The Wellspring (3 page)

She’d been about to step into view, in spite
of Prosser’s apparent irritation, but St. John’s appearance kept
her to the shadows. His treatment of her still stung.

Yule refrained from revealing her presence
and saw St. John close the door after Prosser entered past him. She
had a bad moment when she thought the austere executive assistant
might have spotted her, his piercing gaze sweeping the place where
she hid, but his gaze swept on, the door closed, and Yule gave a
sigh of relief. It was a close enough call to dissuade her from her
errand, at least for the night. Besides, he’d seemed in an
irritable mood which would probably make him disinclined to hear
her out. As she stepped cautiously from her hiding place she
glanced at the Jaguar, subconsciously registering he hadn’t locked
it before going back inside the house, and fleetingly observed that
was a poor lapse in security for a man in his position. She turned
away from the house to leave the property and—

Yule opened her eyes to darkness.

Not surprising, it was night, but when had
she closed her eyes? When did she lie down on this buttery soft
leather seat and why was she moving?

She startled suddenly from her almost drowsy
musing, sitting up violently and realizing she was in the back seat
of a moving car!

“Damn! What the hell!” a surprised, angry
exclamation was accompanied by the screech of brakes and Yule fell
forward due to a lack of seatbelt, landing between the dual bucket
seats, very nearly on the stick shift and she looked up at the
surprised, angry face of Magus Teomond.

“Sorry! I’m sorry! I—” Yule fumbled for what
to say while also fumbling for an explanation to herself about how
she came to be in his car.

“Groves and Grottos, girl!” he swore
furiously. “You could have wrecked us!”

“I—” Yule still found she was unable to
explain the situation to either of them.

“Hang on, it’s
you
,” he accused.

Yule scrambled into the back seat. “I really
can’t explain this, Magus Teomond. I should just go.”

“Actually, I think you
will
explain,”
he said icily, and all of the locks clicked shut, defying her
attempt to open either back door.

“Open the door!” she exclaimed. “You can’t do
this! It’s kidnapping! I’ll call the police!”

“And I’ll have you arrested for stalking at
the very least,” he told her. “You got into my car, and you were at
my office. Who are you?”

“Yule Fiori,” she replied sulkily.

“Fiori? There’s an old Family name I haven’t
heard spoken in Court since—well, never. I’ve only seen it, on the
books, long before the Merge.”

“Maybe if your messages were delivered, or
you read them, you’d recognize my name.” Yule’s temper reasserted
itself. “I’ve been trying to contact you for weeks.”

Prosser was staring at her while she spoke,
but not as if he listened to her. It seemed as if he listened to
something else, but when she finished he focused on her. “Did you
think that breaking into my car and accosting me while I drove was
a prudent way to elicit my attention?” he queried sternly.

“I didn’t break into your car! It wasn’t
locked! And I certainly didn’t accost you, I simply sat up,” she
replied defensively. “And how do I know you didn’t knock me in the
head or use a sleeping spell on me? I don’t even know how I got
into your car.”

“Then how do you know it was unlocked?”
Prosser countered with a smirk.

“I—I just thought,” Yule stammered, having no
idea what to say next.

“I don’t believe you thought at all,” he went
on aridly. “What did you imagine I’d take you for? If not a
carjacker then a mugger or even an assassin—”

“Oh, please!” she scoffed. “I’d hardly be
mistaken for an assassin!”

“Don’t presume flippancy with me, Miss Yule
Fiori,” he chastised. “I’ve encountered far less obvious assassins,
and if it’s my attention you wanted, you most certainly
have
it. I should boot you out on the wind—straight to the police.”

“No! Please don’t!” she exclaimed, suddenly
afraid of what Marc would say or think. A representative of the
Project being arrested for stalking a preeminent
psycho-archaeologist, and a Magus besides! Something like that
would be on the gossip broadcasts a minute after she was booked. It
could ruin the Project and then what would Marc think?

“Then I strongly suggest—no, I absolutely
insist—that you come up with a plausible, or at least entertaining
reason for your presence in my car,” he threatened.

