Enchanted Again

by Robin D. Owens

  Hell. She rubbed her temples.

  “I just can’t do this,” the girl said. Shaking her head, her bloodshot eyes went to the heap of books on the table. “All I see is spots. No way am I going to do well on that test.” She thumped the big volumes shut. “I’ll just have to crash and phone the prof and schedule a makeup.”

  “Someone will help you.”

  “Yeah, guess so. You have.” She smiled up at Amber and this time it was unshadowed. Then she took a deep breath, let it out easily. “And I think I’ve turned the corner on this cough.” She eyed the books with yearning. “I really wanted to master that material. No use pushing it, though.”

  “No,” Amber said. She’d pushed it, as always. When if she’d waited…

  “Thanks for stopping by,” the girl said. “You made me see something I hadn’t before.”

  Was that the curse-breaking power? Had Amber helped? She didn’t know. Would never know.

  The girl stood with a groan and loaded the books into her backpack, shook her own head. “I still like heavy texts. Maybe I’m addicted to the smell of highlighter. See you.”

  “Yes,” Amber said. She took a seat at the table and dropped her head in her hands. She’d helped. She should feel better about that. Instead she just questioned herself. Maybe she should become a counselor.

  She didn’t want to be a counselor.

  The puppies were as frisky trotting home as when they’d come. Amber was wearier. She broke open her emergency stash of herbs and tea and made up drinks and a four-egg omelet using the herbs. She treated the dogs to their special wet food and fresh water. Smiled as they gobbled down their food.

  Tiro tromped up the stairs and scowled at her. “I knew this would happen.” He whistled to the pups, pointed to their beds. The dogs went to them and Amber reached into her pocket for treats to reward each of them. They crunched cheerfully, tails wagging. When they were done, Tiro waved a hand and they fell asleep.

  “You broke a curse,” he said flatly. “This was a stranger. How do you think you will resist helping the walking dead man, Rafe?”

  Amber shuddered, then jutted her chin. “I’m learning new ways of breaking curses all the time. Without any help from you.”

  “Even with the dagger and the shield he won’t kill Bilachoe. Maybe if he’d had more time to train, but he doesn’t.” Tiro’s shrug had his shoulders rising all the way up to his ears. “Good thing you’re the last of your line, I’ll be free before I know it.”

  “I thought you were going to be nicer.”

  “You hurt those dogs.”

  “Not much. They didn’t age any more than they would have if they’d stressed at a vet appointment.” Her lips thinned and she scowled back at him. “Despite little help, I’m getting better at gauging bonds.”

  He snorted, angled his sharp chin upward. “You have four new gray hairs. Better use that rinse in your bathroom cabinet before loverboy comes back.”

  She flinched.

  Tiro continued, “As for bonds. I don’t think you know as much as you think.” His lip curled and he looked her up and down. “You’ve picked up bonds with every Lightfolk you’ve touched since I’ve known you.”

  “Really?” That was interesting.

  “You don’t even know whether that’s good or ill. Time for harsher measures,” Tiro said, grabbing her hand. His was small and rock-hard. Darkness spun around her and cleared to night as her soles hit cobblestones.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “I transported you to the docks.”

  “Denver doesn’t have docks.”

  Tiro grinned and it was a taunt more than anything else. “We aren’t in Denver. Not even in the Americas.” He dipped his fingers into a pants pocket and came up with a grubby-looking nutlike thing and shoved it into her hand.

  “What’s this?”

  “Illusion and language spell. Temporary.”

  She sniffed it, smelled a little salt and a whole lot of dirt. But since she was curious, as always, she popped it into her mouth and chewed. Salty dirt, not terrible, but not good.

  With a sweeping gesture, he indicated an inset doorway. The windows on each side of the door pulsed neon ads, probably for liquor.

  Amber walked toward the door, and as she reached for the handle she saw her hand…looking old and wrinkled. She drew in a harsh breath and the scent of alcohol-saturated air. She was walking into a bar. She wasn’t sure what was coming, but she reckoned it would be challenging, so she braced herself as she pulled the door open.

