Cold Hard Magic (7 page)

Rob snorted and nodded. "How did you hear that?"

"Oh, mom said something about it. He kept visiting me in the hospital and I was only there for a day and half so it was kinda creepy—"

Rob looked down and then back up again. “Why are you here, Nancy?”

"You never returned my calls," she blurted. "You never visited at the hospital."

"You were only there for a day and a half," he pointed out. Rob waited for several long seconds, then sighed. "Professor Wallenstein explained everything," he said. "That night."

She cringed.

"Don't worry, I understand," Rob said. "It makes perfect sense actually. You being you and me…" he took a deep breath. "No harm, no foul." He figured if his head bobbed up and down enough times, it would become a truth for the universe and he might actually believe it.

Another blanket of silence fell between them

“I came back to see you," she said. "I… I miss you. A lot.” She raised her hand in a feeble effort to explain. "I know how things looked. I'm so sorry about everything, but there was something that night at the mall. Something…The connection was real, Rob. It was real on my end.

"You didn't give me a chance explain," she finished feebly. "I just want another chance."

"What about Hollywood and being an actress?" he asked. His posture relaxed, somewhat, and his hands slid into the pockets of his jeans.

"It was starting to be everything I wanted," she confessed. He stiffened. "Away from here and all the baggage that entailed, but it wasn't what I needed," she finished quickly. "I finally get that. My baggage makes me who I really am. I liked that girl and I really like her with you."

Something within him finally unlocked. Maybe it was the earnest plea in her beautiful brown eyes or the way she bit down on her lip when she was nervous or the way her hair was pointing in several different directions at once. His lip twitched and the universe righted itself.

Well, it was about to.

Rob pushed off the doorway and moved to stand toe to toe with Nancy. His hand reached up slowly, telegraphing his intent.

She waited.

His thumb caressed her cheek and he leaned forward to gently capture her lips.

It wasn't earth shattering. Mountains didn't move. Angels didn't weep. But the universe did align.

Rob pulled away and smiled. Nancy smiled back.

"I can read auras now," she said.

Rob stopped. "Yeah?"

Nancy nodded. "Something weird happened that night. Besides me almost being killed that is. Something about that barn and that doe—"

"You saw the doe?"

"Yeah," she answered. "Didn't you?"

All of the incantations that Rob performs are purely a figment of my whimsical mind. It is not intended to be realistic in any way, shape or form. In fact, any semblance of realism is purely accidental on my part. However, I found the Spiritualist Séance Invocation at an awesome Ouija website,
Ouija Magic
which cites the Weekly Newspaper. Since I couldn't find the original, I'm citing it as they did.

* From "The Spirit Speaks! Weekly Newspaper" 1901

Water of Life
by Rhys Astason (available now)

Camp Audie Murphy

American Federation, Joint Forces Command

On the coast of The Republic of Oman

0530 GST

Master Chief Petty Officer Jackson Monroe hated running. That hadn’t always been the case but after twenty years in the Federation’s Navy, time had finally caught up with him in the form of a solid hour of pure pain. Eighteen months ago, regardless of terrain, an hour of running would have been nothing. Hardly enough to break him into real sweat unless he pushed himself racing his Raider teammates, the Wolf Pack. But he had been whole then.

His new reality was a bluish tint to his face because his overworked lungs simply refused to process the lifesaving oxygen any faster. It was probably due to the fact they were now burning with fiery vengeance, his lower back was screaming with every movement, and his left knee felt like it was about to crumble into dust if he took another step. His whole body felt like it would burst into flames at any minute. The only good thing was that his right knee felt fine. Actually, the titanium joint and attaching rods felt nothing. Never would.

Jackson hit the sandy beach portion of the hardest trail on the base and slowed down his pace to a light jog. He couldn’t complain. This leg wouldn’t blind him with agony if half of it got blown off. It was a good leg. The best that the American Federation Military could provide which meant it was the best prosthetics available in the world. He had been lucky. Eighteen months ago, he had only lost a leg. Several of his teammates had lost a whole lot more.

“Morning, Master Chief.”

“Morning, Chief.”

“Chief.”

Jackson looked up in time to see the arrogant smiles from three members of Special Warfare, Raider Six, the Dragons, run past him. The fuckers had lapped him even though they had started at least twenty minutes later. It would be all over Camp Murphy by the time he got back. It didn’t matter that they were fifteen years younger, on the active duty roster and had use of two completely non-mechanical legs. He was never going to live this down. If nothing else, the other chiefs would skewer him over an open fire for making them look bad.

“Over the hill,” one of them said loud enough to carry over the breaking surf.

“Assholes,” Jackson muttered under his breath, coming to an abrupt stop on the hard sand. He gave up the ghost and leaned forward, hands resting on his thighs. He rubbed his very human aching knee, ignoring the water that rushed against his shoes and silently cursing at the metal that was now his other leg.

He looked up at the retreating backs of the Dragons, so eager to go spread the gossip that they had lapped Master Chief, the Ball Breaker of Camp Murphy. Jackson wondered what the blazes drove him to run this course. He hated sand as much as he now hated running.

“Good morning, Master Chief.”

Oh yeah
. Now he remembered.

That smoky voice hit him right in the groin every single time he heard it. He straightened and turned, meeting sparkling green eyes that were alight with mischief.

Today she was actually within an arm’s reach. With the whole bloody beach to walk on, she was just a hairs breadth from intruding in his personal space and brushing against him. His breath stalled in his throat. Close enough so his hands could rip open the offending wetsuit and finally feel the softness underneath. Where his lips could finally taste the skin he had been dreaming about for over six months.

