Michael laughed. He gripped my hips and thrust up. And undid all my care. The fall towards climax hit so fast I couldn't stop it. "Michael!" He thrust again and the swirls seemed to reach for me. "Wait!"
"No, Molly, it's now. Now! Reach for me, go deep—"
I reached. Gripped him tight with my inner muscles even as I bore down, drank-deep—convulsed. And screamed.
It wasn't pain, though something ripped me open. It wasn't pleasure, though I spun on the wheel of a climax, caught in a vortex that was intensely physical, and not physical at all. It wasn't dark or light, warm or cold, or anything I have names for.
And then, for a timeless period, it wasn't me anymore.
Not just me.
Then I was myself again, the only one in my body. Which ached all over, and not just in the usual places. Michael was a warm, lumpy mattress beneath me. His breath was warm and moist against my cheek.
It was dark. The candles had burned down. One was flickering, nearly out. "Well, sailor," I whispered, "you do know how to show a girl a good time."
"Ahh," he said. "I don't think I have the breath to laugh." He paused. "I can't feel my left hand."
I realized I was lying on it. I moved. "It's asleep. Be prepared for some fierce pins and needles."
"Pins and… ow!" He held it up, glaring at it. "Bizarre."
"Returning circulation." I managed to roll off him. "Whew." I turned my head to smile at him. "About eight hundred, if I've figured it right."
His brow creased. "What?"
"You. You're something over eight hundred years old. Though you weren't entirely there for the first three or four centuries, were you?"
I hadn't experienced all of Michael, nor had he, I think, blended with all of me. Partly because, as he'd said, he was still in pieces, with large gaps in his memories. Partly because some of what he'd lived I had no context for, so it hadn't stuck.
I had enough. "Poor Cullen. If he'd known he was entertaining the—"
"Shh." He laid a hand over my lips. "Not even in teasing, Molly. Not even here. It isn't safe."
I nodded, understanding. Understanding so much more than I'd expected to. My lover, my mystery man really was a myth of sorts.
Michael was the missing Codex Arcanum. The Book of All Magic.
His creator… I had only shadowy images of the one who'd conceived him An adept? One of the Old Ones? I didn't know, nor did I understand why he'd done it. Perhaps the same desire that led humans to build libraries, the need to keep knowledge from being scattered or destroyed. For centuries, whatever the sorcerers and magicians of many realms had written in their spell books—which weren't always books, nor was the recording always writing—had also been "written" into Michael.
He'd been created here, though. Here on Earth, that is. Not on this continent, but somewhere in my world. Shortly after being made, he'd been sent to another realm, a place where magic ran wild.
Later, he'd developed a sort of homesickness for this world. At the time, though, he hadn't cared. He wasn't alive then.
Had his creator planned for him to come to consciousness? Michael himself didn't know, and I wasn't about to guess. But the place where he'd been stashed was much smaller than our universe, with magic spilling all over itself. Anything that held on to a stable form there for long achieved life. Anything living and sufficiently complex become sentient.
Michael had been built to last. And he certainly wasn't simple.
He shifted beside me, propping himself up to look down on my face. He traced my lip with a finger. "You are well, Molly? You are all right?"
"I'm well." I kissed his finger. "Unbelievably tired, but well. Um… shouldn't we be getting out of here?" I glanced around. "No sign of ninjas yet, but—"
"We can leave in a hurry if we need to. Of course, I only know one place to go." He smiled. "Back to Galveston."
"In that case, I want my clothes. I'm not arriving there naked again."
The two of us creaked to our feet. I was giddy with exhaustion… and happiness. "What about Cullen?"
"They won't bother him if we are gone. Why should they?" Michael lifted his hand to clear the wards, but paused. "One more thing before we go. I have been giving your name some thought."
I leaned against him, smothering a yawn. "I'm not sure I can give your suggestions the proper attention right now."
"I was hoping you would let me name you, as you did me."
I straightened, looked him in the eye. After a moment I said softly, "All right."
"Then I would like you to remain Molly. And I will give you a new last name."
I nodded solemnly. "That's traditional. What did you have in mind?"
He kissed the tip of my nose. "You are my gift of grace. I name you Molly Grace."
I closed my eyes, checking the fit. And smiled, and opened my eyes. "All right… Michael Grace."
His eyes lit. "You gift me with a last name, too."
"It is the twenty-first century." Another yawn overtook me. "Michael? Can we go home now?" Because that's what Galveston was, I realized. I might leave it again, maybe many times. But I'd go back. And I wouldn't go alone.
Michael lifted the wards, banished the guttering flames on the candles, then swung me up into his arms to carry me out of the circle. I found that very funny, especially when he stumbled and nearly dropped me.
"Is this not tradition? The carrying over the threshold?" he asked.
"Close enough." I handed him his jeans and stepped into my panties. "I love you."
"Good." He said that with great satisfaction, then fumbled his way into his clothes while I pulled mine on. I finished first, and told him I wanted to check on Cullen. "Just to be sure."
His brows twitched down, but he nodded. "I will wait for you."
It was a leave-taking I needed, I realized as I tossed a blanket over Cullen's sleeping body. Something new had begun, but other things had ended. I folded up a jacket and placed it under his head for a pillow, then knelt beside him and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Good-bye," I said softly.
It wasn't really Cullen I was bidding farewell to, of course.
Michael was waiting by the node, as he'd said he would be. I walked into his arms. "You are happy?" He whispered it, as if the question was too large to say out loud. "You do not regret giving up all the beautiful young men like Cullen?"
Oh, he did know me. That was going to take some getting used to, but… "I'm happy," I told him, and grinned. "Besides, sometimes all a woman my age really wants is to curl up in bed with a good book."
Michael grinned, too. And took us home.
[end]