Your Magic or Mine? (21 page)

“I can try out different variables by spell. Here’s the idea I’m working on in my latest article.” He cancelled the first display and put up his latest work.

“If I test it with these …” His proof spread downward. “If I change some values and recast the spell …” The figures and symbols changed, added some, and rearranged themselves. “It proves that no counterexample to my postulate is possible.”

“Or, more simply …” He ran through a couple of simple arithmetic and algebraic problems for her. Again numbers and letters shifted, multiplied and divided themselves. He canceled the display. “That’s the way I work.”

“That’s not a simple illusion spell, is it?”

“No, in fact, I layer spells within spells. Think of them as ‘what if’ statements. If this, then that, but if this other, then that other. Working out the proper combinations and logical progressions can be quite tricky. Layering basic spells will be my next topic in my spell study. I had to start with the simplest equation first, of course.”

“Oh,” Morgan said, sounding somewhat stunned. She closed her eyes for a moment, rubbed her forehead, and, when she opened her eyes again, frowned at him. “Anyway, back to our primary topic. I’d never thought of the SMI until Daria found Bent, and Francie and Clay got together, and it’s been hard
not
to think of the possibility when I’m around them. I never envisioned needing a test, either.”

As it often did when he was thinking about a problem, the mathematical part of his mind conjured up several possible equations and solutions, but he didn’t voice or display them. Theory wouldn’t help them. They were faced with the need for a practical experiment, something that would yield concrete proof. “Maybe we need to approach our problem scientifically.”

She raised her eyebrows. “How?”

“How did your siblings know they had met their soul mates? Before the first mating, that is?”

She looked off into the distance for a few seconds before saying, “In both cases, they and their mates fit the norm—thought the same way, had the same interests, all that
sameness
. Business for Daria and Bent, computers and basketball for Francie and Clay.

“Daria said the physical attraction was very powerful. She didn’t believe in the SMI’s existence at first, didn’t even consider it a possibility when she first met Bent. The realization took a while to sink in, and by the time it did, she was in love with him. She was more worried about his reaction as a non-practitioner. Because he is not one of us and had no clue in the beginning and she was taken unawares, however, their story may not help us.

“As for Francie … she was resisting Clay for non-SMI reasons, but when they kissed, she said all the will to oppose him drained out of her. She described it like being possessed by an alien who had taken over her mind and her body. She couldn’t string two coherent thoughts together. She had no idea what was happening to her, but she couldn’t overcome it, no matter how hard she tried.”

“Maybe that’s our test.”

“What, to kiss?” Her big green eyes opened wide, and she backed up a step.

“Can you think of another?” He felt his center warm and wondered if a kiss was, in fact, a good idea. What other test did they have that would let them escape unscathed? He took two slow steps forward. He only had to reach out a hand to touch her.

Gloriana watched his approach warily. Her emotions and thoughts were rioting in all directions. Confusion over the SMI—was it or wasn’t it at work, pushing them together? Hopelessness over her inability to understand what he had showed her about his magic, including how he did it—had he really put spells within spells?

She was awash in feelings. Sadness over the idea of being coupled with someone she couldn’t understand and who couldn’t understand her. Puzzlement over his statement about never wanting a soul mate—and a little sorrow for him, too. Indignation over his rejection of her—accompanied by recognition that he wasn’t really rejecting
her
, but being forced into a situation without his consent. Empathy over their predicament. Relief over bringing it all out in the open.

And excitement. Oh, yes, excitement and anticipation, centered in the middle of her body and making every cell in it come to attention.

She stared into his eyes, where his pupils had expanded so much she could see only a little bit of blue between them and the dark rims of his corneas. His gaze went from warm to hot to sizzling in a heartbeat.

Her blood heated in response; she could feel it rushing to sensitive places.

When he stopped six inches away, she had to raise her face to look at him directly. And that falling sensation came back and made her almost dizzy.

To brace herself, she put her hands on his lapels. She could feel his heat through his suit coat, and she could smell him—that woodsy-and-pure-male concoction she’d noticed at the first debate. It contributed to her vertigo, and she resisted the need to clutch for support.

He’d asked a question. What was it? Something about her thinking of another test? She needed to give him an answer. When she licked her suddenly dry lips, his gaze dropped to them, then returned to her eyes.
Concentrate, Glori. Speak
.

“No.” She had to push the word out of her throat.

“No?” What could have been disappointment flashed across his face.

“I mean, n-no, I can’t think of any other choice,” she whispered.

“Good,” he whispered also and lowered his lips to hers.

Clouds drifted over her mind and fogged her ability to think. Her eyelids lowered of their own volition. All that operated was her sense of touch—concentrated on her lips.

He brushed his mouth across hers—once, twice, as lightly as a feather and as softly as a rose petal. On the third, he stayed, a beguiling, unhurried caress. She felt his hands clasp her waist, and his tongue trace the seam between her lips. She opened and tentatively touched tongues.

And the sun went nova
.

And she was engulfed by the resulting shock wave
.

He swept into her mouth, taking possession, and she exulted.
You’re his
, a voice said in her mind.

He’s yours
, it said when he retreated, and she followed to stake her claim on him. Their tongues dueled, teased, tasted.

She vaguely felt his arms wrap around her in a viselike hold, but she wanted,
needed
to be closer, and being there felt so
good
. She knew her hands moved up to fist in his silky blond hair. One of his slid down her back and pulled her hips to his, inside his open coat.

Ah, that was better, and better still when she tilted her pelvis—pressure where she needed it.

She heard him groan. She heard herself hum.

This was where she
must
be, in his arms, closer, kissing—oh, how the man could kiss—hugging, touching, holding.

It wasn’t enough.

The heat pouring from him warmed her, right through her suit, right to her bones.

