by Cat Adams
At last she pulled away with a gasp and he let her … reluctantly. She turned and grabbed the table’s edge with near desperation, and he wondered whether she really did need it to stay standing. “Eggs. I definitely think I’m in a mood to make some kick-ass pysanky. Wow. And if they don’t wind up being duszats, I’ll be really surprised.” She looked over at him to where he was regarding her with amusement and waved a hand as though to push him away. “Go. Shoo. Stop standing there looking so delicious and … available, so I can think.”
Delicious. That one word dissolved his fears, and didn’t harm his ego a bit. There were still problems aplenty, but for a few moments, he could relax and just enjoy a woman’s company. It had been a very long time since that had happened.
Your problem is that nothing ever seems like a dating opportunity. Mila heard Candy’s voice in her mind and it nearly made her laugh. Here she was, trapped in some strange new world for the night, with a gorgeous magician who was obviously interested in her, who’d called her darling, and who was making dinner for her in the next room. There was even the very real possibility that she might be having a wild romp later. I’ll take Dating Opportunity for five hundred, Alex.
Of course there was the small matter of a demented madman wanting to take over the world, a horrible virus she’d just saved a woman from, and a group of people hunting them like animals—after way too much spiked Kool-Aid.
If this is a romance movie, it’s being directed by John Hurt … or maybe Wes Craven.
She looked down again at the tiny bit of eggshell on the table as she mixed the dyes and vinegar in their various jars, trying to remember the patterns she’d seen while at the Tree. But the amazing scent of whatever Tal was cooking in the next room kept dragging her brain back to him, and to the kiss that had weakened her knees to the point she couldn’t stand afterward. Beard stubble scraping, lips nibbling, and a very talented tongue … wow Oh, he could be a lot of fun.
She shook her head to clear it, took a scoop of wax, and flicked the tip of the kistka through the candle flame. Dots are easy. We’ll start there. Big dots, tiny pinpoints, and then a bold sun—one on each half.
What about tomorrow? The sun would rise in the morning and, if they were successful, a week from now. Where would she be then? Where would Tal be? He was like a biker who just rolled into town, or a sailor on shore leave. But I’m not like Candy I’m no good at one-night stands … or even one-week stands.
Okay, that was plenty of dots. Sheesh! There’d barely be room for the basket weave and stags. The stag should be yellow, and so should the sun, so she dipped the egg in the first jar, thick and blue-tinted with tiny bubbles trapped inside the glass. She stirred it around lightly with the end of a fork, making sure no part touched the jar too long, which would prevent the dye from penetrating.
I don’t know where he lives, or even what his favorite color is. And what about … “Tal? Do you roll up your toothpaste tubes, or squish them flat?”
He turned his head away from the flat stone on the counter, which wasn’t attached to any electricity or gas, but which he’d sworn could cook their meal. He kept stirring whatever was in the glass pot. “Excuse me?”
She realized what a stupid question it was, but she couldn’t say never mind yet again. “Toothpaste. I presume you use it when you’re topside. Do you roll the tube or squish it?”
He tipped his head and then shook it slightly with a supremely amused expression. “I use it down here, too. I press it flat. Why? What do you do?”
She nodded, oddly relieved. “Same. Sorry, go back to cooking.”
His smile turned to a grin before he turned his head and moved the pot to a cool spot. After rubbing his hands on the towel that was draped over his shoulder, he spoke. “Nope. Sorry, you started it.”
“What do you mean?” She blew lightly on the now yellow egg, dotted with black. Fortunately the dye was as fast setting as hers at home, but a much richer yellow—closer to marigold than lemon.
“Favorite color, food, hobbies—other than eggs, and … music, I think. Roll them out.”
That stopped her cold and she had to raise the kistka or risk a big yellow spot rising off the stag’s antlers. He wants to know about me? It both excited and terrified her. “Um, blue—that really vivid cobalt, like the candy-apple blue they paint cars with. Spaghetti with garlic bread, fixing up my house, gardening, and easy listening. You?”
