The Wellspring (8 page)

“Ignore it,” Tami advised. “It’s probably
someone selling something.”

“On a lobby phone?” Yule grinned. “I’ll be
right back. Don’t get eyestrain while I’m gone,” she added when
Tami’s eyes left her and followed a toned and tanned brunette man
as he sauntered past them.

“If I’m not here when you get back, do
not
call me. I’ll see you later, at lunch,” Tami told her,
eyes still on the man.

Yule shook her head, still grinning, and
walked into the lobby, finding the row of colorful courtesy phone
kiosks and picked up the yellow receiver. Clearly this was not
going to be a friend on the other end of the line, they all knew
her cell number. “Hello?”

“Yule Fiore?” responded a male voice in
clipped, impatient tones.

“Speaking, but I’m not interested in
whatever—”

“Having to use a phone is so tiresome,”
interrupted the voice she was finding familiar, but having trouble
visualizing to whom it belonged. “I’d have simply sent a telepathic
message, but your mind is closed tighter than a—”

Yule internally boiled at that. “Listen, I
don’t know who you are, but you’ve clearly mistaken me for
someone—”

“Don’t be oversensitive, girl, it’s
Prosser.”

“Magus Teomond!” she gasped, surprise and
happiness sweeping away her moment of ire at his remark. “I’m
sorry, I didn’t recognize your voice, but I wasn’t expecting to
hear from you.” Ever again, she mentally finished. She assumed her
part in things was ended and he would be speaking to Marc in the
future.

“Didn’t you? No, I suppose that isn’t how
things are usually done.” He seemed distracted and was speaking
aside to someone about paperwork and other business. “I really
don’t have time to go into any details just now, I’ve got a Press
conference in just a moment. We’ll have to meet afterward, at
lunch.”

“Lunch?” she repeated.

“Yes, good, the marina?”

“But I don’t know where—”

“No, of course you don’t, terribly sorry.
Dress casually, for warm temperatures, and I’ll wind you to the
marina at precisely one.”

“Magus—”

“I’m sorry, Yule, but the rest will have to
wait for lunch. I look forward to seeing you.” There was a definite
click on the line and a dial tone followed before Yule had the
opportunity to protest further. She stared at the yellow phone
until she realized she was attracting attention from passersby so
she placed the receiver on the cradle and wandered back outside to
look for Tamika.

Begging off lunch with Tami turned out to be
effortless as she managed to make alternative luncheon plans with
the handsome brunette man during Yule’s absence. So Yule hastened
back to the condo she shared with Hermes to make clothing and
cosmetics adjustments she thought complimentary to her destination.
It required the removal and trying on of nearly every summery item
in her wardrobe, but she finally settled on a nautical themed
T-strap mini dress of blue and white, red heels and an anchor
necklace. She touched her hand to the vanity mirror and left a
message for Hermes about where she’d gone, barely finishing before
her surroundings blurred and she was suddenly standing on a
weathered dock at a tropical marina facing Prosser Teomond who
looked relaxed and bored with wealth—as only the wealthy could
look, Yule found.

“I hope you don’t mind seafood,” he greeted
her, taking her elbow and ushering her toward the double doors of
the restaurant perched dockside.

“I love seafood,” she assured him, finding
she nearly had to trot to keep up with his extended, easy stride.
“And the sea air is so—relaxing.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He nodded to the
maitre de who immediately showed them to a table on the deck
overhanging the water. “We’re born to the sea and sand, our kind,”
he continued, holding her chair for her, the tables protecting
diners from direct sun with blue and white striped umbrellas.
“Spell-casters, of course.”

“Of course,” she agreed, made slightly
uncomfortable by his comment because she never felt entirely
comfortable when compared to spell-casters in general, just as most
spell-casters with any notable power didn’t feel comfortable
calling her one of them.

She waited for him to be seated, fussing with
the anchor embossed linen napkin and wondering when he planned to
tell her why he’d invited her to lunch. She didn’t imagine for a
moment that he’d brought her there to talk about the sea, the sand,
or even their shared heritage, but she restrained her impatient
queries because she didn’t want to risk insulting the man from whom
she was attempting to curry favor. Her patience was tested to the
breaking point as they ordered, chatted about local weather,
nibbled fresh baked breadsticks, and were finally served their
meals before he abandoned his frivolous luncheon banter.

