Heart's Magic

by Gail Dayton

  He grasped the wooden handle, replaced before he'd received it and still in good shape. It wasn't the handle that was the hammer, after all. Harry swung it up and held it high over his head.

  All of the alchemists in the hall shouted when the hammer reached its highest point, "Regin's!"

  Harry brought the hammer down, miming the swing of a smith, and the alchemists roared even louder. "Hammer!"

  As he swung the hammer back up again, he let go and Norwood caught it on the fly. They'd had to practice this bit some. Harry had deep pits in his back garden where they'd missed the toss and catch a time or two, which seemed a tad disrespectful, given what it was. This time, Thom caught it perfectly and carried the heavy hammer high over his head and down again while the alchemists shouted "Regin's!" and "Hammer!" once more.

  One more time Norwood swung it up and down, and this time the deep-voiced shouts were, "Thomas!" and "Norwood!" And it was done.

  No one protested. No one argued. After that first uproar, no one seemed too surprised. The process to transfer power was the same as it had been from the council's beginning. While Thom rewrapped the hammer--it was his responsibility now and wasn't Harry glad for that--magicians crowded the front of the dais to congratulate Harry, Thom, and even Sir William on his upcoming retirement.

  The old boy had promised he wouldn't disappear entirely. Elinor had twisted his arm and obtained a promise to teach one or two wizardry classes per term, which would drop his workload to perhaps a tenth of what it had been. All of those other responsibilities now rested on Harry's shoulders. Joy.

  It wasn't that he didn't want them. He did. He had ideas for things he thought needed doing. Things he could start putting into place. But it did mean a great deal more work.

  "First thing," he said to Norwood as he helped the new magister tighten the cords tying the wrapping around the Reginshammer. "We got to get somebody to take your place in the Briganti."

  "Is that necessary, sir? Magister Carteret handles Investigations Branch as well as conjurer's guild."

  Harry paused to shake another hand. "Yeah, but he's the commander. You're not. Now, if we could ease Simmons out, maybe we could make it stick--and I think maybe we can eventually, given 'is gout actin' up like it is, but it could take time. We need somebody to take over the tower right away."

  He frowned, thinking. "Maybe we can make that a separate post. Probably should. Split the tower and its operations out into a separate branch like Investigations. I-Branch, Prisons, and Enforcement." He ticked off three fingers. "Maybe you could work up a proposal on that?" He raised an eyebrow at the young alchemist.

  Norwood swallowed and nodded. "Yes, sir. I believe I could."

  Harry clapped him on the back. "Good. An' call me Harry. You're the magister now. One of us."

  "Yes, sir. Harry." Norwood was young, but Harry thought he was older than both the lady magisters. He looked even younger when he grinned, as he was now.

  Age might have had something to do with why they'd picked Harry as the new council head, he thought now. Grey was 32. Harry was at least five years older. He didn't know exactly how old he was, but he figured he could get within a year or so. His birthday was Sept. 29, Michaelmas. His mother had remembered that, just not the year. The ladies were both still in their twenties, which made him the old man of the bunch. Around ten years older than Elinor.

  That thought made him hide a grimace, but then she didn't seem to mind so far. Of course, so far, he hadn't been able to get her to agree to either marriage or familiarity, or whatever the state of being a familiar was called. Age might not matter so much for a mere lover. Not that he'd proposed again. Elinor balked if you pushed her too hard.

  "Did you get the announcements sent to the newspapers?" Sir William asked.

  "Yes, sir." Harry put the gavel in its box. It was his responsibility now but it weighed a lot less than the Reginshammer. Wasn't nearly as old either. Nor did the gavel carry any magic. "I 'anded the notices to runners just before the doors shut for the meeting. Formal announcements to the queen and Parliament were sent first thing this morning."

  "Yes, yes." Sir William grinned bigger than Harry'd ever seen him. "You'll be hearing from them soon. Better be getting your speeches ready and your court dress. The queen won't be holding court, of course, but she'll want to meet you privately. And you'll be presented at court to the Prince and Princess, you and your magisters."

