Enchanted Again

by Robin D. Owens

  “Break into the museum,” Rafe murmured.

  She tried not to think of that. She stuck out her chin. “Retrieve the Cosmos Dagger.”

  Tiro’s mouth pursed. “The brownie serves the cat. You would have to get the cat’s permission.”

  Amber slid her gaze to Rafe and saw he looked as if he felt odd, too. She continued smoothly, “I’ve often provided catnip for Chinook. I’m sure she might loan me her brownie for consideration, and he could have a good bounty, too.”

  Tiro shifted his feet and Amber saw a gleam in Rafe’s eyes. They both knew they’d won.

  “Maybe I want something more,” Tiro said.

  Rafe took up the negotiations. “Tell me.”

  Chapter 24

  “I WANT TO live here in Mystic Circle, with an uncursed human or two,” Tiro said.

  Now the amusement leached away. Amber felt her body’s age and the curse shrouding Rafe. He nodded. “I’ve made a commitment to buy number two, the Fanciful House, and have feelers out to the owner of the Captain’s house. I know my brother. If he came out here, he’d like the atmosphere and keep the house.” Rafe paused. “He might be able to see you. In any event I can leave instructions that the place should not stand empty.”

  “A deal is made then,” Tiro said, spitting on the floor and wiping it with his foot until it became a smear of mud. “I want more hot chocolate.”

  The kettle was hot and before Amber turned off the burner she checked on Sizzitt and the spark. Sizzitt shot from the flame to her three-wicked candle, nearly singeing Amber’s eyebrows. Squinting, she could see a white glow in with the blue of the pilot.

  “Sizzitt, I arranged for an early lesson at the lyceum.” Rafe glanced at the kitchen clock. “In about forty-five minutes. Can you bodyguard me or should I cancel?”

  “Sspark will be fine on pilot.”

  Amber said, “I’ll be shopping.” They were going through chocolate at an incredible rate. “What’s the best kind of candle for spark?”

  “Any will do.”

  “All right.” Amber looked at the tea lights and the three-wick and decided that would be enough. Going over to Rafe, she pressed a kiss on his lips and took his hand. He smiled slowly. When they were near the stairs, she said, “How do you feel about shower sex?”

  He picked her up and ran up the steps.

  Later that morning, when Rafe and Sizzitt were practicing electrical interruption in her home, Amber drove to the museum and back. She checked on traffic cams and times. Not that there would be many people on the streets at 2:30 a.m., but more on a Friday night and early Saturday morning than a work-week night. Would that be better—more cars to blend in with? Or worse…slow them down? She didn’t know.

  Tiro accompanied her since he didn’t know Denver and had never been to the City Park area. He hated the car. He crouched at the bottom of the passenger seat, holding a fluffy knit blanket that Amber recognized as being Jenni Weavers’s that Hartha had provided. Amber drove around City Park, where the museum and the zoo were located, and circled the drives and the parking lots a couple of times. Thankfully, they were full. Didn’t security cameras work on a twenty-four-hour basis? Finally, Tiro gritted a “Let me out here.” She stopped and noted they were at the end of a drive next to a streetlight. She got out as if to look at the flower bed. Tiro hopped out behind her, then sank, blanket and all, into the ground. Just before he disappeared, he said, “See you back at the house.”

  So, was he walking through the ground or what? She double-checked the area—no cameras in sight. Then she left, taking a circular route back home until she was sure they would be minimally tracked that night.

  And Tiro and Sizzitt and Rafe were all cheerfully eating pieces of a three-layer chocolate cake when she returned. Rafe insisted that all would go smoothly. Amber just nodded and set every alarm in the house for 1:30 a.m.

  Rafe was up first, and shut the dogs in his room. His gut was tight, but it wasn’t telling him that something was dead wrong. Anticipation, yeah. Excitement, for sure. And finally doing something in the real world that might make a difference in his life, and the lives of his brother and that unknown cousin. The fencing practice was good, but it was just like mastering any other sport.

  Magic, though, that was prime wild fun. The little tricks were nice, but this was the big one. Not just breaking into the museum, but manifesting the dagger. The dagger that could save his life.

