The Wellspring Page 5

  “Wonderful!” Marc favored her with a smile that had captured innumerable reluctant philanthropists’ assistance with a number of causes he’d undertaken. “Did he give you a time-frame?”

  “Not exactly, but he’s leaving for an extended period of time shortly so I’m sure it will be fairly soon. I left your card with him.”

  “I am too, so it’d be great to sew it up by the end of the week,” Marc casually mused aloud.

  “You are too?” asked Yule. “Are too, what?”

  “What? Oh, leaving for an extended period of time, I meant,” he explained.

  “But—where?” She was dismayed.

  He nodded at the brothers. “With them.”

  “In fact, we thought you were one of the apprentices arriving,” Alan put in. “We’re meeting here today to finalize departure plans.”

  “Departure to where?” Yule felt oddly disconnected from the conversation in which she was participating.

  “Shangrilonn.”

  “Shangrilonn!” the exotic, far-flung name seemed to numb her lips. The remote Pacific island continent nearly half the size of Australia was one of the few wholly magical places transported entirely from the realm of magic and not created by a blending of two places, one from each world. Of course, like all places in the magical realm, it had begun on Earth, but it was one of the rare places where only the magically inclined dwelled before the Sunder and after the Merge.

  He might as well have said the Moon. “I didn’t know—you never talked about going,” she stammered.

  “I’m sure I did, now and then,” Marc casually contradicted. “I’ve had so much to do, you understand, I’ve lost track of the people I’ve told.”

  “I wasn’t one of them,” she remarked, hoping she didn’t sound petulant.

  “Well, We’ve only settled the details over the last few days,” he explained. “So there hasn’t been anything definitive to talk about—much.”

  “But there is now?”

  “A lot,” he confirmed with the kind of smile Yule felt compelled to return even though she didn’t feel like smiling.

  “When are you leaving?”

  “Not for a while,” he told her, running a hand over several information crystals before choosing one. “Probably a week, maybe ten days?” He glanced at the brothers for confirmation as he handed the crystal to Yule and they nodded. “You should be able to absorb that one,” he told Yule without condescension.

  “Thank you,” she spoke with automatic politeness, accepting the easy reader crystal created for children an low aptitude magic workers to access. Information regarding the source mining going on in Shangrilonn flooded her mind, but all she could think was, Marc is going to Shangrilonn! The concept fluttered around in her mind like an elusive butterfly while Marc greeted a handful of new arrivals who retired to the conference room with the Falmont brothers. Yule barely registered Brenna Nova’s beautiful, smug face among the newcomers except to think, it figures she would know. Her annoyance was eclipsed by her bewilderment at the news. Source mining was important work requiring skilled, powerful volunteers who culled magic from natural sources to distribute among the spell-casters. But Shangrilonn—!

  “What do you think?”

  His question startled her from the mental maze of panic and she realized they were alone in the room. “Think?” she echoed vaguely.

  “About the source mining,” he elucidated, motioning at the crystal she held.

  “Oh.” She looked down at the crystal, having forgotten it in her dismay. “It’s all so—overwhelming.”

  Marc nodded enthusiastically. “That’s exactly how I felt when the Falmonts approached me with the offer.”

  That wasn’t what she meant, but Yule didn’t correct his assumption. “It’s a tremendous opportunity.”

  “And an honor to be invited directly,” he added buoyantly.

  “A great honor,” she agreed, forcing cheer into her voice. “I confess, it’s going to be quiet around here without you.”

  “Oh, I doubt that. Did you and Magus Teomond talk about anything else?” he inquired suddenly.

  “Not particularly.” In truth, the Magus had taken a back seat to this new information. “Marc, do you have any indication about the time you’ll be there? How long will they need your assistance?”

  “I don’t really know,” he admitted, gazing evenly at her.

  “I’ve heard a year is considered average.”

  “That sounds about right.”

  Her eyes fell to the crystal in her hand. “Will Brenna and Jory be going with you?”

  “Yes, they are. They’re leaving even sooner, actually.”

  His casual reply reminded her of something Alan Falmont said. Apprentices. A sudden impulse burst in Yule’s mind like a colorful fireworks display.

  “Marc!” She held up the crystal. “Do you think the Falmonts are still looking for applicants?”

  His eyes narrowed with curiosity. “I imagine they’re always looking for applicants, it’s hard to convince people to work in such a remote location even for a good cause. Why do you ask?”

  “I’ve been wondering about taking on a new project, something unusual. I’m not kidding you,” she defended when he made a disbelieving noise. The whole thing sounds so—exciting. I’ve always imagined travelling to some exotic place and accomplishing some—important thing. Marc, what about me tagging along with the group to Shangrilonn? Oh, I know I couldn’t contribute magically, but surely there are other positions that require filling? I’m not fussy, I can handle any clerical work, data entry, even physical labor.”

  “Just a minute, Yule!” Marc exclaimed. “Are you serious?”

  “Certainly I am.”

  He gazed at her. “I believe you are, but do you have even a vague idea what it’s like out on the Shelf? There’s spell-debris everywhere, including pits, pools and even traps left over from the War. A lot of the old buildings were restored, but conditions are still pretty rough.”

