The Wellspring Read online

“I am flattered,” he responded with tone and expression that made Yule suddenly find her wine glass excruciatingly interesting.

  “I want you to know how much I appreciate the opportunity you gave me, to speak to you about the Project, especially since we began so awkwardly.”

  “Extremely awkwardly,” Prosser agreed.

  Yule smiled, feeling an unanticipated sensation of relaxation steal through her body and mind. Everything about the evening was unanticipated, she drowsily mused, beginning with waking in the Jaguar.

  “Yes, please, I think I would,” she accepted, feeling a wave of giddiness wash over her. She imagined the amazement on their faces when she told the others about this evening, Brenna’s infuriated pout and Marc’s enthusiastic gratitude.

  “Perhaps you’ve had enough,” he joked as he stood and crossed to the bar cart. “You seem quite lighthearted already.”

  Yule tried unsuccessfully to dim the glow on her face. “Sorry, it’s just this—impression I got. You’re going to endorse the Project, aren’t you?”

  “That sounded suspiciously rhetorical,” he kidded, returning with an open bottle of wine. “I haven’t promised anything,” he reminded her, pouring them each another glass.

  “If there’s something I’ve neglected to properly explain I’m sure Marc would enjoy meeting with you. He’s far better with the facts and figures now that you’re—”

  “She broke off, worried she might have seemed presumptuous, when he wryly added: “Now that I’m going to endorse the Project?”

  She swallowed hard. “Yes?” Then recklessly plunged on. “You have no idea how much it would mean to us if you supported the Project! Not monetarily, but with a personal endorsement. Even a handful of positive words from you would make a significant impact on the opinion of the magic workers’ community.”

  “You might overestimate my influence,” he cautioned her.

  “No, I haven’t! Everyone listens to you!” she declared passionately.

  “Have you considered the pros and cons of the Project as it relates to the land owners where these Groves stand? Don’t they deserve to make the most of their property?”

  “A developer isn’t interested in giving those owners the most for their property, just enough to make it difficult or impossible for private parties to compete.”

  “Developers who want to build apartments, shopping malls, schools, and so on?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you would begrudge people places to live, shop, and be educated?”

  “I—I didn’t mean, “ she stammered, taken aback by his gentle accusation after he’d seemed supportive. “Of course people need all of those things, but why must we sacrifice our Groves?”

  “A fair point, and the one I’m willing to make—are you?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Why must anyone lose anything? Why can’t the owners sell their land, the developers build their neighborhoods, and the magic workers keep their Groves?”

  “But how can everyone get what they want when we want different things?”

  “Through trust and cooperation,” he explained. “The developers need only make one small concession—leave the Groves standing, build around them.”

  “Around?” Yule echoed, dismayed. “But that would mean normal humans would be walking in and around them!”

  “Developers aren’t the only ones who’d have to make concessions,” Prosser gently reminded her. “These are inactive Groves with little or no power. They stand as memorials, but they can stand in a courtyard as well as a field.”

  “But our heritage put on display for normals to gape at? It’s not—proper,” Yule couldn’t help feeling insulted by the idea.

  “The Groves would not be active ones, and they could serve as living monuments and reminders of magic workers to the normal humans,” he spoke persuasively.

  “I can’t help feeling—strange about it,” she admitted.

  “We’re a secretive lot, but there is nothing these trees will reveal. They will only remind,” he gently persisted. When she still looked doubtful he added. “If I can’t even convince you, maybe I’m not the spokesman you need for this Project,” he observed.

  “Oh, please don’t think that!” she exclaimed with dismay. Trust her big mouth to discourage the very person she set out to convince to help them. Hermes was forever cautioning her—Hermes! He hadn’t a clue where she was and must surely be frantic by now.

  Yule glance at a stylized crystal shell-clock that displayed the time in soft pink shades deep inside its curve and sprang from the couch. “I completely lost track of the time! May I use the phone? I need to call Hermes. He probably thinks—”

  “You’ve been kidnapped?” Prosser interrupted mischievously the nodded at the room phone. “Go ahead, it will work.”