  Harry groaned. Him, a street urchin from Seven Dials, presented to the queen? Sure, a cat could look at a king--or a queen--but this wasn't looking. It was meeting.

  And Parliament--would they listen? Granted, he was head of Magician's Council now, but when you came down to it, he was still a boy from the Dials. That mattered to folk, folk outside the council. And inside, too.

  He'd never had to face any physical bullying from other magicians, since he didn't start at the academy till he was 16 or so and bigger than most of those who might've tried. Better at magic than most, too, or quickly so. But he'd endured plenty of insults and ostracism. Too bad Grey was so much younger than Harry and later to arrive at the academy, not till he was 18. He'd been the first who truly didn't care about Harry's background. By then, Harry was almost through the academy and working as laboratory assistant and housemaster.

  "Ready?" That was Elinor.

  "Right." Harry tucked the box with the gavel under his arm and offered her his other. The ladies had arranged a celebratory reception in the academy's dining hall.

  It was late. The party had moved from the academy to Harry's house. Young Norwood and the Greek alchemist Archaios had just departed, talking non-stop magic, doubtless on their way to talk more at club or guild hall. The Carterets had already left. Pearl was fading earlier and earlier these days.

  "Stay." Harry stood behind Elinor, speaking for her ears alone.

  The Greysons were gathering their wraps and a footman had brought Elinor's cloak and jacket as well. Harry was supposed to be helping her on with it.

  "Or I could come with you." He offered her the choice, always better to do with Elinor.

  "Good night, Amanusa." Elinor stepped away from him and pressed her cheek to the taller woman's in a genteel embrace, ignoring Harry entirely.

  "Good night, Elinor, dear." Amanusa's eyes twinkled as they flicked to Harry and back again. "Sleep well."

  She embraced Harry. Jax shook their hands and they were gone.

  Harry was alone in his house with Elinor. And all the servants, who wouldn't say anything, even if too many of them knew him from the old days and weren't cheeky above half. According to Freeman, who wouldn't let Harry call him Alf any more, the servants all approved of Elinor as their mistress. Now if he could just figure out a way to convince Elinor.

  "Stay," he said again, but he shook out her cloak and held it for her, making it clear that the choice was hers.

  She stood motionless, her back to him, though she kept her head turned to one side as if she couldn't make herself turn away completely. He wished he could work sorcery, so he could see what was going on inside that clever head of hers. He waited as long as he dared. She was still here, but would she stay? If she didn't, he would follow her home.

  With a sigh, he wrapped her cloak around her, leaving his arms around her as well. He kissed the exposed side of her neck. "Stay. Please."

  Now, finally, Elinor broke her frozen silence with a sigh. "I shouldn't." She put her hand out from the folds of her cloak and caught Harry's hand. "Why is it I can't resist you?"

  "Dunno." He unwound her from his embrace, keeping the hold she'd initiated on her hand. "Whatever it is, if you figure it out, tell me so I can keep doin' it."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Harry had studied his mouth, since she'd said what she said about it. Looked at it every angle in the mirror, and he couldn't see it. It was just a mouth. Same one he saw every day shaving. But if she liked it, if she thought it was "perfect," who was he to complain?

  He led her toward the stairs. H
e wanted her in his bed and not just once or twice. The rest of his life might do.

  "You don't need any more power over me, you brute." She gave his arm a feeble punch with her free hand and had to grab for her cloak as it began to slip. "You are already quite irresistible enough."

  "Good." He winked at her, determined to keep things light. Elinor was so skittish, but maybe she wouldn't run if he shared a few home truths with her, lightly. "Evens us up a bit, then, since you know you got me twisted right round your finger."

  "I know no such thing!" But she laughed, so it was all right.

  "An' who was it said I should be 'ead of council?" Harry kept them moving, right past the landing and on up the curve of the stairs.

  "Greyson Carteret said it."

  He gave her a look and she laughed again. "He said it after you did. You said I should do it an' look where I am now."

