Heart of Light by Sarah A. Hoyt Page A

opened the trunk lid despite the wards on it, the magic would attack her, and if not kill her, at least injure her mind and soul, leaving them blank and damaged.
    On the other hand . . .
    She ran her hand over the wards from above, feeling the magic as one might taste a sweet—for flavor and strength and efficacy. It was strong magic, designed by Nigel. But it was not long ago that Nigel, in a transport of passion while courting, had handed her the key to his magic, letting her sense the shape of his magical power and from it know and determine how to open every lock he set, how to enter every room he warded.
    With trembling hands, Emily wove the spells in the air and unlocked each of the spells that Nigel had so carefully lain upon this trunk.
    Why protect the contents this well, unless there was that token of his love that he couldn't leave behind? She flung the lid wide. And there, inside, was a style of packing that looked more like Nigel's hand. Still smooth and still well folded, but no professional touch about it, and also a hint of irrational exuberance—shirts overlying pants, overlying coats, then shirts again. Beneath a layer of clothing lay objects diverse and strange. A Martini-Henry powerstick; a sturdy rounded sun hat, quite unlike the more civilized panama, as though Nigel planned to go hiking through the jungle and a large, round stone, wrapped in the finest silk.
    Emily stared at this last item, puzzling as she ran her hands over it, feeling within a great power of crouched magic. She pulled back a corner of the silk, smoother and better woven than her own finest silk dress. A stone about the size of her small closed fist looked brutishly common, a piece of granite with nothing to distinguish it from any plain rock picked up from any street. Yet power tingled in it and magic ran around its veins like blood in a human heart.
    Was this, then, a token given to Nigel by his true lady love? Of course it would be. An object so common that it could not be suspected. Perhaps, under the right magical stimulus, it spun dreams of his love into his sleep. Or perhaps it sang to him in her voice. In novels, magical love tokens did all of these things and more.
    Emily cringed at the thought. Until she held the thing in her hand, she had only suspected that Nigel was unfaithful to her in his heart. But now she could not doubt, for what else could this be?
    She felt a great anger at her husband's unknown paramour. How dared she give such a token to a married man? Emily would know the secret of this stone and drain it of its magic. Then, deprived of the memento of the other woman, Nigel would have no choice but to turn his attentions and his love to Emily.
    And surely her actions, though perhaps reprehensible, had at their heart a most proper aim. She picked up the magic stone and stood holding it in the palm of her hand.
    The room was dark and still and too hot. Or perhaps the heat came from her shamefaced certainty that she should not do this, that she was debasing herself and Nigel, also. But how could she debase them further than Nigel's unfaithfulness that had made a mockery of their sacred vows of marriage? Still, she tore the velvet drape wide. Beneath was a lace curtain like her own and, beneath that, a window with many small glass panes framed in wood. She opened the window, turning the knob and throwing the panes wide. As she stepped back, wind furled the curtain, bringing fresh air into the room.
    There. That was better.
    Emily picked up the stone again and brought it to her chest. It glowed softly. Her mind sensed the pattern print of its magic, looking for the key that would unlock it. And bring to her the secrets of Nigel's love.

 

    GENTLEMEN'S TALK

    Nigel and Peter smoked thin, Turkish cigarettes, which Peter extracted from a battered silver cigarette case in his pocket and offered to Nigel, who didn't want to offend him by refusing. They sat on white wicker chairs beyond the great windows of the dining