It was impossible not to stare at her. Malcolm had been trying for fifteen minutes now, ever since she walked up to the bus stop. It wasn't just that she was beautiful – she was – or that she carried herself like a queen – she did – or even that she was nearly as tall as he was. It was hard to explain to himself, but the dark-haired beauty in the red blouse and skirt was so intensely alive. You saw it in the set of her jaw, in the movement of her hair, in the flicker of her eyes, in the sway of her body as she paced up and down… The moment he looked at her, the rest of the world seemed drab and washed out, while she positively glowed with life. You met all kinds of people as a stage magician, trying to scrape up a living, but this woman was wholly singular.
She was also in trouble, Malcolm realized, once he gave up trying to look away. Her face was pale, her jaw clenched with held-in anger, and her shadowed eyes darted about, looking for someone she didn't want to see. Her hand was clenched tightly on her suitcase, and there was tension in her proud upright posture. You had to wonder what could make a woman so vibrant look like that – and maybe pity that thing, because the lady gave off a vibe of strength and determination, and there was something in her face that said you wouldn't want to mess with her.
As he was wondering whether or not to approach her, the weather seemed to make up its mind for him. A heavy downpour started out of nowhere. The lady jerked with the first drop of cold water, then stared out into the storm as if the wind and rain were beneath her. Malcolm made up his mind and reached for his umbrella.
o-o-o-o
They're not here, Margaret le Fay assured herself. Raith's underlings had lost her trail back in Singapore, she was sure, but that didn't mean they wouldn't find her. She was trying to avoid major population centers, where the White Council or her old friends might find her. She wanted to clear her head, not have it chopped off, and after the humiliation of being Lord Raith's lap dog for five years, she didn't want to face her old contacts just yet. How they'd laugh… Hell's bells, Nicodemus is probably laughing already.
At least traveling in hunks of iron like buses should confuse the Fair Folk a little. She wasn't ready to deal with her Sidhe friends, either. She needed to hide in the mortal world a while, straighten things out in her own head. It had been a rough five years; the roughest part of all was leaving her son behind, her rowdy little Thomas. Raith is a sack of shit, but he guards them til they come of age. That was more than Maggie could do, with enemies chasing her and friends who could turn at any minute. She was used to playing this game herself – and it was a thrilling one, when she wasn't in turmoil – but she couldn't bring Tommy into it. My sweet baby…
As if sharing her mood, the sky opened into a downpour. Maggie watched the rain suspiciously, but there was no sign of faerie or mortal magic in it. Just ordinary rain, drenching her hair and running down her back. Maggie closed her eyes, trying to breathe deeply. She almost wished someone would find her. She had five years of pent up frustration to let out, and five years of new loopholes to demonstrate to the Council.
Her thoughts were interrupted when a battered black umbrella came over her head. She whirled sharply to face the attacker, then quickly got a handle on herself. It was just the young man who'd been waiting when she got there, a lanky fellow a few inches taller than herself, with threadbare clothes and the gentlest smile she had seen in ages. "I hope I didn't disturb you," he said apologetically. "It's just… well, it's raining, and traveling sick is no picnic, miss….?"
She hesitated. Names had power in the magical world, and hers was pretty well known. She couldn't risk Raith or the Council finding her. But something about this man's open features made her not want to lie to him.
"You don't have to tell me your name," the young man reassured her quickly. His smile grew even gentler, if that were possible, at her surprised look. "Just tell me… are you alright?"
Maggie laughed softly and shook her head. "I can take care of myself." This lanky young man with the warm smile wouldn't last a second in her world, but his concern was… touching. She looked back up at him and gave him a half smile of her own. "You're getting drenched, you know." She put her hand on the shaft of the umbrella and pushed it toward him. "You don't want to get sick, either, do you?"
He looked sheepish. "Well, it is a little damp…" He took half a step into her personal space. "May I?" he asked, glancing at the space between them.
Stars and stones, he was innocent! She smiled fully and beckoned him. "Come on. Get out of the rain!" He stepped fully under the umbrella with her; it wasn't a very spacious one, so they were squeezed together side by side. "Thank you," she added softly. She hadn't been among regular mortals for a while; those simple gestures were a little rusty.
"Of course." His smile emphasized the laugh lines around his blue eyes and nearly erased the faint worry lines.
Margaret stared out into the rain again, vigilant and not sure what to say. Really, she should get away from him. If someone found her while he was holding the umbrella over her, assumptions would be made and his life would be in danger.
"It was a dark and stormy night," the young man announced in a portentous voice. He made a show of checking his watch. "Or, as Snoopy phrases it, a dark and stormy noon."
"Snoopy? The dog from the comic strip?"
"He keeps trying to write a novel," the man explained. "He begins it with 'It was a dark and stormy night,' but Lucy tells him that's too cliché. So he swaps it for 'It was a dark and stormy noon.'"
For some reason, she found herself chuckling. Maybe it was the voice he used for Snoopy's dramatic writing. "So what does a dog write about?"
"So far? Just that one line." They both smiled at that. "But you have to wonder, don't you? What kind of story begins in the middle of that storm?" There was a look in his eyes both worried and hopeful, and he, too, looked out into the rain.
Thankfully, at that moment, a bus pulled up. Maggie didn't read which one it was, she just lifted her bag and smiled at the man. "I don't know about Snoopy, but I hope your story is a good one." She stepped away and prepared to board. "Goodbye, sir."
"Malcolm," he corrected her, lifting one hand in farewell, a little disappointed. "Malcolm Dresden. Take care of yourself."
Maggie didn't show him her sardonic smile. "I always do."
o-o-o-o
Two weeks later, he saw her again. He was about to perform at a state fair, waiting off to the side while an acrobatic troupe finished their act. They were pretty good, and their humor had more than a few people laughing. It was a warm day, with the sounds and smells of a carnival everywhere. Malcolm was leaning against the pavilion supports, soaking up the sun and the laughter, when she walked by again.
