by Tamara Gill
The Latin slipped around her tongue more rapidly, her voice slurring.
She felt a sudden wooziness. She swayed, pitched forward to step out. Step out? She was on her feet?
Charity snapped her eyes open. She stood in her kitchen. She wore shoes. Different clothes.
Oh my—
She’d done it. She’d traveled back a day. She was in the clothes she’d worn, the clothes she still hadn’t washed Toren’s blood out of yet. Of course there was no blood now. Her purse was in her hand, hovering over the counter where she was about to drop it. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about running into her past self, since the way this particular spell worked, her consciousness simply reset itself into that moment of time, memories of the other timeline intact, and then she would simply start reliving life again from this point forward. It was the reason she had chosen that exact spell, so she would remember what happened the first time and could change it.
She gazed around the empty kitchen expectantly, excited to see Toren again in the flesh. Worried at the condition she knew he’d be arriving in. Her pulse kicked into overdrive.
She set her purse down and...
The time rift ripped a hole in the air, shooting out churning winds that blew her hair back, and a naked bleeding sorcerer fell out of the chugging whirlpool.
And dropped to the linoleum.
Hey. She just mopped that floor. Charity flinched. That had been her exact thought the first time she'd lived this moment. The reality of replaying this timeline and the memories of what had happened before overlapped in her brain.
Blinking, she frowned. She had to keep it together in order to do what she had come back to this point to do.
Her heart clenched, seeing him like this. She’d felt bad for him before when he was a stranger, but now that she knew him... She tamped down her swirling emotions. She had a job to do. Toren was covered in welts and wounds, blood and grime across his torso, hips and legs. His eyes remained closed though the thick lashes fluttered with each pain-filled breath. His wrists were torn and chafed from those dark bands that Aldreth had cuffed him with. The leather manacles that would pull him back. She didn’t have much time before that happened again. She couldn’t waste it.
Charity grabbed a stack of dish towels from her drawer and lowered beside him.
“Toren.”
Dark lashes flashed open, glassy blue eyes focused on her, troubled and wary. Charity sighed. For him, this was the first time that they met. He wouldn't understand how she knew his name.
She lifted his head off the floor to get a few of the folded towels beneath him and then smoothed a lock of sweaty dark hair away from his cheek.
He flinched at the touch, and before she knew what hit her, Charity was rolled onto her back with two hundred pounds of disoriented naked Highlander on top of her, pinning her wrist against the floor. Seriously? Again? Second time around she really should have anticipated that.
His gaze tracked around her kitchen, dark brows pulling down at the tall refrigerator before settling back on her.
“Are ye the Healer Enchantress?” he rasped and promptly passed out.
Oomph. Charity's lungs felt flattened.
Going through the nearly identical motions was weirder than that off-sense she got from moments of déjà vu. Like déjà vu multiplied by thousands.
She managed to wriggle out from beneath him—again—and get him rolled over. His arms flopped to his sides.
She pressed a dish towel to his worse wound and tapped his cheek. “Toren, Toren, wake up.”
He looked so hurt and vulnerable. The urge to heal him as she'd done before threatened to consume her. She wanted to take every hurt away from him, but she couldn't. Not this time. Plus she already knew the extent of his injuries, the two broken ribs...
She also knew the depth of his magic. That’s what she had come back to this point for. His power and his sorcerer gifts. For what she had in mind it couldn’t be wasted on a healing as much as that pained her.
“Toren.” She rubbed his sternum. “Please wake up. We don't have much time.” Only a few more minutes. The first time they'd met, she'd barely manhandled him into her tub and washed his hair before the witch Aldreth pulled him back to her dungeon.
But seeing him like this again, so hurt and in pain, was difficult. Charity wished she could take care of Toren again, heal him, get him clean, but the magic she needed superseded that. She wasn’t even sure it would work even with all the reserves he had.
“Toren.”
