by Susan Conley
“You bring a cup for me?” She sat up and wrapped the sheet around her bare torso.
“Sorry, here.” He handed her a mug of already light coffee absentmindedly.
Mona took a sip. He’d even added a bit of sugar. Oh, and he’d used the Kona blend. Excellent.
She inhaled the smell and took another sip. What had they been talking about? Oh, right the Warder. Shoot, she still needed to read that assignment.
“Yes, it’s worrisome, but look on the bright side, this gives me more time to catch up on my reading homework. Although, we haven’t scheduled my next lesson.”
“We got some time, you want to do it now?”
“Let me finish waking up. Not the most captivating of reading material as it is.”
Cart slid off the bed and started pacing. The room was generously sized but he made the space seem small as he passed from dresser to window and back again.
Who knew having sex would make the man a focused, analytical machine? Mona gave up on thoughts of morning-after nookie.
“I’ve been thinking through what I know,” he said. “And what I want to know. And I’m realizing there’s a gaping hole in my knowledge.”
“What is it you want to know?”
“Stuff before our time.”
“You could ask the Puck. Hey! It was just a thought.” Mona had to laugh at his rude gesture.
“I could also ask my mother, but that’s not happening.”
Mona turned to set the mug down on the bedside table and slid her feet on the floor. “How about an aunt or someone else of her generation?”
“I—” Cart’s response was bit off.
Mona looked over her shoulder to find him staring at her bare back, nostrils flaring. Maybe not so focused on work after all.
He closed his eyes and turned his head away. “I’ll wait for you in the living room. Take your time.”
“You don’t have to go.”
His eyes remained scrunched shut. “If I want to get any work done, I do. Trust me, though,” his lids popped open and his grin became feral, “if I didn’t know we’d have plenty of time together to make up for missing this morning, or I didn’t have this worry hanging over my head, I’d be on you in a heartbeat.”
Mona shook her head at him. Men. Well, okay, not just him; if he stayed in the room she probably wouldn’t be getting any work done any time soon. “You better go then, since once I get out of the covers I’m going to be as naked as a dryad.”
“But a heck of a lot prettier.”
The compliment warmed her down to her toes.
“I’m going to take a quick shower, be down in twenty.”
He grunted and closed the door behind him.
She didn’t make it downstairs for over an hour. Cart joined her five minutes into her shower, cursing his imagination the whole while.
“I think,” he said as they walked hand in hand down the stairs, “I’d better head back to my group soon, or I’m not going to get anything done.”
“You hear anything about Raine?”
“No calls this morning. Have to think no news is good news.”
“Before we head back, I want to go over my lessons to see if there’s something there that’ll help before we go. And grab a bite to eat, since we keep skipping meals.”
“Why don’t you tell me the pages and I’ll look it up.”
In the kitchen, Mona wrote down her assignment: chapter six, parts ten through twelve and chapter seven, section eight. Was there more? She stared blankly at the wall, trying to remember.
Oh, by the goddess, there were a lot of imps hanging about.
A lot. She’d never seen this many except when she’d been with the Puck. They flocked to the man.
Something about the large gathering of randomly moving lights reminded her of the shifting colors she’d seen when she’d jumped with Cart. Was that where imps stayed when they weren’t flitting about? She held out her hand and an orange one, floating like a piece of thistledown, hovered over her palm.
Cart came in and set the large book down with a slight grunt. He headed over to the coffee pot. “Hey—”
Mona held up her hand and cut him off. She pointed to the imps.
He jerked back in surprise, darting a glance at her then back to the dozen or so hovering imps in each corner.
“Hmph.” He walked back to the table and sat by the book.
“Wait, that,” Mona waived her hand at the sparkling entities, “is more than a ‘hmph.’ Particularly as they caused you to forget to get coffee.”
Cart looked at her notes and started to rifle through pages. “You know about that fated and meant to be stuff the Puck was implying?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that,” he jerked his head at the corner above the cabinets, “is probably why he wanted us to wait.”
Mona looked at the mass of shimmering lights again. “We did that?”
“A sign of the goddess’s approval.” He flipped one page back and forth, double checking the information on her list.
“Cool.” Mona couldn’t help but smile. They’d created enough energy for imps to come to being. Puck had never been clear on the process, all she knew was a lot of magic energy was needed.
“If you say so.”
Mona didn’t know what was bugging him, but she’d have to assume he’d tell her when he was ready.
“You are not going to rain on my parade, Cart. We helped imps come to being. In my book, that’s cool. So, unless there’s more?”
He stopped flipping the page. “They shouldn’t be here, not yet,” he grudgingly muttered.
Mona went and joined him at the table. Cart frowned down at the page and didn’t look at her.
“Why?”
He scowled at her, his brow furrowed. “We didn’t mate.”
“No, but every time you kiss me, really kiss me, none of this peck on the cheek stuff, we send off enough energy to rattle cabinet doors. Figures we’d make enough energy, whether or not we did whatever stuff it is we need to do to mate, to create imps. Although, until this stops, we should be careful where we have sex.” Mona stood. “Good thing you’re not above D’Alessandro’s—you’d never get any if you were still there. Eggs okay?”
