Enchanted Again

by Robin D. Owens

  Rafe nodded, dressed and paid his shot and took off in the Jag to Mystic Circle. He wondered if Amber would like to go out for breakfast, then noted it was late, about 10:00 a.m.

  He didn’t want to be anywhere except the cul-de-sac. Amber and the house he was interested in were good rationalizations to go back. Not just because he felt safer there for some unknown reason.

  His cell lilted with the orchestral tune of his financial advisor. Since the Jag was a stick shift, he didn’t answer. As soon as he pulled into Mystic Circle, tension eased from him. He stopped before number two, the one he wanted to buy. The For Sale sign was gone. His heart gave a solid thump of disappointment. Had someone—say a dude with silver hair and pointed ears—snapped up the house before Rafe? And would it appeal to such a guy?

  More hard thoughts about curses that worked when there should be no such thing. Of tall men who could look at you and have you sitting still to do whatever they wanted. Of disappearing beer and appearing lager.

  He closed his eyes, replayed his conversation with Pavan and the implications. He’d followed his hunches most of his life, all except the deepest ones. Decision time.

  His phone rang again and he answered his financial advisor’s call. “Hey, Cynthia. I’m sitting in front of number two Mystic Circle right now.”

  “It’s very odd,” said Cynthia. “They won’t close without proof that you’ll be alive at the end of the year. I’ve never heard anything like it. Who can give proof of such a thing? I can forward some medical records if you want…”

  “That wouldn’t work,” Rafe said. “Will they take earnest money to keep the house off the listings?”

  “Yes…but, you know, it didn’t get listed.” Her tone was disapproving at the inefficiency.

  “Who’s the owner?”

  “Oh. It’s a firm there in Denver, not a regular real estate firm, though they have holdings.... Eight Corp.”

  Rafe wasn’t really surprised. “All right then. Give them the earnest money.”

  A pause. “The amount is such that I’ll have to notify your brother, Gabriel.”

  Rafe didn’t say that she could tell Gabe the next time they were in bed—he was slightly less rude. “When’s the wedding?”

  “He won’t make plans until next year.”

  Probably because he thought he’d be mourning a brother. Gabe hadn’t told Cynthia the family secret, then. Tough on a good guy to inform a beloved that their first son might die because of a curse. Too many ways a discussion like that could go wrong.

  “Tell Gabe that he’d like the house, and the area. Anything in the block is worth snapping up. And let him know my will is up to date.”

  “You aren’t doing anything dangerous, are you?”

  “I’m not participating in any competitions right now.” No sports at least, though an idea was forming in his head that he’d be going on a quest. Which would be the most dangerous thing he’d ever done in his life.

  But have the biggest and the best payoff.

  Amber was double-checking the information listed on the Cymbler family tree. As she worked on the computer database and the hard-copy roll, she noted when her magic flared. Times that might show scenes of the past.

  But she was unaccustomedly pessimistic. She didn’t think that any of those scenes would lead her to the truth of how to break Conrad’s curse.

  Both his and Rafe’s curses were ancient things, and the farther she went in the past, the less able she was to interpret her visions correctly. And the more energy it took.

  Her hand went to the aged leather of her gypsy ancestress’s journal and she stroked it. Time to reread it again in the light of the new information she had. Brownies. Elves. Dwarves. Mers and…djinns. Yes. Jenni was a djinn.

  She missed her neighbor. Jenni must be aware of magic, since she was the one making the cul-de-sac especially magical. She would be able to answer a lot of questions for Amber.

  Jenni was only half human. That’s what the brownies had said. A little thrill went through Amber. She figured she must be human herself except for a sliver…but she had this power because an elf had given it to her family line and it stuck.

  She liked her magic. Loved helping. She didn’t like the consequences. The black notebook recording the worst curse she’d broken squatted on her desk. She’d look at it later today. After a piece of chocolate pie.

