Thoroughly Kissed (31 page)

“We could put you in the car,” Michael said.

“I will scream repeatedly if you do that.”

“Lock you in the bathroom,” Emma said, beginning to like the idea.

“I'll do a play by play of your activity, based on sound effects alone.”

“Oh for heaven's sake,” Michael said, letting his arms drop, “I don't think a bucket of ice water would have been this effective.”

“Then my work here is done.” Darnell lay back down on the smashed coffee table.

Emma looked at Michael. “We could still put him in the car.”

Michael shook his head. “Much as I want you on that bed,” he said, “I think we need to be safe first.”

Darnell glared at them. “Oh, so now he's saying that logic controlled his lust.”

“That's enough, Darnell,” Emma said.

“Not really,” Darnell said. “I've decided I like having a voice. I could tell you tales of my life all the way to Oregon. Imagine the perspectives I have. The miraculous things I've
smelled
would take half the night, not to mention—”

“That's enough!” Emma said.

“Try the reverse spell,” Michael said.

“It's been longer than five minutes.”

“Try it anyway.”

“Voice or no voice, I'll yowl if you decide to continue that cheap Hollywood passion in front of me,” Darnell said.

Emma started reciting the reverse spell.

“You can't quiet me forever. You may take the English away from me, but my brain is my own—meeooow.”

“You did it!” Michael sounded as pleased as she felt. Apparently neither of them could stomach listening to Darnell for the rest of the trip.

“Now we can lock him in the bathroom,” Emma said.

Darnell yowled in protest—or perhaps it was in threat. Emma smiled fondly at him, knowing that this was one case in which she didn't care if he screamed all night.

“I don't think we should,” Michael said softly.

“Of course we should,” Emma said. “I have a hunch he'll be a bigger pain if we leave him out here.”

“No.” Michael kissed her gently. “I want to do this right.”

“I'm sure you will.” She leaned against him. “In fact, I'm trusting that you will. I believe—”

“Emma.” His voice was getting softer. She was beginning to realize that his quiet moments were warnings that she might want to heed. She didn't know what he had to warn her about, though.

He slid his hand in hers and moved his body away from her so that they could see each other's faces. His had a frown creasing his forehead.

She had a hunch she wouldn't like what he had to say.

“I want our first night to be the best night either one of us has ever had,” he said.

“I do, too,” she said. “We can do that here.”

“No,” he said. “We can't. Here we'll hurry, knowing that our time is limited. We'll both be worried that some other evil wizard will interrupt us. Let's get you to Oregon, and then we'll take time for us.”

Her heart twisted. She hadn't realized how important this moment was to her until now. She stared at him for a long moment, trying to think up an argument. For a moment, she thought of pushing him onto the bed. After a few kisses, he might reconsider.

But he had a point. A good point.

“How long do you think it'll take us to get to Oregon?” she asked softly.

He shrugged. “Seventeen, eighteen hours, maybe less. Washington and Montana have pretty high speed limits.”

“We're tired,” she said.

“We could take turns sleeping in the car.” He caressed her cheek. “If we wait until we get there, we have an incentive to get there faster.”

She chuckled. “Yeah, and if we get picked up for speeding, we tell the police officer that we're trying to get to Oregon to consummate our relationship?”

“He'll understand.”

“He'll wonder why we're not stopping under some tree—or at least the next hotel.” Her smile faded. “Michael, I know you're being practical, but—”

“Practical is what we need right now, and you know it. Feo, the shadows, they're just a warning. If what you told me about your wicked stepmother is even half true—”

“She wasn't my stepmother.”

“You know what I mean.”

Emma nodded.

“Then there've got to be others with powers like hers. We can't assume they'll leave us alone. We need to take these warnings seriously. Let's get you safe, and then let's worry about us.”

Emma sighed. “Magic is such a damn inconvenience.”

“I suspect we'll change our minds once you know how to use it.”

