Magic and Mayhem: A Collection of 21 Fantasy Novels

by Jasmine Walt

  After a weak nod, I raised my eyes to meet his.

  He smiled genuinely. “My main talents are that I’m a manipulator, which includes the cloak you witnessed, and a tracker, so I can follow another’s ba as it journeys through the At.” His gaze turned sharp, and he said, “Quid pro quo, Little Ivanov . . . have you discovered any talents yet?”

  “Yeah. I’m a finder, and to some degree, I’m a seer,” I responded nonchalantly. Inside I was bubbling, eager for his approval.

  For the first time, Marcus was visibly stunned. “I hope you realize how unusual it is for one of our kind to discover so many talents within a few weeks of manifesting.”

  “Sure, I guess,” I said, when in reality, I hadn’t realized it, even with Alexander’s proud, grandfatherly reaction to my skills. Taking a sip from my recently refilled wine glass, I bolstered my nerve. I’d overstepped one huge boundary already, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to jump over a few more. “Alexander was able to test me for the finding talent. Can you do the same with me, for manipulating and tracking?”

  Marcus looked into my eyes, his black-rimmed gold meeting my sienna, as he silently struggled with something. He licked his lips before speaking, an unusual display of nerves. “For tracking, yes, but there’s no need to test for manipulating.”

  “Why not? You don’t think it’s possible?” I asked, feeling slighted. “You know, I might surprise you.”

  “Evidently.” He took a long, deep breath through his nose. “There’s no need to test you for the manipulating talent because we already know you can do it.”

  “What?” I asked, my mouth open in surprise.

  Patiently, he explained, “You lifted my cloak in the echo. Only a manipulator—someone who could alter the very fabric of the At—could achieve such a feat.”

  “Oh. Um . . . sorry for getting snippy,” I apologized.

  “Don’t be. I like you when you’re snippy.” And with that simple phrase, the business side of our conversation evaporated.

  “Do you live here alone?” I asked, glancing around at the un-Marcus-like decor.

  “Carlisle stays here, as does Neffe,” he replied cautiously, reminding me of his three-thousand-five-hundred-year-old daughter . . . who seemed to despise me.

  “Is that normal for you and Neffe? Does she also live with you in Oxford?” Before he could answer, a thought occurred to me and I added, “Are you really a visiting professor from Oxford, or is that just a cover for being Nejeret?”

  Smiling, Marcus said, “It’s not just a cover. I enjoy it, though I rarely actually teach humans. There are quite a few Nejerets at Oxford, and I focus my attention on them . . . helping them get the degrees they need to do what they want to do in the human world. And thankfully, no, I don’t usually cohabitate with my daughter. I love her dearly, but after millennia, we’d slaughter each other if we spent too much time together. We’re only sharing this little house now because of its convenient location near campus. And truthfully, we almost never occupy it at the same time. My line has another, much larger compound on Bainbridge Island. Neffe prefers it, and she finds the daily ferry rides calming.”

  I made a very unladylike snort, thinking Neffe could use a little more calming. Hesitantly, I asked, “Is there, well . . . is there a particular reason why she’s so hostile toward me?”

  Marcus’s slow, silky smile was half the answer. “She’s worried I won’t be able to focus on my work.”

  “But it’s just an excavation . . . how is that at all interesting when you lived through the time period you’re uncovering?”

  His raised eyebrows and pursed lips seemed to say, “Come on, Lex, I expected more from you. Think about it!”

  Several puzzle pieces suddenly snapped into place: Nuin—father of Nejeret-kind—as Nun, Hatchepsut and Marcus, the mention of Set and Nuin on Senenmut’s tablet, a Nejeret excavation surrounding a secret temple that had been hidden by someone manipulating the At, the Nothingness in the future At. I slapped my forehead. “Oh my God! How could I be so blind? This whole excavation is about the solstice, isn’t it? It’s about trying to stop the Nothingness from taking over the possible futures in the At. You think there’s something in Senenmut’s secret temple that can prevent it?”

