Books 1-3

by B. C. Burgess

  “You’re not like other girls, Layla.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “I don’t think; I know.”

  “Yet you claim not to know I find you good-looking.”

  “That’s just one reason why you’re different,” he explained. “It’s obvious when other women find me attractive. With you, I can’t be so sure.”

  “Just mildly sure,” she returned, knowing her attraction hadn’t gone unnoticed. Maybe she didn’t throw herself at him like other women, but there was no way he hadn’t figured out why she blushed every time he spoke.

  “Sure,” he confessed with a grin.

  “I’m not a mystery, Quin. I can’t help but be obvious.”

  “Why do you try so hard to avoid it?”

  “Why does anyone?”

  “Nice sidestep,” he noted, dimples deepening.

  She puckered and looked at her twig. “You’re not the most obvious person either.”

  He’d been rubbing his thumb over her fingernails, but suddenly stopped, silently watching her for several seconds. Then he laid her palm on his warm knee, covering it with his warm hand. “What do you want to know?” he offered.

  Layla boldly met his stare, determined to take advantage. “Do you treat everyone the way you treat me?”

  “I’m not sure I understand the question.”

  “Are you always this polite and vocal about your feelings?”

  “I like to think so.”

  “Then why are you single?”

  “What?” he laughed.

  Layla’s gaze remained level as she elaborated. “A polite, good-looking guy who openly expresses how he feels. It reads like a fantasy personal ad. I bet there are unattractive jerks everywhere using that line as we speak. So tell me—,” she insisted, wiggling her hand under his, “what’s wrong with you?”

  He stared at his hand for a moment then found her eyes. “The women I’ve been with were great, but not what I was looking for.”

  “Really,” she dryly replied. “Within two hours of meeting you, you introduced me to two incredibly beautiful women. I’m going to assume there are more. So what are you waiting for, your soul mate?”

  “No,” he casually answered. “I’ll probably never meet her.”

  “You think she’s out there?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re serious,” Layla realized. “You believe in soul mates.”

  “Yes,” he confessed, “but not everyone’s destined to find theirs. With work and forgiveness, the love between two people who aren’t soul mates can be nearly as beautiful and just as fulfilling.” He paused, watching her incredulous expression. “I guess you don’t believe.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

  Quin could feel it coming—the perfect intro to an unusual subject. “There are a lot of things people don’t see,” he pointed out. “That doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

  “But that’s like saying anything’s possible,” she argued.

  Quin’s heart skipped a few beats, his free hand flexing as nerves erupted, twitching his entire body. Everything was riding on how he handled the next few minutes. “So you need proof to believe in something,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual, but his anxiety was at an all-time high.

  Layla thought for a moment then nodded. “Yeah. In order for me to say I honestly believe in something, I need proof. I could consider a theory, and find it plausible, but that doesn’t equal belief.”

  “So if I told you I have a pair of jeans at home,” he teased, trying to ease his tension, “you wouldn’t believe me?”

  “Very funny,” she laughed, “and completely off subject. Now, if you tell me there’s a purple alien staying in your guestroom, we’ll be back on track.”

  “I don’t believe in purple aliens,” he countered.

  Layla tilted her head. “How can you believe in one and not the other?”

  “You believe I have jeans, yet you dismiss soul mates.”

  “I’ve seen jeans, so I know they exist.”

  “So it’s definite. For you, seeing is believing.”

  “I would have to say, yes, it’s definite.” She paused, chewing her lip as she looked down. “That doesn’t mean I’m not open to ideas. I like to hear theories and form opinions. I just can’t support them without proof, and I won’t change my desired lifestyle based on blind faith.”

  “I think that’s a strong and honest point of view,” he commended.

  “Maybe. Or maybe it’s stubborn and contrary.” She stopped spinning her twig and looked him in the eye. “What else do you believe in?”

  He hesitated, terrified to come right out and say it. “A lot of things. There are a lot of secrets out there.”

  “But no purple aliens,” she added.

  “Not that I’m aware of,” he confirmed.

  She laughed and shook her head. “Okay. So what is out there?”

