The Wellspring Page 6

“As if I had a chance to sleep with you and the son of Odin rearranging furniture,” she groused from under the bedding. “Is there anything left in one piece out there?”

  “You poor bystander,” he empathized. “He’s stunning, isn’t he? We could’ve carried on for hours more, but he had to go.”

  “Curfew?” Yule ventured.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, he has a meeting in the morning.”

  “In the high school principal’s office?” she didn’t relent.

  “Be nice, I think I’m falling in love.” He fell back on the pillows beside her.

  “With all of him or just his huge personality?” she inquired demurely.

  Hermes laughed, surprised. “What did you just say?”

  “I have no personal knowledge,” she added. “I’m only quoting you, and you sounded muffled at the time, like your mouth was full.”

  Hermes was still laughing. “Speaking of mouths! Where is that sass coming from?” He tickled her through the covers until she writhed and thrashed with helpless giggles.

  “Okay, okay! I surrender!” Yule finally gasped and was immediately captured in a bear hug from behind by Hermes who snuggled against her. “Hey, get your brawny, woman hating arms off of me,” she complained affectionately.

  "Be a good pillow, you’re soft and comfortable.”

  “You just said I’m fat.”

  “Don’t get all body-sensitive on me,” he scolded sleepily. “You have all the right curves in all the right places that make most men happy.”

  “How would you know what most men, straight men, get happy about?” she fussed.

  “I listen. Go to sleep, I have to get up early.” Hermes nuzzled her back and closed his eyes, sighing. “I have a Viking to dream about.”

  “If that’s like a pirate dream, don’t tell me,” she abjured before closing her eyes, smiling.

  Chapter Three

  The melancholy that had settled on Yule like a miserable fog refused to rise from its perch on her spirits as the time of her departure for her Retreat approached. The heliotrope glow of sexual satisfaction to Hermes’ aura merely drew greater attention to Yule’s gloomy disposition. Hermes always found a bevy of beautiful, Adonis-like men whom he enchanted and was worshipped by, time after time. Hermes had years of experience, and it would be shortsighted to ignore the fact that he possessed an innate charm and self-assuredness that drew everyone. He was never without a witty remark, point of interest, or scathing insight; he was forever at ease in his skin and had been fiercely independent since he was fifteen and sought and won emancipation; it won him many answers while presenting him with even more questions he’d told her. But aside from all of that, Hermes attracted events and opportunities. If Hermes bumped into a stranger in a dark alley it would turn out to be a handsome, unattached stud; Yule could walk down the same alley and be accosted by a spell-snatcher seeking easy prey and when they were disappointed by Yule’s lack of power they’d settle for her jewelry and maybe break her arm. Spell-snatchers, power poachers, and aura wranglers always seemed to cross Yule’s path, invariably disappointed, and she largely remained with Hermes for protection against the wrath of their ilk. That was the extent of the excitement in her life.

  The stormy weather seemed to have reached its seasonal end and a beneficent sun glowed down upon Azul inviting people out to sidewalk cafes, children to carnivals, and lovers to blankets and picnic baskets on the beach and in the parks. On the Friday before she was to leave for her Retreat Yule and her friend, a voluptuous Asian whose thigh-length black tresses made Yule’s eyes sparkle with envy whenever she brushed Tamika’s luxurious hair, reclined beside the condo pool and pretended not to notice when attractive men approached the water. Tamika produced a small glass vial of sparkling powder leftover from the last Retreat they’d gone on, together, a summer gathering.

  “You might as well get golden before you go,” Tamika encouraged. “You’ll make all of those vanilla custard northern spell-casters jealous.” She used the eyedropper vial topper to delicately touch a single glistening drop of the fine dust to the back of Yule’s hand.

  “You’re going to Jamuda this year?” inquired Yule as the potion spread over her hand and up her arm until her entire body fairly glowed with a golden tropical tan.

