The Changespell Saga

by Doranna Durgin

  “If you can handle this, a horse show’ll be a piece of cake,” Dayna said.

  Jaime laughed. “I guess you’re right at that.” And, with hardly any pause, “Carey, after you’ve had a meal and a chance to clean up, we’ve got more questions than you’d want to answer in your whole life. I hope you’re up to it.”

  Carey glanced at Jess. “I’m not surprised,” he said wearily. “I haven’t seen much of this world, and I know even less about it, but I don’t guess you get many like us dropping in.”

  Dayna’s laugh was short and just short of bitter. “I guess not.”

  Eric scooted the last of the coolers onto the bar and looked thoughtfully at Carey. “Jaime, you got first aid stuff around here somewhere?”

  “Um, yeah,” she said, stirring eggs. “In the downstairs bathroom linen closet. But it’ll wait, Eric. Just have a seat and drink your wine. Take a couple of deep breaths. I think we all need it.” And while they followed her advice, she finished with the eggs, coming around the bar to slide the plate in front of Carey, and adding a glass of milk before she finally grabbed her own drink and settled down on one of the bar stools.

  The silence that settled around them was part awkward, part comfortable. Comfortable to be relaxing, strange mission accomplished, and yet awkward in Dayna’s almost sullen, cross-legged posture on her chair, backed into the corner. Threatened, Jaime knew, by what she still couldn’t—or wouldn’t—understand. And awkward in the way Carey kept looking around, watching them, double-checking Jess—as if he needed to see again that she was there, long and lean and tousle-haired. Jess herself had withdrawn somewhat and looked a little befuddled, like she didn’t know how to act around a man whom she’d obviously worshiped as a horse.

  Jaime heaved a big sigh and wished that she was indeed at the relative simplicity of the horse show, where she had only to remember the patterns of the several different classes her two horses were entered in. Training level, test four. Young Silhouette’s first class. Enter, working trot. Halt at X. Salute. Her mind quickly fell into the familiar exercise, leaving her as quiet as the rest of them until Carey pushed his plate back and downed the last of the milk.

  Jaime roused herself. “Through? Feel better?”

  “A little,” Carey nodded. “Just now starting to get hungry, now that my stomach’s awake.”

  “Not surprising. Tell you what—you know how to use the shower?” she asked, remembering Dayna’s account of the debacle of Jess and the shower monster.

  Carey ruefully shook his head. “I saw it in the hotel, but I never got the chance to use it. As I’m sure you can tell.”

  “I don’t think Derrick used it much either,” Dayna said dryly.

  “Good,” Jess said, interposing her first, fierce contribution since their arrival home. “That way we can smell him coming.”

