The Wellspring (7 page)

Her eyes returned to her empty hands, the
quick stab of guilt shocking her lungs into stillness upon
recognizing the fact in his observation. The reality behind the
fact pained her. Did Marc suspect the truth? Was he amused by that
knowledge in private? But Marc was too charitable for base
meanness. Maybe he’d be startled, astonished, even disconcerted,
but she didn’t imagine him being cruel. She swallowed her pain and
forced a casual attitude. “You’re correct I suppose,” she admitted
in a subdued voice. “I can’t imagine having the courage to pack off
on the wind with a bunch of people I’d never met, to explore
dangerous, barely charted wilderness.”

“You’re not lacking in courage,” he quickly
contended, casting a surreptitious glance more insightful than it
seemed. “I think a caprice has seized your sense of adventure and
you need to take a little more than a minute to make such an
important commitment. Besides, I need someone capable and
trustworthy to keep track of the Reclamation Project during my
absence.”

She smiled wanly because she understood he
was offering a compliment, but guilt pricked at her conscience. She
was honest enough with herself to imagine she might be less
enthusiastic about the Project once Marc was gone.

***

Hermes wasn’t burdened by guilt. The
announcement of Marc’s impending departure to Shangrilonn was
greeted with unconcealed delight.

“Perfect,” he proclaimed. “his absence will
be just what you need to snap out of this infatuation.”

“I’m not infatuated,” Yule argued. “I’m not
in grade school and he’s not a celebrity or something. What I feel
is—it’s not infatuation.”

“It’s a damn close facsimile,” he debated.
“What you need to realize is that this attraction you feel for Marc
is all one-sided. He’s never going to notice you as long as there’s
a new project or cause to champion.”

“Seriously, I don’t care.” She dropped onto
the bed, on her stomach, and looked at the vanity mirror. “Any good
broadcasts scheduled tonight?”

“Nothing more important than my spell
club.”

“Hermes,” she complained.

“Don’t even start with me,” he interrupted.
“And don’t think I’ll stand for any moping either. If this is how
you’re going to act over a little caprice, how will you behave if
an actual love affair goes awry?”

“Like I’m acting right now,” she mournfully
declared.

“You haven’t had anything like an affair,”
Hermes scolded.

“No, I haven’t, have I? And since he’s
winding away to the ends of the Earth it’s not like I’ll get a
chance!”

“Sweetheart,” Hermes laughed fondly, sitting
beside her and stroking her hair. “You’ll have plenty of chances
for love—and with men who will love you in return, trust me.”

“And I should accept that because you’re the
great and powerful Hermes Cameron, sage and seducer of the world?”
she asked bitterly.

“Only the male portion of the world,” he
corrected her, unaffected by her tone. “And you should believe me
because I love you very much and I want the best for you.”

“Love,” the irritation faded from her voice.
“Do you even know what it means? I don’t think I do.”

“I can’t define it for you, my darling girl.
Even the people who agree on the subject would give you
fundamentally different descriptions.” He combed his fingers
through her hair. “We share emotions with common names, but do we
feel each the same? For instance, do you feel fear in the same way
I do?”

“Being afraid is—being afraid, isn’t it?”

“Is it? Tell me how you feel, physically,
when you’re afraid,” he encouraged.

“I never really thought about it,” she
admitted. “I guess I feel—cold. It’s like I’m suddenly standing in
a deep-freeze, and I’ve been standing in it so long that the cold
has penetrated to my blood and my bones—and I’m alone.”

“For someone who’s never really thought about
it you seem to have a solid opinion on the subject,” he teased.

Yule blushed. “I just thought about a time
when I felt scared and described it,” she confessed.

“That makes sense,” he agreed. “Now tell me
how you feel when you’re in love.”

“You’re being mean again.” Yule bristled.

“No, I’m asking a question. Can’t you answer
it?”

“I can, but I won’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too personal,” she complained.

“Love’s too personal, but fear is public
domain?” he teased.

“It’s just—personal,” she repeated.

“And you can’t describe it?”

“No.”

“Nothing to base it on?”

“No—” she broke off. “No, I’m just not going
to talk about it,” she denied his playful accusation.

