by CD Coffelt
Red Tank Top—Christie—turned an evil look on Bert, her face blotchy with color. “You little—”
“Hey, hey, now, don’t turn bitchy on me. I’m not getting paid to babysit you, so watch the ’tude. Not a real big fan of that.”
“I don’t need a babysitter, you moron.”
“Not according to your mom, sweetie. She told me to keep you out of trouble, and if you get into a fix, she’ll tell my mom, and then she’ll be on my case.”
The other girl patted Christie’s arm. “Don’t let him get to you.” She slipped off the bar stool and strolled like liquid on two legs to the jukebox against the wall. The arched top of the music box gave the appearance of an antique, but the music selection was modern. She leaned one shapely arm on the top of the chrome and oak paneling of the jukebox and peered at the selection. She had the self-aware manner of someone who knew people were watching her.
“Hey, you got Nickelback. Cool.” She slipped her hand into the front of her skin-tight shorts and struggled briefly before pulling out several coins. The thunk of the quarters hit the machine’s innards, and “Animals” blared from the speakers.
“Oh, yeah, baby.” Christie moved to Lena and twined her figure around hers into a sinuous dance meant for the eyes. “Come on, Justus, join us. There’s plenty of room.” She gestured to the half-inch or so between her bosom and the other girl’s.
Lena snickered.
Justus half-smiled and his eyes went back to the bar top. His muscles flexed under his black T-shirt as he polished the wood in lazy circles. Really, Sable thought, that shirt was too tight. It revealed every ripple and movement under the cotton.
His eyes came up to hers, and it was her turn to look away. She felt her cheeks get hot.
Another snort from beside her gave her some relief from the tension. Bert dodged the gyrating girls by dramatically tiptoeing around them, as if he was avoiding stepping into something bad. He walked to the front of the jukebox to stare at the song menu. After a few seconds, he pulled coins from his jeans pocket and made a selection. The mood changed when a slow beat came from the speakers. Shinedown, Sable thought. Bert walked past the annoyed girls and held out one hand to Sable.
“May I have this dance?” he said dramatically.
She laughed at his hitched eyebrow.
“Soytenly.”
Her Curly imitation was crappy, but he laughed anyway, and she took his hand. In the next moment, her mouth dropped. Bert whirled her into his arms, his movements as graceful as any dancer on prime TV. He turned one shoulder, settled his hand on her hip, and moved into a waltz step in time to the beat. She followed his lead as he slid into the pattern.
“What? You’re surprised the boy can dance?” Bert laughed and rose on the balls of his feet to complete a turn, then twirled her under his arm.
Sable laughed.
“Surprised? Yeah, a bit. That you know what a waltz is and how to do it. And that you can do it pretty darn well.”
The two girls snarled and whispered together as she and Bert glided across the floor.
“Mom had me learn. She said, ‘Every guy needs to know how to dance.’”
A snort from the direction of the bar caught her attention. For a while, Sable had forgotten that Justus was even there. He stepped around the far end to walk to the open floor.
“Here, I learned too.” He stared hard at Bert with flinty obsidian eyes.
The boy gave an easy laugh and released her.
“Okay, I’ll give her up. I wasn’t in any danger.”
The boy’s cryptic remark confused Sable, but then Justus took her hand. Bert stepped to the side, bowed low to the girls, and offered his hand, but they ignored him. Bert sighed and stood back against the jukebox, leaning one arm over the top of it to watch.
The warm rough hand clasped hers gently, and she felt his arm slide around her waist. The muscled arm held her firmly, and she knew when her hand trembled in his. She wondered if he noticed.
“One thing,” Justus said to Bert. “You put your hand on the lady’s back, not her hip.”
“I kinda like the hip,” Bert said.
Justus shrugged and she felt the ripple of his muscles under her hand. His shirt was thin. And he smelled of cherry wood and pipe tobacco.
His tall frame moved like water, fluid and limber. And where Justus led, she followed in mirrored grace.
