by Alisha Basso
“What’s more,” she continued, “whoever’s stoking the Doom is bright enough to make the fear look like an Internet meme gone viral.”
I returned to my cube for another look at my function. She was right. My face felt hot. “Any ideas who?”
“Some,” she said. “But you first, Master.”
I chewed on my pride, and it was tough, but I managed to say, “A team, I think. Or maybe a single really powerful mage. In my own defense, I tried to find out who. But my seeker incantation didn’t work.”
“Really? What if you used your brains instead of magic?” She smiled as if to take the sting out of her words, but the smug glint in her eyes kept it from working. “How many teams are there in the world, two dozen? And even fewer ‘top echelon’ wizards.”
Her words knifed me to the quick. I hadn’t thought of that, and she had. My shame escalated. “All right, you can help. We need to write down all the teams—”
“I’d go with the single wizard theory first.” She clicked her pen, ka-click ka-clickity.
“I see.” All things aside, that clickety-click still made my eye twitch. “Why is that?”
“Teams have to link. That induces a low level of karmic interference, a sort of buzz that can be felt. Unless there was a massive cover-up, only a wizard working alone could go undetected for a whole year.”
Dammit, she was right again. I ignored my wounded pride and forced myself to consider the implications. “That really narrows things down. There’s Kasper in Moscow and Diya in Africa—”
“You want it to be a stranger, I understand.” Her voice was gentle, and surely I imagined the condescension in it. “But there’s a top-level wizard in your backyard. A wizard who’s spent months pretending the Mayan Doom doesn’t exist—and who’s kept anyone else from discovering it too, by assigning them to a project to disprove it. A wizard who must be the one unleashing the nightmare gods.”
“The Chief?” Horror seeped into my veins. “No, it can’t be.”
She was wrong. It was more than my not wanting it to be someone I knew. Chief Wizard was a position I’d been taught to honor. The Chief was our leader, our role model. He was powerful but always balanced and fair. The Chief would never betray us like that.
Even if he weren’t Chief, Arnie Wenkermann would never do that. Ex–drill sergeant, a first-class combat mage for heaven’s sake. I’d only been working for him for six months, but in that time I’d come to respect him. He was gruff and volatile, but his heart was in the right place.
Wasn’t it?
Could Francie be right? Had Wenkermann, our Chief, sold out humanity by feeding our fears and weakening us for takeover by the nightmare gods?
No. She didn’t have a shred of proof. My jaw kicked up. I rejected the very idea.
And yet…I’d rejected her help too. Wrongly, as it turned out, for the poor reason that she’d annoyed me from the start.
The least I could do was give her the benefit of the doubt. And in that case, what she’d said made appalling sense.
“You may be right,” I said slowly. “We don’t have any proof, either way.” Fortunately, I was a research wizard. “But I know how to find out.”
Chapter Six
I swept out of my cubicle to confront Chief Wenkermann in his office. This was the woman I was once, facing a problem head on and solving it.
My parents’ deaths had changed that. Death is not a problem you can solve. Scream at it, punch it, argue sense with it, even try to buy it off with oaken caskets and satin coffin pillows. It doesn’t change anything.
Dead is dead. Those left living suffer.
How can I explain the pain? The way the world turns gray in one crushing blow, the way sitcoms keep laughing at jokes sucked dry? When they died I felt like the worst of winter stormed inside me, eternal cold, colorless, lifeless. Everything lifeless. I wanted to give up and die too.
And then one day daffodils bloomed in the snow outside, stupid flowers that didn’t know enough to give up and die. And a strange feeling entered my heart. Hope. It was the start of my recovery.
I still spent the next years cringing from another blow as hard as my parents’ death. When my cancer showed up it was almost a relief. The other shoe had dropped, hooray. My future was assured.
Not really. In truth I was horrified, sick, and scared. Horrified by the machines drilling into my flesh like skewers into gelatin, leaving a spoor of markers and shunts. Sick of the poisons pumped through me. Scared by what else I’d have to suffer, physical pain, yes, but more, the indignity of being cut like meat but for the best of reasons so I had to smile and say “Thank you.”
Facing death is hard work. Much easier to face the Chief.
