Robin Owens - Enchanted Again

“I never knew my father. My mother and aunt died when I was about six, and I was brought up by distant cousins.” Well-paid relatives who hadn’t loved her, not as much as she sensed his uncle and brother loved Rafe.

“Huh. Something we have in common.”

“I guess so,” she said. They stopped at the sidewalk leading up to her house. She gestured with the tube. “I’ll start work on Conrad’s lineage tomorrow. I have another job I need to finish first.” Rafe was looking down at her with intent eyes, as if, for the first time, he was seeing her instead of some gypsy psychic woman taking advantage of his desperate friend.

She wasn’t sure that she liked him looking at her as if he were interested. She should definitely not get too close to this guy and his curse. “Due to the circumstances, I won’t be putting Conrad’s family tree online, unless you notify me that he—or you—want it public to try to garner additional information.” Rafe was still staring at her. “Your family tree is already online and public, but the living are masked except on my pro databases. Do you want me to add information and comments to the public database, or not?”

That query clunked a bit as they stared at each other. Would he still be living in eight months?

He took a step back and his expression became more guarded, his smile casual with a lack of sincerity, a flash of hurt in his eyes. “I’m sure my brother and uncle would appreciate that.” Rafe nodded toward the tube. “Gabe sent that to me.”

She nodded. “And maybe, since Conrad is soon to be out of the country, I could have your contact information? Since you want reports and all. If your brother didn’t provide you with an account name and password for the database, I can do that for you, too.”

He ran his hand through his hair, his smile turned lopsided. “I did bring a tablet computer. I was staying with Conrad. Don’t know that I’ll remain there. He wouldn’t mind, but it’s a cold place.” He shifted his balance, as if uneasy, something she didn’t think he usually did. “I should be windsurfing in Tarifa, not here.”

“Up to you. Think about it and email me or call.” She handed him her card and started up the sidewalk to home. It looked good, a sanctuary from scariness. Death curses, lost children…men who’d been lost children. “I’ll have your first report in about three days. Then we can update weekly. Naturally, the farther back we go, the slower it gets. I’ll let you know if I have to travel on site anywhere.” A quick business smile and she slipped in the door, shut it behind her with a sigh and leaned back against it, closing her eyes.

“You gonna break his curse and die?” Tiro said.

She jumped, clapped a hand to her chest. Talk about scary weirdness.

Tiro said, “You shouldn’t even associate with him. Just going to lead to trouble. I tell you that right now.”

“Where are the puppies? I prefer their greeting.”

“They wanted out,” he said. “Nice pups. You know if you break a big curse while you’re emotionally attached to them, they’ll die, too. Dogs age even faster than humans.”

That made her insides clench and hurt. “I know.” She could feel blood drain from her face as memories of dying pets stabbed her. She glared at Tiro. “I learned that the hard way. It would have been nice to have someone around to let me know such consequences.”

“I thought Tshilaba left journals. She’d worked on them long enough.”

“Journals! Plural? I only have one, and it doesn’t tell me very much.”

Tiro whistled and the back door slammed open and the puppies raced in. For the first time, the morning tilted into balance as she hugged and scratched them. This is what mattered—loving, being loved.

Helping mattered, too, but not at the cost of loving.

“So,” Tiro said. “Can I help you with the chocolate pie?”

“Can you help me with my magic?”

He scowled and shuffled his feet. “I helped in the beginning for the first five women. Didn’t work, no matter how I tried. I’ve a binding to serve you. Can help or not. But you don’t learn, none of you.” He pounded his chest and it was like an echo against rock, then he pointed a four-jointed finger—the brownies all had four-jointed fingers—at her.

“You have a binding, too. Your elf Cumulustre blood gives you magic, but being human limits it. You drain yourself for others. That isn’t healthy. That’s your great lesson. And none of you women have learned it.” He threw up his hands. “Why are you all so stupid?” With a last glower, he disappeared.

Shaken, Amber let the puppies knock her on her rump, accepted doggie kisses. She let emotion storm through her, past regrets…and current fears.

She decided to focus on current hopes. Being around the brownies seemed to have boosted her magic. She would concentrate on her minor magic, the visions of past events as she worked on family trees. She needed to check her ancestress’s journal to see what it said about the solution of a curse given at the same time the original curse was laid. But Amber was sure she’d have remembered that if it had been there.

Curses. Bindings.

They were much alike.

Rafe watched the very-easy-on-the-eyes Ms. Amber Sarga shut her house door firmly behind her.

He turned and looked at the round park in the middle of the circle, finished his drink and noted an empty trash can. He crossed and dropped in his cup. The park smelled nice, like winter passing.

The place had a good mixture of full evergreens and tall, budding deciduous trees. When the bushes leafed out and the flower beds were full of blossoms, the park would be as pretty as any in Denver; the garden as good as any at Conrad’s house.

Not that he would be here to see them. Winter sports were done, and he was looking forward to the summer season—beaches and waves, at least in the Northern Hemisphere.

It had been one odd morning. All the back-and-forth with the gypsy Sarga. The unaccustomed headaches and irritation. Conrad had acted strange even before he’d dumped and abandoned Rafe. He was pretty cool with that, he understood why Conrad ran, but it still left Rafe stranded. He pulled out his phone and called a limo service owned by another mutual friend.

“Brilliant Limousines,” the female dispatcher said in a throaty voice.

“Yes, I need a pickup at Mystic Circle.”

“Mystic Circle?”

“Yeah, you know, in northwest Denver?”

He heard rapid key tapping. “Oh. Yes. Mystic Circle. Where are you going?”

He had to pick up his stuff from Conrad’s, but he sure wouldn’t be staying there. “One hundred South Gilpin.”

More tapping. “Right. Would you like to charge that now?”

“I have an account.” He rarely used it. “Rafe Davail.”

“We’ll have a car there in half an hour.”

“That’s fine.”

“And you’ll be at what house address on Mystic Circle?”

“I’m on the street. It’s a cul-de-sac, find me.”

“Yes, sir.”

He hung up.

Birds warbled in the trees. Someone was baking something that smelled really good. Nice day.

Conrad had been right about the neighborhood. The area was charming. It felt…safe. Rafe shrugged off the word. He hadn’t spent his life feeling safe.

Maybe because he’d never known “safe.” His parents had argued since he could remember, which had made living with them tense as a small child, a fact he’d forgotten until Amber had asked about his upbringing.

Safe. An odd word, and maybe that wasn’t what he was feeling. Maybe it was the simple lack of pressure to do the next competition, to be what acquaintances and the press believed him to be, to… Hell, he didn’t know. He only knew he had a half hour to burn and walking around the cul-de-sac was a good way to do it.