Читать книгу Stolen Magic - Esri Rose - Страница 12

I went home at around five in the morning, exhausted from dealing with Kutara, working with numbers, and being on my best behavior around Dag. My land welcomed me with unconditional support, and I thought once more that it had been my truest parent. If only it could talk, a lot of my loneliness would go away.

When I rematerialized, I felt rested but restless. Humans would still be hanging around the office, so it was too early to go to work.

I thought of Mark and remembered his invitation to a pool tournament at ’Round Midnight, wherever that was. What exactly was pool? I sank into the ground and traveled to the library, where one of the free Internet terminals answered all my questions. Pool did not involve water, but a green table, some balls, and long sticks.

Just for fun, I looked up the origins of the word. The online Etymology Dictionary said the name might have evolved from the French term for a Middle Ages game. Players threw rocks at a chicken, or poule, and the one who hit the chicken got to keep it. Those wacky humans.

MapQuest showed that ’Round Midnight was a short walk away. I wasn’t going to kid myself—I wanted to see Mark again. He might have a girlfriend, but he had complimented my hair and said I was an artist. Of course, Kutara believed that making friends with humans was slumming, even though she had a human lover. She insisted that he was strictly to serve her energy needs.

Maybe I should think about getting friendly with Dag. He was intriguing, although his elf-on-a-quest vibe was a little serious for my taste.

I sighed. Somewhere out there, people were having fun. I wanted some for myself.

Leaving the computers, I walked toward one of the automated sliding doors that led into the library’s vaulted, glass lobby. A woman passed me going the other way, and my head swiveled like a cap being unscrewed. Wasn’t that the woman in Mark’s picture? I turned abruptly and followed her back into the main building.

She walked through the large-print and movie sections and headed up the ramp that led to fiction. I could only see the back of her head. The area we were passing through was too narrow for me to get beside her without being obvious.

We passed mysteries and entered general fiction. She didn’t stop to look, but continued into the enclosed flyover that connected the new library building to what had been the original library. The original building now housed art exhibits and a movie theater/auditorium. And Elf Ops, of course.

Still in the glass-enclosed tunnel, she stopped at the small espresso bar and picked out a wrapped brownie.

I walked past her into the original building and paused to study a painting.

When she appeared in my peripheral vision, brownie in hand, I turned and got a good look at her face. The wide mouth and eyes were the same, although her dark hair was longer than in the photo.

She sat on a bench with a tired plop, unwrapped her brownie, and took a bite.

She wasn’t an elf, anyway, not with that mouthful of brownie. Someone else had glamoured Mark. As she chewed, she gazed at a giant canvas depicting a dog diving into the water after a fortune cookie.

Interesting. While Mark was in a bar, poking symbolic chickens with a stick, his possible girlfriend looked at paintings of dogs. Maybe it was their interest in animals that brought them together. Or maybe they weren’t together.

Outside, the streets were full of dressed-up people. I found ’Round Midnight and then walked past. Mark might not be there. Mark might be there. Why was this so hard?

The bar sat below street level, down a flight of stairs, and through a door framed by pink and blue neon. I went down the stairs on my second pass and entered beneath a sign showing a man’s hands playing a guitar.

A few guys caught my eye and smiled as I walked past the bar and into the room beyond, where I spotted the pool tables. People conversed in a near shout, punctuated by the occasional, “Oh!” or “Nice shot!”

I didn’t see Mark, but Butch was plenty obvious as he leaned over the table, cursed, and slapped fellow players on the back. I had just taken a seat on a stool when he spotted me.

“Hey! Mark’s cute friend!” he called, waving.

I brightened. That was a much better description than gloomy.

He took five more shots, then came over. His cue stick was black, I noticed, instead of the light wood of the other players.

“What’s your name again?” he asked.

“Adlia. And you’re Butch.”

“Good memory! What are you drinking?”

“Oh, I don’t need anything,” I began, but he was already walking away.

“Pretty girls must have drinks,” he shouted back. “It’s the law.”

He was back in a few minutes, carrying a pint glass of something gold-colored. “Hard cider. I never met a chick yet who didn’t love it.”