If Wenkermann was innocent, great. If not, he was the enemy, and I’d figure a way to take him out. Hopefully that would end the threat of the Mayan Doom. I was a little short on details but at ten twenty five, shorter on time.
I strode into his office with barely a knock.
The Chief was at his desk, scowling at some paperwork. “Jones.” He scribbled something on a form and flipped to another page without looking up. “Isn’t Frankie-Frankie keeping you out of trouble?”
“Francie Frankie.” I realized I’d expected him to look guilty or innocent. Instead he just looked harried. “Her name is Francie, Chief.”
“Yeah. But I keep thinking of her as Frankie-Frankie. Like Frankenstein’s monster.” He glanced at me with a grimace. “Those dimples.”
My twinge of sympathy nearly turned me around and made me walk out.
But someone was screwing with the balance, and if it was Wenkermann, I had to know. “Look Chief, Frankie…I mean Francie isn’t the issue. The issue is the Mayan Doom.”
His eyes narrowed. “Are we back to that nonsense?”
I leaned knuckles on his desk and narrowed my eyes back at him. “It isn’t nonsense, and moreover, I think I know who’s behind it.”
“You have proof?” He reared back. In guilt? Or simple surprise? “That’s different.”
Again, not the reaction I was expecting. Honest mistake or misdirection? “I had proof before. You ignored it.”
“Numbers are too easily faked. But if you have solid evidence, I need to see it. Look, I’m trying to suppress public panic, not cover a true karmic attack.”
I blinked. He was giving me reasonableness instead of guilt or anger? Was Francie wrong? “Well, I—”
“Wizard Jones, Wizard Jones, wait!” Frankie-Frankie…damn it, Francie skied in on her platform sneakers, breasts bobbling. Both Wenkermann and I swiveled heads, though not for the same reason. Hey, enemy or not, the Chief was still a guy.
I started to growl “not now” and remembered I was giving her the benefit of the doubt. “What is it, Francie?”
“He just struck again.” She shoved a graph under my nose. I flinched back, suddenly conscious of how annoying it had been when I’d done it to Wenkermann. “I’m not myopic, Francie,” I said dryly. “Move it back some?”
She pulled back and I saw the bad news.
The graph covered the last half hour, in minute increments. A sharp karmic rise about fifteen minutes ago looked like a short ski lift. Not up to the zero line, but enough that another few jumps like it would have done the trick. I knew what caused that rise, sex magic with a jinni, and blushed.
But right at the end, the graph hooked sharply down. Something had eaten away Rafe’s and my gain in the last two minutes, while I was here arguing with Wenkermann.
It was the psychic equivalent of an alibi. Wenkermann couldn’t be the enemy.
I was back to square one. My body deflated, shoulders bowing. It felt like square negative a thousand. I’d had more ups and downs in the past two hours than in my whole illness, and that was saying something. I’d have felt sorry for myself if I’d had time. As it was, the graph made it abundantly clear that if Rafe and I were going to rebalance the world through Venus magic, it had to be done now.
“I have to go.”
“I’ll come too!” Francie bubbled on her toes, making the Chief’s eyes fall out of his head.
I thumbed my temple. Francie “coming” in the same breath as sex magic. Forget the toilet brush. This would take caustic chemicals and a floor scrubber. Dropping my hand I turned. “Um, Chief? Could you…?” I nodded toward her. Turn off the bubble machine.
To Wenkermann’s credit, he didn’t argue, only acted. He pulled out a stack of forms labeled “New Employee” and shoved them in a clipboard. “Frankie, fill these out.”
I left Francie with the Chief and new hire paperwork. That’d keep her busy through the Mayan Doom and beyond (come to think of it, paperwork might be the fifth horse of the Apocalypse). Wenkermann’s selfless act, sticking himself in the Francie-line-of-fire, solidified his candidacy for sainthood in my mind, or at least confirmed he wasn’t the enemy.
My feet headed for the meditation rooms. My head argued the whole way. Bad idea, Amaia, you were half in love with imaginary Rafe. Now he’s real, and better than he was in your head. Since when was a real life guy better than a dream guy?
Oh yeah, since he was an all-powerful jinni.