She was as vivid and beautiful as he remembered her, with the same proud lift of her chin and the same graceful, powerful stride. Just like before, when he looked at her, the rest of the fair seemed to lose a bit of color and he himself felt intensely alive. She had the same effect on other people, it seemed, as they turned to stare at her, some subtly, some less so. That must be a nuisance for a girl on the run, he thought with a sudden pang of sympathy.
"Hey, Dresden!" one of the guys coming off stage hissed. "You're up, man! Get your stuff!"
Malcolm snapped back to reality. "Right! Thanks, Wilson!" He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. When he looked back over his shoulder, the woman was gone.
He pushed her out of his mind as he climbed up on stage, smiling and greeting the audience. He fell quickly back into his rhythm, loving the fun of performing, loving the laughter and gasps of the kids in the audience. It was a pretty good crowd today; good people, and hopefully good money.
"And now," he announced, returning Seymour the white rabbit to his safe basket, "for my next trick, I will need a volunteer from the audience!" He grinned theatrically and scanned the crowd, when he suddenly froze, his eyes fixed on a woman standing to one side. Her. He blinked after a second and laughed sheepishly. "Well, miss, you certainly put me under a spell! How about you come up here and help me do another?" He held out his gloved hand to the woman, while the crowd laughed and hooted, thinking his admiration was part of the act.
The woman hesitated – you damn fool, she's trying to hide! – then smiled and walked over, letting him help her up on stage. His heart skipped a beat when she touched his hand, and he felt like a foolish teenage boy again. Oh God, please don't let me screw up!
o-o-o-o
He was a stage magician. Maggie tried to remain inconspicuous as she watched his act from the sidelines. She had finally visited with the Leanansidhe and a few other friends, then taken a series of Ways that dropped her in a scrapyard – filled with iron, so that her faerie friends couldn't follow. It was good to see them again and get a sense of the world, but she preferred to see people on her terms. She'd come through the state fair to confuse her scent and psychic trails in the rush of humanity. She didn't expect to see him again.
Malcolm Dresden.
He was a good performer, she thought. He was engaging and funny; the children loved him. His tricks…. As someone who lived and breathed real magic, pulling a rabbit from a hat or breaking a steel ring was ridiculous. Simple. Beneath her. And damn it all, she couldn't figure out how he did it! It was extremely annoying… and admittedly rather funny. Margaret le Fay, baffled by a stage magician's sleight of hand!
I wonder if Lea could see how he does it, Maggie wondered. Her Sidhe friend would probably enjoy a human fair and a stage magician very much; then again, there was knowing what she might do to the kind young man. If she can't figure out his tricks, she might torture him until she does. If she enjoys his act, she might kidnap him to entertain her. If she likes him, she might offer him her usual bargain: make him a grand success, and then one of her hellhounds. There was even a remote possibility that Lea would simply applaud like the rest of the audience. Her unpredictable nature made her a fascinating ally to a reckless witch, but she didn't like the idea of endangering Malcolm Dresden. There was something so… good… about him, completely unsullied by the world he inhabited. It was strange. It made her wonder how far he could be pushed, what would happen when he snapped. And it made her want to prevent that from happening.
She froze as she realized that Malcolm – and most of the audience – was staring at her. Like a true showman, he recovered in an instant. "Well, miss," he said laughing, "you certainly put me under a spell!" The man had no idea. "How about you come up here and help me make another?"
Going up on stage was just what she shouldn't do… but wouldn't it attract more notice if she refused? And besides… when he held out his hand to her, something in her hated to turn away. So she smiled shyly and made her way over to him, while the crowd applauded and whistled, obviously enjoying the magician's boyish enthusiasm. She'd be lying if she said she didn't enjoy his eager smile herself. She placed her hand in his and let him help her onto the stage. Rather than letting go when she got up there, Malcolm bent over her hand and kissed it, to the audience's delight – except a few children, who gave out exclamations of disgust.
"Well, miss," he laughed breathily, ever so slightly flushed, "will you give us a name?"
He said 'a name,' not 'your name.' He'd remembered her and was still concerned she was in trouble. For some reason, that made Maggie blush in return. "Ivy. Ivy Black." It sounded reasonable enough for a woman at a state fair.
"Ladies and gentlemen, my lovely assistant, Ivy Black!" Malcolm announced. He still had hold of her hand. "Now then, Ivy. Will you examine this pair of handcuffs for me?"
Him and handcuffs. That was a rather appealing notion. "Sure." She examined the perfectly ordinary stage handcuffs and tried not to picture him wearing only those, panting and entirely at her mercy. "They seem normal to me." And I know a fair bit about handcuffs, young Mr. Dresden.
"Will you allow me to put these on you?" The last man to put handcuffs on her was Lord Raith, and she planned on giving him hell for it. But she knew at some level that this man could be trusted, so she nodded and held out her hands. "Nice and secure… Alright, Ivy, now I'd like you to examine this ring for me…"
Margaret was right there while he performed his trick with the ring, somehow releasing her and producing a bouquet of roses in the process. She was standing right there, acting as his assistant, and she still didn't know how it was done! When he finished the trick, he had her take a bow. She returned to her spot and watched the rest of his act, but she saw that his eyes trailed over to her on a regular basis. I should leave before he gets any ideas…. But that would look suspicious now. And besides, she didn't want to leave.
At the urging of a friendly older couple, she wandered behind the pavilion when Malcolm had finished his act, where she could casually bump into him when he left. Alright, she admitted to herself, it's a little bit fun to act normal. It was refreshing to enjoy someone's company with no subterfuge or schemes in the background. And that was probably why, when she saw Malcolm carrying his props, she stepped up to him with a smile. "Can I help you with that?" she asked. He nearly dropped the rabbit.
o-o-o-o
Malcolm managed to catch Seymour's cage just before it fell. "Oh! Um, I'm alright, I've got it…" He smiled sheepishly as she took the cage and one of his boxes anyway. "Uh, thank you."
Her smile widened into a grin. "Where to?"