  “I’ve participated on expeditions before,” Yule, probably unnecessarily, informed him. “I’m a very good outdoorswoman, and spell-traps won’t be any danger to me—because,” she trailed off and gave a small shrug with one slim shoulder. “Well, most of those traps require much more potent magic than I possess to trip them.”

  Marc leaned against the desk observing her with a contemplative demeanor that cast shadows on his pleasant features giving him a weary appearance. His eyes remained bright and sympathetic as he regarded Yule’s perseverant countenance. Finally he spoke deliberately: “I don’t remember you expressing such an avid interest in source mining.”

  “Oh? I’m sure I must have mentioned it at one time or another, casually at least.”

  “Maybe you did, but I can’t say I recall any of those times.” He smiled gently. “You’re what—twenty now?”

  “Twenty-one,” she corrected him. “But what has my age to do with it?”

  “Hermes is your guardian. What will he say?”

  “It doesn’t matter what he says. He was my guardian until I was eighteen, but legally that ended. Now he’s a good friend and confidante, but he can’t keep me from doing whatever I want.”

  “I see,” he acknowledged her assertion without seeming convinced. “I hope you’re not offended, but I really think you should spend more time considering your options. Why not have a discussion with Hermes? He’s always had a reputation as a—wild card, but he’s worldly and I know he’ll give you the best advice he can.”

  “Hermes won’t be interested in a discussion, he’ll just say no.”

  “He cares about you.” The man paused, his expression enigmatic as he retrieved the crystal from her hands.

  Yule’s eyes followed his movements optimistically, her whimsy unveiling a panorama of possible future adventures and outcomes on the Shelf, working side-by-side with Marc as she proved her value to him.

  “You know you could volunteer for an expedition closer to home,” he posed the
suggestion thoughtfully. “Maybe a little seasoning someplace less remote where you could get your feet wet with no fear of sharks would prep you for a place like the Shelf.”

  She lowered her gaze. “I’d rather go to Shangrilonn.”

  “Yule, do you understand what you’re suggesting?”

  “I understand perfectly,” she assured him, hoping she didn’t sound petulant.

  He finally shook his head. “I’m pretty sure you don’t,” he said firmly. “You’re suffering from a stroke of altruism, but you’ll recover.”

  “Why do you say that?” His certainty stung.

  “I don’t think you’ll like me if I explain,” he replied ruefully.

  “That couldn’t happen!” she declared with dismay, bringing the shadow of a smile to his lips. “I know exactly why you’re trying to talk me out of going. You don’t think I’m capable of contributing anything to the expedition. You’re worried I’ll be a liability. Why aren’t you willing to let me show you I can be an asset?”

  "Don’t be so melodramatic, Yule. I’ve never considered you incapable of anything that matters. The problem is you can’t seem to decide on precisely what matters,” he explained quietly. “When you choose a project or a cause you put everything you’ve got into it, but your choices don’t seem to come from any—passion for what you’re doing.”

  Her eyes returned to her empty hands, the quick stab of guilt shocking her lungs into stillness upon recognizing the fact in his observation. The reality behind the fact pained her. Did Marc suspect the truth? Was he amused by that knowledge in private? But Marc was too charitable for base meanness. Maybe he’d be startled, astonished, even disconcerted, but she didn’t imagine him being cruel. She swallowed her pain and forced a casual attitude. “You’re correct I suppose,” she admitted in a subdued voice. “I can’t imagine having the courage to pack off on the wind with a bunch of people I’d never met, to explore dangerous, barely charted wilderness.”

  “You’re not lacking in courage,” he quickly contended, casting a surreptitious glance more insightful than it seemed. “I think a caprice has seized your sense of adventure and you need to take a little more than a minute to make such an important commitment. Besides, I need someone capable and trustworthy to keep track of the Reclamation Project during my absence.”

  She smiled wanly because she understood he was offering a compliment, but guilt pricked at her conscience. She was honest enough with herself to imagine she might be less enthusiastic about the Project once Marc was gone.

  ***

  Hermes wasn’t burdened by guilt. The announcement of Marc’s impending departure to Shangrilonn was greeted with unconcealed delight.

  “Perfect,” he proclaimed. “his absence will be just what you need to snap out of this infatuation.”

  “I’m not infatuated,” Yule argued. “I’m not in grade school and he’s not a celebrity or something. What I feel is—it’s not infatuation.”

  “It’s a damn close facsimile,” he debated. “What you need to realize is that this attraction you feel for Marc is all one-sided. He’s never going to notice you as long as there’s a new project or cause to champion.”

  “Seriously, I don’t care.” She dropped onto the bed, on her stomach, and looked at the vanity mirror. “Any good broadcasts scheduled tonight?”

  “Nothing more important than my spell club.”

  “Hermes,” she complained.

  “Don’t even start with me,” he interrupted. “And don’t think I’ll stand for any moping either. If this is how you’re going to act over a little caprice, how will you behave if an actual love affair goes awry?”

  “Like I’m acting right now,” she mournfully declared.

  “You haven’t had anything like an affair,” Hermes scolded.