“Thanks.” I wouldn’t drink it, of course, but I was saved from having to make him think I was by the shouts of the men around the table.

“Butch! Come put us out of our misery!” one of them yelled.

As Butch walked back to the table, Mark appeared from farther back in the club. Butch said something and jerked his thumb over his shoulder in my direction.

Mark caught my eye, grinned, and came over. “Hey, there! Can I get you something to drink?”

What was it with men and beverages? I pointed to the glass on the ledge beside me. “Butch already did.”

“If you’ve never had cider before, be careful. It tastes like soda, but it can sit you on your ass.”

What did that mean? “I’m already sitting on my ass.”

He laughed. “Do you want to play pool?”

“I don’t know. I just thought I’d drop by and watch for a little, since you mentioned it.” I was proud of how smooth and casual that sounded.

“Well, I’m glad you did.” He smiled and touched the side of my knee briefly.

Again I felt the trace of glamour on him, although it seemed fainter. “Hey, I saw Faith at the library today.”

“You did?” He frowned slightly.

“Yeah. I recognized her from your picture, although she looked kind of tired.”

His frown deepened. “I have got to see that woman. She has a habit of getting involved with the wrong guys.”

“Does that include you?”

“Me?” He chuckled. “No. She’s my cousin, but it’s more like she’s another sister. That’s why I first came to Colorado. She was having trouble with a stalker.” He leaned against the bar on the wall behind us. “She hasn’t been returning my calls, and when I go to her apartment she’s always out. I’m starting to wonder if she’s gotten involved with a cult.”

“She wasn’t with anyone when I saw her. She was just sitting, eating a brownie.”

“At least it’s not an anti-brownie cult. Good to know.” He shifted, then turned when his arm hit something with a small clunk. “Your drink is still back here.”

“I tasted it. It’s not really my thing.”

“A woman who doesn’t like cider. Butch will be shocked.”

“You can have it if you want.”

Mark picked it up. “Trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me?” He smiled and took a sip, dark eyes looking at me over the edge of the glass.

There was probably some recognized response I could make to that statement, a code phrase, but I didn’t know it. I cursed myself for not knowing how to flirt. “Um, are you going to play some more pool?”

He put the glass back on the ledge. “Not tonight. I made it through about a third of the players before I got shot down, though, which is an improvement. Butch will probably win. He usually does.”

I leaned back to hook my elbows on the bar, my shoulder resting lightly against his. Should I move? Should I stay put? I could feel his body heat through my shirt. Perversely, it made me want to shiver.

He leaned toward me, resting his fingers on my upper arm and speaking close to my ear. “See that guy in the red T-shirt? That’s the only real competition. Butch has been calling him Red Shirt all night to psych him out, but I don’t think it fazes him.”

I turned my head toward his slightly. “How do you play this game, anyway?”

“It’s straight eight ball tonight.”

“And that means…” I waved a hand vaguely.

He leaned forward so he could look me in the eye. “You really don’t know?”

“I was homeschooled.” A standard elf excuse. It seemed to work for a lot of things. Mark explained the basics of pool to me, his voice intimate, his breath smelling of apples. I told him about the chicken-game antecedent, and he thought that was hysterical. We were laughing together over some nonsense when a roar went up from the pool table.

Butch shook his opponent’s hand and clapped him on the back.

“I guess they’re finished,” I said.

“I guess so.”

Butch came over, took the glass out of Mark’s hand, and downed the last of the cider. He looked at the empty glass, then at me. “Was this yours?”

“It’s possible.”

He grinned at me. “How about a kiss for the loser?”

“Um…”

“Forget the loser. He doesn’t deserve it. How about a kiss for me?” He leaned over and gave me a smacking kiss on the cheek.

“You won again?” Mark asked.

“So much for counting on you to cheer me on.” Butch shook his head sadly. “Why do I even ask you to these things?” He took a wad of cash out of his jeans pocket and flicked it against his fingers. “Dinner, anyone? Sushi’s on me.”

Mark looked at me. “I was just thinking I might—”

“I should probably go home,” I said, not wanting to spend the next few hours pretending to eat raw fish.