He nodded off to his right. "My car's parked a ways over there. Are you up for a little walk?"
"Just lead the way," his mystery lady told him. She carried the heavy box and cage as if they weighed nothing. She's stronger than she looks.
They chatted companionably on the way to the car, discussing the fair, his act, what a surprise it was to meet again. As they approached his beat up station wagon, Malcolm was suddenly conscious that, on the run though she was, the woman was dressed in clothes that looked expensive. Whatever had happened to her, she was probably used to a high lifestyle. He wasn't usually embarrassed by his shortcomings in the material department, but then again, he didn't usually have a beautiful, well-dressed lady walking to the car with him.
It's not much, but it works okay, he reminded himself. Besides, he had a lot of fond memories of that car. It had been his parents' car when he was a kid. He'd learned to drive in it during high school. And when a hit-and-run took them away from him, the car became his. It had been the closest thing to home since he started life on the road. To Malcolm, it was a great car, and he smiled as he stopped next to it. "Here's mine," he told his companion without a touch of his earlier embarrassment. He set his stuff down, fished out his keys, and started piling things back where they belonged. "It's kind of a mess, but that's what life on the road does to a car." He scooted Seymour in last and slammed the door fondly. "So, Ivy –"
"It's Maggie," she corrected him. She smiled ruefully. "I didn't want to say it in front of a crowd, but… my name is Margaret le Fay. Maggie to friends."
"Margaret le Fay," he repeated. "Like, Morgan le Fay?" She was certainly beautiful and impressive enough to warrant the comparison.
Her smile took on an edge he couldn't place. "A bit like that."
"Well," he said, holding out his hand with a grin, "it's good to meet you, Maggie le Fay."
She took it, laughing. "Enchanted, Malcolm Dresden."
He liked the way his name sounded from her lips. Really liked it. "So, Maggie, about what happened earlier…" He grimaced. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have drawn attention to you like that."
"It's alright," she told him softly. "I don't think anyone in there knew me. I should be safe."
"But you should probably get back on the road, just to be sure?" She nodded, and an idea was forming in his mind. "Hey… I'm heading out tonight, too. My next job is down in Memphis. If you want…" He scuffed his foot against the ground, knowing that what he was about to say sounded weird. "Look, I don't know exactly what sort of trouble you're in, but you'd be less of a sitting duck in a car than on a bus, and I'd be more protection than being alone…" He saw her freeze, anticipating his next words. "I mean, we don't know each other that well, but… you could come with me? I don't want to leave you alone, knowing I put you in danger."
o-o-o-o
Maggie stared at him for a moment, processing his offer. There was no question of his harming her; even if she were an ordinary, defenseless girl, it would be safe to trust this young man. You could hear the genuine concern in every word he spoke. But the risk he was taking… "You're a fool, Malcolm Dresden," she told him softly. A little sadly. "Just because I'm a woman, that doesn't mean you should be so trusting. You don't know anything about me. You have no idea what I've done, or what I might do to you."
The mortal man didn't look chastised as he should have. Instead, he took her hand in his and regarded her with his sweet, steady, worried eyes. "Maggie," he asked softly, "are you going to hurt me?"
A familiar dark heat curled up around her heart. "I could," she warned him. "I could hurt you in ways you can't imagine."
He didn't waver. "Are you going to?" he repeated.
Part of her wanted to. Part of her wanted to prove him wrong, to teach him what a mistake he was making. Part of her wanted to see his fear and pain, watch them make him wiser. But when she looked up at his face… "No," she whispered. She could hurt almost anyone in the world, twist them and watch them dance… but not this one. Not him.
He smiled and squeezed her hand. "Good. I won't hurt you, either." He patted her hand for emphasis. "So, now that we've cleared that up – will you come with me? At least for a bit, until we're sure no one's found you?"
Maggie laughed, a short, bitter laugh. "You can't protect me, Malcolm. You're a good man, but the people looking for me would crush you like a flea."
His face hardened with determination. "Then I'm definitely not leaving you alone to deal with them." His voice took on a faint pleading tone. "Come on. Both of us will be safer together than alone. If nothing else, I'm an extra set of eyes and ears. And your worries will get to you less if you have someone to talk to. Believe me."
She did believe him. It was impossible not to. And I can place wards around him, she reminded herself. And there's no guarantee that Raith will find me… And really, she was just rationalizing now, because the warmth of Malcolm Dresden's hand made her feel so irrationally safe. "You're sure about this?" she whispered.
"Yeah," he assured her, a faint choke to the words. "I'm sure."
"Alright," she managed, feeling a ridiculous little tear sting her eye. "Take me with you." His face lit up, and she hoped this wasn't a mistake.
o-o-o-o
He paid for her dinner before she realized it. The man was crazy. Somehow or other, he had old-fashioned notions of chivalry in his head that made him treat her 'like a lady,' even though there was nothing between them. Idiot. She spent the next hour carefully convincing him that, while she would be happy to stay in a motel rather than sleeping in the car as he usually did, she was paying her own way from here on out – meals and lodging, anyway. She couldn't get him to accept her help paying for gas. Hell's bells, when have I ever had to convince someone not to help me? Probably not since she'd run off from her father's farm.
With all that in mind, she shouldn't have been surprised when Malcolm paused outside the motel office and cleared his throat uncertainly. "Maggie," he said in an undertone, "I… if I'm going to help you watch your back… that might be difficult if we're in separate rooms." Stars and stones, he was blushing. "I'm sure we can get one with two beds! I mean, I'm not trying to take advantage of you, I just don't want to leave you by yourself, and –"
"And sharing a room will be fine," she cut him off firmly. She laid her hand against the office door and smiled at him. With a relieved look, he reached over her arm to open the door and usher her through. She went through, trying to ignore the warm flutter in her chest. Why should her chest be fluttering? Malcolm had gone out of his way to make it clear that he wouldn't touch her, although any other man would be making the most of their situation. And to be honest, she would have been fine with that. He was quite attractive, in a lean, good-humored sort of way. He was also gentle, funny, and skilled with his hands. Sharing a bed with him would be no hardship at all – actually quite a pleasure. At some level, she was a little offended that he wasn't trying to get in bed with her, especially after the way he had stared.
