by penny watson
Ingo pawed through a stack of old books in the library. He hadn’t bothered to turn on a lamp. Thin shards of moonlight filtered through the dusty windows and cast an unearthly glow around the room.
“Where the hell did I put it? It’s got to be here somewhere.” Finally he spied a teetering pile by the desk and the thick tome at the bottom looked familiar.
“Ah, got it!” He pushed the tower, scattering manuscripts on the floor. Carefully, he lifted the gold-edged book, brushing cobwebs off the leather bindings. It had been scores of years since he had the occasion to look at this volume. Even after all of this time, bits of light buzzed off the ragged edges of the spine, reminding him how powerful the Zauberwort Buch really was.
He held the ancient tome in a shaft of light, illuminating the faded pages.
What are you gonna do, Ingo Hertz? Verboten. Verboten. The magik of our ancestors is a sacred responsibility. Not to be used in an inappropriate manner. Not to be used for personal gain, vengeance, or evil intent.
The voice of Master Eugen echoed in his head.
His callused fingers hesitated over the book. Then the image of Lys struggling to free herself from Per’s grip popped into his mind. He flipped open the tome and a long sigh was released into the air. Swirls of dust laced with magik funneled upward from the yellowed-pages and disappeared into the darkness.
The Zauberwort Buch jumped from his hands and started to hop across the floor. Ingo could tell the magik was warming up, getting ready for mischief. Eugen taught all of the elves that the magik must be reined in; its natural course was to “run toward trouble.” He would shout “Dicke Luft!” (trouble’s brewing) as streams of unrestrained magik swirled throughout the classroom, teasing the students, attempting to incite them.
Ingo distinguished himself from an early age as a Magik Bändiger, or magik tamer. Only certain elves were capable of this feat. It required the ability to trick the magik, which was extremely difficult. Magik was crafty and cunning and had a mind of its own. Tricking it at its own game entailed complex strategies depending on the energy involved. Ingo always enjoyed devising traps for the runaway magik, and then sitting back to watch the inevitable downfall.
Master Eugen had been disappointed that he had not apprenticed as a Bändiger, but the Hertz family had a long and distinguished history as woodworkers, and Ingo’s talent with the wood rivaled his talent with the magik.
Ingo felt the familiar thrill of power course through him as he dove for the book, grappling with it as it snapped at his fingers.
“Halt!” he barked at the irksome Buch. Too bad these spells don’t work on elves, or I’d give Per a night he would never forget. The elfin magik worked on the human population, but not on other elves. It was a built-in protection for their well-being.
Fumbling in the darkness, he found a candle on his desk and lit it. He carefully pulled apart the dusty pages of the book until he found a section entitled Herz Magik, Heart Magik. He nodded as he perused the ancient spells, searching for one he remembered from long ago. Once he located the enchantment, he knocked about his house collecting various items… scraps of paper, more candles, a newspaper article, a button, and finally a page ripped from his new calendar in the kitchen.
Ingo placed the Zauberwort Buch in the center of his desk, opened to a spell called Zottig Herz (Ragged Heart). First he scribbled his name and Oskar’s onto a piece of paper and placed it on the tome. Then, he took the calendar insert and held it over the flickering flame of the candle, scorching the date January first, just above the image of a crescent moon. He searched the calendar for the full moon. January eleventh. Eleven days of misery. He singed the square marked eleven, blackening the plump full moon.
Ingo rubbed the mother-of-pearl button in his callused fingers and reverently placed it atop the book. Then the article, torn from a Klaus Enterprise newsletter. Every spare candle in his home was scattered on the tabletop, looking like a collection of ominous stalagmites. He took a deep breath and swallowed the last of the liquor from his flask. The empty container fell to the ground, clattering on the floor.
Ingo began to recite the words, dictated centuries ago. For one brief moment, his voice wavered as he thought of Lys and her sweet smiling face. She was all goodness and light, and he knew she would not approve of this act of vengeance. But the images of Wiebe’s laughing face and Per tugging at Lys’ waist swirled inside his brain and his voice gained momentum as the ancient words rolled off his tongue. Again and again he uttered the spell, until he collapsed in a drunken stupor on the floor. As he fell into a foggy slumber, Ingo could hear the Zauberwort Buch rattling on the table, brimming with mischief.
