Changespell 01 Dunn Lady's Jess (16 page)

"Mark—" Carey started, looking at that foot, but Jaime's arrival cut the warning short.

She dumped her knapsack by the suitcase at the foot of the stairs, stared at the gun in Mark's hand, and said shortly, "Where'd it come from?"

"Why didn't you tell me Derrick had been here, and would recognize you?" Carey shot back at her.

Stunned at first, Jaime quickly realized the implications of the question. She covered her face with both hands, massaged her temples, and sat gracelessly on the bottom step by the suitcase. "I just didn't think about it," she groaned, pushing loose strands of hair away from her face and back toward the thick barrette that clipped it into a ponytail.

"Well, it turned out okay," Mark said, looking at the gun. "Wonder how he keeps coming up with these things?"

"His little weasel-bait friend," Carey growled. "Same place he got the drugs he used on me. He found that guy within two days of our arrival here. I guess there are some things our worlds have in common."

"Slimeballs. Great," Jaime said tiredly. "Just what
did
happen?"

Carey shrugged, and no longer seemed interested in making an issue of Jaime's oversight. "He came looking for the spell. He didn't get it."

"We found a great place to hide it, though," Mark said. "Stuck it back in the crawl space under the porch." Then his eyes lit up. "He got it open, Jay, did a spell on that seal and it peeled right off! Magic
does
work here!"

"At least, I can draw on Camolen's magic," Carey allowed.

"You can do spells?" Jess demanded. "You can take us back home?"

Carey looked at her for a long moment, openly studying her. "Is it so awful, being human?"

Jess was just as thoughtful. "No," she said. "But it is hard not being a horse."

Mark put a comradely arm around her shoulders, the unloaded gun dangling casually along her arm. "We'd miss you, human
or
horse."

"Can you?" Jaime asked bluntly. "Get yourself home, I mean."

"I doubt it," Carey said. "But I'm going to study the spell anyway. It's better than sitting around waiting for Derrick's next try."

Jess wondered if they'd noticed. For although she suspected it was skirting the edge of the rule, she didn't hold herself to a promise they'd discussed but she'd never given. She did, however, decide that the gun must be a dangerous thing; she needed to understand it before she made any final decision about it. Maybe she would decide it
wasn't
something she wanted to handle—but somehow it seemed very important that she come to that conclusion on her own.

Which is why she went with Mark and Carey to the far edge of the paddocks, back by the tree line where they'd earlier hauled some rejected, moldy bales of hay. Armed with a pad of paper, a pencil, and a whole page of words to practice writing, she settled down cross-legged while Mark explained the gun to Carey, and replaced the pointed cylinders he called bullets. As she carefully formed the letters of her name, mentally identifying each one, he held the gun out before him and pulled the trigger.

Jess and paper exploded into motion. Blank pages fluttered, airborne, while Jess scrabbled away, not waiting to get to her feet before attempting speed.

"Ninth heaven!" Carey said, his voice holding the edge of anger that meant he, too, had been frightened. Then, quickly, he regained his composure and called, "
Lady
," a mixture of command and assurance.

She exerted control over her reflexive flight and stumbled to a stop, spinning to face both the threat and Carey.
It was the gun. It was the gun.
The gun, and not any direct danger. Carey held out his hand and she slowly returned to them, determined to override the equine instinct with human reasoning, although her legs weren't quite convinced and trembled uncertainly beneath her. She reached Carey and he touched her arm, holding it in a brief but pacifying contact.

"Sorry, Jess," Mark said sheepishly. "Even got Carey with that one."

Carey shook his head. "I've heard the noise on your TV, but I had no idea it would be so loud."

"The gun," Jess said faintly, and then cleared her throat and stood a little taller, declaring firmly, "Too loud."

"Yeah," Mark agreed, eyes widening at some sight behind her. "Better get your papers before they blow away."

Jess jerked around, well aware of the havoc the perpetual mid-Ohio winds could cause. She ran after the loose papers, playing a little, rounding them up like a stallion gathers his mares. By the time she'd gotten them all and found the pencil, Carey had the gun and was pointing it at the target on the hay bales. Clutching her papers, Jess waited for the thunderclap of noise, and couldn't help but flinch when it came. But she didn't run. And when Mark led Carey up to the target, she was right on their heels.

