When You Believe

by Jessica Barksdale Inclan

  As his father, Hadrian, had done before him, Sariel found those practicing bad magic, abusing Moyenne, taking property or money or power that wasn’t theirs. He did what he needed to do for the Croyant world and for the greater good of all, but there was something wrong in a world where trapping and sometimes killing others was necessary. He’d caught Quain followers, sorcieres and sorciers who’d tried to undermine Croyant law, those who were dissatisfied with Adalbert and the Council, wanting a new leader, and new power. He’d found Croyant who wanted to rule over the Moyenne, to lead lives of kings and queens, saying that magic gave them that right.

  There had been close calls. Just two years before, Rufus had nearly lost his life in battle against Quain, Kallisto, and a sorcier named Cadeyrn Macara, an important member of the Croyant community Quain had managed to enchant. At that point, Sariel realized that if Macara had been turned, so could anyone. Of course, Brennus’s fears were legitimate, but the fight was weakening Croyant from the inside out, reducing life to good and bad, forcing everyone to be alert, suspicious, vigilant. And sometimes Sariel found himself hunting down Croyant who were once his friends or members of the Council, people who hadn’t been able to say no to Quain.

  But no matter who it was, Sariel could hunt thief or murderer or terrorist. That was his gift.

  Through the many colored strands of thought in the universe, he could winnow out the pretenders, the decoys, until he could find the Quain follower in one crowded apartment in Prague or Bucharest or Tunis. In order to do so, he used the telepathic gift he was born with, and then he used the gift he learned, taking thoughts to bind his prisoner into silence, into motionlessness, into a light, persuasive, steadily more constrictive pain, until he could think them both to the Croyant Council at Rabley Heath.

  Sometimes, though, things didn’t go as planned. Sometimes things got… messy.

  “I hope you understand this, young Valasay,” Brennus said, standing up, his old bones creaking. “I don’t want to have to come back here again before you head East. I’m warning you. Don’t go back to the woman again. If your father knew—”

  Sariel shook his head. “Don’t talk about my father.”

  Brennus held up his hands, sighing, his eyes no longer filled with anger and reproach. Sariel’s father, Hadrian, and Brennus had served on the Council together, and now Brennus’s hands were stiff, spotted, lined with veins.

  “Looks like you need a trip to the healer,” Sariel said, struck suddenly by how old Brennus was. It wasn’t just his rage at Quain making him forgetful and angry—it was his body.

  “Mind your own concerns,” Brennus said, flashing the wild eyes he’d worn as a warrior in the battle against a rebellious troop of Croyant at Jacob’s Well fifty years ago. “I can take care of myself and anything Quain throws at me. Now keep a low profile until you go. No good being spotted, especially when we can’t trust anyone. Anyone!”

  Sariel wanted to tell Brennus that not everyone was a spy or a thief, but in an instant, Brennus was gone, nothing blocking Sariel’s view of the Pacific, the day outside warm and blue and full of salt.

  He tried to stop himself. In fact, all day he worked in his garden, forcing himself to think of only soil, fertilizer, rootball, compost. Every time Miranda flickered into his mind, he shut down the thoughts. He wasn’t always successful. One minute he was tamping down dirt around an azalea, and the next thing he knew, he was hovering in her bedroom, watching her try on a white blouse. She stood in front of her full-length mirror, wearing nothing but the blouse and her underwear, a postage-stamp piece of silk stretched tight across her lovely rear. The sun poured through the window, making her skin glow, the tender spot behind her knees too much for him to bear. He wanted to swoop down, kneel behind her, kiss those sweet spots, his lips tracing the pattern of her freckles, moving his hands up her thighs as he did.

  Miranda stamped her left foot, pushed her hands through her curly hair. She was having a hard time matching button to buttonhole, each time making a mistake. “Crap,” she said, sticking her tongue out at her own reflection. “Just focus! Stop being an idiot.”

  Then she tried again, her slim fingers flitting over the buttons.