“We won't,” Emma said. “As you pointed out, I'm a bona fide heroine. Trouble follows me.”

“Trouble's your job.”

“Then I'd like to quit.”

“You'll change your mind,” Michael said.

“Don't bet on it,” Emma muttered, and went to look for Darnell's cat carrier.

Emma drove the first shift from Billings to Missoula. She stopped for gas in Butte, and Michael woke briefly but he remembered little about it. He had been more tired from the earlier drive than he had thought.

His sleep was restless and fitful, filled with dreams about white horses, ugly cowboys, and shadows that ate cats. He was a bit surprised to find his dreamself frightened for Darnell, and feeling quite protective of the surly old cat. He hadn't realized that Darnell had wormed his way into Michael's affections.

The sun rose between Butte and Missoula. Michael woke up as they headed through the Rockies, the sunlight pouring into the back of the car as if someone were holding a lamp behind them, trying to show them the way.

Emma drove smoothly and surely. It was hard to believe that she hadn't even heard of a car ten years before.

He watched her surreptitiously, not letting her know that he was awake. She was so beautiful and her life was so strange. He had struggled hard to be the brave, sensible one. He had wanted nothing more than to make love to her on that bed in that huge hotel room. But he had meant every word that he had said. He wanted to take his time with her. He wanted their moments together to be the best in their lives.

They had breakfast in a roadside diner in Missoula. They didn't talk much. Emma was so exhausted that there were smoky rings under her eyes. She didn't even ask Michael to drive for her. When they went back to the car, he got in the driver's side, and she tucked herself onto the passenger seat, letting sleep take her immediately.

The drive over the Bitterroots was one of his favorites and he was glad he was awake for it. In the early morning sunshine, everything looked fresh and new. He cracked the window just a little and let the scent of pine flow in. The mountains had a smell all their own, a smell he loved almost as much as the scent of the sea.

In Wallace, Idaho—a small town that still bore its mining roots in its downtown—he saw four homeless people on horseback. They were stopped at the side of the road, talking to a fifth man who was swinging his arms wildly. At his feet were sacks filled with money.

Apparently he had gotten his wish. Had he just figured out then that his horse was a wish? Or did he think the money had dropped from the sky?

Michael almost thought of stopping to talk with him, and then changed his mind. Let them enjoy their own miracle. Every life deserved at least one.

Emma was his miracle. He wasn't sure how she managed to find him, but she had. She had found him, somehow, and her presence had opened him up.

He hadn't realized that there was magic in the world. His life had been structured, his goals simple ones. He hadn't experienced true chaos before, hadn't realized how flexible he could be, and how much fun it could sometimes be. The phantom meal he ate at Emma's restaurant was as solid a memory as the meals he had eaten in Paris—and as impossible to reconstruct. How delightful they had all been.

She had introduced him to other miracles too—the ghostly Sioux on the Little Bighorn Battlefield, Darnell the talking cat, and the little glimpse of medieval Europe. Suddenly the world seemed less restrictive than it had ever seemed before. Not only was there magic, but the magic enhanced his life.

He wasn't sure how he would write about that when it came time to do his book, but he knew he had to. He had always looked at magic backwards. He had thought that the belief that magic existed came because human beings couldn't explain their world so they needed something—magic, strange religions, mysticism—to help them comprehend the incomprehensible.

Instead, he would approach his history of magic study the way he would approach the history of religion. He would accept the beliefs—just as he would accept the beliefs of Buddhists or Jews or Catholics—and then he would write the history from there. It would be a crossover text—one that the New Age stores would buy, and one that historians would use as well. He would document everything—his research had to be solid—but his approach would be new for a scholarly text.

He smiled as he drove through Coeur d'Alene and looked at the spectacular lake, sparkling in the sun. The biggest problem would be writing things he now knew were true—such as the ability to turn a cat into a lion or the fact that magic users lived very long lives—as if they were something unverifiable, and therefore unproven.

