A Magic King (3 page)

She heard a muttered oath behind her. Amazing, she thought, swear words are identifiable in all languages. Then she literally flew through the air as her hero tackled her.

She landed on her side and was rapidly pushed onto her back while her hero sat on top of her. Her breath came in painful gasps, and her head pounded like a neotech band, but terrified as she was, a part of her still recognized the sheer thrill of two hundred pounds of muscle grinding into her with a power as exciting as it was swift and sure.

He straddled her hips. Then he leaned forward, supporting himself on his knees as he twisted his feet behind him to hook over her legs. It was probably to keep her from kneeing him in the back, which was exactly what she'd intended to do when she caught her breath. His hardened chest stretched across her, giving her a close up view of sleek, tan skin lightly brushed with golden brown hair. Then he caught her wrists, neatly subduing her while he grumbled nonsense into her ear.

For annoyed, irritated male grumbling, it sounded remarkably erotic.

She looked up and caught the flash of something in his eyes. If this were an anima novel, she would have labeled it passion, but this was real life. Still, their gazes locked for a moment and despite her position, the nearby knife, and his blood trickling onto her wrist, she felt reassured.

He smiled—a wry twist to his lips, and she smiled back. She couldn't help it. Then she gasped as he wrenched himself to sit upright, his thickening groin pressing deeply against her as he lifted up his torso and her wrists.

"Yyi jaggenwa martense. Steemanti. Steemanti."

He looked so serious, so intense with his blue eyes burning down at her that she knew she had no hope of fighting him.

"Do you really have to?" she asked. Her brief fight had exhausted her from head to toe. A vague sort of fatalism washed through her as she watched him twist her hand. "Guess that means you have to."

The incision was quick, like a deep paper cut, but it was over in an instant, then his lips, soft as neovelvet, brushed over the wound. She smiled weakly at his sweet gesture, but it faded quickly at his next move. Stretching behind him with his cut hand, he grabbed the sheep gut.

"I told you, I'm not really hungry." She knew the firefly sheep gut wasn't food, but it made her feel better to pretend it was.

He pressed it against her wound, wrapping the tube around her palm and holding it there with his own bloody hand. It was still warm and tingly, and she tried to flinch away, but he kept her firmly in place. Then he slid the knife between them and neatly cut the bag.

It was the oddest sensation. The fireflies escaped the bag and tickled her palm, buzzing against her skin before zipping away to her hero. No, not fireflies. Static. As though they'd caught electrical sparks between their palms.

Then one tiny point of energy found her wound, sliding right in and up her bloodstream. She jerked, but he held her fast, keeping their hands pressed together.

Bit by bit, the static wormed its way in, swarming through her wrist, creeping up her arm until she trembled with the horror of it. He said something, crooning nonsense syllables meant to reassure her, but she couldn't focus.

Then suddenly it burst on her. It was as though the energy dancing up her arm hit a major artery and went straight for her brain. She screamed as her vision faded into a wash of white. Her thoughts spun in the dizzying vortex of energy that swarmed through her mind.

From somewhere above her, she heard his grunt of surprise, but she was still dealing with the reeling, pounding electricity throbbing through her consciousness. In the end, she gave herself up to it, letting it flood her senses on the wildest sensory trip virtual reality sci-fi had yet to create.

Then it faded, and she was left sweetly energized, her thoughts sparkling like Christmas lights gone berserk. "Wow! That's better than coffee. Even my coffee!"

Her hero still sat on her, his expression dazed and confused. "That was unusually intense," he said, his voice hushed and lyrical.

"Intense? It was great! What was that stuff? And how come you're suddenly speaking English?"

He looked down, his face slowly spreading into a Hollywood sex god smile. "I'm not. That's what that was."

Jane blinked. "You've lost me."

"You are right with me. My companions are never lost." He sounded vaguely insulted.

She struggled onto her elbows, propping herself up so she could peer into his dreamy eyes. Unfortunately, he immediately lifted himself off of her, politely settling onto the grass beside her.

"I don't mean physically lost like geographically. I mean—"

"I know, woman," he cut in. "I was testing the magic. Language is a tricky thing, and we're supposed to be able to understand each other completely."

"Huh?"

"That was a spell. Permanent. I am sorry I used it on you, but it was necessary." From his expression, it was clear he meant "waste" it on her.

"Well, excuuuse me." She rubbed her hand, staring at the fleshy part, now completely healed over.

"No need to apologize," he said. She peered at him, wondering if he was teasing or serious. "I needed to know if it worked."

Jane took a deep breath and tried to sort through the confusion while keeping panic at bay. "You mean, we're both talking in our own language, but I hear English and you hear... uh—"

"Svenetrins."

Jane sat up. "Really? So I'll always understand sene—Svenet—"

"
Svenetrins
. And no. It's a personal spell between two people. You will only understand me. And I, you."

"Oh." Then she shrugged. "Still, that's better than a secret decoder ring. Where'd you get it?" She tried to act casual as though magic sheep guts were normal.

He looked at her oddly. "A bard sold it to me for thirty doleens."

"Thirty doleens?" What were doleens?

"I know. Exorbitant. But she was... entertaining. And she had the most stunning blond hair, like the color of sunlight on Nansar's pond." His eyes grew abstract as he focused on some pleasant memory, and Jane felt the first stirring of annoyance.

"A little hair dye, and they all go on a testosterone high," she grumbled. Then she stood up, moving slowly in case the dizzies came back. "Well, this has been fun, but would you mind if I borrowed your phone? Preferably without working video." She self-consciously tugged at her mousy brown locks, matted now with bits of grass.