  "As if you didn't want it. You know you did." Elinor poked him in the side where he was ticklish.

  He dodged out of her reach. "Well, yeah, I did. But if you said somebody else--if you wanted it, I'd've stood aside." He kissed her hand as they reached the top, making a tease of it. He wasn't the hand-kissing sort, so teasing was natural. "I'd do anything for you, Elinor."

  That stopped her cold, right there at the top of the stairs, and she stared at him. Maybe he hadn't kept it as light as he should have. But he meant it. He wouldn't back away, now he'd said it.

  "I believe you," she said after a long moment of staring. "I must be mad for believing it, but I do."

  "Good." He nodded once, setting seal to the matter, then tugged on her hand, urging her down the hall to his room.

  Her faith in him aroused him more than he thought possible, and it was all he could do to wait long enough to get her someplace private. The instant his bedroom door closed, he had her pinned against it, kissing her. He could not get enough of her, never would. He had become an addict, like one of those creatures in the opium dens who shook and screamed when deprived of their drug. He craved her presence, but instead of stealing his sense and strength, she made him stronger, better.

  He spun her around and blinked at the absence of buttons. She laughed, a merry little chortle, and turned to face him again. "This dress buttons down the front."

  She shoved at his jacket and he tore it off, tossed it across the room, following it with his necktie. Elinor started to work on his shirt buttons. "Race you."

  "No fair." Harry got busy on the thousands of buttons closing her dress. "You have more." Maybe only hundreds.

  "Yes, but you have a waistcoat. And trousers." The twinkle in her eyes as she looked up had him fumbling buttons.

  "Not fair," he growled again. Particularly since what he uncovered was so distracting. He flicked a finger across a nipple and her fingers stumbled.

  "Do we really want to play that game?" Elinor raised an eyebrow as one hand trailed lower, toward the cockstand straining his trouser buttons.

  He never would get her buttons undone if she touched him there, and he wanted her naked. Wanted them both naked. He caught her hand and set it back on his half buttoned shirt with a wordless growl. She laughed again, and they each concentrated on the task at hand.

  They--oh, all right, he kept having to stop and caress and explore what he uncovered. Elinor did too, but he was always the one who cracked first. She could be very single-minded in pursuit of her goals. And she wore more layers to get through, which meant he was starkers while still stripping corset, pantalettes, shimmy, and stockings off her. Not that he particularly minded.

  It also meant that he was stupid with lust by the time he did get her peeled bare, given the way Elinor kept touching and stroking and squeezing. Even there. Especially there. He tried to hold back. Truly. He knew women liked it slow, liked to be coaxed and kissed into frenzy. Elinor certainly did. But tonight, when he tried to slow down and ply her with kisses--they'd somehow made it into the bed by then--he discovered that Elinor was already in a bit of a frenzy.

  What else would you call it when she hauled him up by his hair from kissing his way down the sweet softness of her stomach toward her nest and wrapped her legs around his hips? Then insisted, "In, now."

  He obeyed. Hadn't he already said he'd do anything for her?

  They strove together, thrust and rolled and caught at each other with hands and even teeth. If the bed hadn't weighed as much as a locomotive, it would have banged against the wall. As it was, they nearly wrestled the mattress to the floor.

  A long while after, they lay boneless and brainless, panting for breath. And a longer while, once Harry rolled to the side for fear of crushing her.

  "Ow," Elinor said eventually. She turned to her side and raised up to look down her back.

  "Ow?" Harry forced himself back from the edge of sleep. "Are you hurt?" He was getting cold. The blankets and coverlets had hit the floor, if the mattress had not. One of them would have to get up to retrieve them.

  "I think I got a splinter--or something--in my bottom." She twisted herself, trying to get a look. "I can't see it. You look."

  Gladly. He grinned and ran his hand over her round cheeks. "O' course."

  "Ow! Stop that. You're driving it in deeper." She swatted at him and rolled to lay flat on her stomach. "Get the lamp."

