"I hope so." She blushed. In the moonlight filtering through the clouds, Lance watched her blush turn different colors other than pink. He decided he liked it on her. Who wanted an ordinary girl when he could have Glori?
Would he ever have Glori? They had known each other for a little more than a week. Was there anything between them besides her problems and his problems, and the hopeful partnership to resolve them?
"So, what do you like to eat? I really didn't have a place in mind, just thought we'd drive until we find something," he said.
"Anything. Literally." She slouched a little in the front seat of the truck and her gaze fastened on the road lost in darkness ahead of them. "Right now, I'm able to eat and enjoy everything and anything. Kind of depressing. Not that I'm a picky eater when I'm normal, but..." She sighed and shrugged and slouched a little lower.
"But what?"
"There's something to be said for being able to go into ecstasy over peanut butter and jelly. Everything tastes so much better, lately. Everything is wonderful. All my senses are on overload and I think I'll miss it when...when this problem is over."
"Oh." Immediately he pictured Glori going into ecstasies over a simple goodnight kiss. He wanted to see her shoot off sparks, like she did when she ate chocolate in the morning. He wanted to know he could make her shiver and glow. He wanted to know it was him, and not the bad influence of her change of life. He almost swore out loud, and clenched his fists around the steering wheel.
The truck swerved. Now he did swear, and gripped the wheel so hard his fingers tore through the padded leather cover. He saw the tree on the side of the highway reaching for them and yanked the wheel. Just before he could breathe a sigh of relief at that escape, the truck jolted.
He had forgotten about the ditch between the highway and the fence and trees.
Another hard yank on the wheel brought the wobbling truck back onto the berm. Lance slammed on the brake and skidded to a stop amid flying gravel.
Just a few minutes ago, he had liked knowing he and Glori were the only ones on the highway. Every bit of privacy for them was precious. Now, he felt totally abandoned. He sat still for a few seconds, listening to the engine whine and cough, and then die. He heard a hiss as a puff of steam rose from under the hood. The chirring of crickets blasted through the walls of the truck as if someone had set the volume to chop-and-liquefy.
"That was a little weird," Glori muttered.
Lance took a deep breath and opened the door. He had to figure out what had happened. Or maybe it was several somethings, all hitting with amazing timing.
By the time he got his rebellious cell phone working--when he had never had even a speck of static before on this stretch of highway before--and AAA came to get them, it was nearly ten. Lance fought his bad mood, which felt like sand under his skin and trickling down his back. He knew part of it was irritation with his normally trouble-free truck. How in the world did two tires go flat at the same time the radiator decided to boil over? And how did oil get into the transmission fluid and transmission fluid get into the oil?
Part of it was watching the moon come up and seeing it look a little smaller, a little closer to a crescent, every time he blinked. Less than a week until the dark of the moon. He wouldn't be able to see Glori, then. She wouldn't want to see him.
Lance settled for the closest restaurant the AAA worker could drop them at, and called for delivery of a rental car. Glori brightened up a little when they walked into the 24-hour, all-you-can-eat buffet. She had been unusually silent while they waited for help to come, but Lance suspected he could blame that on his tendency to pace along the side of the highway, scuff the gravel and mumble curses. Maybe now she would start talking again. He loved listening to her voice.
On the plus side, so late at night, there weren't many people around. He and Glori could talk about anything and everything, and nobody would overhear them and think them strange.
On the negative side, there weren't many people around. Lance couldn't believe this restaurant was such a dive. He had been in here dozens of times and it always looked bright and clean and the food smelled fantastic. That couldn't be attributed just to the crowded conditions, could it? Looking at the place now, with napkins and straw wrappers, silverware and mixed vegetables on the floor, he wondered what had gone wrong. The tables had shiny coatings interspersed with crumbs, in the few places where their surfaces could be seen through piles of dirty dishes.
No steam at all came from the steam tables, and that wasn't a good sign.
