Cravings (24 page)

AS soon as our clothes, cash, and Visa arrived, we left. I called my attorney
collect and changed the location for the courier to deliver the ID; I'd meet him
at a nearby McDonald's in about five hours. Then we walked. For hours, we held
hands and walked around Galveston, sometimes talking, sometimes in silence. As
it grew light we attracted some glances, but mostly smiling ones. I didn't look
that much older than him now.

We'd decided against a hotel, though we were both tired. We didn't want to be
separated, but passion was too new between us. It made us unsteady, and Michael
couldn't draw from a node. Easier to live with exhaustion than temptation.

At ten-thirty that morning, we were on a plane headed west. I'd called Cullen
and told him enough to whet his curiosity. I slept most of the way. Michael
slept some, too, but he was wide awake and back to his usual self by the time we
landed. Full of questions.

"Are all airports ugly?" he asked, pausing to frown at the boarding gate we
disembarked into. "This could be decorated."

"Parts of them are. The people behind us don't want to stop and study the
walls, Michael."

"Oh. Of course." He started moving again. "I would like to have a closer look
at the way they connected this tube to the airplane. Most ingenious. Not now, I
know," he said, favoring me with a smile sweetened by amusement. "Maybe later?"

I couldn't help smiling back. "Maybe."

We made it to the concourse with only a few questions along the way. "I think
I didn't travel much, before," he said as we headed to baggage claim, where
Cullen would meet us. "But I wanted to. So now I want to absorb everything, all
at once. Were you and this sorcerer lovers, Molly?"

I stumbled over nothing.

His hand was instantly there, steadying me. His eyes were oddly gentle. "Am I
not supposed to ask?"

"You startled me, that's all." I shook my head. "Unlike you, I don't always
tell the truth. But I'll try to, with you. Cullen and I have had sex, yes. But
we were never lovers."

He studied my face a moment, then nodded as if he understood the distinction.
"I would like it if you did not kiss him. Sexually, that is. I realize that
kisses are not always sexual. Would that be difficult for you? I feel…
uncomfortable when I think of you kissing others the way you kiss me."

"Michael." I cupped his cheek in my palm. "While I'm with you, I won't want
to dine on other men." Though I might have to, if we couldn't find a way for
Michael to safely use node energy… but I wasn't going to think about that, not
now. "I certainly won't kiss them."

A smile broke over his face. "Thank you, Molly." He reclaimed my hand and
started walking. A little boy on the plane had taught him how to
whistle—somewhat disturbing my sleep, I might add—and he did that now, whistling
happily and without any discernible tune.

My heart was thumping as if we'd just negotiated some dreadful precipice. I
cleared my throat. "You need to remember to call me Sandra."

"That isn't your name."

"It's the name on my ID."

"I will think on it," he told me.

 

CULLEN Seabourne is the most physically perfect man I've ever known. He's
blond, slimmer, and taller than Michael, with a pleasant but unremarkable tenor
voice. But people don't listen to Cullen. They stare at him, startled out of
courtesy by such sheer, masculine beauty. He's well aware of his effect on
others and capable of using it to get what he wants, but looks don't really
matter to him. Magic does.

I didn't trust him, not completely. But I liked him, and, oh, but he was a
pleasure to watch. Heads turned in baggage claim as he approached us. Among
other things, Cullen is a dancer, and he moves like music made solid.

"Hullo, darling," Cullen said as he sauntered up. "Still in one piece, I see,
in spite of ninjas and bazookas and such. But you have a new look. Nice," he
said, reaching out with lazy grace to stroke one finger down my cheek. "But
surprising." He leaned toward me.

"No kissing," I told him firmly.

"No?" He pulled back, quirking one eyebrow. Sometimes I think everyone in
the world can do that except me. "How interesting. I have a few questions."

"I'm sure," I said dryly. "But not here, I think. You brought your car?"

"You don't think I'd trust my delicate skin to a taxi driver, do you? And you
indicated a need for privacy." Deliberately he turned to face Michael. "This
would be the mystery man."

"Yes. This is Michael."

Who was staring. "You," he said, "are most unusual."

