Believe the Magic Read online

  Quentin’s left eyebrow was still missing under the dark shock of hair. I didn’t think he believed me much.

  “You found me all by yourself?”

  “I don’t know how I found you. I wished for a warm fire, blankets and a cup of cocoa and ended up outside your house.”

  Quentin stood up and paced the ridge.

  “What. What is it?” I brushed the crumbs off my lap and downed the last of my cool drink. “What’s the matter?”

  “If you found me so easily, why hasn’t Sam been able to?”

  Sam. Damnit. Where was he? I got up and stood beside Quentin. “You don’t think they ah, got a hold of him do you?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at the toy boats on the horizon. Quentin wrapped his arms around mine and tucked his chin on my shoulder. “No. Sam’s a strong magician. Quite trusted. He’s probably carrying out a plan to make sure all goes well.”

  “I hope you’re right.” I leaned back against him. I could almost let myself relax like this. I hadn’t really felt comfortable enough to do that since these shenanigans started.

  “So now what? Where do we go, what do we do?”

  “The big picture is to find a way to bring Mr. B down so the gems can be saved from the hands of evil.”

  I had to laugh. “You sound like a commercial for the newest space age movie.”

  “I watch too much TV, so sue me.” He nipped at my chin.

  “Okay, after you become the savior of the universe, then what?”

  “We get married, have little magicians and keep the spirit alive.”

  “Well, Quentin, dear,” I did my best Scarlett O’Hara, “are you proposing to me?”

  He winced.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Would it make you feel better to know I’d refuse had you been serious?”

  “No.”

  I practically snorted with laughter. So I’m not very lady-like. “Egotistical male.”

  “Pompous bitch.”

  “Damn right.” I love having the last word.

  Quentin pointed his finger and led the sailboats back toward the harbor.

  I narrowed my eyes and watched their journey stop. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Because I can.”

  “We aren’t supposed to use magic like that.”

  “But everyone does. It didn’t hurt anyone.”

  “I bet someone on that little boat is heaving over the side right now because of you.”

  Quentin played an invisible violin.

  “Jerk.” I stomped back toward the picnic and started folding the blanket.

  “Leave it.”

  “I’m not going to leave it.” I turned to find Quentin standing right behind me. “That’s littering.”

  “It’s not ours.”

  “That’s not right.” How could I have eaten someone else’s lunch? How could Quentin have let me? “Were you planning to just disappear and pretend Yogi and Boo-Boo had come and raided their picky-nick basket?”

  Quentin’s serious face relaxed into a wide grin. “C’mere.” He crooked his finger at me. I felt a twinge of something primitive in my chest. I wondered on what level he was calling me.

  I stepped forward, feeling like I was walking out onto the ledge of a bungee jump rather than just across a small expanse of grass. But this time I knew what the heck I was getting into. Funny, I was still shaking.

  He grabbed my hand. Tingles originated from where his skin touched mine. I wanted to hesitate, think about what I was willing to commit to.

  I had no choice, no chance to even drag my feet. Only moments after my hand slipped into his he’d zapped us into the strobe brightened travel tunnel. We were off again.

  I’d never get used to this.

  Chapter Nine

  “You could have at least picked someplace warm,” I choked out through the shivers that rattled my teeth. We’d landed, if you call it that, in a desert of white. No mountains, no water and no sign of civilization.

  Quentin’s smart ass response was to wrap me in caveman era fur clothing.

  I remembered the exchange rate. “I hope you haven’t left some dear woman naked in a compromising position.” I lifted my feet to see what suddenly had them oven warm. The fur-lined boots were dry, but way too big for my average sized feet.

  “It was a he, and he won’t miss them.”

  “Oh?”

  “He’s dead.”

  Dead? I was wearing the coat of a dead man? I wriggled and shrugged until the garments lay like a boneless animal in the snow.

  “Put them back on.”

  “Uh-huh, no way. I’m not wearing a dead man’s clothes.”

