Tinker t-1

by Wen Spencer

  "Want to dance?" Tinker shouted to Nathan, bobbing in place to the beat of the music.

  "Actually, I was working my way to something. Can we find someplace quieter to talk?"

  "Okay." Still moving with the beat of the song, she threaded her way through the crowd, trusting him to find a way to follow.

  "You know" — he caught up with her beside a fishing booth, where people were trying to fish brightly gleaming pesantiki out of a pool with small paper nets—"if you let me go first, I'd open up a path for you to follow."

  "Then all I could see would be your back. You can see over me. Here, let's sit."

  The next booth down was the okonomiyaki cart that usually sat in Market Square. Side benches folded down from it, and there were banners hanging down from the bamboo awning to give the deception of privacy.

  "You're still hungry?" Nathan asked.

  "I didn't get to eat a lot at the enclave." She felt a little guilty. Enclaves charged a set price that was rather steep. She held up the bag of silver dimes. "Let me pay."

  "No, I'll pay." Nathan thumbed out some coins to the Asian man on the other side of the griddle.

  They ordered their toppings, and the chef started to mix up the eggs, water, flour, and cabbage for the pancake.

  "So?"

  "The family across the street from my sister decided to emigrate back to the States, and they signed over their house to the EIA. They had a nice place: a four-bedroom Cape Cod with a two-car garage, and a natural-gas furnace with a wood burner backup system."

  "Your point being?"

  "Well, it got me thinking," Nathan said. "The house would be a nice starter place for you and me."

  "What?" Her cry startled the chef.

  "It's a nice place, well maintained. We could nab it now and move in later."

  She could only stare at him in surprise.

  "We put up curtains," Nathan said. "Buy a few pieces of furniture, and no one would know the difference. It needs sprucing up, so we take our time painting and such."

  "You want to live together?"

  Nathan took her hand. "I want to marry you."

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa. What happened to waiting until I'm nineteen? I thought this was just a date."

  "I don't mean right away. I don't want to rush you."

  "I don't know—talking about marriage on a first date sounds like rushing."

  Nathan winced. "Sorry, I suppose it is. It's just that this house is so perfect. My brother-in-law took me through the place. The rooms are large and sunny, the woodwork is all natural, there's this marvelous stone fireplace in the living room, and there's a level backyard for kids."

  Kids?

  Her face must have reflected her shock. He laughed.

  "It's only eleven months until you're nineteen. In less than two years you'll be twenty." Nathan sounded like he was trying to convince himself. "We've got to look ahead. Sure there are lots of houses out there. Most of them have been standing empty for years; the pipes and windows are broken and roofs need to be replaced. This place is cherry."

  "Nathan, I really meant it when I said we should date to see if we liked one another as more than friends. I don't know if I want to marry you."

  There was a moment of hurt hidden quickly away. "I'm sorry, Tink; I shouldn't be pushing. I'm the one, after all, who wanted to wait until you're nineteen."

  "Yeah." Tinker shook her head vigorously and then looked down, embarrassed to be suddenly so eager to wait. "Is this about the mark? You're rushing because Windwolf made me part of his family?"

  "That has nothing to do with it," Nathan said, so surlily that she figured it had everything to do with it.

  "Oh, come on, Nathan, he's the viceroy. He's rich and powerful and could have any woman, elf or human, that he wants."

  "Exactly."

  "Look at me!"

  "You're beautiful."

  "Not when you compare me to high-caste elf females. You've seen them; everyone on the street stops and stares until they're out of sight."

  "Maybe he has a thing for human women," Nathan said.

  The possibility that Windwolf might like human women made her insides go weird, like someone had dropped them through hyperspace to some point billions of miles from where she stood. She tried to root herself back to reality and ignore the possible "delicate arrangements" that the brazier might indicate. "I saved his life, twice now. He feels indebted to me. I'm an orphan. He's an elf; he's nearly twelve times my age. He's probably just acting like a father figure to me."

