitting in the drive, close to the front door. It looked to Yule as if Prosser intended to go out on the town again. Her hazel eyes moved to the impressive double mahogany front doors and she took a deep breath. What’s the worst he could do? She asked and a flood of horrific images immediately rushed through her mind because, based on a Magus’ power, the worst he could do was quite a lot.

  Nonsense, she internally scolded, he might wind you away to the police for trespassing, but that would probably be the very worst. Self-consciously she passed her hands over her hair and clothes to assure she had a tidy aspect. It’s just a few minutes of his time and she knew what she was going to say. She could do this. Moving forward resolutely, she still panicked when the front door opened, adding an inner spill of light to the pool of outdoor light, and leapt into a tall cluster of ornamental shrubs.

  Prosser’s tall, angular shape stalked toward the car, snapping his fingers—which popped open the driver’s door and trunk—a vulgar display of power when done in public, but there was no one to intimidate or impress so Yule knew the man was upset. He dropped an expensive suitcase into the trunk, physically closed it, and was about to get behind the wheel when St. John appeared in the rectangle of light of the still-open front door, calling him back to attend to some last minute detail.

  She’d been about to step into view, in spite of Prosser’s apparent irritation, b
ut St. John’s appearance kept her to the shadows. His treatment of her still stung.

  Yule refrained from revealing her presence and saw St. John close the door after Prosser entered past him. She had a bad moment when she thought the austere executive assistant might have spotted her, his piercing gaze sweeping the place where she hid, but his gaze swept on, the door closed, and Yule gave a sigh of relief. It was a close enough call to dissuade her from her errand, at least for the night. Besides, he’d seemed in an irritable mood which would probably make him disinclined to hear her out. As she stepped cautiously from her hiding place she glanced at the Jaguar, subconsciously registering he hadn’t locked it before going back inside the house, and fleetingly observed that was a poor lapse in security for a man in his position. She turned away from the house to leave the property and—

  Yule opened her eyes to darkness.

  Not surprising, it was night, but when had she closed her eyes? When did she lie down on this buttery soft leather seat and why was she moving?

  She startled suddenly from her almost drowsy musing, sitting up violently and realizing she was in the back seat of a moving car!

  “Damn! What the hell!” a surprised, angry exclamation was accompanied by the screech of brakes and Yule fell forward due to a lack of seatbelt, landing between the dual bucket seats, very nearly on the stick shift and she looked up at the surprised, angry face of Magus Teomond.

  “Sorry! I’m sorry! I—” Yule fumbled for what to say while also fumbling for an explanation to herself about how she came to be in his car.

  “Groves and Grottos, girl!” he swore furiously. “You could have wrecked us!”

  “I—” Yule still found she was unable to explain the situation to either of them.

  “Hang on, it’s you,” he accused.

  Yule scrambled into the back seat. “I really can’t explain this, Magus Teomond. I should just go.”

  “Actually, I think you will explain,” he said icily, and all of the locks clicked shut, defying her attempt to open either back door.

  “Open the door!” she exclaimed. “You can’t do this! It’s kidnapping! I’ll call the police!”

  “And I’ll have you arrested for stalking at the very least,” he told her. “You got into my car, and you were at my office. Who are you?”

  “Yule Fiori,” she replied sulkily.

  “Fiori? There’s an old Family name I haven’t heard spoken in Court since—well, never. I’ve only seen it, on the books, long before the Merge.”

  “Maybe if your messages were delivered, or you read them, you’d recognize my name.” Yule’s temper reasserted itself. “I’ve been trying to contact you for weeks.”

  Prosser was staring at her while she spoke, but not as if he listened to her. It seemed as if he listened to something else, but when she finished he focused on her. “Did you think that breaking into my car and accosting me while I drove was a prudent way to elicit my attention?” he queried sternly.

  “I didn’t break into your car! It wasn’t locked! And I certainly didn’t accost you, I simply sat up,” she replied defensively. “And how do I know you didn’t knock me in the head or use a sleeping spell on me? I don’t even know how I got into your car.”

  “Then how do you know it was unlocked?” Prosser countered with a smirk.

  “I—I just thought,” Yule stammered, having no idea what to say next.

  “I don’t believe you thought at all,” he went on aridly. “What did you imagine I’d take you for? If not a carjacker then a mugger or even an assassin—”

  “Oh, please!” she scoffed. “I’d hardly be mistaken for an assassin!”

  “Don’t presume flippancy with me, Miss Yule Fiori,” he chastised. “I’ve encountered far less obvious assassins, and if it’s my attention you wanted, you most certainly have it. I should boot you out on the wind—straight to the police.”

  “No! Please don’t!” she exclaimed, suddenly afraid of what Marc would say or think. A representative of the Project being arrested for stalking a preeminent psycho-archaeologist, and a Magus besides! Something like that would be on the gossip broadcasts a minute after she was booked. It could ruin the Project and then what would Marc think?

