Heart's Magic

by Gail Dayton

  "Profundo!" He focused his magic through the word, shattering the attacking spell and setting the air free to flow. Elinor took a great breath, sending relief through him. He didn't have to break a separate spell around her.

  She cried a liquid phrase in her spell-language. The pure magic in the attack slacked off. Harry used the respite to haul magic out of every place in his room where he'd stored it--out of every stone and metal item, from his hairbrush and shaving cup to the split geodes lined up on the mantelpiece. They weren't mere toiletries or décor. He spoke another word, and the shield he'd already built clanked like iron around them.

  "Your hand!" Elinor held hers out to him. "Give me your hand."

  He had it clasped in hers before she finished speaking, using his grip to pull her into his arms. He settled her in, back to his front, making himself her armor. Magic surged between them, dizzying him for a moment before it settled. Higher, as if its resting point had risen.

  The attack returned, more ferocious than before, angry and bitter and full of self-righteousness. Harry didn't know how he could tell that, but he could. Elinor bolstered his shield, but they were only two. Far more magicians were arrayed against them, and the magic got through, battered them. He shouted at the pain, wrapping himself--his magic, his will--around Elinor, taking it on himself to protect her. The vicious attack had enough magic to kill them both, likely would have, had they not been able to tie their magic together.

  But such an attack could not be sustained at that level. The enemy, whoever they were, had enough power for a fast, targeted strike, not a siege.

  Elinor caught hold of Harry's magic. It startled him. He didn't know she could do that, but if she wanted it, she could have all she wanted. He poured it into her, somehow. She caught hold of the attacking magic. "Hold tight," she said, and they went flying across London, following the path the magic had taken to come to them.

  It wasn't him, exactly, flying this way. More like his magic, but he could sense things through the magic, see where it was going. It felt odd. Like he was a burr stuck to a sock.

  The trail they followed shuddered, broke apart, and Harry lost his telescope view. He sent a spell chasing along the rapidly disintegrating path, grabbing Elinor's burr-magic to speed it along faster than the trail vanished. When the spell reached the end, it would shake the air and should stun only those who'd sent the magic against them.

  When the spell was sealed and sent, Elinor popped out of his embrace like a cork out of a bottle. She punched his arm, hard. "What did you do, Harry Tomlinson?"

  "Me?" He rubbed his sore arm. What was she on about? "I didn't do nothing. That was somebody else attacked us, which you ought to know."

  "Not that. Your magic. Our magic. We shouldn't have been able to do that, blend it. Not like that. What did you do?"

  "I didn't mean to, I swear." Would she believe him? She had to. "I just--when I picked up the candlestick, I got a splinter myself. In me thumb. Not bad enough to bleed, I didn't think. But it did. And when I was pullin' the sliver out o' your bum--"

  He made an apologetic face. It had been an accident. Thinking about it wasn't the same as doing it. "It mixed. I was about to tell ya when the magic hit. But--it worked out, didn't it? Without the mixin', I don't think we'd've made it through. Not that last attack. Maybe not either one."

  "Bloody, bloody hell." She slumped back onto the bed. "That's why you cursed, isn't it?"

  "Yeah." Harry reached out. She was too far away to take her hand, so he took hold of her foot, rubbing his thumb gently across her arch. "I swear it was an accident, Elinor. But is it really so awful? Truly and honestly? We're good together. Why shouldn't we be familiar?"

  "I don't know. It just--seems wrong." She frowned at him. "You have your dressing gown on." She looked cold.

  "I went out in the hall." He rolled to the edge of the bed, but all the covers had been knocked off on the side with the broken glass. "Here." He gave her his dressing gown and fetched the lap robe from the chaise longue near the fire to wrap around himself, trying to think how to convince her this was all for the best.

  "I don't understand why you would think it's wrong," he said, climbing back onto the bed. He leaned against the headboard and patted the space beside him, inviting Elinor to join him there.

  She stubbornly shook her head, staying where she was, down by his feet.

  Harry sighed. Stubborn could be carried too far. "We need to be worryin' about who attacked us and why, not about whether or not we should be familiar."

