Hidden Charm

by Kristine Grayson

  He hadn’t said anything about children. He hadn’t said a word about this room, and the clear loving care he had used to set it up.

  Tears filled her eyes—real tears, not tears of panic or tears of sadness. Just tears for the way she had lost touch with her good friend while she had said she was standing by his side.

  Sonny was a good man. Sonny was, in his own way, a great man. Sonny was the best person she knew, and she hadn’t helped him at all.

  Maybe if she had helped him, she would have been able to see the trouble coming.

  She pushed off the door frame and walked to the next room. It was set up as a bedroom as well, with two double beds inside, but this room was as devoid of personality as the kids’ room had been filled with it.

  Sonny had told her that he would be housing people here, before he got them to a safer place. Sometimes finding that safer place was hard, so he had talked with Zel about buying the other houses in the cul de sac—and they had.

  But that had been nearly two decades ago, and she hadn’t been here much since. She wondered what (who?) she would find in those houses.

  She didn’t have time to look.

  Henry was standing near the bathroom door, watching her. He seemed calm, but she knew he wasn’t. He was feeling the time pass. He was probably thinking that each second she dithered was another second that could result in tragedy for Sonny.

  But she hadn’t seen—with her cursory examination—any personal item of Sonny’s in these back rooms. So she nodded and Henry and went back to the living room.

  It had been set up as a reception area, and a comfortable place for anyone staying in the house to relax in the evening.

  But if there was a room that was Sonny’s, it would be the kitchen.

  She walked past the rugs and the strange couch, and went to the dining room. And as she stepped into it, the sword struggled in her hand.

  She gripped it hard, but it thrashed, nearly cutting her.

  “Let it go,” Henry said from behind her.

  She didn’t want to. She didn’t know if it was thrashing because it was in danger or because it wanted something.

  “Zel,” Henry said again, “let it go.”

  But she gripped the sword harder. It twisted her hand backwards and sideways, bending her wrist at an unnatural angle, but still, she hung on.

  “Zel,” Henry said.

  The thrashing got so severe that her elbow crashed into her side, and she had to jump back to avoid being sliced on the knee. The sword twisted again, and this time, she dropped it. She had to. The movement made her fingers release.

  She bent over, scrabbling for the sword, only to have her fingers close on nothing.

  The sword flew away from her, heading across the table to the far wall. Dozens of scabbards hung on the wall, all of them different. One entire row seemed to be made of gold, and they all seemed to be the right length for Sonny’s sword.

  But only one—the one in the exact center of the display—had matching etchings to the sword blade itself.

  That was the scabbard the sword flew toward.

  The scabbard vibrated as the sword headed toward it. The vibration loosened the holders that someone had attached into the wall, and as the sword got really close, the scabbard turned.

  The sword slipped inside it. They hovered for a moment in that strange position.

  Zel had the odd sense that all was right with the world. The scabbard and the hilt of the sword turned a light blue-gold. Their glow increased, filling the dining room with warmth.

  And then they tumbled to the floor.

  Her arm ached where the sword had twisted it. She grabbed her left wrist with her right hand, wishing the ache hadn’t started now, wishing that she had listened to Henry.

  Wishing she had been thinking, just this morning.

  Because Sonny hadn’t used his sword in a long time. And he kept it on the wall at home.

  In a scabbard.

  But not the scabbard that had been hanging here.

  A different scabbard, made of white gold, with tassels hanging off of it.

  And, come to think about it, she wasn’t even sure if the sword in that scabbard had been Sonny’s main sword. She had just assumed it was, because long ago, he had put that sword on that wall.

  All those swords had surrounded her, but she hadn’t seen them. Not really. She hadn’t looked.

  Just like she hadn’t looked at Sonny.

  She walked over to the sword and scabbard. They were still glowing faintly, giving off a sense of relief that was as odd as it was palpable.

  Living magical items were strange things, and she usually avoided them.

  But Sonny loved them.

  She sat down cross-legged near the sword and scabbard, and put her face in her hands.

  She was going to have to use the sword and scabbard to find him, even though she didn’t want to. Even though it might destroy them.

  There was really nothing else in this house-office that screamed Sonny the way that they did.

  A hand rested lightly on her shoulder.

  “Are you all right?” Henry asked gently.

  No. No, of course she wasn’t all right. Everything was wrong. She had lost her home, her best friend, and even her sense of self. She had lived her life wrong, and she hadn’t even realized it.

  She wasn’t all right at all.

  But Henry wasn’t asking that. He was asking if she could continue forward, even if he had phrased it incorrectly.

  She inhaled slowly, hoping to calm herself, knowing she might never really be calm again.

  But she couldn’t think about the future right now. She had to work in the present.

  She let her hands fall onto her thighs. “Yes,” she said. “I’m all right.”

  “You didn’t see anything else we could use, did you?” Henry asked.

  She shook her head. She wasn’t sad, exactly, not about using the sword and its scabbard. But she wasn’t happy about it either.