“I haven’t invited you here to bring you the
news you’ve been hoping to hear,” he advised her. “But that doesn’t
mean I’m saying no, it just means I need a few more days,” he
amended when her polite smile began to fade, and she brightened
again.

“Then there’s still a possibility?”

“Possibilities, I’m told, are endless,” he
told her before sampling his calamari.

“I don’t suppose there’s any hope things
might be more—cemented before Marc leaves for Shangrilonn?”

“I’d heard a rumor about the latest
expedition embarking for the Shelf,” Prosser mused. “So Mr.
Woodmont is casting off to the wilds, is he?”

Yule nodded, trying to conceal the depth of
her disappointment. “He could be gone before I return from my
Retreat. It’s this weekend,” she added.

“I can’t promise I’ll have a final answer by
then, but I will do everything in my power to make it happen.”

Yule beamed at him. “You’re just marvelous!”
she cried spontaneously.

Prosser chuckled at this and nearly lost the
calamari from his mouth, snatching up a napkin and covering his
lips while he recovered. “Some might say that’s a rather naïve
assessment of me,” he remarked before sipping his glass of
wine.

“I don’t care what other people think,” she
assured him. “Considering how we started out, you’ve been terrific
about it all. To tell the truth, I can’t help feeling guilty that
there’s no way for me to properly say thank you. With all of your
power and wealth, there’s nothing I could do that you couldn’t do
or have done for you.”

His short burst of genuine laughter drew
several curious glances. “I suppose that’s just about right,” he
agreed. “With many things, but not everything. In fact,” his voice
dropped to a mock conspiratorial level. “I can think of one thing
you could do on my behalf.”

“You’re kidding?” she was surprised and
delighted, leaning toward him. “Whatever it is we’ll do our very
best to make it happen, I promise.”

“Oh, no,” he corrected her. “Not you and
Marc, or your group as a whole; I meant you, personally. Just you,
Yule.” A teasing smile tugged at the corners of his inviting lips
and Yule suddenly felt embarrassed by how closely she’d leaned
toward him, but was trapped into remaining that way or draw
attention to her awkwardness. “So you’d better consider this with
caution before such reckless commitment.”

“Look before I leap?”

“I’d be a cad if I didn’t caution you.”

“I don’t think anyone would describe you as a
cad,” she replied.

“Some stories don’t reach the gossip
broadcasts,” he told her and Yule wondered if she blushed, because
it was as if he knew how she spent her idle hours. He leaned back
in his chair after a moment, releasing her from her tether and she
leaned back too. “I don’t want you to commit to my desires until
you have a firm grasp of the depth of that commitment.”

“Oh,” she responded in a voice much smaller
than she intended. She couldn’t help focusing on the word, desire.
It tickled in the pit of her stomach and made her uneasy in a way
that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “I suppose it’s only fair to
expect reciprocation for a favor.”

“It’s the way of this world, I’m afraid,” he
agreed.

She nodded at that. “If you didn’t expect
some kind of return then everyone would be lining up around the
block asking for—whatever.”

“Quite right,” he sounded as if he were
congratulating her on an astute finding.

“I’m not sure that there’s anything I can
particularly do for you, I’m afraid,” she admitted.

“Nonsense, you’re just the girl for what I
need,” he dismissed her observation and didn’t notice, or didn’t
care, that Yule internally bridled at being called a girl. “I want
to hire you for about, oh, a month.”

“Hire me?” She blinked in surprise. “I don’t
understand.”

“It’s my Executive Assistant, St. John, you
see,” he explained apologetically, still pronouncing it, Sinjin.
“He’s taken a leave of absence and the secretary with whom he
saddled me as a substitute is driving me quite mad with her
inquiries.”

“Inquiries?”

“She’s a normal so naturally she has a
limitless font of questions regarding magic folk—some of them
should embarrass her, but she seems impermeable to that particular
emotion.” Yule couldn’t help the smallest of grins at that
observation and he noticed. “Yes, go ahead, have a laugh at my
expense, but she bedevils me, I swear it.” This was spoken with
beleaguered melodrama intended to make her laugh, and she did. “The
point is, I need a competent assistant who won’t ask silly
questions until St. John returns,” he finished and this statement
stopped her laughter.