He waggled his head and then pursed his lips. “I’ll have to separate it into up there, down here choices. Up there … I like autumn-sky blue, Chinese stir-fry, searching for focus stones in rock shops, and classical music. Down here, I’ll have to say the purple of ripe majorica fruit, shepherd’s pie made with squelk meat, carving hearth stones to sell, and crystal chimes.”
She looked up from where she was quickly drawing lines to hold in the images she wanted before dipping the egg in the red dye. “What is majorica fruit and what’s a squelk?”
He started to rummage around in the cupboards. When he pulled out a shallow casserole dish and a bowl and placed them in front of the chairs, it occurred to her that there probably wouldn’t be matching china and silverware after an evacuation. “Majorica fruit is what the Sacred Trees used to produce when they were healthy. Gorgeous color. The closest I can come up with that you might recognize is between heather and a plum, but glowing. A squelk is just what it sounds like—a hybrid ground squirrel and elk. Big and meaty, but burrowing. They love nuts, roots, and tuber vegetables. Great diggers. They really saved on magic and sore backs when we were expanding the rings in Rohm. They can even be trained to search for particular gems, like pigs dig truffles topside.”
She tried to get that picture in her mind and failed miserably. She pulled the egg from the red dye, but it wasn’t dark enough yet so she put it back in and continued to stir. “Squirrels the size of elks. Um … wow. You’d think someone from back home would have noticed something like that.”
Tal smiled as he used the cloth on his shoulder to wipe dust off a pair of forks he’d found in a drawer. “I don’t think you realize just how far underground we are, and we’re not idiots. We originated the leave no trace concept your parks have finally adopted. But you’re right that it’s getting harder to keep our existence a secret. Your technology keeps increasing, while our magic is diminishing. That’s a bad combination.”
Of course that led to the big question. “What happens if I fail? What if Viktor was all wet and it’s just coincidence that there was an eggshell in the tree?”
He stopped and stared at her for a long moment. She realized he’d been thinking about this for a while. “I don’t know. More riots, I suppose. Maybe a world war or mysterious deaths around the planet that kill off large numbers of humans to make space for us.” He picked up the pot and began to ladle the contents into the bowls. “I’m hoping none of the above, but I don’t have a very high opinion of the integrity of my people when they’re desperate.”
She sighed and put the now dark red pysanka on the table and pushed back her chair from the table near the couch to join him in the kitchen. “I don’t have a high opinion of anyone when they’re desperate. So I guess I’d better not fail, huh?” She tried to smile, but knew it was tight from the tension in her cheeks. “No pressure, though.”
They ate at a small wooden table. They sat in silence for long minutes but only because they were stuffing their faces. The dish Tal had cooked was amazing—with big chunks of chicken, potatoes, carrots, and some other root vegetables she didn’t recognize in a spicy cream sauce. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she put the first bite in her mouth. But her last meal, if it could be called that, was a hot dog from the wheeled cart outside the library. They talked a little more while they cleaned up the dishes. She finally got to find out what a hearth stone was and how the magic worked. “So, the Sacred Trees exhale magic as they grow like trees up here exhale carbon dioxide? The kings are somehow tied to the Trees so they can harvest the magic, and t
hey can either use it right away or store it in stones. Right? And any kind of stone can hold magic, but some hold it better than others? Have I got it?”
He nodded while swirling a soapy cloth around the pot. “Right. For example, we give apprentices sandstone to craft with. It doesn’t hold much magic because of the loose structure, and is easily destroyed. That teaches patience and caution, because parents of the children get informed if the student damages more than three stones in a term, and must pay for extras.”
“So does that mean a diamond is the top stone? Can it hold the most because it’s so pure?” She put the pot to dry in the rack with the others when Tal handed it to her.