  As she sat here, on the real hardwood floor that Sonny had installed in the dining room, she realized that getting here had been inevitable. She had no choice. Maybe the sword had led her to the scabbard. Maybe she was supposed to show up here, and do whatever it was she needed to do to get Sonny back.

  She reached up with her right hand. Henry took it, braced it with his other hand, and helped her to her feet.

  She felt older than she had that morning, and scarred up, probably from all the magic that had flowed through her. As she stood, she reached down with her left hand and picked up the sword in its scabbard.

  Her legs felt sturdier than they had all day. Her feet felt rooted into the ground. She was getting strength from somewhere, although she wasn’t sure exactly where.

  She wasn’t going to investigate that, either. The time for that kind of investigation was gone.

  “Do you know how to get the sword to find Sonny?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Henry said quietly.

  Even though she was standing, he still held her hand, like a suitor who didn’t quite know how to approach her.

  “What do I have to do?” she asked.

  He reached up with his free hand, and moved a strand of hair off her forehead. She was surprised: she hadn’t realized the hair had regrown to that length again. She had stopped paying attention to how her hair looked after she had tugged on it so much all day.

  “One of two things,” he said in that gentle voice. “You can give me the sword in the middle of the spell, and let me go find Sonny.”

  They both knew that wouldn’t work. The sword had already made it clear that it wanted nothing to do with Henry. So he would be risking a lot. So would she. So, probably, would the sword.

  “Or?” she asked.

  “Or,” he said, his shoulders slumping, “I can spell the sword while you hold it.”

  “Then what happens?” she asked.

  “Then you go to where Sonny is. Or as close as the sword can get you.” Henry
tilted his head slightly. “Given how it reacted earlier, that sword is part of Sonny, so you should get really close.”

  Zel’s heart pounded, harder than it had all day. It didn’t seem to like her options any more than her brain did.

  “And when I get there, what do I do?” she asked. “I don’t have the kind of magic that will rescue Sonny.”

  Henry’s face changed just a little, like it had earlier when she said she didn’t have enough magic. He seemed to have a different opinion of her magic than anyone else she had ever encountered, and she didn’t know why.

  But she didn’t have time to explore that. Or time to learn new spells, if indeed, Henry was right about her skills.

  So she struggled forward with her questions.

  “And if he’s…” she didn’t want to say dead. She still couldn’t wrap her mind around Sonny being dead. “…not there, how do I get back?”

  “I don’t know,” Henry said softly. “I’ve never done this before, just like you.”

  There was a chance she wouldn’t get back from wherever even if Sonny was alive. There were so many possible variations on what could happen.

  He might be dead. He might not be wherever the sword took her. He might be unconscious. He might be dying. He might be imprisoned.

  Or the sword might not take her anywhere. Or leave her in some kind of limbo.

  All of those thoughts scared her even more. But they wouldn’t have scared Sonny. Sonny was a hero. She wasn’t. Sonny knew how to rescue people. She didn’t. The situation should be reversed.

  But it wasn’t.

  And she was all he had.

  Her and Henry.

  “Can you come with me?” she asked, her voice small. She knew what she was asking. She was asking Henry to risk his life for someone he barely knew. She was asking Henry to do some of the magical heavy lifting because she didn’t know how.

  She asking Henry to do the job she was supposed to do.

  “I was going to suggest that.” He squeezed her hand. “I would be honored to come with you.”

  “Honored?” she asked. “Honored? Really? Why?”

  His smile was small and uncertain. “It means you trust me.”

  “Of course I trust you,” she said. “You saved me.”

  That came out wrong. It made her sound like the kind of woman who only trusted someone who helped her. She wasn’t.

  But he had turned away, peering at the sword as if they were enemies, facing each other across a battlefield.

  “All right then,” Henry said. “Let’s go get Sonny.”

  Zel nodded—and hoped that the rescue would be easy.

  Even though she knew it wouldn’t be.

  Chapter 29

  She trusted him.

  Henry felt a chill run through him along with the realization.

  Zel trusted him.

  It had been a long time since someone trusted him. Since someone had relied on him.

  I’m a little worried about this baby, Tiana had said to him a few days before she went into labor. Something feels wrong.

  Not to me, he had said. You look beautiful. And everything will be fine.

  Do you promise? she had asked.

  I promise, he had said.

  And he had been wrong. What if he was wrong now? What if he couldn’t get Zel to Sonny?

  Or worse, what if he could, but he couldn’t go with her?

  Then Zel would be facing whatever was stronger than Sonny all on her own.

  Not that Henry was sure he would be much help.

  But he knew a lot more about conventional magic than she did, so that might come in handy. And he had a repertoire of spells—rusty—but a repertoire nonetheless.

  They weren’t as creative as hers, but they might come in handy.

  He wished he was going after Sonny with an entire army, like they had done at the house.

  Even though that hadn’t worked, and for all Henry knew, things had gotten worse there.

  Much worse.

  He couldn’t think about that right now. He needed to focus on the sword and Zel.

  “Is there any way you can attach that scabbard to your hips?” Henry asked. Unlike so many scabbards, this one didn’t seem to have its own belt.

