Breath of Magic by Teresa Medeiros
"Drop it!" Sven's shout startled her into obeying. He caught the package before it could hit the rug and raced for the bathroom, holding the box at arm's length.
Arian crept after him, utterly baffled by his behavior. At the sound of running water, she peeped around the bathroom door to discover that Sven had thrust the package into one of the sinks and turned on the faucet full force.
The wrapping paper and fragile cardboard disintegrated beneath the gushing water, revealing a sopping wet occupant who was no longer rumbling its satisfaction, but yowling at the top of its tiny lungs.
"Sven!" Arian cried, rushing in to scoop the bedraggled ball of fur into her cupped palms. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself! Tormenting an innocent creature in that manner! There, there, nice kitty," she murmured, dabbing at its dripping whiskers with the tail of her train. The kitten sneezed and she shot Sven a reproachful look. "I won't let the bad man hurt you."
"I thought it was a bomb," Sven confessed sheepishly, still eyeing the tiny termagant as if it might explode.
The kitten's yowls had subsided to piteous mews. Arian bit back a wince of pain as it hooked its needle-sharp claws into the bodice of her dress and clambered toward her shoulder. A row of seed pearls popped off and bounced into the shower, but all was forgiven when the enchanting bit of ebony fluff began to nuzzle Arian's ear.
Deafened by the kitten's blissful purr, Arian reached past Sven and gingerly peeled the sodden gift card from the rim of the sink. The unmistakable scrawl was blurred, but still legible: Every good witch should have a familiar. And you're the best damn witch I know.
A warmth that had both nothing and everything to do with the darling creature cuddled beneath her chin spread through Arian's veins like chocolate syrup. Tristan couldn't have chosen a more appropriate wedding gift to celebrate their love. At first Arian thought the distant ringing was simply her heart caroling a joyous tune, but a shy cough from the direction of the living room warned her it had been the chime of the arriving elevator.
"Barrett here, ma'am. I've brought the limousine around to take you to the chapel."
Arian's head flew up. "Oh, my! The chapel! The wedding!" She thrust the kitten toward Sven. "Could you please find little Lucifer a basket? I want to take him with me."
Sven backed toward the sunken whirlpool tub, shaking his head with renewed violence.
Arian sighed. "Don't tell me a strapping fellow like you is afraid of a kitten."
The bodyguard signed a cross on his burly chest. "Black cats are bad luck."
"And Norwegians are overly superstitious and given to disagreeable bouts of gloom." Ignoring the sputtered protests of both man and cat, she deposited the kitten in Sven's mighty paw.
Tripping on her starched petticoat, Arian rushed from the bathroom, leaving Sven and Lucifer to eye each other with the wary suspicion of lifelong enemies.
Arian's wedding ring was everything her engagement ring was not – exquisite, delicate, tasteful. As Tristan slid the band of beaten gold on her trembling finger at the priest's command, he whispered that it was an antique, over seventy-five years old. Arian wondered what he would say if he knew his bride was even more of an antique, over three centuries old.
Someday she would tell him, she promised herself. Someday when they were lazing on the front porch of their Connecticut farmhouse, watching their grandchildren romp through the autumn leaves. But today was a day for both of them to leave the past behind.
Arian was thankful Tristan had insisted she wear white to symbolize their fresh beginning. The puffed sleeves of the princess-cut bodice bared her shoulders to the golden glow of the Waterford chandeliers. Sven had helped her pile her hair high on her head, then secured the rebellious curls with a tiara woven from silk blossoms and baby's breath. The emerald amulet provided a single teardrop of color against her snowy bosom.
Arian felt no need to invoke its magic. She could never have composed an incantation more enchanting than the priest's "I now pronounce you man and wife." As she turned up her face to seal their vows, Tristan's tender kiss cast a spell that would last a lifetime.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the beaming priest intoned, turning them to face the packed pews. "It is my privilege to introduce Mr. and Mrs. Tristan Lennox."
Thunderous applause rocked the elegant chapel. Arian gazed over the sea of smiling faces and squeezed Tristan's hand, marveling at how love had turned a city full of strangers into friends.
