Your Magic or Mine? (12 page)

She jabbed a finger at him as she said, “If you hadn’t cooked the books, we would have received our full allowances.”

Marcus watched the interchange with a certain amount of surprise and confusion. Cheap labor? Eaten too much? Cooking books? To eat? No, that’s right, Alaric was in accounting. He was even more astonished when father and daughter broke out in a parody of “Sixteen Tons” that ended with a harmonized version of “I owe my soul to the Mooorrrgan Stoooorrre.”

While Morgan and Alaric hugged and laughed, Antonia scolded, “You two behave. There’s no telling what kind of impression you’re making on our guest.” She turned to him. “Don’t believe a word they say, Marcus. How about some pie?”

Dessert lived up to the enticing aroma that had greeted him when he stepped into the house. After one-and-a-half—well, okay, two—pieces, he truly was stuffed. He took a final sip of coffee and wondered how far he’d have to run to work it all off.

“At least five,” Morgan said to him. “Maybe ten.”

“Five what?”

“You looked like you were calculating how many miles you’ll have to run to compensate for all the calories you consumed. Depending on your metabolism, five to ten miles or lots of spells at the top of your level. Trust me, I’ve measured it.” She grinned at him.

She had a teasing twinkle in her eye, but he didn’t doubt the truth of her statement. Or the fact that he’d like to pull her across the table and see if she tasted as good as her mother’s chicken salad.

He ruthlessly forced his mind back to the matter at hand. “I believe we still have to cover what we’re going to say in our presentations and in that first article.”

“You two talk elsewhere, and Alaric and I will clean up the dishes,” Antonia interjected as she rose. When Morgan picked up her plate, Antonia took it out of her hand. “Go on, shoo.”

Marcus followed Morgan out of the kitchen and into the living room, where they settled in the “tower” seating area, she in an overstuffed chair and he on the love seat. The dogs came with them and curled up on the rug between them.

She said something about the prospective articles and making reasoned arguments, and he made an appropriate response—or he guessed he did. His mind went off on a tangent about how soft her hair looked and how her eyes twinkled when she had a mischievous thought. Then she mentioned focusing the conversation at the debates, and all he could focus on was her breasts plumped over her crossed arms.

He hauled his mind out of the gutter and suggested composing a list of questions to pose to the audience. She liked that and smiled. His gaze went to her lips. What would it be like to kiss her? Kiss her? Oh, no. A shiver of panic raced up his backbone. His reactions to her were getting totally out of hand. Before he lost all control, he had to get out of here.

He quickly agreed to make up lists, exchange them, and send them to Ed. When she couldn’t think of other issues to discuss, he grasped the opportunity to leave. All three Morgans, plus Delilah, walked him and Samson to the car.

After thanking Antonia and Alaric for their help and wonderful lunch, he made one more mistake: he turned to Morgan and looked directly into her eyes. An inexplicable urge to stay, to get to know her better, to see if she’d tease him again struck with a sharp jab to his solar plexus, but he managed not to gasp. He shook himself mentally. If he couldn’t stop acting like a complete fool over his attraction to her, he’d go through even greater hell at the debates.

He covered his confusion by attending to Samson’s car harness. Alaric made sure he knew the fastest way back to the highway, and finally Marcus was able to drive away. In his rearview mirror, he could see Samson twisting to watch their hosts.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Marcus idly scratched the itch over his magic center and resolutely started planning his list of questions for the debate—a subject sure to keep his libido under control.

Gloriana watched the car until it disappeared. When she turned around to go back in the house, she discovered her parents both looking at her with those calculating expressions that usually signaled trouble. What had she done to warrant a “discussion”? She’d been particularly nice to the man. Cordial. Polite. Even though he’d tried to take over the negotiation with Ed. At least he’d gone along with her idea for separate articles, and they hadn’t fought about “regularizing” spell-casting. She’d even been able to look the man in the eye and not think of ice—or anything else.