"Ah...table for two," he said, to the gum-cracking, pimply-faced, size-twenty-in-size-twelve jeans, bewhiskered old woman who came to the register. After he and Glori had stood there for nearly ten minutes.
"Sure. Sit wherever." She gestured at the tangle of empty tables with one hand while ringing up their bill on the register with the other.
The register refused to open and the white paper tape spooled out, hitting her in the face. She cursed and staggered backwards. Lights flashed on the register and it started playing a tune among all the beeps and pings.
Glori's eyes got big and she backed away. Toward the door.
A good idea. Lance hooked his arm through hers and tried to keep from bolting. The woman at the register didn't even blink as they fled outside.
After walking three blocks, and calling the rental place to find out when the car would be delivered, they ended up at a burger joint Lance had never seen before. They got their burgers and fries and sat down in the first booth, where they could see the badly lit street out front. Like someone had lifted a gate, a parade of roaches and silverfish streamed out of cracks in the walls and over the back of the booth seats. Glori let out a squeal, dropped her burger--which immediately vanished under a wave of wriggly carapaces--and fled outside.
The car, when it pulled up five minutes later, was a candy apple red, vintage convertible.
Before he quite knew why he did it, Lance took the car down a couple back roads, into territory that only hormonally anxious teens admitted existed. Adults, if they wanted to retain their sanity, wisely forgot about the old quarry with the spectacular view of the entire valley and the city spread out before it in the moonlight. Or the convenient clumps of trees that muffled all sound so every car and courting couple had an assurance of privacy.
"Uh, Lance?" Glori sat up a little straighter and glanced all around their parking spot.
A sheer wall of shale rose up on the left, only two feet from her door. The plateau was relatively flat, until it dropped off straight down, six feet from Lance's door. Tangled branches of dead trees were looped with vines, creating a canopy overhead and blocking the way ahead of them. But on the left side of the car, they had a spectacular view of the valley and city, like diamonds glowing in the darkness. Or would faerie lights be more appropriate?
"Great, isn't it?"
"Why are we here?" She looked up at the shadows of vines and dead branches. There wasn't a breath of wind, but those shadows seemed to be moving.
"You know, I never came here when I was a kid. Never found a pretty girl who'd come up here with me."
"But why?" Glori let out a little squeak when Lance slid over on the wide bench seat and slid an arm around her shoulders.
"You never heard of Lovers' Lane?" His heart thudded so loud and hard, he could barely hear the crickets chirring. He felt his pulse in the roots of his teeth. And other anatomical reactions he hadn't thought he would ever feel with a real girl next to him.
"This isn't a lane. It's a--" Glori tried to move over against the door, but he tightened his arm around her.
"I really want to kiss you. When are we ever going to get the privacy for that?" His voice dropped to a husky whisper by the time he got to the last word.
"Kiss?" She went perfectly still. Those big green eyes of hers got big and glowed like they were filled with stars. "You want to kiss me?"
"Something wrong with that?" He grinned and adjusted his hold on her, since she certain
ly wasn't stiff and pulling away now. Lance suspected there was enough room in the front seat to lift Glori up onto his lap. Which would certainly make kissing a whole lot easier.
"No. I just thought you weren't...interested in me anymore."
"If I was any more interested, we'd have to get a hotel room."
"Why would-- Oh!"
This close, Lance caught the full impact of the delicate shifts of color in her skin when she blushed. Who wanted an ordinary Human girl when he had Glori?
"Do you mind?" he whispered.
"Let's take it one step at a time." She slid one hand up his chest, trembling a little as she trailed her fingertips around his neck, then hooked her arm around it, to hold herself up close against him. "Like this?"
"Leave the driving to me, okay?"
Glori giggled as he lowered his mouth to hers, and the sound tickled, buzzing deep inside his mouth.
Fireworks. Only better. Freight trains rumbled through his whole body and thunder made his fingertips buzz. Glori tasted of peaches, strawberries and honey.