I stepped into the elevator and pressed five. Little ol’ human me didn’t stand a chance. Smelling him, touching him, tasting him, and more, having him touch me, his magic thrusting into my pelvis… Sweet exploding chakras. Several more orgasms in the next hour. Would I survive? I’d have to work hard to keep my focus and especially my heart intact.
Deep inside me, a tiny part wondered if losing either would be such a bad thing.
The elevator opened and I shuffled out, headed toward the meditation room. Yeah, save the world. Wasn’t as heroic as it sounded. But it was damned necessary.
In my pocket, my cell phone started vibrating. Hooray, a reprieve. I stopped and dug the phone out.
I held it without looking at it. A reprieve? Or was I really just avoiding my duty?
My jaw clenched. Maybe I wasn’t a hero, but I was practical. Again, the answer to “now or never” was “now”. With a shallow breath I jammed the phone back in my pocket and mentally prepared myself for seeing Rafe again, in an effort not to be overwhelmed. I opened the door and stepped inside.
I couldn’t ever have prepared enough.
He was sitting lotus on my pillow. Stars above, he was huge, both his body and his sheer presence filling the room. And so very beautiful. Overwhelmed? Try totally destroyed. I pressed the door shut with my back. I locked it by feel alone.
His eyes were closed, lashes black against the flawless thrust of his cheeks, face still as a calm lake. If his size punched me in the chest, his stern beauty punched me in the gut. Smooth, intelligent forehead. Straight nose, dark kissable mouth. A jaw to crack walnuts on. Broad shoulders, chest as deep as an Arabian stallion. Powerful arms, hands large and competent, fingers strong yet graceful. Ripped abdomen leading down to…oh, my. Oh…my.
The top of a very powerful erection jutted from the waistband of his pants.
My eyes snapped back to his in surprise.
His were open and totally black—the all-knowing, glittering black depths of space.
I sucked air. It caught in my throat, and I choked and started coughing. Hopefully not getting sick, with my chemo-ized immune system.
Rafe rose fluidly to his feet, inhumanly fast, blurring to stand next to me. He circled my shoulders with a heavy arm and pressed his palm to my breastbone. There he held me, firmly yet so very gently, radiating heat into my chest, easing tension from my muscles, warming my body. Warming my heart.
My hacking subsided. I looked up in wonder. His eyes had softened to black velvet pools. I could fall into them and lose myself forever. My heart contracted in a painful desire to do just that.
It scared me.
Dammit, I’d decided to do this sex thing. But I needed to do it without completely losing my heart, my center, or myself.
I didn’t curse Dennis this time, but my parents. It was just as useful in changing the situation (not at all) and didn’t even make me feel better by releasing my anger. I’m ashamed to admit I lashed out at Rafe instead. “Thanks for the assist, but I’m dying anyway. A little less coughing isn’t going to make a difference.”
He just continued caressing warmth into my chest. “Easing your discomfort doesn’t cost me much. I’m happy to do it.”
“I don’t want your pity.” I grabbed his warm hand and shoved.
It stayed planted. “It’s not pity that moves me.”
“Oh yeah? What, then?” I waited for mushy words that I could throw back in his face, mushier emotions I had to reject.
“Simple self-interest.” His tone had gone desert-dry. “You can’t have proper orgasms if you’re hurking up body parts.”
“Oh.” I blushed, feeling strangely cheated. “Well, okay then.” I frowned. “Wait. How did you know I decided to go through with the Venus magic?” Mind-reading again?
“You came back, didn’t you?” I don’t need to read your mind to understand your thoughts.
I gave up trying to push his hand away and simply ducked out of his circling arm. “For a deadly strong jinni you are so annoying.” I stopped, my cheeks burning, surprised he didn’t blast me for my insolence. “Just saying.”
“I’m annoying? Ah, how human. Now my life is complete.” A tiny smile curved his lips.
I blinked, dazed at what that small, warm expression did to his face. If he’d been sternly gorgeous before, he was can’t breathe stunning now.
I choked on my own damned drool and started coughing again.
He laughed, a sound as rich as cocoa, and flickered to my side. This time he worked his warm, dangerous healing by pressing his whole body against me. The laughter vibrating against my chest, against my heart, was even more dangerous.
