Your Magic or Mine? (18 page)

“How do you
do
that?” He didn’t bother to hide the wonder in his voice. His bulging eyes and dropped jaw had already given him away. “You must be working on the molecular level.”

“I assume so. I’ve been helping plants grow forever, and I don’t have to dissect my spells. Never did, as a matter of fact. I think about what I want to happen, focus, mentally cast the
crescere
spell for growth, add some energy, and … the leaf grows.” She shrugged. “I’m an intuitive caster like my mother. That’s why I had such trouble trying your equation and what I meant by the ‘feel’ of magic.”

He stood gazing down at her, torn between the need to know more, to solve the puzzle of how she caused the plant to grow and the desire to pull her into his arms and work some magic of his own. He wondered if she could teach him how to cast
crescere
, then almost laughed at the idea. Of course she couldn’t. Or rather, he wouldn’t be able to learn it. He didn’t have that talent. Her magic definitely wasn’t his.

In fact, what he had seen should be reinforcing his conclusion that they weren’t soul mates. Their magics were totally opposite. Hers, the ancient, female, basic enchantments the witches of old must have used, literally grounded in the earth. His, the new, predominantly warlock, cerebral, flying in the stratosphere of the mind. They had nothing in common. His attraction was an aberration. The soulmate imperative was not working correctly for him. What else did he expect from a child of his parents? The imperative screwed them up. Why not him, too?

Stifling a groan as his center spiked with heat and he wanted to touch her so much it hurt, he retreated a step. He needed to get back among people before he lost control of himself. “Should we return to the house? Surely things have calmed down by now.”

Morgan seemed to shake herself. “Yes, I hope so.”

They walked through the leafy tunnels again, followed by the dogs. The greenhouse felt even more like an alien environment than it had when he entered, and he was glad to come out into the fresh air, even if it was a hot breeze.

“Do me a favor, will you?” he asked, letting the dogs into her car. “Take it a little slower, and turn down the radio.”

“Don’t like country-western? I’ll do both, but the hardest will be to slow down. That’s what Clay always asks when he rides with me,” she groused. “What is it with men when they aren’t driving?”

She complied with his requests.

“Look who’s here,” George said when they walked into the dining room. He had a smile on his face that distinctly reminded Gloriana of her brother when he was plotting against her.

“Have some cherry pie and coffee,” Antonia said.

Gloriana sat down at one of the two remaining seats—right next to each other—and glanced from one face to the next. Her brother looked mischievous, but he often did. Francie did, also, and that wasn’t usual. Daria was concentrating on her pie and winked at her. Bent and Evelyn were talking about his company. George was grinning at Forscher, who settled in the adjoining chair and seemed to be ignoring the older man. Her mother busied herself serving the pie. It all seemed basically normal—too normal.

“Where did you go?” her father asked.

The question blew her thoughts away. “We took a tour of the jungle.” She decided not to bring up the rehearsal debacle; she’d sound like a whiner.

No one mentioned the event at all, in fact. George asked her about the rainforest, and Clay talked to Forscher about mathematics. When dessert was done, the Bernhards said it was time they headed home, and Forscher agreed.

As she watched the cars drive away, Gloriana breathed a sigh of relief. At least the visit was over and Forscher was gone. She glanced at her parents, who were climbing the front steps. Should she bring up the rehearsal? It wouldn’t do any good to berate her father for failing to keep order. She couldn’t even blame Clay, although she’d really like to.

Maybe they had learned something from the uproar. Everybody had been talking, voicing their own personal views, obviously more interested in the subject than in following the rules. The topic might simply be too volatile for rational discussion. If so, Ed and the Swords would have to keep close control at the actual debates.

She followed her parents into the kitchen. The Houston four were cleaning up the dishes, and, when she appeared in the doorway, they all faced her. Each one was smiling—too sweetly.

“What?” she asked. Little warning tingles shot up her spine.

“Did y’all have a good time at the greenhouse?” Clay asked in a too-innocent tone.

“Why?” She squinted at him and braced herself.

“Getting to know your ‘opponent’ better?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, seeing as how you two are destined to be together …” he answered.

Both Daria and Francie said, “Clay!”

