Chapter Two
Oskar's mind wandered. In his daydream, he flew over a jump, propelled by a frigid blast of wind. Grasping his Burton with one hand, he hovered in mid-air, ice crystals decorating his goggles. He could almost taste the glacial mountain air.
There was nothing as exhilarating, nothing as liberating as that one moment of freedom, when your body was suspended over the earth. Everything else just disappeared. No elves, no meetings, no memos, no lectures. No....boring-ass models.
He felt badly, but he honestly couldn't concentrate. The blonde, thin, incredibly young model from Sweden had talked him into a glassy-eyed stupor. Her English wasn't half bad, but her conversational skills were sadly lacking. Funny, he never used to mind the silly banter of his female companions on the slopes. But for some unknown reason lately he'd been craving....well, a real conversation. About books, films, current events, even politics.
Great, I'm having a mid-life crisis at the ripe old age of twenty eight.
For years, he'd been content with his job and his favorite hobbies—hanging with his brothers, winter sports (living at the North Pole did have that advantage), and of course his voracious reading obsession. His cottage in Glasdorf looked like a library, stuffed with everything from biographies and travel journals to murder mysteries and poetry. Reading was the ultimate escape, especially when you lived in the middle of an icy tundra.
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His easy going philosophy—work hard, play hard—took a hit this past Christmas and wasn't showing any signs of recovery. Watching his oldest brother fall madly in love with his soul mate had Oskar questioning his own approach to the opposite sex. His series of shallow, lust-filled interludes suddenly seemed unappealing. He hated to admit it, but he felt a twinge of jealousy when Lucy gazed at Nicholas with.... that look. That adoring, I'm-hopelessly-in-love-with-you look. What it would feel like to have a woman look at him that way?
He nodded absently at something Miranda said, then polished off the remainder of his beer, and decided that a plan of escape was in order. Searching the crowd for his brothers, he located them across the room. Bingo! Sven and Wolf appeared to be deep in conversation with the woman he'd noticed earlier—the little, gray mourning dove who looked like she'd lost her way from the library.
Oskar shook his empty beer bottle. "Uh, Miranda...I'm gonna grab another drink. I'll see you in a few, okay?"
She blinked once, then nodded. "Yes, all right." She spun on the point of one stiletto heel, and trotted off to another cluster of women.
He blew out a breath of relief, then wandered over to his brothers, stopping for a few more hors d'oeuvres from the buffet table. As he approached the threesome, he caught snatches of their conversation.
"I really loved Mr. Andersen's book. His trip to Vietnam was fascinating," he heard Miss Librarian say in a low, husky voice. A voice like velvet, smoky and hot.
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Never heard a librarian who sounded like that.
Wolfgang nodded. "I agree. I loved the chapter about his first meal. What a culinary adventure."
Sven finished another plate of canapes. "I think Oskar read that book. He was telling me about it a couple of weeks ago."
Oskar took a step forward and cleared his throat. "Are you guys talking about Joseph Andersen's new book Images and Reflections from the East? Loved it. My favorite scene was the bicycle race."
Miss Librarian turned to face him and he almost fell over.
She was nothing short of stunning.
Gorgeous aquamarine eyes regarded him from behind the heavy lenses. Despite an attempt to tighten every last hair into the severe bun, a few strands of rich chestnut escaped, framing a lovely heart-shaped face. Her lips were every man's dream. Lush and full, a promise of naughty fantasies. The boring suit struggled valiantly to hide her abundant curves, but it didn't take too much of an imagination to realize that beneath the hideous outfit was a stunner—who was trying like hell to fade into the background. As far as he was concerned, she was failing miserably.
The Librarian stared at Oskar, her eyes widening as she took in his appearance. Her gaze drifted from his hair to the scruff on his face, over the assortment of tattoos on his biceps and finally stopped at his Doc Martens. He grinned and held out his hand. "Oskar Klaus, nice to meet you...."
She looked at his outstretched hand like it was a cobra coiled to strike. Wolfgang laughed. "Don't be put off by the tats, Kiana. O isn't as bad as he looks. He's the youngest 28
brother in the family. Oskar, this is Kiana Grant. She's Gregor's neighbor."
Oskar waited for the woman to get over her reticence.
