Your Magic or Mine? (13 page)

Her stomach growled, and she glanced at her wristwatch. Eight o’clock already? She headed for the kitchen. Delilah was sprawled on the rug by the fireplace and didn’t even twitch when Gloriana went by. Yep, a tired basenji was a good dog, from her point of view. She bet Samson was zonked out, too, especially if he wasn’t used to the freedom of running off a leash.

What was Samson’s master doing? Had Marcus Forscher realized the predicament they might be in? No, he couldn’t have because they weren’t… that word. She refused to even consider the notion that her parents were correct.

They couldn’t be.

How could she and Forscher ever come to terms about spell-casting, much less to the togetherness soul mates enjoyed? The pleasure of being in each other’s company, the just-between-us jokes, the sheer joy in their eyes when they looked at each other—all that she’d witnessed in her brother and sister and their spouses. She could only imagine what the intimacy between mates must be like in bed …

“Stop thinking,” she ordered out loud and started putting a sandwich together. When it was ready, she carried it and a glass of wine to the living room coffee table and sat on the couch. She turned on the television—a commercial, of course, came on immediately. She took a big bite of her sandwich and flicked open a horticultural magazine lying on the table.

She wasn’t paying attention to the program until she put her sandwich down to flip the page … and heard a man with a low, deep voice say, “Oh, my darling, we will be together forever.” She looked up to view a clinch to beat all clinches. In response, her breasts tingled, and her magic center vibrated like a plucked cello string.

Not
what she needed to think of, much less witness! If she hadn’t had a mouth full of food, she’d have screamed. She grabbed the remote and clicked channels until she found some old cartoons.

Between the magazine and Bugs and Elmer, she managed to finish her sandwich.

What next? She sat back on the couch and drummed her fingers on her knees. It was too early to go to sleep. She’d eaten, so she wasn’t going to go for a run. Dead-to-the-world Delilah offered no distraction. She didn’t feel like cleaning the house; she’d done that yesterday.

She absolutely, positively did not want to sit here and think about Marcus Forscher.

Or, oh, God,
soul mates
.

But wait. What did she really know about soul mates or the whole phenomenon? How they found each other? About the imperative that brought them together? The SMI, as Clay called it? She’d never really discussed it in detail with other family members—not since she and Daria had that conversation where they’d concluded it didn’t exist. Yeah, right. Then Bent came along and blew their theories to smithereens. She’d helped explain magic to Francie, and Daria, as the one with the experience, had taken over the imperative explanation.

She wasn’t going to bring up the subject with her mother—not after their earlier conversation—but she had another source. She rose from the couch, took her dishes into the kitchen, poured herself another glass of wine, picked up the phone, and punched the buttons.

The phone rang on the other end. “Hello?”

“Hi, Daria, it’s me. Do you have a few minutes to talk? I have some potentially important questions.”

Her sister must have picked up something in her tone of voice because Daria hesitated before saying, “Here, talk to Bent while I move to a quiet place.”

“Hey, Glori, how are the plants?” her brother-in-law asked.

“Fine. How’s your garden?”

“Blooming like crazy. You and Antonia did your usually wonderful job on our landscaping.”

“You’re our urban test site. It better look good after all our hard work,” she teased.

Another phone was picked up and Daria said, “Thanks, Bent, I’ve got it.”

Gloriana exchanged good-byes with Bent and heard his receiver hang up.

“Okay,” Daria said, “what’s going on?”

“Mother and Daddy think Marcus Forscher is my soul mate.”

“What? How? When?” Daria practically shrieked in her ear. Her next words were considerably calmer, and Gloriana could almost hear the click when her sister went into consultant mode. “How did they arrive at this conclusion?”

“He came here today to discuss how we might control the debates and make sure we can still get our research and writing done before fall.” Gloriana sighed. Might as well tell it all. “Our parents say that he and I are looking at each other the same way they did when they first met. He concentrates on me the way Daddy does on auditing—you know that laser-beam look he gets. Personally, I think Forscher is icy, hard, and disdainful. Regarding my looks, I’m not ‘looking’ any way at all. You’ve been a negotiator, determined to make the best deal. You have to keep a poker face.”

“What’s Forscher like as a guy?”

