Slightly Spellbound (12 page)

I sprinted from the street, over the lawn, and between two large trees. Most of the lower branches swayed out of my way, but one thick branch swung into my path. I couldn’t stop in time and it caught me across the lower ribs, knocking me backward. I lost my breath when I landed.

“Mean,” I complained, wheezing. I got up and moved forward gingerly, my ribs smarting with every step. The lone woody aggressor swung even lower, as if to trip me. I feigned turning but at the last second darted forward and hopped over the branch. I ran forward to be sure that it didn’t catch me in the back. Unfortunately, I was no farther than a few feet when a vine caught my right ankle. I pitched forward, but instead of falling, I was scooped up by some kind of mesh and thrust into the air. A moment later, I bobbed like a rabbit in a snare.

“Oh,” I said, swinging in the human-sized pouch I was caught in. “This is why you wanted me to go the other way, Tree.” I shook my head. “You were right. But you hit me so hard, I didn’t realize it was a hint, not an assault. Next time, I’ll know,” I murmured.

I ran my hands over the mesh. It wasn’t a fishing net. It was made of something soft, like finely woven silk lace. And it was coated with something that rubbed off on my hands and made my head buzz.

“Uh-oh,” I murmured. “I need to hurry, don’t I? There’s something . . .” I twisted around for my tote. I opened it and found the steak knife. I poked its tip into the mesh, which actually seemed to push back. “No way,” I growled, thrusting and sawing madly without making any significant progress. The satiny substance on the fabric clung to my skin, making it tingle and almost . . . shimmer.

“Tree,” I said, trying to suppress giddy laughter that bubbled up like sparkling wine. “I’m having some problems here. Could you help? Could you drop this Tammy bag? Just swing it right off your branch?” I wiggled to get the pouch swinging. I felt the branch move and the pouch pop over a few feet. “That’s it. Keep going! Whoa!” I exclaimed as I lost control of the swinging motion, and the pouch string twisted as it spun in a circle.

The whirling motion as the pouch’s securing ropes unfurled made me lose all sense of place. I fell against the side of the pouch and had a vision, either a hallucination or a premonition, I couldn’t be sure. All I knew was that I was on a blue and gray bridge that looked like someone had started to make a castle and decided to make a bridge instead. I ran because someone chased me. I saw the twinkling lights of a big city and knew that if I could just reach the street, I’d be safe.

I glanced down and saw my feet, which were tattooed with gold and green vines. I sprinted with a racing heart, hearing the pounding footfalls of my pursuers.

Run. Run faster!

Go, go, go!

In an instant, the bridge under my feet disappeared. I felt the pouch swing in a long arc and then I sailed through the air. I heard an angry voice, speaking a language I didn’t understand. It sounded like Gaelic, which Bryn sometimes spoke. The trees made angry sounds in return.

My ears hummed. “Ours,” the trees seemed to say. “Unlike you, she’s ours.”

“Aw,” I said, wanting to give them a hug. Even the Duvall trees were loyal. I felt myself spinning end over end and then I hit the ground and rolled a few more feet. It took me a few minutes to fight my way out of the pouch. No wonder there’s that expression,
madder than a bag of cats
. Being stuck in a bag is frustrating as all get-out. It could definitely drive somebody crazy.

When I had a Tammy Jo–sized hole in the top of the pouch, I shot through it and rolled away. The dirt and grass soothed my skin, which tingled to the point of pain. I landed in some fern fronds and would’ve lain there for a few minutes watching the stars dance in the sky, but I heard someone running toward me.

I might be out of the sack, but I wasn’t out of the woods yet. Literally.

12

I ROLLED ONTO my hands and knees, scrambled up, and lurched forward, sprinting through the woods.

“Hello, dirt,” I whispered breathlessly. “Show me the way to the muddy banks of the Amanos River.”

I closed my eyes and concentrated on the feel of the earth beneath my feet and between my toes. It was almost like I was flying through the forest, like an Ewok on a
Star Wars
speeder. Everything whizzed past, chirping crickets and whirring wind all around me.

Can’t catch me
, I thought, and laughed.

I heard a male voice exclaim something in the distance and knew that branches and vines got in his way.

“Nope, can’t have me. I belong to this town and it belongs to me.”

I burst from the woods, my eyes popping open as I ran out of grass and landed hard in the street.

I panted for breath, the world spinning like the teacup ride at a carnival. I staggered across the street and for a few minutes I wasn’t sure where I was, and I wanted to turn back to the woods. When I fell against a street sign, I held on and looked up. Sycamore Street. I was near the Amanos and near Bryn’s house.