  Her email pinged and she opened the program to see that she’d gotten a notification from one of the online search services she used to scan for a gypsy diary—Tshilaba’s. Fingers trembling with excitement, she opened the message to see that a used bookstore in Chicago had some original journals for a ridiculously low price. Reading the descriptions, and comparing it to the volume she had in front of her, she decided to order them on the off chance they were what she wanted. She didn’t want to ask questions that might alert the seller to the fact that Amber might empty her savings account to buy the books.

  As soon as she hit “buy,” the knocker on her front door sounded.

  “That man is here, the walking dead one,” Tiro growled.

  Downstairs, she looked through the peephole and there was Rafe Davail. He appeared to have had a rough night, was unshaven and his jaw was tight with strain.

  Feelings stirred in her. She opened the door. He offered his hand, and even knowing it was a mistake, she took it. Yes, she felt the slimy death curse first, then all too delicious attraction that shot straight to her sex. If she were a different kind of person she wouldn’t equate sex with love. But she did. She was in bad trouble.

  “You are in bad trouble,” said Tiro.

  Rafe squinted, cocked his head, as if he were almost hearing the brownie. Then he shook his head. “If you don’t help me, I’ll die,” he said brutally.

  She removed her fingers from his grasp.

  His gaze was on hers now, serious. “Since I’ve met you I’ve been attacked by…things, nearly run over by a car and almost shocked to death.”

  “What! I had nothing to do—”

  “I don’t think you did. But maybe consulting with a curse breaker is making someone…nervous.”

  “Don’t let him in. Who knows what ill he brings with him?” Tiro said.

  Again Rafe turned his head toward the brownie standing behind her.

  “But, you know, all of this happened to me outside of Mystic Circle. Inside this area…I get a feeling of safety.” Rafe smiled.

  “All of the magics here won’t stop death from coming to him. Will only stop minor accidents, not fierce intent at murder,” Tiro said, clumping away, waving a hand. “Go ahead, let him in. Let him stay. I’m going down to the basement to dig. At least I’ll accomplish something while I’m here.”

  “The bed-and-breakfast I’ve been staying in has had their electrical system shorted out,” Rafe said, still listing the disasters. Amber was scrambling to keep up.

  “You’ve been lucky,” she said. Her breath was stuck in her chest, making her sound stupid. Pinwheels spun before her eyes in bright fluorescent gel-ink colors showing that she was going to do something equally, incredibly stupid. But Tiro’s word—murder—had stabbed with visceral power.

  “You have a nice big house,” Rafe said, leaning against the doorjamb, a not-so-innocent smile on his face.

  She cleared her throat. “I have a guest room.”

  “Good.”

  “No, no, no, don’t!” Now both Hartha and Pred were in the entry room, scowling. Hartha actually had an apron on with a smudge of dirt and was holding a steaming china teapot. Pred had a shovel. Amber thought they might have been in the basement.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, meaning her words for the brownies. But Rafe’s face hardened, he pushed away from the door.

  “I’ve got a bid on the house across the circle, number two.” He grimaced. “Paid a lot of earnest money to Eight Corp to hold it for me ’til the end of the year. Maybe I can rent it until then—”

  “You can stay here,” Amber said.
r />   The brownies moaned and disappeared.

  “Did you hear that?” Rafe asked. He strained to listen. Ever since Amber had opened the door, he’d been hearing odd sounds, almost like high-pitched talking.

  Her face went bland but there was challenging amusement in her eyes and her raised brows. “What?”

  “Kids.” Had to be kids.

  “I’m not married and I don’t have children.” Her smile widened. “Guess again.”

  That damned itchy feeling between his shoulder blades was back. He glanced behind him, thought he saw a tall man with silver hair in the cul-de-sac’s park. No.

  Maybe.

  What he didn’t see was the iron trash can that he’d thrown his coffee mug into the day before. Little things, all adding up to a nearly unbelievable conclusion.

  “Guess again, what?” he asked.

  “What else could the sound be?” Amber challenged.

  “Singing chipmunks?” he asked.

  She laughed, then shook her head. “No.” Now she stared coolly at him, evaluating him, and something about her stare had him remembering the words of the guy the night before. You are not as blind as you might be, and your hearing is better than your sight. I advise you to listen to that around you.

