“Benjamin, I think we’ll need that coffee now.” The smile fading, she sighed. “And I’ll have to call my grandmother to help with the box.”
“That old witch?” the butler grumbled, raising himself slowly from the floor. Once he was standing, he snorted. “Tell me if you want it thrown at her.”
Emma laughed softly, but Frederick’s confusion reigned. That wasn’t a very proper servant’s attitude—or, if it were, it should be kept to himself.
“Grandmother?” he wondered, swaying a little, the world slightly fuzzy.
“Quietly, now . . .” Her hands were still so soft on his shoulder and arm, but he wasn’t feeling strong enough to object. “What’s your name?”
“Fr . . .” He was starting to slur, felt drunk. “Fr’d’rik.”
Proper introductions be damned. He knew her first name. Why couldn’t she know his?
Smiling, her hand rubbed slowly along his shoulder, brushing lightly along his neck—and he had a second again where he thought he might disgrace himself.
Her voice saying his name didn’t help. “Frederick?”
He nodded, eyes closing, and part of him imagined what it would be like to hear her whisper that in bed, when she was naked, too.
“You’ve just done some powerful magic, Frederick, and I suspect you didn’t even know magic existed before this.”
He started to nod at the first part, then tried to shake his head at the second part, and ended up with it just rolling around on his shoulders, as he started to slip sideways. So much for masculine bravado.
“You’re going to need a little time to recover.”
This appeared to be a vast understatement. All he really knew was that he wanted to sleep soundly in her arms.
Steadying him, she propped him upright but didn’t seem to share his desires.
“I need to call my grandmother now, Frederick.”
The servant reentered the room, and Frederick opened his eyes, as she started to push him toward the man.
“Now here’s Benjamin with some nice coffee for you.”
When she pulled away completely, he let out a whimper—and he wasn’t even ashamed of the sound. Why would any sane man want a woman like that to stop touching him?
He half-overheard her say to the servant, “You may need to help him drink, Benjamin.”
Strangely, he wasn’t ashamed over that, either. After all, he’d done magic. Watching the steady green glow of the box on the floor, he smiled. He should be given a chance to feel faint after that.
Allowing himself to be fed coffee that glowed just slightly of both the same shade as the lights Emma and the servant had emitted, he watched her stand in the center of the room. Her hands reached up, and a corridor of light emerged out toward a wall, her voice suddenly very loud. “Grandmother!”
A second later, there was a crash of thunder, and then a formidable older woman appeared, her scowl directed at everyone and no one.
“Flashy wench,” Benjamin grumbled, helping him sit upright, feeding him another sip.
The lady had the same coloring as the lovely Emma, but her permanent scowl did not give out the same attractions as her granddaughter, her hands on her hips. “Well? I was just picking nightshade. What do you want?” Her gaze circled the room. “And what’s been going on here?”
He heard Emma’s sigh even across the room. Now, her hands were on her hips, too, her scowl every bit a match for the old woman’s. He had liked her better when she had been stroking his back, but she was rather lovely all formidable, too.
“And just what do you plan to do with the nightshade?”
Breaking eye contact, the older woman sniffed. “It’s just to keep back the fire lizards in my garden. Nothing important.”
The grandmother was opening her mouth again—although whether to scold or defend herself he had no idea—when her look fell on the case he had so thoroughly sealed a few moments ago. Her eyes widened.
“What’s been going on here? That’s not your magic!”
Emma’s sigh returned, her head bobbing in Frederick’s direction. “It’s his.”
Benjamin was half-blocking the woman from him, but he pulled back, staring daggers at the newcomer when she seemed about to object.
Frederick missed him. The coffee was good.
For a moment, the woman just stared, but Emma broke the silence. “This is Frederick, Grandmother.” She nodded over toward the woman, looking at him. “And this is Gloria.”
Frederick stared at the old battleaxe and was surprised when she marched straight up to him, stopping only long enough to exchange a sticking out of tongues with Benjamin. Then, that three-year-old’s display over, she grabbed Frederick’s face, peering into his eyes.
Clearly, Emma’s sigh was one of the long-suffering. “Grandmother, I’ve already looked, and I think the box proves . . .”
“Ssh!” the old woman commanded.
Both hands caught him, turning his head, her voice what you’d expect of a wicked old witch.
“And who are you, my child . . .?”
It took a second, but her eyes widened once again. Nearly spitting, she let him go. “He’s an Everly.” Her lips compressed into a hard line. “That bastard’s bred true once again.”
Her pronouncement was obviously news to everyone. To Frederick, though, the shock was simply that this woman clearly knew something about his family. He felt an odd ball of terror lodged somewhere in the pit of his stomach, started shaking. Did this mean that there was some of his family living in this odd place?
In some ways, this would make sense of the last hour or so, of what he had just managed, but it was simply the final straw for all his abilities to cope.
He starting listing to the side again, knew he was going into shock. He had always tried to be a strong man, but having his entire sense of reality shredded so quickly and thoroughly was more than he could stand.
He heard Emma’s distressed cry. “Grandmother, what have you done?” And then he was certain he was going to lose consciousness.
