Yes, I know its been far too long between updates. Had a little problem getting motivated, and then there was Christmas etc etc Anyway, here it is, and its all action action action from here on in so hold onto your seats! My thanks to Trudi for her beta skills and for naming this chapter when I was too tired to do so myself! Thanks also to all my reviewers and readers for being so patient. I hope you haven't all run away!

Chapter Twenty-Two:

In a place not so far away from where Chip and Fauve were sleeping, Lefou was showing Raisse her new home.

It was an outbuilding of a manor house that rose up put of the misty night like a phantom as they approached it, or so it seemed to Raisse. There was something otherworldly about it, as though if she closed her eyes or turned her head for a moment, it would vanish into the darkness and then reappear at a glance. It seemed to shimmer in the moonlight as though flinching at its caress.

The smell of magic was over-whelming, even to someone as inexperienced with magic as Raisse was. The smell tainted the air, making it denser somehow. Walking through it was like was like wading through muddy water, and it settled in her throat and nostrils as they moved along towards the house, making her feel polluted and dizzy.

Lefou led her to the outbuilding, which was more than twice the size of the shed she'd been living in for the past several months. It was close to derelict, with jagged brickwork and overgrown weeds peering out from every crevice. A well with a rusty bucket swinging from it stood by the left wall, and piles of old wooden crates were stacked up haphazardly on the right. As they entered the building, Raisse had to stoop to avoid catching her matted hair on the woodworm-riddled doorframe. Lefou passed through behind her with no such problems, his head barely clearing the height of the doorknob upon entry.

Raisse stopped sharply once she'd raised her head again to inspect her new dwelling. Inside, the building was…well…homely. A hearth was directly opposite her, upon which a glowing fire had been set to welcome her. In front of this was a bath tub full of water from which steam curled gently to join the pleasant-smelling smoke from the fire.

On the edge of the bath, several towels and flannels were balanced precariously. They looked as fluffy and comforting as the ones at home.

Home…

Underneath the window, which was clean and intact, was a table and two chairs turned invitingly towards the entrance. The chairs were simple but elegant, with deep red cushions on the seats. On the table, atop a white lace cloth, was set a modest but mouth-watering meal of game pie with vegetables, and a flagon of wine.

A dress was folded neatly on one of the chairs, though from that distance she could not see the detail or the material. There was even a rug spread across the floorboards.

It was not palatial—far from it--, and Raisse had never felt so grateful.

After Lefou had mumbled his goodbyes and left (after locking the door securely, of course. As comfortable as the room was, it was still a prison cell), Raisse checked the room over thoroughly, searching for any gaps or weaknesses in the walls that she could use to escape. Finding none in her initial checks, her thoughts were turned to the bathtub so nicely arranged by the fire. It was beyond tempting…

She peeled her dress away from her body and jumped into the bath, caring not that she sent water spilling over the sides in all directions as she did so. The water miraculously stayed hot as she soaked in it—and soak she did!

She had not realised just how filthy she was. Weeks of sitting in a dusty hovel with not so much as a spare drop of water to splash on her face had taken their toll. Now, she embraced the water, wrapping herself up in every wave and ripple like a blanket. She scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed some more, until her skin began to take on a fierce pink tint.

Then, she took a deep breath and submerged her head and face, feeling her hair spread and move in the water around her. She stayed like this for several seconds before surfacing once, resting her head on the rim of the bath and closing her eyes. If she thought really hard, she could almost imagine she was in her own bathroom at home. The water was delicately scented with lavender, candles were gently glowing all around her and any minute now, Essie would enter with clean blankets to dry her and see her into her wonderful and familiar bed. She'd sleep tight, knowing that her parents would be just down the hall, her grandfather would be in his quarters in the East Wing, Chip would be in his room in the servants quarters, next door but one to Lumiere…

Wait…Chip.

The manor.

The creature,

With a gasp, she leapt out of the bath, slid on the wet floor and landed heavily in a heap by the door. It was a spell, a trick. No castle, no Essie, no lavender-scented water, just the overwhelming stink of enchantment. The creature was trying to lull her into compliancy, into a false sense of security so that she would not cause any trouble.

In despair, she curled herself into a ball and just lay there, afraid to move, afraid to think, cold and afraid for several hours.

Chip, where are you?

………………………………………………………………………………………

Chip was not as far away as one might think. As physical distances go, he and Fauve were but two days ride away from where Raisse lay shivering on the floor. If they rode the horses hard and didn't stop, they could even reach the manor before the sun rose and set once more…

But Chip wasn't ready to find Raisse yet. The creature knew this too, but it was patient. Centuries of nothingness had given it no real concept of time so it watched the two adventurers intently. Sometimes, it helped move things along. It could not do much, of course, but it could play with light and darkness, weaving them together and casting shadows anew. It darkened corners and lit faces where it chose, all the time watching, all the time waiting…

With the princess secure and under Lefou's guard, it could devote itself entirely to what it did best…illusion, distortion and corruption…

And so it was, that one evening, after a relatively uneventful day, Chip and Fauve found themselves in a hidden glade where moonlight shone on a river and made the trees glow with a silver-white lustre. There was ample kindling for a fire, piles of leaves and soft moss, and plenty of grass for the horses. This was a particular blessing, as the two horses had nor dined well for days. The fields they'd galloped through by recently had succumbed to the dryness of the season and mostly been barren wastelands. The roads had been dusty and untended. As soon as they felt weight leave their backs, they were off, attacking the grass as it might disappear any moment, leaving a stunned Chip and a smiling Fauve alone before their boots had barely touched the ground.

