A Little Magic

by Nora Roberts

  "You will not harm him. It's trickery only, Calin, hear me." But her terror for him was so blinding that she ran to him, leaving the charm of the circle.

  The bolt of energy slapped her like a jagged fist, sent her reeling, crumbling.

  Paralyzed, she fought for her strength but found the power that had flowed so pure and true now only an ebbing flicker.

  "Calin." The hand she'd flung out to shield him refused to move. She could only watch as he knelt on the stones, unarmed, bleeding, beyond her reach. "You must believe," she whispered. "Trust. Believe or all is lost."

  "He loses faith, you lose your power." Robes singed and smoking, Alasdair stood over her. "He is weak and blind, and you have proven yourself more woman than witch to trade your power for his life."

  Reaching down, he grabbed her hair and dragged her roughly to her knees. "You have nothing left," he said to her. "Give me the globe, come to me freely, and I will spare you from pain."

  "You will have neither." She gripped the amulet, despairing that its chamber was empty. She bit off a cry as icy fingers squeezed viciously around her heart.

  "From this time and this place, you are in bondage to me for a hundred years times ten. And this pain you feel will be yours to keep until you bend your will to mine."

  He lowered his gaze to her mouth. "A kiss," he said, "to seal the spell."

  She was wrenched out of his arms, her fingers locked with Cal's. Even as she whispered his name, he stepped in front of her, raised the sword in both hands so that it shimmered silver and sharp.

  "Your day is done." Cal's eyes burned and the pain swirling through him only added to his strength. "Can you bleed, wizard?" he demanded and brought the sword down like fury.

  There was a cry, ululating, inhuman, a stench of sulphur, a blinding flash. The ground heaved, the stones shook, and lightning, cold and blue, speared out of the air and struck.

  The explosion lifted him off his feet. Even as he grabbed for Bryna, Cal felt the hot, greedy hand of it hurl him into the whirling air, into the dark.

  Chapter 10

  Visions played through his head. Too many to count. Voices hummed and murmured.

  Women wept. Charms were chanted. He swam through them, weighed down with weariness.

  Someone told him to sleep, to be easy, but he shook off the words and the phantom hands that stroked his brow.

  He had slept long enough.

  He came to, groggy, aching in every bone. The thin light of pre-dawn filtered the air. He thought he heard whispering, but decided it was just the beat of the sea and the flow of the wind through grass.

  He could see the last of the stars just winking out. And with a moan, he turned his head and tried to shake off the dream.

  The cat was watching him, sitting patiently, her eyes unblinking. Dazed, he pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing from the pain, and saw that he was lying on the ground outside the ruins.

  Gone were the tall silver spears, the glowing torches that had lighted the great hall. It was, as it had been when he'd first seen it, a remnant of what it once had been, a place where the wind wound about and the grass and wildflowers forced their way through stony ground.

  But the scent of smoke and blood still stung the air.

  "Bryna." Panicked, he heaved himself to his feet. And nearly stumbled over her.

  She was sprawled on the ground, one arm outflung. Her face was pale, bruised, her white robe torn and scorched. He fell to his knees, terrified that he would find no pulse, no spark of life. But he found it, beating in her throat, and shuddering with relief, he lowered his lips to hers.

  "Bryna," he said again. "Bryna."

  She stirred, her lashes fluttering, her lips moving against his. "Calin. You came back. You fought for me."

  "You should have known I would." He lifted her so that he could cradle her against him, resting a cheek on her hair. "How could you have kept it from me?

  How could you have sent me away?"

  "I did what I thought best. When it came to facing it, I couldn't risk you."

  "He hurt you." He squeezed his eyes tight as he remembered how she'd leaped from safety and been struck down.

  "Small hurts, soon over." She turned, laid her hands on his face. There were bruises there as well, cuts and burns. "Here." Gently, she passed her hands over them, took them away. Her face knit in concentration, she knelt and stroked her fingers over his body, skimming where the cloak hadn't shielded until every wound was gone. "There. No pain," she murmured. "No more."

  "You're hurt." He lifted her as he rose.

  "It's a different matter to heal oneself. I have what I need in the cupboard, in the kitchen."

  "We weren't alone here. After?"

  "No." Oh, she was so weary, so very weary. "Family watches over. The white bottle," she told him as he carried her through the kitchen door and sat her at the table. "The square one, and the small green one with the round stopper."