  "This has nothing to do with Windwolf." Nathan reached out and took her hand. "It's just made me think, that's all. You're a legal adult. There's no real reason to wait."

  Having just compared herself to elfin females, Tinker felt a stab of sympathy and guilt for Nathan. How could he compete for her attention when just the idea of Windwolf kept making her feel all goofy? Nathan's interest in her had been intriguing until he started to talk about marriage. All of Windwolf, from his thoughts to his interest, did weird things to her emotions.

  Nathan was waiting for an answer, and she didn't know what to say. She scrambled for something, and came up with, "I've got to go pee."

  Nathan let go of her hand, and she fled. Why did he have to go all serious on her? Why couldn't he just take it slow and let her get used to the idea? And what was that scene at the parking lot? Was he going to try that again the moment they were alone in his car? Did he think they were going to have sex tonight?

  Suddenly she just wanted to be home in her own bed, alone.

  She headed for the Faire entrance, but her tight skirt and high heels were making it difficult to run away. And how was she going to get home? Like a fool, she hadn't brought money enough for a taxi. She could call Oilcan, but how would he react? He might think something worse had happened between her and Nathan—and that would be bad.

  She hit a patch of soft dirt, and her heels sunk deep, making her trip. Hands caught her before she fell, righting her.

  "Thank y—oh." Her words dried in her mouth as she realized it was Windwolf holding her lightly.

  What was it about him that inspired so many emotions all at once? She peered up at the viceroy for all of the Westernlands. Gosh, what did she even call him? Your Majesty? All she managed was a faint, "Hey."

  "I am glad to see with my own eyes," Windwolf said as quietly, "that you are well."

  "I'm okay." She balanced against him while she took off her shoes. High heels in dirt being mistake number ten or eleven for her tonight. "Maynard took care of me."

  "Ah, good." Windwolf relieved her of her shoes, handing them off to one of his guards. "Come with me. My car is waiting."

  "Great!" She took a step forward and then stopped. "Oh, wait. I told Nathan I was just going to—um—going to the rest room. He'd worry if I just disappeared." He'd also probably call out a manhunt for her, and that might get the NSA involved.

  "Describe this Nathan. I will send someone with a message."

  Oh, that was tempting. Whatever had caused her to bolt suddenly—it wasn't quite fear, she told herself, just huge anxiety—receded in Windwolf's presence. "No." She held his hand tightly, drawing strength. "I should go back and tell him myself." Tell Nathan what, she wasn't sure. Oh, gods, what a mess. "It would be proper."

  Windwolf bowed his head, and they started to retrace her route. Now, what was she going to say? Nathan, I'm going home with Windwolf. No. Windwolf is taking me home. No. Windwolf is dropping me at my loft. That sounded innocent enough. Nathan was going to ask why. Because—because—because you're scaring the shit out of me. "Oh, be real, this is Nathan after all."

  "Pardon?" Windwolf leaned closer to hear her mumbled comment.

  "Nothing. I'm just trying out apologies."

  The crowd had been parting like waves when Nathan appeared before them, a rock to smash up against.

  "What's going on here?" Nathan stared at Tinker's right hand holding Windwolf's.

  Tinker hadn't even been aware tha
t she still held tight to Windwolf. She fought the urge to snatch her hand free. She wasn't doing anything wrong. "I–I—I need to go home. Windwolf is dropping me at my loft."

  "I'll take you home." Nathan took her left hand.

  "Nathan!" she whined. Why did he have to be so dense? "Things went too fast tonight. I just want to go home."

  "So I'll take you home." Nathan gave her hand a gentle tug.

  Windwolf stepped in front of Tinker and caught Nathan's wrist. "No. She is coming with me."

  "Look, you stay out of this." Nathan dropped into cop mode, and his voice went hard. "This is between me and her. Elves have no say in this."

  "You did not listen to her. She is saying no. Now let her go."