When they finally got to their room, he insisted on letting her use the bathroom first; she was too tired and dusty to protest that gesture. When she came out, clad in one of her thin silk nightgowns, he looked up at her over the edge of The Two Towers. Then he flushed and hurriedly pinned his eyes back to the book. Maggie sighed and climbed into her bed, knowing he wouldn't look up again until she was fully covered. Sure enough, when she was concealed under the worn counterpane, he set the book down and smiled at her. "All ready?"
"Yes. Thank you for letting me go first."
Malcolm shook his head. "No problem at all. I always read for a while before bed." Indeed, the book in his hand looked like it had been the companion of many evenings. His only companion?
Maggie sat up so that the covers fell down to her waist, leaning on her arms in what she knew was a casually seductive position. Malcolm's eyes followed her movement, and she heard his soft intake of breath when her décolletage came back into view. Once more, he blushed a little and looked away. "Malcolm?" she questioned softly. "Have you… been with a woman before?"
He gave her a confused look, then burst into his infectious laugh. "One or two," he admitted. "Nothing ever came of it." He put a hand to his face self-consciously. "Why, am I blushing?"
"A bit," she said lightly, relaxing. Good. I'm not corrupting an innocent virgin, at least.
He shrugged and sat down on his bed. "Well… it's a bit of a special case here, you know? You're one hell of a beautiful woman, Maggie, but I offered to protect you, not make things worse."
She raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think a bit of fun would hurt me?"
Malcolm's face took on a slightly more serious cast. "Whoever it is you're running from… were you intimate with him?"
She released a breath, wondering if the 'tainted goods' speech was coming up next. "We were physical, yes." She kept her tone neutral.
He smiled sadly. "See, there it is." He walked over to her side and rested a warm hand on her shoulder. "I don't know what he did to you, Maggie, but you only just got away from a man who hurt you. You don't need another man crawling into bed with you right now. You need time to heal." His tone was so gentle, so tender, it brought tears to her eyes again. "Believe me, I'd be happy to have you in my arms right now – but with what you're going through, it wouldn't be fair to you."
She stared for a moment, then laughed softly, laying her hand over his. "You're a good man, Malcolm Dresden."
"I try," he said with a playful smile. Then he got up and made his way to the bathroom, whistling as he went. Maggie smiled to herself and lay with her back to his side of the room. He was indeed a good man, like no one she'd ever met, and as determined as he was to protect her, she felt a growing desire to protect him. As soon as he fell asleep, she would get up and see what she could do about shielding him.
o-o-o-o
"You can't come with me?" Malcolm asked, surprised. "It's only a senior home, Maggie. It's safer than a fair." They'd been constantly together on the road to Memphis. He'd figured that she would come to his show where he could keep looking out for her.
Maggie crossed her arms. "It might be safe for me, but what about them? Their lives depend on their medical equipment!" She paused here for a second, as if something should be obvious, then cursed under her breath and hurried on. "Look, Malcolm, it's a confined space full of innocent people who are too frail to flee or defend themselves. Imagine if someone figured out where I am and came in there to make an issue of it."
Malcolm thought. If someone came into the senior center with a gun, the residents couldn't run, couldn't hide, couldn't do anything. At least at a fair, people were prepared to move and had the space to do it in. "Maybe you're right," he admitted. "I hadn't thought of it that way." He was so wrapped up in her safety, he hadn't even thought of the seniors.
Maggie nodded emphatically, glad he was seeing her point. "Schools and libraries should be fine; they have emergency exits, and people have to be mobile to get there. But hospitals and senior homes? Bad idea."
He sighed and picked up Seymour's cage. "Will you be alright by yourself?" he asked.
She laughed. "I managed on my own for quite a while, you know." Her face softened and she put one hand over her heart – and, coincidentally, the pleasing curve of her breasts. That was a little distracting. "I promise to stay right here in the motel room until you get back."
"Okay." He opened his suitcase and dug out his battered Lord of the Rings books. "These are here if you want something to read."
She smiled and took the books from his hand. "Thank you," she said softly. She thumbed the pages with a faraway look. "I loved these stories when I was a girl." She came back to the present and shooed him off with a grin. "Go on, Malcolm. Have a good show."
He did have a good show, all things considered. Most of the seniors were able to follow his act – you always got one or two with memory problems – and nobody had a heart attack, just a few coughing fits. The staff were in a pretty good mood, and a few were actually cheerful. He didn't make an awful lot of money – less than usual, now that he thought of it – but the old folks really seemed to enjoy the evening. All in all, he was whistling happily as he placed the last prop box in his car.
"There you are, boy!"
He whirled at the sound of the hoarse voice. One of the seniors, a fierce little old lady in a faded green shawl, was hobbling toward him with the aid of a beat-up cane. "Ma'am?" he greeted her, confused. She moved pretty fast for someone nearly bent double. Malcolm shook his head, clearing his thoughts. "Ma'am, you shouldn't be out here!" He hustled over and caught her arm; if she fell, she could easily break something! "Come on, I'll help you get back."
The woman snorted. "Don't you fuss, too, boy." She glared back at the building with her beady eyes. "I get enough of it from them, day in and day out, morning and night, til I'm ready to scream. You just let my arm go like a good lad, I'll be fine." He didn't let go, and she shook her head, cackling indulgently. "Alright, boy, have it your way." With her free arm, she drew something out of her nightgown pocket and handed it to him. "You take this now."
It was a book, a worn leather-bound volume of collected poems. "No, no, you don't have to…"
She twitched her bony finger at him. "Oh, hush! I had fun tonight, boy, more than I do in a month. My daughter won't be sending money for another week, but I'm bound to give you something to thank you. You'll enjoy the book, I think. You've got the look of a reader about you, just like my own boy did." She thrust the book at him again. "Go on, boy, take it, or else you'll break an old lady's heart."