  She stepped in to smoke and liquor.

  And curses.

  The place was alive with curses. Small ones, great ones. Ill wishes and generational curses. Curses that were actually layered upon a person.

  Amber blinked and shook her head so she could see through the smoke. It was a small bar with shabby people sitting at the counter and in the three booths. Weary, hopeless despair hung as thick as the smoke.

  “What is this place?”

  “A bar where the cursed congregate,” Tiro said. “Not many of these places. Bars might have one cursed soul, but not many.”

  Amber hadn’t known that. She didn’t spend much time in bars.

  “I found this one especially for you.”

  At first no one paid any attention to her, and none of them noticed Tiro. The people might be magically cursed, but were too apathetic to strain to see magical beings. She was drawn to the center of the bar, felt magic under her feet. “What’s this?” she murmured to Tiro.

  He hopped onto the bar and sat, legs dangling, then grunted, “Special old sacred space.”

  She didn’t ask sacred to what religion or culture. He wouldn’t answer. Her gift seemed to lighten as if it were truly a sparkling magic she could use easily with no horrible consequences. If the burden of curses were also lightened here, no wonder people came and stayed.

  Even with the nut the language was distant and garbled around her, but sounded Slavic. When the bartender spoke directly to her, the words seemed to hang outside her ear for a second, then pop as if through a barrier and into English. Tiro magicked a foreign bill onto the counter and a beer was served to her in a chipped pottery mug. Amber didn’t actually touch it.

  “Haven’t seen you before,” said a morose man with skin drooping on his face as if he’d been healthier and fatter. His curse was easy, the cure for it floated as a nearly tangible image before her.

  “You don’t look like you’ve been here long, either,” Amber said. She meant to smile but a cackle emerged from her mouth. “I bet if you returned that thing you took, your hardships would go away.”

  He stared dark and long at her. “You think?”

  “Yeah. I do.” That, too, came out differently than she’d anticipated. With more force. The man wiped his hand over his mouth and nodded, turned and strode out of the door, his shoulders set with purpose.

  Tiro snorted.

  An old toothless man grabbed her hand and said, “I’d give anything to have me Phyl back.”

  Just like that, Amber knew. She saw the counter for his curse. Bending down and ignoring the guy’s breath, she said, “You don’t drink as much as you did, right?” The words changed from English to something else midflow.

  “Nay. I drink not at all.” He lifted a mug and sloshed the liquid around. The bite of peppermint came to Amber’s nose.

  “Tisane,” he said. “It’s hard to be around liquor, but it no longer tastes good t’me and I got me willpower.” He tapped his temple with a gnarled finger. Then he looked around with a brooding gaze. “But these be m’friends. I don’ know where else to go.”

  “Your lady had a little magic…”

  “Always knew that.”

  “When she sent you away, she was thinking of the conditions of when you could come back.”

  The man’s shaggy brows went up. “Eh?”

  Amber licked her lips, then wished she hadn’t as the taste of smoke and ashes and unhappiness lingered on her ton
gue. “She likes daisies? What if you brought her daisies and told her you loved her every day for a fortnight?”

  His mouth moved soundlessly and his eyes filled. “Couldn’t be so easy.”

  “No? Why don’t you try.” A wind of irritation whisked through her. She might be too soft, but at least she was trying. Trying to help herself and others. As soon as Rafe had accepted his curse, and heard of a way he might beat it, he’d set his mind on doing his best to break it. Neither one of them had given up. But here there was little hope and no attempt to change themselves or their circumstances.

  She shouldn’t judge. She’d been blessed, not cursed. She had no idea what these people had confronted. But she met the old man’s eyes. “You have willpower? Show your Phyl. Go back to your wife and your life. Every day is new.”

  He shook his head, but shuffled from the place.

  Tiro gargled and choked and she turned to see that he was so close it might even appear as if she were drinking the beer instead of him. He set the mug down with a clatter, his eyes narrow. “You used your curse breaking to see but not to lift. None of the others—”

  “None of the others lived in Mystic Circle, had a lot of brownies for friends, did they?”