  He knew Amber worried, but as much as he lo— Cared for her, she was a squishy. She wasn’t used to risking all to win all.

  That was the only way he’d lived. Maybe he could change…next year. That would be a challenge, too.

  Amber drove the speed limit and took a route with less traffic cameras on it than a direct one. She’d spent fifteen minutes during the day artistically smearing mud on her license plates. She wasn’t a crime show fan, but had picked up some stuff in her reading. She only hoped the security outside the museum didn’t have infrared or something.

  She parked, as they had planned, along the curve of a drive near large trees bare of leaves, just outside of the soft glare cast by a streetlight.

  They got out. Rafe, with Sizzitt hovering near his shoulder, and Amber closed the doors of the car with soft ker-chunks that sounded as loud as shotgun explosions. Or what she thought might be shotguns. She didn’t know those much, either.

  Before her mind stopped dithering, Tiro was there, rising out of the ground.

  Rafe cupped his hands and Sizzitt settled between his palms. “Remember, just the museum,” Rafe said in a tone that told Amber he’d been arguing with the firesprite all day.

  Sizzitt hissed anger.

  Rafe lifted his hands as if throwing her and she sped to the lightbulb on the post, went through the glass. A few instants later the lights went out. Not just at the museum, but those in the parking lot, too.

  Holding out his hand for Tiro, Rafe nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  Tiro clasped several of Rafe’s fingers and they were gone before Amber could say “Good luck,” or “Break a leg.” She stared at the huge block of the museum in the dark.

  Each second stretched long and agonizingly slow. Amber leaned against the car; they’d decided that Rafe would drive home—he was more likely to evade followers. She checked her palm computer for time about every five seconds. She tried to relax, but couldn’t. Tried to soak up the quiet of the night, but even the slight breeze that crackled old autumn leaves sent alarm through her.

  Wild scenarios exploded in her mind, leaving fragments of shrapnel. Sizzitt would blow out Denver’s electrical grid and she and Rafe would both get caught and go to prison. Rafe would die there and she’d age rapidly as she lifted curses from everyone around her.

  She began counting the fast and thudding beats of her heart.

  The lights went out. With more of a swish than a pop, Tiro and Rafe were upstairs on the third floor outside the pirate exhibit. The brownie’s grin was wide and his furry ears shook with excitement. He let go of Rafe’s hand.

  Voices called out, radios emitted static. Someone was barking orders. The place was huge and the floors were open, so sound carried.

  Even if Amber was right and the security force sent a man or two up to check out the special exhibit, Tiro had assured Rafe with brownie arrogance that they wouldn’t be seen or heard or smelled or tasted.

  Rafe resisted the urge to crack his knuckles. Tiro placed his hand on the concretion. It was wet and Rafe realized he was hearing the last trickle of water from the metal spout as it fell into the basin. The thing was also large and rough, it wouldn’t take fingerprints.

  Now it was his turn to use his magic.

  He scraped every iota he had—he’d already discovered the entire amount he could access—and thought at the rock, focusing on it and not the movement and shouts echoing around him. He and Tiro were out of any path.

  Manifest. He could hear the elf, Pavan, say the word and it, too, echoed, if only in Rafe’s mind. He’d bee
n watching the elf and could see those pale pink lips form the word. Manifest.

  Something heavy shifted silently in the concretion. Yeah, the dagger was there. Pull? He tried. Footsteps marched along below. The escalators had stopped. He’d hear anyone come up, see the sweep of a flashlight. And, dammit, he’d lost the link to the knife with that little mind diversion.

  Big breath in through the nose, quiet, count out an exhale through the mouth. Manifest. It was…there? He wished he’d paid attention to the concretion, the size and shape of it. Again, he lost the link.

  “I can go have fun with the guards,” Tiro offered.

  “No.”

  Hurry up! That was Rafe’s own nerves twanging through his head.

  Hell. Breathe. Yesterday, he’d seen the shield go into the wall, the molecules between. So, visualize. Like he visualized a run, on snowboard or bike or motocross. Yes. Visualize the dagger. He’d dreamed of it all his life. There! There it was!