  Eric choked on an endearing, unmasculine giggle, and even Dayna relaxed for a smile of true amusement. “I’ll show him around,” Eric offered, holding out a hand to haul Carey to his feet. “Start making a list of those questions, Jaime. We won’t be long.”

  ~~~~~

  Jaime hung up the phone and stared at it thoughtfully. Jess knew it had been Mark from this end of the conversation, but she, like Dayna and Eric—who’d left Carey to take care of himself in privacy—waited to hear what his news had been.

  “He didn’t call the police after all,” she told them. “Derrick and his friend took off. Mark checked the room and everything was gone. He doesn’t think Derrick will be back, and neither do I.”

  “I wouldn’t, if I was him,” Eric agreed. He rinsed out his wine cooler bottle and added it to the other glass in the bag by the door.

  “Mr. Environment,” Dayna said. “Always recycle, even in the midst of a crisis.”

  Taken aback, Eric gave her a puzzled look. “Why are you coming down on me?”

  Dayna covered her face with her hands and scrubbed her cheeks and eyes. “Never mind. I’m sorry. You know chaos drives me crazy.”

  Although Eric and Jaime seemed to follow the entire exchange, Jess was left in the dust. But maybe she would have been the first, anyway, to notice Carey coming out of the downstairs guest room, the room where Jess now slept. At the sight of him, something within her relaxed, for he looked much more the Carey she was used to seeing—clean-shaven, clean, period, his blond hair several shades lighter than it had appeared an hour ago if still too long for conservative society. The fatigue from his ordeal showed clearly in the dark hollows beneath eyes set a trifle too deep, but there was something of his jaunty self-confidence in evidence as well.

  “I’m going to have to tell Arlen about that shower business,” he said. “There’s got to be some kind of spell that would make it work for us, too. More water pressure.”

  “Arlen,” Jaime repeated thoughtfully.

  “Jess said something about a man named Arlen,” Eric said, then added, “But not much. She really hasn’t been able to answer our questions, Carey. That’s why we’ve got so many for you.”

  Carey rolled back the sleeves of the lightweight shirt Mark had unknowingly contributed to the cause. The pants, too, were too long, for Carey’s build had helped to make him a successful courier. Not too tall, leanly muscled as opposed to muscle-bound. Now he sat that rider’s frame down by the table again, giving Jess a pensive gaze. “I’m surprised she was able to tell you anything,” he said. “Considering her point of view.”

  “Which was?” Dayna prodded, and Jess knew what this was about, knew the others were waiting for the answer as well. They wanted confirmation. They wanted to hear from the lips of someone else, someone who seemed infinitely more worldly, that Dun Lady’s Jess was who she claimed to be.

  “This some kind of test?” he frowned, sensing the tension that had suddenly diffused the room, pitting Jess defensively against the others. “If it is, maybe you’d better tell me the stakes.”

  Jaime shook her head. “Not really a test, Carey. The problem is, we’re trying to believe in things we—well, that we don’t believe in. Horses that turn into women. A man named Arlen who makes magic spells. So far, we’ve been hearing it from Jess—and considering the state she was in when Dayna and Eric found her...let’s just say that we’re confused. Anything you can do to help clear that up would be great. Other than that, you don’t owe us a thing. There’s more than enough gold in those saddlebags to take you just about anywhere you want to go.”

  Dayna’s head rose sharply at the mention of the gold, and she gave Eric a look that clearly said we’ll talk about this later. Eric shrugged, seeming not in the least affected.

  Carey sat in a moment of thought, fingering the plain silver band on his little finger. “Which was,” he said distinctly, answering Dayna’s question of minutes earlier, “Dun Lady’s Jess. Best courier mount I’ve ever trained. Nearly sixteen hands, black points and the prettiest tiger striping on her legs you’d ever care to see.” He gave Jess a sudden thoughtful look, and beckoned to her with a single word. “Lady.”

  Jess responded immediately, went to stand in front of him and then went to her knees when he gestured her down. He didn’t appear to notice that Jaime stiffened at his casual commands or that Dayna’s jaw had set; with a sure but impersonal touch he tipped Jess’s head and pushed her coarse shaggy hair aside. “Lady was branded,” he murmured. “I just don’t know exactly where the spot would be on this form—”

  Jess closed her eyes as he searched her neck and nape. Part of her thrilled to feel Carey’s touch again, but there was definitely a part that wasn’t sure about it. And there was a part, too, that was decisively aware, for the first time, of his maleness as opposed to his Carey-ness. Behind her closed eyes, Jess succumbed to a quandary of opposing feelings, until the only bearable response was, for the moment, to fall back into the relationship that she knew. She was Lady and he was Carey. He had the Words, the hands that groomed and fed her, and the affection that drove her.