  Her friend nodded. “It’s going to be a terrible bore without you,” she insisted, but that didn’t alleviate the moroseness that tightened the back of Yule’s throat. Tami was going to Jamuda; Hermes was going to Morrowkesh with his Viking. Marc told her he was going to Shangrilonn. And she was going to a pointless Retreat in the desert of Pergypt. The most awful part of it all was that Marc would be away for an entire year at least—or longer. It wasn’t fair and she couldn’t stand thinking about it. Why wouldn’t he let her—

  “Yule Fiore?” a raspy voice squawked from a nearby perch where an enormous red and blue parrot landed. “Yule Fiore?” it called again and Yule smiled at the messenger imp.

  “I’m Yule Fiore,” she told it.

  “Call for you on the yellow lobby phone,” it rasped at her then flew off on another errand.

  “Don’t you have your cell on?” asked Tami.

  Yule reached into her oversized blue and white canvas tote and checked her cell. “It’s on,” she announced as she rose. “So whoever it is doesn’t have my number.”

  “Ignore it,” Tami advised. “It’s probably someone selling something.”

  “On a lobby phone?” Yule grinned. “I’ll be right back. Don’t get eyestrain while I’m gone,” she added when Tami’s eyes left her and followed a toned and tanned brunette man as he sauntered past them.

  “If I’m not here when you get back, do not call me. I’ll see you later, at lunch,” Tami told her, eyes still on the man.

  Yule shook her head, still grinning, and walked into the lobby, finding the row of colorful courtesy phone kiosks and picked up the yellow receiver. Clearly this was not going to be a friend on the other end of the line, they all knew her cell number. “Hello?”

  “Yule Fiore?” responded a male voice in clipped, impatient tones.

  “Speaking, but I’m not interested in whatever—”

  “Having to use a phone is so tiresome,” interrupted the voice she was finding familiar, but having trouble visualizing to whom it belonged. “I’d have simply sent a telepathic message, but your mind is closed tighter than a—”

  Yule internally boiled at that. “Listen, I don’t know who you are, but you’ve clearly mistaken me for someone—”

  “Don’t be oversensitive, girl, it’s Prosser.”

  “Magus Teomond!” she gasped, surprise and happiness sweeping away her moment of ire at his remark. “I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize your voice, but I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.” Ever again, she mentally finished. She assumed her part in things was ended and he would be speaking to Marc in the future.

  “Didn’t you? No, I suppose that isn’t how things are usually done.” He seemed distracted and was speaking aside to someone about paperwork and other business. “I really don’t have time to go into any details just now, I’ve got a Press conference in just a moment. We’ll have to meet afterward, at lunch.”

  “Lunch?” she repeated.

  “Yes, good, the marina?”

  “But I don’t know where—”

  “No, of course you don’t, terribly sorry. Dress casually, for warm temperatures, and I’ll wind you to the marina at precisely one.”

  “Magus—”

  “I’m sorry, Yule, but the rest will have to wait for lunch. I look forward to seeing you.” There was a definite click on the line and a dial tone followed before Yule had the opportunity to protest further. She stared at the yellow phone until she realized she was attracting attention from passersby so she placed the receiver on the cradle and wandered back outside to look for Tamika.

  Begging off lunch with Tami turned out to be effortless as she managed to make alternative luncheon plans with the handsome brunette man
during Yule’s absence. So Yule hastened back to the condo she shared with Hermes to make clothing and cosmetics adjustments she thought complimentary to her destination. It required the removal and trying on of nearly every summery item in her wardrobe, but she finally settled on a nautical themed T-strap mini dress of blue and white, red heels and an anchor necklace. She touched her hand to the vanity mirror and left a message for Hermes about where she’d gone, barely finishing before her surroundings blurred and she was suddenly standing on a weathered dock at a tropical marina facing Prosser Teomond who looked relaxed and bored with wealth—as only the wealthy could look, Yule found.

  “I hope you don’t mind seafood,” he greeted her, taking her elbow and ushering her toward the double doors of the restaurant perched dockside.