Before she even had time to catch her breath, they were swept down the aisle and out the towering doors of the chapel. A shower of orange blossoms tossed by cheering well-wishers enveloped them in a fragrant cloud, eliciting a flurry of sneezes and a reproachful glance from her new husband. As Tristan followed her into the waiting limo, Arian barely noticed the lowering clouds or the chill bite of a wind that whispered of early winter.
As the majestic limo rolled toward the Carlyle Hotel where the reception was to be held, Arian settled in the crook of her husband's arm, seized by an almost painful shyness. Tristan's long, tanned fingers stroked the ivory skin of her forearm, evoking provocative memories of their last encounter in a limousine. She stole a peek at his face. He was watching her with an irresistibly roguish smile that warned her he was thinking exactly the same thing.
If anyone awaiting their arrival at the Carlyle noticed that the limo circled the block six times or that the bride and groom emerged from the back seat rumpled and slightly dazed, they were too polite to do more than elbow one another knowingly and share an envious wink. Arian licked her puffy lips and managed a shaky smile for the flashing cameras, her cheeks aflame.
Even Sven and Lucifer seemed to have declared a truce in honor of their nuptials. When they reached the lavish banquet room where the reception was to be held, Arian discovered Sven ignoring the shocked stares of the society matrons to feed the kitten bits of smoked caviar from his plate. The women looked even more scandalized when Sven swiped a sprig of miniature roses from one of the centerpieces and began nibbling on it. Arian breathed a silent prayer of thanks that she hadn't turned him into a man-eating tiger instead of a goat.
When the leader of the string quartet prodded Arian and Tristan into claiming the floor for the first dance, Lucifer bounded down from the white satin tablecloth and frisked around their feet, shamelessly trying to catch a ride on Arian's train.
Drawing her as close as the orchestra's chaste rendering of Aerosmith's "Amazing" would allow, Tristan plucked a stray orange blossom from Arian's hair. "Happy, Mrs. Lennox?" he murmured.
"Delirious, Mr. Lennox," she replied, resting her cheek against his starched shirtfront and thinking how lovely it would be to wake up tomorrow morning with her cheek pressed to his bare chest.
As the second dance began, other couples swirled into motion around them, pointing and laughing at Lucifer's antics.
"That's strange," Tristan said, watching a pony-tailed Native American who looked suspiciously like his best man lead a statuesque auburn-haired beauty onto the dance floor. "I don't remember inviting her to the wedding."
Arian craned her neck to peer around his shoulder before smiling smugly. "You didn't. But don't they make a lovely couple?"
Copperfield spun Cherie into a dramatic dip, giving Arian a thumb's-up sign as he did so. "Someone seems to think so," Tristan replied, resting his chin on his wife's upswept curls. "Is that how you spent your morning? Brewing love potions for all my old girlfriends?"
As the music soared and the wine flowed, Arian grew more and more distracted. She kept glancing toward the doors, searching each new flurry of arriving guests for a familiar face.
Tristan gave his bride a possessive squeeze, bemused by her mounting nervousness. "If you've changed your mind, it's too late. I'll never let you go now. Especially not before I…" He inclined his head, muffling the delicious details of his sensual promise against her ear.
Arian blushed prettily, but as she searched his face, her sober expression lingered. "I just hope you'll like you
Her back was to the door a few minutes later when Tristan muttered, "What the hell…?" Arian stiffened, but her guileless face betrayed nothing, not even when Tristan leveled a ferocious scowl at her. "Who the hell taught you to use the telephone?"
"You did," she reminded him, smiling sweetly. "Go on," she urged, giving him a slight shove toward the door. "Go play the gracious host. Tis your duty."
Tristan obeyed, but not before tugging the lapels of his gray morning coat straight and smoothing back his hair. Her heart stuck somewhere between her chest and her throat, Arian watched her gorgeous husband weave his way between the dancers to greet his mother.
Brenda hovered at the door, striking in a dark blue dress adorned with a rhinestone stickpin. Arian didn't realize she was holding her breath until she saw Tristan bend stiffly to accept his mother's awkward hug, then flash a cautious smile at Brenda's reticent entourage.
