The Wellspring (5 page)

Unfamiliar with what felt like flirtation,
Yule was relatively certain her cheeks grew pink. “I don’t think
that was his reasoning at all,” she protested. “We chose our own
projects, you see, and I picked you.”

“I am flattered,” he responded with tone and
expression that made Yule suddenly find her wine glass
excruciatingly interesting.

“I want you to know how much I appreciate the
opportunity you gave me, to speak to you about the Project,
especially since we began so awkwardly.”

“Extremely awkwardly,” Prosser agreed.

Yule smiled, feeling an unanticipated
sensation of relaxation steal through her body and mind. Everything
about the evening was unanticipated, she drowsily mused, beginning
with waking in the Jaguar.

“Yes, please, I think I would,” she accepted,
feeling a wave of giddiness wash over her. She imagined the
amazement on their faces when she told the others about this
evening, Brenna’s infuriated pout and Marc’s enthusiastic
gratitude.

“Perhaps you’ve had enough,” he joked as he
stood and crossed to the bar cart. “You seem quite lighthearted
already.”

Yule tried unsuccessfully to dim the glow on
her face. “Sorry, it’s just this—impression I got. You’re going to
endorse the Project, aren’t you?”

“That sounded suspiciously rhetorical,” he
kidded, returning with an open bottle of wine. “I haven’t promised
anything,” he reminded her, pouring them each another glass.

“If there’s something I’ve neglected to
properly explain I’m sure Marc would enjoy meeting with you. He’s
far better with the facts and figures now that you’re—”

“She broke off, worried she might have seemed
presumptuous, when he wryly added: “Now that I’m going to endorse
the Project?”

She swallowed hard. “Yes?” Then recklessly
plunged on. “You have no idea how much it would mean to us if you
supported the Project! Not monetarily, but with a personal
endorsement. Even a handful of positive words from you would make a
significant impact on the opinion of the magic workers’
community.”

“You might overestimate my influence,” he
cautioned her.

“No, I haven’t! Everyone listens to you!” she
declared passionately.

“Have you considered the pros and cons of the
Project as it relates to the land owners where these Groves stand?
Don’t they deserve to make the most of their property?”

“A developer isn’t interested in giving those
owners the most for their property, just enough to make it
difficult or impossible for private parties to compete.”

“Developers who want to build apartments,
shopping malls, schools, and so on?”

“Yes.”

“So you would begrudge people places to live,
shop, and be educated?”

“I—I didn’t mean, “ she stammered, taken
aback by his gentle accusation after he’d seemed supportive. “Of
course people need all of those things, but why must we sacrifice
our Groves?”

“A fair point, and the one I’m willing to
make—are you?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Why must anyone lose anything? Why can’t the
owners sell their land, the developers build their neighborhoods,
and the magic workers keep their Groves?”

“But how can everyone get what they want when
we want different things?”

“Through trust and cooperation,” he
explained. “The developers need only make one small
concession—leave the Groves standing, build around them.”

“Around?” Yule echoed, dismayed. “But that
would mean normal humans would be walking in and around them!”

“Developers aren’t the only ones who’d have
to make concessions,” Prosser gently reminded her. “These are
inactive Groves with little or no power. They stand as memorials,
but they can stand in a courtyard as well as a field.”

“But our heritage put on display for
normals
to gape at? It’s not—proper,” Yule couldn’t help
feeling insulted by the idea.

“The Groves would not be active ones, and
they could serve as living monuments and reminders of magic workers
to the normal humans,” he spoke persuasively.

“I can’t help feeling—strange about it,” she
admitted.

“We’re a secretive lot, but there is nothing
these trees will reveal. They will only remind,” he gently
persisted. When she still looked doubtful he added. “If I can’t
even convince you, maybe I’m not the spokesman you need for this
Project,” he observed.

“Oh, please don’t think that!” she exclaimed
with dismay. Trust her big mouth to discourage the very person she
set out to convince to help them. Hermes was forever cautioning
her—Hermes! He hadn’t a clue where she was and must surely be
frantic by now.