“Wasn’t I going there?” I mumbled. My skin and clothes were covered in something that felt a lot like pixie dust but had a slightly tangy taste. The ground shimmered as if lit by a candle from underneath. “I’m not lost,” I swore to myself, but my body was all kinds of crazy, jittering and weaving. It was like I’d drunk twenty tequila shots and then tried a hit of some scary wind-you-up drug like cocaine. I shook till my teeth rattled and my tongue did a dance against the back of my teeth.

“I gotta get this stuss—stuffs off me,” I mumbled. “Before that guy catches up.” I stripped down to my underwear and dove into the grass. I grabbed handfuls, apologizing for pulling it out, and rubbed it over my skin wherever it glowed golden.

After a few minutes, I was steady enough to walk. Barely.

I meandered down the street, glad when I got to Bryn’s neighborhood. Whenever possible, I walked on the grass because the asphalt felt hard and cold and foreign against my soles. If I hadn’t been raised by people, I would’ve made a good forest nymph. Or half-fae girl Tarzan. Being reared by apes didn’t appeal to me, but chimps are cute. Or better still, I could’ve been raised by an ocelot. Merc could’ve been my stepbrother, the two of us a pair of cubs trying to make our way in a mad magical world. I giggled until my sides hurt and I fell over. I rolled around on the grass for a few minutes until I got my bearings. I grabbed my head to steady it on my shoulders and then stood. The world seemed to wobble, but I was pretty sure that I was the one wobbling.

What the heck had been in that mesh? I wondered as I watched my feet walk. I forced myself off Bryn’s neighbor’s lawn and crossed the drive triumphantly.

At the security buzzer, I busted out laughing. “Made it!” I clung to the post and hit the button.

“Took your time,” Steve’s voice said.

“Got a little side-sacked, sidetracked, Tammy-sacked, Tammy in a sack.” I laughed so hard, I doubled over.

The gate slid open.

“Come on,” I said to myself. “Pull yourself under control and get inside onto Bryn’s properly—property.” I took a deep breath. “Feet! Get going.” But my feet weren’t interested in the paved circular drive. My toes curled and inched toward the grass. “For pete’s sake . . . and who is Pete anyway? Isn’t he the daytime security guy?”

One of Bryn’s neighbors’ front doors opened. “Uh-oh. They’ll see me! Get in there!” I hissed at my feet, which weren’t working. I pitched to the side and let go of the post. I fell into a hibiscus bush and crawled through. Happy to be in the dirt, my feet started to work, but it was quite a long journey through the landscaping.

By the time I got to the house, I was bleeding from rose thorns and sticky with plant juice. I managed to force my feet onto the paving stones to get to the front door. I didn’t want to ring the bell in case Mr. Jenson was resting. I tried the knob, which Steve had apparently unlocked.

The door swung open and I fell into the foyer.

“There,” I said, blowing a lock of hair out of my eyes. “Made it.” I dusted myself off. “Now if I were a Mr. Jenson, where would I hide myself?” I scratched my head. “If I were sick, I’d be in my bedroom in my bed.” I forced myself to a standing position. “Now if I were a Mr. Jenson’s room, where would I hide myself?” I looked around, disoriented. I could’ve sworn I knew the layout of Bryn’s house.

“What the hell?” Bryn’s voice boomed from in front of me.

“Holy shit,” Steve’s voice said from behind me.

“Hello, men of Bryn’s house. Can you point me toward Mr. Jenson’s room? I’ve come to check on him.”

“Mr. Lyons,” Steve sputtered.

“Tamara,” Bryn said sharply. “Are you drunk?”

“No,” I said, walking toward Bryn. “But I do smell whiskey. Who smells like the juice of the barley?” I asked. I sang a line from an Irish drinking song that I didn’t even know I knew the words to and pointed at Bryn, adding, “It’s you, isn’t it, who smells like whiskey?”

“Don’t stand there gaping, Steve. Get a blanket,” Bryn said blackly.

“Don’t yell at him. You,” I said, poking my finger into his chest. “Don’t be mean.”

“What is this? What’s all over your skin?” Bryn said, holding me away from him.

“A little dirt. And grass.” I plucked a couple of rose petals out of the cup of my bra and dropped them. “Some flowers.”

“Not that,” Bryn snapped.

“Hey, what happened to my clothes?”

“Exactly what I’d like to know,” Bryn said.