Forcing Lucifer to find a new target for his pouncing attacks, Arian scooped up her train and wended her own way through the crowd to her husband's side, never more certain that she belonged there.
As she approached, Tristan drew her into their intimate circle. "I'd like all of you to meet Arian, my new wife. Arian, you've already met my mother." Two lanky young men flanked Brenda, as if to protect her from some unforeseen assault. "This is Bill. And Danny." The men, barely more than boys, greeted Arian with nods and bashful grins.
A plain girl clutching the arm of a boy even younger than Bill or Danny hung back behind them. Tristan drew her forward, handling her with a care that only made Arian adore him more. "Arian, this is Ellen." His brief pause spoke volumes. "My sister."
The girl's face broke into a shy smile and Arian realized she would not be plain for long. Arian had seen that smile before – on a bright, lonely boy who had grown up to rule an empire and steal her heart.
Arian beamed at the girl. "Why, Ellen, you're every bit as lovely as your mother! We're so glad you could come."
Arian's warm welcome seemed to melt the girl's shyness. "And I'm so glad Mr. Len – uh, Tristan – um, my brother" – this with a nervous glance at Tristan – "asked you to invite us. Mama nearly fainted after you called last night," she confided with a giggle. "We couldn't tell if she was laughing or crying. Then we realized she was laughing and crying. Oh," she exclaimed, drawing her reluctant companion forward. "And this is Phil. We're getting married in the spring, right after graduation." Phil looked a trifle pasty and inclined to bolt, but Ellen's possessive grip snowed no sign of easing. "We're both starting at NYU next fall. I know it won't be easy, but love has a way of making things work out, doesn't it?"
"Yes, it does," Tristan murmured, wrapping his arms around Arian's waist "But I'd still like to have a word with you, son, about your plans for my little sister."
"Why don't you dance with your mother first?" Arian suggested before her husband's glower could send poor Phil sprinting for the door.
Arian watched Tristan offer his mother an arm through a haze of happiness, praying Brenda would have the decency not to ask for an advance on her allowance during the dance. She sighed. She supposed she would have to stop meddling and let them work things out the same way mothers and sons had been doing for countless generations.
Arian barely had time to dance with Copperfield and rescue Lucifer from the irate caterer's clutches after he'd been caught licking the frosting from the wedding cake before she and Tristan were summoned to the front of the ballroom to share the toast that would signal dinner.
Tristan nuzzled her ear as if they'd been separated for hours instead of only minutes. "You're going to regret inviting your mother-in-law to the wedding when she starts giving you cooking tips and insisting we name our first baby after my uncle Felix."
"I didn't know you had an uncle Felix."
He gave his tie an irritable tug. "Neither did I."
An expectant spell fell over the crowd as one of the waiters handed Tristan a goblet of red wine. He gazed down into Arian's eyes with a sensual tenderness that stole her breath away.
His voice was smoky with the promise of pleasures to come as he lifted the goblet. "To my beautiful bride, who made me believe in the magic of true love."
The delighted applause was interrupted by droll laughter. "Is it the magic of love you salute, Lennox? Or the love of magic?"
Dread rooted Arian to the floor as the crowd parted to reveal Wite Lize standing in the doorway, dapper in a black tuxedo, top hat, and flowing cape.
24
"Another of your mystery guests, my dear?" Tristan murmured through clenched teeth.
"I should say not," Arian replied, shooting him an offended glance.
As Wite Lize strode through the crowd, white cane in hand, Sven passed Lucifer off to Copperfield and bounded toward the front of the room, prepared to intercept the wedding crasher before he reached the bride and groom.
Arian placed a restraining hand on her husband's arm. "Please, Tristan," she whispered. "He can't hurt us anymore. Don't let him spoil our day by provoking you into tossing him out on his ear. He'd like nothing more than to make you appear the ogre in front of our guests."
She felt the ironbound muscles of Tristan's forearm slowly relax. He spared her a rueful glance, as if bemused by the ease with which she coaxed his surrender. "As you wish. Anything for my bride."