He stared at her, his face registering disappointment. "The spell must not have worked well. I don't understand your words."

"Oh. I need a phone." She mimed putting a cell to her ear. "Or a computer. Actually a computer would be better. Then I can hook into the University Net and get a lock on the damage." She looked around, studying the meadow as her memories slowly jumbled into a strange order. "Exactly how did I get here? In fact, where is here? The last thing I remember is the library."

Her gaze was caught by a strange purple flower, and she approached it slowly. It was a pretty thing, with some spiked petals, some curved. They dotted the meadow grass the way the letter "i" dotted a printed page. She'd never seen one before. Never, ever in a whole childhood of helping her father, a botanist.

"What is this?"

"The mansara flower? It's a common plant. They're all over the place."

"Uh-huh. And that?" She pointed to one of the tall trees lining the meadow. Its bark was like smooth concrete, and its leaves looked like a marijuana plant.

"An oant tree."

"Right." Jane turned slowly, anger building within her like a Georgia heat wave. She put her fists on her hips and fixed her hero with her ice queen glare. "Okay, I want to know just where I am, and how do I get from here to Boston."

"Boston?"

"Big city. Streets that used to be cow paths."

Blank. His face was completely blank. She bit her lip and started pacing off her energy.

"I didn't ask before. Denial, I guess. But it's over now. Tell me what's going on." She waited for him to speak, but all he did was settle more comfortably on the grass and give her his complete attention. It was as if he were studying her, and that only increased the burn within her. Still, she took a deep breath and decided to start slowly.

"Where am I?"

"The Plains of Eacost, south of the Great Forest."

She stared at him, worrying her lower lip until it started to feel bruised and swollen. Then suddenly her spirits lightened. "I'm sorry." She was proud of how level her voice sounded. "Your secret decoder gizmo isn't working right."

"It's working perfectly. You are on the Plains of Eacost, south—"

"South of the Great Forest. I heard." Still, she shook her head, wondering if her ears were clogged.

"What is the last thing you remember?" he asked.

"I..." She thought back, finding her mind slow and difficult. She remembered her morning shower. The power had been cut again during the night and domestic energy was on lowest priority, so the water had been ice cold. Her memories leaped forward through a normal work day. Then she'd put on her costume intending to go to the party just after stopping at the library.

Glancing down, she groaned in real horror. Yes, she was indeed pacing agitatedly in front of her computer hero still wearing a billowing cape, a leotard with a huge bat outline on her breasts, black leggings, and neon orange sneakers—she hadn't been able to afford the stylish boots.

Of course, she realized as she peered closer at her hero, he was in costume too. Sort of an eighteenth-century pirate outfit. Soft flowing shirt, dagger sheathed in the belt of his leather breeches. He even wore the softest pair of boots she'd seen in her life. And to complete the outfit, a huge, two-handed, bastard sword lay strapped on his back. It didn't look in the least bit fake either.

She stared at it until he brought her back to the present.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"I was working in the library."

He must have taken that as a "no" because he reached into his pack and pulled out what looked like beef jerky. Thank heaven he didn't offer her any because the very sight of it made her think of dried caterpillar. Rather than watch him eat it, she went back to her confusing memories.

"I had to reload a system. The last brown-out zapped everything, but I can't remember anything after that."

"I came upon you two nights ago," he said between bites. "You were lying face down, so cold I thought you were dead."

Jane stared at him. "I was just lying there? In the grass?"

He nodded.

"How the hell did I get there?" she yelled.

He shifted nervously, his broad shoulders rippling as he moved. "I don't know," he said, his eyes dark with sympathy.

She took a deep breath, trying to recall the zen-calming chant she'd told her friend was stupid. "This is too bizarre. It's like one of those bad comic books when..." Her voice trailed off, a sick feeling churning in her gut. Comic books often showed some innocent bystander sucked into a vortex, transported across space and time as a result of the villain's manipulations. Usually the nameless slob died before the next page.

She glanced at her hero, wondering if he could possibly be the product of another planet or dimension. He looked human. She clenched her fists, ordering herself to stop being silly. She had not stepped into a comic book. She was simply disoriented.

"What day is it?"

"Forty-third day, Warming season, Thirteenth year of the Seef."

Her knees wobbled, but she persevered, determined to face the truth. "What..." She couldn't say it. She cleared her throat and tried again. "What planet?"

He hesitated only a second. "Urta."

Her knees went out. Her legs went out. In fact, her whole body and brain went out to lunch. She fell to the ground, landing hard on her tush.

She didn't see him move, but suddenly he was beside her, his large hands warm on her shoulders. Instinctively, she asked for the one thing that always made everything easier to handle.

"Chocolate?"

He deftly pressed the beef jerky into her hands.

She moaned, but decided anything was better than thinking. Grabbing the brown stick, she closed her eyes and bit.

She was wrong. There was something worse than facing reality. And she was chewing it.

Gagging, she spit it out on the ground, simultaneously reaching for his water bag to wash the taste out of her mouth.

"Ugh! What is that stuff?"

He opened his mouth, but she raised her hand to stop him. "No. Don't tell me. I don't want to know. Ugh." She took another swig. "Have you got any toothpaste?" At his blank look she tried again. "Something to clean your teeth?"

His eyes widened. "You clean your teeth?"

"No, I like foul breath, a brown smile, and pain when I chew. Of course I—" She cut off her words at his stunned expression. "You don't clean your teeth?" From his whitewash smile, she'd have guessed they were plastic coated.

"Of course I clean my teeth. I am a king." He sounded insulted. As her emotions seesawed between outrage and hysteria, he rooted through his pack and came up with a box of brown powder.