  “None in such a place as Mystic Circle.” He looked around the sad room, lip curling. “I don’t see anyone else coming up to you for you to help. And those two that left. You think they’ll follow through on their intentions?”

  “I don’t know, but I helped them, and the more I know about my gift, the more I can help. My ancestress studied our magic, too, didn’t she? When I get her journals, I’ll know more. Even if you don’t help me.”

  “You can’t tell me that you don’t itch to remove every curse from every person in this place.”

  She lifted her brows. “Actually, I can.” Her glance went to a dark corner. “A couple of these people are evil.” She wouldn’t say that they deserved their curses, but she didn’t want to be in their company to see who had cursed them for what deeds.

  “Let’s go.” Tiro’s fingers went to her wrist. He still sounded grumpy, as if his lesson hadn’t been fully appreciated.

  The lesson Cumulustre had wanted his daughters to learn: not to cure others at the cost of draining themselves. Instead, Amber had begun to see the release of the curse when she looked at people. Another option for her.

  She glanced at the door. She would really like to know if she’d at least helped the two she’d spoken to, but doubted Tiro would let her know.

  “Don’t you want to help more?” Tiro sneered. “Isn’t there someone whose curse you feel compelled to break?”

  Amber couldn’t deny it. “Yes.” She looked at a corner with a sad old woman who was drinking steadily. She’d driven her family away before she’d learned her lesson to be gentle with others and less selfish. The curse layering her was to be cutting and shrewish, see people only as they related to herself…until she lost her beauty, which her actions worked upon. Now she yearned for her children, but had no way to find them. This was a generational curse like Conrad’s.

  Amber had to set her feet solidly on the ground, make sure they didn’t move so she wouldn’t help the woman. If she helped the woman, she would drain herself and the puppies. The puppies and Rafe needed her. Her own self needed her to be more aware of the magic that she was using. She deserved to be considered first. If she helped the woman, she wouldn’t recover in time to help Rafe if he needed it. Oh, she was pulled to the woman, to others who needed her, but… “I need to care for myself first. I am deserving of my own help and love.”

  Tiro stared at her. Then he grinned and wrapped his arms around one of her legs and they were gone from the bar and back home, carrying the odor of smoke and liquor and despair.

  And hope—that she was learning what she should.

  Then they’d arrived back at her beautiful clean and welcoming home, joyfully greeted by the puppies. She sank to the ground as they licked her and tumbled around her.

  By the time Rafe returned, flush with triumph that his instructors had pronounced his progress “amazing,” and detailing a couple of the fights, Amber was pretty much back to normal.

  Sizzitt flew straight to the kitchen island and siphoned one of her bars up in a melted stream.

  “She’s not a big talker,” Rafe said, cocking an eyebrow in the firesprite’s direction. “And she really doesn’t like me or humans.” He shrugged.

  Tiro stumped in and grunted, “Why should we like humans?”

  “Why should we like brownies?” Rafe said.

  “Brownies are useful,” Amber said. They were fascinating, too, and so was the firesprite.

  “We are beautiful,” Pred said, appearing, along with Hartha. The smaller male brownie rubbed his hands and dirt scaled off them that Hartha vanished. “We are progressing well on the wheel of tunnels under Mystic Circle.” Pred slanted Amber a glance and his nostrils flared. “There are wonderful smells coming from Tamara Thunderock’s place, but she was not home and we can’t go there unless we are invited.”

  “Why not?” Amber asked.

  All of the brownies’ ears rolled down to their heads. “The dwarves treated her badly.”

  That made no sense to Amber and she was about to ask more when Hartha summoned a wonderful-smelling dinner—chicken and dumplings and bread still warm from the oven.

  “You do not have the dagger,” Hartha said.

  Rafe frowned. “No. I know it’s in the museum, but I couldn’t find it. Too much distortion from other stuff and the kids.”

  “Mystic Circle is mostly balanced energy that makes working magic easier, and the neighborhood, too,” Hartha said.

