Stolen Magic. Esri Rose

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СКАЧАТЬ Adlia.” He touched my back lightly. “I’m sorry.”

      Any pleasure I felt at the contact was lost in a jolt of surprise. There were strong traces of elf glamour on Mark, and they weren’t mine.

      “Stop,” I commanded, and he halted in his tracks. I kept him still and blank while I ran my hands over his head, his chest, his hands. Only a skilled tracker could specifically identify a glamour that wasn’t his own, and even then, he’d need to personally know the elf that had done it. But even I could tell that someone had glamoured Mark pretty heavily.

      My first response was visceral and shocking. This was my human. I picked up his unresisting hand and stroked his arm down to his fingertips. Warm skin, silky hair, the complicated bones of his knuckles. Humans didn’t dissolve into Ma’Nah until they died. This was Mark in his entirety, beneath my fingertips. Humans were so vulnerable singly, but together they changed the world.

      A heavy glamour could be the innocent result of an elf trapped by unusual circumstances, or it might be a dark elf setting up shop. Kutara would expect me to find out more.

      I started him walking again and released him from the glamour. “You were telling me about coming to Colorado. How long have you been here?”

      “About five years. I was visiting someone and never got around to leaving. What about you?”

      Lying was second nature to me, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed it. “What about me? I like to listen, and you said you enjoy talking. Do you really want to mess with a winning formula?”

      He didn’t laugh. “I’d like to know more about you. For instance, where does the name Adlia come from?”

      It’s elven. “It’s Czech.”

      He smiled. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

      “Most men appreciate a bit of mystery in a woman.”

      He shrugged, then hiked up the strap of his camera bag. “As long as the mystery doesn’t include stuff like alcoholism or cutting yourself.”

      I stopped, and a bicyclist who had been waiting to pass narrowly missed running into me. “Is that why you asked me to have coffee? You think I’m broken and you feel sorry for me?”

      “No. I asked because I’m curious about you. Also, I like the color of your hair.”

      “Oh.” I stared at him, resisting the urge to glamour him and see if he was telling the truth. He looked like he might feel a little sorry for me, but that didn’t prevent me from feeling a glow about the hair comment. All this time I’d thought Mark just found me amusing. Could there be more to his attentions? We slowly resumed walking. “I don’t cut myself or drink. I do keep a journal, with the obligatory bad poetry.”

      “If you know it’s bad, why don’t you write something better?” He had the nerve to grin at me.

      “Because recognizing goodness is not the same as having it. Sometimes all you can achieve is crap.”

      He nodded. “You know what I first noticed about you? Your inherent cheerfulness.”

      Chapter Four

      We went to the Trident for coffee. When it was my turn to order, I stepped aside and said, “Actually, I don’t want anything.”

      “Eating disorder?” Mark asked.

      “Stop trying to find things that are wrong with me! I’m perfectly normal.” I started to laugh. “Oh, that was funny.”

      Mark paid for his drink. “No artist is normal.”

      “I’m not an artist.”

      “Sure you are. Your photography shows a lot of promise, you keep a journal, and you write poetry. What part of artist do you not understand?”

      “The part where I’m good at any of them.”

      He pointed his finger at me. “Low self-esteem.”

      “Okay, you got me on that one, although I prefer to think of low self-esteem as just another term for modesty.”

      Mark grated nutmeg onto his cappuccino at the condiment bar. “Did I mention that modesty is one of my many outstanding traits?”

      I followed him to a table and sat. “Maybe not everyone is comfortable being as happy as you are. Have you ever thought of that?”

      He raised his eyebrows. “I can honestly say that I haven’t. Why did you take a picture of those tree roots in the creek?”

      “Because of the paradox. Trees want water, but the water is washing that tree away. It’s like a battle that can never be won.”

      He leaned back, cupping both hands around his coffee cup. “And you don’t think you’re an artist.”

      He smiled so sweetly at me, I wanted to touch him. Instead, I turned away and fiddled with the strap of my bag as it hung over my chair. “Besides pictures of Boulder, what else do you photograph? Wildlife?”

      “God, no. Those guys are out in all weather, getting bighorn-sheep crap on their Patagonia jackets and picking up fleas from the prairie dogs. I’m a people person, so I do a lot of portraits.”

      “Do you have any you can show me?”

      He reached toward his camera bag, then stopped. “I would, but I cleared the card last night. Wait—I do have something.” He put a hand in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “This isn’t very big, but it’s one of my favorites.”

      I took the dog-eared photo he handed me. It showed a lovely brunette, elbows propped on the floor and face cradled in her hands. Her dramatic brows arched slightly and one corner of her wide mouth curved up. “She looks—” It had to be said. “She looks kind of elfin.”

      He nodded, smiling. “And she didn’t believe she was beautiful—can you believe it? That’s Faith. She’s the reason I came to Colorado.”

      Of course she was. The picture didn’t show the woman’s ears, of course, but I would bet good money this was the source of Mark’s glamour traces. Actually, she looked a little familiar. “I think I’ve seen her around. Has she ever come to class?”

      “No.”

      We were interrupted by a blond bear of a man, who clapped Mark on the shoulder. “Mark! How’s it going, man?”

      Mark made the introductions. “Adlia, this is Butch, whose only job appears to be beating me at pool. Butch, this is Adlia—one of my more promising photography students and a specialist in humorous gloom.” He winked at me.

      Butch engulfed my hand with his and grinned. “Right on.”

      “I’m not that gloomy,” I said.

      “Why shouldn’t you be?” Butch’s grin was wide enough to show his molars. “The world’s going to hell, but we can have a good time on the way.” He turned to Mark. “Eight-ball tournament this Saturday night at ’Round СКАЧАТЬ