The Agency, Volume III Read online

  Tonight was no exception.

  She stayed on the periphery of the celebration, her ears and eyes full of fire and sound, her blood pounding in her veins to the beat of the drumming that had erupted as soon as the main ritual was over. The primary bonfire had been built in the clearing in front of the Temple, and in its flickering light she could see couples meeting over at the Blessing Tree, exchanging silver cups and drinking, then walking off together hand in hand into the forest. Meanwhile the rest were dancing, singing, and sharing food and wine at the fire, and it reminded her a lot of the Pagan festivals she'd been to in her younger days as a Witch, again making her wonder just how old the Old Religion really was.

  The ritual itself had been beautiful; she was new to the Elven language but its convoluted grammar was making a lot more sense now that she'd been immersed in it for a day. Rowan had implanted the whole thing into her mind as he had done with Jason months ago, but still, there was a difference between taking years of French classes and actually spending time in France.

  As Rowan had promised, the rites had not concluded with the High Priestess saying "All right, everyone, go get it on!" and a rush toward the Tree; instead, the music and dancing began, and a few Elves here and there departed every half hour or so, casually catching each others' eyes across the fire. Everything was relaxed, and despite her misgivings Sara felt no pressure to join in.

  No pressure, maybe, but the urge was certainly there. She scanned the crowd again for Ardeth, wondering if perhaps this whole time she'd been reading the smith wrong. Rowan was a unique specimen of his species, and the others were still strange to her. She held onto her borrowed cup tightly, wishing she could just drain the thing right now to steady her nerves, but on the off chance he did appear she didn't want to hand him an empty cup. Surely that was a faux pas in this sort of situation--although fine manners during sex rites had to be one of the weirder things she'd mulled over since joining the Agency.

  She caught sight of Rowan not far away, in conversation with the High Priestess. He looked resplendent in his robes, and she wondered how long it would take for him to find someone to go off into the trees with--surely there had to be a line stretching around the block to bed an exotic Rethla like him.

  How long should she wait? Surely not more than an hour? She remembered seeing Ardeth briefly during the ritual, but he hadn't made eye contact--he'd been helping Elora retie the sleeve of her robe. After that he'd disappeared. What if he'd taken the girl away first? The children had all been led to their own activities for the evening, sort of a Clan-wide slumber party in one of the mothers' homes, with seasonal crafts and sweets and storytelling. They weren't permitted to even leave the house on Beltaine night until they were sixteen. Even the older children seemed happier to go do their own thing; according to Elora Elflings were usually kept to a fairly strict code of behavior, and on holidays they got to cut loose.

  Sara fingered the engravings on her cup again, wondering what it said. Rowan had brought it to her after the sun had already set and she couldn't see the silver well enough to read it. The cup was used for more than just Beltaine exchanges--it was something every Elf had on his or her home altar, and was a coming-of-age gift to the young. She wondered how much it would cost to have one made to keep for her own altar. Of course, the person to ask would be Ardeth, and where the hell was he?

  When she looked around again, Rowan had disappeared, no doubt headed for the Tree, maybe even with the High Priestess herself. She'd certainly given Rowan the eye more than once that evening. So had half the Clan, actually, male and female. Probably if he took up every offer he got tonight he wouldn't walk for a week. She had to wonder if Jason's tolerance of his mate's sex life would extend to his frolicking in the leaves with a half dozen random Elves. He'd never given the slightest hint that he minded, and he and Sara had finally sat down and discussed the situation, so she knew he was amazingly Zen about it. What were the boundaries of that Zen, though, and what would happen if one day Jason tried those boundaries out himself?

  Sara shook her head. She was stalling. It had been almost an hour and she still hadn't had even a glimpse of Ardeth--this was stupid. She wasn't going to wait around here like Rapunzel in her tower; if he wasn't interested, fine. She could get laid any time she wanted without all this nonsense.

  Irritable, she turned away from the crowd and started trying to snake her way from the fire, to the right, back to the main path that would lead to the guesthouse. There was such a press of bodies, however, she had to take a few detours, and ended up wandering close to the Blessing Tree.

  Before she could stop herself she cast a glance around the sheltered roots, and there she saw Ardeth, standing under the tree with an Elven woman who was holding out her cup.

  Sara felt herself turning scarlet and ducked her head, blindly taking any direction that led away from the Tree. She wove around the crowd again, back behind the Temple, thinking the path would be there, but it wasn't--now, confused and upset, she had completely lost her bearings.

  "Damn it," she hissed. "Damn it, damn it--fucking men. Fucking Elves and their stupid fucking Tree. This is why monogamy was invented."

  There were angry tears in her eyes, and she was all the angrier that she was angry. Sara stopped to wipe impatiently at her face, still burning with what she could only describe as jealousy, hoping against hope that neither Ardeth nor anyone else had seen her blundering around like an idiot.

  She'd managed to break through the treeline, and was in the outer edges of the forest--just to her right, she saw the moonlight picking out the edges of a narrow trail. Rowan had said that all the trails were connected and eventually led back at both ends to the main path. Suddenly a long walk was exactly what she wanted.