Under her determined glare, Malcolm had no choice but to accept the book. "Thank you very much," he said quietly. The old woman looked pleased and patted his arm. "May I get you in out of the cold now?" he asked, unable to hold back a smile.
"Cold? This? Bah!" The woman tapped her cane for emphasis. "You should see the winters we had in Maine when I was young! That was cold!" She coughed, and Malcolm felt it rack her thin frame. "Ah, well, you might as well take me back, boy. They'll be looking for me, I expect."
Right on cue, one of the nursing staff burst out the door, relaxing visibly when she spotted the old lady. "Found her!" she yelled back into the building. "She's escaped again, Bill! Are you ever going to fix that damn lock?" Someone named Bill cursed back at her and told her to 'get the old broad inside.'
The old lady seemed entirely unperturbed by this and patted his arm again. "You be a good boy now, and enjoy that book!" She was carted off by the irritated staff, cheerfully waving her cane at him. Malcolm grinned and waved back. Yep, it had been a good evening.
He stopped by McDonald's on the way back to the motel. There wasn't a lot open this time of night, especially not that he could afford. He supposed he could have gone back to the motel to get Maggie first, so she could buy her own dinner like she wanted, but it was getting pretty late. Maybe he'd get an earful when he got back to the room, but he could get it sitting down!
When Malcolm opened the door, Maggie was halfway through Return of the King, seated on her bed with an elegance that defied the shabby décor. She looked up when he walked in and greeted him with a bright smile. "How'd it go?" she asked. She saw the two bags of food in his hand and gave him a stern look. "Malcolm. We talked about this."
He held up his hands defensively – food, rabbit, and all. "It's late! I'm tired and hungry, I didn't want to go back out again…. Look, it's not a big deal."
"Hm," Maggie hummed skeptically. She rose languidly and folded her arms over her chest. After regarding him for a moment, she seemed to relent. "Alright, but I'm buying you dinner tomorrow." She attempted to hide a smile as she accepted her meal from him. "Thank you."
While they ate, Malcolm recounted his evening, making Maggie laugh at his impression of the determined old lady. "I hope her kids are taking good care of her," he finished, crumpling up his burger wrapper.
Maggie's eyes were still dancing. "She sounds like they are," she assured him. "And if they're not, I'm sure she'll handle it!"
He patted the new book – well, new to him – sitting next to his leg. "I'm glad she gave me this. I love The Lord of the Rings, but I can pretty much recite it from memory now!"
She laughed her full-throated laugh and wadded up her trash, too. "All of it?" she teased.
Malcolm flopped back on his bed. "When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton." She started laughing again. "Bilbo was very rich and very peculiar, and had been the wonder of the Shire for sixty years, ever since his remarkable disappearance and unexpected return. The riches he had brought back from his travels had now become a local legend, and it was popularly believed, whatever the old folk might say, that the Hill at Bag End was full of tunnels stuffed with treasure. And if that was not enough for fame, there was also his prolonged vigour to marvel at. Time wore on, but it seemed to have little effect on Mr. Baggins…" A flying pillow quenched his recitation, and he sat up laughing. "Do you believe me now?"
Maggie nodded, still chuckling. "Well, if you ever want to supplement your magic act, you've got some prospects as a storyteller." She yawned and started settling into bed.
He grinned and carefully stowed the old book. It was late; he'd read it tomorrow. "When I perform for kids at schools and libraries, I sometimes sit and read to them afterward."
"Do you charge extra?"
"No, but one kid told me he was going to read all the Narnia books because he liked it when I read the first one." A grin tugged his face at the memory of the little boy's enthusiasm.
Maggie gave him one of those puzzled, penetrating looks of hers, then leaned back with a bittersweet smile. "My son was just learning to read," she said softly, almost to herself. At that instant, before he could react, every light in the room blew out in a flash of sparks. She gasped, then he heard her sigh. "I'm sorry."
Malcolm shook his head, even though she couldn't see him in the darkness. "Don't be sorry, these old places are like that." He started unlacing his shoes. "What happened to your son?" he asked, his heart going out to her. He'd never guessed that she was a mother.
Maggie was silent for a moment, and he was afraid he'd overstepped. Just as he was about to apologize, he heard her release a breath. "I left him with his father." Her tone made it sound like an unforgivable crime. "Getting away was… hard. I didn't think I could do it with a child. I didn't think I could keep him safe once I escaped."
He cringed at the self-loathing in her voice. "It was a hard choice…"
She snorted. "It wouldn't have been, before I was with his father. I wouldn't have thought twice. I would have taken him with me, and God help anyone who tried to harm him." Her voice didn't sound sad so much as furious. "What that man did… he weakened me. I'm… I'm not what I was. I ran, like I've never run before… and I didn't have the daring to save my Thomas."
Malcolm's heart throbbed. So she'd not only been abused by this unknown man, but she had a child she'd been forced to leave behind. God in Heaven… He wished he could reach out and hold her, but he didn't know if the gesture would offer any comfort for her. Instead, after a long silence, he spoke again. "What was your son like?"
He heard a rustle, as if she'd rolled over to face him. "Thomas?"
"Yeah." Malcolm convinced himself to lie down. "You said he was learning to read. Did you two read together a lot?"
"Yes." He could hear the faint smile in her voice. "Tommy loved being read to. He was always crawling onto my lap with a book in his hand, smiling up at me with his puppy dog eyes." Her voice shook, but it sounded like laughter. "He was adorable, and he knew it."
He grinned. "Sounds like a good kid."
Maggie snorted. "Hardly. He was trouble with legs. If you left him alone for five minutes, something was sure to be broken when you got back." Her laugh was a little stronger this time. "Either that, or you'd find him at the top of some tree or statue, getting ready to fall off and get broken himself." She paused for a moment, then spoke in a softer tone again. "He was wonderful."