  “Crap,” she said after the third attempt. She took off the blouse, threw it on the bed and pulled a T-shirt out of a drawer. As she was closing the drawer, she turned, looked around, as if she’d felt his heart beating. At that moment, Sariel realized what he was doing and thought himself back to his yard, his hands on the earth, azalea leaves brushing his hair.

  He’d made it back. But she’d almost seen him. She’d known he was there.

  Later in the day, the sun just setting behind the flat pan of the Pacific, Sariel stood in front of his refrigerator, his hands on his hips, looking at food that seemed completely unacceptable. He didn’t feel like eating, much less cooking, and he thought it might be easier to think himself to a restaurant in Sausalito. That seemed like too much effort, though, and he was motionless, blinking against the fridge light. He began to drift. One second he was looking at a lump of Swiss cheese, and then he was standing in her office watching her work at her computer. She’d pinned her hair up with a silver clip, the slim column of her neck just feet away from him. A few wild curls had escaped from the clip and spiraled down to her shoulder. He could just reach out, pull one gently and then move his hand along the curve of her neck and shoulder.

  Sariel reached out, and he saw her stop typing, sit up straight. He saw her skin prick with goose bumps, and she very slowly began to turn toward him.

  Go, he thought, and he was back in the kitchen, standing in front of the fridge, looking at cheese. Ketchup. A jar of pickles.

  Everything got worse after one beer and then two. Sariel tried to contact Rufus, but his brother and Fabia were working, brought to London to listen to a particular apartment building. Rufus only had time to shoot back a quick, Take a long run. Or a cold shower. Or both before he needed to get back to work.

  Felix was floating somewhere over Hana, reports of a curious group of tourists checking into a private house keeping him busy. These tourists never seemed to drive anywhere for food or supplies, but had been quite happily vacationing for weeks.

  I’m just seeing who’s having a good time, Felix thought. If they’re foes, we’ll have some work on our hands. If they’re friends, I’m ready to have some fun.

  Sariel paced, knowing there were spells he could cast on himself. Or he could actually go to a healer to have these Miranda memories lifted from his mind. That would do it. He knew the healer he’d visit, too, Justus, one of his teachers at school, a man known for extracting only what was requested, not a thought more. It was the perfect solution. Sariel could stay away from Miranda if he didn’t have to keep breathing in her hair and her skin, the soft floral taste of her body. How easy to follow Brennus’s orders if he didn’t have to think about the way her breast felt in his hand, the hardness of her nipple against his tongue. He’d be just perfect if he didn’t hear her laugh in his head, her funny comebacks, her throaty whisper.

  Sariel stopped walking, looked out his window, the sky flush with stars. He knew what he had to do.

  “It’s me again,” Sariel said, kissing her temple, his breath in her ear, his hands on her body. He let her consciousness rise higher, and Miranda opened her eyes, smiling.

  “Not you again. Are you a recurring dream? Or is it nightmare?” She spoke aloud, not just thinking to him this time. “Or a ghost? I think you were haunting me all day.”

  He lay down beside her, letting his hands run the length of her long, smooth body. “What is it for you?” He could hear her nerves, the electricity inside her spiking at his touch, a thin layer of fear in her mind. When he felt her fear, Sariel wanted to erase it, needing her—for some reason—to trust him. To believe in him, even though he knew she must forget everything.

  “Mostly a nightmare.” She pulled him to her, her arms around his neck, shoulders. “Not the visiting part, but the awake part
. I spend all my time convincing myself I’m not crazy. I can’t write. I basically can’t think. I can’t even seem to put my clothes on right. And then you show up and it all makes sense.”

  “You’re not crazy,” Sariel said. “I’m the crazy one. I can’t stop coming here. And I’ve been warned in the strictest terms not to.”

  Miranda pulled away, blinking, her eyes wide, looking at him, touching his hair, his face, her finger lingering on his lip. “That man? Brennus?”

  He nodded. “And he’s right. More than right.”

  “Why?” She looked at him, confused, and then laughed. “I don’t get any of this. But the least of anyone’s worries would be…” Miranda leaned over and kissed him. “Us.”

