Utterly Charming (13 page)

“Will I make you rich, then?” Emma asked.

“I doubt it,” Nora said.

“I do not understand, then, why you would like me to hire you.”

Nora put her hand on Emma’s shoulder. It was rigid. The stress that she wasn’t showing was evident in her body.

“You’re going to need help,” Nora said. “Whether it’s me or Sancho or Blackstone, someone is going to have to take care of you while you learn about the world you’re in. First of all, hiring me makes the choice yours. You are taking your first action on your own, as an adult in this century, not the century into which you were born. Secondly, by hiring me, you give me the ability to defend you in ways that I don’t have as your friend or the person you’re staying with or as someone you know. I’m a defender, a knight, for lack of a better term. I will be able to handle the intricacies of this century while you’re learning them.”

“But you cannot protect me from Ealhswith.”

“Yes, I can,” Nora said.

“You have no magic.”

“There are other ways to protect you from Ealhswith. We just have to find them. I’m sure, if we need magical protection, that Blackstone will help.”

Emma turned away from Nora. “I am not sure if I want his help. He is part of what happened to me. He let me sleep for a thousand years.”

“I know,” Nora said. “But he says he loves you.” Although he never did say that, at least, not in so many words.

Emma shook her head. “And you, you know him. How can I trust you?”

“I haven’t seen him for ten years,” Nora said. “I know him because his friend hired me. That’s all.”

Emma looked out the window. She seemed forlorn.

“If you don’t like my work,” Nora said, “you can fire me.”

Emma put a hand against the glass. She did not say anything.

“If you want,” Nora said, “I can find you another lawyer, someone else who will help you. It’ll take time. In my world, people do not believe in magic or curses or spells that last a thousand years.”

Emma turned her head. Her eyes were sharp, flashing with anger. “Then why do you?”

“Because I saw it in action. I tend not to deny the things I see.”

“But others do.”

Nora nodded.

“Someone of your acquaintance saw the same thing and has denied it.”

“Yes,” Nora said. “We would have to find someone else with a more open mind than that.”

Emma closed her eyes. Her face was drawn, pale, paler than it had been when Nora found her. The girl needed care, not decision making. She needed help, whether she realized it or not.

Something crashed in the living room. Nora turned to see Squidgy bolt across the room, Darnell behind. Darnell turned, ran toward the window, and tried to stop when he saw Emma. His little black cat legs pinwheeled, and then he managed to regain his feet only to find himself sliding into the wall.

Emma knelt and caught him. Darnell looked at her with his large yellow eyes. Nora knew the look. It was Darnell sizing her up. Then he leaned his big black head on Emma’s shoulder and started to purr.

Nora had never seen the cat go from panic to purr that fast. She looked at the coffee table. Her tea set was all over the floor. She wondered how much of it was broken. Halfway across the living room was a half-eaten piece of bread, the prize apparently that Squidgy had been going for. That cat liked anything made from dough.

“You did not tell me that cats lived with you,” Emma said, running a hand along Darnell’s side.

“Actually,” Nora said, sighing, “I think I live with them.”

Emma smiled. “You protect them. This one is very soft.”

“They’re not allowed outside. It’s too dangerous for them here.”

“Cats are—were not considered pets in my world. To keep them was to be considered a witch.” Emma studied her over Darnell’s back. “Perhaps you do not know of your powers.”

“I’m not fifty yet,” Nora said.

“No,” Emma said. “Cats like you. Perhaps they know.”

Nora shook her head. “If that were true, then over half the pet-owning families in America have witches.”

“You sound as if that were unusual. It is not.”

“You don’t know how many people there are in America.” Nora smiled and petted Darnell. He purred louder.

Emma raised her chin slightly. “I will hire you, Nora Barr. But you will keep me apprised of the debt I am accruing. If I do not like what you are doing, then I will ask you to find me another defender. Is that agreeable to you?”

“Yes,” Nora said.

“Good,” Emma said. She hoisted Darnell on her shoulder. The cat was like a limp rag. “Now let us see what kind of damage the cats have done to your dishes.”

She walked toward the living room, Darnell bouncing along as if he belonged cradled against her. Nora watched her go. This girl was not a girl, but a strong woman in a difficult situation. Nora wasn’t quite sure what she had gotten herself into, but she had a hunch it was like nothing she had ever done before.

