The Wellspring (16 page)

In direct opposition to her plea his hand
dipped lower to thoroughly scrub his package—rather too much she
imagined until her throat tightened and she felt a funny spasm in
her stomach. Groves and Grottos, he was masturbating! She didn’t
want to believe it because she was sure this was now a felony
criminal act of some kind, but her hand refused to shut the tiny
part in the curtain and her eyes pretended they didn’t know how to
close, she wasn’t even sure she was blinking.

Marc’s eyes remained closed while his hand
worked the shaft of his now complete erection and she wondered what
he was thinking about then told herself to stop thinking about that
and focus on how much trouble she’d be in if she couldn’t escape
unnoticed. His abdomen tensed and he bit his left fist to stifle a
groan as his hips jerked involuntarily toward his secret watcher
and she knew he was about to come.

“Yule.”

By the Magic that made us, did he just say my
name?

“Yule, honey, wake up.”

That was Hermes’ voice! She’d been discovered
and— Her eyes snapped open and she gave a small cry of surprise to
find Hermes leaning over her with a concerned expression. She sat
bolt upright, looking around. She was sitting on a bench in the dry
shower stall, dressed except for shoes.

“You’re okay, honey. You were taking so long
I came back for you. I guess you dozed off.” He helped her to her
feet and she looked out the open stall curtain worriedly. The stall
opposite her was empty. Yes, it was damp, but she’d just used it so
that explained that—didn’t it?

“Hermes, how did you know I was in trouble?”
she asked suddenly.

“Trouble? You were just taking so long—”

“Not that, Atlantis,” she clarified. “How did
you know I was in trouble?”

“Well, I just—”

She gave him a shove as they exited the
shadows of the shower tent into the sunlight. “Don’t tell me some
story about intuition or rumors! You were at that pool at the
precise moment I was in the most danger! It wasn’t a happy
coincidence, so how did you know?”

“It’s my job to keep an eye on you,” he said
this without apology.

“But you couldn’t have come to—” She broke
off and shoved him again. “You imped me, didn’t you? Where was it?
In my bags, my earrings—?” Her eyes widened. “No, it couldn’t have
been because I’ve changed my clothes and my jewelry which means—”
She began combing through her hair and wiggling fingers into her
ears. “Where is it? Where’d you hide it?”

Hermes grasped her hands when she drew
curious glances from other members of the expedition who were going
about their daily routines. “All right, I’ll show you, but not out
here. Come on.” He took her arm and ushered her to a tent which was
apparently theirs, based on their scrubbed clothes drying over a
makeshift clothesline strung just beside the front flap.

Yule faced him angrily once inside.
Well?”

“Don’t give me that attitude,” he told her
firmly. “If you think I enjoy spying on you, you’re wrong.” He
gently combed through her damp hair with his long, strong fingers.
“But when you’re determined to go off on these adventures I’m duty
obligated to find some means by which to accompany you.”

“You’re not my guardian anymore,” she
reminded him.

“The estate still pays me to counsel
you.”

“Spying isn’t counseling.”

“Don’t quibble when I saved your virtue from
that politician,” he scolded before brightening. “Ah, there it is.”
He withdrew his hand from her hair. Perched on the tip of his
forefinger was a fuzzy dot that perfectly matched Yule’s hair
color.

“An imp mite? You stuck an imp mite on me?”
Her eyes blazed. “So you’ve been watching and listening to
everything I’ve said and done? You’re unbelievable, Hermes! I’m a
grown woman!”

“Who was very nearly a sexual sacrifice!”

“Maybe I would have enjoyed it, did you think
about that?”

“Don’t try to shock me, it’s impossible,” he
assured her.

“You spied on me!”

“Are you upset that it turned out so
well?”

“Do you spy on me all of the time?”

“Not all of it, no,” he replied frankly.

“You’re such a—a,” she blustered.

“Good friend?”

“A jerk,” she finished.

“I take it back, I’m shocked.” He smiled and
caught her elbow when she would have turned her back on him. “Don’t
be angry. You know I always have your best interests at heart.
Spying is naughty, but I promise I was discreet.”

“You still treat me like I’m a little
girl.”