  Reading the subtle approval in Marcus’s eyes, I thought back on the tablet I’d deciphered. Senenmut had written that Nun’s power—creation—was locked away in the secret temple. “Marcus!” I exclaimed breathily. “Are you telling me that Nun’s—Nuin’s—power is a real thing . . . that it’s really in there?”

  He nodded, one slight, sharp movement.

  “Oh, well that’s just . . . just . . .”

  “Crazy? Impossible? Terrifying?” Marcus offered. “Yes, I quite agree. And what makes it even worse is that we don’t really know what this ‘power’ is. I knew him, Lex. I spent time with him, and he never seemed anything but the strongest of us all.” He looked around, shaking his head with frustration, or possibly disbelief. “I’ve spent millennia wondering what his mysterious power might be, and”—he laughed bitterly—“I just don’t know.”

  While I processed Marcus’s revelations, Carlisle brought out dessert—two small plates and a tray containing a variety of delicate confections. He added a clear, dainty bottle of Tocay to the table for good measure. Marcus poured a few inches of the dessert wine into each of our glasses. It was the color of golden raisins.

  I popped a bite-sized fruit tart—lemon custard contained in flaky, buttery crust and topped with a blueberry, raspberry, and strawberry slice—into my mouth. It was heavenly. Swallowing, I studied my wine glass, then looked at Marcus. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get me drunk for nefarious purposes, Professor Bahur,” I said, purposely diverting our conversation to a lighter subject. After all of the delicious food and wine, I was hardly in the best state of mind to contemplate such serious matters as mysterious powers and the impending Nothingness.

  Marcus licked a bit of chocolate filling from a tiny cream puff off the tip of his thumb. “But Ms. Larson, what would possibly make you think you know better?”

  “Because you won’t make it that easy,” I said, completely unsure of my words.

  “Perhaps,” he purred. “And perhaps not.” He leaned forward as if he might whisper some forbidden secret, and I suddenly felt his fingertips tracing the top of my boot. His thumb played tenderly with the back of my knee.

  Closing my eyes, I shuddered involuntarily. His gentle touch sent bolts of electricity along my nerves. I couldn’t believe the sensations he was eliciting simply by touching my knee. Deliberately, he inched his hand up the bare skin of my outer thigh, pausing halfway up. My heart felt like it had been relocated to my groin, and with each pump, like it might explode. My breaths became shorter, quicker, my lungs tightening every time I inhaled.

  “But only if you beg,” Marcus whispered. His words from when we’d been in the echo together resounded in my head. By the time our courtship is through, you’ll beg me to take you to bed. “Will you do it now? So soon?” he asked. “So easily?”

  My eyes shot open, then narrowed to slits. “You’ll have to try harder, Marcus,” I said softly.

  His smile was roguish as he whispered, “You have no idea how much I wanted to hear you say that.” He withdrew his hand.

  I rearranged my skirt and crossed my legs, emphasizing my decision. It was possible that, one day, I would beg. But one day, I decided, so would he.

  “It’s late. I should get you home,” Marcus said, taking another sip of the golden dessert wine before standing.

  “Can we walk?” I asked, accepting his offered hand. I wanted to extend my time with him, and the cool, night air sounded refreshing.

  “It’s snowing!” he objected.

  “Exactly.”

  “Can you walk that far in those boots . . . and in the snow?” he asked suspiciously. He led the way back to the front door, collecting my coat from a closet along the way.

  �
��Seriously, Marcus, it’s not that far. Besides, I was a ballet dancer growing up—I’ve done a lot more in far less comfortable shoes.”

  I could feel his eyes examining every inch of my body, devouring my every movement as I shrugged into my coat. “Ballet, hmmm?” One side of his mouth turned up in a sly grin. “That explains so much.”

  “Like what?”

  “Wear these,” he said, handing me some fur-lined, black leather gloves and wrapping the softest scarf I’d ever felt around my neck. “The way you walk, the way you move . . . just the way you are. You’re graceful . . . it’s very appealing.”

  “Hmm . . .” I mused. Finding out what attracted him to me gave me confidence, and equally important, power. Marcus had been using his enigmatic and unavoidable sex appeal to manipulate me since our first unofficial meeting at the bar. The scales were beginning to even out . . . at least a little.

