Thoroughly Kissed

by Kristine Grayson

  “No, Emma,” he said softly. “You haven’t. Not entirely. And you shouldn’t. It was unconscionable.”

  “Well, you owe me, then,” she said. “I need someone to train me.”

  It was his turn to sigh. He knew how difficult teaching her would be. The person who sparked her terrible temper the most was Aethelstan. Probably because she was still angry at him on some level, although she would never admit it to him.

  “I will train you,” he said. “I promised to do that a long time ago. But you’re going to have to take some sort of leave from your job. I can’t come to you.”

  “I know,” she said. “The Fates reminded me. But you could pick me up, couldn’t you? Or maybe just zap me to Oregon? Me and Darnell?”

  “You know I can’t,” he said.

  “You’ve broken rules in the past.”

  “Always to bad result.”

  The door to her study pushed open. Darnell sauntered in as if she were in his work space.

  “This rule makes no sense,” she said.

  “Oh, it probably does to the Fates,” Aethelstan said. “They usually institute things like this because someone did it, and caused harm to others.”

  “I might cause harm to others,” she said. “My magic is really out of control. I almost dropped a roomful of furniture on a secretary, and I sent the uptight new department head back to our little village.”

  “You made someone time travel? I didn’t think that was possible.”

  “Maybe it’s not for people whose magic is under control,” she said.

  “Were you able to get him back?”

  “Oh, yeah,” she said. “He’s back. I’ll probably have to deal with him tomorrow. If you don’t come get me.”

  “We’ve been through that, Emma,” Aethelstan said with a thread of irritation in his voice. And she hadn’t even meant to be irritating. Training with him would be very difficult.

  “I was just testing,” she said. “You never know until you ask.”

  “You’ve asked two times too many, Em.”

  She leaned her head back. Shadows from the birch trees played across her white ceiling. No one was going to rescue her. No one was going to help her.

  She shook her head slightly. She’d read the fairy tales that had been based on her past. Most fairy tales were based on the mages in one way or another. Some were based on life in the Kingdoms, which she had never visited. Some were based on old legends from various historical time periods. Sleeping Beauty was the story closest to hers. At the end of that story, a handsome prince had kissed her and brought her out of her sleep. Then they had ridden off into the sunset.

  Rescued. Taken care of. It sounded so easy and nice.

  Instead of Prince Charming, she had gotten a female lawyer reciting an incantation in the back of a VW microbus. Instead of being rescued with a kiss, she had been put to sleep with one. And instead of living happily ever after, she had had to learn new skills and develop a life of her own.

  “Emma?” Aethelstan asked.

  “I’ll fly out tomorrow,” she said wearily. “I’ll call the airline when I hang up.”

  “Um, Emma?” He was using that tone again, the one he always used when he was afraid she would yell at him.

  She raised her head. It felt very heavy. Her whole body felt heavy, tired, and ill used. She wondered if that was because of her mood or if the magic use had taken something out of her. “What now, Aethelstan?”

  “You probably shouldn’t use public transportation.” He spoke the words quickly, as if he were afraid she would interrupt. “No planes, buses, or trains.”

  He had a point. What if she sent the plane’s crew back to her village? Just the crew, and not the passengers. Her magic wouldn’t be able to save any of them, and the crash would be horrible. And how would the poor FAA explain the absence of a crew in the cockpit?

  “Emma?” Aethelstan asked warily.

  “I guess you’re right,” she said. “I’ll drive then. I can do that, can’t I? I don’t relish the idea of walking from Wisconsin to Oregon.”

  “I think it would be best for all concerned if you got here as quickly as you could,” Aethelstan said. “I think driving is the least hazardous way you could travel.”

  “Thanks for that vote of no-confidence.”

  “Emma, out-of-control magic is very dangerous.”

  “I know that,” she said. “I was trying to convince the Fates of the very same thing.”

  “They know. They just can’t act before something happens. Only after.”

  She frowned. “You mean if I accidentally commit a crime because of my magic, they can punish me?”

  “I’m sure they’ll be lenient.” He was trying to sound reassuring. “And it would have to be a magical crime.”

  “Well, that makes me feel so much better.” She put a hand to her forehead. A headache was threatening. “I’m all on my own with this, aren’t I, Aethelstan?”

  “Only with getting here, my friend. Once you’re here, we’ll get you up to speed as fast as possible.”

  “Great. And if I turn my car into a pumpkin in the Rockies, and I’m trapped inside without a phone, I get to die inside a giant piece of rotting fruit?”

  “I’m sure it won’t come to that,” Aethelstan said, not sounding sure at all. “Tell you what. I’ll give you a list of mages who live along the way. If things get truly out of hand, they’ll be able to help you.”

  “How many are there?”

  “I don’t know. We don’t have a census. But I haven’t heard of any deaths for a long time, and very few are imprisoned, and we get more and more with each passing century, so—I don’t know. A million or so worldwide.”

  “No,” she said, trying to sound calm. “Between here and there.”