There was only one reason Kiana Grant was mingling with the rich and famous at such an elegant New Year’s Eve event. She and her roommate Trish lived in the same building as financial powerhouse Gregor Klaus. Thanks to an inheritance from her grandmother, Trish was able to afford a luxury apartment on a graduate student’s stipend. Unfortunately, Trish had a date tonight, so Kiana had to brave the posh party on her own.
She’d attended Gregor’s cocktail parties in the past and always felt like an imposter. Surrounded by the Manhattan socialite crew made her hyper aware she was a transplant to this city. The women wore silk black sheaths, enough bling to bankrupt Tiffany’s, perfect upswept hair-dos and darkly polished nails. The men reminded her of a pack of wolves… assessing her in every way, flashing artificially white teeth in a rehearsed smile that gave her chills. Thank God for Gregor’s family.
Standing next to the Klaus brothers made her feel like a fairy lost in a sea of giants. Muscular, sexy, devastatingly handsome giants. Right away she’d discovered the sexy giants were friendly and surprisingly down to earth. She couldn’t remember the last time she laughed so much. Their good-natured ribbing, well-informed conversation, and genuine warmth had put her at ease instantly.
Well, all of them except for the youngest brother, Oskar.
The snowboarding wiz had completely discomposed her. He had a ridiculous hair-cut, spiky and dyed a neon green color. His forearms were covered with a strange array of tattoos, and his clothes had a rumpled, careless feel about them. His whole look screamed Bad Boy, her least favorite type. Despite his preposterous appearance, he exuded a certain masculine sex appeal that was difficult to ignore.
She had to admit his strong, athletic build was impressive. It was hard not to notice the bulging biceps beneath the odd tattoos. But his eyes were by far his best trait. Emerald green, intense, raking over her in a heated, searching way. A way that had her rattled. Was he blind? She had her fail-proof armor in place… the glasses, the bun, the ugly gray outfit. That green-eyed gaze made her extremely uncomfortable, as though he could see through her facade.
Why did Oskar Klaus make her so nervous? What was she afraid of?
That he would see through her disguise, and realize how out of place she was, chatting with a bunch of rich city folk? Only Kiana knew what she’d left behind for a life of stability and security. Gently swaying palm trees. Apricot-slashed sunsets and the roar of the sea. She’d traded it all for life in the city, surrounded by steel, concrete and relentless noise. The library offered her the only respite from the harsh city. Within the stacks of books she found peace and tranquility, and the reassuring rustle of printed pages.
Some things were worth the sacrifice, however. She’d left risk-taking, womanizing bad boys behind in Oahu, and had no intention of revisiting them. Ever.
A waiter approached her with a tray of teas. “Would you like some more hot water, ma’am? Another orange pekoe?”
“Yes, please, just a little would be fine.”
Sven leaned towards her and gestured to the teacup. “You sure you don’t want a little pick-me-up in there, Kiana? It is New Year’s Eve, after all. Even librarians get to live it up on the first of the year.” He winked at her and she laughed.
“No thanks, Sven. I’ll just stick with the orange pekoe.”
“I have my e
ye on you. I just know you’re going to be dancing on the table tops by the end of the night.”
Wolfie let out a long-suffering sigh. “Sven, are you trying to corrupt this nice, young woman? Soon he’ll have you doing shots of tequila and listening to Bob Marley.” He shot his brother a disapproving look.
Kiana shook her head. “I think I’ll leave that to the supermodels.”
Wolfgang chuckled and piled some more appetizers on his plate. “So, Kiana, Greg told me you work at the New York Public Library. By any chance are you involved with the New York Children’s Literacy Project? It’s one of my favorite causes.”
She beamed at Wolfie. “I am involved! We set up appointments with the mentors and the children at the library. It’s a very popular program. The Literacy Project is a great organization.”
Wolfie nodded. “There’s a big benefit coming up. Klaus Enterprises is one of the sponsors, and I’m interested in getting your advice about some of the activities we have planned. Would that be okay?”
“I would love to. Thanks so much for asking,” she answered, thrilled that Wolfie was including her.
Sven stole a quiche from Wolfie’s plate. “I’m looking forward to it, even though Gregor has informed me under no circumstances am I allowed to wear my Birkenstocks to a Manhattan fund-raiser.” He stared down at his feet, encased in black dress socks and some well-worn Birkies. Kiana laughed.