His eyes moved beneath his lids. His lips parted as he roused. Charity smoothed a hand along his cheek and smiled when his eyes finally fluttered open.
She didn't wait for him to focus fully on her. “I need you to listen to me. You came here seeking my aid and I'm going to give it to you.”
His look of relief nearly shattered her resolve.
“But not just a small reprieve.”
“Can you...” His throat worked. “I seek a healing.”
Charity took his hand and squeezed it between hers. Jolts of magic passed between them, shooting straight to her heart. Gods, she couldn’t do this, couldn’t leave him in this state, couldn’t let him go back to the witch like this. “I know.” His plea had the power to unravel all her plans. What if this didn't work? Then she'd be sending him back still broken and wounded with little reserve to continue fighting Aldreth. And she needed him to fight. Just for a while longer.
She felt a tear slide onto her cheek. “I'm sorry. I can't.”
His eyes widened, full of disbelief. “But I came—It was so hard to unravel...”
“I know. Believe me I know.”
Her shoulders slumped. She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t leave him like this. Just a little healing...
She didn't have time to weigh the pros and cons. He didn’t have time. She placed her palm upon his filthy bloody chest.
The thrumming started in the pit of her belly, pulsing like the gong of a church signaling an old west hanging, drawing forth with the beat of her heart the innate magic that was hers by birth and heritage.
Magic flowed through her, tingling beneath her skin like static electricity. The tiny hairs along her arms stood on end. Focused, Charity anchored the magic within her heart and guided the power through her arms into her hands and outward, down into him.
Toren gasped. His back arched, neck stretched. Shoulders and head ground into the floor, but she kept going, kept pouring the healing into him, even knowing she caused him pain. Just a little bit. She couldn't heal him fully, so she held back while she let the power drill through him enough so that she could tap into his magic.
It was a dirty trick and she wasn’t proud of what she was doing. It felt like a betrayal, but it was for his own good. It had to be.
What little healing she did on the way to his magical core was pathetically inadequate. The point was for her to be magically in contact with him so she latched onto his magic, keeping it within a stranglehold of her own. She doubted she could do it if he wasn’t already in such a weakened state. His magic was so much greater than hers.
The magic buzzed between them. She didn’t push for any more, didn’t delve down as deeply as before when their magic had exploded together and she had been thrust into his emotions and thoughts. She couldn’t chance losing her focus or control this time. She just had to keep ahold of him—essence to essence—a light touch on the fringes.
“I need you to trust me.”
Toren's glassy eyes barely remained on her. They flit incoherently about the room. When she'd healed him before, his innate magic had strengthened hers beyond what she could normally do. He had allowed it to flow through her freely and that emotional connection, almost a type of bond had been somehow forged between them.
Charity didn't know if it still remained or if the connection between them had been wiped clean as though it never existed because they were reliving this time once more. Restarting. A cosmic do-over. For Toren it never was. He ha
d never been healed by her. They had never dream trailed together. This was the first time they met. Nor did he know her name.
Names hold power.
“Charity.” She grabbed his large hand between hers. “My name is Charity.” It was suddenly very important that he knew that.
He pulled his fingers from hers and looked away. “Charity,” his mockery of her name was not lost in his voice. “Is it no longer customary that a Healer Enchantress give aid to those in need?” His tone was an accusation.
She drew back as though she'd been slapped. “Of course it is.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. He turned back to face her. “Then why will ye not—?” His eyes hardened. “You're in league with her.”
“With who? Aldreth?”
His entire frame stiffened, muscles bunching beneath his filthy skin. Oh crap. From his perspective, how else would she know the witch's name?
“I'm not in league with Aldreth.”
Weak though he was, Toren scooted away, dragging himself backward on the linoleum. His features twisted with pain.
Charity crawled after him. “Stop that. You're hurting yourself. Your ribs have been broken.”
Again he gave her a horrified look. Great. Sure. How could she know that? Not suspicious at all.