  The two males locked angry gazes at one another, ignoring her completely, while each holding on to one of her hands. She felt like a bone between two dogs.

  "Nathan!" She tried pulling free of him. "Look, I just need some time to think about things. Give me time."

  Nathan finally looked at her, and there was a world of pain in his eyes. "I'm sorry if things went too fast. Just don't go away with him."

  Things went too fast? No, you went too fast! But she didn't say it aloud because she'd used the phrase first: It bothered her that he didn't own up to his actions, though. "Please, Nathan, let me go."

  Nathan glanced hard at Windwolf, but then sighed and dropped her hand.

  "I'll see you later," she promised. "We'll talk. Okay?"

  "Yeah. We'll talk."

  Having done the proper thing, she fled with Windwolf.

  7: Carbon-based Transformation

  Windwolf's car was a silver Rolls-Royce. Buttery-soft leather covered the seats. The privacy shield between the front and back sections turned opaque. The door shut, enclosing them in a womb of darkness, and Tinker discovered that the barriers between her and Windwolf remained down. Despite the couch-sized backseat, Windwolf sat close beside her, their bodies touching in the dark.

  "You look lovely," Windwolf murmured into her ear.

  She breathed in his warm scent, of sandalwood and leather. "How did you find me?"

  "I had notes delivered to every place you might be today. You opened one and triggered the tracking spell on it. I would have found you anywhere tonight."

  "Oh."

  He cradled her left hand in his. "I would have come for you sooner, but there was much to prepare." He bowed his head over her hand, and kissed her palm, soft as butterflies alighting. "I wish there was more time, but that is something that you, as a human, do not have. Just yesterday, it seems, you were a child. I lost that chance to protect you. Now that I have found you, and come to know you, I do not wish to lose you again."

  He ran his tongue feather light over the pulse point on her wrist, just as he had done at the hospice. Gods, it felt even better when she was fully awake.

  Her fingers curved and touched the supple pearl of his ear lobe. She found herself exploring the alien beauty of his ear, so different from her own. "You don't mind me touching you?"

  "Tonight it is you, not the saijin," he said huskily.

  She took that as permission to explore. No stubble marred the line of his jaw, as elves did not have facial hair. He kissed her fingers as she glided them over his full mouth. In the strong column of his neck, she found his pulse just over his high shirt collar. Hard muscles played under the warm silk. By touch she found the structure of his shoulders, the solidness of bone. She came to the line of his buttons, and he undid them before her curious fingers. His skin under the shirt was soft and smooth as the silk, sculptured into taunt muscles.

  "Do you lift weights?" she whispered as he shifted them, lifting up her knee as he settled back against the seat, pulling her after him. In one graceful motion, she found herself straddling his lap, facing him.

  "It is the sword play, it is hard work."

  Her exploration peeled back his shirt, laying bare his upper torso. The cloth lay draped across his back and over his forearms. His nipples were dark coins and his abdomen a stack of well-defined muscles. His shirttails were still tucked into his pants; white silk cut off by black suede. Her dress had ridden up where she straddled Windwolf, and they pressed together with anatomical correctness, only leather and silk separating them.

  What was she doing? She just bolted from Nathan, afraid of going too fast, and here she was, stripping the clothes off of Windwolf.

  But being with Nathan had been like losing the brakes on a big truck—careening out of control. He had scared her. He picked her up, and overwhelmed her with his strength. What's more, there had been none of this gentle exploration; Nathan had zeroed in on her private zones, ignoring the tiny erotic places that Windwolf exploited. Windwolf had yet to touch her beyond her arms and back.

  If she had gone home with Nathan, what they would have had was sex.

  What she was doing with Windwolf—it felt like making love. She rested her hand on his chest, and felt the beat of his heart, and knew that she trusted him. She leaned forward and kissed him tentatively. He opened his mouth to her, and he tasted of plums.

  "Can the driver see us?" she whispered, her heart hammering in her chest at her own boldness.

