At the Theater

   “Turn around and look at me.” Thomas whispered the words with intensity, lacing them with the slightest hint of magic— just enough to turn the head of the beautiful girl who sat in the theatre balcony two rows in front of him and not attract the attention of the men sitting on either side of her. One of the men was obviously her brother — he looked too much like her to be anything else. The other, , well, he could be her husband, but   Thomas prayed he wasn't.
   Thomas had been watching the girl for the past half hour; she was so much more entertaining than the actual play being performed on the stage below them. Not that Othello wasn’t entertaining—it was just that this was the fifth time he’d been to the Globe to see it. And this girl…
   He had to keep himself from sighing aloud like a silly school boy.
   She was beautiful. No,  she was exquisite. Her face was perfection, a creamy complexion with lovely cheekbones and a delicate chin set under the most expressive lips. Lips which smiled and pouted, pink from being bitten as she feared for the characters on the stage. Her eyes—well, the one eye he could see—was a lovely light green, the color of new grass on a summer’s day. A straight, slashing brow furrowed over it as Desdemona attempted to defend herself on the stage before them.
   As Thomas’ whispered words slipped from his mouth, he directed them toward her, hoping that she would turn in her seat and look at him. That’s all that he needed—just for her to look his way so that later, after the play, he could approach her and introduce himself.
   At his words, the men on either side of his beauty turned and looked toward him, as did about five more people sitting in between them. Thomas immediately trained his eyes on the stage, pretending to be engrossed in the play.
   Of course, she hadn’t turned.
   Damn! His magic was still off.
   It had been this way ever since he’d been touched by the Seventh, the high priestess who was going around rejuvenating the magic of all the Vallen. Before he’d been touched, he’d had exquisite control over his abilities. They hadn’t been very strong, but what could you expect after six generations? But now…
Well, wait. The two men had turned around. That meant that his magic had gotten to her. So why hadn’t she turned? Could she have blocked him? The thought sent a thrill of interest through Thomas’ mind. If she could, that meant she was Vallen. No, not only Vallen but quite possibly a very strong one. Certainly stronger than the men who accompanied her.
   Thomas had to find an opportunity to introduce himself! Perhaps after the play.
He spent the duration praying for time to pass quickly, but still it felt like hours before it was over. When the play finally ended, he bided his time so that he could follow in the beauty’s wake.
   . . . did he seem too creepy? Watching her then, following her out.
   He was not especially proud of himself, following her like a puppy. On the other hand, if he hadn’t, he would have missed the glance she gave to her escorts — the look of mischief that crossed her beautiful face just before she darted forward and into the crowd—perfectly losing both men. And, unfortunately, him as well.
   Thomas nearly laughed. Oh, but he had to meet this girl! Everything inside of him thrilled at her cleverness, at her bravery. No wonder she had two escorts. It probably took both men to keep her in check—although, clearly, even with two of them she was too clever.
   Thomas continued following the men, watching them as they searched for her. Listening as they called out her name—Beatrice. What a perfect name for his beauty. Strong, commanding and yet feminine. Unfortunately, the crowd blocked in his attempts to keep up with them. There were just too many people all attempting to leave the theatre at once. Thomas fell behind, losing sight of Beatrice, just like her escorts.
   When he was finally free of crush of people, Thomas stepped to the side. He had half an hour or more before he had to meet Will at the pub. It couldn’t hurt to look around, and see if he couldn’t find his beauty. He started toward the river where they would undoubtedly be headed in order to return to the City, but voices raised in anger stopped him. It sounded like a woman was arguing with at least one man, probably two.
   Thomas spun around. Drawing his dagger from his belt, he raced toward the voices around the side of the round theatre. If this were indeed Beatrice and her escorts, Thomas would finally not only have the chance to meet her, but perhaps play the hero and come to her rescue. The fates were most definitely looking kindly upon him this afternoon.