Yule tried to take a breath, failed, and
suddenly felt trapped and scrutinized like a pinned butterfly. How
could she begin to explain what she didn’t know? Any normal person
would think her crazy or a stalker, or both. The only reason she
could fathom for Prosser to refrain from leaping from the car and
calling the police was that he possessed the very real ability to
teleport her directly into the nearest jail cell.

“I wish I could explain this,” she told him.
“But the truth is—I have no idea how I got here. It’s all so very
awkward,” she added. “And I’m sorry.”

“That isn’t particularly imaginative,” he
told her, sounding much like a father scolding a child caught
taking a cookie. “You don’t remember and you’re sorry?”

“I know, but it’s the truth and it doesn’t
give you the right to make fun of me.”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t.” He stopped
scrutinizing her, facing forward again.

“If you’d just unlock the doors I can find my
way home.” But the doors remained locked and then Yule’s heart
skipped a beat as she felt the car begin to roll forward when
Prosser guided it back onto the road. “You don’t have to take me
home.”

“I’m not,” he replied evenly, his eyes
focused on the road.

“Oh,” she remarked, thinking she should say
more, but not knowing what that might be. “You don’t have to drive
me to the bus depot either.”

“I didn’t plan to,” he told her.

Yule looked out the window. “Is this the way
back to the main road?”

“No.”

She stared at the back of his head. “Please
stop the car. I want to get out now.”

“No.”

The calm tenor of his refusal sent a strange
jolt, like an electrical charge, directly through her body, to her
spine. Was she in danger? How likely was it that this public figure
was a threat? No one really knew everything about anyone, did they?
Not even a public figure.

“Stop the car. I am getting out,” she told
him firmly.

“You can’t get out and I’m not going to stop
again. I have a schedule to keep,” he informed her.

“But—this is kidnapping! Where are you taking
me?” she forced her voice to remain low, not shrill.

“I can hardly be accused of kidnapping a
woman who hid in my car,” he pointed out. “As for where I’m going,
I have a business meeting, bayside. There’s a bed-and-breakfast
where I like to stay.”

“That’s all very interesting, but I have no
plans to go with you,” she protested. “You can let me out anywhere
along here. There’s bound to be a bus stop, or I can call for a
cab.” Yule was reaching for her cell phone even as she spoke.

“You won’t get a signal,” he politely
advised. “And I certainly couldn’t put you out on this lonely road
in the middle of the night.”

Yule checked her phone and saw that, as he’d
told her, she had no signal, but whether that was due to a spell,
being in that car, or the area through which he drove she did not
know.

“I don’t mind getting out here,” she told
him. “I can find my way home.”

“I’m sure you can—in the morning.”

“Morning?” she exclaimed. “I can’t be gone
all night! Especially when no one knows—” she broke off, realizing
that was a dangerous admission to make to a man acting as mad as
he. “My cell isn’t working,” she finished, thinking her sentence
nearly seamless. “Please don’t strand me in the middle of nowhere
all night just because I surprised you. I swear it’s the truth,
that I have no idea how I got into your car!”

“I know you haven’t.”

“Furthermore—what?” His reply surprised her.
“You—you believe me?”

“It’s a ludicrous story, but you don’t strike
me as a ludicrous woman, so your story is probably true.”

“Oh—well,” Yule spluttered, unsure about how
she should respond.

“And I analyzed your aura,” he added, exiting
the highway.

For a split second Yule didn’t breathe. “You
spelled me! You bastard—”

“Ah, ah, that’s, you bastard,
Magus
,”
he corrected her.

“You’re mocking me?” She was outraged. “How
dare you! I’ll bring you up on charges of misconduct! You’ll lose
that damn title you like to flaunt so much!”

“And I’ll bring you up on charges of
stalking, breaking and entering, attempted auto theft—”

“But none of that’s true!” she interrupted
his litany of charges.

“Whom do you think will be believed? A
highly-strung young woman with a penchant for appearing wherever I
am, or a highly respected Magus?”

“So you
do
recognize me!” she angrily
accused him.

“I’ve noticed you following me, yes.”