Reluctantly she raised a hand and he clasped it firmly. She was the complete opposite of the model crew. Her face was fresh and real, not caked with make-up into an artificial mask. He noticed the soft skin of her hands and the short utilitarian nails, a contrast to the sharpened talons of the supermodels. Oskar had an urge to tug her closer and get a better look. She smelled good, too, like tropical flowers.....
"Kiana's a pretty name. What's the origin?" he asked, stroking her skin one time before she finally pulled free of his grasp.
Sven raised an eyebrow. "Are you an etymologist now, bro? What's up with that?"
"Etymologist? Sven, my man, I am impressed. I didn't know you had such an elaborate vocabulary. Been boning up for Jeopardy?" Oskar shot back.
Sven laughed. "No, it came up in Scrabble the other day.
Gunter totally kicked my ass with that one..."
"Who's Gunter?" Kiana inquired.
Wolfgang looked at his brothers with irritation. "Ah, Gunter's a friend from back home."
Sven added, "Yeah, a really short friend."
Kiana nodded, then glanced at Oskar. Her eyes darted away and she began fiddling with her tea cup.
Oskar studied Kiana's uncomfortable expression and got annoyed. Hell, he wasn't that scary looking. He decided to pull out all of the stops to see if he could defrost her chilly 29
demeanor a bit. Full 1000-watt smile, complete with Klaus dimple. "So what is the meaning of your name?"
Kiana blushed and murmured something quietly.
"What was that? Couldn't quite hear you," he asked, prodding her.
Her cheeks pinkened even more and she finally looked up at him, obviously embarrassed. "Moon goddess. Kiana means moon goddess, in Hawaiian."
Sven chuckled. "Moon goddess? Don't take this the wrong way, Kiana, but where the heck did you get a name like that?"
She stood up a little straighter. "My parents were...are...hippies. They live on Oahu. All of my siblings have traditional Hawaiian names."
Oskar smiled to himself. He simply couldn't resist the urge to tease Little Miss Prim and Proper. "So, Kiana, do you worship the moon? Are you affected by the lunar cycles, turn into a siren once a month?"
A single, solitary blink was the only indication that he'd scored a hit. Her eyes flashed with irritation. She glanced up at his hair and quirked a brow. "I can see you worship Leprechauns. Are you Irish?" she asked, a little too sweetly.
She took a dainty sip of tea as his brothers howled with laughter.
"Actually, his hair changes colors frequently. Sort of like a chameleon," Wolfgang noted.
Sven grinned. "Yeah, you've been green for awhile, O.
What's the next color up? Hot pink? That would be a festive way to usher in the New Year."
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Her blush was fading a bit, but the fire was still in her eyes. There's a bit of spice to Miss Vanilla, after all. "What do you think, Kiana. Is pink a good color for me?"
She graced him with a small smile. "Well, it is a feminine color." She glanced at his biceps and then shrugged. "I guess you can get away with it."
He struggled to hide his grin. A waiter passed by and O
caught his attention. "Hey, do you guys have Heineken in the back?"
The waiter cracked a smile. "Sure, we've got everything.
In a bottle or glass, sir?"
"Heineken in a bottle would be great, thanks."
Wolf shook his head. "Green beer, green hair. Maybe Kiana's onto something. Maybe you are turning into a Leprechaun."
"Actually, Oskar's not really Irish, Kiana. Our family originated from Bavaria, Germany. Ergo O's fondness for Heineken," Sven said.
Kiana's face lit up. "Sprechen Sie Deutsch?" She looked at Sven expectantly.
"Aber ja doch!"
"There's a class at the library for beginning German and I've been trying to sneak in a few classes, but I'm just learning the basics. Maybe we can practice," Kiana asked Sven hopefully. Oskar found himself annoyed that the woman had entirely written him off. He spoke fluent German, too, damn it, just as well as Sven or any of his brothers. He was about to offer up his expertise when Miranda the Supermodel grabbed his arm.
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"Os-kar, the girls want to hear about your snow-jumps.
Come, tell us about your trip to Jackson Hole? Pleez?"
Neither Sven nor Wolfie bothered to hide their smug grins as Miranda stroked his arm, practically purring. Normally he enjoyed the attention of a group of adoring women, but at the moment he really wanted to stick around and tease Miss Librarian. As the model pulled him away, he glanced over his shoulder to find Kiana deep in conversation with Sven.
Reluctantly, he returned to the huddle of giggling, gangly girls. And tried to ignore the sound of Kiana's laughter at some comment Sven was making.