  Marcus pulled my hair out from the charcoal-gray scarf and arranged it on my shoulders.

  “Whose are these?” I asked, holding up my gloved hands and touching the scarf.

  “Neffe’s,” he informed me.

  “Oh . . . maybe I shouldn’t wear them.” I began to pull the gloves off, but Marcus stopped me.

  “She’ll never notice they’re gone. The girl has more clothing than a department store,” he said irritably. So says the guy with an Aston Martin and a suit for every day of the century. “Shall we?” he said, opening the front door.

  I took his proffered arm, and together, we stepped into the gently falling snow. We took a path through campus, letting the empty streets and brick buildings transport us to an earlier time period.

  “You’re very tall,” I said, breaking the silence halfway through the midnight stroll.

  “Correct.”

  I laughed softly. “No, I meant, how are you so tall? You were born thousands of years ago—you shouldn’t be anywhere near as tall as you are.”

  “Also correct,” he said, infuriating me . . . probably on purpose.

  “So . . . ?”

  He chuckled. “Before I manifested, I was around your height, maybe a bit taller. I was tall for the time and among my people. But one of the changes we all experience is the fulfillment of our physical potential. Had I grown up with ideal nutrition and care, I would have reached my current height, but that was impossible then. The changes—the cellular regeneration—it fixes all of that.”

  “Huh. So, I won’t be as tall as you in a year, right?” I asked, seeking confirmation.

  “You’ve grown up in a time and place that provided you with all of the nutrients you needed. So thankfully, no. I was never a big fan of the Amazon mythology. I doubt you’ll even gain an inch.”

  “This is all so strange, you know? It’s like a dream I could wake from any moment,” I said, my voice hushed.

  Marcus’s arm tensed in mine. “Would you want to wake up?” He sounded a little sad.

  I hugged his arm with both of mine and said, “Not anymore.”

  When Marcus abruptly stopped, I almost slipped on the slick brick path. With his free hand, he turned me to face him. His cool, leather-clad fingers cupped either side of my face, tilting it up so he could examine my features better in the light of a distant streetlamp. I could feel the faint kiss of each snowflake as it landed on my face.

  “What are you, Alexandra Ivanov?” he breathed. “What are you and what are you doing to me?” As his deep, silky voice released each word into the starless night, he leaned closer. Our individual white puffs of breath slowly merged, becoming indistinguishable.

  “But—”

  “Shhh, Little Ivanov,” he murmured, closing the distance between our mouths. His lips touched mine with the faintest possible pressure, brushing first one way, then the other. When I tried to deepen the kiss, he pulled back just enough to maintain the maddening softness.

  I slipped my fingertips into his coat pockets, pulling his body closer to mine, and groaned in frustration. I wanted more. I needed more.

  One of Marcus’s arms dropped lower, his palm pressing into my lower back, and he grasped the nape of my neck with his other hand. He’d understood my desire . . . he’d complied. His burning lips worked furiously against mine, and his tongue delved into my mouth, exploring my own with a skill and sensuality I’d never before experienced.

  Purposefully, I not-so-gently bit his lower lip, earning a growl. He responded by shifting his hand from my back to the swell of my hips and pulling me even closer to him.

  His fervent mouth laid a trail of fire across my cheek and jaw, then down to the tender flesh of my neck. His lips became feather light, perfectly straddling the line between tingle and tickle. “Beg me,” he whispered against my skin, making me shiver. “Beg me to take you, right here, right now.”

  I whimpered. I really, really wanted to.

  “Beg me, Lex,” he repeated, shifting his leg so it pressed against my coat’s conveniently placed lowest button.

  I moaned brazenly.

  “Lex, beg me,” he said roughly. I could hear in his voice that nothing less than my desperate pleading would make him take the next step. Oh, I was almost certain that he wanted me just as badly as I wanted him, but I was starting to understand him—this man who’d inspired millennia-old myths, who’d seen the Egyptian, Greek, and Roman civilizations rise and fall. For Marcus, sex was about more than desire; it was also about control.