  "You have explaining to do, Bryna." He set the bottles on the table, fetched her a glass. "When you're stronger."

  "Yes, we've things to discuss." With an expert hand, an experienced eye, she mixed the potions into the glass, let them swirl and merge until the liquid went clear as plain water. "But would you mind, Calin, I'd like a bath and a change of clothes first."

  "Conjure it," he snapped. "I want this settled."

  "I would do that, but I prefer the indulgence. I'll ask you for an hour." She rose, cupping the glass in both hands. "It's only an hour, Calin, after all."

  "One thing." He put a hand on her arm. "You told me you couldn't lie to me, that it was forbidden."

  "And never did I lie to you. But I came close to the line with omission. One hour," she said on a sigh that weakened him. "Please."

  He let her go and tried to soothe his impatience by brewing tea. His cloak was gone, he noted, and the sweater she'd woven for him stank of smoke and blood. He stripped it off, tossed it over the back of a chair, then glanced down as the cat came slinking into the room.

  "So how do I handle her now?" Cal cocked his head, studied those bland blue eyes. "Any suggestions? You'd be her familiar, wouldn't you? Just how familiar are you?"

  Content with the cat for company, he crouched down and stroked the silky black fur. "Are you a shape-shifter too?" He tilted the cat's head up with a finger under the chin. "Those eyes looked at me from out of the face of a white stag."

  Letting out a breath, he simply sat on the floor, let the cat step into his lap and knead. "Let me tell you something, Hecate. If a two-headed dragon walked up and knocked on the kitchen door, I wouldn't blink an eye. Nothing is ever going to surprise me again."

  But he was wrong about that. He was stunned with surprise when Bryna came downstairs again. She was as he'd seen her the night before, when her power had glowed in her face, striking it with impossible beauty.

  "You were beautiful before," he managed, "but now… Is this real?"

  "Everything's real." She smiled, took his hand. "Would you walk with me, Cal?

  I'm wanting the air and the sun."

  "I have questions, Bryna."

  "I know it," she said as they stepped outside. Her body felt light again, free of aches. Her mind was clear. "You're angry because you feel I deceived you, but it wasn't deception."

  "You sent the white stag to lure me into the woods, away from you."

  "I did, yes. I see now that Alasdair knew, and he used it against me. I wanted you safe. Knowing you now—the man you are now—that became more important than…"

  She looked at the castle. "Than the rest. But he tricked you into removing the protection I'd given you, then sent you into dreams to cloud your mind and make you doubt your reason."

  "There was a woman… she said she was your mother."

  "My mother." Bryna blinked once, then her lips curved. "Was she in her garden, wearing a foolish hat of straw?"

  "Yes, and she had your mouth and hair."

  Clucking her tongue, Bryna strolled toward
the ruins. "She wasn't meant to interfere. But perhaps it was permitted, as I bent the rules a bit myself. The air's clearing of him," she added as she stepped under the arch. "The flowers still bloom here."

  He saw the circle of flowers, untouched, unscarred. "It's over, then.

  Completely?"

  Completely, she thought and fought to keep her smile in place. "He's destroyed.

  Even at the moment of his destruction he tried to take us with him. He might have done it if you hadn't been quick, if you hadn't been willing to risk."

  "Where's the globe now?"

  "You know where it is. And there it stays. Safe."

  "You trusted me with that, but you didn't trust me with you."

  "No." She looked down at the hands she'd linked together. "That was wrong of me."

  "You were going to take poison."

  She bit her lip at the raw accusation in his voice. "I couldn't face what he had in mind for me. I couldn't bear it, however weak it makes me. I couldn't bear it."

  "If I'd been a moment later, you would have done it. Killed yourself. Killed yourself," he repeated, jerking her head up. "You couldn't trust me to help you."

  "No, I was afraid to. I was afraid and hurt and desperate. Have I not the right to feelings? Do you think what I am strips me of them?"

  Her mother had asked almost the same of him, he remembered. "No." He said it very calmly, very clearly. "I don't. Do you think what I'm not makes me less?"

  Stunned, she shook her head, and pressing a hand to her lips, turned away. It wasn't only he who had questioned, she realized. Not only he who had lacked faith.

  "I've been unfair to you, and I'm sorry for it. You came here for me and learned to accept the impossible in only one day."