  She’d done it again. She’d given him the perfect intro. After a deep breath, he took the plunge. “How do you feel about magic?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you believe in magic?” he rephrased, barely breathing as he searched everything about her—face, posture, hands, the air around her.

  “Are you asking if I believe magicians really do possess miraculous power?” she asked.

  “No,” he clarified. “I’m not talking about sleight of hand or smoke and mirrors, which is what you see at public magic shows. I’m talking about real magic. The kind the public doesn’t see.”

  “You’re forgetting,” she replied, “I need to see to believe.”

  “Right,” he mumbled.

  “Do you believe?” she asked.

  Quin maintained sober eye contact as he answered. “I do.”

  “Hmm…” she mumbled, curiously searching his gaze. Then she shrugged. “I guess that’s no different than believing in soul mates, and since we can’t prove each other wrong, it’s a moot point.”

  Quin took a moment to memorize her smile before risking it. “What if I told you I could prove it?”

  Her lips dropped as her forehead furrowed. “I guess I’d ask you how.”

  Quin filled his lungs then scooted around, sitting cross-legged in front of her. She pulled her knees from her chest, crossing her legs as well, and he took her twig, tossing it aside so he could have her hands.

  “Layla,” he breathed, meeting her stare, “I’m not like most people.”

  “I know,” she smirked.

  “That’s not what I mean,” he continued. “I’m saying I can do things other people can’t.”

  She tilted her head, biting her lip as she watched his eyes. “Like what?”

  “A lot of things,” he answered, tightening his hold on her hands. He couldn’t help himself. It took a great deal of restraint not to grip her like his life depended on it.

  “Like what?” she urged.

  Quin sighed and got it over with. “Like magic, Layla.”

  Stunned, confused and torn between laughing and backing away, Layla had to make sure she’d heard correctly. “Magic?”

  “Yes,” Quin confirmed.

  “You’re joking,” she assumed.

  “No,” he insisted. “I’m very serious.”

  “Magic,” she repeated, at a loss for something useful to say.

  Quin nodded, and Layla continued to stare, unable to make heads or tails of his confession. Oh god. He was crazy. She was in the middle of nowhere with a crazy person.

  Quin shifted, his fingers flexing around hers. “What are you thinking?”

  “That you’re crazy,” she snapped, agitated by the whole damn situation. She glanced over her shoulder, wondering how to handle the handsome nutcase. Then she smoothed her ruffled feathers and looked back. “I’m sorry. That was mean. But . . . well, are you?”

  “Am I what?”

  Crazy, she thought. “Unwell,” she answered. “Do you take meds and visit with doctors about you
r . . . magic?”

  Quin smiled and shook his head. “I’m not crazy, Layla. I’m telling the truth. I can perform genuine magic.”

  Apprehensive about playing along, Layla looked down, weighing her options. She hated the thought of blowing him off—returning him to the café before walking away forever. But she couldn’t sweep the subject under the rug and pretend his delusional behavior was normal.

  “So,” she whispered, trying to remain sympathetic despite her disappointment, “what kind of things can you do?”

  “Just about anything,” he answered, relaxing his grip. “Do you want me to tell you or show you?”

  She raised an eyebrow, wondering how far he would take it. “Both.”

  “Okay, but don’t let it scare you. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  “Okay,” she hesitantly agreed.

  “Hand me that twig you were spinning,” he instructed, releasing one of her hands.

  Layla reached out, blindly finding the twig and handing it over.

  “Don’t be frightened,” he pressed, softly kissing her hand. Then he placed it in her lap.

  Layla touched her tingling knuckles, her heart and cheeks flooding with warmth. Damn. Why’d he have to be crazy?

  Quin held out a hand, and the small stick lay idle in his large palm. “I can make this twig do pretty much anything I want without touching it.”

  “Show me,” she insisted.

  Keeping his gaze on her face, he took a deep breath and pointed at the twig, which floated into the air! Layla gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth, and the stick fell to Quin’s palm.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “How did you do that?” she demanded.

  “Magic,” he answered.

  She shook her head, unable to find her lungs. “This is a joke. This has to be a joke.”