  Sariel didn’t want to talk anymore, or think, letting her thoughts disappear from his mind. He pushed her back, holding her arms tightly, not letting her move. He kissed her face, her soft throat, feeling her pulse under his lips. Moving down, he found her lush breast, the nipple hard and firm and ready for his tongue.

  “Oh,” she moaned, struggling a little to free her arms, but he held tightly, his tongue circling her nipple, then sliding over to the other, just as eager.

  She tasted like lavender, like something new, like nothing he’d ever breathed in and swallowed before. He kissed his way down her ribs, stomach, all the way to her thighs. He let her hands go and slid his own under her smooth rear, taking her round, lovely flesh in his palms, and circled her heat with his tongue, pressing his lips against her wetness.

  Miranda moaned lightly, trying to move her body to his wet strokes, but he held her still, whispering, “Don’t move. Let me do this.”

  Her thoughts rushed through him—her confusion about who he was and her desire for him and his body. No. Yes. No. Yes. Oh, God, she thought, her mind blurring as Sariel moved his mouth and tongue against her. Wanting to enjoy this, he heard her tell herself, Oh, Miranda! Just shut up!

  Sariel felt her relax, and he closed his eyes, letting himself savor her taste, her willingness to trust him even though she knew nothing about him or his life. Even though being with him made her think she was crazy. All he wanted to do was stay there, drinking her in, not thinking, just feeling, but his body wanted hers, in a way he hadn’t wanted anyone since… Sariel couldn’t think about the past, about her, so he focused on Miranda, the way she opened to him, her tiny thrusts against his mouth, her hands in his hair, her little moans as he moved faster, his name on her lips as she cried out and her body slowly quieted, relaxed, fell back onto the mattress.

  He lifted his mouth and looked up. Miranda opened her eyes and smiled.

  “Magic,” she whispered, touching his hair, twirling a strand between her fingers.

  Sariel stood up, whipped off his shirt, took off his pants, and knelt next to her, letting her feel his body, his chest, his stomach. He caught his breath, unable to stand how hard he was, how good her soft hands felt wrapped around him, how needful.

  Leaning over her, he kissed her, letting her taste flow between them. She kissed him back, holding him tightly, and then she broke away.

  “Don’t tell me there’s such a thing as a magical condom?” Miranda said, twining her legs around him, her hands on his shoulders. “An antipregnancy potion? A conception curse?”

  “That’s not my area of expertise,” he said lightly, trying to keep himself from just taking her now without any protection. “I rely on Moyenne technology.”

  Sariel slowly pulled himself out of her embrace and grabbed his pants from the chair and pulled out a condom from a pocket. He fumbled with the wrapper, his fingers jittery.

  “Let me,” she said, moving his hands away, sliding the latex over him so smoothly, so firmly, he wasn’t sure he’d make it until she was done.

  “There,” she said, letting him sink on top of her, kissing his neck, his mouth, lifting up her hips to him.

  He couldn’t speak, wanting only to feel her skin, her sleek shimmer as he pushed into her. Slowly, wanting to hold the sensation for as long as he could, he pressed himself as deep as he could. His mind became his feelings, his body, knowing only how warm and wet and good Miranda felt.

  And they moved together. To Sariel, their back-and-forth rocking reminded him of how it felt to slip through time and matter, his body flowing, touching nothing, touching everything. Miranda moved with him, her breath against his lips, face, neck, her hands tight on his back.

  “Are you real?” she said at one point, and Sariel didn’t really know if he was, this lovemaking with her more magic than he’d seen in his life.

  “I don’t know,” he said, lifting her hips to him, sliding in and out of her long and deep, and then they were slipping through everything, all at once, together.

  They lay together on her bed, his arm around her, her head on his chest. With her fingertips, she drew light lines on his skin, her slightest touch waking him with feeling.

  Outside, the sky was lightening, the Bay Bridge lights flittering in the gray near dawn, and soon he’d have to leave Miranda. Soon he’d have to leave the country. He had work to do, and she couldn’t know about it or be a part of it. Miranda could never be a part of his life.

  Sariel closed his eyes, ran a hand along the curve of hip. Miranda sighed, pulled him closer.

  “So, how do you do it? The moving thing.”