“Are all of your brothers attending?” She snuck a look at Oskar, surrounded by a cluster of models. Surprisingly, he looked rather bored. He glanced over and caught Kiana staring at him. Those emerald greens flashed, and he broke into a slow, teasing grin. She felt her face flame, and jerked her gaze away from Mr. Green-Haired Bad Boy.
“Yes, all of us will be there. Mom and Dad, too.” Wolfie glanced at his youngest brother. “Even Oskar will make an appearance, if he can drag himself away from the slopes for a night.”
Sven laughed. “Maybe there will be some Swedish models at the event. That will be a guaranteed enticement.”
Kiana snuck another peek at Oskar Klaus. Her eyes widened as she realized his attention was no longer focused on the supermodels. Those eyes were riveted on her. She swallowed a sip of tea and turned to face Sven. No matter how intriguing Mr. Oskar Klaus might appear, she knew his type well enough. Love ‘em and leave ‘em. She’d left all of that behind on an island in the Pacific, and she had no intention of ever returning.
Oskar slumped on the sofa with an empty plate on his lap. He must have devoured four pounds of beef tenderloin smothered in horseradish sauce. Good thing I don’t eat like this everyday, or I’d be sporting a good old-fashioned Santa belly. He smiled to himself.
Dad would be pissed if he heard me say that.
Unfortunately, the food hadn’t distracted him from his thoughts about Kiana Grant. In spite of the incessant chatter of the models, his mind kept returning to Gregor’s neighbor. One thing he had learned was not to judge someone on appearance. God knows it happened to him often enough. The woman was definitely an enigma. For some bizarre reason, she was hiding her gorgeous, goddess-like appearance beneath hideous clothes. She may have sparred with him earlier, but that hadn’t kept her from sneaking looks his way for the rest of the evening.
“Excuse me. I’m sorry to interrupt your meal. I just need to get my bag.”
The explanation came from the object of his musings, and his head snapped up at the soft, sultry voice. Kiana sat down awkwardly on the sofa and leaned over to snag her purse beneath the coffee table. All without making eye contact. He tried not to grin.
“Uh, no worries, Kiana. I’m just sitting here in a tryptophan-induced stupor. I overindulged.” He placed his plate on the coffee table and stretched out his legs in front of him, effectively cutting off her plan of escape.
She raised her eyes at the obvious ploy. “Do you mind?” she asked tersely, gesturing to his feet.
“Oh, sure.” He pulled his legs in about two inches and watched in fascination as she attempted to sashay past him in the narrow space. Her handbag tipped and a book fell out, right on top of his Doc Martens.
He leaned down to retrieve the book. “Hmm, what do we have here? A Celebration of Andy Warhol. Looks like fascinating reading.”
“It is. Although you probably wouldn’t be interested since it’s not in comic book format,” Kiana answered with a false smile.
“Oh, right, a snowboarder joke. Good one.” Kiana tried to grab the book out of his hand, but he held on. “Actually, this isn’t my favorite Warhol biography. Warhol’s Impact On Modern Art was better.” He relished the look of astonishment on her face.
“You read that?” she asked, plunking down on the sofa.
“Yep. I went through a modern art phase. Read biographies on Pollock, Warhol, and of course, Lichtenstein. You know, the whole comic book angle.” He raised a brow at Kiana.
“Touché,” she responded, blushing. “I deserved that.”
“Yep, you did.”
She surprised him with a laugh. “I… ah… apologize for my rudeness. Sometimes these parties get on my nerves.”
He nodded. “You mean the whole I-have-more-bling-than-you-do thing going on?”
She sighed and looked down at her low-heeled shoes. “Yeah. If you’re not a socialite doing the ‘circuit’ these soirées can be a bit tedious.”
“This isn’t my regular scene either. I’m usually snowboarding after Christmas. But Gregor really wanted all of us here. It’s a good thing, too. My brothers and I need to keep an eye on him… make sure he doesn’t fall off the pompous ass abyss.”
Kiana laughed. “Actually, your brothers are the best part of the party. They’re fun to talk to.”