Cullen's eyes narrowed. After a moment of study he said, "So are you. Though
I'm damned if I can say what you are. Not quite human, I think?"

"No. But then, neither are you. I've always wanted to meet one of your kind."
Michael turned to me with a smile. "Did you know this is the only realm with
Lupi?"

Oh, yes. That's another thing that Cullen is. A werewolf.

 

CULLEN was currently living in a dilapidated little shack in the mountains
outside San Diego. At least, that's where he took us. I'm not sure he actually
lived there. It looked ready to fall down, but it sat almost on top of a node.

"Quite small," he told us as he pulled his dusty Jeep to a stop in front of
it. "No more than a trickle, really. But enough for my purposes, since I'm the
only one using it. I'm trusting you rather a lot," he added, sliding me a glance
as he climbed out. "I never bring people here."

"I'm paying you rather a lot. Besides, you're eaten up with curiosity."

"True." He flashed me a grin, then turned to Michael, who was studying the
land around the cabin. "See anything interesting?"

"Just your wards. Nice work," Michael said politely. "That low one—it's to
keep out vermin? Insects and such?"

Cullen went very still. "Oh, yes, I am definitely curious. Shall we go
inside?"

The inside didn't look any more solid than the outside, but it was slightly
cleaner. There was only one room.

"Sit," Cullen said, rooting around in a cupboard. "I originally trained in
Wicca, if that means anything to you." He took out an athame, two vials, and a
small silver bowl.

"Yes," Michael said, seating himself at the small wooden table. It looked
sturdier than the walls of the shack. "It means you're grounded in the basic
energies of your realm, which is the best way to begin. With sorcery, though, I
assume you're self-taught?"

"Mostly. Now and then I run across a tantalizing scrap, or cut a deal with
one of my reclusive compatriots. We don't trust each other, of course, but we're
equally desperate for knowledge. There's a man in Africa doing good work, a
woman in Singapore… I've a contact or two in Faerie, as well, though they're a
closemouthed lot." He gestured with the hand holding the bowl. "Sit down, Molly.
I'm going to try a little creation of my own in a minute, a combination of truth
and seek spells. First I have questions."

I sat. All of a sudden I wasn't at all sure I'd made the right decision,
coming to Cullen. But what choice did we have? "I've told you how I found
Michael."

"Questions for him, love, not you." He sat in the third chair, put his tools
on the table, and looked at Michael. "You say you don't remember who and what
you are, where you came from."

"I remember pieces. Not the whole."

"Yet you saw what I was right away. You saw my wards—and knew what they were,
too."

"I gather that most people in this realm do not see the
sorcéri
." He
gave the word an odd pronunciation I hadn't heard before.

"No. No, they don't. You really aren't from this world, are you?"

"That much I'm sure of."

Cullen drew a deep breath, let it out slowly. "I have a feeling you know a
helluva lot more than I do about magic. Why come to me?"

"My knowledge isn't always accessible. I want to see if you can hide or
disguise my use of the nodes. They—the Azá—track me that way. Molly hopes you
can restore my memory."

"You sound doubtful."

"I am. I can tell you the spell I used to forget, but I don't know if you
will be able to devise a counterspell. I cannot, but being self-trained, you are
accustomed to creating your own spells."

"That will help." Cullen's eyes glittered with excitement.

Michael gave him an assessing look. "You'll get nothing from me without my
cooperation. Even with it, there is some danger."

Cullen gave a bark of laughter and leaned back in his chair. "Danger? For
what you could teach me, I'd risk hurricanes, lightning bolts, and an IRS
audit."

I was feeling worse about this all the time. Cullen glanced at me. "Don't
worry, love. If my conscience—an elastic creation, admittedly—snaps under the
strain, you can still count on my sense of self-preservation. I know very well
you'd make a bad enemy."

"So would I," Michael said mildly. "But we won't be enemies, will we?"

"I hope not." Cullen's grin was little short of feral. "Oh, I do hope not."

 

TRUTH spells were not safe to use on Michael. This time, the backlash lifted
Cullen off the ground and slammed him against the west wall. Boards cracked,
broke. He landed half-out, half-in, sprawled in the debris of the wrecked wall.