She slowly rubbed her front across his.

Ah, better still
.

Another groan, another hum, as he responded with a rub of his own, lower down.

Oh, best!

He was holding her so tightly she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t care.

She wanted
more
.

Finally one or the other of them—she wasn’t sure, probably both—ended the kiss. Bowing her head to his chest, she gasped for air. He rested his head on hers and did the same. She could feel his heart pounding. Hers thumped in unison. A vague hum with no origin droned around them.

Slowly they both relaxed their grips, and she thought she could feel each and every muscle unwinding.

She brought her hands back to his lapels. He moved his to her waist again.

Still breathing heavily, they each took half a step back. The hum disappeared.

It was only when Glori looked up at him, saw the tension and starkness in his face, the blazing blue of his eyes, that her mind started to work again, her brain regained the ability to think.

“Ohhhh,” was all she could say, however.

He opened his mouth, shut it, cleared his throat, and said hoarsely, “I think we have a problem.”

She nodded, swallowed, tried again. “That was more than one alien. It was an invasion by a whole army.”

He took a deep breath, let go of her waist, stepped back a full foot until they weren’t touching at all.

Immediately cold, she hugged herself and sat down on one of the armchairs before her shaky legs collapsed under her.

He walked around the coffee table and began to pace in front of the windows.

She watched him for a moment, but when he said nothing, only stopped to stare out at the city, she pulled herself together. It was either calm down or fling herself into his arms again, and that would lead to a place neither of them wanted to go—where they’d take the second, more potent test for soul mates. He was the one who wanted to talk and who came up with the kiss idea. Did she have to force words out of him to discuss the mess, make sure they were still in agreement, and decide what to do next? Sure looked like it.

She took a deep breath, sat up straight, and forced the intellectual, scientific part of her brain to work. “All right, what happened? We performed an experiment. What did we learn?”

He turned back from the windows, rubbed a hand over his face and around to the back of his neck. “That it’s not simple attraction between us.”

“Agreed.” She put her hand on her magic center. It didn’t itch; in fact, it didn’t hurt for the first time in days. It seemed, instead, to be humming. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been kicked in the head. Like an equation fell off the board and its pieces are lying all over the floor, laughing at me for assuming I knew what I was doing.” He ran his hand through his disordered hair, then finger-combed it like he was trying to restore order.

She mentally smirked for being the one to disturb his perfection, but this was not the time to mention it. He hadn’t understood her question. “No, really, how does your
center
feel?”

“My center?” He looked at her blankly before moving his gaze down to his chest. He rubbed the spot. “It doesn’t itch. It feels …”

“What?”

“Smug. The damned thing feels
smug.”
He almost spat out the words.

“Mine’s humming.”

“Wonderful.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

She rolled her eyes. He had wanted a “scientific” experiment. How come she was the one interpreting the results? A theoretical mathematician evidently couldn’t deal with practical empirical data.

They didn’t need an argument on an extraneous subject, and she kept her tone even as she would have when explaining her reasoning to a student. “Therefore, we can conclude our experiment, our test, proved we’re under the imperative’s influence. We have an altered situation, one changed by the new information. We need to decide our course of action.”

After seeming to give himself a shake, he walked over and sat down on the couch. “Also agreed. Our new situation … But first, what hasn’t changed? I still don’t want any soul mate, and you don’t want one who’s radically different from you.”

“I don’t see how so many differences can work in a mating, and above all, I want a man who wants to be with me. However, in this situation, what
we
think or want doesn’t matter. The reality is that
the SMI
will be pushing us to come together.”

“What can we expect when we don’t? More itching and pain? Something worse? What did your family say?”

“All they mentioned was the first two. Since the non-practitioners didn’t have the slightest idea an outside force was at work, they thought they were developing ulcers. For all four of them, basically the imperative made their lives uncomfortable, but they weren’t incapacitated, unable to work, or function in general.”

“What are our options? What happens if we reject the imperative, decide not to give in to it? At all. Ever.”

He didn’t know? Was he serious? The look on his face told her he was. “Didn’t your parents tell you about it?”

“Stefan gave me the standard talk, and I decided that I wasn’t going to let it happen to me, ancient force or not.” He shrugged. “Never thought about it after that.”

“According to my mother, you reject the imperative—and your soul mate—at your peril. You will never be happy—
ever
—if you do. You’ll die a bitter, miserable person, totally alone.”

“Better that than …” He shut his mouth abruptly, then muttered, “Never mind.”

Better misery than … what? Something else was going on with Forscher, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to get whatever it was out of him at the moment. Not the way he slammed that “never mind” door in her face.

He stood up abruptly. “I don’t want to accept that outcome. I don’t doubt your mother, but I’d like corroboration, details. During next week, why don’t we both research the situation, see what our alternatives are.”

“Fine.” She couldn’t keep the exasperation out of her voice. However, as closed down as he seemed to be, she doubted that he heard it. “I’m not going to be in Austin. We can also evaluate our reactions to being apart. We can meet at the debate in Denver and discuss our findings.”

“Okay. I’ll see you next week.” He picked up his folder, walked to the door, looked back to say “good night,” and left.

“Good night,” Gloriana said to the closing door and scowled at his abrupt departure. Looked like they were both rattled, although he more than she.
Wonderful
—she felt her mouth tighten as she gave the word a sarcastic twist in her mind—she didn’t want to be the only one suffering here. She did, however, want to discuss their plans more fully, especially to discover the reasons behind his rejection of the entire soul-mate concept.

One certainty: she wasn’t going to get answers tonight. She hauled herself out of the chair, turned out the lights, and made her way to bed.

Lying in bed later, Gloriana reassessed her calculations. There was no other interpretation for their reactions during that kiss. The imperative had them in its clutches.