WebMage by Kelly McCullough Page B

puppy in the den. For obvious reasons, we didn't want to be too close to the faerie ring. That's how quaint folktales and other nasty accidents happen. The crown of the hill wore a wreath of bent crab apples, one of which provided me with a backrest as I surveyed the landscape. Cerice joined me there, and for a long time we didn't move, sitting shoulder to shoulder in companionable silence.
    "Odd sort of landscape," said Cerice, finally.
    The trees were all low and twisted into fantastic shapes. The dominant ground cover was Creeping Charlie. Odd bits of trash were scattered everywhere, punctuated by the occasional enormous dump pile. No matter which way the wind blew it carried a faint flavor of decaying vegetation. Yet there was a strange beauty to it all. Wild grape and other creepers were waging war on the junk and winning. Near us, a colony of morning glories had converted a rusted-out Chevy Malibu into a floral topiary in a crazy quilt of emerald and pink.
    "Still, there's something appealing to it," I said after a few moments.
    Cerice nodded and squeezed my hand. "It must be the glamour of faerie. The air here is saturated with raw magic."
    "Is it, my lady?" I asked. I'd been outside long enough for my disposition to mellow, and my court manners were returning. "I hadn't realized it was in the air. I thought the magic arose from the proximity of your most lovely person."
    "My goodness. Ravirn the prince has returned at last. I had begun to believe that the reason our gracious and charming hostess was taking such good care of you was that you bore a resemblance to her long-lost offspring."
    "I have been a bit of a troll these last few days, haven't I?" I replied, softly. Resolving to make amends, I rolled up onto my good knee, extending my bad leg behind me, and faced Cerice. "I must beg your forgiveness and indulgence for my behavior. My only excuse is extreme pain, compounded by a dose of awareness that eternal youth does not immortality make."
    A frown chased itself across her delicate features. "You did make it down to the very banks of the Styx, didn't you? Figuratively speaking, of course."
    I nodded. "I came so close I could almost have lent Moric the coins to pay the ferryman and waved him on his way." I shuddered. I didn't like Moric, and I had far rather it was him than me, but I wished our encounter could have ended in some other fashion. "Were it not for you, my lady, I might even now be wandering that far shore. I owe you everything, Cerice. I am at your service for whatever you might ask."
    "I think that I shall begin with this." She leaned forward and placed her soft lips against mine.
    That first contact was like white fire, and it burned all the way to my toes. I couldn't say how long we sat like that, nothing touching but our lips. In retrospect the kiss seems fleeting, but at the time it was my whole world. Some eternal moment later I felt her lips open under mine and her arms reach around my neck. I'm sure my hands were similarly engaged, but the memory is gone. We shifted, trying to get closer together without letting our lips part. It was wonderful, but it meant a good deal of twisting about, and my injured knee hit a root. I shrieked and curled into a ball.
    "What happened?" she asked.
    "Kiss! Wow! Knee! Root! Bad!" I lay on my side facing away from her, my hands clutching my injury.
    "How articulate. I told you it wouldn't heal well if I did all the work. Let me look at it." She leaned into my field of view, and I saw that her blouse had somehow become partially unbuttoned, exposing an ivory breast tipped with the palest pink flower of a nipple. I lost interest in my knee.
    After a few seconds, so did Cerice. I have only fragmentary impressions of what happened next, brief but incredibly vivid snapshots. Sliding my hands along her ribs to cup her breasts. Tearing the button off her skirt when I couldn't figure out how to get it unfastened. Feeling her teeth playfully nipping at the hollow of my