“It’s the strangest thing, Daria. When he’s not staring at me, he can be Mr. Congeniality, charming, handsome, with a smile that wrapped Mother around his little finger. If that’s not enough, he liked her chicken salad—ate enough to stuff a buffalo. She thinks he’s great. Do I need to explain more?”

“What’s he interested in, besides spell-casting by formula and theoretical math, that is?”

“I haven’t the slightest… No, wait, that’s not true. He likes jazz. He has a dog, a basenji, no less, named Samson.”

“Samson? Oh, honey, you’re doomed.” Daria started laughing like she’d been sniffing the catnip her two cats liked.

“Ha, ha. I’m serious, Daria. I need some help. What if they’re right? What’s it like to meet your soul mate? What happens next? Am I truly stuck with him if he’s the one? Can I fight it?”

“Whoa, Glori. Slow down. First of all, when I met Bent, my magic center started itching like crazy. I found out later his did, too. Francie and Clay had the same problem, and remember, Francie didn’t like Clay, either, at first. Have you been itching?”

Uh-oh, that didn’t sound good because, with Daria’s question, a huge mosquito took a bite out of her magic center. She ignored it—and the question—to ask another. “What next?”

“Let’s simply say the attraction builds. You don’t have the problem Clay and I did when we met Francie and Bent—Marcus Forscher is a practitioner, so he’s been taught about soul mates. Brother dear and I had to convince our mates about both magic and soul mates, and it wasn’t easy for either of us.”

“I remember all too well.” She smiled at her memory of Francie’s reaction.

“As for fighting it … I don’t think you can, or not without serious injury,” Daria said skeptically before continuing in a blissful tone, “Besides, the first mating makes up for all problems.”

Gloriana did not want to discuss her sister’s love life—too much information, for sure—but she had to ask, “What about the first mating? You go to bed, have sex, and it’s done.”

“Mother never really explained this. It’s a
process
, not a one-time thing like I thought originally. Also, it’s much more than ‘having sex.’ It’s definitely making love. For both of us couples, the bonding took several, uh, ‘matings’ to take effect. Bent and I realized it had happened when we touched each other’s magic centers and felt like we’d been struck by lightning. Francie told me they touched centers and had colored lights swirling around them that came together practically in a nova.”

“How many matings to bonding?” Not that she cared, because she wasn’t going to tie herself to Mr. Iceberg. She told herself it couldn’t hurt to have the facts.

“Oh, at least five or six. Maybe seven? I really don’t remember. When it happened—
Wow!”

“What else can you tell me?”

“About your ‘fighting it’ question? Watch out for the imperative. The SMI can be vicious if you don’t give in. It didn’t bother me too much, but Bent said he felt like he’d been shot when he resisted, and Francie was sure she had a bleeding ulcer. Clay said it messed with him even after he’d given in to it, and that happened before Francie said yes.”

“Oh, joy. What pleasant times to look forward to in the middle of the damned debate. I wish I’d never written that idiotic letter to Ed. No sense regretting that, I guess. Maybe I can still hope Mother and Daddy are wrong.”

“I doubt it. Remember, Mother took one look at Bent and said he was the one.”

“Thank you so much for that recollection.”

Daria must have heard the grim sarcasm because she chuckled. “I’m sure it will all work out.”

“Yeah, right. Do me a favor in the meantime and don’t tell Francie or Clay, especially Clay, about Mother’s revelation. He’s looking for a reason to get back at me for everything I said when he and Francie were going through the process. I’m sure you’ll tell Bent, but swear him to secrecy, too, will you?”

“Okay, I promise. I can understand your hesitation, particularly when you and he seem to have little in common. If Mother’s prediction comes true, however, you’ll still be all right. Remember what Daddy says, ‘Being soul mates just gets better all the time.’“

Exactly what she needed to hear, Gloriana thought as her mouth twisted wryly. Daria would go on about the glories of “soul mate-ness” for hours if you let her. Time to change the subject to the one sure to distract her older sister. “So, how are you feeling, Little Mama?”

They discussed gynecology and obstetrics and pregnancy until Gloriana thought she’d scream. She finally hung up the phone with Daria’s admonition—and where had she heard it before?—to get to know the man.

