Changer (Athanor) (71 page)

“As safe as that will be,” Bronson mutters.

If Rebecca hears, she chooses not to comment.

Now is the moment to make his attempt.  For the last four hours the Head has been siphoning small amounts of magical energy into his personal store, has analyzed the wards around Louhi, has reviewed the spell that Lovern had stored within his memory.

It is a simple spell, only a few lines long, but in order to work it the caster needs to establish a bond between himself and the spell’s recipient.  There must be a moment of vulnerability and contact.  He thinks that he knows how to achieve this.

Hauling himself to his new feet by means of the ropes that Louhi had anchored in the ceiling studs a few days earlier, the Head pulls himself erect.  His walker is within reach, and he edges into it, releases the brake, and rolls toward where Louhi is reading a paperback copy of
The Compleat Enchanter.

She lowers her book to watch his progress, her expression both analytical and approving.

He continues to exercise, coming closer to her with every pass.  Sweat forms along his hairline and trickles down his back.  It still seems odd to him that his skin can involuntarily leak water.  Louhi continues to watch.

Carefully, the Head reviews the spell one more time.  Softly, keeping the sound trapped within his throat, he taps the reservoir of power he has been storing in tiny increments all afternoon.  When magical energy wells so full and potent that he feels as if he will choke, he deliberately slips.

Jumping to her feet with such speed that her book thuds to the floor, Louhi takes him into arms strengthened by hours of gathering driftwood and sea-polished stones on the Finnish beaches.

Perhaps she thinks it peculiar that what issues from his lips is neither startled cry nor frightened scream, but instead a thin, pure, note of song, a sound so clear and beautiful that it catches the hearing and holds it prisoner.

Perhaps she does not.

Whichever is the case, by the time she notices, the chance to do something other than listen in rapt attention is past.

Her voluntary touch has brought him within her wards.  She had not thought to proof herself specifically against him.  Her perception of him is still as of a passive thing that needs her care and guidance, not as a wizard-spawned creature of power.

The Head sings a brief lyric in Finnish, the same lyric that a Durag is said to have sung to enchant his captive bride.  Neither the words nor the melody alone spin the spell; they must be fused by the magic that he weaves into them.  A less-gifted person could sing the same lyrics to no effect; a more greatly gifted (though nonesuch may exist) might not need to be within Louhi’s wards to assure success.

Louhi listens, her pale eyes growing first more pale, then returning to their usual cool blue.  As the color returns, they hold a greater warmth; for the first time since the Head has looked upon the sorceress, her eyes are framed with a smile that is neither sarcastic nor ironic but warm and loving.

She knows that she has been ensorcelled, but part of the power of this spell is that it convinces the recipient that the spell is not the cause of the emotions welling up within a heart and soul too long cold and vengeful, but merely the excuse for releasing what she has always known.

“I love you,” she whispers softly, and pulls his head against her small, round breasts.

“You do?” he asks, his tone equally soft.

“As I have never loved another,” she says honestly.

Except with some shrilling screaming part of herself, she is unaware of the irony of this statement.  Truly, never before, even when she loved Merlin, has she loved like this, for never before has she been ensorcelled to love.

“And I love you,” he says.  His reply is somewhat less honest, for he does not so much love her as desire her, but love and lust are as muddled within his mind and body as within that of any teenage boy.

“
Kultani
,” she says, caressing him.  “My darling.”

He turns her face to his, kissing her cheekbones, the corners of her eyes, and finally her coveted mouth.  She returns his kisses with enthusiasm, then, as he wishes it, with heat.

“Sven will not be here tonight, will he?” the Head asks, as she helps him to his feet.

“No.  He is preparing for the last stages of our grand challenge to Arthur.  You and I are alone tonight.”

“And that is how you wish it?”

“Of course!”  She is not so far from herself as to fail to sound indignant that he would question her, but she smiles immediately.  “I wish to ravage your virgin body, to make you feel what you have only fantasized.”

He licks his lips.  “I’m capable of quite a lot of fantasy.”

“And I am capable of quite a lot of satisfying,” she purrs.

Leaning on her, the Head has a momentary qualm that perhaps he should have waited to cast this spell until he was stronger.  He had no idea what a tigress lurked beneath Louhi’s cool, silvery exterior.

“We won’t tell Sven about us, now, will we?” he asks, seeking to reestablish control.