Lance made himself move slowly, just because he didn't have enough experience to have confidence. He wanted this kiss to be as memorable for her as it would be for him.
After all, didn't he have a tradition of knights rescuing fair maidens in his family line? He had a reputation to live up to, even if he hadn't contributed to that reputation yet.
"Hmmm, nice," Glori whispered, the first time Lance paused to take a breath and open his eyes to get his bearings.
Her eyes stayed closed. Somehow she had ended up on his lap, with both her arms around his neck and every bit of her pressed up against him, soft and warm and pliant. Lance tangled his fingers in the long curls spilling down her back, and sparkles rose from his touch. He laughed, remembering how he had once thought fireflies were Faeries. With Glori nestled safe and warm on his lap, he was definitely glad Faeries weren't that small. He liked big girls. Life-size girls. Sweet-tasting, warm, smiling, willing girls who knew he was under a curse and didn't mind at all.
That lowered his temperature about ten degrees. Glori knew he was under a curse, but had he ever told her the full, intimate, disgusting details?
"Uh, Glori--" Lance stopped himself. Only an idiot would ruin the moment with ugly bits of truth.
She took the decision out of his hands when she hitched herself up against him and took his mouth prisoner.
Lance had to hand it to her. Glori had started out as a novice about fifteen minutes ago, but she was a fast learner. Of course, his experience wasn't that extensive, either.
Right at that moment, he decided he and Glori were going to be together a long time, experimenting and learning from each other.
The buzzing in his fingertips grew stronger. Hotter. The freight trains in his blood rumbled harder.
Something hit the back of his head, hard, sharp and scratching. Lance shrugged his shoulders, blaming mosquitoes.
"Dead to the world, boys." The surly voice was disgustingly familiar.
Glori twitched and her mouth went perfectly still against his.
"Don't stop," Lance whispered. "Maybe they'll go away."
"I heard that, you ungrateful, slobbering, brainless--"
Chapter Ten
Rector Willoughby's tirade was swallowed up in an avalanche of curses from the ghostly roundup. The branches overhead swayed and bits of vines and bird nests and then twigs and leaves rained down. Glori yelped when someone's anger gave him the energy to yank on her shirt, exposing her lacy, glittery green bra.
Well, not that much of a bra, more like a camisole, with not much underneath it. There wasn't much at all to Glori, all fluff and glitter and starlight and--
"Not much underneath it?" she squealed, and jerked herself off his lap. "So, what were we doing, if there's not much to me?"
"Glori--" Lance winced and cursed as a branch slapped him across the face. Shouldn't he have known it when she started reading his mind? He scrambled up on his knees in the seat and swung his arms, deflecting the waving, dipping branches. "Come on out and fight like real men!"
The total silence from the ghosts slammed down like a twenty-ton freighter. He realized half a second too late, that was the wrong thing to say. Even if it did stop the attack.
"Kind of sad when the only real men around are ghosts," Squire Rigley snarled.
"Prepare to die, vile creature of magic!" Sir Mortimer howled. He streaked through the tangle of branches and vines, bearing an all-too-solid clothesline pole with its metal hook sharpened.
"Good-bye!" Glori yelped. She vanished in a spurt of green and gold sparks.
Well, at least something was working right tonight.
"Wait a minute." Lance ducked as the pole slammed into the seat only three inches from his ribs. He swung, but it was useless trying to cold cock Mortimer. "You've been here the whole time, haven't you?" He ended on a roar that sent half the ghosts sprawling through the night. Far more effective than trying to clobber them. He wished he had thought of the tactic years ago.
Fury made his hands shake as he jammed the keys into the ignition and slammed the car into reverse. A flicker of movement and light gave him hope for a moment, but it was only Dudley, settling into the seat. No chance Glori had come back.
"Not a bit of royal blood in her," the scholarly ghost sighed, after Lance had driven most of the way home in silence.
"Yeah, and what's that supposed to mean?"