Blackstone stepped out of the apartment building into the full force of Portland’s July heat. His fists were clenched and his muscles were tight.

Something had gone very wrong inside that building. He still wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but he knew that because of the events of the morning, his entire life had changed.

He had expected—he had hoped—to see Emma, and when she and Nora left the stairs, everything had happened just as he’d planned. Well, almost. Emma had run into his arms, and she had felt so warm, so soft, and he had realized how much he missed her.

But he hadn’t expected the look of hurt surprise on Nora’s face.

Nora. He shook his head. She had messed everything up. Nora had kicked him out of the loft, and Emma had let her. He was officially uninvited, just like Ealhswith, and that wasn’t good. Neither Emma nor Nora had magic, and even if they did, they wouldn’t know how to combat all those years of experience—nasty experience—that Ealhswith had.

He shook his shoulders and made himself relax his fists. He took a deep breath. A woman passed him, clutching her purse to her side. She smiled at him. He didn’t smile back.

Maybe he should go back up to the loft and get Emma out of there. He’d take her to his place and give her the information spell whether she wanted it or not.

But that wouldn’t do any good. He had forgotten how stubborn Emma could be. He had forgotten many things about her, including her temper, which he’d seen flash in her eyes just a few moments ago.

And she had every right to be mad at him. He was just beginning to realize what it meant to be in her shoes. He had thought he would give her that last magic spell, and life would go on as it had before. He hadn’t really thought what the loss of all those years would mean to her.

Nor had he realized, until she turned those angry eyes on him, what he had done. In protecting Emma from Ealhswith, he had harmed Emma, and he hadn’t meant to.

Blackstone sighed and crossed the sidewalk toward his car. The 1974 Lincoln was in storage—it was too distinct a car for a man in his position. Instead he drove a glimmering black Porsche that made him feel as if he had to fold himself into thirds every time he got inside of it.

He wasn’t sure what Emma would think of this. He wasn’t sure about Emma at all. He kept looking to Nora for guidance—she had such wisdom for someone who’d only been on the earth thirty some years—but she was angry at him too. And justifiably.

He ran a hand through his hair. He wasn’t sure how to make this right, and he had to make things right. The Fates had told him Emma was his soul mate. And when he first saw her, with her lovely black hair and beautiful skin, he had believed them. He had believed them even though Emma had been living with Ealhswith. He had thought that he would rescue Emma, that he would teach her magic, and that together they would spend eternity in perfect harmony.

Over the centuries he had forgotten so much about her. Everything, it seemed, except that she had been fun to kiss—until she had passed out and nearly died.

He reached the door of the Porsche and pulled it open. Hot air streamed out, and he sighed again. He walked back to the sidewalk and opened the passenger side. What had he been thinking when he bought this thing? A black car always absorbed the heat. He would wait a few minutes before folding himself inside and then trying to find the switch for the air-conditioning.

While he waited, he gazed back up at the windows of Nora’s loft. If anyone without magical powers could defend Emma against Ealhswith, Nora could. She had shown such fire, such spark. And that intelligence of hers intrigued him more than he wanted to admit. He even liked the sharpness of her tongue. It was a wonderful contrast to that petite beauty, which made her look so vulnerable at first glance.

She was anything but vulnerable. She was tough and smart and confident. In his very long life, he had never met a woman like her.

In fact, the feeling he got when he looked at her—well, he would have thought that was what it felt like to gaze on your soul mate. Of course he was wrong. The Fates had told him a millennium ago that Emma was his soul mate. Apparently feeling had nothing to do with it. Having a soul mate was an assignment like everything else.

Magic was not as simple as mortals believed.

He crumpled himself into the driver’s side of the Porsche, leaned across the stick, and pulled the passenger’s door closed. Then he started the car, pressed the clutch, put the car in first, and pulled out, letting the engine roar. Nora had to hear that. She had to know that he wasn’t happy. And he wasn’t. He had expected to take Emma home with him. He had imagined laughing in Ealhswith’s face. He had imagined a happily ever after.