Had the beautiful woman not come to his rescue so quickly, he would have fainted. Instead, she rushed over, nearly tossing her grandmother out of her way, and then caught him, as he fell. A second later, she was sitting beside him on the couch, had placed his head on her shoulder, her hand stroking over his long reddish-brown curls, her voice soft. “Ssh. It’s all right. You’re safe. Everything’s going to be just fine.”
It was more her tone he responded to than her words, some of which didn’t make that much sense to him, but she seemed confident. More than this, her touch calmed him, told him for certain that all was well.
Closing his eyes, he was soothed by her scent, clean and pure. When her fingers began tracing some sort of pattern on his naked chest, he wasn’t even embarrassed. He just felt a sense of solace, her words continuing. “Quietly now. Everything’s good.”
They stayed like that for several minutes, and he wasn’t even ashamed of the brazen intimacy of the moment, of all the watchers of their impropriety. He could feel their eyes—rather distantly, his attention fairly well monopolized—even with his own closed. They were definitely at least surprised, although he suspected it was not for the same reasons anyone he knew would have been.
He wasn’t certain of their reasons, then, but didn’t much care. A warm light started somewhere within his soul. For a few, blissful moments, there was just Emma. That was more than any man could ever hope for in this life.
As little sense as it made, he felt a bond now, one he had never imagined before. He and this woman were connected. He might not understand all the details, but he did know that, in some way, he was hers.
Even if it were witchcraft, he wouldn’t complain. He was just happy to be so ensorcelled at last.
Chapter 3
Emma
The tableau in Emma’s home was an odd one—as well as a bit embarrassing—but she didn’t really mind. When she had left this morning, she had been mentally cursing the
dull, staid ways of Salem. After the intense excitement and interest of the last hour, she doubted she would ever think such a thing again.
As unusual as it was, she was rather pleased with how the day was turning out. While it was all a bit sudden, there was definitely something to be said for holding the most beautiful man in creation in her arms.
She had thought this from that first moment she had seen him stumbling from the train, had been entirely distracted from her need to help. His hair was dark, though not as dark as her own, with little reddish tints in the light and slightly longer than normal as was common in his time, his features well-defined, seeming meant for feminine admiration. His chest was strong, the muscles there existing from youth and use, predating any gym-worshiping or steroids—and, even if she hadn’t been able to see it so clearly at the time, she had still been able to tell that he was magnificently put together.
Only once she was staring at his beauty had she noticed that he seemed to be watching the clair-lumes in amazement.
In an instant, she had known what that meant, although she had mostly heard about it as an urban legend. Rarely did someone from the mundane world have real magical abilities. Often, even if they saw the clair-lumes, they were faint, easily ignored. For someone like him to see them clearly—and still not seem to know entirely what they were, even if he did know their name—meant he was powerful.
Sighing, she enjoyed the way his soft, barely-repressed curls felt as her fingers ran through them. And if he really was an Everly . . .
Despite the need for answers—and the confusion of her watching family and friend—she didn’t want to stop touching him, although she had stopped her recovery charm quite some time ago. True, she was far too mature to pretend to innocence, and she wasn’t in the habit of molesting random strangers, either. But the sweet and immediate trust he had in her touched her, his earlier, brief posturing over.
Only half-consciously, she pulled him a little closer. He felt so good beside her, made her think of many things she would like to share with him—but he was really only a baby, probably in no more than his 30s. It wasn’t a particularly noticeable age difference in her society, but in his . . .
Sighing, she tried to ignore the looks of those around her.
Natalie had bitten her lower lip, was obviously desperately attempting not to laugh—mostly at her grandmother’s obvious indignance. Her grandfather was surprised, as well—although he wouldn’t show it, just to further irk her grandmother—and she couldn’t blame him.
True, this poor, time-displaced man had clearly taken the last hit he could stand with either her grandmother’s words or mere presence. Benjamin always predicted ill omens when she was near, but then he had lived with her for 10 years, before he simply couldn’t stand her any longer.
Still, Emma did need to find out how much Frederick understood of what had happened, so many questions unanswered. And that said nothing of the whole issue of the black oil.
The gorgeous man raised his head when she trembled, looking at her as though he were worried, and she just wanted to kiss him he was so darn adorable. It was a little disturbing. She had never realized before that she was so turned on by innocence.
This fact explained, of course, why she very rarely found any of the men in Salem particularly fascinating. It had mostly been visitors who had been her bed companions before, but she had always thought that she was just attempting to dissuade the local men from trying to partner with her because of her status. A future sorcerer in the family would have been enough motive to court her—and she disliked being anything like a trophy.
She had never liked this version of partnering—was not a traditionalist, despite her choice of dress. Besides, her grandparents—who were currently engaged in yet another glaring contest—were all the encouragement she needed not to try that path. They had been matched at one of the yearly balls, had been found suitable through magic and status. The fact that they couldn’t stand the sight of each other hadn’t exactly made the arrangement permanent—or tempting to emulate.
Drawing herself back from her thoughts to their visitor and holding his hand to give him some of her energy, she smiled. If she had needed further confirmation that he had not been trained, his near-collapse after the containment would have sealed the issue.