He tossed her the towel to dry her hands as he removed the stopper from the drain to let out the water. “Not exactly. Actually, your heirloom fire opal is the most powerful stone, with the possible exception of cherry amber. You see, while gemstones like rubies, emeralds, and diamonds can hold a great deal of magic, to get the most of their power they have to be faceted. That actually makes them worse for crafting. It would be like—” He paused and looked around the room, as though searching for something. “Not cloth, not wicker … it’s—” Then his eyes lit on something and he walked over to the window. Picking up the fringed tassel that was holding back the curtains he flipped it back and forth. “With every facet you put in a stone to hone the strength, you have another thread of magic to control, like a floppy tassel. Yes, you can braid the threads together and make a strong single beam, but it’s a constant effort to do it. Get distracted for even a moment and the braid falls apart. Magic flies in every direction … except where you want it to. It takes a very disciplined mind to use a faceted stone.”
She nodded grimly as she felt fear suddenly fill her. “Vegre uses a diamond, doesn’t he?”
Tal nodded and walked back across the room, touching her arm when he reached her. “Rohm Prison was crafted specifically to hold Vegre, because of his discipline and abilities. His cell was filled with every method the kings could think of to negate his magic. Pure obsidian walls were raised … impervious to all but the most intense heat, and waterfalls surround his cell to dampen his natural fire. A magical vacuum behind the water was even specially crafted by King Mumbai so there wasn’t enough air to feed a flame if he made it past the water. But somehow every one of those precautions—which we believed had held him secure for centuries, has been defeated. I’m inclined to believe Kris and Dareen that he was aided by one or more of the kings.”
“But if he really did have a free pass in and out at will—to make an official human presence with the name change, to run the hotel, then why break out now?”
Tal shrugged and squeezed her arm before letting it go. “I wish I knew. Maybe the kings realized their folly and changed the deal? Perhaps the actions of his minions had nothing to do with the plan and he just decided to take advantage of the opportunity. I’d imagine if he was beholden to the kings for his release, he’d be allowed less movement, so true freedom would be worth the risk. But,” he concluded, lowering is chin in mild reproach. “That’s a topic for another time. You have eggs to craft and I have a focus to explore.”
“Why explore? Doesn’t it work now?”
He let out a small burst of breath, knowing she was stalling, but he answered anyway. “Fire opals are filled with inclusions of different stones. Their very instability, what makes them unable to be faceted, is what makes them very powerful. But each focus is like a maze with many correct paths. One path among the inclusions is the quickest, and most powerful. But any of them will get you from point A to point B, which is how I’ve been able to use it until now.”
It finally made sense in her head. “But you want to find the most direct path. Okay, so it’s like line loss on an electric cable. The longer it takes to get from the source to the object, the less powerful the signal?”
He’d already made himself comfortable on the couch, sitting cross-legged with the stone held in his open right palm. He nodded with an expression of admiration. “Precisely. You’re a fast leamer. Many apprentices take years to understand the process that well.” He turned his head back to the stone and closed his eyes, a signal that he wanted to concentrate … alone.
She watched him for a moment, saw the colors swirl in the domed top of the stone. They faded after a moment and then she saw him move his finger slightly. Another swirl in a different pattern of colors. Then another subtle move of his fingers and he tried again.
She got the impression he was going to be at it for a while, so she returned to her eggs. There were a dozen of them in the woven reed basket from the fridge and Dareen hadn’t lied—they were so fresh they were still slightly warm when she wrapped her hand around them. It didn’t matter that there weren’t enough for all the Trees. She wouldn’t have time to dye them all today anyway. She just wanted to get this one Tree up and running before they left so Dareen would have some leverage.
There was something incredibly peaceful about making pysanky. Her mind blocked out everything but spinning the egg round and round, drawing line after line. Basket weave patterns demanded precision, requiring a sure hand and quick movements, and that was all that was left to do before dying the background black.
As soon as the first egg was done, she held it close to the sample fragment to compare the colors. Either this kit was the very one used to create the original, or Samuel had used the same farba recipe, because they were identical, down to the same marigold yellow.