I pushed away, really pushing away my stupid feminine melting. No, his stupid jinn charisma. “Dammit, Rafe, time’s wasting. Let’s get this over with.”
He shot me another of those small, amused smiles and stepped back to put his palms together and bow to me, very fluid, very old-world, as if he had just popped out of a lamp of legend. “Your command, my mistress.”
“I’m not…ummph.”
Without seeming to try, he reached out, snagged me and winched me tight to his hard torso. Cupping my neck in one hand he drove his tongue straight past my teeth.
It was like a flame filling my mouth. Good thing he was holding me because I instantly shook like a leaf. No, more violently. Like an earthquake. His tongue was big and hot, his taste the spice of ancient magic. I didn’t even notice his other hand slide down the front of my pants.
Until he touched my sex.
Lightning hit. I stiffened, all four of my limbs shooting straight. My nerves were on fire, my body cranked eek-tight. I’d gone from dry fear to wet, hot desire in a snap.
He chuckled into my mouth and I trembled, fear and excitement and breathless anticipation.
Quite deliberately he flicked his finger against my bud. I moaned, arched back. He did it again. And again, still slow and deliberate. My hips twitched, trying to make him speed up, seeking…seeking…
He smoothed his finger down the hood, the ease of glide telling me how wet I already was.
“One,” he murmured.
“One what—?”
He just smiled and shot magic straight into the tiny bundle of nerves.
I screamed as climax sheared through me. My sex pulsed with strong contractions, each a rush of white hot pleasure. I was shocked by it, how fast he’d managed it, how strong the orgasm was with no preparation.
So I only made a murmur of protest when he swept me off my feet—until he started to lay me on the daybed. That made me struggle. “Wait. Scuzzy sheets.”
“Easily fixed.” He bundled me in one arm and touched the comforter with the other. A twinkle of light and puff of fresh linen let me know the sheets were now clean. Magic, the only thing better than a personal laundry service.
Now
we may take our time, he said as he spread my naked thighs (naked? how had that happened) and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to my sex.
I bucked against him. He gripped my hips and held me firmly for his thrusting tongue, his sucking mouth. Hot licks rocketed me toward a second climax even as the first was barely finished. I moaned.
He switched grips, a heavy forearm across my belly containing me, his hand freed to stroke me. He shifted higher to tongue my hood, lapping rhythmically as he stroked with his hand. My thighs fell open and I whimpered.
He raised a finger. Long, elegant, it vibrated with magic, shimmering with visible golden energy.
He thrust that finger into me. Sucked. I throttled a cry as the orgasm billowed toward me.
Two. His finger discharged bolts of magic, bright spears of pure desire zinging through my pelvis, so sharp and sweet I cried out. Finger still thrust inside me, he clamped his thumb to the pearl of my sex and shot magic between forefinger and thumb. Spears combusted into intense waves of climax. I shouted my pleasure.
He withdrew. My waves ebbed into a relaxed glow. “Oh, heavens.” I was panting, shallowly. “How…how many more?”
He rose to his knees between my thighs. My legs looked slim and small next to his muscled mass. I gazed with admiration, albeit glazed by sated bliss. I realized belatedly that he was naked too.
Raising both arms, palms up, he closed his eyes. With his sculpted musculature he looked like some marble statue giving thanks. I recognized a trance, and was impressed at how seamless and instantaneous it was.
He opened his eyes, directly on me. We have returned the world to physical health. Three more levels to global health. Three more orgasms, Amaia. He slid a hand under my hips and lifted me to him. In my state of afterglow, I wondered how he thought he’d even get me interested, much less aroused to the fever pitch of another orgasm—
He speared me with his cock.
I nearly shattered. A single potent thrust, singing with magic, shocked me into renewed desire.
Then he started moving.
He lifted my feet to his shoulders and filled me, so deep that I moaned. His braid pressed along the back of my thigh as he thrust into me, hard, regularly, slapping into my body with the force of the earth. Friction heated my pelvis like Earth’s molten churning core. I groaned, long and low. As he kept thrusting, needy, guttural noises issued from my throat, cries that I barely recognized as mine.