“So, you’re not in love with Marc, or you
could tell me how he makes you feel.” Hermes wouldn’t be so easily
dissuaded.

“I could, but it would be incomplete,” she
allowed. “I might be in love with him, but unless he loves me in
return—I don’t know the
complete
feeling.”

“At least you’re still sensible enough to
recognize that,” he observed. “Of course, if Marc Woodmont ever
managed to pull his head out of his—charitable institutions long
enough to realize how truly wonderful you are and avowed his love,
you’d probably collapse out of shock.”

“Don’t be silly.” Yule resisted the impulse
to stick out her tongue at him the considered part of what he said,
turning to him. “Hermes, do you really think I’m wonderful?
No—seriously,” she interrupted when she saw the mischievous glint
in his eyes.

His expression softened and he cupped her
chin in one strong hand. “Most wonderful of all, I swear it.”

There was something in his intense dark eyes
she couldn’t identify, but it made her feel good, important, and
she turned pink as she took his hand and kissed his palm.

“
You’re
wonderful,” she told him. “I
don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d waste your time watching gossip
broadcasts and daydreaming about Marc Woodmont,” the tease returned
to his tone and eyes then he looked past her, to the glowing
crystals that indicated the time. “I’m never going to make my room
and myself equally amazing and meet my impending conquest in
time!”

“I thought you were going to your spell
club?” she accused.

“I am, new member.” He leered
outrageously.

“Awful man,” Yule laughed lightly and gave
him a push. “Go on. You make you amazing and I’ll turn your room
into an impeccable temple of seduction.”

“I promise to dedicate at least one orgasm to
you.” He winked and left the bed.

“Please don’t!” she called after the striking
figure as he left her room. “I’ll never get to sleep if I think
you’ll be thinking of me at some point during your date!”

Hermes leaned into the doorway. “Too sexy?”
he asked seriously.

“Yes, that’s it, too sexy,” she dryly
agreed.

He nodded soberly and ducked out of the
doorway before the pillow she hurled at him smacked the
doorframe.

Barely fifteen minutes later he’d taken to
the wind and Yule busied herself with making Hermes’ bedroom look
romantic, inviting, and wholly masculine. Hermes didn’t care for
scented candles, rose petals, or even subdued lighting, but many of
his conquests appreciated one or two nods to romance. Preparing
Hermes’ room for a torrid tryst the likes of which she would never
experience did nothing to dispel her depression over Marc’s
imminent absence and his clear rejection of her participation in
his newest interest nor did retreating to her room three hours
later when a special chime from her vanity mirror alerted her to
Hermes’ return with the breathtakingly handsome young Viking type
with whom he winded back.

Yule conjured up the gossip spell-cast on her
mirror and flopped dispiritedly onto her bed. There wasn’t much
else for her to do unless she wanted to roam the condo and risk
encountering Hermes and his toned bedmate engaging in athletic
sexual gymnastics somewhere unexpected. She listened to Hermes’
husky chuckle and the young Norse god’s lighter laughter as Hermes
encouraged him to try something Yule felt certain would mostly
benefit Hermes. It was nearly four hours later when Hermes wandered
into her bedroom clad in a pair of black silk sleep boxers and
smelling of shampoo and sandalwood soap. He lounged contentedly on
the empty side of the queen-size bed and smiled at Yule’s curled up
shape under the pile of blankets.

“Are you asleep?” he whispered, voice buttery
soft with satisfaction.

“As if I had a chance to sleep with you and
the son of Odin rearranging furniture,” she groused from under the
bedding. “Is there anything left in one piece out there?”

“You poor bystander,” he empathized. “He’s
stunning, isn’t he? We could’ve carried on for hours more, but he
had to go.”

“Curfew?” Yule ventured.

“Don’t be ridiculous, he has a meeting in the
morning.”

“In the high school principal’s office?” she
didn’t relent.

“Be nice, I think I’m falling in love.” He
fell back on the pillows beside her.

“With all of him or just his huge
personality
?” she inquired demurely.

Hermes laughed, surprised. “What did you just
say?”

“I have no personal knowledge,” she added.
“I’m only quoting you, and you sounded muffled at the time, like
your mouth was full.”