  What had she been expecting, really? And why did it matter? She wasn't in love with Ardeth, she knew that for sure; she had a big squishy crush on him, she freely admitted, but a long-distance romance with a man who wasn't even her species wasn't terribly appealing when she already had an Elf she could sleep with without any drama. It had been such a long time since anyone had shown interest in her, though, she couldn't help but invest something in the idea. She didn't meet a lot of men in her line of work--all the male Agents were either gay, partnered, or disinterested in relationships, and the non-Agent staff were mostly intimidated by the SAs. That didn't usually bother her. Having a shield between herself and other people was something of a relief.

  She all but stormed along the path, momentarily unable to appreciate the moonlit woodland beauty around her, but gradually her heartbeat calmed, her fists unclenched, and she was able to take a deep breath and stop.

  "Poor Sara, stood up for her prom by the captain of the football team," she muttered, and thinking of it that way it was almost funny.

  She looked around and realized she'd come to a small clearing along the trail, where a large oak tree stood alongside a tiny tributary of the creek that fed the Clan. She had missed the sound of water in her furious marching, but once her mind started approaching stillness again she could hear the merry patter against the rocks like a child's laughter.

  Sara left the path and went closer to the water, leaning sideways against the tree, which was less than half the diameter of the Blessing Tree but still an imposing presence in the dark. She could barely see the other side of the stream, where there was a break in the bushes she imagined deer and other animals used. She closed her eyes, listening, and the sound of drums returned to her, gently pounding against her heart and mind. The tension began to leave her, draining out through her feet into the earth, and she sighed, listening, breathing, grateful.

  Moments like this were so rare in her life anymore, now that she was mostly bound to the city and the constant stress and danger of her work. It was easy to forget, sometimes, what it really meant to be a Wiccan, something beyond reading the psychic imprints of murder scenes. The scent of smoke reached her on the breeze, and it occurred to her that right now she was standing at the nexus
of the four Elements, a single perfect moment easily as sacred as any abortive sweaty midnight rendezvous.

  "Thanks, Mama," she sighed. "I keep forgetting."

  "Sara?"

  She turned halfway at the voice, though it didn't startle her--she was used to it. "Hey."

  Rowan stepped off the path, a glowing thing caught in the moon's pale eye, and she smiled at him, her breath taken away by his beauty. He might have worn antlers and the ruddy browns of the forest, an ancient god come out of myth to find her here. For just a second Sara's vision shifted, and the energetic aura around him was clearer, a burnished silver, more intense than she had ever seen it.

  "Are you all right?" he asked. "I saw you leave."

  She couldn't speak. She was too hypnotized by the dancing currents of power that surrounded him, and the sudden overwhelming need to lay her hands on him, to partake of his mystery.

  She took a halting step toward him and reached out, which he seemed to interpret as her losing her balance, as he moved quickly to her and grabbed her arms, taking her cup from her and setting it, with his own, on the ground.

  "Sara, what--"

  Something in her face caused the words to die on his lips, and they stared at each other, each seeing something they hadn't before. It might be the night, or the moon, or the water. It might be Beltaine. But Sara looked into his eyes, and she saw...worlds, and worlds, and time, forever, stretching out, his very being dissolving into the Earth itself, or arising from it, older than thought or memory, older than words.

  She almost laughed, a childlike laugh of awe, and put her hand to his face, asking in a hush, "What are you?"

  He shook his head. It was his voice, and yet not. "It's not time for you to know yet."

  She nodded, accepting, still smiling. "You don't know yet either."

  "No."

  "That's all right. We'll figure it out."

  Words seemed to fail them both. Sara felt her back colliding with the tree as he kissed her, forcing his hips against hers so hard it hurt, but she was beyond pain. She wound her hands in his hair, digging in with her nails, and groaned into his mouth, their hands pulling and shoving into each other's clothes, clumsy with desperation. His hand wove beneath her skirt and between her thighs, finding her wanting, and she arched against his fingers.

  Then, he stopped, and she cried out in frustration before actually looking at him--or, rather, following his gaze.

  Another figure had appeared on the path, and another voice called out her name.

  Sara had to twist her mind around itself to find speech again. "Ardeth?"

  He peered into the dark, saying softly, "I couldn't find you, so I went to the Tree to see if you were there, and Nivra waylaid me. I had to go through the ritual of declining her interest before I could come after you--oh."

  He finally saw she wasn't alone, and froze. "Oh. I'm....I thought you were..."

  Sara had no idea what to say or how to react--her emotions and her thoughts were all bent toward one purpose, the burning in her belly, the fire in her skin. Normally she might have laughed at the absurdity of it all, but just now everything had taken on a deathly seriousness, as if what happened here tonight would shift the fortunes of nations.

  Rowan looked at her, then at Ardeth, then back again, and there was still that otherwordly gleam in his eyes...but now, there was a certain mischief as well.

  "Ardeth," he commanded, "Come here."