“Nonsense, I treat you like a desirable young
woman who doesn’t have a clue that there are bad men in the world
who want to use her for bad things.” He gently pushed back her hair
from her face.

“What does that mean?” she asked with growing
suspicion. She caught his hand when he didn’t respond right away.
“Hermes, what makes you think that anyone would want to use me for
anything? I’m no one, nothing, a Stunt—”

His hand tightened on hers, his gaze
passionate. “Never talk about yourself that way. Your Family has
one of the longest and richest histories of magic folk and even if
you were born normal there are spell-casters who’d happily see you
married into their Families just for the sake of bragging rights.”
He leaned closer to her and for the first time Yule felt a hint of
the intimidation she’d heard Hermes inspired in others. “And there
are others who’d do worse. I was made your guardian because your
mother and father knew they could trust me to protect you and I’ll
do it whether you approve or not.”

“You have, haven’t you?” she asked, some
events in her life beginning to make sense, like pristine pillars
rising from muck. “You walk down alleys and meet Mr. Hotbody, but I
walk down alleys and meet power poachers and spell-snatchers. It’s
never made sense because those people use tracking spells and
sniffing imps to hunt just the right marks—but I don’t have the
kind of power to make me a mark unless. . . .” She felt dizzy, as
if she stood on a school globe that some child just gave a spin.
“Hermes, am I—?”

He slipped a supportive arm around her. “I
don’t know, honey. Your mother was the pre-eminent
psycho-archaeologist before Magus Teomond and much of her work
revolved around confirming the truth behind the legend of the
Wellspring. Your father was a respected historian whose access to
the archives on Atlantis led him to write many biographies about
historical Family figures—and when the two of them turned their
focus on the single project. . . .” He slowly released her when it
seemed certain she regained her equilibrium. “There are artifacts
your mother discovered and passages your father found that
suggested a familial connection to the legend of the Wellspring,
but they never shared the details with me. If they hadn’t died,
great things—world shattering things—were expected from their next
publication.”

Something in the depths of his dark eyes
chilled her. “My parents died in an accident on the wind while
coming home from Shangrilonn—didn’t they?”

“Their travel spell failed and they fell into
the ocean, just as it was reported,” he told her quietly, his eyes
leaving hers for moment only to return with a haunted caste to
their dark color. “And it is generally assumed it was an
accident.”

Yule felt sick and disoriented. She sat on
her cot staring at the canvas wall of the tent. “You suspected they
were killed and you never told me?”

Hermes slowly sat on the cot opposite her.
“There’s absolutely no evidence to indicate it was anything other
than an accident,” he replied evenly. “I wouldn’t drag you into my
suspicions without more than just my gut feeling.”

"Then you’re saying—”

“I’m saying it could have been an
accident.”

“He didn’t want me to come,” she remarked
dully.

“What?”

“Marc didn’t want me to come to Shangrilonn.”
Her eyes wandered back to his. “It wasn’t an accident that he
accepted my application to work on the Reclamation Project, was
it?”

Hermes shook his head. “He studied your
parents’ work in college, formulating a theory built upon the
foundation they laid—it was just a matter of funding an expedition
to Shangrilonn to launch further research or be accepted by a group
already going.”

“Did you know all of that, about Marc?”

“No,” he replied earnestly. “I’d have never
allowed you to participate if I’d have so much as a glimmer about
his interest in you. His real research was hidden in theories about
the Archetypum, he never mentioned the Wellspring—the paranoid
asshole. Clever of him, actually.”

“I think I’m going to throw up,” she told
him.

“No, you’re not.”

“Can we just go home and forget all of
this?”

“I wish we could, but it isn’t safe. Now that
the Tahain Grotto knows Marc’s involved they’ll be coming to
Shangrilonn looking for you. The source mining camp is a long way
from here and this camp is in the middle of a spell-blind, so we
aren’t going to be easily tracked. Lie down, honey.” He guided her
to lie back on the cot. “Get some rest. We’ll be heading into the
jungle in less than two hours.”

“You mean we’re actually going to look for
the Archetypum?”