She started up the path after her parents.

“Marcus Forscher seems like a nice young man,” her mother said as they walked to the house.

“Yes, very bright and quite personable,” her father said as they climbed the stairs to the porch.

“I do wonder about his childhood, though,” her mother said as they went inside.

“Yes, boarding schools at an early age, and calling his parents by their first names,” her father said as they walked into the kitchen.

“I can only imagine what he usually eats. I had the distinct impression he was very apprehensive when he tried his first bite of the salad,” her mother said as she sat down at the table.

“Probably doesn’t like ‘fancy’ food. No telling how all that boarding school and restaurant food affected his eating habits,” her father said as he also took a seat.

Gloriana put her hands on her hips and glared at them. “Will you two stop?”

“Stop what?” her mother asked, a look of innocence on her face.

“I’m sure you have something to say about Forscher, so spit it out. You discussed what a ‘nice young man’ he is and what his parents must be like while we were in the living room. Okay. Fine. I agree with everything you’ve said. But we’re still polar opposites when it comes to the practice of magic and probably a bunch of other things. He’s uptight, and I’m informal. He’s theoretical, and I’m hands-on. His head is in the clouds, and mine’s in the dirt. No matter what, however, I’m going to have to work with the man on these crazy debates, and I don’t expect it to be easy. So, say what you have to say.”

She stalked over to the dog’s water bowl, picked it up, filled it with water, and put it back down. When she straightened up, her father pulled out a chair and motioned to it. “Have a seat, Glori, we think you may not have realized something.”

Uh-oh. They looked concerned, truly concerned. What could they be talking about? She sank into the seat. Delilah came over and put her head in her lap and she rubbed the dog’s head and behind her ears. “What? What haven’t I realized?”

“Did you notice the way Marcus looks at you?” Antonia asked.

“Sure. That disdainful expression, like he’s not sure what I’m going to do or say, and he has to watch me like a hawk? The icy one where he hardly cracks a smile? The one where he’s about to hand down a death sentence, or maybe he smells something bad? Those looks? So what? The man doesn’t like me much. He’s arrogant and aloof. I can still work with him. Lord knows, I’ve worked with worse.” If he acted like his ol’ buddy Prick and didn’t metamorphose into Mr. Congeniality or get close so she could smell his tantalizing scent… or look directly into his blue, sometimes-not-icy eyes …

“Glori?”

At the sound of her mother’s voice, she came back from wherever she had been. She blinked, focused, sat up straight, cleared her throat. “That look?”

“I don’t think you’re reading him correctly,” Antonia said.

“Do you have any idea of the expression in your eyes when you look at him?” her father asked.

“When I look at him? I try to keep a blank or polite expression on my face. At the meeting with Ed and today, I considered us to be in negotiations. I can’t afford to go all ‘girly’ and expect to be taken seriously. Daddy, you know I make a lousy ‘sweet young thing.’“

He chuckled. “That you do, sweetheart.”

“So? What’s in my eyes? On my face? What are you two beating around the bush about?”

Her parents sighed simultaneously. Alaric sat back and said to Antonia, “You explain. You’re better at these discussions than I am.”

“Coward,” her mother muttered. She sat straight and assumed that this-is-the-way-it-is expression all the Morgan kids feared. “All right. Here’s what we’re thinking. The way you and Marcus looked at each other reminded us of how
we
acted when
we
met. It was uncanny. It wasn’t disdain in his eyes, Glori, it was lust.”

“Lust? Oh, please, Mother. The man’s cold as a glacier.” She shook her head vigorously to reinforce her statement. “I’ll admit he’s gorgeous, but he’s still icy. Lust? No way.”

“A man doesn’t go all gooey when he’s aroused,” Antonia said. “He goes hard—all over. Not simply in one part of his anatomy.”

“Mother! I understand the basics.” She could feel a flush creep up her neck into her cheeks. “And I don’t go all gooey when I look at him.”