The arms that held her were a man’s arms, and she was aware of the strength in them, the confidence in his stride and fluid movement. Bert knew the dance steps and was as light on his feet as his gawky teenager body would allow, and someday, poise and power would be his. He would be a handsome man. But for now, the difference between the two men shook her.
The cloth of his shirt brushed her lips, and without thinking, Sable breathed in his scent and laid her cheek against his chest. Under the side of her mouth, she felt the thud of his heart and the shiver in his body when he gasped. His warm breath was on her face when she opened her eyes, his parted lips level with her mouth.
The song ended. He released her and stood back, his black eyes on her. He dropped his hands to his side. Sable was only barely aware that her deep breaths were in time with his.
Bert chuckled and the moment broke. “Now that is dancing,” he said and pantomimed fanning his face. He gestured at the two girls standing with hard, stiff lines in their faces. “What you two were doing was pole-dancing.” He waved a hand at Sable and Justus, still staring at each other. “That was dancing. Big difference.”
Justus’s face was expressionless, and his hard eyes held no warmth in them. He turned and went into the back storage room and closed the door.
Sable watched him leave and did not speak for a long time.
That evening, Sable leaned back in the chaise lounge. The McIntyres’ back yard was peaceful on summer nights, and as a treat for Maggie, Emmett had filled the basin of the small garden fountain. Long after the McIntyres had said their good nights, Sable listened to the sounds of the evening. The flowing water blended with the night and soothed the tension left from the strange day.
The tea she sipped was too weak for her taste, but Sable found it soothing as she tried to organize her muddled thoughts. Too much was happening, and she wasn’t prepared to face the answers, let alone the questions. The dance and how Justus looked at her; it ran the course day by day from near rage to something else, something tender. How could she continue in this farce of half-realized wishes?
For the first time since learning of her unholy inheritance as a potential wizard, Sable considered different options other than running, hiding, cowering.
Fighting. Maybe she should let them find her, wait for the Imperium to show up here, and bring the fight to her. At least she would have the advantage of place and choosing how to face them.
Until she broke, the Imperium with its hunters would return to eat at her happiness. It was halftime in a very serious game of hide and seek. Sable didn’t question how they had lost her. She was just fiercely glad they had, and now the rage she felt was very new.
A soft trill announced Zephyr just before the kitten leaped into her lap. The half-grown kitten purred, telling Sable how lucky she was to have her. With eyes half-closed in ecstasy, the kitten accepted the caress under her chin.
A shadow moved in the dark under the trees, and her hand stilled, her breath caught in her throat. But a moment later, she realized the man-sized form was only the tree swaying in the cool night breeze. Sable laughed when she realized silhouettes made of moon shadows had caused her to jump like a mouse.
“I am a mess, aren’t I, Zephyr?” she said. “And to think I would even consider standing up to them when shadow puppets can scare me spitless.”
She gave the kitten a last pat, stood, and walked back to the house.
Justus stepped back under the branches of the old oak tree. The lights over the garage flickered to life, and he watched her pass in front of one of the windows facing the back yard.
He moved into the deeper shadows under the tree and waited. After the lights went off, Justus stayed in the dark, watching the house as it slept, and tried to sort through his feelings.
The breeze ran cool fingers through his hair, twisting it into knots, much like his tangled thoughts.
Chapter Ten
“Ah, shoot, Emmett, here’s another one,” Sable said, grinning broadly.
Business at the eatery was slow, and Justus had closed that part of the shop early. Now, in the late afternoon with no customers in the bar, the antique side of the shop demanded her attention.
Sable gestured to the computer monitor. Emmett rubbed his chin and grimaced at the new client list with a concerned expression.
“We’re getting hits on the web site almost every hour.” She turned back to the monitor and acknowledged the order. Her fingers flew over the keyboard.
“Who would have thought it, creating a place to buy and sell on such an outlandish scale,” he said, his voice full of mock exhaustion.