“Yeah, right,” she muttered and left the kitchen. Thinking she’d simply read in bed, she grabbed a couple of professional journals off the kitchen table. Delilah still didn’t move. Some loyal companion she’d turned out to be, her affections stolen by a flashy red and white male.

As Gloriana lay there later, totally unable to concentrate on the scholarly articles, a wave of loneliness washed over her. Its source? There could be only one: she envied her sister with her soul mate and a baby on the way.

She would find her own soul mate, one day. She knew that as surely as she knew she could spell plants to make them grow. Her mate didn’t have to be Marcus Forscher. These debates would be a good chance to meet all sorts of possible soul mates. She’d keep her eyes open, take advantage of the opportunity.

A little pin poked her in the breastbone.

“Oh, stop that,” she ordered before turning out the light. She resolutely closed her eyes and concentrated on her next-day tasks until she fell asleep.

After a restless night and dreams of an emerald-eyed, chocolate-haired woman that left him aching with need, Marcus thought of begging off the invitation to his mentor’s for dinner and a chess game on Sunday evening. Despite a morning spent unaccountably unable to concentrate, he decided to go. Seeing George and his wife, Evelyn, might take his mind off… other things.

With a warm smile, Evelyn, a well-rounded woman in her early sixties with light brown eyes and graying brown hair, opened the door at his ring. After he entered, she gave him a big hug. “It’s good to see you again, Marcus. We need to get together more often.”

In contrast to her high-powered, energetic, twelfth-level, professorial husband, Evelyn was a laid-back, fifth-level practitioner and a public school first-grade teacher. She exuded calmness and competency, and Marcus felt more himself—in control—immediately. Ever since George had brought him home for dinner right after his arrival on campus, he had looked upon the two of them almost like a second family—or perhaps more than that. With the Bernhards’ son and daughter long out of the nest and living far away, George and Evelyn had in essence adopted him. Indeed they helped him to stay “balanced” in a way he couldn’t define—or didn’t want to.

“I agree.” He returned the hug, held it for a moment, curiously reluctant to let go. “You’re looking good.”

“And you look tired,” she replied as she closed the door. “The end of the year always keeps you professors hopping, and with the debate on top of that, I hope you’re taking time to relax.”

“Evelyn,” George called from deeper in the house, “bring him back here. He needs a drink, and I do, too.”

The dinner went pretty much like all their time together did—lively talk about the university and politics, both legislative and academic, sales of Marcus’s latest sci-fi book, and, of course, about the debate. They both wanted to hear his side of the event and the subsequent controversy.

Marcus related the tale of the meeting with Ed and his visit to the Morgan farm—leaving out his attraction for his opponent, of course. Some things were nobody’s business except his. He concluded, “I think we have the situation as much under control as we can get it. If Ed can only keep order and we choose the audience participants carefully, we should be able to get through the events with a minimum of fuss.”

“I hope so,” George said with a speculative expression, “but I doubt it will be that easy. Not if the first debate was any indication for the future.”

“I wish I could be there,” Evelyn interjected. “A few of the calming spells I use on my students might be in order.”

“Honey, the Swords won’t allow spell-casting,” George said and patted his wife’s hand.

“Maybe they should,” she replied. “Contentious people in a group can regress to the equivalent of my first graders who haven’t had their naps. Enough unpleasantness. Let us have some dessert, and you must tell me what Antonia Morgan served for lunch and what their house looks like. I use their herbs and spices all the time.”

After dinner, Marcus and George retired to the study where the chessboard was waiting. “Next time,” George suggested, “you’d better take pictures of the Morgan place and ask for the recipes.”

“Yes,” Marcus groaned. “I have no idea what was in that chicken salad.”

“Men never do, according to Evelyn. Here, pick a color.” He held out his fists with a pawn in each. Marcus chose, took the white, and they began to play.

Some time later, George said, “Checkmate.”

“What? How did that happen?” Marcus blinked at the board. Damn. He’d waltzed right into the other man’s trap.

“All right,” his mentor said, “what’s the matter? Something’s bothering you. After the first ten minutes, you haven’t been concentrating. I didn’t think you were worried about the debates, or are you?”