Hermes was still laughing. “Speaking of
mouths! Where is that sass coming from?” He tickled her through the
covers until she writhed and thrashed with helpless giggles.

“Okay, okay! I surrender!” Yule finally
gasped and was immediately captured in a bear hug from behind by
Hermes who snuggled against her. “Hey, get your brawny, woman
hating arms off of me,” she complained affectionately.

"Be a good pillow, you’re soft and
comfortable.”

“You just said I’m fat.”

“Don’t get all body-sensitive on me,” he
scolded sleepily. “You have all the right curves in all the right
places that make most men happy.”

“How would you know what most men, straight
men, get happy about?” she fussed.

“I listen. Go to sleep, I have to get up
early.” Hermes nuzzled her back and closed his eyes, sighing. “I
have a Viking to dream about.”

“If that’s like a pirate dream, don’t tell
me,” she abjured before closing her eyes, smiling.

The melancholy that had settled on Yule like
a miserable fog refused to rise from its perch on her spirits as
the time of her departure for her Retreat approached. The
heliotrope glow of sexual satisfaction to Hermes’ aura merely drew
greater attention to Yule’s gloomy disposition. Hermes always found
a bevy of beautiful, Adonis-like men whom he enchanted and was
worshipped by, time after time. Hermes had years of experience, and
it would be shortsighted to ignore the fact that he possessed an
innate charm and self-assuredness that drew everyone. He was never
without a witty remark, point of interest, or scathing insight; he
was forever at ease in his skin and had been fiercely independent
since he was fifteen and sought and won emancipation; it won him
many answers while presenting him with even more questions he’d
told her. But aside from all of that, Hermes attracted events and
opportunities. If Hermes bumped into a stranger in a dark alley it
would turn out to be a handsome, unattached stud; Yule could walk
down the same alley and be accosted by a spell-snatcher seeking
easy prey and when they were disappointed by Yule’s lack of power
they’d settle for her jewelry and maybe break her arm.
Spell-snatchers, power poachers, and aura wranglers always seemed
to cross Yule’s path, invariably disappointed, and she largely
remained with Hermes for protection against the wrath of their ilk.
That was the extent of the excitement in her life.

The stormy weather seemed to have reached its
seasonal end and a beneficent sun glowed down upon Azul inviting
people out to sidewalk cafes, children to carnivals, and lovers to
blankets and picnic baskets on the beach and in the parks. On the
Friday before she was to leave for her Retreat Yule and her friend,
a voluptuous Asian whose thigh-length black tresses made Yule’s
eyes sparkle with envy whenever she brushed Tamika’s luxurious
hair, reclined beside the condo pool and pretended not to notice
when attractive men approached the water. Tamika produced a small
glass vial of sparkling powder leftover from the last Retreat
they’d gone on, together, a summer gathering.

“You might as well get golden before you go,”
Tamika encouraged. “You’ll make all of those vanilla custard
northern spell-casters jealous.” She used the eyedropper vial
topper to delicately touch a single glistening drop of the fine
dust to the back of Yule’s hand.

“You’re going to Jamuda this year?” inquired
Yule as the potion spread over her hand and up her arm until her
entire body fairly glowed with a golden tropical tan.

Her friend nodded. “It’s going to be a
terrible bore without you,” she insisted, but that didn’t alleviate
the moroseness that tightened the back of Yule’s throat. Tami was
going to Jamuda; Hermes was going to Morrowkesh with his Viking.
Marc told her he was going to Shangrilonn. And she was going to a
pointless Retreat in the desert of Pergypt. The most awful part of
it all was that Marc would be away for an entire year at least—or
longer. It wasn’t fair and she couldn’t stand thinking about it.
Why wouldn’t he let her—

“Yule Fiore?” a raspy voice squawked from a
nearby perch where an enormous red and blue parrot landed. “Yule
Fiore?” it called again and Yule smiled at the messenger imp.

“I’m Yule Fiore,” she told it.

“Call for you on the yellow lobby phone,” it
rasped at her then flew off on another errand.

“Don’t you have your cell on?” asked
Tami.

Yule reached into her oversized blue and
white canvas tote and checked her cell. “It’s on,” she announced as
she rose. “So whoever it is doesn’t have my number.”