“…teach Adlia to play pool,” Mark finished. “But if you need to go, I can walk you to your car.”

“Teach me to play pool?” I asked, and then remembered I was supposed to be at work now.

Butch winked at me. “Mark can’t play worth shit, but he’s a good teacher—very conscientious about making sure you bend over the table just right.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Mark said, smacking Butch in the ribs. “I play fine.”

“Maybe some other time,” I said. “I really should get going.”

Butch gave his money a last fondle and put it away. “You two kids do what you want, but I’m finishing the night with a mouthful of raw octopus.”

Mark lifted his hand in a brief wave. “I’ll catch you later.”

Butch disappeared into the crowded bar, and we got up.

“So where are you parked?” Mark asked, holding the door open for me.

“I walked.”

“Then I’ll walk you home.” He smiled and tilted his head. “Or I could, you know, get you a cab, if you’re not in the mood for company.”

“No, I like company.”

We stared at each other. I felt the impulse to lean toward him, to touch, and wondered if he felt it, too. Mark was so friendly in general, it was hard to tell if he liked me in particular.

“Okay, then. Let’s go,” I said abruptly, and started walking.

The air was still balmy outside, with even more people around than before. As we reached the sidewalk, I heard the sound of a band from the nearby Pearl Street Mall.

“So where do you live?” Mark asked.

I needed to get to work, so I gestured vaguely south. “I’m just a little past the library.” We walked in silence for a while before I asked, “How long have you and Butch been friends?”

“A year? Maybe a year and a half?”

“Is that all? I thought you grew up together or something.”

“Nah. We met when he had me take a picture of him with his Boxer. Yoda.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yoda is his dog, a white Boxer. He brushed him with green food coloring last year for Halloween.” Mark chuckled. “It was frickin’ hysterical, although Butch’s sofa will never be the same.”

I laughed. This was exactly the kind of weird humor that attracted me to humans, but what had Yoda the dog thought of the experiment? Since elves could communicate with animals, I might get the chance to ask him. “Do you have a pet?” I wanted to know more about him—everything, in fact.

Mark shook his head. “Not with the traveling I do. If the money’s there, I try to take a trip every year—some place picturesque, so I can sell a calendar of the pictures. Last year I went to Italy. The exchange rate was terrible, but I stayed with relatives.”

“You have relatives in Italy?”

“Sure. What part of ‘big Italian family’ did you not understand?” We had reached Canyon Boulevard, and he pushed the button on the pole at the crosswalk, to activate the flashing lights. “Let me guess. Your relatives are all WASPy types who came over on the Mayflower.”

I didn’t say anything.

“C’mon, Adlia. We always seem to wind up talking about me. What’s your story?”

I’d rather tell Mark than anyone else, but I wasn’t supposed to, and he wouldn’t believe me, anyway. “Well, I told you my parents are dead, and I don’t have any brothers or sisters.”

“I can’t even imagine what that would be like.”

“What’s it like, having a big family?”

He gave me a look. “We’re talking about you, remember?”

“Right.” I sighed. “I was brought up by a sort of cousin to the family. Aunt Kootie, I call her, even though she isn’t really my aunt.” We walked through the Canyon Gallery parking lot. Now was when I should go into work. Instead I led the way across the bridge that spanned Boulder Creek. “Anyway, Aunt Kootie isn’t one of these warm, cookie-baking women. She’s kind of stern and negative. Plus, she has a hairy mole on her face, so we didn’t go out and socialize much.”

“You said you were homeschooled. Did you go to college?” Mark asked.

“No. What about you?”

“I’ve got a BA in photography from the School of Visual Arts in New York. Do you have a job?”

“Aunt Kootie manages the investments for our family, and I help her. It’s boring, so I took up photography. And that’s how I met you. There’s really nothing more to tell.”

“Sure there is. What do you do for fun?”

“Fun…I take pictures and draw a little. I write in my journal, although I’m not sure that qualifies as fun.” Describing my life was starting to depress me. I steered us toward a brick quadplex. “This is my place.”

“Do you still live with your aunt?”

“No, thank God. I live alone.” I stepped onto the sidewalk that led to the apartment building.