"Hungry?"

Fauve had her bag open on the floor in a flash, and began placing the results of an earlier successful trade on the ground around her.

They'd met an elderly woman in a marketplace who'd seemed on the verge of collapse. After many tears and a large amount of incomprehensible wailing, she'd confided in Fauve that her husband was near death. He'd seen countless doctors, only to be told time and time again that he was incurable. In truth, the man was nearing his seventieth winter and barely able to stand. The doctors all knew that any treatment would be pointless. The old man's time on earth was naturally drawing to a close and there was nothing they could do. The lady refused to give up, however, and had been scouring the marketplace for days searching for any conceivable remedies. She was convinced her husband could be saved. By the time Chip had returned from an aimless wander, the old lady was gone, Fauve's herb-bag was empty and her purse full of coins. Chip was amazed.

"Your herbs can heal him?" he said, as she shook some of the money into his hand.

She shrugged. "Maybe."

Then, she had run towards an alehouse, stopping only to cast an impatient look back at Chip.

"Come on!" Tonight, my friend, we dine well!"

And they had. The alehouse was small but the best menu in the kingdom, or so a patron drunkenly boasted outside. There was stuffed grouse, fine sweetmeats and exotic fruits piled high in china plates. Once the tavern owner saw the fat, crinkled purse in fauve's hand, he couldn't fill them fast enough.

They had left some hours later, both feeling full to the point of bursting, and clutching yet more bread, cheese and two flagons of wine for their evening meal.

It was these that were now resting on the ground beside Fauve's bag, empty once more. Chip removed his bag too, and let it drop softly into the grass next to him.

He watched Fauve intently as she struggled to open a well-corked wine bottle, and then shifted his gaze to a tree just beyond where she sat. It was a sweet chestnut tree, and had nothing about it to distinguish it from all the others around the clearing, other than that it was in Chip's direct line of sight as he stood. It was almost bare. Its branches reached jaggedly into the sky, casting a ghostly silhouette on the girl crouched beneath them.

Chip focused, and Fauve retreated so far back into his sight that she almost ceased to be visible. He was dimly aware she was speaking, but he could no longer hear the words, nor did he particularly want to. The tree was all that mattered…but it hardly moved. Its shadow did nothing but flicker slightly. A gentle breeze would have had more effect.

He tried again, and again, but he could do nothing save stripping a few slithers of bark from its trunk. Chip growled in frustration. The trees still eluded him. Was it their size? Their weight? Their firmly embedded roots?

No, it was him. He was simply not powerful enough, and this has been happening for days. It was as if he'd reached a barricade in his mind. A dead end, a block, and he could go no further, no matter how many different routes he tried. He was obstructed from reaching his potential, but how? Why?

"Chip?"

He blinked and turned his head. The tree was lost. Fauve stood in front of him with a bottle in her hand and a concerned look on her face.

"Wine?"

He shook his head, and rubbed his eyes with the dirty palm of one hand.

"You'll give yourself a headache if you keep trying to force it, you know."

She took a long swig from the bottle, and then raised her eyes to the heavens as if searching for something. After a while, she said, "Cloves, I think, and possibly cinnamon. Either way, it's well-brewed. You sure you don't want some?"

"No, thank you," he said quietly.

"Your problem is that you never just let yourself relax. Important things will never come to you if you attack them constantly, especially mastering magic. It takes time, and patience, to get anywhere and you have plenty of it. Well, time you have plenty of, anyway. You might as well calm down for a bit. Just sit down, have some wine…"

"I don't want any wine!" snapped Chip. "I want magic. I want power. I want…progress, damn it!"

He sighed and rubbed his eyes again, trying to think of a way to make Fauve understand.

"Don't…Haven't you ever wanted something so badly that you can never get a moments peace while it eludes you? That it's always there, no matter where you go, but wherever you go, it's just out of reach?"

Fauve swallowed her mouthful slowly and deliberately, but said nothing. Absently, she brought the almost-empty bottle down to her side and let it fall from her fingers. She blinked once. Twice.

Then she stood up, ran a few steps and jumped into the river before Chip had time to react. He scrambled to his feet, violently kicking the wine bottle into a clump of bushes in his haste.

"Fauve? Fauve!" he yelled.

It was happening all over again. The water…the fear…death…Raisse Fauve…Raisse…Fauve…

He was so busy panicking that he did not realise she had resurfaced straight away. No drowning…no dying…no pain…He realised his heart was racing. He had forgotten it could do that.

"What are you doing?" he half-laughed, half-spluttered in disbelief. She shrugged, making the water move away from her in rapidly-decreasing ripples.

"I wanted to bathe."

"Bathe?" he gulped, between breaths. "People don't…they don't just…Aren't you freezing?"