“Following you?” Yule laughed sharply. “You
think highly of yourself, Magus. For your information, I was trying
to contact you in regards to seeking your support or endorsement
for my group, the Reclamation Project, and nothing more!”

“Does Marc know you’re claiming
responsibility for that enterprise?” She couldn’t be sure, but Yule
thought his tone held a note of amusement. “It is Marc Woodmont’s
project, isn’t it?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied petulantly. “I
meant my group because I belong to it, not because I founded
it.”

“I see,” he acknowledged her explanation
still sounding, she thought, amused—and that annoyed her.

“I think I’m glad you ignored my inquiries,”
Yule told him, anger overriding her prior trepidation. “I used to
think you were arrogant, but at least inclined toward personal
generosity when it came to worthwhile causes even if just to make
yourself look good to the public. I hoped to get your support for
the Reclamation Project, even if it was just for some small word of
advice, or a single image to promote it, but now I see how
ridiculous it was of me to have such an idea.”

“You’ve seen through my façade of
philanthropy, have you?”

Yule was too angry to hear the hint of humor
in his cultured voice. “As a matter-of-fact I have. The arrogance
isn’t an affectation, the philanthropy if the act. You’ve tricked
the masses into believing you’re a good person at heart, who’s just
been misunderstood, or maybe a little jaded by his title. But they
fell for your act, just like I did.”

“But not anymore.”

“Not anymore,” she bitterly agreed. “You’re
like every other Magus—power and title are all that matter to
you.”

“Prosser said nothing in his defense to that,
driving in silence until they passed a large white sign with a
reflective, violet circle in its center, the universal symbol for
spell-casters that they’d entered a zone cleared for vehicular wind
travel.

Yule shivered as they passed the sign, not
out of remorse or fear for her tirade against the driver, but
because she felt power swirl about the car as the man at the wheel
summoned the wind and the highway vanished.

Of course, it wasn’t the highway that
vanished, it was the car and its passengers. The stillness of that
travelling place called the wind by spell-casters continued when
the car emerged at—but Yule didn’t know where, darkness surrounded
the stopped car that Prosser put into park before shutting off the
engine and slowly turning to look at his stowaway.

She drew back from the penetrating hazel gaze
that turned on her as the austere, aristocratic face came into
view. She didn’t appreciate his silent, encompassing appraisal of
her, and although it was bad manners for someone of decelerated
magic to behave aggressively toward more powerful spell-casters,
she glared defiantly at him—a tactic which failed utterly to change
his stormy countenance.

Yule finally opened her mouth to express her
outrage at her current circumstances, but he seemed to take that as
a sign, suddenly exiting the car, opening the rear door and
extending a hand to her with an overtly imperious flourish, clearly
wanting her to understand that freedom was his to take or
grant.

“Is this a bus stop or police station?” she
forced bravado as she began to get out of the car, ignoring his
hand.

“Neither,” he replied, his hand closing
firmly, but not painfully, around her right wrist.

She looked around and realized the darkness
was incomplete. Tiki torches flickered around the circular driveway
crowded on all sides by tropical plant life. The middle of this
circle was occupied by a large fountain where marble mermaids
splashed each other and dolphins sported in the pool surrounding
their trailing tail fins. In another moment Yule picked out a break
in the line of lush plant life where more tiki flames indicated a
path. She briefly wondered at the fire hazard the noted a small
golden aura surrounding each flame. Unlike the flickering firelight
these auras held steady, identifying them to her as protective
spells, probably placed by a magically-inclined gardener.

“Where are we?” she demanded.

“I thought I made that abundantly clear when
we started,” he replied, releasing her wrist then retrieving his
suitcase.

“We didn’t start anything,” she argued. “I
told you I don’t know how—where are you going?” she exclaimed as he
walked away from her and the car.

“To check in,” he replied, voice fading as he
vanished into the shadows of the path footsteps absorbed by the
sand footing. Yule’s composure failed her when he disappeared. Not
only was she alone in a dark parking lot, she hadn’t a clue where
she was, and Prosser might have vanished on the wind, not simply
along the path.