  “Oh, about twenty I think. And ten are friendly enough to be of some use to a newly hatched witch.”

  “I like that phrase about as much as I like hot pins poked under my fingernails,” she said.

  He grunted. She recognized that sound. He was getting really impatient now. “This isn’t going to work if you criticize everything I say.”

  “I promise I’ll be good, Aethelstan.” She crossed her fingers. When she got there, he’d have to take her as she was. Temper and all.

  “I’d suggest you bring someone with you on the drive. Someone with common sense enough to poke his fist through that imaginary pumpkin of yours if need be.”

  “I would have thought of that,” she said.

  “Before or after the fruit rotted around you?” Aethelstan asked.

  She sat up even straighter. “I have lived on my own for more than six years now—in a brand new culture in a brand new millennium. If anyone can survive on her own, Aethelstan, it’s me. I’m the ultimate survivor.”

  Her words seemed to echo down the phone lines. After a moment, Aethelstan said, “I know you are. I’m only suggesting you have a companion in case the magic goes really haywire.”

  That was where their problem was. Their communication was terrible, even though both of them meant well. “The Fates have already ordered me to bring a traveling companion,” she said. “They claim Darnell isn’t enough, even if I do give him the power of speech.”

  “I think mortals would be rather startled if a cat tried to play Lassie,” Aethelstan said.

  “What?” Emma asked.

  “Lassie. The TV show?” He sighed. “It’s not repeated much, except on Animal Planet. I guess you can’t catch up with all the cultural references in ten years.”

  “I’ve done pretty good.”

  “Better than I would have expected,” he said.

  “Would it be against the rules to have Nora fly out here and drive back with me?” Emma asked.

  “No,” Aethe
lstan said. “But she’s in court for the next two months. It’s a very big case, and she’s the head counsel on it.”

  “What about Amanda and Jeffrey?” Amanda was Nora’s mother and Jeffrey was her husband. They had taken care of Emma after she found she couldn’t tolerate Aethelstan. And Jeffrey, a history professor, had helped Emma understand the world she was in now, and had inspired her to share his profession.

  “They’re in the Caribbean. On a cruise. It’s a second honeymoon and it just started. They’re supposed to be gone until August.”

  Emma sighed. She opened her mouth just as Aethelstan said, “And don’t ask about Merlin. Even if he wanted to come, I suspect he’d be held under the same restrictions I was.”

  Merlin was Aethelstan’s best friend. He was another mage. His real name wasn’t Merlin, of course. That was simply the name he’d had when Emma had met him, over a thousand years ago. He was the Merlin of yore, although he didn’t like to admit it. Nora called him Sancho, and Emma had never heard Aethelstan use any name other than those two. Some day, maybe, Merlin would trust Emma enough to tell her his real name.

  “Surely there’s someone you trust enough to bring along,” Aethelstan said.

  “Not among my mortal friends,” Emma said, “at least not here.”

  “Well,” Aethelstan said, “what about that boss of yours?”

  Emma winced. “What about him?”

  “You said you already sent him to the past. He has to know something is going on.”

  “Oh, he knows,” she said. Darnell sat up straighter at the mention of another man. “I told him.”

  “Well, then,” Aethelstan said.

  “He thinks I’m insane. Or that he is. And I don’t think he likes me much.”

  “Emma, you have to find someone.”

  She nodded, knowing he couldn’t see her and not really caring. “Maybe I’ll put an ad in the Isthmus.”

  “In the what?”

  “The local weekly.”

  “Emma—”

  “Email the list of contacts, Aethelstan. I’ll let you know when I leave, and keep you apprised of the journey.”

  “Do that,” he said gently. “I’ll be worrying about you.”

  “Thanks,” she said and hung up.

  She cradled the phone for a moment. He would worry. For all their differences, for all of their prickliness, he really cared about her. After all, he had guarded her for a thousand years. He still felt a little protective.

  It was probably bothering him greatly that he couldn’t come out here and take care of her.

  Then she shuddered. Maybe it was good she would be on her own. And Aethelstan was right. Michael Found might be the perfect person to travel with her. He already didn’t like her or trust her, and he had experienced the magic.

  She certainly couldn’t make their relationship any worse.

  Darnell was watching her from the floor. The poor cat. He hated traveling—and had complained on the entire long drive out here from Oregon. Now he had to go back. If she trusted modern conveniences more, she’d put him on an airplane and have Nora pick him up on the other end.

  But with her luck, Darnell would chew his way through the kitty carrier and bite every attendant within walking distance, forcing some draconian airline official to put him to death.

  Then she frowned. She wasn’t really sure if they could legally put Darnell to death. Law figured a lot more into daily life in this century than the one she was born in.

  In any case, she’d have to bring Darnell with her. And that was almost as ugly as the idea of traveling with Michael Found.

  Except that she found her heart leaping at the very thought of him and those spectacular blue eyes of his. And that marvelous blond hair. Those shoulders. And those lips.