“No, that wouldn’t be wise,” Louhi agrees.  “He’s been lusting after me since we started this gambit—and long before that.  It wouldn’t do to make him jealous.  At least not while we still need him.”

Her hand drops from his shoulder to slip inside his loose sweatpants.  “My, you’re shaping up nicely.  Come along now.”

And he does, quite content to let her appear to lead since he knows with the certainty of the song that still echoes within his mind that he is the true master.

26

Judicial reform is no sport for the short-winded.

—Arthur Vanderbilt

E
arly in the second week in September, Monk decides he isn’t really pleased with the way things are turning out.  It was one thing to help Sven with a few tricks and turns. Not only had it given him and his buddies something to do (Nippon is wonderful, but realistically it is a small archipelago.  The combination of highly developed electronic security systems and a few stodgy resident athanor made it tough for a
tengu
to have any fun), but they sympathize with theriomorphs who, like the trickster
tengu
, are becoming imprisoned by the advancement of human technology.

But this…  Hiero out flying shuttle service.  Roy meeting fauns and satyrs at the airport.  And Monk himself shapeshifted into a respectable Japanese businessman so that he can meet with hotel managers and caterers.  Where the hell is Sven, as the great mess he has orchestrated gets ready to begin?  Monk doesn’t have the slightest idea.

Oh, the Fiery One checks in by telephone or e-mail several times a day, but a few interesting things have become clear.  Monk can’t decide whether he’s more pissed off that Sven won’t be arriving until a couple of days
after
the meetings with Arthur begin or that he insists that the
tengu
keep the secret of the Moderator’s identity just a few days longer.

“It’s a matter of life and death, Monk,” Sven had said seriously during a recent telephone conversation during which Monk had complained.  “My life and death, I admit, but I feel no less strongly about it for that.  I’ve stirred some hornets’ nests in setting up this meeting.  I’ve made some enemies.  Let me make my appearance in my own time.  Please!”

Monk agrees reluctantly.  “The first two days of the meeting, Sven-san.  Two days only.  Then the cat is out of the bag.  I’m not taking the fall for you.”

“Great, great.  Two days should be plenty.”

Huffing to himself as he remembers this, Monk reaches for the listing of foods he’s ordered for the guests who will be arriving today.  He notices that he’s forgotten to order cucumbers.  With
kappa
coming that wouldn’t do.  Their alternate food choices can get very vulgar.

Cucumbers.

Sighing, he reaches for the telephone, shifting his throat  to produce the voice of his Japanese businessman persona.

Cucumbers.

Leaving the courtyard, where Vera is visiting with Duppy Jonah, Amphitrite, and Anson, Arthur snags Eddie and takes him to his office.

“How are we going to entertain all these people?” Arthur says, unaware how closely his concern mirrors Monk’s own.

“Vera has said that she’ll be able to handle the Ocean Monarchs.”  Eddie leans forward.  “I’m more concerned about the other lot.”

“You mean the Trappers and their friends?”

“Right.  They’re coming into Albuquerque for a vacation—not just for this meeting.  In a way, I expect that this meeting is an excuse for the vacation.”

“I think you’re right.  They aren’t going to be content staying in their hotel or roaming around this estate.”

“No, not if their entire platform is based on unhappiness at being kept undercover,” Eddie agrees.  “I suppose we could arrange a tour to some of the museums.”

Arthur shakes his head.  “I’m not certain about that.  There are security cameras.  One slip…”

“Yeah.”

“If Lovern were here to work some hoodoo on the cameras, I might risk it,” Arthur says.  “Museums are amusing—and educational about human understanding of the Earth.”

Lovern, however, has made his apologies and is busy searching for the Head.  Lovern’s dismay at its disappearance had been equaled only by his fear when he learned who had taken it and what they were planning to do.  When he hasn’t been driving about the area with divining tools, he has been in his room performing strange rites that leave the air smelling of burned spices.

“A public event then,” Eddie offers.  “Fiesta in Santa Fe wouldn’t be a bad idea.  There are lots of galleries and the burning of Zozobra.  I can check the dates for this year.”

“Wait!” Arthur says.  “I have a better idea.  How about the State Fair?  It’s close to home, crowded, and has lots of different activities.  There are rides and games as well as art exhibits, farm animals, and music acts.”

“You’re right!” Eddie agrees excitedly.  “Do we offer or wait for them to ask?”