At Tristan's signal, Sven went to lean against the wall behind them, but kept his brawny arms folded over his chest in a threat that was impossible to misinterpret. Handing Lucifer off to Cherie, Copperfield rose to join him, adding his own warning to Sven's.
As Wite Lize approached, Tristan even managed a terse smile. "I had hoped the Carlyle might provide a higher quality of entertainment," he called out. "Yodeling, perhaps, or mimes trapped in invisible boxes."
Wite Lize sketched his host a mocking bow. "I believe your guests will find my feats of illusion as diverting as your own charade."
He swept off his top hat, sending a pair of snow-white doves fluttering toward the skylight to the appreciative "oohs" and "aahs" of the crowd. The guests broke into applause, obviously believing the caustic banter between Tristan and the magician was simply part of the show.
Arian clutched Tristan's arm, wondering what black mischief the incorrigible illusionist was up to now. He must be terribly bitter that his scheme to poison her against Tristan had failed. Now that she and Tristan stood together, united as man and wife, he was powerless to hurt them. Wasn't he?
Having won the delighted regard of the crowd by producing a bouquet of fresh lilacs from the top of his cane, Wite Lize pursed his lips thoughtfully. "For my next trick, I shall require a volunteer from the audience."
He paced back and forth, his cape rippling behind him as he pretended to assess the crowd for potential celebrities. Ignoring the frantically waving hand of a little girl, he spun around and pointed a finger at Arian. "What better helpmeet could I choose than the blushing bride herself?"
Arian recoiled from his outstretched hand.
"No, thank you," Tristan snapped, drawing her into the shelter of his side. "I'd rather not have my bride turned into a turtledove or sawn in half before the honeymoon."
The crowd booed and hooted their disappointment.
Lize cocked his head to the side, his expression insufferably coy. "What's wrong, Lennox? Afraid I'll make her vanish right before your eyes?"
Tristan tensed, and Arian knew he was only a taunt away from smashing his fist into the magician's smug face. She caressed the amulet, tempted to make the magician perform a disappearing act of his own.
"It's all right, Tristan," she said instead, her voice ringing high and clear in the taut silence. "I'll help him with his silly old trick."
"Arian, I really don't think – "
But she had already stepped out of the protective circle of her husband's embrace to face the magician.
"Ah!" Wite Lize exclaimed. "Brave as well as beautiful. Lennox is a lucky fel
The guests dutifully applauded her boldness while Tristan gazed on in stormy disapproval, his knuckles blanched around the stem of the goblet.
"Follow the motions of my hands," Wite Lize instructed the rapt crowd, wiggling his fingers in front of Arian's face until her eyes crossed in annoyance, "and witness an amazing feat of prestidigitation. With my stunning sleight of hand, I shall create fire in the bosom of this lovely ice maiden."
Crowning his motions with a dramatic flourish, Wite Lize pointed at Arian's chest. A miniature lightning bolt crackled from his fingertip, provoking charmed applause and squeals of delight from the younger members of his audience.
Arian yawned. As lightning bolts went, it hadn't been particularly impressive. Her hair wasn't even standing on end.
Tristan looked more relieved than angry. "Your amateur pyrotechnics might be more impressive, old man, if you recharged that battery pack you've got stuck up your…"
His voice trailed off as the goblet slipped from his hand. Wine spattered like blood over the train of Arian's gown.
"Why, Tristan! What on earth –?" Arian glanced up from the mess to find Tristan staring at her chest, his face ashen.
"Where did that come from?" he asked hoarsely. Copperfield appeared behind him, as still and dark as his shadow.
Arian recoiled as Tristan took a step toward her. "What is it, Tristan? Don't stare at me so. You're frightening me."
Silence had fallen like a thunderclap over the banquet room and no one dared to stir. No one but Wite Lize, who was backing away from them with a look of grim triumph on his withered face.
"Where the hell did it come from?" Tristan repeated.
Arian shook her head mutely, afraid to even hazard a guess in answer to his cryptic demand.
He caught her by the shoulders, his hands as ruthless as they'd been gentle only minutes before. "The emerald! Where the hell did you get the emerald?"