Page 6 of Carnal Magic
Steam curled thick like fog over the rippling water, reeking of minerals and rock and something else. Maybe sulfur, like the famous Hot Springs, but my mind insisted it smelled more like brimstone.
“I’m Arwena Redwine.” My voice echoed off the rocks, but no one answered. Maybe they couldn’t. I didn’t know if I was supposed to say some other incantation or not. Had Martha written the secret words in the book?
Gathering my courage, I gingerly stepped into the spring. The water was hot, almost too hot to enjoy. My skin burned as I went deeper. How far did I need to go? Up to my neck? I didn’t want to turn into a lobster.
“Are you real?” I whispered, my voice shaking.
“Yes,” echoed all around me. Too many voices to separate or distinguish between them. Hands closed around me. Cupping my cheeks, lifting my lips for a deep kiss of such hunger that I groaned. Hands gliding over my skin. Lifting me. Carrying me. I couldn’t feel the water any longer, but heat pulsed through me. So hot. I would surely have burn marks, or at least be scalded, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.
4
Iwoke up slowly, enjoying the languorous, sensual feel of my bare skin against silk. My muscles ached as if I’d run a marathon.
Or maybe climbed a mountain and had some kind of crazy orgy in a hot spring.
Laughing at myself, I opened my eyes. That had been some dream. First I’d talked to my dead grandma. Then I’d basically jumped headfirst into a secret hot spring in the mountain. I remembered hands, mostly. Hands all over me. In me. So many.
Shivering, I sat up and stretched.
Froze.
The palms of my hands were scraped. My knuckles were raw. I pushed the covers back and swallowed hard. My knees were just as red, and my body was covered with little welts and scratches. As if I’d run through a blackberry bramble naked. Or maybe been felt up by something with claws. Lots of claws. Gulp.
But the most telling thing of all were my dirty feet.
“Holy fuck,” I whispered.
It had to be a dream. I’d never been a sleepwalker before. But I remembered climbing the mountain so clearly. There hadn’t been a path, but I’d known where to go.
Resolute, I climbed out of bed, rummaged through my bag, and threw on leggings and a sweatshirt. I had to see if I could find the spring again. If it was real. Or just a really vivid dream. Maybe I’d walked around in the night and gotten my feet dirty. Maybe Martha had a mean cat who’d scratched the crap out of me while I slept.
And I didn’t wake up?I knew it was stupid, but surely that was better than having such a vivid sex dream. I didn’t even remember going to bed naked! I could have sworn I’d gone to bed fully dressed. I hadn’t bothered to change into my sleep tank and shorts.
Determined to find some answers, I threw open the back door and froze again. There were my clothes, neatly folded on the back step. Along with a basket of fresh bread, warm muffins, tins of butter and jam, and a pot of tea. Jasmine from the smell of it. My favorite.
I tried to rationalize it all while I stood there in the warm sunlight. Maybe the old man had found my skirt and blouse and brought them back. Or whoever Mr. Woodward had hired to clean the house had come back with fresh groceries again. But they couldn’t know that I preferred jasmine tea. I hadn’t told anyone.
I knew without breaking open one of the muffins that they’d be cinnamon apple. My favorite.
Or that the jam would be elderberry, just like Mama used to make.
Only someone who knew me very well could have delivered this breakfast for me. And it was still perfectly warm, as if they’d known exactly when I would wake up.
Numbly, I picked up the folded clothes and the basket of goodies. Despite my shock, I was hungry. Ravenous, actually. I’d never been so hungry in my entire life. In fact, I tore into the muffin before I even made it back to the kitchen, and it was just as fluffy and delicious as I expected.
I sat down at the table and determinedly enjoyed my feast. I would need the sustenance before I made that climb again.
I had to see the spring in the daylight. See if I’d left footprints, or maybe even some blood on the rocks. I had to prove it’d really happened.
Had it really happened? An orgy in a hot spring with a bunch of… something? I wasn’t even sure what they’d been. It couldn’t have been real.
None of this was real.
But as I finished the first muffin and started on a second, I looked around the cabin and it was… different. Golden, warm light danced through the windows. Bright green light glowed from the plants in the window. Even the afghan seemed imbued with energy, as if I could pull it around my shoulders and feel Martha’s arms wrapping around me tightly.
Energy. Light. A sense of knowing and wonder that I’d always wished to have.
Magic.
