Magical Memories

by Donna Fletcher

  She fumbled with both and grew annoyed, though not annoyed enough to resort to magic.

  His smile grew playful. “Want help?”

  She shook her head. “I can manage.”

  His eyes suddenly took on a darker glow that sent a chill racing through her. “You do know we are going to finish this, don’t you?”

  Tempest wasn’t certain what he meant. Was he speaking of what had just passed between them or was he talking of a time long ago?

  She nodded, finding speech difficult.

  Bear decided to interfere at that moment, to Tempest’s relief. He wound his way around Michael’s legs, alternating purrs and meows for attention.

  Michael picked him up. “Want a treat, big guy?”

  The cat purred low and steady, and Michael tucked him in the crook of his arm and looked at Tempest. “Later.”

  The one word delivered with such confidence sent shivers down her spine, and she dropped back against the door for support. Whatever was she getting herself into? She liked Michael, respected him and admired his courage. He possessed a good soul. He was a good man. So where did her fear come from?

  Marcus.

  The name echoed in her mind. It wasn’t Marcus she feared. She feared the fact that Marcus may not have learned his lesson, and if he hadn’t then she would have no choice but to banish him forever. And that was what frightened her the most.

  For now she would enjoy Michael and teach him what she could. When it came time for them to join, she would do so willingly and with abandonment she had long waited for.

  They shared a light supper and even lighter conversation, and then they both sought the solitude of their bedrooms early.

  The pile of books Michael had gathered in his room had been growing steadily. He had always enjoyed a good book but lately he found an unrelenting need to learn all he could about the strangest subjects. He simply could not understand his interest in warlocks. But ever since Dagon had mentioned them, he had this unexplainable desire to learn all he could.

  He lay stretched out in his single bed, light burning brightly on the nightstand, and Bear curled comfortably in a ball against him as he read with interest about warlocks.

  According to the old book he read, witches were defined as good and warlocks as evil. The latter practiced the darker side of magic and could cause complete chaos. Those who chose greed and arrogance as their creed became the warlocks’ followers. A warlock’s skill was infamous and many witches had difficulty combating them.

  The book went on to explain that there was but one witch who could completely defeat a warlock, and that witch was referred to as the Ancient One. Her powers were limitless, her heart pure, her touch gentle. No warlock could defeat her. The only way her power could be threatened was if she completely surrendered her will and beliefs to a warlock.

  Michael continued to read with growing interest.

  It was believed that no warlock was ever captured or persecuted throughout history. Their numbers were kept limited due to the vigilance of the witches. A witch understood the warlocks’ ways and did all they could to keep them from gaining any significant power. It is believed that they ceased to exist for some unknown reason. Some researchers believed that they never existed in the first place except in people’s fantasies. Others believed that the Ancient One conquered their one true leader and without guidance their strength and numbers dwindled until none survived.

  Any present-day practicing warlocks are considered poor examples of their forefathers and are considered harmless. But then many believed that the old ones were just as harmless or never existed. The book suggested that perhaps the truth lies somewhere in the middle.

  Michael yawned, closed the book and turned off the light.

  He wondered if both witches and warlocks were simply the product of fear. Had history actually produced the probability that such characters exist? Had those in power found a way to define evil in their eyes and place a name to it? Had a simple basic belief suffered because of ignorance?

  And why did such questions intrigue him?

  He relaxed and let sleep claim him, knowing he would once again be plunged into strange dreams that made no sense but somehow seemed familiar.

  The nearly full moon cast the only light in the darkness where the couple walked along the riverbank.

  The tall man garbed in all black stopped and walked to stand in front of the woman. “You are quiet tonight.”

  She was dressed in the palest blue gown and matching cloak, its hem embroidered with symbols of protection. Her reddish-blond hair fell in a mass of waves over her shoulders to her waist. And her pale green eyes held a hint of sadness.

  “I sense your desire.”

  His long, lean fingers reached out to touch her face. “I wished you to.”

  “It cannot be the way you want it.”

  His laugh was low and arrogant. “I can feel your need for me.”

  “I won’t deny that I want you,” she said with a toss of her chin.

  His hand cupped her defiant chin. “Good, then join me here and now.”

  She broke his hold with a shake of her head. “No, I am not ready.”

  His arm went around her waist, and he pulled her to him. His hand descended slowly down her stomach and came to rest between her legs. “I can feel you pulsate against my hand, and I can taste the sweetness of your passion. You are more than ready. You ache for the pleasure I can bring you.”

  She attempted to step away but he wouldn’t allow her the distance. His grip remained firm and steady. “Not now.”

  Her words sounded more like a plea than a refusal.

  “You cannot deny me or yourself for much longer. Our joining is inevitable.”

  “Perhaps, but the choice remains mine.”

  He released her with a slight shove and stepped back. “You waste precious time.”

  It was her turn to laugh, though the light sound held no arrogance. “Be careful, your true character betrays you.”