“Your name is Frederick Everly?”
He nodded once, his gaze so trusting, and she began to wonder whether a little mild cradle-robbing might not be acceptable. After all, it was probably only around a 15-20 year age difference, nothing big.
“I think there are some questions all of us are going to need to have answered.”
Hecate have mercy. His eyes were a deep forest green, about the same shade as her own, and they spoke to her in ways which made her both very uncomfortable with so many watchers and unbelievably intrigued.
“I’d like that.” His voice was soft and husky. Even worse, he twined his fingers with hers, pressing their palms together, and she felt almost perilously aroused.
How could that happen, when she was just holding his hand?
Distracted for another moment, her gaze drifted down him, along the flesh of his chest and further . . .
She was broken from her more lascivious thoughts by her grandfather’s chuckle, her interest definitely not going without notice. Taking a deep breath, she tried to get practical. “Perhaps you’d like a shirt?”
He blinked before looking down at himself, seemed to have gotten over being affronted by these various improprieties quickly. She didn’t know whether that were his lingering shock or the fact that he seemed to believe that she was in the business of selling herself—and hoped it were the former. She definitely wouldn’t mind having him in her bed but not with that attitude.
Still, he just nodded, his thumb stroking over her own, and she realized that she better move this along quickly. Otherwise, she might find herself climbing into his lap.
Turning to her grandfather, she tried to regather the threads of her dignity. “Benjamin, do you think you can find . . .?”
He was still laughing, if softly. “Thought you were enjoying the view,” he said under his breath. “I’ll see what I can do.” As he departed, the chuckle followed him. “I’ll do better if the old hag’s gone by the time I return.”
Unfortunately, Emma thought much the same thing.
Ignoring poor Frederick’s confusion, she supposed families from his time period didn’t air their dirty laundry so freely. Taking her hand back from his, rather reluctantly, she knew their arguments were yet another shock he would have to endure.
“Grandmother, that box needs total containment.”
It was one of the few magical skills the woman really excelled at. Emma still didn’t trust what she’d been up to, though, her eyes narrowing.
“And if I find that you’re using that nightshade for anything unsavory . . .”
The older woman drew herself up, her gaze challenging. “You’ll do what?”
Emma’s look narrowed further. “I’ll take away your magic again.”
The other woman started to protest, but she shook her head.
“You know I can do it. I won’t let you endanger anyone else.”
This got her grandmother moving, if very disgruntledly, her muttering accompanying every move. “Kids these day . . . no respect. Give her a little power . . . she thinks she’s queen of the bloody world.”
Her grandmother had extended a small web of magic, picking up the box. Once she had it steady, she glared at Emma. “Do you mind?”
Rather pleased to be rid of her, Emma didn’t. Instead, she extended a few fingers, reopening the light portal she had used to bring the woman here. As it was meant for only temporary use, it could be dissipated quickly and wouldn’t risk unwelcome visitors.
Emma didn’t know what Frederick might think about any of this, wanted to explain that, while her magic had brought the woman to the house, that little lightning bolt business had been her grandmother’s own way
of purposely annoying Benjamin. Still, that was difficult, as her grandmother’s muttering continued all the way.
“You’d think the nulls were worth looking after or something. When I was a girl, nobody thought that. Makes you wish more people listened to Randolph Spear. Letting the wrong kinds get the wrong ideas . . .”
Emma cut the flow of venom off with a pinch of her fingers, closing the portal rather definitively. Then, sighing, she looked back to her time-traveling guest. “I'm sorry you have to see our squabbles. I'm afraid Gloria gets on everybody’s nerves.”
Without saying anything, he smiled, and she grew a little worried, trying to remember whether any of the spells she had used would have robbed him of speech. She certainly couldn’t think of any but hoped she hadn’t damaged him by getting him to help with the containment. While she had never had any real experience with a mundane before—especially not one with such definite untapped skill—it hadn’t been as though she had had any real choice, the lume-noirs too deadly to let roam free. Still . . .
When Benjamin returned with the shirt, having clearly used one of his small magics to fix its size to fit the younger man, she tried not to regret losing the sight of so much of him.
“There you go, young man.”
Frederick’s solemn “Thank you” soothed her.
At least he can still talk.
Watching his every move, she let him rise, dressing. She knew Nat was intrigued, as well, couldn’t blame her. Watching a beautiful man put on clothes was quite an intriguing sight. It wasn’t as wonderful as watching him take them off, but it was still immensely sexy. As any modern man would be quite pleased to be so watched, it didn’t even occur to her that he might be embarrassed by her observation.
If he was, he didn’t show it. By the time he was done, as well, she wanted very badly to drag him upstairs and teach him how much things had changed in the last couple of centuries—as well as reveling in just what hadn’t.
Blinking hard, she had to pull her thoughts back into line. There were larger issues which needed addressing here, and she could only think of one way to begin. She just hoped he would survive the shock but wasn’t certain how to prepare him. The sooner they got some bigger questions answered, the sooner she could start to figure all of this out.
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