He didn’t seem inclined to leave. “Do you at least have a pet—something to talk to? Maybe a goldfish?”

No. I’m boring, and you have no reason to like me. “Absolutely. A cute little goldfish named Squint.”

“Squint.” He stepped a little closer. “And Aunt Kootie, who has a hairy mole. You made all of that up, didn’t you?”

“Of course not. I couldn’t make all of it up.”

“So Squint is really a hamster.” He reached out and took my hand, as if it were a vase he just happened to pick up to admire.

“What are you doing?” I asked, watching him stroke my fingers.

“Even though you’re bizarre and untrustworthy, I still find myself wanting to kiss you.” He cocked his head and looked at me. “Can you explain that?”

“Not really.” I felt so breathless, it came out as a whisper.

Mark closed the gap between us, pulling me into an embrace. I saw all of this as though I were standing a little distance away, and then his lips met mine and I was catapulted back into my body, which pressed up against his.

So this is what all the fuss is about. Lenny had introduced me to sex in a detached, light-hearted way, but I had never kissed a human before, and it was the difference between a breeze and a storm.

We merge with the land, but it’s as though they are the land—all the pull and gravity of it. I hadn’t realized how tired I was until I felt energy suffuse me in a rosy, fizzing tide. I pushed closer to Mark, widened my mouth against his, and moaned. He responded by burying one hand in my hair and practically lifting me off my feet.

I wasn’t sure how long we’d been kissing when I heard several sets of heels on the sidewalk, followed by giggling.

Mark pulled away and glanced at the approaching group of college girls. Taking my hand, he pulled me toward the entrance to the apartment building, which had a little roof over it and was somewhat sheltered between two spruce bushes.

As soon as we stopped moving, I wound my arms around his neck. He rested his forehead against mine and grinned, his teeth white in the dusk. “So you do have some social skills.”

“Be quiet and do that thing with your mouth again.”

He bent his head obligingly, and I stood against him, feeling his heat along the length of my body and running my hands over his back, feeling his muscles flex under the thin cotton of his T-shirt. He turned me toward the door and pressed me against it.

A light came on just over our heads, illuminating us as though we were on a very small stage.

I pulled away. “What the hell?”

“It’s just your security light.” He chuckled, holding my hands. “Did you forget about it?”

“I guess so.” I looked around nervously.

He bent his head and kissed me lightly. “We could always go inside. I promise to behave myself, at least as much as you want me to.”

I was still breathing heavily. “Inside. No, I don’t think so.” I stepped away from the door, pulling him after me. “Look. There’s a little bench around the side. Let’s sit there.”

The bench sat under a window, but the window was dark, and trees sheltered it on either side. He sat and pulled me onto his lap. I was enjoying this new position when I heard a scrabbling noise from the other side of the window, followed by crazed barking from inside.

“Oh, honestly!” I sent a mental message to the dog on the other side of the door. I don’t mean any harm. I’m just an elf trying to get some, okay?

My house! Mine! Get off my property! Go! Now! Go!

Just because you can communicate with a dog doesn’t mean it’ll listen to you.

A light came on inside. Mark grabbed my hand and pulled me back to the sidewalk. “I feel like a teenager,” he said, laughing. “Any minute now, some old grouch is going to come out and say, ‘You kids should be at home!’” He still had my hand, and he pulled me back into the circle of his arms. “Or is that your dog, and your boyfriend is going to come out and catch me kissing you?”

He didn’t seem worried, because he moved his hands to the back of my head and kissed me deeply enough to make me forget everything else.

“What do you want to do, Adlia?” he asked, when we came up for air. “Shall we go inside?”

If I were human, I would have a home to take him to. We would make love, and then we would talk for hours, holding nothing back. For the first time, I would know that someone cared about me. But I wasn’t human.

“Adlia?”

I glamoured him, and watched all the affection and expectation drain from his face. “Go home, Mark Speranzi,” I whispered, kissing his unresponsive lips. “You deserve more than lies. So do I, for that matter.”

After making him think I’d taken a taxi home and he had gone for a walk, I turned him around and sent him on his way. He strolled down the block, hands in his pockets, with no idea that I was behind him.