   It was her! The darker of the two men she was with had her upper arm in his strong grip. He turned her around, and was about to start forcing her to walk straight toward the river and Thomas.
   “I beg your pardon, gentlemen,” Thomas said, approaching them with his dagger in full view, “but I don’t believe the young lady wants to go with you.
   “She is our sister, sir. We are seeing her home,” the blond said, a noticeable growl to his voice.
   “Prove it!” Thomas commanded.
   “What?” The other fellow was clearly astounded at Thomas’ temerity. Truth be told, he was a little shocked himself. But he would not allow his beauty to be handled in this way. He could not.
   “I just wanted to meet Mr. Shakespeare,” Beatrice said, snatching her arms out of the man’s loosened grip.
   Thomas’ interest spiked, but he did all he could to hide it. “You wished to meet our playwright and this is how you are treated?” His eyes shifted to the men—not a little relieved to learn that they were both her brothers.
   “Yes! Can you believe it? It is horribly unfair.” Beatrice looked at the men on either side of her as if to say “I told you so”.
   “Did you enjoy the play?” Thomas asked awkwardly and then mentally kicked himself for being so stupid. He didn’t usually get this tongue-tied around pretty girls, truly he didn’t.
   “Oh, yes,” Beatrice breathed. “It was wonderful.”
   “I’m so glad you liked it.” He imagined the stupid smile on his face wasn’t helping him any either.
   Beatrice's eyes widened. “You aren’t…?” she started.
   “No!” Thomas laughed. He made her a grand leg, sweeping his hat off his head with his free hand. “I am Thomas, Viscount Strothley. But I am honored to be able to call William Shakespeare a friend. I would be more than happy to introduce you.”
   “You would?” Her eyes positively sparkled with enthusiasm, turning Thomas’ insides into pudding.
   “That is very kind of you, Lord Strothley, but we really must get our sister home,” the blond said, taking Beatrice’s arm again.
   “Why? What is your hurry?” Thomas asked, looking pointedly at the man’s grip on her.
   “Yes,” Beatrice asked turning to look up at her brother. “What is the hurry? Mother won’t care if we’re gone a little longer than we said. She’s probably not even at home herself.”
   The blond looked from Beatrice to Thomas and then to his brother, perhaps hoping for some support from the latter. He’d opened his mouth to say something when Thomas was suddenly aware that the weight of his purse in his pocket had disappeared. He looked down and caught a boy walking quickly away.
   “Stop!” Thomas shouted at the boy.
   The child looked over his shoulder at them with deceptively innocent dark eyes before breaking into a run.
   Thomas pointed the knife still in his hand at the child. “Stay rooted as the tree!” he commanded, the words coming out of his mouth without thought.
   The boy did stop. In fact, he did so so suddenly that his upper body continued moving forward while his lower body seemed to be stuck to the ground. Something fell out of his hands, landing on the ground with a loud chink.
   Thomas sheathed his blade as he strode forward to snatch up his purse from the ground. He turned. Beatrice and her brothers stared at him.
   “The little weed stole my purse!” He waved the article in the air before stuffing it back into his pocket.
   Damn, but he was discomfited. His earthiness only slipped out when he wasn’t paying attention. He quickly got hold of himself.
   “Please sir, my feet, they’re stuck! I can’t move ’em,” the boy whined.
   Beatrice and her brothers walked over to look at the boy’s feet. Thomas himself looked down, but immediately felt lightheaded. If he wasn’t mistaken the boy’s legs seemed to have joined together at the knee to form what looked very much like a tree trunk. The trunk was firmly set into the ground, its roots snaking out a little from where the boy stood.
   “Oh, my God!” The words wrenched from his gut. What had he done?
   “Oh, dear,” Beatrice said almost mildly while looking from the boy's legs to Thomas.
   “My God!” Even Beatrice’s blond brother was clearly in shock at what Thomas had done. The other man didn’t say a word, but looked from the boy to Thomas and then back to the boy.