“You—you mean
me
?” she stammered. “You
want me to be your secretary?”

“Assistant, by no means executive, but
someone who has some common sense, organizational skills, and
perseverance. And who won’t blather on about whether I use magic to
brush my teeth,” he added. “Could anything be more ludicrous? My
teeth?”

Yule smiled again. “They’re very nice teeth.”
His eyebrows rose at that and she shrugged, eliciting a smile from
him. “So you need someone to manage paperwork and such around your
office while—”

“The hell with my office, I have dozens of
competent office personnel, I need someone to keep me organized
abroad. You’ll accompany me to Atlantis. I expect to be there
nearly three weeks.”

Yule thought her heart and breath stopped at
his casual announcement. Atlantis, the birthplace of all magic
folk, transported to the dimension of magic over ten thousand years
ago, now part of Earth again. The homeland from which she was
forever barred for her stunted, impotent power. It was an
impossible opportunity and he was extending it to her as if
suggesting they go around the corner to the coffee shop.

"It’s impossible,” she finally whispered.
“I’d do almost anything to visit Atlantis, but people like
me—aren’t allowed.”

He waved a hand. “I’m Magus and if I say
you’re my assistant and I need you with me then you’ll be allowed.”
He continued to eat his lunch while she mulled this over in her
suddenly shattered mind.

It was like a dream, a beautiful,
unattainable— Her happy thought blew apart like spent dust devil.
Unattainable for her, but Magus Teomond could wave his hand and
centuries of rules and barriers crumbled to dust. She was banned
from Atlantis by exactly the same kind of person currently holding
it out to her as if it was—easy.

“It must be nice to have that kind of power,”
she bitterly observed.

“It is,” he agreed without acknowledging her
tone. “I dislike being made to wait for things and it seldom
happens now,” he admitted, ignoring her dismay at his apparent
arrogance. “Let me remind you that I did not pursue you for what
you could do for me, it was rather the opposite and you may not now
be insulted by the very power and influence for which you stalked
me.” He motioned at her dish. “Finish your lunch and give me your
answer when you’re done.”

Yule found it difficult to swallow her meal
along with her chagrin at his chastisement—which she accepted was
deserved.

***

“I just can’t figure him out,” she groused to
Hermes that night.

“I never waste my time trying to figure out
other men,” he told her. “I make them waste their time trying to
figure out me.”

“This isn’t the same thing,” she complained
as she wandered into the kitchen, fetched a quart of blackberry ice
cream and two spoons then returned to the sleek living room to sit
on the couch beside Hermes. “How can someone run so hot and cold?”
She pried off the lid then paused. “Maybe he’s bi-polar.” She
jabbed a spoon into the ice cream. “And he called me,
girl
!”

Hermes accepted the other spoon and waited
until Yule was deliberating on a mouthful of blackberry sweetness
before he scooped out a spoonful and spoke. “I always thought he
was a serious piece of hot property, but you’re completely messing
with my fantasy and turning him into every other conceited jerk
I’ve known.”

“That’s just the thing,” Yule contradicted.
“I don’t think he
is
a jerk. I’m not sure what he is, but
jerk doesn’t really cover everything.”

“Condescending bastard?” he cheerily
suggested.

Yule grinned at that. “Maybe a little,” she
agreed.

“Just as long as you aren’t seriously
considering his job offer.”

“The hell I’m not,” she countered.

“Yule—”

“I know that tone, Hermes, don’t start with
me.”

“Sweetheart, you know I want what’s best for
you and Magus Teomond can’t possibly be it,” he argued.

“To be perfectly honest, I’m not thinking of
Magus Teomond,” she admitted. “I’m thinking of three weeks on
Atlantis.”

“Atlantis isn’t—”

“Don’t tell me what it isn’t,” she
interrupted. “I know what it
is
. When normals dream about
amazing places they’ll never go that’s what Atlantis is to me.
Worse than that, it’s my home, my real home! When they say home is
where the heart is they’re talking about Atlantis! Even a no-power
loser like me can feel my heart beating in Atlantis! It calls to
all of us, but I’m not allowed to answer.”