My ears were ringing, though I hadn't heard a thing except for the wall
breaking. I jumped to my feet. "Cullen!"

Michael's hand snatched at me. "Wait. The roof…"

I looked up. Things were leaning alarmingly. "Hold it," I told him, and
hurried to Cullen. He was pale, motionless, and slightly bloody—but blinking
thoughtfully at the sky now overhead instead of rafters. "Your boyfriend packs a
punch, love."

I exhaled in relief. "At least you don't have amnesia."

"No, I remember well enough what happened." He pushed up on one elbow,
winced. "At least one rib. It's a good thing I'm Lupus."

There were scraping noises behind me, and a grunt. "I think that will hold."
Michael sounded dubious. "The blow was unintentional, Cullen. I am sorry."

"You have amazing reflexes, then." He took the hand Michael held out,
grunting as Michael pulled him to his feet, and rubbed his side. "Or maybe… not
reflexes. Defenses. Put there by someone else."

Michael was very still. "You're talented. Given the tools you have to work
with, extremely talented."

"You're a construct, aren't you? Made, not born."

"Yes."

That one word dropped into the well of silence it created even as it was
spoken.
So many words have power
, I thought dimly,
not just the
magical ones
. My voice, when at last I broke the silence, was small.
"Michael?"

"I am sorry." His voice was remote. He didn't look at me.

"And you've remembered more than you're admitting." Excitement radiated from
Cullen like heat from a stove as he moved closer to Michael. "I only caught a
glimpse—but there's so much inside you! Knowledge—vast amounts of knowledge.
Power—"

"Knowledge is power," Michael said sadly.

Cullen stopped in front of Michael. "
What are you
?"

"I cannot tell you." At last Michael turned to me. There was grief in his
eyes, old grief and fresh, the raw mixed with scars from other earlier
woundings. "Not
will
not, Molly. Cannot. The way I am made, some things
are not possible for me."

"You could have told me more than you have." I made it a statement, not a
question. I was already sure.

"When we met the state cop, much came back to me. Not everything—I am still
in pieces, and they don't all fit together. But that I was made, not born… yes.
I could have told you that."

"You didn't trust me?" I whispered.

He lifted one hand as if he would touch me, then let it drop. "The place
where I've lived is a good place. Not a world as you are used to worlds, but
there is much beauty, much to learn. But it is remote. Few are able to cross,
and the others who live there are further from human than I am. I was… lonely."

I swallowed hard. "Did you think I wouldn't understand loneliness?"

"I wanted you to see me as a man. Not a thing."

My breath huffed out. "Good grief, is that all? You
are
a man."

"This is not the body I wore before I came here. Things there are much more
fluid. I… borrowed the pattern for this body from a friend."

I shook my head. "Great Mother of Heaven! You think I'm fooled by that
delicious body of yours? I was pretty sure that wasn't your original form. Good
grief—you scarcely knew how to walk when you first arrived."

Hope woke in his ocean eyes. "You were supposed to assume it was my wounds
hindering my movement."

"I did, at first. But this is my area of expertise, Michael. If anyone in
this realm or any other knows about men, I do. Made or born, you are definitely
a man."

"Then—you do not mind what I am?"

"I started out human, then became something else, too. You started out
something else, then got some human mixed in." I shrugged. "What's to mind?
You're Michael."

He whooped, grabbed me, and whirled us both around, kissing whatever part
presented itself—my hair, forehead, shoulder. Quick, peppery kisses that stung
life into me. Laughing, I seized his face in my hands, and kissed him back.

Until hard hands thrust the two of us apart.

"Good lord," Cullen gasped, one hand still on my shoulder, one on Michael's.
"It's not that I wasn't enjoying the show. I can't remember when I've gotten
this hard watching others kiss, being more interested in participating than
spectating. But you were drawing down hard from the node, Michael—and Molly, I
thought you couldn't
take
without intercourse?"

I gaped at Michael, appalled. "I'm sorry. I didn't—I don't know how I did
that."

He shook off Cullen's hand, and ran his own hand through his hair. "It's my
fault. I'm supposed to control when I draw. If
she
was watching…"