Moonlight and Magic

by Rebecca Paisley

  Chimera smiled fondly at the memory of her beloved Xenia. “She took nothing when she left her parents’ home. She said that once she was with the band, she begged, borrowed, or stole books from wherever she went. She didn’t care who wrote them or what they were about. All books, any kind, fascinated her. She spent many years collecting them, and since she also spent a good part of her life traveling, the origins of her books are anyone’s guess. And I’ve been able to add to her collection. About six months ago, the triplets found a deserted wagon. We never found its owner. He either lost his team and was forced to leave his wagon, or...well, maybe the Apaches got him. But the wagon was filled to the very brim with books. Perhaps the man was a professor whose fantasy was to open a school out here. Or maybe he’d come with plans to establish a bookstore. I’ll never know, but whether he’s dead or still alive, I continue to thank him for the treasures he left behind.”

  “Or maybe the mystical spirits placed the wagon out there,” Sterling said in mock fright, and rolled his eyes around as if looking for ghosts. He saw her expression of annoyance and quickly said, “Aristotle, Plato.” He picked up Plato’s Republic and thumbed through it. “Do you really read these boring books?”

  She resisted the temptation to go stand next to him. “Much of Plato’s work reads like a story. It’s not boring. None of my books are, if you possess a real desire to learn. The Greek dramatist Euripides wrote, ‘Whoso neglects learning in his youth, loses the past and is dead for the future.’ I think of that line and apply it to my own life. No matter how mysterious were my beginnings I don’t want to lose or misinterpret the past of my life that I know, nor do I wish for a dull future.”

  There was nothing dull about her, Sterling thought as he looked at her. She was a fascinating medley of storybook fantasy and age-old knowledge. And because of her unwavering faith in both her outlandish beliefs and the timeless wisdom she studied, she gave the impression of making perfect sense. Somehow, Sterling thought, she mixed myth with reality and made it seem as if the two went hand in hand.

  He smiled and took a step toward her, chuckling when she took one backward. “Philosophy and witchcraft,” he said. “What do the ancient philosophers and sorcerers have in common?” he asked, and turned to replace the book on the stack behind him.

  She stared at his back, bare, rippled with muscle. His tan skin gleamed in the dim firelight; his hair shone also. Fascinated, she watched the glow of the fire flicker through those black, black shoulder-length waves. “Me,” she finally answered.

  When he turned to face her, he saw she was standing in the flood of moonlight again and found himself wondering what the philosophers had to say about passion. He started to ask Chimera, but stopped himself. Passion was definitely not the stuff of conversation. “You,” he repeated. “And who, exactly, are you, estrellita?”

  “Estrellita,” she whispered, her breath quickening at the soft sound of the word, the even softer sound of his deep voice.

  “Little star,” he translated huskily. “Your eyes...stars are in them.”

  “The firelight,” she managed to say, still staring at the gleaming, dancing reflections of fireshine in his hair, “must be glowing in them.”

  “Will you answer me, Chimera? Who are you?”

  “I...What? Who am I?” She wrinkled her nose in confusion. “That’s an odd question. Who’s Sterling?”

  He inhaled sharply and frowned. No one had ever bothered asking him that question before, and he wasn’t sure how to answer her. His confusion deepened his scowl.

  Chimera noticed his consternation and wondered what caused it. Her earlier conviction of his sensitivity grew. Slowly, hesitantly, she crossed the room, and when she was before him, she reached for his hand. “I asked you to be different,” she whispered, looking deeply into his silver eyes, “and you can say that you will.”

  The soft plea in her voice, the luster in her mahogany eyes tantalized him for a long moment. He was amazed at the profound effect she had on him. “What do you mean by different?” How strange, he thought. He already was different. So different from other men that sometimes all he hungered for was normalcy. Couldn’t Chimera see how different he was?

  She dropped his hand and went to smother the fire with cold ashes. “Accept me for who I am. No one else, besides Aunt Xenia and the boys, has ever done that. I wouldn’t ask it of you if I didn’t need you so desperately. I might do or say things you don’t understand, but please,” she said, and turned to face him, “accept me for who I am.”

