The Magic Between Us (Faerie 3)

He was never going to let this rest, was he? Ever. Cecelia squeezed her eyes closed. “There is no one, all right?” she cried. Her voice broke, and she hated herself for it. But the subterfuge wasn’t fair to either of them.

“What?” He smiled slowly, his eyes lighting up there in the darkness of the night. “There is no one else?”

Cecelia steeled herself with a fortifying breath. “No. I just told you that to make you leave me alone.”

Talking about her father hurt too much. She didn’t have to tell him about that yet, did she?

***

He would never, ever, ever leave her alone. Not now. Not a chance. “I’ll never leave you again,” he promised. Hope bloomed within him.

“I haven’t said I’ll accept you back in my life,” she warned, holding up a finger to stay him.

He smiled. He couldn’t help it. “You lied to me about your availability.” The joviality in his voice made his comments sound like a song.

She blew a lock of hair from her forehead with an upturned breath. “And I’m pretty sure you lied too,” she said. She looked away, suddenly appearing uneasy. “How many women have there been since you’ve been here, Marcus?” she finally asked. “I have a right to know.”

A laugh bubbled up within him, but he tamped it down. “There’s only you, you ninny,” he said, flicking his finger against the tip of her nose. “How could I possibly be with another when you’re all I can think about?”

Marcus drew her into his arms, with her protesting all the while. He laughed at her reticence, but he needed to hold her. “You had better not be lying,” she murmured against his chest. “I will find out if you are.”

“Cece,” he said. He didn’t know how to tell her everything that was in his heart. But he felt it was imperative that he try.

“Let me show you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a vial of faerie dust. He tilted it back and forth in his hand, and Cecelia watched the glow of the flakes. He dumped a lump of it into his palm and blew it into the air. He said the words, “Show my love my heart.”

The dust began to swirl and formed a picture of Marcus with his ring on the day his father gave it to him. The words “faith,” “trust,” and “honor” appeared in the apparition. But then they were replaced by sorrow. Sorrow, despair, and dissatisfaction trumped happiness, and the second words gobbled up the first in their greedy jaws. Marcus wiped a tear from the corner of Cecelia’s eye. He swiped a hand through the dust and it dissipated, falling to the floor of the garden like sparks from the grate. Dust didn’t lie. He’d been as torn in two as she had over their separation.

“I had a lot to think about when I first came here.”

“Your sisters?” she asked.

Yes, he’d had to get his sisters out of one scrape or another. But then he’d gone home and his grandfather had died. And he’d taken some part of Marcus with him. “My sisters, and then my parents.” He’d wanted so badly to have parents. “I felt like I needed to make them love me, since they hadn’t done so my whole life. And I worried that the only way to do that was to dedicate myself to their way of life.” He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “That’s the crux of it. And I’m sorry.”

She said something quietly against his chest.

“What was that?” he asked, pulling back from her.

She looked up at him, her blue eyes like limpid pools he could fall into. “I am not ready to forgive you yet.”

“My father warned me that you wouldn’t be so easy to sway.”

She elbowed him in the ribs. “You talked to your father about us?”

“Who else am I going to talk to? Allen? He’d just as soon take you from me as help me.”

“Allen’s not so bad.” She took his hand and led him back to the bench. She sat down and pointed to her lap. “Come on. Put your head here.” She motioned him forward with wiggly fingers.

Oh, thank heavens. He could breathe again. He stretched out on his back and laid his head in her lap. The firmness of her thigh made him feel like he was coming home. She didn’t put her hands in his hair right away, and he needed for her to touch him. He wouldn’t feel complete until she did.

“Tell me what it was like for you when I left,” he said. He might as well hear it. He would have to hear it so he could help her get past it, because the fact that she wasn’t touching him, aside from letting his head lie in her lap, was telling. She still had some reservations.

“Someone took away my best friend,” she said. “Only it wasn’t like he was stolen. It was like he ran away from me. He went as quickly and as far away as he could. He went to a different world. I had no one to tell my secrets to. No one to tell me ridiculous tales just to make me laugh. No one to talk to about the horrible happenings in my life…” Her voice tapered off.

“My tales are not ridiculous,” he grumbled playfully. He lay on his back and looked up into her blue eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “Can you ever forgive me?”

Her hand finally lifted, as though of its own accord, and she began to slowly run her fingers through his hair. “Perhaps someday,” she said, but a smile broke across her face.

He snorted. “I don’t expect you to make it easy.”