“Daria, I asked you to tell no one,” Gloriana said from between her clenched teeth.

“I didn’t!” Daria said. “Clay announced it when we were clearing the table.”

“I speculated,” Francie put in, “but I didn’t say a word, either. I thought you’d tell us when you were ready.”

“Glori, it sticks out all over the both of you,” Clay stated in his most condescending, big-brother manner. “He was scratching, you were trying not to, and when you looked at each other, your expressions were so hot, your ears got red. I can put together the clues as well as the next practitioner.”

“Oh, for crying out loud.” Gloriana glared at her family. How bad was this teasing going to get?

“George gave me the idea,” Clay continued. “He said something about it before we started the debate. It was his idea to …” He shut his mouth abruptly.

“Idea to …?” she coaxed with a come-here gesture. Clay shrugged like he had simply been speculating, but she wasn’t going to let him off the hook. “Keep going, brother dear.”

“Yes, you’d better explain it all, son,” their father said, obviously trying not to smile.

Clay shrugged. “I happened to mention how you had warned Dad to keep order. We decided to see how much chaos we could cause—after all, you can expect it in the real debates. When I said you would probably walk out if things got too rambunctious, George suggested that you and Marcus could use some time alone together. I asked why and he said he thought the two of you were soul mates. I gather Marcus isn’t too happy with the idea.”

“He’s
not happy?” Gloriana reached out to hold on to the door frame for strength to stand when it hit her that Forscher might be aware of their situation. He didn’t like it, either? What did that mean?

“So, we pushed the envelope a little. You can’t lay blame totally on me and George. Everybody joined right in with no coaxing. Don’t forget, you made the decision to leave. We didn’t chase you out the door.” He crossed his arms and assumed a self-righteous expression.

All Gloriana could do was slump against the door. “Oh, my God,” she muttered.

Her mother came over to her and gave her a hug. “Don’t worry so much. Everything will work out, dear.”

Gloriana glanced from one face to the next. “Yeah, right.” Her family meant well, even Clay. Hadn’t she been thinking that the real debates would be much worse than the pretend one? Maybe she should have stayed and fought it out.

Too late now—an expression she’d been using too much lately.

“Thanks for your help, I guess,” she said. “I’m going home. I don’t have the strength to talk about what anyone did or didn’t do. You made your point. The first debate is next weekend, and I have a lot to do before then.”

Despite her intentions, she didn’t get away until after the exodus of the Houston bunch. In her car, she immediately turned the radio off. The last thing she needed was a song about unrequited love, requited love, love gone wrong, love gone right, or any country-western staple, especially not Johnny Cash singing “Ring of Fire.”

Marcus Forscher. Her soul mate. No.
Alleged
soul mate.

What was she going to do about him? In the greenhouse, she’d felt the compulsion at least twice to throw herself into his arms, stretch out on the chaise with him, and discover how perfect he truly was. Keeping control of herself hadn’t been easy.

When she’d showed him her plant manipulation skills, he’d had such a look of horror on his face. Was it truly horror? Or maybe simply amazement. He didn’t seem comfortable in her world, she was sure of that fact. Whatever it was, he certainly wanted to get out of there after her demonstration.

Where did all it leave her? He knew about “X” and the possibility they were “X,” and so did she. He hadn’t said a word, she wasn’t going to. He hadn’t made a move, she wasn’t going to, either.

All she had to do was get through the next five weekends, they’d both go back to their routines—where they never saw each other—and the whole thing would blow over.

Wouldn’t it?

As if in answer, her magic center gave a lurch, then a flutter. She had the distinct impression she could hear laughter.

“I’d like you to meet our Swords, John Baldwin and Grace Cabot,” Ed said after he’d welcomed Gloriana and her parents to the private dining room in the Boston HeatherRidge the following Saturday. “John’s on the Defenders Council and will be with us at every event. Grace is head of the Defenders for New England.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Gloriana said as she shook hands. While Ed introduced her parents, she looked the three over. Short, balding, sturdy Baldwin practically radiated magical power and an air of command. Cabot combined the look of “old money,” refined and elegant, with a no-nonsense attitude.