  In the heat of the moment, I almost acquiesced . . . I almost begged him to lift my skirt and take me in the shadows of the abandoned midnight campus. But I wasn’t ready to give up the little piece of control I had left in my life.

  “No,” I whispered, the single word audibly hoarse. Embarrassingly, I was pretty much panting from the way his leg was manipulating that damn button.

  With a throaty laugh, Marcus returned his attention to my lips, kissing them tenderly. “You will. Soon.”

  “I hope you’re prepared to wait,” I said with a victorious smile. In my head, I was wondering if I would even be able to hold out until the following day.

  He kissed me one last time before moving his mouth to my ear and whispering, “However long, Little Ivanov, it will be worth the wait.”

  17

  Show & Tell

  “Are you planning to do this every morning?” I asked Marcus, who currently had his arm draped over my shoulders as we walked to Denny Hall. It was drizzling, as usual, but I didn’t care.

  “Why?” Marcus murmured, glancing down at me.

  I shrugged. “I’d just like to know what to expect. I don’t like being disappointed.”

  “And if I wasn’t waiting outside your apartment building to walk you to a classroom in which we would be spending the day together, would you be disappointed?” His tone was too unconcerned, too disinterested—he really wanted to know the answer.

  “Oh, I don’t know . . . hmm . . .” I stopped walking in the middle of the cement path and rose on tiptoes to plant an undeniably steamy kiss on his lips, unconcerned that other people were passing around us. “Yes, Marcus,” I said, resuming our meandering pace. “I’d be very disappointed.”

  “Well, then yes, I plan to do this every morning,” he replied. “That is, every morning until we wake up together.”

  “I didn’t know you were planning on staying in Seattle for years,” I teased.

  “Years,” he chortled, like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. It was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever said. But still, he was a cocky bastard.

  “Have you spoken to Alexander in the past few days?” I asked.

  If Marcus was surprised by the drastic change of subject, he didn’t show it. “No, why?”

  “So he doesn’t know that I know about you and the others?” And he doesn’t know we’ve been all over each other for the past two days?

  “No,” Marcus said. There was something—many things to be sure—he wasn’t telling me. But then, there was something I wasn’t telling him.

  “And th
e others on the team—they don’t know that I know they’re Nejeret, do they?”

  “No.”

  “Will you do me a favor?” I asked tentatively.

  He narrowed his eyes and looked at me askance. “That would depend on the favor.” Oh no, Marcus wasn’t on the verge of professing his undying love, to declare he’d do anything for the woman currently holding his attention.

  “Just don’t let anyone know that I know about you and the others until tomorrow . . . please,” I added the last word for good measure. That was phase one of my plan.

  I had just set a platter of oven-fried chicken on the table between a serving bowl of mashed potatoes and a gravy boat when Alexander knocked on the door. It was exactly eight o’clock. Pleasantly, I greeted my grandpa, and we headed to the table. Anxiety and excitement flooded my veins as I hurtled into phase two of my plan.

  “I’d really like to be able to trust you, Alexander,” I began, scooping mashed potatoes onto my plate.

  My grandpa looked acceptably confused. “You can trust me,” he said, meeting my eyes. I thought I could believe him, and I desperately wanted to.

  Lately, my world had been one big tangle of lies and half-truths. Some people lied to protect me, like my parents and Grandma Suse, while others withheld valuable information because it was against “the rules” or for completely unknown reasons, like Marcus, Dr. Isa, and Genevieve. Alexander, too, hadn’t given me the full truth, leaving out several important pieces of information, like “your new boss is Nejeret” and “I’ve had someone spying on you for the past six months.” I’d never been one to surround myself with crowds of acquaintances, instead preferring to keep a few true friends—close confidants who I could trust completely. At the moment, I had a grand total of zero true friends. It was time to figure out who I could add to that category.

  “I know about Marcus,” I told Alexander after I’d finished dishing food onto my plate. At his quizzical head-cocking, I realized he might not know that name, so I clarified, “Heru.” What other names will I use if I end up living as long as Alexander and Marcus?