As he thought about that, a little shiver ran down his back. He frowned, and glanced at Emma. She was still sound asleep, her dark hair flowing over her like a blanket. Darnell was awake and watching him as if he could hear Michael's thoughts.

Michael shivered again. He hoped that Emma's magic hadn't gone awry. The last thing he wanted was for that cat to read his mind.

But something Michael had thought of had disturbed him, and it had done so on a very deep level. He glanced at Emma again. He'd been thinking about magic. Magic and… long life.

His stomach twisted. Feo had mentioned that, using such derogatory terms. Emma had played along, even though Michael had seen the anger in her eyes. Feo had called Michael insignificant, had called him a toy.

Michael hadn't really focused on the man's words. His manner had been disturbing enough. But he had said something that had angered Michael—and he'd had to set it aside so that Emma could concentrate on Feo.

“I could extend the life of your toy there,” Feo had said. “Make him pretty as long as he lives.”

Extend
the
life… as long as he lives.

Michael would grow old and die, and Emma would look the same as she did now. He would be the first man in her life, true enough, and probably special for that. But he wouldn't be the last, and he probably wouldn't be the one she spent the bulk of her life with. That would be a man of her own kind, a man who would live forever—or however close to it that Emma lived.

She would be the most important thing in Michael's life, and he would only be a footnote in hers.

His hands gripped the wheel tightly. He glanced in the rearview mirror. Darnell had fallen asleep. Emma had stirred slightly, still sleeping as well.

Michael made himself take a deep breath. He had fallen in love with Emma, and she had told him that she cared for him—which was probably as close to an admission of love as he would get from her. She needed to learn how to be close. He was willing to teach her, even knowing the future imbalance in their relationship. Even knowing that she might not be interested in him as he aged and she didn't.

Somehow he had always thought, like everyone else, that magic would make life easier. He was continually surprised that it did not.

***

Emma drove down the familiar streets of Portland. When she had seen the bridges crossing the Willamette, her heart had leaped. She had missed this place more than she wanted to admit. The bridges were lit up against the black sky, their arching shapes familiar and comforting. The lights reflected in the river below, stretching them, blending them into colors that seemed planned, even though they weren't. The city itself was spectacular, and beyond it, despite the darkness, she could see the outlines of the mountains.

She had missed it all more than she had thought she would.

Darnell had climbed into the front seat for the first time on this trip. He was standing between Michael and Emma and had his front paws on the dash, his tail wagging slowly, as if he were hunting prey. But she knew he wasn't. He was wagging his tail happily, but doing it slowly so that no one would think he was practicing doglike behavior.

Michael had one hand on Darnell's belly, bracing him, and Darnell didn't seem to mind. But Michael wasn't watching the cat. He was looking at the city through the passenger side window, seemingly lost in thought.

Emma wondered what he made of Portland, how he felt now that they were so close to their destination. They hadn't said much during the day's meals—one or the other of them had been waking up from fitful naps—and ever since Spokane, Michael had seemed distant.

She wasn't sure if he really was distant or if she was perceiving everything through her exhaustion. Mixed with that exhaustion was a sense of relief. Her life would gain some semblance of order now that she was back in Oregon. Aethelstan would help her learn how to be the mage everyone seemed to think she was.

She took the downtown exit that led to Nora and Aethelstan's loft. The neighborhood was made up of shops and warehouses and lovely old office buildings, all made of brick and stone. The loft was high enough that it had a view of the city and the bridges, but there weren't enough trees or grass for Emma. There was no place in the neighborhood for a garden, and the exhaust fumes from a nearby busy street made most window box plants look sickly.

Darnell's tail went faster and faster as they turned onto the street where he used to live. Michael seemed to withdraw further into himself. She didn't blame him. He probably had no idea what would happen next. Neither did she.

She parked in her favorite on-the-street spot next to the only real tree on the entire block. The loft was several stories up. She hadn't called ahead; she wondered if they would be home. The restaurant kept late hours, and sometimes Aethelstan was there until long past closing, planning his next great dish.