  “Yeah.” Zel squeezed his hand tightly, then let go. She walked over to the wall of scabbards (what a strange collection Sonny seemed to have of everything), and then reached down. There was a small shelf that ran the length of the wall. The shelf only came to her calf height and was painted gray to match the wall.

  Which explained why Henry hadn’t seen it. Or maybe he hadn’t looked.

  Or maybe it hadn’t been visible to him until she got close.

  Belts, baldrics, and sword frogs littered the top of the shelf. His brain stuttered at “sword frog.” He hadn’t put those two words together in his head in a long, long time.

  Maybe that was why the sword didn’t like him. He wasn’t the right kind of frog.

  Oh, he was nervous. He made up weird puns and sayings inside his head when he was nervous.

  Zel passed over the renaissance sword belts and baldrics that probably would have best suited Sonny’s sword. Although his sword wasn’t really of any particular style that Henry recognized—not any mortal style anyway.

  It was ornate for a magical sword from the Kingdoms, with some elements of mortal swords, but not all of them.

  But that sword certainly didn’t fit with the item Zel plucked off that shelf.

  It wasn’t a real sword belt or a baldric, not in the sense that Henry knew them anyway.

  She had chosen a Viking war belt. Made of blond leather, it didn’t have clasps or finishes. It had lacings.

  The sides of the war belt were thick and long. She put it on as if she had done so before, and it left her looking (from the side anyway) like she was wearing a skirt.

  Then she plucked a short scabbard off the wall. That scabbard had a hilt sticking out. It took Henry a moment to realize she had found a dagger to place on her left hip.

  The sword was going to go in the right, near her dominant hand.

  She laced it all up, settled the dagger in place, and then added the sword.

  It didn’t flare red in impatience. Its delicate silver workings made it seem much too fancy for a belt any Norseman would have used, but Henry thought that a minor consideration.

  And, seeing her kitted up to go to war, made Henry feel like he was underdressed.

  “Are there other swords here?” he asked.

  “I didn’t see any,” she said. “Just daggers.”

  Oh, he hated knife fights. But once upon a time, he could toss a dagger over 100 feet and hit a bullseye. He might not have that precise skill any longer, but he could probably come close to whatever he was aiming at.

  “Do you think Sonny would mind if I took a few of them?” Henry asked.

  He wasn’t really asking if Sonny would mind. He was asking if Zel and Sonny’s sword would mind.

  They were what governed him at the moment.

  “No, not at all,” Zel said politely, as if all he had asked was for her to pass the potatoes or something silly like that.

  He took a few steps toward that wall, saw several daggers in their sheaths.

  He was wearing a regular belt with his jeans, and that would do. He took six dagger frogs that looked like they might hold a sheathed dagger. Then he began the slow task of threading the belt through his belt loops, and making sure there were dagger frogs every few inches.

  Zel helped, adjusting them and getting them into place. Having her so close made him uncomfortable. Right now, he wanted to think about the task at hand, not about how he felt about her.

  So, he focused on—of all things—the frogs.

  They weren’t really frogs, of course. They were designed bits of leather or metal that hung off a belt. They had their own loops in the back, and they would securely hold daggers—or so he hoped.

  He’d never used dagger frogs, although the
y had been a part of his life for much of his life in the Kingdoms.

  Froggy with frogs. Ready to fight.

  The very thought made him feel like an imposter.

  But it didn’t matter how he felt. All that mattered was what he did. So he gathered those sheathed daggers and stuck them into the frogs, tugging from side to side to make sure they wouldn’t come loose as he walked.

  The daggers added several pounds of weight to an area he wasn’t used to carrying any. They would slow him down if he had to run.

  Of course, if he had to run, he was doing all of this wrong.

  Zel stepped back, her expression tense and dark.

  “Look at us,” she said. “Going to war.”

  She was trying to make her voice sound light. Or maybe she was astonished, and the words showed it.

  No matter how she felt about it—no matter how he felt about it—they were going to war.

  And they both knew it.

  Now, he was going to have to do the harder part. He was going to have to spell them to Sonny, and he was going to have to do so while holding Zel and staying in touch with that sword—without holding it.

  Henry felt a bit dizzy, thinking about it, all that he had to do.

  It was like throwing daggers. He hadn’t thrown a dagger in decades (centuries?) and he hadn’t completed a complex spell in not quite as long. But long ago.

  He was out of practice. Badly out of practice.

  And to make matters worse, he had not only his life on the line, but Zel’s life as well.

  Then he felt an internal twinge of dark amusement. He hadn’t even considered Sonny’s life.

  A large part of Henry was already convinced that Sonny was dead.

  Henry wouldn’t have agreed to do any of this at all, if it weren’t for the explosion and smoke cloud hovering over his neighborhood or the way that Selda had acted, as if her mind had been frozen and locked away, barely accessible.

  If it wasn’t for the attack on Zel, which angered him on an old, deep level.

  Even if he died on this journey—and he just might—then he would do so to defend all of them. He would be the hero Tiana had always wanted him to be, the hero he had been raised to be, so very long ago.