  "I know who attacked me. The wizard's guild. Or most of them. And it's you who will be my familiar, not both of us familiars."

  "I dunno. I think it goes both ways, at least some. I used that burr magic of yours that latched onto them to send a concussion spell after 'em." He leaned forward, folding his legs out of the way. "And it wasn't just wizards that attacked us. There was conjury and alchemy in there too. They attacked the both of us, Elinor, not just you."

  "They attacked you because we were together. They wouldn't have touched you if I'd been alone." She crossed her arms and glared at him.

  "You think so? 'Cause I don't. Maybe they wouldn't 'ave attacked me tonight if we 'adn't been together, but an attack on me was inevitable. They don't love me any more than they do you--but more than that-- If anything happened to you, do you think I'd just sit on me arse moaning 'alas and alack, Elinor's gone away'?" He went over onto hands and knees, stalking her across the mattress.

  "Oh, no, me love. Anything 'appens to you, an' I'll be tearin' London apart to find the ones who done it. And then tearin' them apart with me bare 'ands." He wasn't surprised to hear his old accent rise up on his temper. It usually did. "It's all I can' do not to go roarin' out of 'ere this minute to rip at 'em, and that's only 'cause I won't leave ya. Not alone."

  "Well, of course you won't go alone. I'll be with you. It was unconscionable--it is mutiny to launch a sneak attack on the properly appointed magister of a guild, much less the duly chosen head of the Magician's Council. We cannot let this challenge go unanswered." She moved as if preparing to slide off the bed and Harry pounced, hauling her into his arms.

  "I don't give a bloody damn that you're wizard's magister," he snarled. "An' even less that I'm council 'ead. I want to kill those bastards for hurting you because you're mine. My woman, my familiar, an' if you know wot's good for ya, my wife."

  The minute he said it, he knew he'd made a mistake. A gigantic one. But she'd driven him to it, with her insistence on maintaining that artificial distance between them, claiming that he was important to her only as head of council. And now he'd said it, he didn't know how to back down. Every word he said was true. She just wasn't ready to hear it yet.

  She drove an elbow hard into his gut, loosening his hold enough she could scramble free. "I am not your woman, Harry Tomlinson." She scooted off the bed, fortunately off the foot, away from the broken glass on the side nearest the door. "I am no one's possession. I belong to myself alone."

  "Mind the glass--"

  She snatched up her shimmy and dragged it on. "I will never, ever become a plaything for any man."

  "That's not wot I meant--" But he might as well give up. She wasn't listening. Wouldn't listen. Still, he had to try.

  "I am not marrying you." She wriggled into her pantalettes, a far too tempting sight, and went hunting for her corset. "I will never marry. I've told you this before, but you didn't listen. You never listen."

  "That's not true. I listen." He watched her stomp around, worried she might stray into the broken glass. "I don't understand what I 'ear a lot of the time--" He picked up his dressing gown from where she'd tossed it and put it on. Her corset was half under the chaise. He'd seen it when he went for the lap robe.

  "That's because you don't listen."

  "It's because your explanations don't make sense." He handed her the corset and waited while she got it hooked in front, then began pulling the loosened laces snug. "Why won't you marry me?"

&
nbsp; "Because for a woman, marriage is incompatible with magic. I've told you this, Harry."

  "And I still don't understand why. Why is it incompatible? Not marriage in principle between two hypothetical people, but you marrying me. What's incompatible about that? What makes you think the two of us can't make it work?"

  She stared at him, mouth open as if to argue, but said nothing.

  "Even before we got to be lovers, we were practically livin' together." He lifted her dress off the mound of petticoats and separated the petticoats into their individual layers. "Arms up." He settled the first layer, warm flannel, over her head and left it for her to button in place.

  "Yeah, you 'ave your flat." He put the second petticoat in place. "But you only sleep there. Most of the time, you don't even drink your morning tea there. You come over 'ere for breakfast and stay past supper. Lately, you don't always sleep there. What do you think marriage is going to change? Ready for your dress?"