"See?" Mark said, poking his finger into the hole that was there. "That was the first shot. I don't know where yours went," he added somewhat apologetically to Carey.

"I can't believe it moves so fast," Carey said.

"The bullet comes out of the gun, and makes a hole in the paper?" Jess asked, looking closely at the target.

"It makes a hole in whatever's in its way," Mark replied grimly. "Including people."

Maybe this gun wasn't something she wanted to touch, after all. Jess retreated to the long grass and smoothed her paper out on her knee. She watched the two men as she nibbled wood away from the broken pencil point to expose the lead, and went back to work. But she watched and she listened, and letters weren't the only things she learned that afternoon.

Carey checked the clock over the kitchen sink as he rinsed the last of the dinner pots. Not his favorite chore, but he wasn't being picky these days. Everything—his own personal whims and needs included—was second to returning to Camolen, with the spell safely out of Calandre's greedy little hands. So if Jaime asked him to do dishes, he did dishes. But he'd rather be out in the barn, caring for the horses. Lady would just now be finishing up with their evening meal, while Jaime worked with an advanced student who'd trailered her horse in for the lesson. If he hurried, he'd catch the last half of the hour lesson, and whatever his mixed feelings about being here, he was rabidly interested in Jaime's riding and teaching techniques.

He slung the dish towel over the oven door handle and hurried out to the barn, past the open hay stall and Lady—and then reversed his tracks and peered in at her. "Lady?" he questioned, unable to figure out why she was on her stomach on the upper level of bales, her arms and head hanging off one end of the prickly mattress, her knees bent and feet bobbing loosely in midair over her bottom.

"Kittens," she said, somehow perceiving the meaning behind his inquiry.

He stuck his head into the stall and found there were indeed kittens, young creatures wobbly on their feet, waving unsteady paws after the enticing stalk of hay Lady waved above them.

"I always liked the cats in the barn," she said, almost dreamily. "I was a good horse, wasn't I, Carey?"

"Usually," he said, coming around to her head, crouching to pick up one of the kittens. It batted feebly at his fingers, purring.

The hay stem stopped its twirling, as Lady looked up at him. "What will happen to me when we go home?"

"Happen?" he repeated, not quite understanding.

She wrinkled her nose impatiently. "Will I be Jess, or will I be Lady?"

Oh, that was it. "You're still Lady," he said gently. "You always will be. And when we return home, I'm pretty sure you'll be Lady on four legs again."

"Am I Lady now?" she asked, more of a contradiction than a question. "I make my own rules now. Lady wouldn't."

"Magic can't change what you are." Carey laid a hand on her thick dark sand hair for a moment, then let it drop away. "You'll be fine."

She accepted the caress, but shook her head in disagreement. "I
miss
what I was—but to be Lady again, I would have to give up Jess. And now sometimes I think . . . I think maybe Jess is a nice thing to be."

"And not go on the runs anymore? And what about the courier competitions—do you remember coming along with the Dun Lady when you were a yearling? She took second overall in those games. You were my choice for this year."

"Was I?" she asked with interest. "That would be fun. Is that why you took me down Arlen's stairs last fall? Were we practicing for a strange game?"

Carey blinked at the unexpected question, not eager to admit that somewhat dangerous prank was merely macho silliness. "No," he said, through a cough, "that was just . . . a learning experience."

"I had a lot of those," Jess said somewhat remorsefully.

Carey smiled, well caught up in memories that revolved around the dun filly he'd raised and trained. "How about that stuffy guy who tried to buy you once—the only courier of some lowling wizard, out to get a backup mount. I'd just started you under saddle, and didn't have any intention of selling you, but . . ." He shrugged, still crouched down in front of her, watching the memory rather than Lady. "Had to go through the motion, you know, for Arlen. So I let him saddle you up, and you'd stepped on his foot three times before you even got out of the barn cavern. And when he mounted, he dug your ribs with his toe, the clumsy oaf—you went straight up in the air, hopped twice, and took off with him—" And though the memory was still clear, Carey got no further, distracted by Lady's laughter. She'd rolled over on her back and was giggling almost uncontrollably, no doubt remembering the creek in which she'd dumped that unfortunate courier. He found himself smiling, then chuckling, and when she twisted her head around to look at him upside down, he was lost, and they were both hopelessly caught up in laughter, set off anew each time they caught one another's eye.

