Swiftly, Lauris swam toward the panicked creature. Her arms went around it, pulling it to the surface where it shuddered and began to breathe. It was then that she realized she clasped a man to her breast. His pale skin glistened, and when his breath returned and he gazed at her, stars shone from his face. Then she was in his arms, and he kissed her, and then it was she who could not breathe, did not want to breathe if it meant ending this sweet, soul-shuddering kiss—
—Lauris bolted upright, gasping. Outside, it was raining again. A flash of lightning illuminated no seascape, only her own room crowded with tools and books. Tears covered her face, trickling into her mouth, where she tasted their sea-saltiness.
"Tell me of Wizard Blayne," asked Lauris a few hours later, sitting with Headman Aelfric at the Blue Bell.
The big man shrugged. "What do you want to know?" he countered, watching her closely.
"What land of man was he? How did he take care of the villagers? That sort of thing."
"Well, begging your pardon, I don't much take to wizardfolk," said the headman uncomfortably. "They deal with things I don't understand—don't want to understand. You're the first I've ever met that I've felt comfortable around. Blayne—well, he was a loner. Tall, skinny fellow with blond hair. His eyes had this faraway look to them—as if he wasn't ever really here."
Lauris kept her face calm. As before, she sensed no deception—only a mistrust of wizard-kind that was, sadly, far too common. "Any visitors? Other than the villagers?"
Aelfric's brows drew together. "Now that you mention it, yes. There were a few wanderers who came into town specifically to see him." The frown grew thunderous. "I didn't trust any of them, not one bit."
"Did they come as friends, or seekers of help?" Or did they come as enemies?
"I don't know. Didn't like the look of 'em, kept well enough away." Suddenly anger suffused his face. "Is someone bothering you? Name the bastard, and I'll—"
"No, no, nothing like that," Lauris soothed, distressed and yet oddly flattered that it should matter so much to him. "I'm sure no one in Greenhaven means me harm."
"If anyone as much as says a cruel word to you, they'll have me to deal with," the big man growled. "And that's a promise. I don't like the idea of a pretty young thing like you, in that house all by herself..."
Lauris smothered a smile. Beneath the table, where Aelfric could not see, her nimble fingers moved in a conjuration. Aelfric's knife suddenly tore itself from his hands, twirled around in the air, and then embedded itself to the hilt in the table.
"I can take care of myself," she smiled, enjoying the shocked admiration on the big man's face.
The night passed uneventfully. Morning brought an old woman with aching joints, who paid a plump hen for a salve to ease her pain. The afternoon saw a young man who blushed and stammered as he asked for a love potion. The days passed, and Lauris gradually began to win the villagers' trust. She had almost forgotten about the half-remembered dream and half-glimpsed shadow until one night, a fortnight or so later, when she sat curled up by the fire with a pile of books while a summer storm raged outside.
It was warm inside the house. The fire was more for light than heat. Expecting no one on an evening such as this, Lauris had spread out a blanket by the fire and lay on her stomach, naked, and was engrossed in her research.
A foot or so away, Shadow dozed. "So many spells," said Lauris to her familiar. He swiveled a gray ear in her direction. "I wonder what happened to him. Surely such a powerful wizard wouldn't be taken by surprise."
Unless the Dark itself devoured him, came a thought that did not originate inside her own head.
At once, Shadow was on his feet. His back arched, and his yellow gaze fastened on something Lauris could not see.
Lauris went bone cold. "Make yourself known," she whispered. But she already knew who it was—didn't she?
You grace this house, came the external thought. Such beauty... such compassion...
And then something cold as the grave itself brushed past her, through her. Lauris gasped, feeling icy tendrils of nothingness stroke her body, take shape, though remaining invisible, and become cold, strong arms, and she felt the press of lips that were not there on hers....
Gasping, she wriggled out of the specter's embrace, knowing now beyond all doubt that it was Blayne. Or at least, something that had once been Blayne. It was still here, still tied to this world, unable to pass on as it ought.
She scrambled for the book. She'd seen it, just recently, the spell that this frightening (exciting) situation demanded. She flipped through the old pages, absently noting in the back of her mind that they were fragile but not caring when they tore, until she found it.
"A Spell to Banysh Spyrits," read the spidery lettering. Lauris closed her eyes in relief. The spell required that it be cast on Lammas Night—the night of the dying god, one of the high holy days. And Lammas was, thank the gods, only a few days hence.