“I always need more adventure,” he said.
She put her finger under his chin and raised his head. It was an intimate movement she had never performed with anyone before. His movement. “You sound hesitant.”
“I’m worried,” he said. “I can’t help you any more. It’s you and Aethelstan now, or whoever your tutor will be. You’ll have to focus on moving forward, Emma, on realizing all that magical potential that everyone talks about. It’s going to take years, and I can’t stay here while you do that. I have to return to Madison, to my job if they’ll still have me.”
“I know,” she said.
“Five years, right?” he asked.
“Minimum,” she said, hating the thought of it. Magic every day, every moment. Always thinking about it, always concentrating on it.
“That’s just a blink to you,” he said. “But for me, that’s five years I’ll never get again.”
Her heart twisted. “And you’re not willing to do that? To wait?”
“Oh, God, Emma, of course I am.” He put his hands on her face, brought her close as he had done so many times before. His touch felt so good. “I’ll take you anyway I can have you. I love you. I’m just afraid you won’t be satisfied. You have so much and all I am is a mildly successful professor who was happy to get tenure. I—”
She kissed him. She had to. She couldn’t wait. He said he loved her, and she hadn’t been sure. No one had said that to her in a thousand years. Not Aethelstan, not her parents. No one.
He kissed her back, slid his hands down her neck and onto her shoulders. Then his arms were around her, and she wrapped her arms around him.
So close, so perfect—but not yet. She moved her mouth away from his. Someday soon, she hoped, they’d get to go further than a kiss.
“I’ll be right back,” she said. “Wait here.”
He looked confused. She kissed him again quickly and quickly uttered the spell that sent her to the Fates. The air crackled, and as it snapped, she saw Michael, staring after her as if she were leaving him forever.
***
She appeared in a drawing room filled with heavy Victorian furniture. It was all made of solid wood and upholstered in red. The walls were the same dark wood, and the carpet held the same rich reds. A fire burned in the fireplace, making the room too warm. It smelled of cigars and Emma resisted the urge to sneeze.
“I don’t believe that whist is a game that was meant to be played by people with brains,” said a female voice behind Emma.
She turned. All three Fates were sitting at a round wooden card table. They all had cigars in their mouths, and brandy snifters at their sides. They were wearing smoking jackets and trousers, and they had their hair cut so short that they looked like teenage boys pretending to be men.
“Excuse me,” Emma said.
Lachesis took the cigar out of her mouth. “We’re in the middle of a hand.”
“Unless you know something of this game,” Clotho said.
“What is it?” Emma asked, wishing she hadn’t.
“Whist.” Atropos set her cards down. “I really don’t like these rules.”
“You never like rules,” Lachesis said.
“Shh,” Clotho said. “That’s not something we want out.”
“It doesn’t really matter,” Atropos said. “I don’t have to like them to make them.”
Lachesis set her cards down as well. “I thought you’d be settled now. You’ve seen Aethelstan. I know you don’t get along, but he’ll be a fine teacher.”
“If he isn’t right for you,” Clotho said, “I’m sure he’ll find someone to help.”
“You’re a bit high maintenance, Emma,” Atropos said gently. “Perhaps if you give a little, Aethelstan won’t be so defensive.”
“He should be even more defensive,” Lachesis said. “After all he’s done to this girl.”
“It wasn’t intentional,” said Clotho. “We’ve given him trouble over that, but we know it to be true.”
“All the more reason he’ll be the best teacher for you, Emma.” Atropos stubbed out her cigar. “He knows what happens when magic goes awry.”
“He’s afraid you’ll do something equally as disastrous,” Lachesis said.
“We’re lucky you haven’t so far.” Clotho set down her cards. “You’ve come close.”
“That restaurant could have been a catastrophe,” Atropos said as she picked up a new cigar and cut off the end with her shears.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?” Lachesis said. “You’ll dull them.”
“I agree with you about Aethelstan,” Emma said. She felt overwhelmed by them as usual.
“You do?” they asked in unison. “Really?”
“Yes,” Emma said, swallowing hard. The cigar smoke was making her light-headed.
“Then why are you here?” Clotho asked.
“Because I have a request,” she said, trying not to sound too desperate. Her entire future rested on their responses and she had no idea what she would do if they said no.
***
The spell had been in Old English. Michael had recognized the sound of the words. Emma had told them to him before she left. He stood up and took the spell list out of his wallet. He scanned it until he found the one she had uttered.
She had gone to the Fates.
He cursed silently. What was she doing there? She had to be going for some kind of ruling, something that was out of the ordinary. He knew that much. Was she asking for longer life for him? Some way they could have equal footing?
Hadn’t he been clear? He wanted to be with her no matter what. But maybe she didn’t want to be with him.
She hadn’t kissed like someone who didn’t want to be with him.
He had a bad feeling about this.
He stared at the words on the page for a moment, wondering if they would send him to the Fates. There was only one way to find out. He cleared his throat and recited the spell, and waited.