He asked more questions. She told him more stories. Only when her voice became drowsily content did Malcolm close his eyes and let himself sleep.
o-o-o-o
All through the next day's drive, Maggie tied herself in knots, thinking about the night's conversation. What had possessed her to talk about Tommy? Why had she hinted at what Raith's feedings did to her spirit? Sure, it had been a relief to tell him, a joy to talk about her little son again, but it was dangerous. She had shown her vulnerability to him, and it was all too easy for a regular mortal to let information fall by mistake. If she wanted to get back to her old self and resume her life's work, she needed to get past her wounds, not let them show! Yet, talking to him, she'd felt those wounds begin to heal…
She was so caught up in her own thoughts that she barely noticed the time pass. The radio had broken when she got in the car, yet another technical failure due to her churning emotions. Malcolm had simply shrugged and said it was a very old car, but assured her he didn't mind quiet. He's going to mind if I blow out a traffic light, she thought grimly, though really he'd never know it was her fault.
She didn't even notice the car had stopped until Malcolm tapped her on the shoulder. "We're stopping already?" The clock had blown out, too, but the sun was still well in the east. She glanced around and saw that they'd simply pulled off the road in the middle of nowhere. "Is something wrong?" If she'd blown out the engine, she had to convince him to let her pay for repairs. There was no way she'd let him suffer for her mood.
Instead, the magician grinned and shook his head. "Nothing's wrong. I just thought we'd take a walk."
"A walk?"
He met her skeptical tone with a laugh. "You know, that thing where you move your legs, and it takes you through space? Maybe in a forest?" He pointed out the window at a loose, inviting woodland, the sort you find in the South. "You look at the scenery, you breathe the air, you stretch your legs, you listen to birds…"
Maggie chuckled. "I know how to take a walk, Malcolm." If she opened a Way, they could go for a walk on all seven continents, but he might not like her shortcuts.
"Oh, good." He feigned relief, making her laugh again. "Then let's take one."
"Right now? Don't we need to keep moving?"
Malcolm shrugged. "My next job isn't too far. We've got time." He exited the car and gallantly opened her door for her. "Come on, it's beautiful out today."
It was beautiful, and a long walk might be better than brooding in the car. She wasn't used to being inactive for long. "Alright," she agreed, sliding out into the sunlight. "A walk sounds good."
o-o-o-o
From the moment they woke up that morning, Maggie seemed unbearably tense. He could understand that now; it must be painful to remember her child, knowing she'd left him in a bad situation. Malcolm had a gut feeling that the little boy was missing her, too, although Maggie had mentioned an older half-sister who doted on him. This won't be over for her until she has her son back, he realized, glancing over at his silent companion. But if she wanted Thomas back, she'd need the law on her side. She'd need a home to bring him to and a way to take care of him. But before all of that, she needed to recover what her ex had taken. She needed to heal.
Malcolm burned with the desire to set things right. He always did. Maybe five hundred years ago, he could have been a knight errant, rescuing maidens and freeing the oppressed. His inner knight wanted to be Margaret's champion, defeating her abuser and reuniting her with her son. But the world didn't work that way anymore, if it ever had to begin with. He was one man without power or resources; he couldn't right all the world's wrongs, probably not any.
But he could try.
The era of chivalry might be over, but simple kindness didn't get nearly enough credit – and he should know, because that was usually all he had. He couldn't protect Maggie from her ex or get her son back, but he would do everything he could to help her recover. He wasn't exactly a therapist, but he'd been through bad times himself, and he'd give her every cure he knew.
With this in mind, he kept his eyes peeled for a pretty spot – woods, fields, whatever, as long as there was space and quiet. He found one after a couple hours' driving, and immediately pulled over. Maggie didn't even notice they'd stopped. Poor girl, he thought, looking at her distant face. Now that she'd told him about Thomas, the kid was probably all she could think of. He reached over and tapped her lightly on the shoulder.
She jumped. "We're stopping already? Is something wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," he reassured her. "I just thought we'd take a walk."
Maggie gave him a skeptical look. "A walk?"
He laughed. "You know, that thing where you move your legs, and it takes you through space? Maybe in a forest?" He pointed out at the cool green woods. "You look at the scenery, you breathe the air, you stretch your legs, you listen to birds…" He trailed off with a teasing grin.
Maggie chuckled. "I know how to take a walk, Malcolm." But her face lightened up a little.
"Oh, good." He feigned relief, making her laugh again. In a private corner of his brain, he confessed that he loved that sound. "Then let's take one."
"Right now? Don't we need to keep moving?"
Malcolm shrugged. "My next job isn't too far. We've got time." He climbed out and held her door for her, trying to look inviting. "Come on, it's beautiful out today."
Maggie studied him again, then shrugged and slid out of the car. "Alright. A walk sounds good."
Leery of his own response to her – especially when she brushed past him and he caught the scent of her hair – he decided not to take her hand or arm. He just led her into the woods, pushing the underbrush aside for her. He didn't try to start a conversation. If Maggie wanted to talk, she would; if not, the quiet sounds of the forest would be better for her than his voice. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she kept pace with his long strides. Even pale and preoccupied, she was stunning, so full of life that the rest of the world paled around her. Malcolm made himself glance away now and then; this walk would be a lot less comforting with him staring at her.
But even watching her like this, he could see her relax a little as they walked. She started out with her shoulders tense, jaw tight, eyes darting around in search of trouble. After a few minutes' walking, he saw her breathe a little more deeply, inhaling the warm, sweet-smelling air; slowly, her shoulders dropped a little. Then her gaze started to pause here and there, resting on a graceful clump of ferns or a bright flower, briefly following a butterfly. She cocked her head at a noisy squirrel, and she finally began to smile.
