Pred claimed the cocoa carafe. She scowled at Tiro. “You had no right to answer as if you were me, asking what kind of curse it was. I won’t have that.”
He sneered, shrugged. “Humans and their rights.” His upper lip lifted. “You can’t do anything to me.”
“I can give all the chocolate pie I’m making to Hartha and Pred.”
Pred snorted with laughter. Tiro growled and the younger, smaller brownieman disappeared.
Amber walked over to the table and looked at the tube. Her palms tingled and wisps of pink-purple emanated from them as she touched it.
“Tell me, Tiro, did any of my, uh, forebears ask you to help them?”
His face darkened and looked like it became the consistency of rock. Amber stepped back. His big eyes turned down briefly as if sad, then he shrugged again. “They always thought they could fix curses. Every one of them. They all died young.”
Like Amber’s mother and aunt had. They’d cut all emotional connections with her and sent her away to relatives when she was six, where she’d been cared for but never really loved. Looking back, she thought they had decided to do a major curse breaking and had failed. She didn’t know for sure, though.
They hadn’t taught her about curses. She only had that one journal—obviously a middle volume of a set. She’d never thought to trace a bloodline back to witness the beginning of a curse. Usually she’d just felt the hideous shroud of the curse and broken it.
“Was Conrad right about there being rules for curses? That a release or unbinding is built at the time of the original curse?”
“What of it?” Tiro asked. “The curse lasts and the requirements for the unbinding gets lost and that’s the end of it.”
Possibilities surged through Amber, enough to make her light-headed and lean against the wall. “But I am proficient in finding information in the past. Maybe this is another way…”
“Occasionally there are witnesses to the curse or it’s recorded,” Hartha encouraged.
“I have a smaller magical gift that might help,” Amber said.
Tiro grunted. “You women are always hopeful. You always try. You always die.”
Hartha finished inspecting the surface of the mahogany table. Somehow she’d stopped coffee from splashing on it from Conrad’s cup.
“All right?” Amber asked, pushing away from the wall.
“Yes.” Hartha lifted her chin with pride in her work. Her gaze scanned the room. “All is tidy.”
“Thank you,” Amber said.
Hartha nodded. “Your chocolate cake was very good.” The tips of her ears quivered. “And we will have chocolate pie with candied violets for tea this afternoon.”
“Yes,” Amber said.
Hartha vanished with the cake and Amber was left with Tiro. He stumped around the room, then cackled. “Buzz of the lighting,” he said, mocking Rafe Davail’s words.
“Not very courteous of you,” Amber said. She picked up the tube. Magic ran from it to her hand, sank into her skin. She wished Jenni were here to ask about things. One last glance and she said, “We are all bound together for a while.” As she said that, she knew it was the truth. She didn’t know how or why, but they were bound together. “Rafe Davail and me and you.”
“You’ll die soon.”
“Maybe I will.” She didn’t want to. There must be ways to mitigate the consequences of curse breaking; she should be able to find them. She was sure her ancestors didn’t have three brownies to help them. She opened her hands and flicked her fingers at him. “I thank you for moving my office, but I release you. Go back where you came from, I sure don’t need you in my life.”
“I can’t.” Tiro didn’t roar loudly, but affected the air pressure so that her ears popped. He hopped onto the table so they were eye-to-eye. “The great elf Cumulustre put a binding on me to serve your line until there were no more of you stupid curse-breaking women.” He stomped back and forth on the conference table, and Amber swore she could hear wood splintering, but the top was smooth and polished, not even a trace of small brownie footprints.
Magic.
“I thought you were all gone. All dead. The main line and all its branches.”
“So you have to live with me, huh?” Amber asked. “Keep an eye on me? Is that all? Can’t you help me? I can see you. I can see the other brownies. Jenni is a djinn. I could have a lot of help.”
“Not enough, not ever enough.”
Amber shrugged a shoulder. “Well, wherever you’ve been, and however you’ve spent your time since you were last with humans, it sure has made you grumpy. Not even regular infusions of chocolate would sweeten you.” She turned and walked from the room, leaving the door open.
“I was very happy by myself in my cottage!” he shouted.
She didn’t look back. By the time she crossed the foyer to the outer door, waving to the receptionist, Tiro was gone and the conference room was empty.
The wind had come up and whipped her hair around her and she’d wished she’d buttoned up her raincoat. But the Sensitive New Age Bean was only around the block, so she wouldn’t be in the spring cold for long. She tucked the long tube under her arm and hurried. As she did so, she noticed the…flatness…of the scent of the air, and when the wind kissed her lips, the flavor wasn’t tasty. And she knew what was missing. The fragrance and savor of magic.
She pushed the door open to the coffee shop. Instead of magic there was the rich smell of espresso, and the slight sweetness of baked goods.
The place was crowded as usual. Amber was not the only one doing business at the Bean. People worked on laptops, spoke quietly on cells, spread papers or textbooks on the tables. There were a few meetings, too. A local Realtor, a financial planner, one of the architects from the firm on the corner—all were deep in discussion with one or more clients.
Rafe Davail had chosen a small table for two in the back room. The round table was painted with fluffy Chinese clouds with a dragon peeking out, chasing a shiny gray pearl. Rafe lounged in a low-backed chair, his arm along the top rung, his legs showing long muscles in his faded jeans, his leather jacket open. She was sure it was outrageously expensive. She’d never thought a blond could look darkly brooding, but he managed.
As she passed the threshold of the front room to the back, he glanced up, then stood. He gestured to two cups in front of him. “Seemed like a day for hot chocolate.”
Tiro perched on the high shelf of the back bookcase, and had his gaze fixed on the drinks as if he hadn’t tasted the treat in millennia. Was chocolate addicting to brownies? She’d better ask.
Meanwhile, Rafe had slipped the large tube from her grasp and set it on the table, then touched her shoulders and she realized he was going to take her coat. She hadn’t expected such manners from him, then recalled he’d been brought up in wealth and figured he’d had etiquette drummed into him.