By the time she finished the second egg—a water theme with cucumbers, circles, and more basket weaving, a blister was starting to form between the first and second joint of her thumb. She was used to them, though, so she pressed on—doing her best not to let the rough wood of the kistka tear the skin to make it a wound. They didn’t hurt bad until that happened, but afterward they were hard to heal because of the constant motion of her hands.
She’d just lowered the third egg into the yellow dye after making top and bottom borders of waves for an air egg, when she felt hands on her shoulders. She barely reacted, even though Tal’s strong hands kneading her muscles felt amazingly good. But, frankly, she was just too exhausted to react to much of anything. Her eyes were burning from working in the dim candlelight and her wrist was throbbing from constantly twisting the egg in circles to paint the wax. She usually didn’t do more than one egg a day, and had never tried to consciously think of magic the whole time.
“You should stop for today. It’s nearly midnight.”
She couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle. “Then I have stopped for today. It’s nearly tomorrow.” He chuckled as well, but kept kneading, his thumbs digging into her shoulders in slow circles. She let out a small sigh and leaned forward until her forehead was resting on her wrists. “Don’t feel compelled to stop that anytime soon.”
He apparently took her comment as a command—which it sort of was. He began a full-blown massage from neck to lower back. Grinding, popping noises from her stressed muscles accompanied her whimpers of pain as he kneaded and pushed and pounded. By the time he’d worked out the major kinks and moved to include her scalp and biceps, her breathing had slowed. His hands were warm—so very warm. Nice. As she breathed in the scent of his cologne, she felt her eyes close.
“Wake up, Mila. Come to bed.” Tal’s voice was right next to her ear. She felt dreamy and warm, like waking up after a nap in the sunshine.
“Hmm? Did I fall asleep?” She felt leaden, but didn’t hurt as he lifted her to a sitting position, hands on her shoulders once more. She saw the time on her watch. “Geez! It’s been half an hour. Why’d you let me sleep that long?” She looked at the yellow dye jar in panic. The egg would probably be orange. But it was resting safely on a towel, dry and exactly the right color.
“You needed a rest, and still need relaxation.” He took her hand and pulled her up and out of the chair. She didn’t expect to follow the pull, but her body had other ideas. She stumbled to her feet, her brain still fuzzy.
“It can wait until I’m done with you.” His voice was warm and filled with things that had nothing to do with sleep. The dark look in his eyes made something pull low in her body. It was then she noticed he’d showered and shaved, which was hardly fair considering she was probably sweaty and stinky. A quick flick of her tongue across her teeth confirmed there was a film that didn’t speak well for her breath. “Do I get to freshen up before … whatever you’re planning?”
He smiled, anticipation in the spread of lips. “Of course. Your bath’s already drawn.”
And wow … was it drawn. Flickering candles lined the ledge around the large room, and she breathed in the scent of oranges and ginger. The towel warmer filled the air with dry heat while steam rose off the tub in a wet cloud. He drew her to the center of the room and stopped. His hands fell off of hers and then slid along her jaw just as he stepped forward and tipped his head.
The kiss was everything the room promised—slow, sweet, and filled with the taste of cinnamon toothpaste and candy. He moved back just as slowly, but his languid movements were having an opposite effect on her body. “A toothbrush would be nice,” she said hopefully.
“As you like,” he said with a small bow of his head. “You just need to decide whether you want to bathe alone and then join me in the next room, or if you’d like someone to slowly … ever so slowly, sponge your back.” He flicked his head sideways toward the steaming tub. “It fits two comfortably. Your choice.”
Gee. Soak alone, or frolic with a gorgeous, and increasingly appealing fire mage? Decisions, decisions. She smiled with enthusiasm and sounded completely awake and far more chipper than she should be considering how tired she was. “Just let me give my teeth a quick brush. Don’t go anywhere. And I do mean don’t go anywhere.”