Malcolm felt himself relax a little further, and his own smile tugged at his mouth. It was a funny thing, getting a little ways into nature. The worries of everyday life were just over the last rise, a few minutes' walk, maybe less than a mile; physically speaking, they hadn't gone far. But when he felt the grass shift under his feet and breathed in the scent of a million leaves, the noisy concrete jungle, packed with people fighting battles he mostly couldn't help and money to be scraped up to meet his basic needs… well, all of that felt like a distant planet. And he knew that when he did go back, he would carry this feeling of freedom with him, offering it to the audience when he was performing. But for right now, there was only this place, and the feel of a good walk… and Maggie. He'd gotten caught up in his thoughts and stared off into space for the last five minutes. He quickly turned to look at her, and immediately gasped in wonder.
Up til now, her vivid nature had made everything around her pale in comparison. But now, as she smiled and brushed her hand over a leafy branch, her intensity seemed to spread over her surroundings. The trees, the grass, the tangles of moss… they weren't less by being next to her, they were more. She took his breath away, and once again, he couldn't seem to stop staring.
After a minute, she turned her head and caught him gaping at her. He expected an arched eyebrow and a wry comment, or maybe for her to turn away uncomfortably. Instead, her whole body stiffened and her dark brows knit together. "What do you see?" she whispered urgently.
Malcolm blinked, trying to fathom that question. "Um." He blinked and grinned awkwardly. "Uh. Sorry."
Maggie made an impatient gesture. Her beauty all at once became silent and fierce, like a panther about to spring. "What did you see?" she asked again, slowly scanning the area with her intense dark eyes.
A very primitive part of his brain registered her quiet ferocity and began extolling her dangerous beauty, presenting a lot of interesting scenarios where that passion could be applied. The rational, healthy part of his brain registered that he had been staring fixedly at a woman on the run, making her worry that someone was behind her, and should probably fix that. He beat his clueless monkey brain into submission and sat down in what he hoped was a placating manner. "No, it's nothing. I just… um." Is there a good way to say this? "I, uh, had a hard time taking my eyes off you." He winced. If there was a good way to say it, that probably wasn't it.
Maggie relaxed a little, but continued to look at him guardedly. "Why?" she asked after a moment. She, too, sat down, arms folded over her chest. "It may not seem important, Malcolm, but it could be. Tell me."
"It's… going to sound stupid," Malcolm warned her.
Her mouth twitched into a smile. "Just tell me."
He folded his hands and looked down at them. Usually, he looked at people's faces when he addressed them, but looking at her didn't seem to be good for his language skills. Me speak fluent caveman, he assured himself drily. "Well… this sounds a tad cliché… but you've heard of someone lighting up a room with her smile?"
Maggie blinked. "Yes?"
What the hell, confused is better than scared. "Well… that's what you were doing. It's… it's kind of hard to explain, but usually… something about you makes the rest of the world seem drab by comparison." She kept giving him that blank look. Smooth, Dresden. Real smooth. "It's not just that you're beautiful, Maggie, there's something else about you that makes everything else look grey. At least, it usually does." He gave up trying to sound sane, since he wasn't doing a very good job, and just plunged ahead. "But just now, when you were smiling like that and taking in the forest, you made the whole world beautiful along with you. It's like that special something just came pouring out and brought everything else to life, and I couldn't stop staring, because somehow it seemed like that's how you're meant to be, and…" He rubbed his neck self-consciously. "And… maybe we could forget this happened? Not the part where you were smiling like that, just the part where I made it awkward?"
She was quiet for a moment, then she slowly got to her feet. She glided over the forest floor and laid her hand on the tree behind him. "You're right," she said softly, the smile blooming over her face again. She looked up into the canopy. "I'm more myself now than I've been in months."
Malcolm watched her, grinning. The moment she smiled, the whole world came to life. "It's amazing."
"Hm." Her smile tipped at a mischievous angle. "But next time you're staring, Malcolm? Try to relax."
o-o-o-o
"What are we up to now, Malcolm?" Maggie asked, taking his arm with a smile.
Malcolm shoved the car keys in his pocket and led her back into the fair. The sun was setting, Malcolm being one of the last performers to finish his act that day, and people with exhausted children in tow were brushing past them on their way home. Once in a while, a child would do a double take, recognizing The Amazing Mr. Dresden even without his top hat; Malcolm always winked at them and put a finger to his lips, as if they'd discovered some important secret, which never failed to produce a conspiratorial grin. Now he looked down at her with a mischievous grin of his own, blue eyes twinkling in the unsteady light. "You'll see after we eat," he promised, leading her into the line at a hot dog stand.
Maggie chuckled and shook her head. "A magician never reveals his secrets, hm?"
"I can't afford to make exceptions," he shrugged innocently. His grin took on a teasing tilt. "But if you have a new guess, I'll tell you whether or not you're on the right track."
She rolled her eyes. She'd been trying to figure out how he did various magic tricks, particularly the one with the ring and the handcuffs. So far, he still managed to baffle her, which might have been annoying if it weren't for the boyish delight he took in that success. "You're sure there's no real magic involved?" she teased back.
"Of course there's real magic involved," Malcolm answered promptly. "There's laughter, wonder, creativity… that's the greatest magic in all the world!"
Maggie laughed with him, deciding not to voice her thoughts. Malcolm was an ordinary mortal man, cheerfully unaware of the supernatural world, but he wasn't wrong about magic. In the past few weeks, he'd shown her magic again in the simplest things – a good book, a peaceful walk, a cup of hot chocolate after running through the rain, a hearty laugh, a child's smile… He couldn't see the inhuman creatures affected by the eddies of emotion, much less the shifting auras or the mirroring landscapes of the Nevernever, but Malcolm knew how to find that natural, joyful magic and bring it out into the open. Every day that she was with him, she could feel that power working in her. The parts of her soul that had been gnawed by Raith's feedings were growing back, brighter than ever, and soon she would be fully healed.
She'd be ready to return to her dangerous, convoluted, exhilarating world and her neverending dance with the pigheaded Wardens. She was ready to go back to the work she loved, the thrilling struggle to rebuild a stagnant world. It was the life she'd chosen, the life she loved, the life where she belonged. But every time she thought of it, she felt a lump in her throat… because there was no place in that world for Malcolm Dresden.