Instead his soul mate was staying with a woman he couldn’t get out of his mind, and they were both being threatened by a creature who made the Wicked Witch of the West look like she needed wickedness lessons.

Nora had made it clear that he was uninvited, but he couldn’t accept that. He had to get her to change her mind somehow. Surely after a few hours with Emma it would become clear to Nora that she was in over her head. After a few hours, she would be ready to let Blackstone take Emma off her hands.

He would see Nora at the office. By then, she would have changed her mind.

By then, he would know how to fix all that he had done wrong.

***

“The cover story is this,” Nora said after she and Emma had cleaned up the spilled tea, found the other cat, and had a rather lengthy and too technically accurate discussion of how the sink worked. They had also discovered that Emma wore the same size clothing as Nora and managed to squeeze her into some jeans and a loose blouse. It did make her look a bit more modern.

Thank heavens.

“Cover story?” Emma asked. She was standing beside the sink, one hand on the metal basin, the other toying with the faucet. She would turn it on, put her fingers beneath the water, and then turn it off. Nora didn’t want to think about how Emma would react when Nora showed her the shower.

Nora had just finished using the phone. Emma had clearly thought that odd but hadn’t said anything. Which was good. Nora was getting tired of explaining things. The argument they had had over the toilet made her lose some of her enthusiasm for the job.

“Cover story,” Nora said. “We have to have some kind of tale to tell other people about you.”

“Would it not be simpler to tell the truth?” Emma asked.

“No,” Nora said.

“I do not understand why. Truth is always best,” Emma said.

“You haven’t met my mother,” Nora muttered.

“I do not see why I have to,” Emma said. She turned the faucet to hot, and before Nora could stop her, stuck her fingers in it. Emma screeched, then pulled her fingers back and shoved them in her mouth. The water pouring into the sink was steaming.

“Now do you see why you can’t be alone? I’ve already explained the sink, and you’ve burned yourself anyway.” Nora took Emma’s hand out of her mouth and examined the reddened fingers. “No blistering, but let’s ice it just in case.”

She opened the refrigerator and pulled some ice cubes from the ice maker. Frost spilled out around her.

“It is winter in there.”

“Yes,” Nora said. She wrapped the ice in a washcloth and then wrapped the cloth around Emma’s fingers. “This should take some of the pain away.”

Emma stood there like an obedient child. “You do not seem to like your mother. Why would you leave me with her?”

“She’s the only person I know who doesn’t work during the day.” Nora closed the refrigerator door and shut off the faucet. “Besides, she’s the only person I know who would probably scare Ealhswith.”

“Then I do not want to be alone with her.”

“Relax,” Nora said. “Mother genuinely likes people, and most people like her. It’s magic she’s not fond of.”

“This is why we need a ‘cover’ story?”

“Partly,” Nora said. “But we also need it for others as well.”

“What would this ‘cover’ story be?”

Nora had been thinking about that since she decided to call her mother. “We’ll tell them that you’ve lost your memory. All of it. Down to the simplest things, like how to work a sink.”

“She will believe this?”

“Yes,” Nora said.

“More than the truth?” Emma asked.

“Absolutely,” Nora said. “People will believe that you’ve lost your memory a lot easier than they will believe that you were in a magically induced coma for a thousand years.”

“But—”

“Don’t argue, please,” Nora said. “Just go with it.” She was feeling impatient. She needed to get to her office to establish Emma as a client and start forging Emma’s identity. She wasn’t sure how she would do that one without breaking a few laws herself; after all, Emma had been born more than a thousand years before. Birth records would be rather difficult to obtain.

Nora glanced at the kitchen clock. Her mother had said she would be right over. But her mother was never quick about anything. And Nora had made the mistake of telling her to pick up some lunch on the way. It could take even longer.

“Since you don’t want to sleep,” Nora said, “I suspect it’s time to educate you on the one thing that might help you learn more about this century. Kind of.” She started toward the television, then stopped. How do you explain television to a person who had never experienced radio, or movies, or probably books?

Emma followed her, and as she did, Nora realized that one thing was missing, the very thing she would need to forge Emma’s new identity. Nora shook her head. Her mind was jumping everywhere, a sure sign that she was overwhelmed.

“Emma, do you have a last name?”

“Is it necessary to know to learn this thing?” Emma asked as she came closer.