  Prosser was thoughtfully sipping his wine, expression reflective, when she came back to the couch having soothed and assuaged the vivid worst case imaginings of a nearly frantic Hermes. He wasn’t much more relieved when she explained how she’d convinced Prosser to listen to her pitch for the Project—though she left out the strange circumstance of waking in the back seat of his car with no memory of how she got there.

  Information like that would trigger his white knight reflex and he’d wind his way to her side to defend her. Still, he finally deferred to her insistence that she was fine and only rang off when she agreed to call him for a wind home when she was finished.

  She quietly resumed her place on the couch, retrieved her wine glass and contemplated Prosser’s expression. In the relatively short time since her frightening, awkward introduction to him, Prosser had gone from inaccessible celebrity, to object of ire, to potential ally. Gooseflesh rose on her skin when she considered what might have happened if either one of them had involved the authorities; but would he lend the assistance for which she asked?

  He noticed her inspection of him. “I’m not in the habit of dismissing a good cause out-of-hand, and this does strike me as a good and worthwhile cause.”

  Yule swallowed and tried not to look like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop, which she was.

  “It’s just that you happen to bring this to me at an inopportune time,” he went on apologetically. “My executive assistant is taking some personal time and I have a rather serious matter to attend on Atlantis.”

  “Atlantis,” Yule repeated with a tone of combined reverence and subdued excitement. The name of their native island-country evoked a flood of longing and envy in her. Only the strongest magic workers visited or lived there, to avoid polluting the strength and purity of the first and last bastion of Foundation magic. It was her ancestral home, but she was forever banned. “I completely understand, but maybe when you return and you have some spare time? I mean—if you’re interested, if you have some empathy for the Project?”

  His eyes twinkled while his expression remained stoic. “Miss Fiore, are you attempting to beguile me?” His expression softened with amusement when her finely made lips formed an O of surprise. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t tease. Listen, I’ll think about it while I’m in Atlantis and when I return I’ll see about arranging a meeting with your Mr. Woodmont.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled politely. This concession was better than outright refusal. “Marc will be so pleased to hear from you and gratified,” she added. “I’ve been terribly distracted as I’m going away for a while and I hate to leave things at loose ends.”

  The ghost of a smile curved Prosser’s lips as he became at ease with the conversation. “A vacation perhaps? Are you winding to some barely travelled destination?”

  “Nothing so exotic,” she replied apologetically. “It’s just my annual Retreat and they’re never in places like Rio or Monte Carlo. I suppose they think we can’t focus on practice spells or meditate with our toes in the sand, but I’d like to try.”

  “I’ve entertained much the same idea about my work,” he agreed.

  Yule made no additional comme
nt, none was particularly invited. The quiet that ensued served to focus her observations on the differences between them. He was unlike any man she’d previously known or been employed by. Not that she found that observation surprising. After all, he was a best selling author, a celebrity, and a Magus. Compared to her, he might as well be a life form from another planet.

  Frankly, since he was old enough to have been a child when the Merge occurred and the dimension of magic resumed its place in the mundane world, he really was from another planet. That otherworld Earth of magic workers, though it developed along similar paths as the world stripped of its magic, had still been a separate world.

  In that moment of silence Yule longed to possess Hermes’ effervescent personality and contagious good humor. He had the innate ability to blend effortlessly into any crowd or conversation, charming all who crossed his path. It wasn’t magic, it was just Hermes. She couldn’t help feeling jealous, but it was affectionate in nature. If only she could borrow his social—

  “—and you’re certain you can’t think of anyone more qualified or better visually suited to speak on behalf of the Project?”

  Yule wrested her brain from its musings. “I don’t think I caught the last—”

  “Because you were thinking about something else and not paying attention to me,” he observed dryly, smiling when her cheeks pinked. “Don’t worry, you’re not the first. I’ve seen that distracted look before, on competitors for the title of Magus. You see how well that worked for them.”