Yule glance at a stylized crystal shell-clock
that displayed the time in soft pink shades deep inside its curve
and sprang from the couch. “I completely lost track of the time!
May I use the phone? I need to call Hermes. He probably
thinks—”

“You’ve been kidnapped?” Prosser interrupted
mischievously the nodded at the room phone. “Go ahead, it will
work.”

Prosser was thoughtfully sipping his wine,
expression reflective, when she came back to the couch having
soothed and assuaged the vivid worst case imaginings of a nearly
frantic Hermes. He wasn’t much more relieved when she explained how
she’d convinced Prosser to listen to her pitch for the
Project—though she left out the strange circumstance of waking in
the back seat of his car with no memory of how she got there.

Information like that would trigger his white
knight reflex and he’d wind his way to her side to defend her.
Still, he finally deferred to her insistence that she was fine and
only rang off when she agreed to call him for a wind home when she
was finished.

She quietly resumed her place on the couch,
retrieved her wine glass and contemplated Prosser’s expression. In
the relatively short time since her frightening, awkward
introduction to him, Prosser had gone from inaccessible celebrity,
to object of ire, to potential ally. Gooseflesh rose on her skin
when she considered what might have happened if either one of them
had involved the authorities; but would he lend the assistance for
which she asked?

He noticed her inspection of him. “I’m not in
the habit of dismissing a good cause out-of-hand, and this does
strike me as a good and worthwhile cause.”

Yule swallowed and tried not to look like she
was waiting for the other shoe to drop, which she was.

“It’s just that you happen to bring this to
me at an inopportune time,” he went on apologetically. “My
executive assistant is taking some personal time and I have a
rather serious matter to attend on Atlantis.”

“Atlantis,” Yule repeated with a tone of
combined reverence and subdued excitement. The name of their native
island-country evoked a flood of longing and envy in her. Only the
strongest magic workers visited or lived there, to avoid polluting
the strength and purity of the first and last bastion of Foundation
magic. It was her ancestral home, but she was forever banned. “I
completely understand, but maybe when you return and you have some
spare time? I mean—if you’re interested, if you have some empathy
for the Project?”

His eyes twinkled while his expression
remained stoic. “Miss Fiore, are you attempting to beguile me?” His
expression softened with amusement when her finely made lips formed
an O of surprise. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t tease. Listen, I’ll think
about it while I’m in Atlantis and when I return I’ll see about
arranging a meeting with your Mr. Woodmont.”

“Thank you.” She smiled politely. This
concession was better than outright refusal. “Marc will be so
pleased to hear from you and gratified,” she added. “I’ve been
terribly distracted as I’m going away for a while and I hate to
leave things at loose ends.”

The ghost of a smile curved Prosser’s lips as
he became at ease with the conversation. “A vacation perhaps? Are
you winding to some barely travelled destination?”

“Nothing so exotic,” she replied
apologetically. “It’s just my annual Retreat and they’re never in
places like Rio or Monte Carlo. I suppose they think we can’t focus
on practice spells or meditate with our toes in the sand, but I’d
like to try.”

“I’ve entertained much the same idea about my
work,” he agreed.

Yule made no additional comment, none was
particularly invited. The quiet that ensued served to focus her
observations on the differences between them. He was unlike any man
she’d previously known or been employed by. Not that she found that
observation surprising. After all, he was a best selling author, a
celebrity, and a Magus. Compared to her, he might as well be a life
form from another planet.

Frankly, since he was old enough to have been
a child when the Merge occurred and the dimension of magic resumed
its place in the mundane world, he really was from another planet.
That otherworld Earth of magic workers, though it developed along
similar paths as the world stripped of its magic, had still been a
separate world.

In that moment of silence Yule longed to
possess Hermes’ effervescent personality and contagious good humor.
He had the innate ability to blend effortlessly into any crowd or
conversation, charming all who crossed his path. It wasn’t magic,
it was just Hermes. She couldn’t help feeling jealous, but it was
affectionate in nature. If only she could borrow his social—

“—and you’re certain you can’t think of
anyone more qualified or better visually suited to speak on behalf
of the Project?”