  Harry looked round for it. The only light came from the fire across the room. The lamp on the side table was nowhere to be seen. "I think we broke the lamp in all our bumping round. It wasn't lit, so that's all right, but it ain't there. Hold on."

  He grabbed his dressing gown and went off the other side of the bed from where the lamp should have been to go fetch the candle kept burning in the hall. The broken glass and tipped-over base glittered in the candlelight when he returned, confirming his guess. The base was on the floor, but some of the glass was on the table, which meant some could have gotten into the bed. He wouldn't have noticed. He didn't think he'd have noticed anything less than losing a finger or toe. If Elinor had been as swept away as he was...

  "Likely it was glass that got you," he said crawling onto the bed, "not a splinter."

  "It feels like a splinter."

  He could hear the pain in her voice and hated it. "Easy, love. I'll get it."

  He lifted the candle and saw the problem immediately. Didn't look too terrible. A drop of blood was just beginning to trickle down her hip. He caught it and tasted it. Tasted like blood. Not awful. Not particularly tasty either.

  "Is it bleeding? Be careful with the blood, Harry. Get a handkerchief to clean it. We'll have to burn it after.

  "Right." But what if he didn't? What if they mixed their blood? He knew Grey and Pearl had sealed her apprenticeship at the beginning by mixing blood. If he and Elinor did, it would bind them closer, wouldn't it? Maybe even start him down the road to familiar? He'd drunk her blood, done it again just now. She'd tasted his, too, but apparently that wasn't enough to make a familiar.

  "Are you going to get the splinter out?" Elinor shifted position.

  "Yeah. Just tryin' to get a look at it." He shouldn't. He wouldn't. It would be a betrayal of her trust to mix their blood without her knowing.

  "Let me get the 'andkerchief." He had one in the side table drawer, he thought. And if he accidentally put his hand in the glass there-- No. That wouldn't be right.

  The cloth was where he expected. He really should brush the broken glass off the table so they neither one forgot and put a hand in it. He used his hand to brush it off. He didn't want to get glass on the cloth before he touched it to Elinor. The glass didn't cut him. He was glad. Really.

  Carefully, he blotted up the fresh trickle of blood on her hip, trying not to push the glass sliver deeper. He needed better light to see it. He reached for the candle on the table and caught a bit of glass he'd missed on the side of his thumb. He plucked the tiny bit out and stuck his thumb in his mouth before taking another look. Not bad. Not bleeding. He sucked on it again.

  "I'm going to try to get it out now, all right?" He gave
her a friendly pat on the opposite hip.

  "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Elinor accused, her voice muffled by the mattress and her arms where her head was pillowed.

  "Not at all." He moved the candle in close. "Not much," he amended. "I don't like you bein' hurt. But I 'ave to admit, I don't mind the close inspection."

  He thought he could get it out with his fingernails, now he got a good look at it. The sliver was small but visible, and hadn't been driven completely beneath her skin. He changed hands on the candlestick and went after it. He could feel the glass grit between his nails. He pulled, and it came. All of it, he hoped. He'd had glass splinters and wooden ones break off and leave part behind.

  "Did that get it?" he asked, flicking the glass to the floor with the other shards. "Can you still feel it?"

  "It still hurts. It did stab me, you know." She scowled at him one-eyed from the shelter of her folded arms.

  He rubbed his thumb one way over the tiny wound, then back the other. "I can't feel anything more."

  "I don't either."

  "Bloody hell." He hadn't meant to. Honest and for true, he hadn't--but his thumb was bleeding. His own sliver must have been deeper than he thought. Elinor's tiny cut had bled more when he pulled the glass out and it mixed--his blood into hers, hers into his. Such a tiny bit. Maybe it wouldn't make a difference.

  "My bottom requires cursing?" Elinor rose on an elbow to look at him full on.

  He opened his mouth to explain, to protest his innocence, and the magic hit.

  The attack slammed into Elinor, and she screamed. Harry threw up a shield and the magic struck at him too, air locking down around his head in an attempt to cut off his breathing, while alien magic--conjury and wizardry both--went searing through his flesh and bones.