Heart's Magic (32 page)

"Likely it was glass that
got you," he said crawling onto the bed, "not a
splinter."

"It feels like a
splinter."

He could hear the pain in
her voice and hated it. "Easy, love. I'll get it."

He lifted the candle and
saw the problem immediately. Didn't look too terrible. A drop of
blood was just beginning to trickle down her hip. He caught it and
tasted it. Tasted like blood. Not awful. Not particularly tasty
either.

"Is it bleeding? Be careful
with the blood, Harry. Get a handkerchief to clean it. We'll have
to burn it after.

"Right." But what if he
didn't? What if they mixed their blood? He knew Grey and Pearl had
sealed her apprenticeship at the beginning by mixing blood. If he
and Elinor did, it would bind them closer, wouldn't it? Maybe even
start him down the road to familiar? He'd drunk her blood, done it
again just now. She'd tasted his, too, but apparently that wasn't
enough to make a familiar.

"Are you going to get the
splinter out?" Elinor shifted position.

"Yeah. Just tryin' to get a
look at it." He shouldn't.
He
wouldn't.
It would be a betrayal of her
trust to mix their blood without her knowing.

"Let me get the
'andkerchief." He had one in the side table drawer, he thought. And
if he accidentally put his hand in the glass there-- No. That
wouldn't be right.

The cloth was where he
expected. He really should brush the broken glass off the table so
they neither one forgot and put a hand in it. He used his hand to
brush it off. He didn't want to get glass on the cloth before he
touched it to Elinor. The glass didn't cut him. He was glad.
Really.

Carefully, he blotted up
the fresh trickle of blood on her hip, trying not to push the glass
sliver deeper. He needed better light to see it. He reached for the
candle on the table and caught a bit of glass he'd missed on the
side of his thumb. He plucked the tiny bit out and stuck his thumb
in his mouth before taking another look. Not bad. Not bleeding. He
sucked on it again.

"I'm going to try to get it
out now, all right?" He gave her a friendly pat on the opposite
hip.

"You're enjoying this,
aren't you?" Elinor accused, her voice muffled by the mattress and
her arms where her head was pillowed.

"Not at all." He moved the
candle in close. "Not much," he amended. "I don't like you bein'
hurt. But I 'ave to admit, I don't mind the close
inspection."

He thought he could get it
out with his fingernails, now he got a good look at it. The sliver
was small but visible, and hadn't been driven completely beneath
her skin. He changed hands on the candlestick and went after it. He
could feel the glass grit between his nails. He pulled, and it
came. All of it, he hoped. He'd had glass splinters and wooden ones
break off and leave part behind.

"Did that get it?" he
asked, flicking the glass to the floor with the other shards. "Can
you still feel it?"

"It still hurts. It did
stab me, you know." She scowled at him one-eyed from the shelter of
her folded arms.

He rubbed his thumb one way
over the tiny wound, then back the other. "I can't feel anything
more."

"I don't
either."

"Bloody hell." He hadn't
meant to. Honest and for true, he hadn't--but his thumb was
bleeding. His own sliver must have been deeper than he thought.
Elinor's tiny cut had bled more when he pulled the glass out and it
mixed--his blood into hers, hers into his. Such a tiny bit. Maybe
it wouldn't make a difference.

"My bottom requires
cursing?" Elinor rose on an elbow to look at him full
on.

He opened his mouth to
explain, to protest his innocence, and the magic hit.

The attack slammed into
Elinor, and she screamed. Harry threw up a shield and the magic
struck at him too, air locking down around his head in an attempt
to cut off his breathing, while alien magic--conjury and wizardry
both--went searing through his flesh and bones.

"
Profundo!
" He focused his magic
through the word, shattering the attacking spell and setting the
air free to flow. Elinor took a great breath, sending relief
through him. He didn't have to break a separate spell around
her.

She cried a liquid phrase
in her spell-language. The pure magic in the attack slacked off.
Harry used the respite to haul magic out of every place in his room
where he'd stored it--out of every stone and metal item, from his
hairbrush and shaving cup to the split geodes lined up on the
mantelpiece. They weren't mere toiletries or décor. He spoke
another word, and the shield he'd already built clanked like iron
around them.

"Your hand!" Elinor held
hers out to him. "Give me your hand."

He had it clasped in hers
before she finished speaking, using his grip to pull her into his
arms. He settled her in, back to his front, making himself her
armor. Magic surged between them, dizzying him for a moment before
it settled. Higher, as if its resting point had risen.

The attack returned, more
ferocious than before, angry and bitter and full of
self-righteousness. Harry didn't know how he could tell that, but
he could. Elinor bolstered his shield, but they were only two. Far
more magicians were arrayed against them, and the magic got
through, battered them. He shouted at the pain, wrapping
himself--his magic, his will--around Elinor, taking it on himself
to protect her. The vicious attack had enough magic to kill them
both, likely would have, had they not been able to tie their magic
together.

But such an attack could
not be sustained at that level. The enemy, whoever they were, had
enough power for a fast, targeted strike, not a siege.

Elinor caught hold of
Harry's magic. It startled him. He didn't know she could do that,
but if she wanted it, she could have all she wanted. He poured it
into her, somehow. She caught hold of the attacking magic. "Hold
tight," she said, and they went flying across London, following the
path the magic had taken to come to them.

It wasn't him, exactly,
flying this way. More like his magic, but he could sense things
through the magic, see where it was going. It felt odd. Like he was
a burr stuck to a sock.

The trail they followed
shuddered, broke apart, and Harry lost his telescope view. He sent
a spell chasing along the rapidly disintegrating path, grabbing
Elinor's burr-magic to speed it along faster than the trail
vanished. When the spell reached the end, it would shake the air
and should stun only those who'd sent the magic against
them.