  His hands balled into fists at his sides, and she watched him wage war with his temper. “I will have you.”

  She agreed with a simple nod. “Of that I have no doubt, but unless you can share your true self with me we will never truly unite.”

  He raised his hand, slowly bringing with it a twirling ball of white energy that hovered in his palm. “You will surrender completely to me, and we will unite.”

  “We shall see.” She turned to leave.

  “Tempest!”

  She turned. Her hand up and, ready to deflect the energy ball he threw her way. It shattered into a thousand sparkling lights.

  His arrogant laugh filled the night sky. “I look forward to our joining.”

  Her soft smile silenced his laughter. “The choice remains mine.”

  Michael woke with a start, his room steeped in darkness. He sat up in bed, his breathing labored and feeling confused by the powerful rage running through him. She had denied him.

  Him.

  He shook his head and rubbed his face in an attempt to make sense of a senseless dream. It was as if he were the man in his dreams, sensing his emotions, knowing his thoughts, his feelings, his desires. And the strength of those emotions grew with each dream as though he was bringing the man to life.

  Having learned to solve his own problems led him to depend on no one but himself, so the brief thought he had of discussing his dreams with Tempest was just that—a brief thought.

  And besides, when fully awake and rational he thought his dreams were nothing more than foolish fantasies conjured up by his choice of late-night reading material.

  He dropped back against the pillow, Bear protesting his sleep being disturbed with a strong meow before the cat settled once again against his chest. He decided that a change in his reading material was necessary, especially his nighttime choices.

  With a promise to himself of changing his reading habits he attempted to fall back to sleep. Two hours later he was still twisting and turning until he
finally decided he’d had enough and got dressed in jeans and a gray sweatshirt and went down to the kitchen to make himself coffee. Not a good drink when you can’t sleep, but a necessary beverage regardless.

  He took his coffee into the sitting room, found a book on the powers of the mind and sat down to read.

  Tempest found him asleep on the couch an hour after dawn.

  She placed a blanket over him and decided to let him sleep a couple of hours while she did some work in the greenhouse.

  She protected her full-length gray knit dress with a colorful garden apron and quickly set to work filling peat pots with soil in preparation for the seeds. Spring wasn’t far off, and seeds needed starting for her garden.

  It had been a labor of love for centuries with her, and yet she never grew tired of the process. It forever impressed upon her the continuous cycle of life for all living things, and to be part of that never-ending process was nothing short of a miracle to Tempest that she cherished every day.

  The task also helped her concentration. It allowed her to focus her mind and harness her energy for better protection and power. It was imperative that a witch protected her energy. Lost energy could be dangerous, leaving a witch vulnerable to all sorts of harms. And with Michael being here, and her uncertainty as to his connection to her past, she felt it best to keep her energy at its optimum.

  She sighed, recalling his kiss and his intimate touch. She had thought of nothing else all night, and it took her some time to fall asleep. When she woke her thoughts continued to drift to their intimate encounter, and as determined as she was she could not alter her thought pattern. That was the main reason she had come to the greenhouse. But even now, with her hands in the rich soil, her thoughts continued to return to Michael, and try as she might she could not force them elsewhere. So she decided to surrender briefly and give herself free reign to indulge in them.

  She sighed, her fingers poking in the soil though accomplishing nothing. His face intrigued her, his many scars added a sense of mystery and danger about him. He was not a man who would back down from a fight, and he would definitely defend his honor and protect those he cared for. His dark eyes so deep in color and intensity warned anyone who approached to keep their distance. And his lips wielded magic.

  She had thought she had buried those potent emotions many, many years ago. The hurt of losing Marcus had been unbearable, and she had refused to give herself to anyone. She never thought, not even for a moment, that she could love with that much fervor ever again. Yet in the ensuring years she had made attempts to try and was always disappointed. All other kisses left her wanting—wanting Marcus.

  He had left an indelible mark on her. His lips had been magic, his touch powerful and his lovemaking unforgettable. He had touched parts of her she was never aware of, and in doing so he had opened her own energy to incredible heights.

  Michael’s kiss, his intimate touch held the power to take her where once only Marcus had. And unlike Marcus there was a caring in Michael’s eyes that bordered on love. Not that she had ever believed Marcus incapable of loving; he simply did not understand its magic.

  And at the moment she wanted to explore the magic she felt with Michael. He was a good, caring soul and she wanted to touch that part of him and be touched. But patience was required at the moment, and things would progress all in good time. For now she would savor his kisses, take pleasure in his touches and simply get to know him.

  She smiled. “Enough daydreaming.”

  She finished planting and returned to the kitchen to find Michael preparing breakfast.

  “Pancakes,” he said with a broad smile and flipped the one in the pan over.

  “I’m impressed,” Tempest said with her own welcoming smile and hurried to set the table.

  They were soon both enjoying pancakes and conversing as comfortably as longtime friends.

  “Tell me what you know about the symbols upstairs in my bedroom,” he said, pouring maple syrup over his fat stack of cakes.