It can't be helped, Maggie told herself sternly as she paid for her hot dog. Every day in this world, wizards used their power to exploit ordinary people like Malcolm Dresden, and the White Council pretended not to notice, pretended the abuse of power was not their problem. I have to make it their problem. For them. For Malcolm. For my son. Because a man like Malcolm could be mistreated in any number of ways by 'law-abiding' wizards, and nothing would be done. Her little Thomas, who was only half human, was doubly disposable. And if she continued in that train of thought, she'd blow out every lightbulb in the fairgrounds.
"Maggie?" Malcolm's voice distracted her. "Are you alright?"
She realized that she had torn into her meal a little viciously, and Malcolm was looking at her with concern. She chewed guiltily and shook her head. "I just spaced out," she reassured him around the bite of hot dog. "Thinking about next steps."
He smiled down at her gently, guiding them over to a grassy slope. "I think that's a sign you're doing better." His voice was warm and encouraging, but there was a wistful look to his eyes that almost made her forget herself and stare into them directly. She knew what sort of man he was; a soulgaze would only make it harder to walk away.
"I think so, too," she agreed softly, letting him see her similarly conflicting emotions. He deserved to know the impact he was having on her. Soon. Empty night, I need to leave soon.
Malcolm seemed to understand. He took her arm to steer her through the crowd to an empty patch of grass. "My lady," he said with a bow, gesturing for her to sit.
Maggie tried not to hear the tender note in his voice, as if she really were his lady. "Good sir," she answered cheerfully, patting the grass beside her as she sat. Old world chivalry sat better on him than on many who had lived in Medieval Europe. What was a token formality among supernatural folk was wholly genuine when he did it. She felt an amused smile curve her lips, thinking that this threadbare young man eating a hot dog was a nobler creature than the ancient, powerful, wealthy folk who usually made her their guest. If more wizards were like Malcolm Dresden, I wouldn't have to play these games.
She watched him catch a falling drop of mustard and giggled. He chuckled back, reorienting his hot dog in a vain attempt to eat it neatly. It was like some sort of faerie bargain. Malcolm's free-spirited nature, finding the joys in everyday life and never missing a chance to help his fellow man, made him worthier to hold power than anyone she knew – and made it extremely unlikely he would ever do so. It would never occur to him to seek influence over another person – not because he feared it, but because he didn't want it. He was a new and oblivious Arthur, strolling right past the Sword in the Stone, because he would much rather bake loaves and rolls to share with the beggars. It seemed like a waste, from a purely practical standpoint… but it was hard to deny how happy he was. Hell's bells, she was happy, happier than she could ever remember being.
Before she could entangle herself even further in these emotions, she was saved by the sound of a fiddler tuning his instrument. Looking down the hill, she saw a crew of musicians taking over the stage where Malcolm had plied his craft. The wobbly benches where the audience had sat were being carried away to make a large open space in the middle of the fairground.
"Surprise," Malcolm said cheerfully, popping the last bite of hot dog into his mouth. He stood up and brushed the crumbs off, then extended a hand to help her up. "May I have the honor of a dance?"
Maggie laughed softly at the young couples converging on the makeshift dance floor, all of them excited, but too shy to start the fun. "I'm game if you are," she told him, catching hold of her long skirt. No sooner had the words left her mouth than Malcolm whisked her down the hill and twirled them out into the open space. He was a good dancer, leading clearly without being forceful. She found herself laughing again as other couples began to join them, and somehow the laughter never stopped. Music came pouring through the cool night air – folk, jazz, even something like rock – and all of it translated into motion, with her hair flying in the wind and Malcolm's steady hand on her waist. Other couples soon filled the area, too, moving with more enthusiasm than grace. They had several collisions, all of which were minor and shrugged off with a laugh on both sides. No two couples were doing the same dance – very rarely did one couple do the same dance – but everyone seemed to enjoy themselves thoroughly. It was stunningly, imperfectly beautiful.
As people were starting to pant with exertion, the musicians switched to a slow, sweet melody, the sort that puts a dreamy smile on a woman's face. Malcolm's hand drew her closer, until their chests nearly touched, and she felt her heart flutter yet again. This is too much, she thought, drawing in a breath. It would already hurt to leave him behind; if they got much closer… it could be as bad as Thomas. She shook her head, determined to keep it clear. "Malcolm," she began firmly, raising her head. One look at his face stopped her words.
He understood. He was watching her with a sad, sweet smile, blue eyes very tender and somewhat moist. "I know," he murmured unnecessarily. "When you feel it's time… just say the word."
She drew in another breath, but she didn't say it. Instead, she wrapped both arms around his neck and laid her head against his collarbone. Goodbyes were a part of life, as precious and real as long walks and laughter. She had to walk away soon – tonight, she realized unhappily, before he became any dearer – but she could let their farewell be a special one. Malcolm seemed to understand that, too, taking her in his arms as they danced and laying his thin cheek against her hair.
When the music ended, they slipped away from the crowd, his arm still around her as if he didn't want to let go. They walked silently toward the parking lot. There must be something more they had to say, but Maggie couldn't seem to find it.
It wasn't at all poetic, but Malcolm found something to say once they reached the car. "Do you want me to give you a ride somewhere?" He sounded as choked up as she felt.
Maggie shook her head. "I can make it. I feel like if I get back in the car with you… it'll only be harder…" she trailed off, then broke into a painful laugh. "Thank you, Malcolm. For everything," she whispered.
He smiled back and hugged her warmly. "It was my pleasure, Maggie." He let go, blushing one last time, and went to open the trunk. "I wish you –" His voice cut off in a sharp gasp as he was flung backwards, hitting the asphalt with a sickening thud.
"Malcolm!" His name left her mouth unbidden as she rushed to his side. In the darkness, she could see the glowing inhuman eyes of the creature that had struck him, as well as several more, fixed on her, but drifting hungrily toward the fallen man. Ghouls. Margaret Le Fay narrowed her eyes and drew up her power. A moment too soon, reality had caught up to her.