  “Then I strongly suggest—no, I absolutely insist—that you come up with a plausible, or at least entertaining reason for your presence in my car,” he threatened.

  Yule tried to take a breath, failed, and suddenly felt trapped and scrutinized like a pinned butterfly. How could she begin to explain what she didn’t know? Any normal person would think her crazy or a stalker, or both. The only reason she could fathom for Prosser to refrain from leaping from the car and calling the police was that he possessed the very real ability to teleport her directly into the nearest jail cell.

  “I wish I could explain this,” she told him. “But the truth is—I have no idea how I got here. It’s all so very awkward,” she added. “And I’m sorry.”

  “That isn’t particularly imaginative,” he told her, sounding much like a father scolding a child caught taking a cookie. “You don’t remember and you’re sorry?”

  “I know, but it’s the truth and it doesn’t give you the right to make fun of me.”

  “No, I suppose it doesn’t.” He stopped scrutinizing her, facing forward again.

  “If you’d just unlock the doors I can find my way home.” But the doors remained locked and then Yule’s heart skipped a beat as she felt the car begin to roll forward when Prosser guided it back onto the road. “You don’t have to take me home.”

  “I’m not,” he replied evenly, his eyes focused on the road.

  “Oh,” she remarked, thinking she should say more, but not knowing what that might be. “You don’t have to drive me to the bus depot either.”

  “I didn’t plan to,” he told her.

  Yule looked out the window. “Is this the way back to the main road?”

  “No.”

  She stared at the back of his head. “Please stop the car. I want to get out now.”

  “No.”

  The calm tenor of his refusal sent a strange jolt, like an electrical charge, directly through her body, to her spine. Was she in danger? How likely was it that this public figure was a threat? No one really knew everything about anyone, did they? Not even a public figure.

  “Stop the car. I am getting out,” she told him firmly.

  “You can’t get out and I’m not going to stop again. I have a schedule to keep,” he informed her.

  “But—this is kidnapping! Where are you taking me?” she forced her voice to remain low, not shrill.

  “I can hardly be accused of kidnapping a woman who hid in my car,” he pointed out. “As for where I’m going, I have a business meeting, bayside. There’s a bed-and-breakfast where I like to stay.”

  “That’s all very interesting, but I have no plans to go with you,” she protested. “You can let me out anywhere along here. There’s bound to be a bus stop, or I can call for a cab.” Yule was reaching for her cell phone even as she spoke.

  “You won’t get a signal,” he politely advised. “And I certainly couldn’t put you out on this lonely road in the middle of the night.”

  Yule checked her phone and saw that, as he’d told her, she had no signal, but whether that was due to a spell, being in that car, or the area through which he drove she did not know.

  “I don’t mind getting out here,” she told him. “I can find my way home.”

  “I’m sure you can—in the morning.”

  “Morning?” she exclaimed. “I can’t be gone all night! Especially when no one knows—” she broke off, realizing that was a dangerous admission to make to a man acting as mad as he. “My cell isn’t working,” she finished, thinking her sentence nearly seamless. “Please don’t strand me in the middle of nowhere all night just because I surprised you. I swear it’s the truth, that I have no idea how I got into your car!”

  “I know you haven’t.”

  “Furthermore
—what?” His reply surprised her. “You—you believe me?”

  “It’s a ludicrous story, but you don’t strike me as a ludicrous woman, so your story is probably true.”

  “Oh—well,” Yule spluttered, unsure about how she should respond.

  “And I analyzed your aura,” he added, exiting the highway.

  For a split second Yule didn’t breathe. “You spelled me! You bastard—”

  “Ah, ah, that’s, you bastard, Magus,” he corrected her.

  “You’re mocking me?” She was outraged. “How dare you! I’ll bring you up on charges of misconduct! You’ll lose that damn title you like to flaunt so much!”

  “And I’ll bring you up on charges of stalking, breaking and entering, attempted auto theft—”

  “But none of that’s true!” she interrupted his litany of charges.

  “Whom do you think will be believed? A highly-strung young woman with a penchant for appearing wherever I am, or a highly respected Magus?”

  “So you do recognize me!” she angrily accused him.

  “I’ve noticed you following me, yes.”

  “Following you?” Yule laughed sharply. “You think highly of yourself, Magus. For your information, I was trying to contact you in regards to seeking your support or endorsement for my group, the Reclamation Project, and nothing more!”

  “Does Marc know you’re claiming responsibility for that enterprise?” She couldn’t be sure, but Yule thought his tone held a note of amusement. “It is Marc Woodmont’s project, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, of course,” she replied petulantly. “I meant my group because I belong to it, not because I founded it.”

  “I see,” he acknowledged her explanation still sounding, she thought, amused—and that annoyed her.