  “I love seafood,” she assured him, finding she nearly had to trot to keep up with his extended, easy stride. “And the sea air is so—relaxing.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” He nodded to the maitre de who immediately showed them to a table on the deck overhanging the water. “We’re born to the sea and sand, our kind,” he continued, holding her chair for her, the tables protecting diners from direct sun with blue and white striped umbrellas. “Spell-casters, of course.”

  “Of course,” she agreed, made slightly uncomfortable by his comment because she never felt entirely comfortable when compared to spell-casters in general, just as most spell-casters with any notable power didn’t feel comfortable calling her one of them.

  She waited for him to be seated, fussing with the anchor embossed linen napkin and wondering when he planned to tell her why he’d invited her to lunch. She didn’t imagine for a moment that he’d brought her there to talk about the sea, the sand, or even their shared heritage, but she restrained her impatient queries because she didn’t want to risk insulting the man from whom she was attempting to curry favor. Her patience was tested to the breaking point as they ordered, chatted about local weather, nibbled fresh baked breadsticks, and were finally served their meals before he abandoned his frivolous luncheon banter.

  “I haven’t invited you here to bring you the news you’ve been hoping to hear,” he advised her. “But that doesn’t mean I’m saying no, it just means I need a few more days,” he amended when her polite smile began to fade, and she brightened again.

  “Then there’s still a possibility?”

  “Possibilities, I’m told, are endless,” he told her before sampling his calamari.

  “I don’t suppose there’s any hope things might be more—cemented before Marc leaves for Shangrilonn?”

  “I’d heard a rumor about the latest expedition embarking for the Shelf,” Prosser mused. “So Mr. Woodmont is casting off to the wilds, is he?”

  Yule nodded, trying to conceal the depth of her disappointment. “He could be gone before I return from my Retreat. It’s this weekend,” she added.

  “I can’t promise I’ll have a final answer by then, but I will do everything in my power to make it happen.”

  Yule beamed at him. “You’re just marvelous!” she cried spontaneously.

  Prosser chuckled at this and nearly lost the calamari from his mouth, snatching up a napkin and covering his lips while he recovered. “Some might say that’s a rather naïve assessment of me,” he remarked before sipping his glass of wine.

  “I don’t care what other people think,” she assured him. “Considering how we started out, you’ve been terrific about it all. To tell the truth, I can’t help feeling guilty that there’s no way for me to properly say thank you. With all of your power and wealth, there’s nothing I could do that you couldn’t do or have done for you.”

  His short burst of genuine laughter drew several curious glances. “I suppose that’s just about right,” he agreed. “With many things, but not everything. In fact,” his voice dropped to a mock conspiratorial level. “I can think of one thing you could do on my behalf.”

  “You’re kidding?” she was surprised and delighted, leaning toward him. “Whatever it is we’ll do our very best to make it happen, I promise.”

  “Oh, no,” he corrected her. “Not you and Marc, or your group as a whole; I meant you, personally. Just you, Yule.” A teasing smile tugged at the corners of his inviting lips and Yule suddenly felt embarrassed by how closely she’d leaned toward him, but was trapped into remaining that way or draw attention to her awkwardness. “So you’d better consider this with caution before such reckless commitment.”

  “Look before I leap?”

  “I’d be a cad if I didn’t caution you.”

  “I don’t think anyone would describe you as a cad,” she replied.

  “Some stories don’t reach the gossip broadcasts,” he told her and Yule wondered if she blushed, because it was as if he knew how she spent her idle hours. He leaned back in his chair after a moment, releasing her from her tether and she leaned back too. “I don’t want you to commit to my desires until you have a firm grasp of the depth of that commitment.”

  “Oh,” she responded in a voice much smaller than she intended. She couldn’t help focusing on the word, desire. It tickled in the pit of her stomach and made her uneasy in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “I suppose it’s only fair to expect reciprocation for a favor.”

  “It’s the way of this world, I’m afraid,” he agreed.

  She nodded at that. “If you didn’t expect some kind of return then everyone would be lining up around the block asking for—whatever.”

  “Quite right,” he sounded as if he were congratulating her on an astute finding.