  Almost as big as the concretion itself, and stuck with other objects.

  Visualize magic fingers, an extension of his own, grasping it, pulling it out. Slowly, carefully.

  “Heading up to the Phipp’s special exhibit area now,” a low voice reported.

  “Still no signs of break-in, but police are on the way. In force,” crackled a reply.

  Hell!

  Rafe was standing in the dark, ready to get caught, with a brownie hanging on to his jeans. This was almost as bad as in the game. Not quite as fun as he thought it would be. He was pumped with adrenaline, tipped on the edge of fight or flight response. Fight.

  No!

  Think back to the game and how he’d manifested the shield. He’d needed it.

  Yes! That was the last key. Need. He needed the dagger. Now. It was his. Made for his line, the Davails. It was his and he needed it so he could kill evil Dark ones, save those they’d harmed. Its purpose. His purpose. Yes, sliding, sliding. Ignore the large round bright light stabbing up at an angle from the escalator. Trust Tiro to keep them in shadows. Only a big rock here, nothing of any value. Nothing easily stolen. Dude, go into the gallery and the exhibit, move on to the gold and the silver.

  “All quiet. No activity. What’s the power status?” the guard asked.

  Rafe’s blood was thundering in his ears. He was sweating and using a lot of magical energy. The dagger was sliding, sliding. Stuck.

  The light flashed over him. He froze.

  Need! I need the dagger. The beautiful Cosmos Dagger with blue universe and golden galaxies and stars. I need it. Its purpose and my purpose are one. It is mine! I need it now so I can go to my woman, my lover.

  The hilt slipped into his hand with a burst of static electricity.

  “What’s that!” Running footsteps.

  And they were out in the road, a few yards from the car and sweat was drying on his back and he could see Amber—sweet, serious Amber—waiting for him and he was grinning like an idiot and loping toward her.

  He waggled the dagger for her to see. Tried to shift it. And found his fingers were clenched around the hilt and he couldn’t let go.

  What the fuck?

  Rafe ran toward her, a wide grin on his face. His fingers were curved around the dagger. It looked a lot bigger than she’d expected. Tiro walked behind him, shoulders high, and scowling.

  Tiro glanced back, yelled, “Evil guard attached to dagger! Mist with eyes and teeth!” He vanished, and she didn’t think it was to her house.

  She could see it now, like a haze blotting out the museum. There were eyes, bright blue and scattered throughout the cloud. Winking with malevolence.

  Rafe must have noted the horror on her face. He slowed to look back. He flinched and picked up speed, running too fast in the dark, depending on his natural balance. As he ran, she noticed a thin thread of black trailing like a line of flies from the hilt of the dagger extending from his fist to the shadowy menace.

  “I’ll drive,” he yelled, heading toward the driver’s side. As he reached for the handle he swore and opened his fingers, shook his hand. The knife remained against his palm. “Still stuck!”

  He gripped the dagger, whirled and swept it across the line of mist. Even though it was sheathed, the air ripped with a high shriek. A fast exhale came from him. “It’s gone for now, but I don’t think it will take long…”

  “Reforming as we speak,” Amber said shakily. She jumped into the driver’s seat and shoved open the passenger door for Rafe, started the car and drove to the lamppost where they were supposed to pick up Sizzitt.

  “Sizzitt!” Rafe yelled. “Come help!”

  The little flame reappeared in Amber’s car lighter and the electricity of the museum blazed on, complete with alarms, behind them.

  “Funzz!” Sizzitt crackled with laughter.

  “Check out the evil guard—mist-with-eyes-and-teeth,” Rafe said grimly. From the corner of her eye, Amber saw his fingers flex open and closed around the knife that pointed down into the wheel well. Again he shook his hand. The knife remained.

  Sizzitt scorched the ceiling fabric as she shot out of the car, then back. “Yess. Misst-with-eyess-and-teeth. Didn’t ssee teeth yet.”

  “But they’re there?” Amber’s fingers clenched around the wheel. Her whole body was tense—she wanted to floor the car and zoom away. They were too close to the museum and would look guilty. She turned onto a street. It didn’t appear like there were any roadblocks, thank heaven.