  “I learned that,” Rafe said. “I might have to take the big dowsing rod in, and I don’t know how I’m going to do that. But I brought the brochure with the floor plans in case I can use the little dowsing stick like I did last night.”

  “I don’t know how you’re getting anything out of the museum. Unless you can draw it here?” Amber asked.

  “Not going back into that game. It’s dangerous,” Rafe said.

  Amber nearly choked on her food. “And just living here isn’t?”

  “Not in Mystic Circle,” Tiro said. As usual, his dishes transferred into the dishwasher. He rose from his chair and stared at Rafe. “I like living here. You bought a house here, right?”

  “Number two,” Rafe said. He made a face. “The Fanciful House, the pink one.”

  “Your manhood would not be diminished by living in that house,” Amber said. “And you can paint it.”

  “Huh,” Rafe said.

  “I’d like my chocolate dessert now,” Pred said.

  Amber looked at Hartha. “Chocolate isn’t actually addicting to Lightfolk, is it?”

  “No more than to humans,” Hartha replied comfortably, taking care of the empty bowls. “We do not have access to it much. Soon we will not want it every day.”

  Pred sniffed.

  “I have more pudding,” Amber said, going to the refrigerator. She’d attached a silver chain around the handle.

  “Good. I like pudding best,” Pred said. “And we worked hard on tunneling today.”

  “Can I point out that that’s illegal?” Amber said.

  “We replaced your intake water pipes,” Tiro said, once again sitting at his table, anticipating his pudding. “You should have better water pressure.”

  “Great!” Rafe said.

  “Thank you,” Amber said politely. They’d saved her thousands, not to mention the lack of mess and any worries about whether the pipes went under the blue spruce in her backyard. Making chocolate desserts for the brownies and keeping them in candy bars for the duration was cheap at the cost.

  “Humans won’t notice,” Tiro said with disdain.

  Amber plunked down the pudding before the brownies and put a bowl of mixed fruit before Rafe and herself, then nodded at the pamphlet with the museum floor plans unfolded on the table, and Rafe’s computer tablet bes
ide it. “You’re sure you want to go back to the museum instead of into the game? Have you checked the game lately? Since you’ve already mastered what needed to be done, at least mostly?”

  Rafe’s spoon, with a hunk of melon, stopped on the way to his mouth. “No, I haven’t.” He glared at the computer. “I have problems touching that.”

  “Uh-huh,” Amber said.

  She drew it over to herself and turned it on. The screen showed a fading icon for REAL Fairies and Dragons by Pavan. Rafe let out a sigh of relief, then leaned forward to peer at the tablet. “What’s that?” He gestured with his spoon. Amber finished the blueberries she’d saved for last and looked at the computer. There appeared to be a new icon, faint, as if the computer application hadn’t quite loaded.

  “Something’s there,” she agreed. “Just not ready for you yet.”

  He grunted and sounded a lot like Tiro. Rafe pushed the computer away and held out his hand. His miniature divining rod, which had been in his jacket pocket on the clothes hook in the entryway, flew to his fingers. He moved a little, distributing his weight as if for a fight—or he was also developing a sense of how to use his personal magic. So much more fun than her curse breaking, with little in the way of cost but energy. She swallowed bitter envy.

  Flipping the stick in his fingers, he smiled at her and she forced a smile back. “Yes, magic is a whole lot easier in Mystic Circle.”

  She stared at Rafe’s computer. She actually saw little motes of magic vanish into it. Had Pavan modified it to run on that meld-magic stuff?

  Now that she thought of it, she hadn’t seen Rafe plug the pad in to charge since he’d been here, and it usually sat on the coffee table in the living room.

  Rafe’s chest expanded as he inhaled, a little line appeared between his brows, and he held his tiny dowsing rod over the map of the museum.

  “But back to getting the knife. Among the six of us we have a lot of magic. We can break into the museum and take my dagger.”

  Chapter 23

  AMBER STARED AT Rafe, who’d definitely gone crazy. “Break. Into. The. Museum.”