  “I’m not sure that there’s anything I can particularly do for you, I’m afraid,” she admitted.

  “Nonsense, you’re just the girl for what I need,” he dismissed her observation and didn’t notice, or didn’t care, that Yule internally bridled at being called a girl. “I want to hire you for about, oh, a month.”

  “Hire me?” She blinked in surprise. “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s my Executive Assistant, St. John, you see,” he explained apologetically, still pronouncing it, Sinjin. “He’s taken a leave of absence and the secretary with whom he saddled me as a substitute is driving me quite mad with her inquiries.”

  “Inquiries?”

  “She’s a normal so naturally she has a limitless font of questions regarding magic folk—some of them should embarrass her, but she seems impermeable to that particular emotion.” Yule couldn’t help the smallest of grins at that observation and he noticed. “Yes, go ahead, have a laugh at my expense, but she bedevils me, I swear it.” This was spoken with beleaguered melodrama intended to make her laugh, and she did. “The point is, I need a competent assistant who won’t ask silly questions until St. John returns,” he finished and this statement stopped her laughter.

  “You—you mean me?” she stammered. “You want me to be your secretary?”

  “Assistant, by no means executive, but someone who has some common sense, organizational skills, and perseverance. And who won’t blather on about whether I use magic to brush my teeth,” he added. “Could anything be more ludicrous? My teeth?”

  Yule smiled again. “They’re very nice teeth.” His eyebrows rose at that and she shrugged, eliciting a smile from him. “So you need someone to manage paperwork and such around your office while—”

  “The hell with my office, I have dozens of competent office personnel, I need someone to keep me organized abroad. You’ll accompany me to Atlantis. I expect to be there nearly three weeks.”

  Yule thought her heart and breath stopped at his casual announcement. Atlantis, the birthplace of all magic folk, transported to the dimension of magic over ten thousand years ago, now part of Earth again. The homeland from which she was forever barred for her stunted, impotent power. It was an impossible opportunity and he was extending it to her as if suggesting they go around the corner to the coffee shop.

  "It’s impossible,” she finally whispered. “I’d do almost anything to visit Atlantis, bu
t people like me—aren’t allowed.”

  He waved a hand. “I’m Magus and if I say you’re my assistant and I need you with me then you’ll be allowed.” He continued to eat his lunch while she mulled this over in her suddenly shattered mind.

  It was like a dream, a beautiful, unattainable— Her happy thought blew apart like spent dust devil. Unattainable for her, but Magus Teomond could wave his hand and centuries of rules and barriers crumbled to dust. She was banned from Atlantis by exactly the same kind of person currently holding it out to her as if it was—easy.

  “It must be nice to have that kind of power,” she bitterly observed.

  “It is,” he agreed without acknowledging her tone. “I dislike being made to wait for things and it seldom happens now,” he admitted, ignoring her dismay at his apparent arrogance. “Let me remind you that I did not pursue you for what you could do for me, it was rather the opposite and you may not now be insulted by the very power and influence for which you stalked me.” He motioned at her dish. “Finish your lunch and give me your answer when you’re done.”

  Yule found it difficult to swallow her meal along with her chagrin at his chastisement—which she accepted was deserved.

  ***

  “I just can’t figure him out,” she groused to Hermes that night.

  “I never waste my time trying to figure out other men,” he told her. “I make them waste their time trying to figure out me.”

  “This isn’t the same thing,” she complained as she wandered into the kitchen, fetched a quart of blackberry ice cream and two spoons then returned to the sleek living room to sit on the couch beside Hermes. “How can someone run so hot and cold?” She pried off the lid then paused. “Maybe he’s bi-polar.” She jabbed a spoon into the ice cream. “And he called me, girl!”

  Hermes accepted the other spoon and waited until Yule was deliberating on a mouthful of blackberry sweetness before he scooped out a spoonful and spoke. “I always thought he was a serious piece of hot property, but you’re completely messing with my fantasy and turning him into every other conceited jerk I’ve known.”