Yule wrested her brain from its musings. “I
don’t think I caught the last—”

“Because you were thinking about something
else and not paying attention to me,” he observed dryly, smiling
when her cheeks pinked. “Don’t worry, you’re not the first. I’ve
seen that distracted look before, on competitors for the title of
Magus. You see how well that worked for them.”

Yule looked down. “I didn’t mean any
rudeness,” she apologized. “Would you mind repeating what you
said?”

“I was merely posing the question—are you
quite sure I’m the best choice to be a spokesman for the
Project?”

“Oh, quite sure,” she eagerly confirmed. “I
considered several other candidates before choosing you.”

“I’m gratified to know I wasn’t your first
choice,” he put in stoically.

Yule’s dark eyes snapped wide. “That isn’t
what I meant! You’re respected in all circles, and a compelling
speaker,” she spoke earnestly.

“And we return to the beguiling,” he
teased.

Yule refused to be embarrassed this time. “Is
it working?” She was rewarded with a laugh.

“It may well be,” he admitted. He glanced at
the shell-clock. “You’ll have to forgive me, but I have dome
business to attend. May I wind you home?”

“That’s kind of you—”

“Nonsense,” he interrupted, rising and
guiding her to do the same. “I brought you here, it’s only good
manners that I should return you.”

“Well, since you put it that way,” she
capitulated. “Thank you—for everything.”

“Everything?”

And the last thing of Magus Prosser Teomond
she registered before he winded her away was a teasing, distinctly
Cheshire Cat-like smile.

“And I’ve been protecting you?” Hermes
exclaimed over fruit cups, croissants, and cinnamon tea the
following morning after he heard Yule’s tale of the night’s events.
“I should post warnings to men to lock their car doors or be
prepared to be spellbound by you.” He pointed a stick of cinnamon
at her. “Have you been practicing inducement spells?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Yule fenced aside his
cinnamon stick with one of hers. “And I really don’t know how I got
into the back of his car.”

"Really?”

“Truly,” Yule insisted.

“Hm.” Hermes mused upon that as he sipped his
aromatic tea.

“I thought he was gong to have me arrested as
a mad stalker or something,” Yule enthusiastically reported. “But I
don’t mind any of it as long as it all pans out, and I really think
he’s interested—”

“Not the Project,” interrupted Hermes with an
impatient wave of a croissant. “I want to know all about Prosser
the man.”

“But I’ve told you everything that
happened.”

“I don’t care about all of the political line
dancing you two did. Get me to the hoedown,” Hermes leered
wickedly, “and tell me what you thought about him. Were there any
obvious bulges?”

“You’re a bad man.” Yule scolded
affectionately, slowly realizing that she’d scored points in her
friend’s status game. While not a unique experience it remained a
singularly satisfying one. Hermes rarely queried deeply into her
activities while she envied his so turnabout was gratifying on
these rare occasions. “He’s all right, I suppose,” she reflected
after a moment. “He’s a little too serious, intense, like in his
spell-casts, but more—”

“Charismatic?” proposed Hermes.

“That’s it, exactly,” Yule agreed, wondering
why she hadn’t thought of it herself because it epitomized him
perfectly. “And I’m sorry, but I didn’t seem to inspire him to
bulge in any way.”

“Good, maybe he’s gay,” Hermes postulated.
Yule didn’t know about that, she simply didn’t have the sort of
looks that made men bulge merely upon meeting her. “You mustn’t go
off on such adventures without at least leaving me a message,” he
pleasantly admonished. “Especially when it involves spell-casters
or men on my must meet list.”

“How do you spell that?” she asked coyly.

“Dirty girl,” he scolded, grinning.

“Too much time in your company,” she
defended.

“That’s a convenient story,” Hermes didn’t
exactly deny the accusation. “How did you escape his brawny
clutches?”

“I hardly had to escape,” she told him. “He
sent me home and was a complete gentleman about it.”

“So he must be gay or boring.”

“He isn’t boring!” Yule defended. “I’ve
already told you he was charming, once we stopped being angry and
suspicious of each other.”