  They hadn’t gone through any doors. They’d stolen nothing. The guards would have reported that, she repeated the litany in her mind.

  “Yess. It hass teeth. But it iss sslow and sstupid.” Sizzitt sneered.

  “No cops are following,” Rafe said.

  “Where iss Tiro?” asked Sizzitt.

  “He left when he saw the mist,” Amber said.

  High fire-cracking-twigs laughter from Sizzitt, who flashed in and out of the lighter plug-in. Amber was sure the socket was ruined.

  Heart in her throat, having to deliberately breathe, Amber drove and drove and drove. It should take less than a half hour to get home and they were hitting all the green lights.

  But the mist-with-eyes-and-teeth still followed. The teeth gleamed white and dangerous and many in the rearview mirror.

  Then she felt a bump and the car shot forward. “Shit.”

  “It’s stretching a tentacle out to hit us,” Rafe said.

  The car slowed as if it were pulling something.

  “And it looks like it’s attached to the bumper,” Rafe said. “But it’s spreading out. Sizzitt, I know you hired on to guard me, but protect Amber first.”

  “Misst-with-eyess-and-teeth nothing!” Sizzitt shrieked. “I guard you, not Amber. Guard Rafe!”

  Everything inside Amber went cold and hot and she found she was hyperventilating and steadied her breath again.

  “We need to outrun it if we can. Get to Mystic Circle,” Rafe said, as if Amber hadn’t already figured that out. Did she dare speed? What happened if she got caught? The mist-with-eyes-and-teeth wouldn’t care about cops, would it? Hurt them, too?

  Another bump, this time lifting the car a foot and shooting it forward a few yards. Oh. Hell. No!

  They hit the elevated portion of Speer Boulevard going thirty miles over the speed limit. And got bumped again. This time stronger, with more malice and intent. The evil thing was gaining, and learning, rapidly. Dread and panic zapped through her. The hair on the nape of her neck rose and her palms sweated. Think!

  Another shove. Moving the car from the far right lane to the center. Good thing there weren’t any other vehicles. Soon she wouldn’t be able to stay on the street. Four lanes.

  Buildings below. Then Park. River. Park. Highway!

  Might survive going over the bridge to the river even with low water. The highway was always busy. Couldn’t chance that.

  She slowed. Rafe turned to stare at her but said nothing. The skin was tight on his face.

  Then the car was airborn
e, speeding right over the guardrails, the median, the southbound lanes. Time slowed even as her heart pounded blood through her. She was dead. Rafe was dead. No need to worry about anything except how painful it would be and hope it was fast.

  Chapter 25

  THE STEERING WHEEL seared Amber. She jerked her palms away. The seat belt burned a sash through her clothes. She turned her head to look at Rafe and the car was gone and she was falling and seeing flame eat it and the oil and gas ignite into a fireball and she curled fetal in the air and the fire ate at the mist, tangled together, fighting, consuming each other and Rafe yelled.

  And she fell. And so did the fire and mist-with-eyes-and-teeth. Rafe’s hands were on her. He shouted. His magic enveloped her and they slowed.

  The car broke into tiny pieces.

  The fireball and mist hit the water and spume and oily smoke sizzled and rose. And they died.

  Sizzitt died. The bond between them ripped.

  Amber plummeted. A few feet, jolted to the ground atop Rafe and they rolled and he was up still yelling, did he not have to breathe? “Sizzitt!”

  Her chest squeezed as she sucked air in and frozen fear broke around her and she was on grass by the riverbank. Hurting.

  Pop. Pop.

  Hartha was there. Pred.

  Hartha’s strong hands grabbed her arms. Amber’s breath screamed out.

  Hartha’s face close. Only saw her face. Words slapped Amber’s ears. “Spark is sputtering and dying. You must help! Pred will bring Rafe home.”

  Breath dragged in on darkness and shock and cold and Amber was home in her kitchen looking at the burners of her stove and a tiny streak of white in the blue. Barking came from upstairs where the pups were confined in Rafe’s room.

  “Help! Spark!” Hartha shouted.