“Marc is not only convinced they exist, he
thinks your parents found them, and that they were killed to
prevent them from bringing back whatever information they learned.”
Hermes gently stroked her hand. “Sleep. You can think through all
of this later. It’s going to be a long walk, you’ll have plenty of
time.”

"Can’t sleep. . . .” she drowsily argued even
as she felt a sudden surge of sleepiness was over her, but she
couldn’t accuse Hermes of casting a sleeping spell because she was
already closing her eyes and drifting away. She wondered if she
would dream again, and wondered of whom she’d dream. Marc? She
didn’t think so, but something nagged at the back of her mind. Had
she already dreamed about Marc? If she had, what had it been about?
She couldn’t remember, and then it didn’t matter as soft darkness
closed around her thoughts and she slept.

***

Less than two hours later, Yule stood with
the members of Marc’s expedition while he briefly explained the
route they’d be taking. The jungle drowned in teal, submarine
shadows as they entered. It was suffused, too, in the mildly
nauseating miasma of decades-deep decaying plant matter made
thicker, but less sickening by the heady fragrance of exotic
blooms. Somewhere close a pair of invisible parrots argued about
some avian matter with gravelly voices. Higher up in the canopy
floated the melodious discourse of smaller birds, and from a
distance not so great that their group missed its observation, a
monkey heckled them vociferously for their trespass.

They walked in single file, the spell-caster
in the lead using magic to harmlessly bend back branches and vines
from their path while the film buffs among them joked at the odd
sense of feeling as if they’d taken a wrong turn onto a vintage
Tarzan set. Yule would have felt more comfortable if she had a gun
or even a machete, but the spell-casters were unconcerned with any
dangers the jungle might present. They all had enough power at
their command to repel or destroy any animal threat. Yule didn’t
have that luxury of self-confidence, she had to depend on their
power, and knowing Brenna was as aware of this as was she made her
resent that protection.

The jungle and its overwhelming bounty of
life overwhelmed and humbled them and for more than an hour not a
word passed between them. Yule supposed those adept at telepathy
could have held lengthy conversations without her knowing, but she
didn’t think they were. The path took a gradual and steeper upward
direction and a large creek joined their trek, rushing loudly in
the opposite direction. Eventually they had to part company with it
because its banks no longer held it back entirely, branches
threading out like creeper vines around strange trees that grew up
from roots holding them aloft like multiple legs. Ferns filled the
open spaces, some drooping like green ostrich plumes, some fanning
toward the sky like emerald peacock displays.

Palm and tulip trees surrendered to the
spider trees (as Yule thought of them, having no idea what they
were actually called), and with them went the aquamarine light. The
spider trees were bare of lower branches, slippery smooth and sleek
like a well groomed model’s leg, all the way up until the very top
where they seemed to explode with massive sea green afros. While
enough olive drab light trickled through to grant the occasional
fern or flowering shrub existence, the jungle floor was startlingly
bare and open now and it was impossible to ignore the cathedral
like atmosphere pervasive in the gloom among the thick columns of
towering trees. Living things moved above the canopy, they could
hear the birdcalls and monkey screeches, but they seemed to
experience these things at an impenetrable distance.

Now and then they came across a fallen giant
resting against its family members, draped with heavy moss,
creating lofty overpasses under which they cautiously passed,
silently wondering if today was the day they continued their
journey to the jungle floor. But they remained aloft and seemed
sturdy enough, especially when they rounded one particularly
massive spider tree trunk and surprised a large spotted cat taking
a stroll down one of these overpasses. Yule immediately imagined a
leopard leaping onto them, but the cat was the wrong size, too big,
and the spots were the wrong shape and size. Not a leopard or a
jaguar, she decided, peering around Hermes who’d immediately taken
a protective stance between her and the cat. The big cat ignored
them for the most part, barely glancing their way as it finished
its course to the ground then vanished around the long roots of a
spider tree, but not before Yule spotted a thin gold chain around
its neck from which was suspended a medallion or charm, she
couldn’t tell. There was the brief glint of gold then cat and
mysterious necklace were gone. She described what she’d seen to the
others with an attitude that changed from excited to defensive as
the others appraised her with tolerance.