  "No. Nor can he hear. We are in our own private space here."

  "Make love to me. I want you to be my first."

  "Gladly." He touched her cheek. "But not here. We're nearly at the lodge."

  Lodge? The landscape beyond the windows was dark, and she suddenly realized that they hadn't gone through downtown, that they weren't heading for her loft. Pittsburgh was far behind them, and they traveled now through the primal forests of Elfhome.

  "Where are we going?"

  "When I'm in Pittsburgh, I use this hunting lodge." Windwolf looked out into the passing darkness. "It was the only structure here before Pittsburgh arrived. I've had it enlarged, but it is not very convenient. We're just arriving."

  She got the impression of the forest growing only slightly less dense before the Rolls came to a stop. For a moment she was annoyed that they hadn't gone to her place, and then she thought of all the dirty dishes piled in her kitchen sink, and her dirty clothes strewn on her bedroom floor. Okay, so Windwolf's place would be classier than hers.

  "Come." Windwolf slid out from under her. "There is not much time. We must hurry."

  The driver opened their door. Windwolf got out without bothering to button his shirt.

  She scrambled after him, puzzled and frustrated. She thought things were working up to them making love. "Why are we hurrying?"

  "There are times when a spell is more likely to succeed than others." Windwolf took her hand and led her through a row of tall trees, branches interwoven, their pale bark gleaming in the candlelight. Moss-covered boulders lurked like giants in the shadows beyond the trees. "It has to do with the alignment of stars and planets, the Sun and Moon, the nature of the magic. A blessing should be done at noon, when the Moon is full and in the day's sky. A curse should be done at night, after the set of the new Moon, when none of the planets are on the horizon."

  Windwolf chose a path down into a steep ravine, across a stream on an arched wooden bridge, and up steps cut into living rock. "Sometimes there is leeway. An optimal effect comes when the conditions are right, but still, the spell can be cast even if the time is wrong. A blessing can be placed at night, but it will not be as strong."

  "Perhaps it has to do with gravity." Where were they going?

  On the summit sat a lone structure; an open shelter with fairy silk hung from the eaves. It glowed softly like a Chinese lantern, surrounded by dark, silent forest. Tinker paused, glancing back the way they'd come, and found they'd climbed up above the treetops. Pittsburgh was nowhere to be seen on the night horizon. The moon was rising, bright as a spotlight, already washing out the brilliance of Jupiter, Saturn, Mars, and Venus' conjunction.

  "This spell should be done now." Windwolf kissed her brow, his breath warm on her face. "The conditions will never be this perfect again, no
t in a human's lifetime."

  "What spell?"

  "Come," he urged her to the shelter.

  One of the silk panels had been tied back, and looking inside, she recognized the building for what it was.

  One heard of such places, where elves did powerful spells. Secluded away from anything that could affect a spell, the sites rested on the intersection of strong ley lines, tapping directly into an incredible amount of power. Those ley lines were permanently carved into a floor of white marble. White to show the tracings of a spell. Stone to act as a natural insulator. The marble sat on limestone bedrock, and the wooden shelter was constructed with no nails, containing not a single scrap of metal.

  "Wow!" Tinker whispered.

  A massively complex spell was inked out onto the shelter's stone floor. Even without knowing the spell, Tinker recognized it as a major enchantment. She studied the design, trying to find any components she knew. She could pick out that they built in an error-testing loop, and a slight blur on the tracings indicated that they had done a debugging run already.

  "Take this off." Windwolf slid her jacket off her shoulders. "There is metal woven into it."

  Tinker shuddered at the thought of wearing metal near an active spell. She stepped out of her high heels, balancing with one hand on Windwolf's arm; her shoes might have a steel shank worked into them. Jacket and high heels went onto a wooden table beside them, well outside the shelter. Tinker fished through her bra until she found the key to her loft. The key joined the others on the table.

  "So, what is this?" Tinker asked. "I thought we were going to make love."