  She would have to stay away from those lips.

  Even if she didn’t want to.

  ***

  The idea didn’t seem quite as good the following morning. Especially as she walked up the stairs to his office. This time, she was wearing jeans and tennis shoes, and a heavy silk sweater. She didn’t have a class, and she had put a note on her door canceling office hours.

  So far, today nothing had happened. She had kept her thoughts under rigid control and she had forced Darnell to sleep in the basement, much to his dismay. That way, she hadn’t been able to hear him yowling his displeasure and subconsciously wish him to some desert island or something, and she didn’t have to worry about having one of her dreams attack him.

  Darnell had come out of the basement looking so angry that she kept away from him. And the basement door would never be the same.

  But so far she was accident-free and hoping to remain so. It would require her to get through this meeting with Michael Found. She would make it as short as possible.

  Even if she didn’t ask him to go with her to Oregon, she still had to see him. She needed an emergency leave of absence and he was the only one who could grant it for her.

  Even though there were still two weeks left in the semester, her students would be all right. The last week of lectures was mostly overview, and then there was finals week, in which no classes were held at all. She would have her exams done and ready before she left. A graduate student could handle them and she could grade from Oregon.

  The biggest problem she had was keeping the length of her training a secret. She didn’t want Michael to know she might have to be gone for years.

  Helen was not at her desk, and Emma felt vaguely relieved. If anything went wrong this morning, at least Helen wouldn’t be an accidental victim.

  The other office doors were closed as well. It seemed most of the history department administration didn’t show up until 9:00 a.m. Fortunately, it was only 8:30.

  Michael’s door was open, as she knew it would be. He was sitting in the reading chair, his legs stretched out before him, and as she knocked he set aside his book.

  Her book.

  Her stomach lurched. She didn’t like how this was starting.

  When he saw her, he smiled and stood. “Emma,” he said, his voice warm.

  She loved the flat vowels of his. After talking with Aethelstan yesterday, Michael’s Wisconsin accent sounded reassuringly normal.

  “Thanks for seeing me again after the—weirdness—yesterday.”

  “I’m happy to. I’m just glad I got your email in time.”

  She nodded. He extended a hand toward the empty chair in front of his desk. She walked to it, feeling more like a supplicant than a professor. Amazing how much had changed in twenty-four hours.

  Michael sat behind his desk. He folded his hands in front of him and rested them on the blotter.

  She sat, careful not to clutch her purse before her. Nora had always warned her that was a sign of nervousness, and Emma didn’t want him to know how nervous she actually was.

  “I hope the class went all right,” she said. “I’m sorry that I stuck you with it.”

  “It went fine. You have some inquisitive minds in there.”

  She smiled, but she knew it didn’t reach her eyes.

  “You didn’t come to talk about the class, did you?”

  She shook her head. This was going to be harder than she thought. She really didn’t want to leave this place. It had become her home in a short ten months. And now everything was going to change.

  Again.

  “I’m afraid I need an emergency leave of absence,” she said.

  “I expected as much.”

  “I have to leave Madison,” she said. “The rest of the semester is pretty easy to take care of. I can write up my exams and the lectures—”

  “I’ve already thought of that,” he said. “Your graduate assistant seems more than capable.”

  Emma nodded. “I can grade
by mail.”

  “If you leave an answer sheet—”

  “No,” she said. “There are a few students who don’t test well and who know the material. It wouldn’t be fair to them.”

  He studied her for a moment. Her heart sank. She knew what he was going to say before he said it.

  “You’re not going to let a student who doesn’t complete the requirements pass the course, are you?”

  Of course she wasn’t. She clasped her hands tight. She was bristling and trying to control it. Her right thumb actually dug into the knuckles of her left hand. She concentrated on the pain so no wayward thoughts would do any damage.

  “It’s just that there are a few students who would probably get a B on a standardized test, and after their work this semester, they deserve an A.”

  “I looked over your course papers,” Michael said. “You have written quite explicitly that grades would be based twenty-five percent on the midterm and seventy-five percent on the final. You can’t bend the rules just because you’ve changed your mind.”

  “I’ve learned,” she said, “and my grades should reflect that.”

  “Your grades,” he said, “should follow the guidelines that you set up. Rules give us structure.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. “They also suffocate us.”

  He let out a small sigh. “You know, you almost had me convinced that the strange things in your book came from your experiences. I see now that you’re just not willing to follow the strictures of scholarship.”

  “No,” she said, her thumb digging in so hard that she would probably bruise. “You are simply using rules as a way to close your mind.”

  He paled ever so slightly. Had someone accused him of that before? She didn’t know and she certainly was never going to find out. This would probably be her last interview with Michael Found. It was clear that he had made up his mind about her and nothing—not even the events of yesterday—would change that.

  “You’ll make out an answer sheet. Your graduate assistant will grade the exams and use them and the midterms to determine the final grades. That way, when you leave, you can concentrate on your own—problems.”