  “There we go,” Carey said softly
, his fingers touching the raised tissue of a scar in the hair behind her ear. “Look, if you want to believe.”

  And they did. Four sets of fingers, in turn, lightly touched her scalp. Four sets of eyes stared at her, and breath gusted lightly down her neck as they all leaned close.

  “It’s Arlen’s brand,” Carey said. “He set it magically, which is how he got the detail.”

  The breath and the stares retreated. Carey let the thick mass of hair fall back into place; Jess opened her eyes and barely had time to relax before his fingers caught her jaw, this time tipped her face up to look at him. While the others absorbed what they’d seen—one more chunk of evidence in the growing assortment—Carey examined her new features. He brushed back her bangs to stare into her dark, slightly-larger-than-normal irises, eyes that gazed trustingly back up into his. He ran his fingers along high, long cheek bones and down the slightly long nose that complimented them so well. Strong jaw, good bones under dusky skin. It was when he lifted her lip to look at her teeth that Jaime spoke, her voice distinctly cool.

  “She may have been a horse to you, but she’s a woman now. While you’re in my house, you won’t treat her like an object that you own.”

  Carey’s hand fell away from Jess’s face, his expression mildly perplexed. “I think,” he said moderately, “that I know her better than you do, considering that I raised her and trained her—but in consideration of your ignorance of magic and its ways, I defer to your wishes.”

  “Oh? You’ve seen horses turned to people before?” Jaime asked archly.

  Dayna laughed out loud, and startled the rest of them away from the impending argument. “Sorry,” she said to their surprised faces. “It just struck me funny. We can’t believe she’s a horse and he can’t believe she’s human.”

  “What does Jess believe?” Eric asked, looking at her.

  Jess knew with unwavering confidence that she was completely confused, and her expression must have shown it, for Carey once more reached out to her, this time with a consoling touch.

  “Tell us,” Jaime said, changing the subject but very little in her tone of voice, “about this special spell of yours.”

  Carey grew instantly somber. “You said you had my saddle bags. Can I have them?”

  Jess rose to her feet and moved quickly into her bedroom, retrieving the bags from between mattress and headboard. There they were safe; there she could nightly smell the oiled leather that reminded her of Carey, Carey and his careful hands adjusting her tack so none of it pinched or rubbed dun horseflesh.

  She returned with the saddle bags and held them out to him, not certain if she should sit by him or take her seat again.

  “Have a chair, Jess,” Jaime said softly.

  Jess backed into the seat and Eric’s hand fell on her shoulder, quiet and supportive.

  Carey took no notice. He dug into the cavernous pockets of the saddle bags and mined the contents, depositing a horseshoe, a handful of nails, and a small hammer onto the table. A light, oiled-canvas slicker followed.

  “We haven’t taken anything,” Jaime told him. But the pouch of gold came next, and she amended, “Well, not quite true. We took one gold piece and cashed it in. Jess needed something to wear.”

  “You’re welcome to all the gold if I can get back to Arlen with—” he came up with the sealed document and brandished it with a sigh of relief, “—this.”

  Eric reached over Jess’s shoulder for the document, and Carey surrendered it only after a painfully reluctant pause. “And just what is it?” he asked, looking again at the strange paper and the dark wax that sealed it. Beside the seal were the runes he and Dayna, and then Jaime, had puzzled over. His eyes widened and he glanced from the dark ink to Jess and back.

  “Yes,” Carey said. “It’s the same as the brand. It represents Arlen’s name.”

  “How come you speak English?” Dayna asked abruptly. Eric looked at her in mild surprise while Jaime’s eyebrow raised in appreciation of the question.

  “Jess didn’t,” she contributed. “Although she seems to have picked it up pretty damn fast.”

  Carey suppressed most of his amused laugh. “I’m not surprised at that,” he said. “She’s been listening to me ever since she was a foal. She had most of the words in her memory—just not all the meanings.”

  “She knew blanket well enough,” Dayna muttered.

  “Food went over pretty big, too,” Eric added. “But why English? I know Americans tend to think it should be the universal language, but I don’t think this is quite what anybody had in mind.”

  Carey shrugged. “Magic,” he said simply.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Chapter Six

  “Magic,” Dayna repeated flatly.

  Carey ducked his head, scratching the back of his neck in a vaguely embarrassed way. “Unfortunately, I can’t tell you exactly how it works.”