“No,” Nora said. “I need it for my work.”

“A last name?” she asked.

“You know, like Aethelstan Blackstone.”

“He did not have the second name when I knew him.”

“What was his name then?”

“Aethelstan, son of Elwin.”

Nora put a hand on the top of the television. “Your village was small, wasn’t it?”

Emma nodded.

“How were you known?”

“Emma, daughter of Ian.”

“Ian? That’s it?”

“Do you need more?”

Nora sighed again. She did. “You’re going to need more of a designation than that. Obviously Blackstone chose two words that fit together. You want to do that?”

To her surprise, Emma’s eyes filled with tears.

“Emma?”

“I am lost,” she whispered. “That is what you must call me. Emma the Lost.”

“It’s not usual—”

“I do not care,” Emma said. “You asked me to chose.”

Nora nodded. “So I did.” She took a deep breath. “We no longer call ourselves using articles, like ‘the.’ So we will simply call you Emma Lost. Is that all right?”

Emma nodded.

Then Nora grabbed the remote. “Okay. Let me explain—”

The doorbell chimed. Emma crouched, hands over her ears. Nora grabbed her and pulled her up. “That’s what our door knocker sounds like.”

“Oh,” Emma said.

Nora helped her to the sofa then went up the stairs to the door. As she pulled it open, her mother swept in, carrying two bags that smelled of kung pao chicken, sesame beef, and something made with curry.

“I thought you’d leave me out there forever,” her mother said as she headed toward the kitchen. She was wearing a summer dress that flowed around her like a scarf and accented her hair which was, at present, a bronze blonde not found in nature. “I stopped at Chen’s, and you wouldn’t believe the crowd. Fortunately they knew me and—”

“Mother,” Nora said.

“—of course I had to wait for almond cookies, so I took fortune cookies instead—”

“Mother.”

“—and they weren’t going to give me steamed rice, so I had to call Mr. Chen up front. Or is that his name? I never know. Anyway—”

“Mother!” Nora said.

“Nora, dear, you don’t have to be so sharp.” Her mother’s face peered around the cabinets. “Oh, is this your friend? I didn’t see her. Hello. I’m Amanda Lowenstein, Nora’s mother.”

Emma had her mouth open slightly but didn’t say anything. Then she blinked and said to Nora, “You do not have the same final name.”

“No,” Nora said. “Mother’s name comes from her third husband.”

“Fourth, dear,” Amanda said.

“This is Emma Lost, Mother,” Nora said.

“Lust? What kind of name is that? Lust?”

“Lost. As in found.”

“Oh,” Amanda said. “It’s still a strange name.” She disappeared back into the kitchen. Emma grabbed Nora’s hand.

“You are not leaving me with her?”

“Only for a few hours.”

“I would like to come with you.”

“That would be harder.”

“For you perhaps,” Emma said.

“Actually, believe it or not, it’ll be harder for you. She’s overbearing, but she has no magic. Remember that. And if you can’t stand being around her anymore, excuse yourself and go to the room where you changed clothes. That’s your room. She won’t go in there.”

“Do you promise?”

“Yes,” Nora said. She squeezed Emma’s hand and then went into the kitchen. Amanda had taken all the stoneware serving bowls out of the cupboard and was scraping the contents of the cardboard cartons to them.

“Mother!” Nora said, starting to pull one away and then realizing she was too late. “You’re supposed to eat them out of the cardboard.”

“Your lax kitchen habits are but one reason Max left you,” Amanda said.

“Max didn’t leave me,” Nora said, putting her hands on her hips and surveying the disaster her kitchen had become in a matter of moments. “I left him.”

“Even so,” Amanda said, putting the rice in the last bowl and then shoving that bowl into the microwave, “he would have fought for you if you gave him a proper home.”

“You didn’t give Dad a proper home.”

“And see where it got us?”

The rice spun in the microwave. Squidgy sauntered into the room, tail high, sniffing as if the food were for her. Nora, resigned, took out plates.

“Mom, I’m not going to stay long. But I should warn you that Emma is a bit unusual.”

“Everyone from your generation is unusual, darling,” her mother said, somehow forgetting that she was part of a generation that painted itself colors and danced naked in the mud.