Nothing happened.
Emma had disappeared in a matter of seconds, but he was still standing here. Well, the Fates weren’t his governing body after all. He was just a lowly mortal who aspired to love someone who had had stories told about her for centuries. The Ghost of Christmas Present had been the original Merlin, and Aethelstan looked like some sort of Greek god.
Not to mention the fact that Emma was the most beautiful woman in the world. The Fates, everyone, would see Michael as an interloper.
He wasn’t. He loved her, but he was willing to let her live her life in the way she thought best. He just had to make sure she wasn’t doing anything they would both regret later.
Still clutching the paper, his hands trembling, he went to the hotel phone. After struggling for a moment to figure out how to get an outside line, he dialed the number for Aethelstan’s home. Voice mail answered. Nora, giving the standard leave-a-message line.
Then Michael called Aethelstan’s cell phone and got another voice mail, this time Aethelstan’s—quite charming and extremely personable. Michael hadn’t had any idea that the other man could be charming, but then Michael was usually immune to things like charisma and charm.
Finally Michael dialed the restaurant, and after being abruptly dropped, then listening to clanging silverware and cursing cooks, he found out that Aethelstan had gone to inspect cilantro from a new supplier.
There had to be an easier way to reach magical people. Michael couldn’t believe all that calling for them or using code phrases was completely made up.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to find out. He didn’t leave a message with the restaurant—that was too complicated. He toyed with calling Nora at her office, but he knew she couldn’t do anything more than he could. If only he had magic. But wishes wouldn’t do him any g
ood, not without the power to go with them.
And then he turned toward the window.
Wishes. He smiled. There were magical white horses only two blocks away.
He stuffed his wallet back into his pocket and let himself out of the room, heading for the horses. He only hoped he made it in time.
***
“Well,” Atropos said, setting down her shears, “get on with it.”
“Yes,” Lachesis said. “Being coy won’t help.”
Emma’s heart was pounding. The room was stuffy, and the cigar smoke swirled around her. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about this. For the last few days especially. And I’ve made a decision.”
“You’re still being coy, my dear,” Clotho said, tugging on the sleeve of her red smoking jacket.
Emma straightened her spine. “I want to give up my magic.”
Atropos made a tsk-tsk sound. “You just don’t want to work hard. Magic takes discipline.”
“I have discipline,” Emma snapped. “I learned how to speak half a dozen languages. I learned the history of the world. I learned how to function in the modern environment.”
“Yes, and you wouldn’t have had to do any of it if you’d only taken Aethelstan’s catch-up spell,” Lachesis said.
“No wonder you’re burnt out, child,” Clotho said. “Learning is difficult. You should have thought that through before making the wrong choice.”
“The wrong choice?” Emma’s voice went up. “It wasn’t the wrong choice. Aethelstan’s spell would have left me with a superficial knowledge of everything. My knowledge isn’t superficial. It’s real and it’s mine. Do you know how important that is?”
“It’s not important at all,” Atropos said. “After a few thousand years, you’ll wonder why you tried so hard to learn about things you’d only forget.”
“I don’t want to live another thousand years,” Emma said. “I hate magic. I hate what it’s done to my life. That’s why I want out of this.”
“You’ll regret the decision,” Lachesis said. “Your life will be terribly short. You won’t have any recourse at all. You’ll be—unremarkable.”
“I don’t think so.” The voice was Michael’s. Emma whirled. He was standing near the fireplace, holding a white horse on a lead. One of her special horses.
“Michael,” she breathed.
“Great Caesar’s Ghost,” Clotho said. “It’s a mortal.”
“It’s Emma’s mortal,” Lachesis said, sounding smug.
“That’s why you want to lose your powers,” Atropos said. “You feel sorry for the creature.”
“I do not!” Emma said.
“You want to give up your magic?” Michael let go of the horse and came toward her. “Emma, you can’t. It’s part of you.”
“No,” she said, “it’s not. I was just telling them that I hate it.”
“You don’t hate it, child,” Clotho said. “You hate the inconvenience of it. A whole different thing.”
“No.” Emma clenched her fists. They had to understand this. “I hate magic. It’s ruined my life and I just got it back. Don’t you understand? I hate the loud crashes, the talking cats, the ghostly saviors.”
“Oh, I thought that a unique spell,” Lachesis said. “I saved it for future use. You have an immense talent, Emma.”
“A talent I don’t want to use.”
Atropos sighed. “So dramatic.”
“What are those?” Clotho asked.
Everyone turned. The room was filling up with white horses—and expanding to accommodate them.
“Oh dear,” Lachesis said. “Your beggars are getting their wishes.”
“Nothing bad, I hope,” Emma said.
“Not so far,” Atropos said.
Michael slipped his hand in Emma’s. She held on tightly.
Clotho sighed. “We are going to have to deal with this.”
“One problem at a time,” Lachesis said.
Atropos had turned her attention back to Emma. “You know, Zeus once considered giving up everything for a mortal.”