  “You can stay here if you can tell me what the sound is. Otherwise you can take your chance with Eight Corp,” she amended.

  She probably thought she was being tough. He knew she was too damn soft. Once more he looked at the park in the middle of the cul-de-sac. There were shadows that could hold a man. Or an elf. Rafe inhaled all the way to the bottom of his gut. “Then the sounds could be…magic.”

  Three small beings popped into existence behind Amber. Rafe reeled against the threshold. Grabbed it to steady himself.

  “This is not good,” said the littlest guy with big ears, who didn’t look human at all.

  “I’m inclined to agree with you,” said a musical voice from behind Rafe.

  Slowly he turned and saw a beautiful being who was also not human, but whom he’d met before.

  Chapter 9

  THE MAN-ELF joined Rafe at the door. Rafe hadn’t seen him move. “May I enter?”

  Amber stared at them and opened the door wide. “You’re welcome.” She gasped, more than once. Rafe whirled and caught her as her eyes rolled back and her knees gave out. She was lighter than he’d expected as he swung her up in his arms.

  “Well, well,” said the mean-looking creature, some male thing, bigger than the other male critter. “Come in then.”

  Rafe didn’t like the gloating of his tone, but Amber was dressed for a warm house, not for a spring day with a brisk wind. She wore a cream-colored blouse, dark jeans and a light blue sweater, but was barefoot.

  He took her to the closest piece of furniture, a long couch of a fancy blue-and-teal pattern with carved wooden trim back and arm ends. As he set her down, she was coming around. She put her hand to her head as she stared at the silver-headed dude. The guy wasn’t frowning but Rafe got the idea he disapproved of Amber.

  Pavan closed the door behind himself and the entry hall and living room got dimmer.

  Amber straightened and watched the guy. She licked her lips in a nervous mannerism that Rafe hadn’t noticed before. It seemed to him that if she were okay with three little magical creatures, she could deal with an elf.

  Then he recalled how the elf had captured him with his gaze and Rafe would have done anything the guy asked him. Not to mention that as Pavan’s coat swirled, Rafe saw he was armed with blades on his thighs. And the man—elf—exuded competence. The kind of aura a guy has when he knows he’s the best at what he does. Since Rafe could act that way now and again due to his sports wins, and hung out with others at the top of their games, he knew the attitude.

  He sat down on the couch, too, but there was room enough for all three of the small people between them. Those three had moved away to the opening between the living room and dining room with half walls that held pocket doors.

  “You aren’t Cumulustre?” Amber asked. She seemed a little dazed.

  “Pavan,” the elf said. Now he was close and the light was dimmer and Rafe saw his ears were pointed and his hair true silver and he had a pale whitish glow about him.

  Amber’s gaze slid to the tallest creature, the guy. The other two had linked hands and stood like an old married couple.

  “Cumulustre is not a happy individual,” Pavan said.

  The grumpy creature jerked. His triangular ears rolled down to his head so fast they sounded like shades snapping up. He bowed to the elf and whispered, “I know, great Pavan.”

  Pavan lifted a brow then studied Amber. Rafe noted that the lady did not meet his eyes. “You’ll be helping Rafael Barakiel,” Pavan said.

  Amber sat tall, her shoulders straightened. Her glance ran along the elf’s face, then away. “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry to say this,” the elf said and there was a slight vibration in his tone that had Rafe abandoning his casual lounge.

  Pavan’s next words were very soft and gentle, but the meaning sliced. “But in this quest, saving Rafael’s life is essential, and I don’t think you could contribute much.”

  And whether Amber lived or died wasn’t important to the elf. She got that before Rafe did.

  “Told you so,” said the grumpy little guy.

  The shock that there was a quest ricocheted through Rafe’s mind and kept him frozen before he processed the rest of the elf’s sentence.

  Rafe stood. “No. Amber isn’t helping me.”

  “Mystic Circle is the safest place for you,” Pavan said. “But I am sure that Eight Corp will not allow you to rent number two. This house would be a good place for you to board.”