  "I don't know," she snapped. "I mean--yes, give me my dress. And I don't know what marriage will change, but I know it will. It always does." She put her head through the opening and her arms in the sleeves, then backed out of his reach to button up the front. "Even if the husband does not turn tyrant--which is a rare event--even if he does not change, the wife often does, losing her interest in things outside the home as her children arrive. Which is as it should be. But that will not be me."

  "You think us not marrying will stop us from startin' a baby?" Harry looked up at her with raised eyebrows from his stoop to collect her stockings.

  "That's beside the point. The point is that I do not belong to you. I am my own person and I intend to stay that way. Nor do I want a familiar. I am unmixing our blood."

  "No." Harry didn't know much about sorcerers' familiars. Neither Jax nor Grey had been particularly chatty about it. But he did know that choice was a factor.

  "You can't stop me." Elinor snatched the stockings from his hands and sat down on the end of the chaise to put them on.

  "Maybe I can't. Maybe I can. You chose to use my magic with yours and now that you've done it, I ain't goin' to let you back out. I don't know if I can stop you unmakin' wot you made between us, but I know I'm not just going to roll over and bare my throat."

  "I'm not trying to cut your throat, Harry."

  "No? Sure feels like it."

  "Feelings have no part in this. It's about independence and being who I am. It's about deciding what I want and taking the steps necessary to achieve that goal."

  "With no room to change your mind, even if it's possible you can 'ave everything you want and more besides, if you go at it a different way?" Harry needed to dress before she finished. What had he done with his smallclothes? He gave up looking and got a fresh set from the wardrobe.

  Elinor had found one garter but not the other. He wasn't helping her hunt anymore, at least until he had his shirt and trousers on.

  "I know what I'm doing," she snapped. "I neither need nor want anything else."

  "That's a steamin' pile o' shite," Harry snarled, buttoning up his trousers. A clean shirt was needed as well. The broken lamp had crashed near his other. "There's somethin' between us, and you know it, even if you pretend it ain't there."

  "Lust, Harry. Lust and magic and nothing more." She shoved her foot in her shoe, her garterless stocking trailing down over it. "Easily dissolved."

  Was that all it was? Harry stared at her a moment before stuffing his shirttails in his trousers and hauling his braces up over his shoulders. Did it matter? Elinor was his, and a man protected his woman. "That's why we're getting' married." He threw on his waistcoat and found stockings and shoes.

  Elinor tried to walk out with unbuttoned shoes and stumbled when they slipped off her feet. She sat back down and wrestled with the buttons. "We are not getting married."

  "Yes, we are." He got his half-boots on and his waistcoat buttoned before she conquered her shoes. "One way or another, we are."

  "No, we are not." Still working at her shoes with one hand, Elinor extended the other toward him and closed her fist, like she was catching hold of something. Much like he'd captured his accidental fire in the tower cell. She yanked and the little cut on his thumb began to bleed.

  Harry could feel magic shifting inside him and he grabbed hold. He licked his thumb and put pressure on it, hoping he could stop the bleeding. "I won't give you up."

  "I reject you, Harry Tomlinson." She pulled harder, and he hung on by figurative fingernails and sheer force of will. "I do not want you as my familiar."

  "Too late." The strain of holding on showed in his voice. He didn't care. "You asked for my hand and I gave it. I shared my magic with you gladly. You an' me--we worked together as sorceress an' familiar and I won't give that up. I ain't lettin' go."

  Her pull on his blood--or maybe on her blood inside him--began to hurt, a kind of tearing inside him, but it wouldn't make him give up and let go. "I ain't lettin' go," he growled, his voice harsh with the pain. "You'll 'ave to tear me apart to get your blood back."

  With a growling shriek of frustration, Elinor released her hold. "I hate you."

  The words speared him worse than her pull on his blood. "No, you don't." He hoped he was right. "You're just pissed 'cause you can't make me do wot you want."

  She threw her cloak over her shoulders, one stocking still drooping over her half-buttoned shoe. "I'm going home."