  “Fine.” Quentin shook his head and picked up the cape like hooded coat. “I will then. I’m not sending it back and I won’t leave it laying here.”

  I kept the boots. The shoes I had beneath them would become solid ice cubes in the deep drifts. Still, these were awkward, threatening to slide off my feet when I struggled to pull them from the deep snow. Each step was a burden. I bet we hadn’t gone twenty feet when I called Quentin to stop.

  “Why? We want to find camp before nightfall.”

  “Camp?” As far as I could see it was all white. The horizon blended in with the sky in light shades of gray. “How far away is the camp?” I shivered again. I couldn’t believe it would be a little pop-up tent in the middle of this frozen world, but that’s exactly the picture that came to mind.

  “Several miles.”

  “Miles?”

  “Yep.”

  “Isn’t there a better way to get there?”

  Quentin looked the part of prehistoric man in the fur get up. I rubbed my hands up and down my arms and then burrowed them into my pockets. I wouldn’t be able to walk miles like this. I’d surely die of—what’s it called?

  “Hypothermia. Do you want one of these yet?” He pulled away the outer cloak to point to the smaller, thicker one inside.

  “Is it gross?” I swear my breath plumed out in front of me, crystallized and fell to the ground. I couldn’t believe I was thinking about it.

  “No, it’s not gross.”

  “Are you always tuned into my thoughts?”

  “No. But I check in on occasion.”

  “That’s not really nice, you know.” I accept the fur with great reluctance. It stunk like unwashed skin and spoiled food.

  “They don’t have washer and dryer hook-ups just anywhere around here.” They probably didn’t have a department store they could walk in and buy one either.

  “Nothing like that. Not even a dry cleaners.”

  I fisted my hands between the warm folds and vowed to bathe as soon as it was possible. “Where is here, by the way.”

  “You’ll be angry. I’ll just say it’s a resting place, a spot we can talk, plan and I can help you hone your magic skills.”

  “I really want to learn fire first.”

  “Uh, no,” he stated flatly.

  Damn. I trudged behind him, realizing it was less effort to step into his footsteps than break through the thick icy layer that coated the landscape.

  “Go ahead, tell me.” I had to know.

  “When we get where we’re going. I’m not going to debate this with you.”

  “I won’t debate. I promise, Quentin. Puh-lease?”

  He sighed. His breath floated like a murky cloud that obscured his features for a moment. I didn’t know if he was serious or not. “We’re at the North Pole.”

  “Oh, yeah, right.” I looked up in case Santa and his reindeer were circling overhead. I wonder if the reindeer pooped while flying. That’d be really nasty if it landed on your head.

  “Ella!” His stern tone was ineffective with the laugh at the end.

  “What?” Innocent me.

  “I really didn’t need that mental picture.”

  “Hey, well, anything to entertain us. It’s not like there’s much in the way of si
ghtseeing.”

  I glanced in all four directions. Absolutely nothing out there to tell me which way was which. The only clue to show where we’d been was the snake-like trail of footprints.

  “Which direction are we walking?”

  “South.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Someplace safe.”

  “Quentin, damn you. I’m cold, tired and my feet ache. I smell and I’m getting very hungry. I’d like to know a little about my fate.”

  “Ok,” his voice was calmer, quieter. “Listen, I think common sense will tell you I have no desire to sleep out here in the cold. Can you just trust me for once?”

  “Bite me,” I shot back.

  “No thanks, but the polar bears or artic wolves might be interested.”

  My eyes widened and searched out every possible place for such creatures to hide. They’d have to be buried under the snow. I relaxed. I was safe. For now.

  He pushed forward, and I followed. I tried counting our steps, but soon got depressed by how few we made per minute. I pictured life on the equator.

  “Tell me about Central America,” I prompted Quentin after I thought I wouldn’t get the “I know more than you” attitude.

  “It’s hot.”

  “Lovely,” I responded. Even I knew that. “Continue.”