“He did not and you know it,” Clotho said. “That’s a myth.”
“No, actually,” Lachesis said. “I remember it. He had to be talked out of it.”
“You can have relationships with mortals. Satisfying ones, too. But to give up your future for one just isn’t something we allow.” Atropos glared at Michael. “I hope you didn’t encourage this, young man.”
He glanced at Emma. She was watching him in confusion. She thought the Fates never spoke to mortals.
“I may have,” he said. “Inadvertently. This morning, we were talking and I reminded her how different our lives were.”
“And I suppose you said you couldn’t live with her so young and you getting old and decrepit. You needed to at least look the part, perhaps even have your aging process slowed down.” Lachesis leaned back in her chair. Her smoking jacket gaped at the bosom. Emma wondered if that was some sort of test.
“No,” Michael said. “I told her I’d be with her no matter what.”
“Really?” Clotho’s voice rose in surprise. “Did he really say that, Emma?”
Emma nodded. She squeezed his hand. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Oh, dear, now I’m confused,” Atropos said. “I would think there was no problem if he loved you no matter what.”
“It’s not about him and me.” She squeezed his hand. “When he said that I realized that I could do what I want. And I want to be normal.”
All three Fates rolled their eyes.
“You’ll never be normal,” Lachesis said. “Your thousand-year sleep guaranteed that.”
“If it’s children you’re worried about,” Clotho said, “we’ve checked with the Powers That Be—”
And with that all three Fates bowed their heads and spread out their hands in a reflexive movement, the way a Catholic might cross himself—
“They said you can still have children even though your magic has arrived. They warned us to warn you, however, that when your hormones go out of whack you might want to go into seclusion. They expect earthquakes, tornadoes, hurricanes. Things you’ll be able to put right afterwards, but still, why have all that damage if you can avoid it?”
Michael was looking confused, but he didn’t say anything. Six more horses appeared behind him.
“It’s not about children,” Emma said.
“Then what is it?” Atropos said.
“I like this century,” Emma said. “I like the idea of spending the rest of my life in my neighborhood, teaching people, and writing books. I don’t want adventures. I hate them. I don’t want the responsibilities that magic brings. If I get pregnant, I don’t want to worry about having a hormone surge that could wipe out the entire Midwest.”
Michael squeezed her hand in support. She squeezed back.
“Please,” she said, “if you look into my heart, you’ll see how I feel. I appreciate the magical gift. I just don’t want it.”
The Fates were silent for a moment. Clotho swirled her brandy. Lachesis took a puff off her cigar. Atropos cut one of her cards in half.
Emma felt something pass through her, like several fingers touching her mind. Then they went away.
“How very odd,” Lachesis said.
“Well, you can’t be normal if you turn down magic,” Clotho said. “Everyone wants some.”
Atropos cut another card. Lachesis took her scissors away. Atropos didn’t seem to mind. “If we do this, she’ll end up with the mortal.”
Emma bristled. Michael held her back.
“What’s wrong with that?” Lachesis asked.
“He’s trying to be a hero,” Clotho said. “He even arrived on a white horse.”
“That�
��s my horse,” Emma said. “It’s really a wish. It should have vanished.”
“Where do you think wishes go when they’re done with their work?” Atropos said.
“It’s really our wish,” Lachesis said.
“Well, not our wish because we wouldn’t have wished him here, but all wishes ultimately come from us,” Clotho said.
“And all wishes return to us,” Atropos said.
“Well,” Emma said, “I wish to lose my magic. Please.”
“It’s a death sentence, Emma,” Michael said. “What’s fifty years when you could have thousands?”
She turned to him. This would bother him for the rest of their lives if she didn’t explain it now. “It’s better to have fifty wonderful years, Michael, doing exactly what I want, than a thousand miserable ones.”
“There we go!” Lachesis said.
“The magic words!” Clotho said.
“Who would have thought the girl understood the essence of happily ever after?” Atropos said.
Emma was still looking at Michael. He pulled her close. “I hope you’ll be happy with this,” he said.
“Of course she will,” Lachesis said.
“It’s the prophecy,” Clotho said.
“Strange that we were the last to see it,” Atropos said.
“We weren’t paying attention,” Lachesis said.
“Young man, do you know how to play whist?” Clotho asked.
“Never tried it,” Michael said.
“Don’t,” Atropos said. “It’s dull and you only have limited time. Do things you enjoy.”
Emma grinned at him. Michael grinned back.
“Emma,” Lachesis said. “We’ll return you to your life. Your magic will be gone, and so will your spells, although we will honor all those wishes.”
“At least fifty so far,” Atropos whispered.
“Fifty-one,” Clotho said, “and not a nasty one in the bunch.”
“As I was saying,” Lachesis continued, “you won’t ever be able to get your magic back. This is your last chance to change your mind.”
Emma felt as if a huge burden were lifting off her. “I won’t change it.”
“Very well,” Clotho said.
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