He glanced down at the book in his hand and noticed the price tag. “Hey, is this from Brockman’s? That place rocks. He has an incredible biography section.” Her face lit up with an enormous smile, and Oskar felt like he’d been punched in the gut.
“Yes, it is. I love that shop. It’s my favorite bookstore in the city. Did you get to meet Mr. Brockman? He is such a sweetheart.”
“You mean the old guy with the bushy white eyebrows muttering under his breath? He’s a sweetheart?” he teased.
“He’s not that bad. He just doesn’t like it when people mess up his organizational system. He’s been working on it for about fifty years.”
“Yeah, I think it would take about fifty years to figure it out. But that’s part of the appeal of that place. I love meandering around the store. You don’t know what you’re going to find around the next corner.”
Kiana nodded. “I know! Every time I go there, I feel like I’m discovering a hidden treasure.”
“The old guy has no problem barking at the adults, but when the little kids are fooling around in the children’s section, he’s all smiles.”
Kiana shifted closer to him on the sofa. “Mr. Brockman adores children. His favorite activity is to have them make their own books. Then they get to read them. It’s really cute.”
“I’m having trouble imagining Mr. Brockman overseeing such a messy project in his shop. That must dent his organizational system.”
She smiled. “I volunteer on the weekends to help out. You’d be surprised how animated he gets when the kids create their own stories. He’s in heaven.”
He studied Kiana’s face and realized she was transformed by her smile. Her eyes were the most incredible shade of blue-green he’d ever seen, reminding him of a tropical sea. And her lips… her lips… I’d like a taste of that.
He shook himself mentally out of his daze. “Uh, here’s your book.” He handed her the Warhol book, and their hands brushed fleetingly. Kiana froze. A zing of electric current zapped right up his arm from the contact. He inhaled deeply and found himself staring into her blush-tinged face.
“Thank you.” She sounded breathless.
Looks like I’m not the only one being affected.
Kiana slid her glasses up her nose and looked at him sheepishly. “Sorry ab
out the leprechaun remark I made earlier.”
He barked out a laugh. “What? You don’t like green hair?”
She rewarded him with a small smile. “Well, it does match your eyes.”
“I guess I started it by ribbing you about your name. Actually, I really like the name Kiana. It’s unique.”
“Not really a good match for me, is it?” she asked, staring down at her feet.
A vision of her naked, hair streaming down her back, bathed in nothing but moonlight popped into his head. “I think it’s a great fit,” he answered softly.
Kiana gazed up at him, staring directly into his eyes. Her expression was guarded, but Oskar sensed she was searching for something. He had a perverse wish to rip off her glasses and tear the bun out of her hair, freeing the woman behind her well-crafted facade.
It had been a long time since a woman had captured his attention so effectively. God knew she was the polar opposite of the girls he usually hung out with on the slopes. But he was going to see her again. He knew that for sure. He just had to convince her it was a good idea.
“Hey, Kiana, I was wondering if you’d like to—”
“Time for the countdown!” Gregor bellowed to his guests. His brother’s announcement caught Oskar by surprise. Glasses of champagne were poured and served. People blew party horns and confetti rained down around them.
“It’s almost midnight? I guess I lost track of time.” He turned back to Kiana just as the voices started shouting.
“Ten… nine… eight… seven… ”
He wasn’t sure what prompted him to do it. He wasn’t drunk enough to embrace a woman he barely knew. But as he gazed into Kiana’s face, with the lights of the city reflected behind her in the huge glass window, something compelled him to lean forward and whisper, “Happy New Year.”
Her eyes widened and she licked her full lips, staring at his mouth with curiosity.
He never heard the end of the countdown. One minute he was leaning toward her, and the next he was lost in a tropical Eden. Sweet and lush, surrounded by warm breezes and the feel of sand beneath his bare feet. The scent of perfumed flowers filled the air, and he groaned as Kiana’s slender arms wound around his neck. She let out a breathy sigh just before her lips touched his. So softly, so gently, he wasn’t sure if it was real. He brushed his mouth over hers and she opened for him, tasting of tea and honey and paradise. Greedy for more, his hands slid under her baggy blouse, stroking the smooth skin of her back. He pressed her closer until he felt the pounding beat of her heart against his chest. Her fingers fluttered like a butterfly against the stubble on his cheek, finally resting there and tracing his jaw.