  “Convenient.” This, too, a mutter from Dayna.

  Carey’s head raised sharply, a flash of anger replacing the chagrin. “If I understood magic that well, I wouldn’t be a courier, would I?”

  “Just tell us what you do understand,” Jaime interposed, shooting a warning glance at Dayna.

  Carey’s hand went to the neckline of his shirt, flattened against his breastbone as if searching for something, and fell away, empty, to rest on the table. Jess had often seen the small colorful stones he wore hung on a chain, and she wondered where they’d gone and why they were important. He caught her questioning gaze and gave her a nod, a moment of connection.

  “I suppose the easiest thing is to tell you why the document is so important.” He took a deep breath and appraised their somber, attentive faces. “Until recently, no one in my world suspected that you existed. I suppose we should have wondered—the unscrupulous and just plain stupid magic users traffic with unspeakable monsters every time they figure out a new way to circumvent the checkspells.”

  “Checkspells,” Jaime repeated. “Laws?”

  “Oh, we have those, too—but the checkspells deal only with magic. When the Wizard’s Council—which is independent of all the little countries in my land—can agree long enough to decide certain magics shouldn’t be used, they figure out a checkspell and set it in place. It more or less nullifies that particular spell, if anyone is of a mind to try it anyway.”

  “Makes sense.” Eric thought about it a moment longer, and then nodded to himself. “Sounds like a good system.”

  Jess listened, entranced, learning about her own land for the first time, and fitting the explanation into a hundred different pieces of memory.

  “The tricky part,” Carey went on, “is that there’s always a gap between the discovery of a new spell and the formation of the checkspell. Normally it’s not much of a problem; little spells are discovered every day, and even the ones that could cause potential mischief don’t get a lot of attention right away. There’s usually enough time to do something about it.”

  “I’ll bet we fit in here somewhere,” Dayna said.

  He afforded her the barest sideways glance. “Occasionally, someone comes up with a revolutionary new spell that’s problematic, and then there’s a scramble to keep it classified until it can be evaluated and checked. And that’s what I have here. A spell on its way to one of Arlen’s associates.”

  “And one that Derrick wants,” Eric concluded.

  “Derrick’s employer, most likely,” Carey said. “Calandre.”

  “Pretty name,” Jess murmured.

  “Pity it went to one so foul,” Carey said, his expression darkening. “For it was she, Lady, who sent those men to chase us.”

  Jess closed her eyes and shuddered, finding the memory of that chase all too easily summoned.

  “All right,” Jaime said, stretching. “So you’ve got a really nifty spell and Calandre wants it. How’d you end up here? And why hasn’t this kind of thing—visitors like you—been going on all along?”

  Dayna’s light blue eyes narrowed. “Because they haven’t
known how. Isn’t that right, Carey. That precious spell of yours tells them how to get here, and you still don’t have any way to keep them off our world. A thousand Derricks could pop in, or maybe even a thousand Calandres. We haven’t got anything to check magic. What happens when they start summoning their monsters here?”

  Eric blinked at her, while a slow smile spread across Jaime’s face. “Woman, I like your style,” she said. “Sat there behind all that sarcasm and figured it right out, didn’t you?”

  Carey, too, seemed taken aback. “I thought you were the one who didn’t believe me in the first place.”

  “That doesn’t mean I turned my brain off,” Dayna said smartly.

  “Apparently not.” He hesitated, then picked up the thread of her statements. “But you’re right. And that’s not even considering all the things you have here that we couldn’t come up with checkspells to stop in Camolen. Guns. Explosives. Machines that poison your air and land. Things that we’ve never even thought of, because so many of our needs are met by magic. Things that people like Calandre would introduce just to get an edge.” His face was grim. “I’ve learned a lot since I arrived here, even though I spent most the time tied up in that room. Derrick spent a lot of time watching that television thing. And I tell you this—even though Arlen’s concern was for your world, I’ve seen enough to know my world is in just as much danger.”

  Eric regarded him with a puzzled look. “So what’s the problem? You’ve got your spell, and Derrick’s probably in some dark alley, hiding from the police.”

  “Marion isn’t big enough to have a dark alley,” Dayna objected, a glint of humor finally showing in what had been an entirely too somber face.

  Eric rolled his eyes and poked her on the arm. “Smart ass,” he murmured, not without affection.

  “The problem,” Carey said, his hand drifting up to his chest again, “is that Derrick took my spell-stones.”