  “Are you talking about this?” Sariel pulled her up on top of him, kissing her mouth, his hands on her breasts. “I want to move you all night.”

  Pushing herself up, she looked down, her sumptuous hair curling around her face, her eyes lapis in the dark. “I think we’ve moved this bed around the whole room. Larry downstairs probably thinks I’m redecorating. Or that I’m having my first ever orgy.”

  Sariel ran his finger on her cheek, closed his eyes, and breathed in her lavender scent. He was sure he’d never tire of her mouth on his or her skin under his hands. Probably she’d figured that out after the third time he’d hardened and pressed against her, wanting her again. He knew he’d have to make her forget him and everything about this night, but felt a deep, hollow pain at the idea that he’d be the only one who’d remember the way she held him against her heart after he’d come, her arms holding him tightly.

  Sariel was silent, his hand smoothing her hair.

  Miranda leaned into his touch. “But I really meant this thing.” She lay on top of him, putting her arms around his neck. “When you hold me and we end up somewhere ridiculous. Like your house when we’d been on a street.”

  “Oh, that.” He tried to sound light, but this was exactly what Brennus had warned him about. If he told her how he thought himself places, she’d just want to know more, the conduit between Croyant and Moyenne growing thicker and clearer. It wasn’t likely, but it was possible that one of Sariel’s enemies could track her down, find out information that would lead to Sariel. Miranda was soaking him in, learning more about him the longer they were together. By making love, Sariel was putting her at risk.

  It would be so much easier if the Croyant and Moyenne worlds were fused. Sariel, Rufus, and Felix had debated pulling the two worlds together, for once and for all.

  “Why keep it to ourselves?” Rufus had said over three too many steins of beer one late night. “It’s not like they could use the information. Remember what Reynaldo always said, ‘It’s all one world.’”

  Reynaldo De Bautista was a man they’d all met two years ago, a new magic voice in the world, one that Adalbert listened to closely. Reynaldo wasn’t Croyant, but his magic, once brought into the Croyant world, would only bring people together.

  “But you know what Moyenne can do, Ru. They could use us,” Felix said. “They could make us do what they wanted.”

  When Felix had said that, Sariel remembered what had happened to their kind periodically through the ages: Croyant burned and drowned and stoned by hysterical Moyenne townsfolk. Whenever Croyant thought it would be safe to unveil one or two little bits of magic, Moyenne blamed them for the crops faili
ng, for a sudden tornado, for the plague. Long ago, Croyant learned to keep their lives hidden or find a tribe or village somewhere that prized magic, understood it, and left Croyant folk to themselves. And now, with Quain using Moyenne to attack them, it was even more dangerous to trust anyone. But with Miranda, Sariel felt safe, as if she already knew and accepted his secrets. As if he’d met her before and knew hers. But that was ridiculous. He didn’t know her. She couldn’t possibly know him. She was just a woman. A lovely, beautiful, amazing woman, but Moyenne all the same.

  “It’s just a little something I picked up in India,” Sariel said.

  “Yeah, just like a Ganisha statue. You can buy anything on the street corners there. A healing spell, a little ability to travel through air. In fact, it doesn’t have to be India. The other day I think I saw a book titled Mind Reading for Dummies.“ She took her arms from around his neck and lay back on the pillow. “If I’m going to believe in you, I have to know you, Sariel. Otherwise, it is just a dream.”

  He sighed. How to explain? And should he? The risks were so great, but he could feel her need to know, her want to know. She was the first Moyenne woman he’d ever wanted to tell the truth to, most thinking he was just some sorry-ass jerk who disappeared after a couple of good dates. She was different, but the times were different, too. Brennus told him that giving her any information was dangerous, both to Croyant and to Miranda. Even though Sariel had scanned the area and found it empty of Quain influence or Croyant snooping, someone could be listening in. But that was unlikely. After all, wasn’t it Sariel’s gift to find those who tried to hide? He’d been focusing, hadn’t he? He’d been paying attention. Aside from finding himself in Miranda’s house twice in one day quite by accident, he was on top of everything.

  “I don’t know,” he said.