She resisted the smart aleck reply and flipped through the archives generated with a touch of her finger on the keyboard. A long list of current, prospective, and wannabe buyers sprang up, with another shorter list of those names and IP addresses to avoid. This one checked out okay, and she began the initial stages to ship.
The office now resembled a mini post office, with shipping boxes, tape, and bubble wrap on the shelves against one wall. A digital scale had taken up residence on a long, waist-high table. Sable had organized the office supplies and postal envelopes of every size, despite the men’s haphazard method of tossing stuff wherever gravity chose to take it. After she had snapped at each of them, they’d wisely broken that habit.
She heard footsteps and glanced up from her screen. Justus brought in a large box, one well-muscled arm curled around the edge, his sleeve pushed up to the elbow. As usual, he didn’t look at her or comment, but set the box on the sorting table and left.
Justus never spoke of the dance. Since that day, he never acknowledged her if he could avoid it and his manner felt colder than ever. Since their slow dance on that emotion-packed day, Sable had surreptitiously watched him. When he moved boxes to the top shelves, ate at the McIntyres’ dinner table, or played with Zephyr using a ribbon, she found herself intrigued with his behavior. At those times, an easy smile was on his face. His throaty laugh when Zephyr captured the impromptu toy made something stir inside her. After a mock battle with Zephyr over the ribbon, the winner had walked away, her tail held high.
Sable remembered the way his long body stretched out on the floor, and she shivered now thinking about it. Best not think about it, of a future with the McIntyres and others. The hurt would be worse if she gave in to even daydreams of someone in her life. Still, she tried to draw him into conversations, if only to hear his rusty voice. Besides, it was only polite.
She heard a murmur of voices, a short laugh from Emmett, and Justus stepped into the office with another box, the smile quickly changing into the smooth mask he wore around her.
“More stuff,” he said curtly. He laid the bundle on the table, hesitated, and then turned to her, his eyes black ebony, cool and unemotional. He gestured with one hand. “You might want to look at that.”
Sable shrugged and went to the table. He moved away, shying, as if she might touch him. She wanted to make a fist and slug him, if for no other reason than to see the frozen mask vanish into shock. Instead, she steeled herself and reached for the box, jerking it toward her. Justus took a sharp breath, then clamped his mouth shut. Eyeing his clear uneasiness made her stop and swallow her irritation. She carefully pulled the flaps out, smoothed them down the sides of the box, and peeked inside. Her breath stopped.
Her fit of temper had jostled the packing material to one side, revealing the contents, a large, clear sphere of crystal. She slipped her hands around the ball and tried to pull it from the box, but the bubblewrap was wedged against the sides holding the crystal. A quick shake rattled the box, but it didn’t release.
“Here.” Justus bent and held the bottom of the box still.
“Thanks,” she murmured. His breath brushed her face like a warm feather as she lifted the ball free. Then she was lost in wonder.
It was as big as a soccer ball and made of clear glass, its surface smooth and free of nicks. Not cold, but almost warm, it felt like wax under her fingertips and palms. Mesmerized, she found herself stroking it, caressing the crystal as if it were velvet.
“Neat, huh?” Justus said.
The easy smile he never had for her was on his face.
“I found it in one of the storage rooms in the basement, something I bought a while ago and forgot. You can have it.”
“Have it? Really? It’s mine?”
He nodded and shrugged, tried to regain his don’t-care attitude.
He failed and his grin widened.
She broke her eyes away from his fascinating mouth and that tiny curl at each side of his lips. “Yes, very neat,” she murmured. She stared into the depths of the ball and tried to think of something other than the scent of his body that was so close. “Too bad it doesn’t work.”
“Work? Oh, you mean the crystal ball.”
“Yeah,” she said, shrugging one shoulder, her eyes on the ball instead. It was safer than watching his mouth move.
“Too bad it doesn’t work,” she said again. To her ears, her laugh sounded strained, but he laughed with her. It was startling to hear him, and she concentrated harder on the crystal. “What a shame that magic is only in the mind,” she said lightly.
