She shrugged. ‘I like shoes.’
‘Apparently. I’m assuming these appear whenever you try to transmute something?’
She looked guilty. Adorably so, he thought, not happy about it. This was far too slippery a slope for him.
‘I’m not quite sure why they appear or where they come from. It’s usually when I’m…’ She stopped, suddenly embarrassed, and he took pity on her.
He knew perfectly well what would call forth the odd appearance of extraneous footwear – shoes had a strong connection to sexuality, and the shoes must manifest when she was sexually distracted, or excited. Maybe he’d underestimated Charles’s abilities, though he hated that possibility. Or maybe, just maybe, he was having as strong an effect on her as she was having on him.
And that made things even more dangerous.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said, just as happy to change the subject. He went over to the white-painted dresser and pulled open a drawer, ignoring her screech of protest. Her underwear was all neatly sorted and folded – white cotton bras and cotton underpants decorated with bears and butterflies and lambs. She had the underwear of a thirteen-year-old, as well, he thought. He glanced back at her. But the shoes of a courtesan.
She pushed past him and slammed the drawer shut, carefully managing not to touch him. ‘There’s nothing in there that’s of any interest to you,’ she said sternly.
He said nothing. He was much more curious about her underwear than he cared to admit, and keeping her distracted and unsettled was part of his master plan, but she was nervous enough around him as it was. He needed to lull her into dropping her guard if he was going to accomplish what he’d set out to do. And he had little experience with failure.
‘So show me your workshop,’ he said, turning his back on the enticing shoes. It wasn’t possible that she’d manifested them out of nothing – alchemists had to start with something, even dust. Except that the rental home of the Misses Fortune seemed antiseptically clean.
The workshop itself was messier than he’d expected -maybe she’d conjured her shoes out of any of the strange artifacts littering the old sun porch. The room was dark – sunlight filtered through the bamboo shades with a sullen glint, and the long workbench was scarred with spilled chemicals and gouged by who knew what. A bale of straw sat on the floor, half decimated, with bits of straw everywhere, as if a giant mouse had gotten into it. Either that, or the Scarecrow had met with the flying monkeys.
‘Eleven fire extinguishers?’ he murmured. ‘You need them all?’
‘I was expecting another from the UPS man. I go through them fairly quickly,’ she said, a defensive note in her voice.
‘It used to be just small fires, but now they come with explosions, so I figure I’d better be prepared.’
She didn’t realize that her penchant for setting fires was also a sign of potential power. When he’d first set eyes on her he’d assumed the power surges coming from this little town in Virginia had been a fluke – no one that innocent-looking could be causing such chaos. He was rapidly learning otherwise.
‘So what do you use for focusing your power? Some kind of array?’
‘What?’
‘Do you make a circle of some element like salt, do you draw a circle, do you…?’
‘I don’t do circles.’
He stared at her. ‘What do you use, then?’
‘I don’t use anything. I just concentrate, and things change. Not the way I want them to, but I’ve gotten some great shoes out of it.’
Ah, she was getting feistier. He’d terrified her when he first showed up, and he should have pushed his advantage. Now she was getting sassy, and she was going to be a hell of a lot harder to intimidate into doing what he wanted.
‘No talisman? No philosopher’s stone?’
‘Life is not a Harry Potter novel.’
‘You and I both know it’s not as far removed as people might think,’ he said beneath his breath. ‘Okay, that’s lesson number one. You need something to feed your power through. Concentrating as hard as you can on something doesn’t work. It’s like trying too hard for an orgasm – the harder you work, the more elusive it becomes. You have to let go.’
She blushed. ‘I’m afraid you must be more of an expert at difficult orgasms. Are you talking about you or the women you sleep with?’
‘Actually, it’s pretty much a no-brainer for men. And with no false modesty I have to say that I’m very good in bed. Years of experience does wonders.’ He tilted his head. ‘I’m thinking more of young women with little experience who sleep with the wrong men.’
A crackle of energy, and a pair of narrow stiletto heels appeared on the scarred workbench. Hot-pink fuck-me shoes. Very interesting, he thought.
She grabbed the shoes and threw them under the workbench. ‘I really don’t want to be discussing sex with you,’ she said in a strained voice.
I know you don’t, he thought. But why? He took a step toward her, trying to forget about the very sexy shoes. ‘We need to find you a talisman…’ he began, automatically reaching for her hand.
The spark between them made him jump, and she let out a pained little scream. It wasn’t a sexual spark, not the disturbing current that he’d felt before when he’d put his hand on her shoulder and when he’d taken her hand to bring her back home – it was static electricity magnified a hundred times, and it hurt.
‘What was that?’ she demanded in a shaky voice.
He’d touched her ring. It was no wonder he hadn’t noticed – anything that tiny was easily overlooked. ‘It’s that pitiful engagement ring,’ he said. ‘Your body’s rejecting it.’
‘Give me a break,’ she said. And it’s not pitiful. Charles and I agreed it made more sense to put money into something that benefited both of us in the long run. This is merely a symbol.’
‘If that’s a symbol of your great love, then you’re in deep shit,’ Elric said. He stared at the nasty little thing in fascination. He wasn’t going to touch it again, not as long as it was on her finger.
‘I don’t want to discuss this with you,’ she said stiffly.
‘Fine. We won’t discuss sex and we won’t discuss your fiance, though if you’re that uptight about things it’s no wonder you’ve been screwing up in the workshop. People like us need to be comfortable in our bodies, not nervous and twitchy. It throws everything off.’
He’d expected her to argue again, but she looked momentarily distracted. ‘That would explain Dee’s problem,’ she said, half to herself.
‘What is Dee’s problem?’
‘None of your business.’
Elric bit back his irritation. He was going to have to immobilize Deirdre as well, plus the youngest, and he was going to have to do it without anyone realizing it. He didn’t have enough information; he only knew their gifts were backfiring. Now he was beginning to wonder if he’d made a grave mistake in coming here.
He dismissed it a moment later. The disturbances emanating from this area had been felt worldwide, and he’d known, with that instinctive sureness that had been with him most of his life, that this was where he was supposed to be.
‘Take off the ring,’ he said.
‘The hell I will.’
He blinked. She was looking very defiant, even though her voice had wobbled slightly, and he wondered if another pair of shoes were about to appear. Maybe they’d be combat boots.
He tried another tack. ‘The ring is interfering with the flow of energy through your body,’ he said patiently. ‘You said the fires and explosions were getting worse. Starting when?’
She glanced down at the tiny chip on her hand. ‘Around the time we got engaged,’ she said reluctantly.
‘I rest my case. The ring disrupts things when you try to channel your gift. Your body is fighting it – I’ll leave it up to you to draw whatever conclusions you want.’
‘Someone must have… hexed it or something,’ she said.
‘Take it off and I’ll tell you.’
She pulled at it, and it came off easily enough – a little too easily for a ring that wasn’t loose. She held it out to him, but he shook his head. ‘Put it on the bench.’