  Accept her for who she is, he thought, and went to stare out the tiny window. How ironic. He’d longed for real acceptance for years, but this was the first time anyone had ever asked it of him. Accept me for who I am. He repeated her plea to himself. Accept her for who she was. She had an identity, and however strange an identity it was, she had it, and it was hers. She wasn’t empty. She was filled with the knowledge of who and what she was. How long had he fantasized about who he was? Wondered about his innate character and the people from whom he’d inherited it? Aside from his ability with women, what more was there to him?

  Tucson, he said silently. I’ll know when I reach Tucson.

  “Sterling?”

  Her voice thrust him back into reality. He spun to face her. “What do you need from me? Why do you need for me to accept you?”

  She wrung her hands and realized that explaining the way of things to him was going to be more difficult than she anticipated. After all, he was supposed to know already, and she hadn’t prepared herself for the event that she might have to define the reasons for his being here. “We’ll be together for quite a while, and it would be nice if we could get along. I know you think you’re going to Tucson, but—”

  “I am going to Tucson.”

  “Yes, well, you might go to Tucson, but since I don’t know how long it will take you to complete your job—”

  “What job?” He stalked toward her. “You keep talking about my ‘heroic duties,’ but you speak in riddles.”

  “I need a man, and you’re him.” She watched the pale silver of his eyes darken to a deep, slate gray, then saw his lips part. “And you’re him,” she repeated softly, her gaze still centered on his parted lips.

  He saw her breasts rise and fall with the rhythm of her labored breathing, watched her lashes flutter against the satin skin beneath her eyes, and for some strange reason felt a stab of disappointment that it was all turning out as he’d known it would.

  What the hell was the matter with him? Wasn’t her surrender exactly what he wanted?

  He watched her lashes flutter again. Yes, this was what he wanted, he told himself firmly. Tucson was waiting. Nothing, no one was more important than Tucson. He’d accept her submission quickly and be on his way.

  “A man,” Chimera whispered again, her voice, her body, her thoughts all trembling with a longing she had no idea how to satisfy.

  The time had arrived, Sterling knew as he looked down at her. She was caught fast in the web he’d been spinning about her all evening. He leaned closer to her. “And what,” he whispered, “do you need a man for, Chimera?”

  The warmth of his body was hotter than the dying flames behind her. His fragrance, of leather, earth, horseflesh, and the spicy scent of the leaves in her homemade salve, made her tremble again. She forced her eyes from his face and looked at his bare chest. Coffee with a bit of cream, she thought; smooth, hard...She had to control the urge to touch her fingers to it and marveled at the sweet feeling the thought of doing so brought to her. But when she looked up again, when she saw his face was slowly coming toward here, no emotion she’d ever felt compared to the one she felt then.

  I asked for a hero, not a lover, she told herself, and felt a hot shiver of anticipation while staring at his mouth. A hot shiver? Shivers came from coldness, yet despite the warmth of the cabin, she was shivering as if she were standing waist-deep in snow.

  Only magic could do this, she thought dreamily. Nothing but magic could
make a hot shiver.

  She blinked and tried to see the rest of what was in the room. But she could see nothing but Sterling above her, still coming nearer to her. My magic brought you here, she told him mentally. She’d never questioned magic before, and she would not start now.

  “I need...” she began, and was again lost in the pale silver pools of his eyes, “a man.”

  “So you’ve said,” he reminded her, his mouth a mere fraction of an inch away from hers.

  His breath was so warm on her face, she thought, and then saw amusement dancing within the silvery diamonds of his eyes. “Say you are him, Sterling,” she whispered right before his lips met hers. A soundless moan filled her throat while a tender heat flooded her body. Melting, melting, she thought again. In his arms. Oh, that he would put his arms around her, she wished, and was lost in that fantasy.

  “I will, for tonight,” Sterling said softly, his mouth still lightly pressed against hers, “be whoever you want me to be.” He straightened, reached for her, and took her into his arms.