  “No, I haven’t, have I? And since he’s winding away to the ends of the Earth it’s not like I’ll get a chance!”

  “Sweetheart,” Hermes laughed fondly, sitting beside her and stroking her hair. “You’ll have plenty of chances for love—and with men who will love you in return, trust me.”

  “And I should accept that because you’re the great and powerful Hermes Cameron, sage and seducer of the world?” she asked bitterly.

  “Only the male portion of the world,” he corrected her, unaffected by her tone. “And you should believe me because I love you very much and I want the best for you.”

  “Love,” the irritation faded from her voice. “Do you even know what it means? I don’t think I do.”

  “I can’t define it for you, my darling girl. Even the people who agree on the subject would give you fundamentally different descriptions.” He combed his fingers through her hair. “We share emotions with common names, but do we feel each the same? For instance, do you feel fear in the same way I do?”

  “Being afraid is—being afraid, isn’t it?”

  “Is it? Tell me how you feel, physically, when you’re afraid,” he encouraged.

  “I never really thought about it,” she admitted. “I guess I feel—cold. It’s like I’m suddenly standing in a deep-freeze, and I’ve been standing in it so long that the cold has penetrated to my blood and my bones—and I’m alone.”

  “For someone who’s never really thought about it you seem to have a solid opinion on the subject,” he teased.

  Yule blushed. “I just thought about a time when I felt scared and described it,” she confessed.

  “That makes sense,” he agreed. “Now tell me how you feel when you’re in love.”

  “You’re being mean again.” Yule bristled.

  “No, I’m asking a question. Can’t you answer it?”

  “I can, but I won’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s too personal,” she complained.

  “Love’s too personal, but fear is public domain?” he teased.

  “It’s just—personal,” she repeated.

  “And you can’t describe it?”

  “No.”

  “Nothing to base it on?”

  “No—” she broke off. “No, I’m just not going to talk about it,” she denied his playful accusation.

  “So, you’re not in love with Marc, or you could tell me how he makes you feel.” Hermes wouldn’t be so easily dissuaded.

  “I could, but it would be incomplete,” she allowed. “I might be in love with him, but unless he loves me in return—I don’t know the complete feeling.”

  “At least you’re still sensible enough to recognize that,” he observed. “Of course, if Marc Woodmont ever managed to pull his head out of his—charitable institutions long enough to realize how truly wonderful you are and avowed his love, you’d probably collapse out of shock.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Yule resisted the impulse to stick out her tongue at him the considered part of what he said, turning to him. “Hermes, do you really think I’m wonderful? No—seriously,” she interrupted when she saw the mischievous glint in his eyes.

  His expression softened and he cupped her chin in one strong hand. “Most wonderful of all, I swear it.”

  There was something in his intense dark eyes she couldn’t identify, but it made her feel good, important, and she turned pink as she took his hand and kissed his palm.

  “You’re wonderful,” she told him. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “You’d waste your time watching gossip broadcasts and daydreaming about Marc Woodmont,” the tease returned to his tone and eyes then he looked past her, to the glowing crystals that indicated the time. “I’m never going to make my room and myself equally amazing and meet my impending conquest in time!”

  “I thought you were going to your spell club?” she accused.

  “I am, new member.” He leered outrageously.

  “Awful man,” Yule laughed lightly and gave him a push. “Go on. You make you amazing and I’ll turn your room into an impeccable temple of seduction.”

  “I promise to dedicate at least one orgasm to you.�
�� He winked and left the bed.

  “Please don’t!” she called after the striking figure as he left her room. “I’ll never get to sleep if I think you’ll be thinking of me at some point during your date!”

  Hermes leaned into the doorway. “Too sexy?” he asked seriously.

  “Yes, that’s it, too sexy,” she dryly agreed.

  He nodded soberly and ducked out of the doorway before the pillow she hurled at him smacked the doorframe.

  Barely fifteen minutes later he’d taken to the wind and Yule busied herself with making Hermes’ bedroom look romantic, inviting, and wholly masculine. Hermes didn’t care for scented candles, rose petals, or even subdued lighting, but many of his conquests appreciated one or two nods to romance. Preparing Hermes’ room for a torrid tryst the likes of which she would never experience did nothing to dispel her depression over Marc’s imminent absence and his clear rejection of her participation in his newest interest nor did retreating to her room three hours later when a special chime from her vanity mirror alerted her to Hermes’ return with the breathtakingly handsome young Viking type with whom he winded back.

  Yule conjured up the gossip spell-cast on her mirror and flopped dispiritedly onto her bed. There wasn’t much else for her to do unless she wanted to roam the condo and risk encountering Hermes and his toned bedmate engaging in athletic sexual gymnastics somewhere unexpected. She listened to Hermes’ husky chuckle and the young Norse god’s lighter laughter as Hermes encouraged him to try something Yule felt certain would mostly benefit Hermes. It was nearly four hours later when Hermes wandered into her bedroom clad in a pair of black silk sleep boxers and smelling of shampoo and sandalwood soap. He lounged contentedly on the empty side of the queen-size bed and smiled at Yule’s curled up shape under the pile of blankets.

  “Are you asleep?” he whispered, voice buttery soft with satisfaction.