Still, they would be expecting her sometime soon. They knew she was driving. They just didn't know when she would arrive.

She shut off the car, and glanced at Michael. He was still staring out the window as if they hadn't stopped moving. Darnell was in her lap, purring. Apparently, he was happy that the trip was over.

“Well,” she said, “let's see if they're home.”

“Are you sure you want me along?” Michael asked quietly. He hadn't turned to her. He was still staring out the window. She could see tension in his shoulders and back.

“Why wouldn't I want you to come along?” she asked. Darnell sat down and looked at Michael as if he were spoiling the fun.

“These are your old friends. You've come to them for help, and I'd just be in the way.”

She let out a small breath. She hadn't realized that Michael was nervous about this. “You won't be in the way. You're the reason I made it here. You kept me sane and helped me survive. Remember that vision of yours? It could have come true.”

“It was a dream. It might have been nothing more than that.”

She slipped her hand over his. “Come with me, Michael,” she said. “I want you to meet the other people who are important to me in this world.”

He turned to her then. With his other hand, he caressed her face. His fingers were cool against her skin. “Funny,” he said softly, “I'm the one who made us drive this last part nonstop, and I'm the one who doesn't want the trip to end.”

“I'm sorry the drive's over too.” Then she smiled. “But we had incentive to get here, remember? And it had nothing to do with magic.”

He smiled too. “Do you think your friends will take care of Darnell?”

“All we have to do is ask.” She kissed his hand, then reached for the car door. “Ready?”

He nodded. “The official end of the road. A few days ago, I wondered if we'd make it.”

“A week ago, you thought I was crazy for suggesting it.”

“I've learned a lot since then,” he said.

“Me too,” she said, feeling surprised. “Me too.”

***

Michael carried Darnell inside the building, holding the cat in front of him like a shield. Emma led the way as if she had been here a thousand times—which she probably had. Darnell got squirmy once they were inside the elevator.

“You can put him down,” she said. “He used to live here. He knows the way.”

So Michael set down Darnell and felt strangely unprotected. He was tired, more tired than he cared to admit. He didn't want to meet these people wearing rumpled clothes and having brushed his teeth in restaurant bathrooms. They were important to Emma; he wanted to impress them.

Fat chance of that.

Darnell stood in front of the doors, waiting for the elevator to stop. Emma leaned against the wall, watching the floor numbers tick by. Michael wanted to touch her, but he wasn't sure if he could any longer. Even though she had reassured him, his status was about to change, and he knew it.

The elevator doors opened, and Darnell was the first one out, trotting down the corridor as if he owned the place. And, being a cat (and an extremely self-possessed one at that) he probably thought he did.

Emma slipped her hand in Michael's. Then she smiled at him. “We're together,” she said.

He nodded. He squeezed her hand in what he hoped felt like reassurance, and then he walked at her side to the big steel door at the end of the corridor. Emma knocked on it. Darnell stood in front of it, tail wagging.

Michael heard footsteps, a pause as someone looked through the peephole, and then bolts slid back and the door opened.

Casper, the Ghost of Christmas Present, stepped out. He looked different than he had in Michael's dream; he was wearing a white linen suit, spats, and a fedora. He looked a little like a pug dog attempting to imitate James Cagney.

“Merlin,” Emma said and crouched so that she could hug him. He patted her back, looking vaguely embarrassed, then slipped out of her grasp.

“So you took my advice,” he said to Michael.

“It seemed like the right decision at the time,” Michael said.

“And now?”

“And now I know it was.”

Emma stood and smiled at Michael.

“Well, I can't stay,” Casper said. “Got some things to do at the restaurant. Hi ho!”

And then he walked to the elevator, whistling “Whistle While You Work.”

“Hi ho?” Emma asked Michael.

“That first night, I insulted him. Guess this means he forgives me.”

“What did you do?” A new voice asked. “Compare him to Sneezy?”