  He described the oppressing heat and clouds of dust. He was trying to make it sound like a miserable place. I thought it sounded like heaven itself.

  The temporary vision did help me through a good fifteen minutes of steady walking.

  Finally I saw something in the distance. Something colorful. My stomach growled and my shivers turned to trembles of excitement. Shelter. Warmth. Fire. Yesssss.

  “Is that a mirage?”

  Quentin stopped. I was so intent on squinting into the white haze to make out what I thought I could see, I plowed right into the back of him. Then fell backwards.

  Since I weigh more than a hundred pounds, I sank butt first through the icy crust and became helplessly lodged.

  Under the shadow of the furry hood he’d drawn over his head, I could detect the twinkle in Quentin’s green eyes.

  “Wanna help me up or are you going to just gape at me?” I made a snowball, using magic, not my bare hands, and hurled it at him.

  “Obviously you haven’t practiced much,” he jeered when the flying snow zinged past him. “Nice pitch, though, if this had been a baseball game.”

  “My pants are soaked, my legs and backside are numb.”

  “Then don’t waste your parlor tricks on me, Wonder Woman. Get yourself out of there.”

  “How?” When I pushed against the snow to propel myself upwards my arms sank deep. A million tiny pin pricks assaulted my arms. That was cold!

  “You look like a frog. Or a grasshopper. All knees and elbows.”

  “Damn it, Quentin. I’m a human freakin’ ice cube here. Show some mercy.”

  “Then get up. You want me to feel sorry for you, walk over there and pick you up?” He acted as if I asked for a ride to the moon.

  “Yes. A little help would be nice.” I gritted my teeth in an attempt to be civil.

  “So would a warm fire and hot cocoa, or coffee even. Unfortunately, we have neither.”

  “Quentin!”

  Was I attracted to this punk? Was he the same man who’d breathlessly seduced me? Talk about a change of attitude. Yeah, well, maybe I did egg him on a bit, but for crying out loud, he was getting his kicks at my expense. I could swear frostbite was already setting in on my upper legs. If I could get up, I’d find a way to kick his ass.

  “Ella, be serious.” He rolled his eyes at me.

  He must have read my thoughts again.

  “I did.”

  “Figures. Not an ounce of privacy around you.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Yeah.” After he’d admitted he “checked in” from time to time I can’t say those three words were real convincing.

  “Cut the sarcasm and I’ll tell you how to escape your predicament.”

  I stared at him, waiting.

  “Remember the first time we met?”

  Oh, yes indeed. The kiss that rocked my world. Did he want to melt the snow around me?

  “After that. When you tossed me in the air.”

  I shrugged. That wasn’t as exciting. “Yeah.”

  “Toss yourself in the air.”

  “Huh?”

  “Push up and imagine yourself floating.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Try it.” Funny, it sounded like he was talking through gritted teeth.

  Fine. I’d try. What was it going to hurt?

  I thought about it. Magic, huh? I could push myself above the surface? I closed my eyes and pictured a giant hand reaching up under my derriere and lifting me above the surface of the snow.

  “Good!” Quentin shouted.

  I opened my eyes, realized I was about ten feet above the snow and prompted tumbled back toward the ground. I just knew I was going to end up worse off than the first time.

  Something stopped me. “Hey!” I tried to face Quentin, but my jerky movement in that direction had me pivoting. What was I, a marionette?

  “I got you, but only for a moment. Pretend there are giant soles on your shoes, walk on air.”

  If I was going to do that, why couldn’t I simply fly?

  “No control.”

  It dawned on me. “You mean we could have floated toward this camp site rather than trudge through miles of miserable snow? What are you, a glutton for punishment? Do you like being miserable?”

  “Get down here. Save your strength.”

  “You said this was a resting place. Why should I worry about saving it?”