He blew out the most incredulous sounding huff she'd ever heard. “'Tis not my pain ye seek? I am at your mercy, Healer. Do what ye will. I can feel your magic inside me. What do ye want? What is your goal, witch?”
She grabbed his wrist. “Now you listen to me, Toren Limont. I only know about the witch Aldreth because you told me.”
“’Tis not poss—”
“Be quiet and listen.”
“So ye intend to torture me with words?”
Charity dropped his wrist. Stubborn. She grinned. Bet he gave Aldreth just as difficult a time. Good. The thought of the witch and what she'd done to Toren made her shiver.
Charity got up quickly, keeping a tendril of magical touch flowing between them. They didn't have much more time. She needed to tell Toren what she had come back to this moment in time for, and although she couldn't heal him, she could give help in another way.
“Soup,” she announced, grabbing the chenille throw off the back of her couch and draping it around Toren.
A dark eyebrow quirked up as he watched her movements.
She grabbed a can of chicken noodle and shoved it under the electric can opener. Though trying to feign indifference, he stretched his neck, trying to see what was making the humming noise on the counter. Big bad torture device, also good for opening cans of soup.
Dumping the contents into a plastic bowl, she set it in the microwave. Toren's eyes widened at the glow coming from within the device. Charity leaned back against the counter to study him. If she squinted just right, she could barely make out a ripple in the air of the magical link she still had woven between them. She wasn’t about to release it and so far he hadn’t made any attempt to unravel it. Probably because he knew he could do so whenever he wanted. He’d undoubtedly already sensed the pathetic amount of her magical prowess and knew she wasn’t any kind of match for his strength. If he could remember anything about her, he should know better. He was weak and she didn’t give up easily. He’d have one helluva fight on his hands if he tried.
She smiled, trying to seem nonthreatening so he wouldn’t feel the need to yank his magic away from her slight touch. That would be a disaster and so far, this wasn't going as planned anyway.
She took a deep breath. “We have minutes left maybe, so just hear me out.”
Toren’s hands clenched. Great. He was being stubborn.
“We've done this before. Well, not exactly, this. I'm changing things even telling you this. Last time I healed you.”
“Last time.” Toren's eyes narrowed. So far so good. He at least seemed to take that in stride. “Ah. But ye will not do so now. Aldreth has gotten to you as she did all the Healer Enchantresses of my time so you've traveled back to undo any help what ye have already done.” He nodded as though fitting all the pieces together. “Crafty.” He frowned at her.
Charity's heart ached for him. “Is that why you traveled so far through time to find a healer?”
Toren picked at the chenille blanket. “Aldreth threatened any healers and their kin who dared aid me. I hoped to find someone beyond her reach.” He shrugged. “I was mistaken. Forgive me for whatever harm my rash action coming here has brought to you and your kin.”
The microwave dinged and they both flinched. Flustered, Charity spun around to get the soup and a spoon, and then brought it to Toren, sitting on the floor next to him.
He eyed it and her warily.
She huffed. “It's just soup.” She ate a spoonful herself and dipped the spoon back in. “I can't heal you, but I can at least give you some nourishment. Please. You’ll need it. We don't have much longer.”
His Adam's apple bobbed and Toren took the offered spoon, his hand closing over hers and that spike of energy charged through them, prickling along her flesh. They stared at each other across the plastic bowl of chicken noodle.
Toren let go and shifted back. “Mistress, I...”
“Don't. Toren, this has happened before. I healed you before and... First, I’m not in league with Aldreth.” She fluttered her fingers in the air and he reached out and stopped her. Then jolted, his brows creasing together. Remembering? No. How could he remember something that for him never happened?
His eyes bore through her, examining, looking for the trap that lay somewhere within his suspicions. The tiny lines between his eyebrows deepened. “Then why will ye not—”
Setting the bowl on the floor, Charity grabbed his forearms. “Because I'm going to save you. Trust in that.”