When they finally wound down, gasping for breath, suspended in a moment of complete ease with one another, Carey suddenly found himself wanting to reach for her and hold her close, to feel the lithe lines of her body against him. With a shock, he snapped back into proper perspective, where this dynamic creature was a
horse
, and not someone he could ever really call his—not if he wanted to be hers, as well.

His smile faded, and he stood, saying, "I want to see the rest of this lesson." And then he left, but he could feel her puzzled gaze following him out of the stall and, even though it was impossible, all the way down the aisle to the indoor ring.

It seemed like the learning never stopped. If it wasn't reading and writing, it was new words, or learning how to go to a nice restaurant and not embarrass herself, or even riding—although the riding was more like a reward, after both dinner and Jaime's early evening lessons. While Carey sat on the stool and stared with growing frustration at the spell he'd been meant to deliver and now counted on to take them both back to Camolen, Jess spent time on Sunny, making large circles around Jaime while she did stretching and relaxation exercises at the walk, trot, and finally the canter. As Jess' vocabulary and the evenings grew longer, she was given the freedom of the entire ring, while Jaime stood in the middle and called out instructions. Derrick faded into an unpleasant memory, one kept alive mostly by the sound of Carey's target practice.

Although Jess was more than satisfied with the flow of her life, Carey was harder to please. Mark's lunchtime comment that Derrick must have given up and gone home earned him a glare of the highest order, after which Carey stalked out of the kitchen and into the basement to retrieve the spell, which he still secured each and every time he was through studying it.

"If only the job had been done," Jess said somewhat mournfully, looking after him as he passed back through the kitchen on his way outside, into the steady rain of the grey day. "If he could know for sure what has happened at home . . ."

"Or if he was a wizard instead of a courier," Jaime added with some asperity. "But he's not, Jess. Sooner or later he's going to have to accept that."

"Did you think the same about me, when I wanted to find him?" Jess asked, adding, in case they hadn't gotten it, "I
did
find him."

"True," Mark said. "But that was a little more within reach, Jess." He stood and grabbed the light jacket that hung on his chair. "Well, ladies, I gotta get to work early today—gotta overlap Dayna's shift so we can deal with some paperwork."

Jess watched his breezy exit, but her thoughts were on Carey. "He seems so different," she said wistfully.

"What?" Jaime asked blankly. "Have you startled me in the middle of a thought, Jess?"

"Carey," Jess said. "I know I saw things . . . differently before I came here. But not so different as this."

"He's got a lot on his mind," Jaime offered.

Jess shook her head. "I know. He wants to do his job, for Arlen. He wants to get us back home. But I miss him."

Mystified, Jaime asked, "What do you mean, different? How?"

A shrug. "More . . . open," Jess said, searching for the words that would go along with the man who had cared for her. "Easier. Now he closes his eyes and walks along his trails very fast." She clenched her fists, closing her eyes and put her most determined expression on her face. Then she looked at Jaime and said, "You would like that other Carey better, I think."

"He's got an awful lot on his mind," Jaime repeated, then sighed. "And I've got an afternoon of lessons to get ready for. Had to get them out of the way early this week, so I can leave early for the show."

"You still want me to stay home?" Jess asked wistfully.

"I'm only taking Sabre," Jaime replied, patiently considering the number of times she'd answered this particular question. "I don't really need a groom, but I
do
need someone here I can trust to exercise the horses. None of the other students can do it this time, and Mark's working this weekend."

Neither of them mentioned Carey. Jaime had seen him ride, had been openly impressed, but had unspoken reservations that Jess could clearly read in her significant silences. It was no wonder, she thought, for Jaime had only seen this one side of her master-now-friend, the headstrong, determined side—not the side that knew how to speak in the diplomatic language a horse could understand and accept. Jess sighed, loudly.