Ignoring the irrational impulse to smash Sven's face in the punch bowl was even harder.
Ingo pawed through a stack of old books in the library. He hadn't bothered to turn on a lamp. Thin shards of moonlight filtered through the dusty windows and cast an unearthly glow around the room.
"Where the hell did I put it? It's got to be here somewhere." Finally he spied a teetering pile by the desk and the thick tome at the bottom looked familiar.
"Ah, got it!" He pushed the tower, scattering manuscripts on the floor. Carefully, he lifted the gold-edged book, brushing cobwebs off the leather bindings. It had been scores of years since he had the occasion to look at this volume.
Even after all of this time, bits of light buzzed off the ragged edges of the spine, reminding him how powerful the Zauberwort Buch really was.
He held the ancient tome in a shaft of light, illuminating the faded pages.
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What are you gonna do, Ingo Hertz? Verboten. Verboten.
The magik of our ancestors is a sacred responsibility. Not to be used in an inappropriate manner. Not to be used for personal gain, vengeance, or evil intent.
The voice of Master Eugen echoed in his head.
His callused fingers hesitated over the book. Then the image of Lys struggling to free herself from Per's grip popped into his mind. He flipped open the tome and a long sigh was released into the air. Swirls of dust laced with magik funneled upward from the yellowed-pages and disappeared into the darkness.
The Zauberwort Buch jumped from his hands and started to hop across the floor. Ingo could tell the magik was warming up, getting ready for mischief. Eugen taught all of the elves of Glasdorf that the magik must be reined in; its natural course was to "run toward trouble." He would shout
"Dicke Luft!" (trouble's brewing) as streams of unrestrained magik swirled throughout the classroom, teasing the students, attempting to incite them.
Ingo distinguished himself from an early age as a Magik Bandiger, or magik tamer. Only certain elves were capable of this feat. It required the ability to trick the magik, which was extremely difficult. Magik was crafty and cunning and had a mind of its own. Tricking it at its own game entailed complex strategies depending on the energy involved. Ingo always enjoyed devising traps for the runaway magik, and then sitting back to watch the inevitable downfall.
Master Eugen had been disappointed that he had not apprenticed as a Bandiger, but the Hertz family had a long 33
and distinguished history as woodworkers, and Ingo's talent with the wood rivaled his talent with the magik.
Ingo felt the familiar thrill of power course through him as he dove for the book, grappling with it as it snapped at his fingers.
"Halt!" he barked at the irksome Buch. Too bad these spells don't work on elves, or I'd give Per a night he would never forget. The elfin magik worked on the human population, but not on other elves. It was a built-in protection for their well-being.
Fumbling in the darkness, he found a candle on his desk and lit it. He carefully pulled apart the dusty pages of the book until he found a section entitled Herz Magik, Heart Magik. He nodded as he perused the ancient spells, searching for one he remembered from long ago. Once he located the enchantment, he knocked about his house collecting various items...scraps of paper, more candles, a newspaper article, a button, and finally a page ripped from his new calendar in the kitchen.
Ingo placed the Zauberwort Buch in the center of his desk, opened to a spell called Zottig Herz (Ragged Heart). First he scribbled his name and Oskar's onto a piece of paper and placed it on the tome. Then, he took the calendar insert and held it over the flickering flame of the candle, scorching the date January first, just above the image of a crescent moon.
He searched the calendar for the full moon. January eleventh.
Eleven days of misery. He singed the square marked eleven, blackening the plump full moon.
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Ingo rubbed the mother-of-pearl button in his callused fingers and reverently placed it atop the book. Then the article, torn from a Klaus Enterprise newsletter. Every spare candle in his home was scattered on the tabletop, looking like a collection of ominous stalagmites. He took a deep breath and swallowed the last of the liquor from his flask. The empty container fell to the ground, clattering on the floor.
Ingo began to recite the words, dictated centuries ago. For one brief moment, his voice wavered as he thought of Lys and her sweet smiling face. She was all goodness and light, and he knew she would not approve of this act of vengeance.
But the images of Wiebe's laughing face and Per tugging at Lys' waist swirled inside his brain and his voice gained momentum as the ancient words rolled off his tongue. Again and again he uttered the spell, until he collapsed in a drunken stupor on the floor. As he fell into a foggy slumber, Ingo could hear the Zauberwort Buch rattling on the table, brimming with mischief.
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