  “You’ll find them throughout the entire house.”

  “Where?” he asked with curious eagerness.

  “Above doorways, around windows, over beds, basically anywhere it was felt protection, luck, health and such were requested.”

  “So over the doorway the symbols would stand for what?”

  “A barrier of protection against evil.”

  His curiosity grew. “Did this house belong to your ancestor who you’re named after?”

  Her answer was an honest one. “The house belongs to Tempest.”

  “She painted or engraved the symbols?”

  She nodded slowly, and answered, “When a witch inscribes symbols she also inscribes her own power into them. The writing then becomes a powerful cast.”

  He appeared perplexed. “Do you think that Tempest feared something?”

  It was her turn to look perplexed.

  He explained. “You said the symbols were all over the house. Why did she inscribe them in so many places, if not out of fear?”

  “If you recall the time you would understand. There was a witch-hunt going on. Scores of innocent people were being tortured and burned. Everyone feared even to speak the common word, frightened it would be misinterpreted.”

  “So she inscribed the symbols around her home to protect herself from the fanatics.”

  “From anyone who intended her harm.”

  He poured himself another cup of coffee from the pot on the table. “What about the symbols in my room? Protection also?”

  “Yours are more in-depth.”

  “How so?”

  She pushed her empty plate away from her to rest her arms on the table. “It’s more a full cast than a brief inscription.”

  “A spell?”

  “It would appear so.”

  “Do you know what it reads?”

  She couldn’t deny her knowledge. “Yes, I know.”

  “You worked it out?” he asked with a mounting excitement.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Tell me,” he said with the eagerness of a little boy about to learn a much-desired secret.

  Tempest responded the only way she could. “I think you should work it out on your own.”

  “Come on, that’s not fair.”

  “The symbols interest you. What better way to learn about them then to work out an inscription?”

  “I doubt there is time. I won’t be here that much longer.”

  Tempest not only heard the disappointment in his voice, but she felt it and almost shivered from the overwhelming sense of loss. Hers or his, she wasn’t certain. “You have at least two weeks before the cast comes off and then you mentioned repairs you would make to the cottage that should give you about a month. Enough time, I’m sure.”

  “And if I don’t work it out within that time, will you tell me the spell?”

  She hesitated, briefly considering her options. They were few, so her choice was simple. “Yes. I will recite the spell for you.”

  He looked pleased, and his pleasure made her smile.

  “I promise I’ll work hard to decipher it myself.”

  “I wish you success.”

  He leaned close to her. “When I want something I can be relentless in going after it.”

  His voice sounded dark—almost ominous—and memories of Marcus’s hypnotic voice filled her mind. As did the spell she cast over him. The spell she had inscribed in the upstairs bedroom over countless nights and too many tears so that she would never forget.

  Never.

  And if he worked it out, recited it, what then?

  He could only answer that question.

  She spoke softly. “As I said, I wish you success, much success.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The summons came just before dawn. The sweet whispering voices intruded on her sleep, and the anxious summons became all too clear as Tempest woke and hastily dressed.

  White was the only acceptable color for this meeting, and she slipped on a lo
ng, flowing white wool dress, white leather boots and a white wool cloak with a hood that concealed most of her face when she pulled it up. Her hair was left free to fall naturally and as usual the flaming reds and gentle gold blended beautifully around her face.

  She couldn’t chance waking Michael, so with a whispered spell, a twirl of wind and spark of light she was off to the forest in a flash.

  When the wind settled and the light faded around her she looked about her and took a deep breath. She loved this secluded place deep in the woods. Nature shined at its best here.

  The air was crisp as dawn peeked on the horizon, the trees and plants anxious for the birth of a new day and the sun that would nourish them. The weather had been warming slowly and the snow was melting away. Patches of bare earth covered the ground, giving notice that spring was close by. And a gentle mist hovered over the snow-covered hills in the distance.

  She paid reverence to its splendor by extending her hands out and bidding the dawn welcome. The sun responded, instantly rising up and kissing her cheek with the first ray of morning light. She was one with her surroundings; she felt the energy, the power of the sun, and in reverence to her age and wisdom the sun bathed her in its brilliant rays as it ascended into the sky.

  “Ancient One, it is an honor,” the soft respectful voice said.

  Tempest lowered her arms and turned with a smile. “Beatrice, how wonderful to see you again.” She extended her hand out to the small fairy in welcome and for a place for her to light since she flitted in the air a short distance from her face.

  And of course it was a lopsided flit that kept her steady. “Damage your wing again?” she asked as Beatrice came to rest in the palm of her hand.

  The small plump little fairy pushed at the green winter wreath that hung lopsided on her head and then adjusted her pale-blue cloak around her shoulders. “I’m forever bumping into the trees during flight.”

  “Allow me,” Tempest said and reached out with gentle fingers to repair the delicate wing.

  Beatrice blushed as she bowed her head. “That was gracious of you Ancient One, thank you.”