  “You never know.” He reached up and took my hand, tugging me back down to earth. He lifted my chin with the crook of his finger. “Ella, you have to trust me. Please. Sometimes you won’t be able to question me, or see the why behind what I say. Just trust me, okay?”

  “I don’t get it, Quen. I just don’t get this at all.”

  “You don’t have to. Just promise me you’ll behave.”

  “You’re treating me like a twelve-year-old.”

  His face was suddenly close, too close. “I wouldn’t do this if you were twelve.” His warm lips met mine, pressing, kneading, coaxing them apart. I leaned into him, letting his tongue graze past my teeth and inject a new kind of heat into my body.

  I felt much colder when he stepped back. But at least it seemed what had happened this morning, or whenever it was, hadn’t been a fluke.

  “No. It wasn’t a fluke. Don’t even think it.”

  The words worked like fuel on the fire that had started somewhere in my chest. I didn’t analyze it, just reveled in it. It got me through the last leg of the journey without another peep about the temperature or aches in my bones.

  Camp was a deserted building just as cold as the barren fields outside it. Thank God the wind didn’t slice through the walls. It tried, howling through all the invisible crevices. Did I mention it was dark? Black as pitch inside.

  “I just bet there’s no electricity here is there, brain child?” I wasn’t sure where Quentin was in the room, but he was undoubtedly in hearing range.

  “Nope. I’m trying to find matches.”

  Matches? Wasn’t this a man who could do magic? Couldn’t he make fire?

  “Found ‘em!” he cried triumphantly. Guess he wasn’t listening to me.

  I listened for the scrape of the match and the flare of light. Quentin had found an oil lamp.

  The inside of the building came to life in a flicker of orange. It was divided in half, one part a cold, empty laboratory area, the other a less than cozy living area. At least there was a fireplace.

  “You are going to light a fire, right?”

  “Of course.” He strode toward the wood piled beside it. I was way confused. Why wasn’t he using magic to get it done faster? With little thought I
lifted a log and set it on the half charred pieces that had been left in the fireplace. Quentin sat back on his heels, but didn’t turn around.

  Something was definitely going on. My gems, now a fixture around my neck, throbbed with the use of power. Other than the little push in the snow, I hadn’t used them much.

  Was he waiting to see if I could start it? Could I? If I could, did I want him to know? He didn’t answer. I had to guess he wasn’t reading my mind.

  I had done it before, hadn’t I? Breathed fire. Well, that’s not exactly the effect I needed now, unless I wanted to be the human torch. I thought it best I keep that little trick a secret.

  I crossed my fingers and reached. Deep, deep down into the energy that was bundled in my cramped toes, aching calves, and stiff fingers. I drew in breath after breath and willed it to a central spot in my chest. It was time.

  I pointed my finger at the center of the log. With knowledge that must have been the most primitive, because I certainly don’t know how I did it, I transferred the power to my shaking fist.

  I didn’t trust myself. “Quentin, you wanna move?”

  No comment, no glance in my direction, but he got up and stood against the adjoining wall.

  “All right.” I took a deep breath. “Here goes.”

  I swear it was the rise and fall of my chest and the shivers that still pulsed through my body that caused me to miss. And the recoil. I could blame the recoil.

  The fireball bounced off the brick wall and landed just about where Quentin had been. Of course.

  He jumped over and stomped out the red embers on the carpet. I expected something along the lines of “Nicely done, Ella.” Purely sarcastic, of course. But he backed up against the wall again.

  Concentrate, I told myself. I found the strength easier this time, still smoldering. I stoked it up and let it roll down my arm, puddle like lava in my fist.

  I pointed my finger as if it were a long range rifle. I stepped forward, bent my knees and braced myself. Ready. It’s now or never. Aim. Fingers still crossed. Fire.

  I ducked behind the couch when the log exploded into splinters. Well, I guess we have kindling wood now.

  The oil lamp was on the ground, a figure curled next to it. Had I hit him? Had those flying pieces flown into him like a hundred tiny wooden stakes?