He shook his head. “Nay. How can ye? Aldreth, she—” He groaned. A tremor rolled through him and he flickered.
It was happening. Aldreth was pulling him back. The bands on his wrists were spelled to him, the glowing symbols keeping him a prisoner as securely as if they were tattooed upon his flesh. Though the bands were back in the dungeon, they were connected to him, still pulling him back.
“Open a rift,” she screamed. “Now.”
“Nay. I will not make it easy for her. If Aldreth wants me, she’ll have to use all her magic to have me.”
Defiant. Playing games with his captor. Holding out in every way he could. Admiration crowded the fear in her chest.
Charity clutched his arms more tightly as though touching him would keep him with her, even knowing it was his magic hers needed to stay in contact with. “You need to open a time rift. Forget about making it hard for Aldreth. I need you to open a rift for me.”
Toren's muscles bunched beneath her hands. His arms shook. His jaw clenched tight, head thrown forward.
Time was out.
“Trust me. Toren. Please!”
He stared at her, understanding and horror at what she was suggesting dawning across his features. “Nay.” His body started flickering, Aldreth’s spell pulling her back.
“I’m not letting go.”
Which might kill her since the bands weren’t spelled to her. To prove she was serious she dug her fingers harder into his flesh.
“To your magic. I have a hold of it and I’m not letting go. If Aldreth’s hold is on your magic, then her hold is on me too. I’m going with you one way or another so please, I’m begging, open a rift.”
He didn't respond. His head bobbed. Charity couldn't be certain if that was a nod or simply a jerk against pain.
She thrust her hand upon his chest again and followed the pathway she'd made down to the core of his magic and clamped on. And took some of it to herself for a better hold. Or at least tried to. He wasn't freely giving it to her this time, and there was no way she could get at the full of it without his consent. A person’s magic had to be freely given, not taken. It was one of the few built-in safety guards that existed among all magic.
All she could do was hold onto h
is.
“Please, Toren, trust me.”
He was in so much pain, fighting her while also fighting the pull of Aldreth’s link to him that was dragging him back. She could feel the depth of his agony in the tightening of his muscles, yet could do nothing about it. He’d come for her help and now she couldn’t even give it in this. She had screwed up royally.
“Toren,” she pled.
His eyes flashed to hers, intensely blue. He nodded. Charity didn’t know what had changed his mind or if he was simply taking a risky chance upon her, but all at once his barrier came down and he no longer fought to keep her out.
Her magic grabbed a hold of his and drew upon it, feasting upon its strength and enhancing her own.
The air charged with static. Her bones vibrated with it. Her teeth hurt. This was happening. Now.
Bearing down against it, Charity lowered her head and began chanting.
She didn't have strong enough magic to travel through centuries or open rifts into time and space, but he did. Toren did.
Just like when she had healed him, Charity tapped into his endless reserves and drew what she needed to her. What she needed to survive what was coming.
Images cascaded into her mind. The dungeon, Aldreth, beautiful in whorls of white. Toren, hanging from those damn bespelled bands against the wall, dirty and in so much distress, his pain assaulted her across the centuries.
“No.” The Toren before her rasped. His hand circled her wrist tight enough to bruise though his flesh faded in and out. He would soon be gone.
“Trust me,” she cried, and his eyes snapped to her, penetrating her soul as forcefully as the charged energy of the time spell weaving around them and magic poured into her, his magic, flowing as strongly as if Toren had dumped a pitcher of it over her head.
She damn near choked on the rush of it. And greedily took what he gave. Her grandmother's spell rolled off her tongue, a chant that matched the thunderous rhythm of her heartbeat. A short verse, really. She wasn’t even sure if the spell was necessary. To her knowledge no one had ever attempted this before. It may not be possible. She repeated the spell over and over again, clutching at the words as hard as she clutched at the man's arms. The arms that were fading in and out beneath hers.