  Yule looked down. “I didn’t mean any rudeness,” she apologized. “Would you mind repeating what you said?”

  “I was merely posing the question—are you quite sure I’m the best choice to be a spokesman for the Project?”

  “Oh, quite sure,” she eagerly confirmed. “I considered several other candidates before choosing you.”

  “I’m gratified to know I wasn’t your first choice,” he put in stoically.

  Yule’s dark eyes snapped wide. “That isn’t what I meant! You’re respected in all circles, and a compelling speaker,” she spoke earnestly.

  “And we return to the beguiling,” he teased.

  Yule refused to be embarrassed this time. “Is it working?” She was rewarded with a laugh.

  “It may well be,” he admitted. He glanced at the shell-clock. “You’ll have to forgive me, but I have dome business to attend. May I wind you home?”

  “That’s kind of you—”

  “Nonsense,” he interrupted, rising and guiding her to do the same. “I brought you here, it’s only good manners that I should return you.”

  “Well, since you put it that way,” she capitulated. “Thank you—for everything.”

  “Everything?”

  And the last thing of Magus Prosser Teomond she registered before he winded her away was a teasing, distinctly Cheshire Cat-like smile.

  “And I’ve been protecting you?” Hermes exclaimed over fruit cups, croissants, and cinnamon tea the following morning after he heard Yule’s tale of the night’s events. “I should post warnings to men to lock their car doors or be prepared to be spellbound by you.” He pointed a stick of cinnamon at her. “Have you been practicing inducement spells?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Yule fenced aside his cinnamon stick with one of hers. “And I really don’t know how I got into the back of his car.”

  "Really?”

  “Truly,” Yule insisted.

  “Hm.” Hermes mused upon that as he sipped his aromatic tea.

  “I thought he was gong to have me arrested as a mad stalker or something,” Yule enthusiastically reported. “But I don’t mind any of it as long as it all pans out, and I really think he’s interested—”

  “Not the Project,” interrupted Hermes with an impatient wave of a croissant. “I want to know all about Prosser the man.”

  “But I’ve told you everything that happened.”

  “I don’t care about all of the political line dancing you two did. Get me to the hoedown,” Hermes leered wickedly, “and tell me what you thought about him. Were there any obvious bulges?”

  “You’re a bad man.” Yule scolded affectionately, slowly realizing that she’d scored points in her friend’s status game. While not a unique experience it remained a singularly satisfying one. Hermes rarely queried deeply into her activities while she envied his so turnabout was gratifying on these rare occasions. “He’s all right, I suppose,” she reflected after a moment. “He’s a little too serious, intense, like in his spell-casts, but more—”

  “Charismatic?” proposed Hermes.

  “That’s it, exactly,” Yule agreed, wondering why she hadn’t thought of it herself because it epitomized him perfectly. “And I’m sorry, but I didn’t seem to inspire him to bulge in any way.”

  “Good, maybe he’s gay,” Hermes postulated. Yule didn’t know about that, she simply didn’t have the sort of looks that made men bulge merely upon meeting her. “You mustn’t go off on such adventures without at least leaving me a message,” he pleasantly admonished. “Especially when it involves spell-casters or men on my must meet list.”

  “How do you spell that?” she asked coyly.

  “Dirty girl,” he scolded, grinning.

  “Too much time in your company,” she defended.

  “That’s a convenient story,” Hermes didn’t exactly deny the accusation. “How did you escape his brawny clutches?”

  “I hardly had to escape,” she told him. “He sent me home and was a complete gentleman about it.”

  “So he must be gay or boring.”

  “He isn’t boring!” Yule defended. “I’ve already told you he was charming, once we stopped being angry and suspicious of each other.”

  “Oh, charismatic and now charming as well,” he teased. “Maybe I should ask how he escaped from you.”

  “As if someone like Magus Teomond would take a second look at someone like me,” Yule scoffed.