"She kissed you. Most willingly. If she was even distantly royal, the curse should have broken."
"Really?" Lance growled at the red light ahead of him. As if it heard, the light flickered quickly to green. "How would I have known?"
Dudley opened his mouth to answer--and froze in that position for a good five seconds. For the first time Lance could recall, the scholarly ghost had no answer. They pulled up in front of the house and Dudley vanished. Lance's feet dragged as he made his way to the back door and went in through the kitchen.
Another first in his life: no ghost came zipping through a wall to interrogate him. No coarse guffaws came from the TV room. No chill in the air as he climbed the stairs. No scowling face peered out of the mirror at him when he stepped into the bathroom. No disgruntled ancestor stole his towel or turned the water to cold when he took his shower.
Lance thought he could get used to this change from his unwanted roommates. However, he suspected the ghosts would be back too soon, to make him pay for his perceived impertinence toward his elders, whom he had to respect whether they did anything to deserve it or not. They couldn't stay away. It was the nature of the curse.
Too bad Glori could--and most likely would--stay away. That was probably part of the curse, too.
* * * *
"Never, ever, ever again," Glori moaned. The triple chocolate ice cream slowly melting into a vat of peanut butter sauce had materialized in front of her the moment she stumbled through the door of her house. For the first time she could ever remember, she didn't want or need--and even felt slightly nauseated by--the thought and sight and smell of all that chocolate and sugar and fat.
When had that ever happened?
About twenty minutes ago, when she had tasted Lance's kiss. There were some things even more intoxicating than dark chocolate and diet cherry cola. Lance Knight was the most potent.
And she would never kiss him again.
Why hadn't she asked Matilda about the specific details of the curse? A half second later she answered herself. Because she should have known. Feathedora was notorious for her long-lasting, multi-layered curses, reaching to the third generation.
The problem was that Lance was somewhere past the twentieth generation.
The only way Glori could see to break the curse, without forcing Lance to endure Theodosius making a pass at him, was for Lance to father a daughter. The curse only clung to the men. The ghosts most likely wouldn't be able to latch onto a girl of their bloodline. They would probably be horrified at the thought of a woman as their heir,
and just implode if they didn't vanish into the Afterlife. If Lance had a daughter, the suffering would be ended.
But what if she was wrong? How could she inflict that kind of suffering on an innocent child?
For that matter, how could Lance's ancestors have inflicted that kind of life on any of their descendants?
From what Matilda had told her about Mortimer, Glori had her answer. They were all arrogant, testosterone-poisoned, oblivious, self-righteous-- The list of negative male attributes could go on and on into infinity.
"But Lance isn't anything like them!" she wailed, and put her head down on the table.
After making sure she didn't get an ice cream facial.
The only thing Glori could be sure of now was that even if she could convince Lance to try to have a daughter, it would take magic to ensure that birth. Magic she didn't have. Not at that level of fine-tuned control. Not until she had taken care of the Need. Lance could cure the Need, but it would require a long-term commitment from him.
Suppose Lance wanted to bind his life to hers for the rest of his life? She couldn't marry Lance, because the ghosts wouldn't give them a moment's peace. How could she and Lance conceive a child--just the thought of that created a warm, electric thrill that stole her breath--if they couldn't have any privacy?
No, the best thing to do for Lance was for her to go away to an Enclave, take a mate from the least repulsive of the males there, and use her restored magic to find him the perfect wife. And then make sure they conceived a daughter on their honeymoon.
After that, Glori would just have to retire to an Enclave for the next hundred years, until she knew Lance was dead and gone.
For his sake, she would do it. No matter how much it hurt.
No matter how many great shows she would miss on TV.
No matter how much she wanted just one more kiss from Lance.
* * * *
Lance didn't show up at the daycare the next morning. Glori really hadn't expected him to. Either the ghosts had given him an extra difficult time for consorting with the enemy, or he was too ashamed and too careful of her feelings to show his face.
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