Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
T he next morning, Joss met Clio outside her tent. He had never been inside and he had to admit to a certain amount of curiosity. He knew better than to risk a scandal, though. And honestly, his desire to see her private quarters was as nothing compared to how much he wanted to drag her into a shadowy corner and kiss her senseless.
“Good morning,” she chirped. “Are you ready?”
He eyed her carefully. She wore that navy gown this morning, the one he’d first seen her in. The one with the trousers lurking beneath the skirts. The jolt of eagerness at the thought of seeing her legs, the pleasure that struck him at the sight of her smiling green eyes and bouncing curls—it all woke him more thoroughly than a cup of strong coffee. Damn the shadowy corner, he wanted to kiss her right here and now.
He gave her a grunt of greeting, instead. “A morning person, are you?”
“I am.” She bit back a grin and tilted her head. “But Joss, you work for Droose! No one gets up earlier than a baker.”
“So I’ve discovered.” He stifled a yawn.
She laughed. “Let’s go, then.”
He followed her to a tent of subdued green fabric. It was one he’d scarcely noticed as he made his rounds with Droose’s trays. There was no sign outside and he’d never seen a crowd gathered here. But on the inside it was lit by many small lanterns that gave off a soft light and enhanced the collection of landscapes that lined the tented walls. “Great gorgons,” he breathed. “These are stunning.” He saw images of forested groves, waterfalls, rocky shores and green glens. They were almost . . . otherworldly in their beauty, and when he drew nearer the waterfall, he could have sworn he heard the distant roar of the water.
Clio introduced him to Lorinth, the artist. “Just wait until you see how she creates these masterpieces.”
Joss was intrigued as much by Clio’s reverent tone as the woman before him. Tall, blonde and lovely, she greeted him graciously, then followed Clio, answering her questions. “I work best with locations I feel a connection to. A place where something significant has occurred.”
“Or a spot where the ambiance, the feeling of the place, touches you?” asked Clio.
“Exactly,” Lorinth said with approval.
As Lorinth turned to invite them to take tea, Joss spotted the curve of a pointed ear. She had Fae blood? It was rare enough to catch a glimpse of anyone connected with the older races, even among the witching communities.
“Thank you,” Clio said, sitting down at a small table where the tea had been laid. “Droose sent over some pastries, as well.”
“Your visit is treat enough, but I am not so foolish as to turn down something made by Droose.” She passed them cups of tea and took an offered pastry. “Thank you for spending a bit of time with me. I am glad for the chance to get to know you both better.”
“I had no idea you were hiding such wonder away in here, or I would have come sooner.” Joss stared at a nearby seascape as the faintest sound of gulls drew his attention.
“Joss is interested in unusual magic,” Clio explained. “I was wondering if you would show him how you work?”
“I will—if you will assist me,” Lorinth answered. “I would love to do a custom piece with you.”
Clio’s eyes widened. “How does that work?”
“Very simply. I will show you. Just finish your tea while I gather a few supplies.”
Joss watched as the woman arranged a plush chair and set a blank canvas nearby. Intriguingly, he saw no sign of brushes or paint. His interest only grew as Lorinth drew Clio over and saw her settled comfortably. She perched in a chair before her and met her gaze directly. “You must have seen so many places in your years traveling with the Market. Tell me, is there a place that is special to you?”
“Several,” Clio said.
“Can you choose one? One that speaks to you, as you said earlier? A place that calls up your emotions when you think of it.”
Clio nodded.
“Very good. Now, close your eyes and tell me about it. Picture it clearly in your mind. Speak of all the details. Share what you see, hear and smell. Tell me how you feel when you remember it all.”
Joss quietly opened his journal and began to sketch while Clio sat back and began to describe her chosen location. She spoke of an abbey in Wiltshire, now in private hands. Sitting back, she described the warm stone of the walls, the towers and bow windows. She spoke of the main house and the stable block that also held a brew house and bakehouse. She described the stone walls surrounding the place and the fields of wildflowers beyond them.
Lorinth sat before her, her hands outstretched and moving slowly in a circular motion. As Clio continued, describing arched gateways and climbing roses and rooms full of books and art and a family dedicated to preserving it all for future generations, Joss thought he heard a humming noise.
Looking up from his sketch and notes, he realized it was Lorinth humming. And as Clio spoke on, Lorinth’s voice raised until she was singing. He shifted his focus to observe the woman’s aura and gasped as he saw it—full of vivid color and significant magic as well as sorrow and lost love. But he also saw an image forming in the air between the two women within the circle of Lorinth’s moving hands. It was the image Clio was describing, the picture of the abbey.
Clio opened her eyes at the sound and her words faltered, but Lorinth gestured for her to continue. After a moment, she spoke again recalling a stream through a pasture lined with graceful willows and sheep gathered in the shade. The image was growing more solid and detailed.
