"Appreciation?" she repeated. "So…you appreciate me…"
"You know what I mean." He crossed the room and wrapped her in his arms, turning her to face him. She was smiling. "I appreciate you too, though," he said. Then he leaned in and kissed her before she could reply, letting his hands slide up and into her hair and making the crystals she wore there tinkle.
"It's good to be…appreciated," she said. She pressed against him more tightly, and he matched her pressure, just for a moment, and then pulled back.
"It's time to eat," he said. "When we're done, we'll have some of the wine, and then I want to show you something – I have a new toy, and I have a promise to keep. I thought I'd see if we could kill two birds with one stone."
At this, Asmodeus squawked, and they both laughed.
"Not you," Donovan said.
He lit the candles on the table, and then pulled out one of the chairs for Amethyst to sit.
"See if you can get the wine open," he said.
As she reached for the bottle and the antique corkscrew lying beside it, Donovan turned toward the kitchen. He'd planned this for a long time. He'd taken the recipe for the roast and accompanying vegetables from a very old book, enhanced it with a couple of tricks of his own, and laid a charm around the oven to prevent burning or overcooking. As he approached the stove, he chanted softly under his breath, releasing the wards. He didn't often cook with the oven in a protective circle, but this was important and he knew his own penchant for distraction would ruin the meal if he gave it half a chance.
He slid the pan out of the oven and lifted it to the stove top quickly. The food smelled wonderful, and despite all his precautions, he breathed easier. He already had two large bowls ready. He carved the meat, ladled on some gravy and vegetables, and carried the bowls back to the other room. He placed one in front of Amethyst, who breathed in the aroma of it appreciatively, and set the other by his own seat.
"There," he said with a flourish. "Cooked to perfection, and not spilled. What more can I ask?"
Amethyst stared at him.
"What are you up to?" she asked. "You've cooked for me before, and it's never been such an elaborate display. You are nervous, and I don't know that I've ever seen you less comfortable."
Donovan smiled.
"I told you," he said. "After we eat. If I am nervous, it's just that I have been looking forward to this particular evening for a very long time. I wasn't sure, at first, that we'd come so far together, but…"
"How far have we come?" Amethyst cut in.
"Far enough that I trust you with my life," Donovan said evenly.
She glanced up, and he met her gaze.
"Are you going to eat?" he asked.
She smiled. She did not lower her gaze, but she did reach for her knife, and her fork. She cut a small piece of roast without once glancing down, brought it to her lips, and slid it into her mouth, teasing it with her tongue.
Donovan sighed. "Incorrigible," he said.
"Absolutely," she agreed.
He sat back, then, and poured the wine. They ate slowly. The food was every bit as good as the old book had claimed it would be, and the wine lived up to both age and reputation. It was deep red with a hint of fruit and nuts, and a spice that Donovan could not quite place. It was the perfect companion to the roast, and he finished his quickly, returning to the kitchen for seconds. Amethyst ate more slowly, but with equal enjoyment, he thought. Neither of them spoke until both bowls were empty, at last, and the final goblets of the wine had been poured.
"So," Amethyst said at last. "That was wonderful. Magic, books, and the man can cook. What more can there be?"
Donovan rose and took their dishes to the kitchen. He wiped the surface of the table carefully, and then slid the candelabra off to the side, leaving a clear space between them. There was a leather bag on his desk, and he grabbed it, carrying it back to the table. He opened the drawstrings and pulled out a wooden tripod carved from a single chunk of Dogwood. He placed it on the table and stood it up, testing to be certain it was steady.
When he was satisfied, he drew out a ball of clear crystal and placed it on the stand. The ball was perfectly round, but riddled with flaws and frosty images. Amethyst leaned in for a closer look, but he stopped her.
"Not yet," he said.
Next he took out a smaller bag. He opened this, and it was filled with bits of wood that had been burned to charcoal. He withdrew a sliver of this and began to draw a circle around the crystal. When it was finished, he drew a second around the perimeter of the first, and between the two, he etched a number of odd characters. When he was satisfied, he opened his desk drawer and brought out four small braziers. He placed them at the four compass points of his circles.
Amethyst glanced up at him. He knew that she was aware of what he was doing. It was her specialty, her gift. Crystals, stones, dirt and dust. The earth. Donovan's knowledge was broader – more all-encompassing, but there was no way he could hide his intent. Thankfully, she granted him the moment's silence to complete his preparations. He wasn't certain, if she'd distracted him or given him an option, if he'd have had the courage to continue.
He lit the braziers, different herbs in each, different words whispered to the archangels of each quadrant. The room grew very still. Energy rippled in the air. In the center of the circle, there was a flicker of light – then a soft glow – and then the crystal blazed. Donovan seated himself directly across the circle from Amethyst and spread his arms, laying them outside the twin circles, his hands palm up.
"What is this?" Amethyst whispered.
"You know what this is," Donovan said. "I found the proper enchantments in a book you left in my care. I owe you my life several times over now. You have asked me, time and again, of my past. I never answered, but I promised that, when the time was right, I would. This is that time."
She took his hands and met his gaze.
"You are certain?" she asked.
"I am," he said. Then he smiled. "This is a story I have never told. These are secrets I have never shared. When this is done, you will know me as no other man or woman in the last hundred and fifty years has known me. Do you accept?"
She nodded, and then whispered. "I do."
"Then let it begin," Donovan said.
The lights in the room dimmed. Cleo settled on top of his desk and stared intently at the circle, and the crystal. Asmodeus, perched high overhead, scanned the room. His gaze flitted from side to side, as if he watched not only the room, but places beyond. Donovan closed his eyes. Amethyst stared deep into the smoky depths of the imperfect crystal, following the faults, sliding through the mist and the crackling fractures.
"In 1842," Donovan said, "I was a sixteen year old boy, indentured to a man who called himself a doctor. That was the year that everything changed. That was the year I became a man."
The mist swallowed them both, and Donovan's story came to eerie, surreal life.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Through an Eyeglass, Darkly
Fear of Flying
Moving On
One Off From Prime
Headlines
Waynes World
Redemption
Swarm
The Purloined Prose
SHIFT
Pretty Boys in Blue, and Long Hair Dangling
To Strike a Timeless Chord
Etched Deep
Unique
Etched Deep & Other Dark Impressions Page 18