   He had never, ever in his life done magic in front of strangers before. He prayed that his earlier guess that Beatrice and her brothers were Vallen was correct. The fact that none of them were screaming in fear or calling for help told him that they probably were.
   But even if they were Vallen, he most certainly had completely ruined any chance he'd had at making a good impression on the beautiful Beatrice. If only the ground would open up and swallow him whole — no, with his magic so unstable he oughtn’t even think of such a thing for fear that it might actually happen. Oddly enough, both men turned toward Beatrice, as if they expected her to do something. But this was his mistake. How the hell he was going to fix it, he didn’t have a clue, but it was his to fix.
   “Well, at least he’s still a boy,,” Beatrice said calmly, walking around the child. “For the most part.”
   The boy had been struggling to try to move, but at Beatrice’s words he looked up at her. “What do ye mean,” he paused hesitantly, “for the most part?”
   He followed her eyes downward, looking for the first time at his own legs. His screams reverberated off the wall of the theatre.
   The darker haired brother immediately slapped his hand across the boys mouth. “Stop.”
   The boy’s eyes bugged from his face.
   “Sir?” Beatrice asked, looking at Thomas.
   He looked at her and wondered if his own eyes were beginning to look nearly as wild as the boy’s. He now feared that anything he might say would further de-humanize the child “I…I don’t know what I did. Honestly."
   “What do you mean, you don’t know what you did. It’s clear as daylight. You turned the boy into a tree, or, or rooted him to the ground,” the blond said, walking around the boy in amazement.
   “Yes. I believe that’s exactly it. He rooted him to the ground. You are tied to the Earth, my lord?” Beatrice asked.
   “Uh…” Thomas looked at her and then looked back at the boy’s legs, nodding. “I don’t think I can undo this,” he whispered.
   “It’s all right.” Beatrice putting a calming hand on his arm. “I can.” She turned back to the child. Pointing to his feet, she said, “You do not need support from the Earth, become the child you once were.”
   His feet reappeared, separating again into legs as he stumbled forward. Thomas nearly stumbled in kind, out of pure relief.
   Beatrice steadied the child, then leaned down to look into his eyes. “You have had a terrible dream, but you know that you should not be dreaming out of bed. Go at once to your home and to sleep. When you wake up, this will all just have been a very strange dream.”
   She released him and they all watched as the child stumbled away, yawning.
   “I…I…” Thomas attempted, but no words would come. His mind was a mush of gratitude, relief and mortification.
    “Wh-what did you do?” Thomas stammered.
   “I put a suggestion into his mind,” Beatrice said matter-of-factly. “You’re welcome,” she added with a giggle, clearly reading the expression on his face.
   “Ever since I met with Lady Mordaunt, the high priestess, my powers haven’t been the same,” Thomas attempted to explain. “I haven’t been able to control them as I could before.” His embarrassment was so thorough, he was certain they were all feeling it.
   “It’s all right. Mother has a tendency to do that, I’m afraid. It comes with being the Seventh. Usually my aunt follows behind her cleaning up the mess.”
   “Your mother?” Thomas asked, but somehow his voice wasn’t working as well as it had been. His brain had stopped completely.
   Beatrice nodded, her gaze slipping to her toes.
   He didn’t know whether it was her embarrassment at admitting that her mother was the high priestess, or simply how vulnerable she looked just at the moment, but Thomas knew in that instant that he didn’t care who she was, or quite possibly who she would be, he had to get to know her better. He had to marry this woman.
   “Please,” Thomas said, nervously looking from Beatrice to her brothers, and then back to her once again, “allow me to call upon you, Miss Mordaunt. I would truly honored.”
   Her eyes widened as they lifted up to his. “You would?”
   He pushed his soul into his smile so that there could be no means for her to doubt him, and nodded. “I most definitely would.”
   Her answering smile was all he needed to be the happiest man alive.