“I don’t think—”
“Look, is this energy imp thing going to happen no matter what we do?” Mona asked as she pulled items out of the fridge.
“Yes.”
“Do we have any control over it? Aside from not having sex—and between you and me that’s not going to stop. You couldn’t even keep yourself from joining me in the shower after you said you were going to stay away.” Good, the unopened salmon hadn’t expired. Mona set that on the counter next to the eggs. “I say don’t sweat what you can’t control. Figure out why it’s happening, okay, but don’t freak out that it is happening. Because, you know, freaking out doesn’t solve anything, you only—”
Cart’s hand clamped over her mouth and his warmth pressed against her back.
“You’re babbling,” he whispered in her ear. “I wonder what made you uncertain and uncomfortable. Not sex, we’re past that. Is it mating?”
Mona nodded.
“The mating ritual?”
Mona shivered in anticipation. From what she’d heard, each one was unique but all the women she’d heard talk about it agreed. Best. Sex. Ever.
“I’ll make sure I plan something special then.” He kissed her neck. Then he stepped away, swatting her rear with the hand he’d removed from her face. “Until then, I’m hungry, woman. Feed me.”
She slapped his wrist as he walked away. Understandable why he’d distracted her, and himself from sex, but damn! Now she was going to be thinking about mating with him far too much. Picking up a potato she went to the sink. “After that, you expect edible food?”
“I’ll have to hope your sense of skill outweighs your sense of indignity.” He stood at the table, running his finger down the page the book was open to.
“Let�
�s see,” he said, picking up the list. “Chapter six: Those positions usual and customary in Folk culture filled by such persons born with special gifts or those who have such gifts bestowed upon them.” His voice took on slight northeast accent, making the title sound humorous.
“Uh-huh, read through that earlier.” Mona washed then peeled the potato.
“Part ten is Warder, customary qualifications; eleven, typical duties and jobs; and twelve, specific information regarding the ward.”
“Wait, what ward?” she said as she slid a now clean spud over the mandolin, making nice, thin slices for her galette.
“You know, the bad elf you are most likely going to have to spend your life keeping captive and out of the area of any Folk.”
“Contain the big bad elf; not funny, Cart.” Although it was a funny idea. Shifters could turn evil, but full elves didn’t. So why not have a big bad elf to make up for it? “Really, what ward are they talking about? The neighborhood one? I know there is a very faded one around the area most Folk live in, it’s getting to the point that there’s not much left for me to repair. I keep meaning to ask Smythe about having the Maven reset it. And I definitely need to do the one around the Lackawanna pack house.”
Mona set the shallot down on the cutting board and quickly skinned it.
“Mona, put down the knife.”
Cart had again moved silently to her side. She put it down before she thought to ask why.
He turned her and held her hands. Eyes flecked with gold stared at her. “I wasn’t joking about the elf.”
“Of course you’re joking. No one can be expected to dedicate their entire life to keeping someone in captivity.”
He remained silent.
Oh shit.
“Wait, a ‘bad’ elf? Elves are never are born with innate evil in them,” she said. Never. The goddess kept them pure.
“That’s true for most elves, yes—but only because once a generation or so the goddess allows one to be born with all the evil they would have. And a Warder is born to keep that elf from everyone else. Although there are more Warders than wards, if Smythe wanted you to read that section, I assume he thinks you’ll have one.”
Mona slumped against the counter. She couldn’t fathom it. Spending her whole life keeping someone captive.
Although . . . that did explain why the complex was way out in the middle of nowhere. So much for moving close enough for pizza delivery.
“I—” She couldn’t string a thought or sentence together.
Cart sat her down and got her a glass of water.
“Look, I’ll tell you what I know, then we’ll try to make sense of what Smythe has down here.”
Mona nodded.
“First thing, it isn’t like you keep the ward down in some dank dungeon. It’s not the fault of the ward they have been born with this way, so the Warder tries, as best they can, to give them freedom within the restrictions of the complex. I’ve seen everything from suites whose gadgetry would make a teen green with jealousy to sumptuous villas reminiscent of a sultan from a tale.”
He went on to say how she still would do her other jobs, she wasn’t restricted to the complex at all hours. Other Folk and even some mortals could be trusted around the ward, once it was clear how the evil would manifest itself.
“That’s why you said I had to live in a specific place,” she interrupted. “I thought it was because, like a Maven, I have an area I am responsible for, not a person.”
“Think of it this way, if you had a child with a severe handicap, you’d make sure that child was cared for well into their adulthood, right? It is somewhat similar. Folk produce a child with special needs and it is your unique job to take care of it.”
“Because I am the only one who can. Magic doesn’t affect me.”
“That’s a large part of it. However, and this is always the case, the Warder has a special skill set with which counter to the skills of the ward.”
Mona mulled that over.
“But—how old is this ward? Do I get them as an infant? Full elves have long lives, won’t it out live me?”
“Part of the special binding typically extends your life to match your ward’s.” He chaffed her cold hands. “Look why don’t you read through the chapter and I’ll finish cooking.”
