When it came, he ran. It was in a different part of the park than the previous evening but he found it easily.
She was there, magic swirling around her as she kept the monsters back. Her skirt was fluttering and she had that ethereal glow around her again.
With a grin and a war-cry, he dashed in to engage one of the three creatures.
"Fiery!" Her spell took out one and knocked the other off its feet. "Earthy!" The ground itself rose and crushed the second. Syaoran, his opponent distracted, cut it down.
"That's the second time in as many nights you've helped me. I'm going to start expecting this if you're not careful." She was smiling a gentle, teasing smile, but her cheeks were on fire.
"I took one down," he nodded toward the body on the ground, "so do I get another reward?"
She blushed and gulped, and he just couldn't help walking closer and flustering her. "Do you think that you deserve one?" She couldn't look at him, but she was smiling under her blush.
He laughed -- she was gutsy! And pretty . . . and sweet . . . and kissable . . . He moved his face close to hers and smiled. She was just a little shorter than him, so he could reach her lips without trouble, but he held back. "I want my payment," he said, pleased to see that her eyes were hazy and her lips parted reflexively. He wanted nothing more than to kiss those lips, but he only spoke two words. "Your name."
She blinked, coming slowly to her senses. And the look of horror and embarrassment on her face was almost too much to bear.
"Please," he said, alarmed, because she was drawing away and her eyes looked surprisingly wet.
"I'm sorry," she gasped, her face burning. "I didn't mean to . . ."
"Wait, please." He instinctively pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her hair. "I didn't mean it that way. I just want to know more about you. Please."
She pulled back a little, not looking at him. "I'm . . . They call me the Mistress of Clow."
"Mistress?" he asked, looking at her. "Is there a . . . Master . . . of Clow -- or just a Clow -- that I should be worried about?"
She looked at him then, a small, shy smile at the worry in his voice. "There was a Clow," she told him, then (at his tragic expression) she laughed and added, "before I was born. I'm the mistress of his magic. I inherited it." She smiled beatifically.
He relaxed only a little. "Are you seeing anyone?" He was tense and nervous -- sweat was popping out on his neck that had nothing to do with the fight he'd just finished. He didn't know why her answer was so important to him. It just was.
She laughed, soft and sweet. "That's a twofer. Ask me next time I owe you one." She turned and smiled at him over her shoulder, but after a moment her countenance turned sad. He knew what she was thinking -- the mock-kiss.
"If you tell me, I'll owe you one. You can even ask me to kiss you." His smile was easy.
She stared at him, nervous, and shook her head. "Why would I ask that?" She put a hand on a plastic slide to steady herself and he moved in.
"Your body language." She didn't back away. "Tell you what," he whispered. "You tell me what I want to know and then I'll kiss you." His eyes twinkled. "If you really don't want me to, just tell me no. That way, you don't even need to ask."
He had backed her against the poles of the slide. Her breath was coming quickly and her face was tipped to look at him.
"Are you seeing anyone?" he whispered. Her lips were inches away.
"No."
He let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding and, with a triumphant laugh, swooped in and met her lips with his. This time she responded immediately, moving her warm mouth under his. He sort of melted inside when he felt her kissing him back.
"How do you do this to me?" she murmured when he released her. He stroked her hair and she clung to his chest. "I barely even know you. Before last night, I . . ."
"What?" he asked, keeping his voice down instinctually. Her hair smelled familiar -- some kind of blossom -- and an impossible sort of peace had filled him. She shook her head against him, and he pulled back a little. "You've never been kissed before, have you?" When she bit her lip and didn't answer, he pulled her forward and kissed her again, gently. "Neither," he murmured, pressing his forehead against hers, "have I."
"But," she looked at him with wide eyes, "you . . ."
He smiled. "Kissed you, yes. When the most beautiful girl you've ever seen offers you a reward, what do you choose? A kiss." He grinned at her and she thought she had never seen any boy as handsome.
She blushed. "You don't even know what I look like."
"We can fix that." He reached for her mask but she stopped his hand, smiling apologetically.
"You couldn't take it off if you wanted -- I keep it on with the Lock spell."
"And you won't take it off for me?" It was light banter, but there was a serious question underneath.
"I'm sorry," she said. "But how can you expect me . . . I don't even know your name." Her eyes pleaded with him.
He nodded. "Okay."
"I'm sorry," she murmured, casting Illusion over herself. Just as she was about to take flight, she stopped and listened. He was looking into the night and calling after her.
"Li. Syaoran Li." And he walked home, leaving her stunned and alone in the quiet lamplight.