  “‘To be crushed...in the winepress...of passion’—Gabriel Biel...wrote that,” she said breathlessly, her heart hammering to the irregular rhythm of her words. She saw a fleeting smile on his lips right before they touched hers again, and then she was sure this thing...this unseen feeling surrounding them...was magic.

  “Chimera,” he whispered. “Chimera.”

  “Chimera,” Snig whined from his bed on the floor, “it’s hot in here.”

  Sterling growled a curse and picked up the boy. “Show me where these creatures sleep, and I’ll carry them to bed.”

  Chimera had to blink several times to recover from the daze in which his kiss had left her. She nodded and took him to a small room in the back of the cabin. Sterling laid Snig down on the large corn-shuck mattress on the floor and soon brought Snag and Snug there too. Then he turned to where Chimera had been standing only seconds before.

  But she was gone. He walked out of the room just in time to see her stepping into her own bedroom. “I know you have many questions about what little I’ve told you, but it’s late,” she said softly. “You can sleep with the triplets, and we’ll talk more in the morning.”

  She began to close her door, but before it was fully shut, she pulled it open again. “What happened a few minutes ago...the kiss—it had to have been magic.”

  Sterling smiled smugly. “Yes, Chimera. It was, indeed, magic.”

  “And I don’t fight my magic...but I’m confused. I asked for a hero, not a lover. But the kiss—we’ll just have to wait and see how this will all turn out. For now, though, the spell is broken. Good night, Sterling.”

  “Chimera, wait,” he called. He took a step toward her, but she gently shut the door. He stood there looking at it for many moments before he finally went back into the great room that wasn’t great at all. Staring out the window at the moonlit yard, he realized he could leave for Tucson right now. He had her kiss. Had felt her desire. Had received her surrender.

  But it was late. And all the adventures he’d had today had left him exhausted. Tucson wasn’t going anywhere tonight, and he decided he wouldn’t either. He left the great room and joined the triplets. The corn-shuck mattress smelled of dirt, warm boys, and other odors he decided he didn’t even want to guess at. Closing his eyes, he let his thoughts wander.

  Chimera. Her lovely image filtered into his mind, and he found himself wondering what it would feel like to have her in his arms for longer than the few seconds he’d had her there earlier. He imagined how much he might enjoy a kiss that lasted longer than the short one they’d shared and then guessed at what pleasure might be had from her soft body while she lay beneath him...with her extraordinary long hair fanned out about her...her slender legs encircling his back...her lips whispering sweet words into his ear...

  She’d melted in his arms, just as he’d suspected she would. Oddly, it disappointed him that she had turned out to be the same as all other women, but at least he’d knocked on the wood. Things were back to being perfect again now that he knew he hadn’t lost his special touch.

  “Magic,” he whispered. He smiled, recalling that Chimera said it was her magic that had brought about the moment they’d shared a little while ago. “Her magic,” he whispered again, and then scowled a slight scowl that in the next moment became a full and fierce frown. “Her magic?” His eyes flew open.

  “You’re crazy!” he exclaimed softly to her mental image. “It wasn’t your magic, it was mine!”

  We’ll just have to wait and see how this will all turn out, she’d told him. I don’t fight my magic...but for now...the spell is broken.

  “My magic, Chimera!” he yelled at her again. “I put the spell on you! It was my doing! My special touch, my magic!”

  “Shut up, dammit,” Snig demanded sleepily.

  “Yeah,” Snug echoed with a yawn. “Take your damn magic and stuff—”

  “Go back to sleep,” Sterling ordered, and knocked Snag’s elbow out of his eye.

  “Do us a favor and do the same thing,” Snig responded.

  How dare Chimera take credit for creating the feelings that had flowed between them earlier, Sterling fumed, ignoring the irritated triplets. He’d never, not once in his life, been led to passion. He did the leading. And as for waiting to see how all of it turned out...

  It had already “turned out,” he recalled, and immediately felt better. He knew the truth about their magics, knew his was the stronger of the two. “It’d be nice staying here a while longer and showing you the truth, too, Chimera,” he told her image wistfully, “but I’ve got to leave.”

  “Thank God,” Snig mumbled, and punched his pillow.