Finally, Clio stopped. The abbey was clearly visible now. Lorinth continued to sing as she lifted the blank canvas. Her song turned beckoning as she called to the image, inviting it to stay. It drifted to her, settling on the canvas in a vivid display of Clio’s memory. Lilith sang praise as she moved a hand over it, before her song trailed to a close. She set the canvas on an easel and turning, she reached for her chair at the table and dropped into it.
Clio poured her a cup of tea and the woman took it gratefully. She drank deeply, then smiled at Clio, her eyes sparkling. “How well you did! Clearly you have an observant eye and a listening heart, as well as an adept turn of phrase. You made it easy for me. I could sense the depth of your feeling for the place.”
“Yes. It is lovely. The woman who owns it now has become a friend. It is easy to feel at peace, there.”
Joss moved to gaze upon the beautifully vivid image. As he drew near, the soft sound of women chanting rose from it. He turned in surprise and found Lorinth looking shocked as well.
“I’ve never captured an audible element in someone else’s memory before. Only my own.” The woman gave Clio a longer look. “I have only been at the Night Market a few months, and you have been everything capable and conscientious, but I am glad to discover more. You have had unique opportunities. I am happy to find you also have the spirit to appreciate them.”
“I . . . thank you.” Clio colored a little.
“I would like to work with you again, if you wouldn’t mind. It is difficult to always use my own memories. It can make one . . . sad.”
“Oh, of course. I should be happy to help,” Clio said with a nod.
Lorinth turned to Joss. “Have you also found something useful this morning, Mr. Hagan?” She glanced toward his journal. “You look pleased with yourself.”
“I am grateful to have witnessed an entirely new bit of magic. Thank you. But I am even more thrilled to see Clio make a new friend. Places that touch your soul are lovely, but the people who do so are even more valuable.”
“Very true,” Lorinth agreed.
They spoke a little longer, but Clio had grown quiet. Eventually, she stood. “The Market will be filling soon. We will leave you to get ready.”
Joss bowed over Lorinth’s hand. “Thank you for sharing your magic.”
“It was my pleasure. I look forward to visiting with you both again.”
Clio waited until they were in the next row of the Market before she stopped walking and folded her arms across her chest. Joss stopped as well. She saw him take in her stance and grow wary.
“I was excited about your idea to interview some of our people, Joss, but now I am beginning to wonder.” She frowned. “Is there another reason you are pursuing this? Other than material for your journal?”
The stricken look on his face started to unravel a worrisome knot in her belly.
“Joss?”
“Yes,” he answered roughly.
The worry wrapped around the base of her spine and started to climb. “Is it because you are leaving?” Her tone sharpened. “Are you trying to shore me up? To fill the void your absence will leave?” She swallowed hard and decided to forge ahead. “Because this has been lovely, this reconnecting with my Market friends, but it won’t. It won’t fill the void.”
He stood utterly silent and still for a moment, then turned and strode away.
Clio’s mouth dropped, but then she was after him, following into a narrow aisle between two tents. He stopped suddenly and turned on his heel. Clio’s momentum carried her on. Oof. She bounced off his tall, hard form.
She gasped as he grabbed her and hauled her in. His arms enfolded her. His warmth engulfed her. He bent her back a little, and it felt wild and precarious and somehow, also utterly safe.
His mouth covered hers and with that kiss she felt everything. His caring, his worry, his deep unassailable hunger. For her. He kissed her so thoroughly, so deeply, that there was no holding back her response. Her arms crept up over his shoulders. Her fingers dug into his hair. He kissed her hard, invading her mouth with his tongue. She felt both cherished and conquered—and it set off flares of want all through her.
She set about kissing him back in the same comprehensive way, her tongue stroking his—and he let out a moan.
The sound of it. The feel of it. It made her knees weak, even as she felt a surge of triumph. That she could pull such hunger, such feeling, from such a huge, capable stronghold of a man. And the best part? What was between them had nothing to do with her magic. Joss cared about her, her thoughts, her feelings, her future. Just the thought made her spirits soar.
But he broke the kiss. She struggled not to protest, not to push back into those arms. “What is it?”
“There are . . . things I haven’t told you,” he rasped.
“Then tell me.”
He took a step back. “I cannot. Not yet. I’m waiting on the last piece of the story, but when it comes, I will tell you all.” He was staring at her mouth. “We will need to have a long discussion.”
“When will you know?”
“Soon. Today, or perhaps tomorrow, I hope.”
“Shall I cancel the next interview, then? Tonight?”
“No.” He swallowed and shook his head. “We should go.”
She gathered her tattered wits and what dignity she could muster. “Fine, then. I will see you this evening.”