Too numb to do anything else, she pulled the book over.
The first paragraph jumped out at her.
When I first started writing this book, I had recently begun my Wardership. The subsequent dearth of material upon which to draw information from led me to collect such and put it together for others to use. What I have collected is by no means a complete manual, merely it is as complete as I could make it in the ten years I have labored.
Mona flipped to the title page of the book.
There, at the bottom: Boston: Ticknor and Fields, 1886.
Her brain unable to calculate how old Smythe was, well beyond one hundred years, she turned back.
This was wrong. Something Cart said didn’t jive with that date.
“Wait, you said about once a generation an elf is born that must be warded, right? But then, shouldn’t there have been another one between Smythe and me? It’s longer than a generation, even for elves.”
He was standing at the counter whisking eggs. “Sometimes it skips a generation. Perhaps the previous ward is still alive. Sometimes the person is unwardable and is killed, but that’s rare. From what I understand, once a generation is a general guideline. Sometimes a ward is born a little sooner, sometimes longer. There’ll probably be more about the frequency in the chapter. I think, too, it has to do with the birthrate. The fewer babies, the less likely you’ll have a ward born. Makes sense, and with all the intermingling with mortals, less elves have been born.”
Right, only someone whose bloodline was at least fifty percent elfin was an elf and able to manipulate the energy Folk called magic. Of those only elves that were almost pure blooded—Smythe had put it at eighty percent elf lineage—could never be turned to evil. It was the group between the fifty and eighty that caused the most problems. And witches, but Mona wasn’t concerned about them right now.
Cart poured the eggs with a flourish into a hot pan and then turned his attention to the second skillet he had on the stove. Mona turned her attention back to the book.
Ten minutes later, when Cart slid a plate on the table next to her, she still didn’t have any answers on when or who or how, just a headache induced by the archaic language Smythe used.
And Mona had a plate of unappealing looking pink streaked, green-flecked eggs in front of her.
“It tastes a lot better than it looks,” Cart said as he helped himself to a forkful.
Looking more closely she saw he’d scrambled the salmon, shallots, and dill into the eggs and served them over hash browns.
“What, no cream cheese?” she quipped as she filled her fork.
He smacked his head. “I knew I forgot something.”
He grinned, clearly thinking she was kidding. She was, about the cream cheese, but it needed something, so she got out the crème-fraiche and drizzled it over the stack, then topped the whole thing with a light coating of cracked pepper.
Cart followed her lead.
It was pretty darn good. A couple of slices of fresh, cold firm tomatoes and it would have been superb.
“Thanks for making something. I was getting tired of food on the fly,” Mona said as she stacked the dishes in the dishwasher. They’d avoided talking about wards and Warders through the meal.
“You did half the work.” Cart added his plate to hers. “We do need to head out. I need to get the reports from my group and knock a few heads and it’s already almost noon.”
Mona agreed. Ignoring the problem that she couldn’t wrap her head around seemed to be working for now. Or at least it was until Cart draped an arm around her and asked if she was okay.
“I think so. It’s a lot to process. Let me go throw some things in a bag and I’ll be ready. Hope you do
n’t mind if I assign hauling the tome to you.”
“No prob.”
“Knew I’d find some use for having a manly man around.”
He waggled his eyebrows and she ducked out of his embrace.
“Stay downstairs,” she ordered as she headed up.
He gave an overly exasperated sigh then turned to wash the pans.
Mona changed, again, belatedly remembering it was Thursday and she was supposed to meet Nic for their weekly dinner. She packed a bag with several outfits, no telling when she’d be back, adding in extra socks and the boots she had taken off last night. Or had it been Cart? She smiled at the memory. It had been Cart.
When she made it back downstairs Cart was already in his coat and using her cell phone, he’d never given it back. Funny, despite his keeping it, he hadn’t seen him on it much, come to think of it.
“No, no imps around these guys. I know you don’t like phones, Menlo, but that’s what we’re going to have to use. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. I’m on my way in see if you can stall them. I’ll be—”
He looked at Mona.
“Ten minutes,” she supplied.
“Ten minutes. Yes. Yes. Yes, she’ll be there too. No, not the Maven. We’ll wait to bring her in until later. She’s dealing with something else now. Yeah, well, trust me, it’s related, and I’m not just saying that.”
Mona zipped up her coat then held her hand out for the keys. He dug them out and handed them to her. Apparently he’d already carried the heavy book out to the car.
He stayed on the phone, one call after another, until they pulled into the lot of the old YMCA. He snapped the unit closed. “The imps took it upon themselves to delay my calls until noon,” he said.
As if they needed further proof someone was meddling to get them together. She’d tell the Puck her opinion of his antics next time she saw him.
“You know,” she told him, “you can ask an imp to take a message directly to Randall saying what is okay with you and what’s not. I’d suggest not letting him have his way too easily or he’ll walk all over you.”
She heard most of Cart’s message to the Puck as she pulled her bag out of the back. It’d be effective, if it didn’t tick Randall off.