  “Why don’t you go on and leave tonight?” Snag asked.

  Sterling turned his back to them and decided the sooner he got away from this place, the better off he’d be. The people living in this cabin were the oddest collection of people he’d ever met. One was a bumbling witch, albeit a beautiful one, and three were buck-toothed monsters. The boy called Archibald didn’t seem to have any real problem besides a limp, but one never knew. The bizarre happenings and attitudes around here might be contagious, and it was more than likely that Archibald would succumb to them soon.

  Dios mio, he’d leave at first light.

  Chapter Three

  As Sterling walked into the great room the next morning, he noticed the oven was lit, and hoped that meant a hearty meal would be served shortly. “Morning,” he greeted Archibald. He scowled at the boy’s violet trousers and bright red shirt. The triplets wore eye-blinding colors also, he recalled. As did Chimera. Didn’t any of them have normal clothes? “Morning,” he said to the boy again.

  Archibald nodded and quickly got back to the book he was reading in the corner of the cabin.

  “You’ll go mute, talking so much, son,” Sterling said. “Quiet down some.” He winked at the boy and ambled out to the porch, one of its boards groaning when he stepped on it. Looking out into the yard, he saw Chimera. It was impossible not to see her. She was wearing a startling orange and yellow skirt and a brilliant purple blouse. Again, he tried to dislike the jarring colors, but again, they seemed just right for her. She was stirring something in a black pot, and the baby lay in a basket beside her. He stood in the shadows of the porch roof and watched her.

  He was amazed anew at the astonishing length of her hair. She wore it loose, as she had yesterday. It was so long that from a distance it might have been mistaken for a black cape.

  He imagined her coming to him dressed in nothing but that ebony cloak and what it would feel like to have that silken mass of hair wrapped around him. He would tangle his fingers through it, bury his face in it. It would be their satin blanket, upon which passion would be born and consummated.

  In response to his heated thoughts, desire tore through him. It caught him quickly, violently. Hell, he thought. He hadn’t been so strongly affected by a woman in years. It really was a damn shame he didn’t have time
to dally with her. He waited a few moments for his sensual reaction to subside and stepped off the porch. “What did you do with my shirt?” he asked her as he picked up the baby.

  “Oh, Sterling, it was such a mess. The baby was wrapped up in it for so long...well, I scrubbed it as hard as I could. I even boiled it. But I couldn’t get it clean. So I burned it.”

  Wonderful, he moaned inwardly. She’d reduced to ashes the only shirt he owned. Now the only thing in the way of clothing he possessed were his boots, breeches, and hat.

  “Venus is going to be just fine,” Chimera said. “The milk-filled socks are working wonderfully. She drank two socks-full last night and has already had two more this morning. With an appetite like that, she’ll be too big for that basket pretty soon.”

  “Venus?” Sterling laid the infant back down.

  “The Roman goddess of love and beauty. I named her this morning. It’s a wonderful name, and in the words of the great Cervantes, ‘A good name is better than riches.’ You don’t mind that I named her Venus, do you? I had Psyche, the name of Cupid’s wife, picked out too. And Persephone, queen of the underworld, was another of my choices. But that’s sort of like the queen of hell, and I didn’t think it was appropriate for—”

  “Venus is fine, just fine,” Sterling interjected. “When did you get up?”

  She added a smooth pebble to her brew and continued stirring. “I get up before Apollo, that old rooster over there,” she said, pointing to a scrawny bird that looked to Sterling to be about a hundred years old. “He’s named after the Greek god of the sun, you know. A fitting name, I think, since he gets up with the sun.”

  Sterling glanced at the sky and reckoned it was about noon. “I’m normally up with the sun, too, but I was so tired last night, I didn’t even mind sleeping on corn husks with Snig, Snag, Snug, and a toad.”

  “Toby,” Chimera said, and threw a small hair into the caldron. “Pig hair,” she explained. “We used to have a pig. His name was Pierpont, but he ran away. And as for Toby—I’ve told those boys that frogs belong outside, but they insist on sleeping with the warty thing. It’s beyond me why anyone would want to sleep with something that croaks, but—”