“We’ve heard the tapes from Austin, and we’ve devised a plan for order,” Baldwin stated. “We have a Sword in each overflow room, and Grace and I will be in the ballroom. I don’t anticipate problems.”

“I hope not,” Gloriana said. “Our rehearsal at home showed that simply discussing the subject can be volatile, even among friends and family.”

“We’re ready.” Ed grinned and stage-whispered, “We made sure Mrs. Shortbottom and her cane are not in the main room.” He continued in a normal voice, “We also insisted Horner’s and Pritchart’s entourages stay separate from each other.”

Before anyone could comment further, the door opened, and Forscher walked in with a couple who had to be his parents. A sharp not-quite-pain-not-quite-thrill hit her in the center, and she only barely suppressed her gasp. To calm herself down, she studied his parents. It was clear how Forscher had come by his dress habits.

An older version of his son, the father had darker blond hair and blue-gray eyes. The Forscher men had the same carriage—their perfect posture showed off their impeccably tailored navy suits. The only difference in attire was the elder’s red-and-blue-striped tie versus the younger’s solid light blue—matching his eyes. The tall, slim, honey-blond woman had on a beautifully tailored, ivory-colored suit with camel-and-ivory spectator pumps and a brown alligator clutch purse. Gloriana didn’t recognize the name brands by sight, but the shoes alone proclaimed a serious attitude toward fashion.

The chic ensemble made Gloriana feel frumpish, even though she wore a new suit in the dark green she preferred. To go with it, she’d let her mother bully her into buying a pale blue-green silk blouse with an embossed fern pattern. She stood a little straighter and told herself she had nothing to be ashamed of, including her plain-brown medium heels.

She glanced at Forscher and caught him frowning at her. Her magic center began itching when their eyes met. She resolutely ignored the aggravation. It was nothing compared to the dreams she’d been having. She’d begun to think they needed to talk about the situation—but only if he would be the one to bring it up. God, she was turning into a coward.

Forscher brought his parents over to the group and introduced everyone.

“Dr. Morgan,” his mother said as she shook Gloriana’s hand, “I’m looking forward to the debate. You and Marcus have certainly stirred up the practitioner community.”

“Thank you, Dr. Forscher,” Gloriana said, unsure if the woman was pleased or annoyed at the result of their articles. Judith Forscher’s smile was polite, not quite reaching her sapphire-blue eyes. Her gaze was not overtly inspecting, but Gloriana felt thoroughly scrutinized—and possibly found wanting.

She was suddenly thankful her parents had decided to make the trip, even over her initial objections. They had claimed she’d need the support. She still thought she could handle whatever the debate brought. Having them here as a buffer to the Forschers—all the Forschers—would be helpful, however. In the meantime, she had a position to uphold, and she straightened her spine and assumed her professorial manner. Nothing done or said could ruffle her composure when she put on those imaginary robes.

“Too many Ph.D.’s,” Ed announced. “Let’s use first names, shall we, or I’ll be terminally confused. And let’s eat so we’ll have time to enjoy the meal.”

Gloriana sat down at the round table between Ed on her left and John Baldwin on her right. Conversation was polite, general chitchat for a while, until people began talking to those next to them. Baldwin reassured her of their resolve to maintain order, and they shared a laugh at his reaction to the antics of the first debate.

She snuck glances at the Forschers when she could. Marcus Forscher was talking mostly to Ed on his right rather than to his mother on his other side. He called her Judith at one point, and Gloriana shook her head mentally at the thought of calling her mother by her first name. It felt funny even to think of it. His father was answering a question from her father.

Did his parents have an inkling about “X,” she wondered. When she found out Forscher’s family would be at the predebate dinner, she made her own parents promise not to say a single word, not even a hint. Forscher himself was still sending shivers up her backbone when he looked at her, but nobody seemed to notice her discomfort.

When Ed and Forscher were talking and Baldwin was speaking with her mother on his other side, Gloriana watched Judith out of the corner of her eye. The woman appeared perfectly calm, composed, and serene. When she looked at her son, however, her expression immediately became softer, more approachable, and Gloriana could see the pride in her eyes. When Ed asked her a direct question, something to do with the national economy, however, it faded, and she became a professor again.