I looked down. My tiny undies barely covered my butt. I put my palms over my cheeks to cover them.

“Well, you know whose fault this is?”

“No, I don’t.”

“It’s yours.”

“Mine?” Bryn said, his brows shooting up.

“Oh boy,” Steve said from behind me as he wrapped a blanket around me.

“Who do you think bought me all these lacy barely-there underwear? I used to wear plain cotton. When I wanted to get fancy I’d wear some with kiss prints or Longhorn symbols or even once pink-and-black leopard print. Sexy! But they always covered my butt as well as a bathing suit. But you didn’t think that was good enough. And look at me now. I’m almost as bad as a stripper. Actually—” I glanced down inside the blanket, frowning. “I did get stripped. In fact,” I said suspiciously, “I think I may have stripped myself.” I exhaled a sigh. “Good grief. I’m a stripper. Can you even guess how that happened?”

“I’d rather not,” Bryn said, turning and walking away. “Sober up in the library. Steve, you’re responsible for her.”

“He is not responsible for me!” I announced, trailing after Bryn, who mounted the stairs. My feet and legs tangled in the blanket and I had to grab the railing to keep from falling down.

“Steve, close your eyes,” I said, dropping the blanket.

“Mr. Lyons?” Steve questioned as I darted up the stairs. “You want me to come up and get her?”

“Now, Steve,” I said. “You and I get along fine because you know your limits. Don’t make me get rough with you.”

Steve laughed.

“Don’t encourage her,” Bryn said flatly, walking down the hall.

“Mr. Lyons?”

Bryn shook his head. “I’ve got it. Go back to your post, Steve.”

I pursued Bryn until he paused and took me by the arm. He drew me into his bedroom and then into his bathroom. He pointed at the sunken tub. “Get in.”

I glanced at myself in the mirror. My skin shimmered, my ear tips were slightly pointed, and my eyes glowed a tawny hazel. Ivy and fern fronds hung from tangled hair.

“Green’s a good color for me,” I said, touching a vine.

Bryn plucked the vine from my hair and dropped it in the wastebasket with a frown, then turned to the tub, flicked the drain closed, and spun the knobs, making the water gush. “I’m not going to tell you again.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“That’s certainly true. But right now, you look like someone crossed a cavewoman with a Bratz doll. In,” he said.

“What’s a Bratz doll?” I asked.

“A toy. My client’s daughter collected them.” Bryn dumped in bath salts. The water foamed.

“I’m not ready to take a bath yet. This dirt helped me out. It had my back. And my front,” I said with a laugh. “And my backside.”

Bryn reached over and unhooked my bra with a two-fingered pinch of the clasp.

“Hey,” I complained as it fell on the floor. “I was wearing that.”

I reached down, but arms came around me and a second later I sat in hot sudsy water. I glared at him.

“I thought I warned you—” I said, attempting to stand.

The struggle was brief, but soggy, and when I surfaced, I grabbed Bryn’s shirt and yanked. He pitched forward and fell in.

“How do you like it?”

He ignored the question and instead grabbed a loofah thing and scrubbed my skin with it. Pretty soon, the tingling disappeared and the brown-and-gold bathwater ran down the drain. Bryn climbed from the tub and, without a word, stripped out of his soaked clothes.

I rested my chin on the edge of the tub and admired the view. “I should probably be annoyed that you’re prettier than me, but I actually don’t mind.”

Bryn toweled his hair with a brief glance over his shoulder. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Lust over you?”

“Don’t flirt. Not after this morning. And not while you’re under the influence of fae magic.”

“Fae?”

“Yes,” Bryn said. “What happened? Find another box of pixie dust and accidentally dump it on yourself?”

“Nope,” I said, and then launched into a rambling account of my sacking.

Bryn shook his head with a grimace, then walked out of the bathroom, saying over his shoulder, “Wash your hair.”

I refilled the tub and soaked awhile, then haphazardly washed and conditioned my hair. When I got out of the tub, I shucked my panties and walked into Bryn’s room. I have a drawer and a small section of the closet, and that’s where I was headed when the open suitcase on his bed stopped me in my tracks.

“Where are we going?” I asked. My mind darted to the vision I’d had of myself, galloping away from someone who was after me. That dream had been of someplace outside Duvall. What had I been doing on horseback, racing down a lane? I’d been riding a few times, but I was no Kentucky Derby jockey. That kind of pace would’ve scared me half to death, though I hadn’t seemed scared in the vision. Was I going to learn to ride a horse while on vacation with Bryn? That sounded fun.