  Rafe grimaced. The elf had put his request to stay with Amber on a financial basis. That would have been all right yesterday, when he’d thought she was a greedy fraud and only her time was involved…but with lives on the line, no. Not okay.

  “I’ll look somewhere else,” Rafe said.

  Amber lifted her chin. “If Rafe’s life is so significant, you should speak to Eight Corp about letting him have number two.”

  Again, the elf’s face muscles didn’t move, but he emanated a glacial dissatisfaction. He focused his gaze on Rafe and Rafe concentrated on projecting his own I-can-handle-it attitude.

  “Rafe’s life is more significant after he’s completed a quest and is trained. If he were trained he could be an asset in the situation we face in another place....” Pavan shook his head. “But he’s not.” One side of his mouth twitched in a faint curl. “He barely believes in magic. No one would trust him, and we don’t want a death curse in number two Mystic Circle.” Pavan’s shoulders lifted and fell the merest fraction. “We are all very busy now with other events and cannot spare any time except for this visit.”

  Pavan’s glance swept over Amber and the three small creatures and Rafe had the idea that the elf had catalogued them to their last molecules. The little ones leaned toward each other, ears tight against their heads.

  “Then maybe you should get on with your business,” Rafe said, his voice raspier than he’d intended, but the dude’s manner was wearing on him. He sat again, nodded to Amber to let her know that they’d talk about living space after the elf was done. “Tell the story of my curse.” Rafe angled his head toward Amber. “I’m listening and she can take notes and beat the facts into me later if I forget.”

  There was a rumble like foot-scuffed rocks from the grumpy creature who scowled at Rafe.

  “Maybe I can be introduced to you?” Rafe raised his brows to the trio.

  Amber said, “Tiro is a brownieman staying with me because of a binding of his own.”

  Nearly a growl from the guy.

  “Pred and Hartha live next door with Jenni Weavers.”

  “Brownieman,” Rafe repeated with no inflection.

  “Brownieman and browniefem. In plural, brownies,” Amber said.

  “I see.” He did. He was lo
oking at brownies. And if he turned his head, he would see an elf. And not a cheerful little being, either. A guy who could probably break him in two with minimal effort.

  But all of them had wavy air around them…if he let himself see it. Brownish for the brownies. Ha ha. White for the elf.

  Pavan sank into a large wing chair slanted toward the couch and considered Rafe. He felt the elf’s gaze penetrate, as if the man weighed every strand of muscle he had, every last ounce of determination, every iota of Rafe’s will to live. Rafe would have liked to have met the elf’s eyes, but had already learned he couldn’t.

  “It wasn’t supposed to be this hard for you Davail men,” Pavan said in a quietly musing tone.

  His eyes cooled as he glanced at Amber. “Unlike the Cumulustre women, this problem was not of your own making. We did not foresee some of the consequences of our actions.”

  “What are you talking about?” Amber asked.

  Stretching his legs, Pavan said, “The first Davails worked with us—the Lightfolk—and accepted the change in their blood so their line would become warriors against the Dark.”

  “I’m not a warrior,” Rafe said.

  “No.” The elf tapped his fingers together. “It is not a profession often chosen in this time and place if a man has sufficient funds. And modern techniques of warfare don’t always work against the Dark.”

  Rafe’s gaze went to Pavan’s hip. He was sure the man was carrying a dagger or two. Or a short sword and dagger. Weapons, anyway.

  “There are Dark ones after him?” Amber asked shakily.

  “The great Dark ones have become aware of Mystic Circle and are active around it,” Pavan said. “I found signs of shadleech activity.”

  All three of the brownies shivered and quietly drew forward and hopped onto a love seat set in the curve of the turret. Though Pavan didn’t look at them, Rafe was sure he saw the rim of the elf’s ear quiver.

  “What are shadleeches?” asked Amber.

  “They are magical evil beings that were born in the last few years. Rather batlike or like a manta ray with a long beak. Not wholly physical.” Pavan glanced at Rafe’s left wrist. “They can drain magic and life from a person.”