“No, you look more like a kid in an ice cream store—exactly the way your mother did. Like you can’t believe what you’re seeing, and you really like it,” Alaric said.

“Meanwhile he looks like he’s spotted his mate—exactly the way your father did,” Antonia added.

“Wait a minute here.” Her gaze went from one to the other and she started adding up the clues. Forscher was “in lust” for her. She liked what she saw. What was the word her mother had used?
M-m-m
… That could only mean …

“No!” An electric shock ran through her body, and she slammed her hand down on the table. “No! That man is
not
my soul mate!
He can’t
be!
“

“Why not?” Antonia asked.

Gloriana stared from one parent to the other and back. Her mother and father had gone mad. She had to come up with reasons against their ridiculous assertion. This time, however, she, who usually had an answer for every harebrained notion, couldn’t think of one word to say. She shut her eyes, gripped her skull between her hands, and rubbed hard.

Fortunately, neither parent said a word.

Finally, after a minute of almost pulling her hair out, her ability to think returned—sort of—and she managed to start talking. “Be-be-because … we don’t even like each other. We have nothing in common! We think differently. I’m concrete and tangible, grounded in the real here and now. He’s abstract and hypothetical, in the theoretical stratosphere. He’s all numbers and symbols and I’m all… something else. Sure, I use chemical symbols in my work, and numbers, too, but not at his level. Look at that equation! How much farther from the way I practice and view magic can he be?”

Okay, that was a start. She wasn’t grasping at straws. Why else? “More importantly, we hold philosophically opposite views on the practice of magic. I’m not sure if I even like him as a person. Soul mates are supposed to think alike, like the same things, especially each other. He’s perfect. Even his jeans have a pressed crease. I’m always playing in the dirt and getting it all over me. I’m sure there are other anomalies—like music, for instance. When we were in his car, he was tuned to a jazz station. I have absolutely no interest in jazz.”

Okay, here came the clincher, she was certain. “The soul-mate rules say mates are supposed to be compatible in every way. Daria and Bent and Francie and Clay certainly are. Forscher and I are not. How on earth can we be soul mates?”

“You’re both in academics and have basenjis,” Alaric offered.

“Hardly enough, Daddy, to base the rest of my life on.”

“I’m going to give you the same advice I gave your sister,” Antonia said. “Get to know the man. That’s part of the process. Before and after the debates, spend some time together. Talk about yourselves, your goals, your likes and dislikes, books, music, movies, politics, all that. See what’s inside of the shell he’s built around himself.”

Gloriana looked from one parent to the other again. They clearly believed what they were saying. With them staring at her, however, she couldn’t think, could hardly breathe. She had to get out of there. If leaving meant she was a coward, so be it. She stood up, pushed back her chair. “I understand that you mean well, but I can’t process this information. You just put my brain on overload. It’s the craziest idea I’ve ever heard. I’m going home. Thank you for lunch. Come on, Delilah, let’s go. The walk will do us both good.”

“Please, Glori,” her father said, “promise me you’ll think about it.”

“Okay, Daddy. I’ll do that. I’m not going to jump to any conclusion, however, yours or mine.”

Her mother followed her out of the kitchen and gave her a big hug at the door. “You know we want the best for you.”

“Yes, Mother. I understand.” Weariness settled over her bones. With all she had to think about and accomplish in the next few weeks, why did the burden of a soul mate—and Marcus Forscher, of all people—have to happen, in her busiest time of year?

“Finally, done.” That evening Gloriana put the last paper in the pile of graded student work, entered the grade in her computer listing, and leaned back in her chair to stretch. By sheer force of will, she’d concentrated and graded every paper in her two graduate courses. What was she going to do next?

She rose, picked up the stack, and took it to the table where she usually laid out the student papers by class. For once, the table was bare of others waiting for her attention. She looked around her home office. She didn’t feel like browsing the Internet, or looking at e-mail, especially what she’d been receiving about the debates, or even doing some of her research.