  The smith's eyebrows shot up, but Rowan's tone was not to be disobeyed, and he did as he was told. Sara stared at him, at the way his sleeveless robe gave a splendid view of his arm muscles and tattoo, and the way the moonlight silhouetted the line of his body beneath the fabric. The desire she'd felt before was nothing now, compared to this. She had to have him. The only thing that kept her from stepping away from the tree and shoving him to the ground was Rowan's arm still around her, holding her firmly where she was.

  "Put your cup down," Rowan said. "It isn't needed here."

  Again, Ardeth obeyed, as if hypnotized as well. Rowan beckoned to him, and he came closer until the three of them were almost touching, and Ardeth could see Sara's clothes in a disarray, the white skin of her bare leg shining in the dark, her hair wild around her face.

  Then he looked at Rowan, and went pale, seeing what Sara had seen moments ago.

  Sara gasped as Rowan's free hand wrapped around Ardeth's neck and pulled him into a hard, searing kiss, a weak sound of surprise escaping Ardeth but not the slightest bit of resistance emerging from that surprise. Instead, the smith returned the kiss with just as much fervor, until Rowan broke from him, both of them panting, lips swollen, breathing against each other's skin.

  Sara looked from one Elf to the other, and they looked at her, and she said, "Here. Now."

  Both Elves bowed.

  They lowered her into the dew-damp grass as if she were spun out of spider webs, four hands untying her robe, four hands baring her body to the moon. Neither of them spoke, but they worked in perfect concert, gripped in the fever of the night. Sara lay back on her open robes, the sight of her own nakedness beautiful to her as it had never been, and she reached out to them, urging them to join her. She watched, entranced, as they undressed each other, pausing to kiss and nuzzle each other's throats and ears, completely comfortable as if they'd been lovers for years. Two mouths moved against her breasts, Ardeth delighted at her curves, Rowan knowing the terrain and knowing exactly where to stroke, where to nibble, to make her entire body tighten around his fingers. One hand moved against her while another tongue flicked, and she let the thunder of the drums rock her body over and over again, lightning ripping through her and emerging as screams that she knew were part of a greater chorus tonight.

  She settled back against Rowan's chest while Ardeth moved inside her, her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands clenching those incredible arms. They danced together on the ground, the faraway drumming seeming to alter to match their rhythm, and Sara could hear night birds, owls, the wind, the water, all harmonizing, all beating with them, the sweet pain of opening, filling, again and again, first one then the other, gasping and clawing Rowan's back, sinking her teeth into Ardeth's shoulder, leaning on her elbow watching the two of them in parallel, sucking and teasing, diving deep and surfacing.

  Hours lost their significance, as did weariness. Sara's body asked for more, and more, and they were grateful to give it as she was grateful to give of herself. She no longer cared who was where, who she rose and fell against in front or in back, whose body she tasted in whose mouth. It didn't matter. There was no "her," or "him," or even "them." Energy surged through her, and her self faded into an eternal present, an eternal joy.

  When it happened, she felt it, but she would never remember.

  *****

  Morning was gentle over Clan Willow, the sun especially pale and soft as if to spare the Elves who were still out among the trees the painful waking of a bright dawn. In the village proper, couples would emerge from the forest two by two, pause for a blessing and a farewell kiss beneath the Tree, then go back to their own homes and their own lives. Some would meet again, but most would not.

  Sara's eyes opened slowly, at first unable to put together the scene in front of her. She lay on her back beneath the swaying canopy of an oak tree, the leaves blocking all but a grey dappled light. The air was cool, even crisp, but she was warm and comfortable...because there was a naked Elf on either side of her.

  Holy...

  Moments of the night before began to come back, first in a trickle, then in a rush. Holy...

  Sara watched Ardeth sleep for a while, remembering his strong hard body above hers, the force of his hips, and yet the tenderness of his hands, sculpting her the way they would a precious piece of jewelry given to a pair of bonded lovers. Those same hands had roamed over Rowan's back as well, with no hesitation, and that had turned her on more than just about anything she'd ever seen in her life.

  She looked over at Rowan, who was waking, but when
his eyes opened he looked...faintly sick. He shut them quickly, tightly. Sara ran her hand over his hair. "You okay?" she whispered.

  Rowan shook his head vaguely. "Something isn't right. But don't...don't worry about it for now. I'm okay."

  The sound woke Ardeth, who blinked, then blushed.

  Sara chuckled. "You're cute when you're girlishly rattled."

  "I am not," he insisted, a smile playing at the edges of his lips. "Bemused, perhaps, but not rattled."

  She held onto both of them, hardly able to believe the fountain of blessings that had quite literally overflowed into her this Beltaine. "So I guess threesomes aren't the normal way this kind of thing goes down."

  Rowan shrugged, the strange dizziness still in his face but lessened by the humor of the situation. "It's been known to happen."

  He sat up slowly, wincing at limbs that had been twisted oddly in their sleep or bruised or bitten throughout the night, and gathered his robes from where they had been scattered hither and yon. "If you two will pardon me," he said with a smile, "I think I shall go back to the guest house, bathe, and call home to make sure everything is all right. Sara, just for your information, the day after Beltaine is always considered part of the holiday, and no work is ever done, only rest and relaxation. Technically your Beltaine tryst isn't over until you reach the Tree again."