For a moment, Sable lost herself in that thought. If there were such a thing as crystals with preternatural powers, what she wouldn’t give to wish away her talent. To have no magic, then she could live a normal life. She gave a quick shake of her head and sighed.
When he didn’t reply to her flippant remark, Sable decided Justus was back to his crabby old self. She hazarded a glance, saw he had cocked his head, and knew she was right. He had lost his smile. But then her jaw dropped with his next words.
“Well, let’s see if it works.”
He slipped his hands under the ball and took it away from her. His black eyes narrowed as he held the ball to his face, bending at the waist.
“Stare deeply into the crystal, my child,” Justus said dramatically. “Tell me what you see, and I will interpret.” His voice fell into a sonorous, bass tone.
Sable snickered, her heart suddenly lightened with his strange mood. “Ah, now,” she said. “Surely you don’t believe in magic.”
His face stilled briefly. But in the next moment, she thought she had imagined it when his face changed and he said lightly, “All it takes is faith.”
“Or fate.”
“Fate ain’t got nuthin’ to do with it.”
His words seemed out of place. He nodded to the crystal again. “Look. Tell me what you see.”
“My child.”
“What?”
“You forgot to say ‘my child.’” Sable said.
He smirked as Sable bent closer to the surface of the crystal ball, again marveling at the nearly clear interior of the stone. The workmanship to produce such a thing was beyond her ken.
As she obeyed his command to look deep, she held back another snicker. Drama; she needed some drama here, and Sable reached for the crystal, placing her hands over his.
His hands were warm. She felt a tingle in her fingertips, almost as if she had expended gathered energy. She swallowed hard, but then felt a nervous snicker welling from her throat.
A spark of Fire element would be so inconvenient right now.
Focus, focus.
In the depths of the crystal, she finally saw something, something black and looking back at her. She could see his eyes, filtered through the clear crystal, returning her gaze with something indecipherable, an emotion or passion she had never seen in his face. She dropped her hands, and he lowered the ball from between them. His eyes were brilliant made of ebony fi
re, and he was looking at her strangely.
“You should laugh more,” he said roughly. “It suits you.”
Sable opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out, her thoughts a jumbled heap at his words and the way he continued to look at her. His eyes dropped to her mouth, and she forgot how to breathe as he leaned down to her, his lips slightly parted.
The high-pitched cry of a child made him jerk back. He sucked in a quick breath and shook his head, as if to clear it. Without looking at her again, he set the crystal ball in the box and turned away.
Her hand caught the edge of the table, gripping it hard to keep from falling.
Sable heard Emmett talking and a man answering from the front room, followed by the sound of a meaty slap.
“Hey now, none of that.” Emmett’s voice was uncharacteristically hard.
An incoherent sound came from Justus as he strode out of the office. She followed him into the front room.
A sour-faced man with skinny wrists held the arm of a small boy, the imprint of the slap just starting to color the child’s cheek. The mother was reaching for the child, her face a mixture of horror and outrage. The man jerked the small child out of her reach.
“He’s tired? All that whining because he’s tired?” he snarled. “I’ll give you tired.” His hand drew back and flattened.
That was all it took for Sable to decide. She reached for her magic, limited though it was. But Sable didn’t have a chance to follow through with her outrage. Faster than she thought possible, Justus’s tall form came between them, and in the next blink of her eyes, he stood with one large hand under the man’s chin, cupping his throat.
“Let him go.” Justus’s voice was soft, but violence was in his face.
The man gulped, opened the hand gripping the child’s arm, and the mother pulled the boy into her arms. The small boy made no sound, but turned to watch the two men. His eyes were huge.
Justus made a small movement, and the man stumbled back, almost falling as he tripped and bumped into display cabinets. He stopped just inside the entrance, turned, and began cursing. But he wasn’t looking at Justus, who stood with narrowed eyes, but at the woman holding the big-eyed child. Justus raised his hand, as if he held a rock, and his arm went back. He glanced at Sable and hesitated.