When the spell was sealed
and sent, Elinor popped out of his embrace like a cork out of a
bottle. She punched his arm, hard. "What did you do, Harry
Tomlinson?"

"
Me?
" He rubbed his sore arm. What was
she on about? "I didn't do nothing. That was somebody else attacked
us, which you ought to know."

"Not that. Your
magic.
Our
magic.
We shouldn't have been able to do that, blend it. Not like that.
What did you do?"

"I didn't mean to, I
swear." Would she believe him? She had to. "I just--when I picked
up the candlestick, I got a splinter myself. In me thumb. Not bad
enough to bleed, I didn't think. But it did. And when I was pullin'
the sliver out o' your bum--"

He made an apologetic face.
It
had
been an
accident. Thinking about it wasn't the same as doing it. "It mixed.
I was about to tell ya when the magic hit. But--it worked out,
didn't it? Without the mixin', I don't think we'd've made it
through. Not that last attack. Maybe not either one."

"Bloody, bloody hell." She
slumped back onto the bed. "That's why you cursed, isn't
it?"

"Yeah." Harry reached out.
She was too far away to take her hand, so he took hold of her foot,
rubbing his thumb gently across her arch. "I swear it was an
accident, Elinor. But is it really so awful? Truly and honestly?
We're good together. Why shouldn't we be familiar?"

"I don't know. It
just--seems wrong." She frowned at him. "You have your dressing
gown on." She looked cold.

"I went out in the hall."
He rolled to the edge of the bed, but all the covers had been
knocked off on the side with the broken glass. "Here." He gave her
his dressing gown and fetched the lap robe from the chaise longue
near the fire to wrap around himself, trying to think how to
convince her this was all for the best.

"I don't understand why you
would think it's wrong," he said, climbing back onto the bed. He
leaned against the headboard and patted the space beside him,
inviting Elinor to join him there.

She stubbornly shook her
head, staying where she was, down by his feet.

Harry sighed. Stubborn
could be carried too far. "We need to be worryin' about who
attacked us and why, not about whether or not we should be
familiar."

"I know who attacked me. The
wizard's guild. Or most of them. And it's
you
who will be
my
familiar, not both of us
familiars."

"I dunno. I think it goes
both ways, at least some. I used that burr magic of yours that
latched onto them to send a concussion spell after 'em." He leaned
forward, folding his legs out of the way. "And it wasn't just
wizards that attacked us. There was conjury and alchemy in there
too. They attacked the both of us, Elinor, not just
you."

"They attacked you because
we were together. They wouldn't have touched you if I'd been
alone." She crossed her arms and glared at him.

"You think so? 'Cause I
don't. Maybe they wouldn't 'ave attacked me tonight if we 'adn't
been together, but an attack on me was inevitable. They don't love
me any more than they do you--but more than that-- If anything
happened to you, do you think I'd just sit on me arse moaning 'alas
and alack, Elinor's gone away'?" He went over onto hands and knees,
stalking her across the mattress.

"Oh, no, me love. Anything
'appens to you, an' I'll be tearin' London apart to find the ones
who done it. And then tearin' them apart with me bare 'ands." He
wasn't surprised to hear his old accent rise up on his temper. It
usually did. "It's all I can' do not to go roarin' out of 'ere this
minute to rip at 'em, and that's only 'cause I won't leave ya. Not
alone."

"Well, of course you won't
go alone. I'll be with you. It was unconscionable--it is
mutiny
to launch a sneak
attack on the properly appointed magister of a guild, much less the
duly chosen head of the Magician's Council. We cannot let this
challenge go unanswered." She moved as if preparing to slide off
the bed and Harry pounced, hauling her into his arms.

"I don't give a bloody damn
that you're wizard's magister," he snarled. "An' even less that I'm
council 'ead. I want to kill those bastards for hurting you because
you're
mine.
My
woman, my familiar, an' if you know wot's good for ya, my
wife.
"

The minute he said it, he
knew he'd made a mistake. A gigantic one. But she'd driven him to
it, with her insistence on maintaining that artificial distance
between them, claiming that he was important to her only as head of
council. And now he'd said it, he didn't know how to back down.
Every word he said was true. She just wasn't ready to hear it
yet.

She drove an elbow hard into
his gut, loosening his hold enough she could scramble free. "I
am
not
your woman,
Harry Tomlinson." She scooted off the bed, fortunately off the
foot, away from the broken glass on the side nearest the door. "I
am no one's possession. I belong to myself alone."

"Mind the
glass--"

She snatched up her shimmy
and dragged it on. "I will never,
ever
become a plaything for any
man."

"That's not wot I meant--"
But he might as well give up. She wasn't listening. Wouldn't
listen. Still, he had to try.

"I am not marrying you."
She wriggled into her pantalettes, a far too tempting sight, and
went hunting for her corset. "I will never marry. I've told you
this before, but you didn't listen. You never listen."

"That's not true. I
listen." He watched her stomp around, worried she might stray into
the broken glass. "I don't understand what I 'ear a lot of the
time--" He picked up his dressing gown from where she'd tossed it
and put it on. Her corset was half under the chaise. He'd seen it
when he went for the lap robe.

"That's because you don't
listen."

"It's because your
explanations don't make sense." He handed her the corset and waited
while she got it hooked in front, then began pulling the loosened
laces snug. "
Why
won't you marry me?"

"Because for a woman,
marriage is incompatible with magic. I've told you this,
Harry."

"And I still don't
understand why. Why is it incompatible? Not marriage in principle
between two hypothetical people, but
you
marrying
me.
What's incompatible about that?
What makes you think the two of us can't make it work?"