She grinned, or was it a thinly-concealed grimace? "Cold is good for the circulation…gets the blood flowing from head to toe…once you get past the initial shock", she gasped, "it's actually quite refreshing."

"You're crazy!" Chip exclaimed. "Completely mad."

"No, I am not. I'm just dirty from sitting in a smelly saddle on a smelly horse all day. Time to wash, I think."

Her dress was off and on the riverbank before Chip had time to avert his eyes. Astonished, he gaped at the woman undressing before him, with just a thin sheen of water to protect her modestly. Her stockings were next, though they took time, sodden as they were, followed by her shift and her shoes.

Naked as the day she was born, Fauve began splashing her top half all over with the ice-cold water. Chip continued to gawp, not knowing what to say or do. She was impossible to predict, that much was true. Such actions could easily cause scandal for the doer, or the worst of feelings in any lesser man. Chip was a gentleman, yet he continued to stare, out of surprise more than anything else.

"Do you mind?" she said eventually. "Can't you look elsewhere?"

Chip was mortified. "Oh, god…sorry!" he stammered and turned his face to the tree. The tree…the tree…always the tree…but his previous concentration was gone, and he was more than a little surprised to find he no longer cared.

"Chip?"

He started to face the direction the voice came in, politeness dictating that one should always address the speaker directly, and then he remembered at the last second, and snapped his neck back so quickly, he almost pulled a muscle.

"Dry my clothes for me?"

It was an innocent enough request, and Chip was glad of the distraction. The clothes were spinning in front of his eyes in moments, whirling in the night and sending sharp droplets of water flying in all directions. Several splashed on his face, cooling the red heat that had spread over the surface of his cheeks. Fauve was right. It was refreshing.

It took no time at all before the garments were dry and once again laying on the riverbank. Chip looked up to see Fauve smiling, her chin resting on her elbow at the edge of the water.

"See? You did that without thinking, though not so long ago you struggled with cloth and threads. You're progressing all the time, Chip. You just don't see it because you're concentrating so hard!"

"Alright, point taken." Chip could not help smiling back. "You're right."

"I am?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now, would you mind handing me my cloak? I can no longer feel my toes."

Shaking his head in amusement, he retrieved Fauve's cloak from where it lay crumpled over the remains of the bread.

"You're the strangest person I ever met."

"I shall take that as a compliment."

She held out a dripping arm. Chip started to pass the cloak to her, then changed his mind and snatched it back.

"Wait, I want to try something."

He held the cloak out in front of him, focused and dropped his hand. The cloak hovered in mid-air for a few seconds, and then slowly floated over towards the river.

"Chip, I am not coming out of the water with you watching me like a lecher!" exclaimed Fauve in a voice that was neither laughing nor serious.

"And I don't expect you to," replied Chip in a strange hollow voice which seems to turn his words into a chant. "I want to see if I can control it without looking at it." Slowly, carefully, he turned round so he could no longer see the cloak, the river or Fauve. The cloak did not fall, and Chip knew it didn't. He could feel it, and he could feel every thread, every stitch as if he was running his hands through the material. He could feel the needle darting in and out of the fabric, hear the seamstress humming as she sewed the material together, see the cotton plants waving in the windy fields…

"Go ahead, Fauve."

She did, and he felt that too. He felt her hands touch the fastening, felt the water on her body soak into the cloth, felt it cling to her back and shoulders like a second skin…

Somehow, he had become the cloak. This was not what he'd intended, nor did he know how he was doing it, and he was certainly surprised at the effect. It was strangely exhilarating…and then he realised why.

He swallowed hard and released the cloak, though it took more effort than he thought it would. He breathed deeply, desperately willing away the urge to become one with it again. It was wrong, but it had felt so good.

He felt a hand touch his shoulder and his heart leapt into his throat without warning. He felt dizzy, breathless, alive…He spun around to see Fauve and felt the warm scarlet return to his cheeks. Did she know what he was thinking?

"Chip?"

"I'm fine," he managed to say. "It was strange, interesting…"

"It was impressive," she finished for him. "Quite useful too, I'd imagine, to be able to move things without having to look at them. Are you cold? You're shivering."

Gently, she reached up to touch his face. He flinched away from her touch as her cold fingers brushed his cheek. "You're warm," she murmured. She moved her hand up to his forehead. This time, the cold was bearable. He felt the heat from his skin melt into her fingertips.

"Perhaps you have a fever," said Fauve, her voice barely above a whisper. "Or…perhaps…"

She trailed off as her eyes met his. He found he could not look away, not this time. He wanted her. He'd never wanted anyone this strongly before, he was sure of it. It was taking every inch of self-control he had left not to tear the cloak from her shoulders then and there…but he was no animal. He could not, would not, unless…

All his thoughts were forgotten as her lips touched his. Hungrily, desperately, he kissed her back, feeling her tongue dart between his teeth. Suddenly, there was nothing else in the world that mattered. Nothing, as he held her and pulled her close, nothing as her fingers fumbled with his shirt buttons, nothing as they sunk to the floor under the stars with no-one to see them but the night itself.

And the night was watching…closely…