She sent him that naughty grin he now considered as belonging solely to him even if it couldn’t possibly be true. The one that hinted she knew exactly what he was thinking about and made so many promises that his cock twitched in anticipation. This flirtation had been going on since they’d met. But flirtation was all it could ever be. Cold harsh reality slammed into him like a freight train.

Gracen Ellison was simply too pretty, too young…and too commissioned.

“Morning, Captain,” he replied, his voice sounding harsh even to his own ears.

The moment shattered.

Something flashed across her eyes. Regret? Anger? He had just reminded both of them that whatever they were doing was against regulations. Her smile tightened imperceptibly, something he wouldn’t have recognized a few months ago, but now it was as clear as a bell. She gave him a small nod, bordering on brusque dismissal before trotting up the beach with her surf board tucked tightly under her arm and heading up the wooden steps towards the parked cars.

I’m such an asshole.

He followed her to apologize. To kiss her senseless. Anything to take away that bruised look from her eyes and bring back the promising, smoldering look that he loved.

“What the hell are you doing, Jackson?” came the irate voice behind him.

Only years of training kept Jackson from reacting poorly and looking guilty as he turned to face his best friend and former Wolf Pack teammate, Chief Petty Officer Brian Hunter.

“Chief.”

“Don’t you Chief me, Master Chief,” Brian said, his arms crossing against his impressive chest and giving Jackson his best ‘
I know I caught you doing something you weren’t supposed to'
look he usually reserved for green sailors just off the boat. “This is a level five course, Jackson. You have nothing to prove. The Navy didn’t promote you to Master Chief to keep your pretty face around. You have skills they find valuable, but if you blow out your other knee they will have no choice but to send you packing.”

Jackson slowly nodded, dropping his head to hide the relief that flooded his features. Hunter had only caught him running a course he hadn’t been medically cleared for and not staring after a pretty, young captain like a starving man facing a juicy T-bone.

“You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Brian replied, slapping Jackson on shoulder that, had the other man not been prepared for, would have sent him sprawling on the sand. “I’m always right.” Brian grinned broadly, showing off white pearly teeth against a darker skin tone.

“Asshole,” Jackson grumbled. It was definitely becoming his favorite word.

“Fop.”

Jackson’s eyes flattened dangerously and one eyebrow arched as he put the full weight of his own version of the Command Master Chief
Look
onto Brian. “Fop?”

“You know,” Brian hesitated, “when that one duke goes out of his way to…”

“I read the book,
Chief
,” Jackson said, glaring menacingly. Then his lips twitched and the mask of righteous anger completely fell. “But I never thought you’d be man enough to admit to reading it.”

The silence lasted for a full two seconds before Brian’s explosive laughter filled the beach.

“Asshole!” Brian shook his head, a smile still playing across his lips. “You were right. It was a great way to just blow some steam.” Their eyes locked. Sometimes words weren’t necessary between brother warriors. The memories haunted both of them. Brian’s smile faltered briefly and eyes dropped to Jackson’s leg, then away.

“Brian-”

“I swear to God,” Brian started, turning back to Jackson and pointing at his chest, a smile back on his face but this time it didn’t quite reach his eyes, “if you tell anyone I actually read that lovey dovey girl porn, I’ll kill you in your sleep. And Jesus Christ those covers are horrid even in a reader.”

He responded to Jackson’s snort with his own laugh. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He turned and smirked. “Bet I can beat you to the truck, old man.”

Jackson shook his head, a lazy grin in his face as he followed gamely up the weathered steps even as Brian detoured to a different car first. He knew that they would have to talk about that last mission someday. Really talk. But not today.

Jackson’s pace slowed when he saw a blue lump on his bumper. He picked up the still frozen ice pack. Gracen. Guilt rode through him hard as he glanced up to see her on the upper level parking waxing her surfboard. Nothing he could do right now, but he’d figure out a way to apologize somehow. Coffee. He’d buy her coffee and apologize. Satisfied with the plan, he pulled open the jeep's tailgate and hopped on, before gingerly placing the ice on his pounding knee.

“Jesus, you are getting old,” Brian said, handing him a cold water bottle.

“Pot. Kettle. Black.”

Brian laughed. “I’m vintage.” He puffed out his chest and tapped it twice before pointing to Jackson. “You, my friend, are an antique. No shame in being elderly, though.” He saluted with his own bottle before taking long drink. The broad smile on his face slowly faded. “This is my last tour with the Raiders.”

Jackson sent him a piercing look. Hunter was a career man, like himself. And that career was Special Warfare or nothing. “They pushing you out?”

“No,” Brian shook his head, “but the new guys are getting younger every day and I’m starting to feel old.” He shrugged. “Not as old as you, of course.” He laughed at Jackson’s scowl. “Speaking of which,” he nodded towards the upper level, “are officers getting younger?” A low, appreciative whistle cut through the air. “Damn. Should be against regulations for a captain to be that fuckable. Isn’t the Army supposed to be full of rejects?”

Show some fucking respect,
was on Jackson’s lips but he managed to bite it back and followed Hunter’s gaze up to the second parking level. His eyes drank in the sight of Gracen peeling off the wetsuit to reveal a deep red tankini that had become his favorite. He tore his gaze away.

“Doctor Ellison? Never thought of her that way.” He hid his blatant lie behind the bottle of water, taking a long drink and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.