  “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  She gave a small shrug. “You know, he is—who he is and looks how he looks and I’m just—me.”

  “I don’t want to hear any of that from you,” Hermes chastised. “Don’t let elitist spell-casters make you feel unimportant. And when you take the time to polish your surface, you’re completely presentable.”

  “I’m presentable?” Yule smiled.

  “Well, I’m no expert on female beauty, but I recognize jealousy when I see it and Brenna’s eyeballed you with nothing but green in her eyes when I’ve seen her watching you talking to Marc.”

  “I think you’re reading too much into nothing,” she dismissed this.

  “Hon’ if I were a straight man or a lesbian I would seduce you in a minute.”

  “You’re a confidant lesbian,” she allowed.

  “You’re stupid-pretty.”

  “How sweet of you to say,” she drawled.

  “What I mean is—you’re attractive, you must be aware of it, but you have no confidence in it. And you don’t know how to use it,” he detailed.

  “Even if you didn’t mean it that way, I’m going to take the last of that as a compliment,” she announced, glancing at her dainty wristwatch. “Do you need the Lex?”

  “No, I’ll be in Monte for the morning,” Hermes informed her and Yule was wise enough to simply assume he meant this geographically. “Where are you off to, at this hour?”

  “I’ve got to drop around Marc’s office to tell him about Magus Teomond,” she explained. “He’s going to be so happy.”

  “You have to drive across the city for that?” he queried. “We have phones, or I could power up the mirror.”

  “I’ve got to run some errands anyway, before my Retreat, and I want to see his expression in person.”

  “You want to throw it in Brenna Nova’s face, you mean,” he challenged.

  “Oh, I doubt she’ll be there,” Yule contradicted his accusation.

  “Liar,” Hermes countered with a smile. “Have your
fun, the entitled bitch deserves a dose of humility, but don’t rub her spell-sculpted nose in it. She’s vindictive enough to toss a spell at you.”

  Yule grinned mischievously. “Do you really think so?”

  “A magical attack is hardly something to scoff at,” he scolded. “You haven’t any real defenses.”

  “Not that,” Yule dismissed his frown and now her grin became conspiratorial. “Do you really think she had a nose job?”

  ***

  Marc’s offices occupied the second floor of what used to be a modest hotel during the late 1920’s and early 1930’s. Seven small charitable organizations looked out from seven of the ten floors that faced the quiet, oak-lined street with its art deco façade. This architecture was repeated and mimicked almost exclusively in the bedroom community of Aruhama, an area favored by trust fund spell-casters eager to be counted among the philanthropists who’d passed this way before them. Yule didn’t bother with the well maintained, vintage elevator, ascending the carpeted stairs to the second floor then knocking on the door to Marc’s offices with the brass-and-enamel, stylized lily doorknocker. After a brief moment the door opened.

  “Yule!” Marc smiled and stepped back from the open door. “I didn’t expect to see you here so early.”

  “I had good news,” she began, suddenly under the impression that she was disturbing him, that he had company. “But it can wait, Marc.”

  “Don’t be silly, there’s always time for good news—come it.” He motioned her into the bright, welcoming inner offices where two young men with titian mops of hair and light sprinkles of freckles clearly declaring their sibling status stood, introducing, “Alan, Alex this is Yule, she helps out around here too.”

  The brothers nodded a friendly greeting and Alex smiled. “Marc’s been telling us about your work on the Grove project.”

  “And everyone else’s, including his, I hope,” she noted with a return smile, recognizing the Falmont brothers’ names from their exemplary work with a number of successful organizations. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she continued, “I just couldn’t wait to tell you what happened—Marc—” her full attention focused on him and her story of her encounter with Magus Teomond, but kept to details of the incident not oddities, restrained by the presence of the brothers. “And he’s taken it under consideration and will have a meeting with you arranged,” she finished. “I don’t want to sound overly confident, but I really think he intends to endorse the Reclamation Project.”