  "No, you're not." Harry grabbed his jacket.

  "You're not my owner," she snarled, so angry Harry decided it would be smarter not to take her arm.

  "No, I'm not. But I ain't lettin' you go off alone after an attack like that. We're goin' to Carterets' so Grey can roust out his Briganti, an' we're goin' to find Norwood so 'e can call out the rest of 'em, and we're goin' to find out who's behind the attack." He held his bedroom door open for her.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Elinor was about to drop with weariness, but every time her eyes closed and she began to doze, the memory of the air freezing solid around her head and the foreign magic crashing in on her had her jerking awake again. She sat in Pearl's big chair in the private office of the I-Branch common room, still fully dressed in her finery. Men went in and out the door with messages, banging the door every time they went through it.

  The sun had made its appearance earlier, if one could call the pale glow behind heavy cloud cover an appearance. She wasn't used to being up all night, not outside her stillroom. She had been helping to identify the men who had participated in the attack spell until she was too tired to think. She wanted to go home, take off her corset, and sleep. Or try to sleep, anyway.

  Besides the recurring dream of suffocation and suffering, she still needed to throttle Harry. Her hands twitched with the need. He was so--so presumptuous. And arrogant. High-handed and pigheaded and selfish, and--and mean. How dare he dictate to her that way?

  Not about rousing Grey and the Briganti and all that. She was in perfect agreement about that. But she wanted to go home and he refused to allow it, and when she had tried to go anyway, he had picked her bodily up, carried her into this room, shut her up in it, and set a--a guard. Amanusa inside at the desk and Briganti outside. She was absolutely outraged. If she weren't so tired, she would be even more so.

  Moreover, and worse, he kept insisting they were getting married.

  Over her dead body. She would never marry any man, much less one so controlling and arrogant and high-handed and--and all the rest.

  The devil came through the door himself. Elinor looked for something else to throw at him. He'd already taken away all the pens and pencils.

  "You should be sleepin'," he said in that cruelly solicitous voice. "Why aren't you sleeping?"

  "What do you care?" She turned her back on him as best she could. She'd turned the chair away early on, but turned it back when she realized she couldn't watch what was going on through the windows.

  Harry sighed, as if he was the one put-upon. "I do care, Elinor. That's why you're
here. So we can protect you. Try to sleep."

  "You try to sleep in a corset," she muttered. That made her even angrier, because he made her mention her unmentionables in mixed company. "Go away. Go to hell." She'd already talked about her corset. She might as well curse too.

  She thought he mumbled something to the effect of "I'm already there," but it made no sense. He must have said something else. He left again. Thank goodness.

  "Why are you so angry with him?" Amanusa asked from the desk behind Elinor where she worked away at her organizing.

  "He--" Elinor paused, wondering if Amanusa would share her outrage. "He wants to own me." No one could agree with that.

  "Oh my." There was a long pause. "Isn't slavery illegal?"

  "Marriage isn't." Elinor shoved against the floor with her foot, scooting the chair to an angle where she could see Amanusa. "It's little more than legalized slavery for a woman. She becomes nothing more than another possession of her husband."

  "That hasn't been my experience." Amanusa took another long moment before speaking again. "Are you saying that Harry has asked you to marry him?"

  "Asked? Oh, no. He has informed. Dictated. Insisted." Elinor slumped in a decidedly unladylike sprawl. "And he wants to be my familiar. Mixed our blood without me knowing."

  "How in the world did he do that?" Amanusa looked astounded.

  How could she explain without confessing all? "I got a splinter." She didn't have to tell where it had stuck her. "He got one too. I'm not so sure that part wasn't deliberate. And when he was getting my splinter out--I couldn't reach it--our blood mixed." She sighed. "It happened right before the attack. We mixed magic to fend it off."

  "So the process has begun." Amanusa tapped her lips.

  "I don't want a familiar. But I can't call my blood back. He won't let it go."

  "Why do you suppose that is?"

  "Because he's a power-hungry arrogant bastard who wants to control me and take over my magic," Elinor snapped out, anger rising all over again.