  “No,” he countered, “it’s magic.”

  The hair at the nape of Layla’s neck stood on end, her eyes moistened, and her chest tightened. “Do it again.”

  “The same thing or something different?”

  “The same thing.”

  Like before, he stared at her and she stared at the twig, watching it float from his palm. When it stopped and hovered, she leaned forward, slowly running her fingers along every side. There was nothing holding it there!

  “I can’t believe it,” she whispered. “It’s impossible.”

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No,” she blurted, bewildered and mystified, but unafraid and itchy with anticipation. “It’s exciting. What else can it do?”

  He grinned, a huge sigh deflating his chest. “What do you want it to do?”

  “I don’t know. Make it spin around or something.”

  As soon as she made the suggestion, the stick began rotating, each turn faster than its predecessor until it was a blur. When it stopped, it flipped upright, floating to eye level. Then one inch cracks split along the top and bottom. As the bottom pieces formed an upside down V, the top pieces formed a tiny heart. Then two thin strips of bark, one on the left and one on the right, slowly peeled away from the wood, stopping once they hung by a thread from the base of the heart.

  Layla gasped, discerning a tiny stickman with two legs, flexible arms, and a heart shaped head. “That’s amazing,” she breathed, watching the earthen creature wave and bow.

  “Hold out your hand,” Quin instructed.

  Layla eagerly obeyed, and the twig man hopped to the moss, picked a yellow wildflower then jumped into her palm. She barely felt the pressure of his miniscule feet as he stepped forward, raising the flower toward her face, but tingles slithered from her hand to her spine, reaffirming his magical presence.

  Layla leaned in, smelling his offering. Then she grinned at Quin, finding deep dimples and twinkling eyes.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I still can’t believe it,” Layla whispered, in awe as she examined the stickman, which lay inanimate between her fingers. “What else can you do?”

  Quin scooted to the spot beside her and took her hand. “Is this okay?”

  Layla looked down, blushing through her answer. “It’s better than okay. I feel like I’ve stepped into a fairytale.”

  “Then let’s see some magic,” he approved. “If something worries you, let me know and I’ll stop.”

  “Okay,” she happily agreed, wiggly with excitement.

  “What’s your favorite animal?” he asked.

  She froze, nervously eyeing him. “What are you going to do?”

  “I want to show you the magic,” he countered, “not tell you about it.”

  She started to argue, but stopped when he pulled the back of her hand to his lips. “Just watch,” he insisted. “What’s your favorite animal?”

  “Dogs,” she answered.

  “Any breed in particular?”

  “Um . . . I have to go with spaniels.”

  Quin pointed to the waterfall, and Layla looked over, watching it hit the smooth rocks at the bottom of the embankment. As the droplets rebounded off stone, they conglomerated in mid-air, forming a King Charles spaniel!

  Layla’s mouth fell open. “That’s . . It’s . . .” She looked at Quin, who still held her hand to his smiling lips. “No way!” she exclaimed, returning her gaze to the liquid creature.

  The dog bounded from the stream, flipping water droplets from its shimmery coat. Then it lapped at Layla’s cheek, leaving it soaked. She burst into laughter, wiping her face with the sleeve of her sweater, and the spaniel skipped back to the brook, diving into the water with its tongue hanging out.

  Layla’s cheek was dry, and the dog had melted into the current, but she couldn’t stop laughing. “That was incredible.”

  “Your laugh is incredible,” Quin replied.

  Layla immediately stifled her giggles, but couldn’t erase her smile. “It’s been years since I laughed like that.”

  Quin frowned, but then he smiled again, watching her profile as he laid his cheek on the back of her hand. “I’d say that makes me uniquely lucky. What’s your favorite color?”

  Surprised by the change of subject, it took Layla a moment to answer. “Oh. Um . . . green.”

  “Second favorite?”

  “Blue.”

  “How about your favorite flower?”

  “Lilies.”

  “Second favorite?”

  “Roses.”

  “Hold out your hand.”

  Layla obeyed, and a blue and green marbled rose appeared an inch above her palm.

  “Take it,” he insisted.

  As she picked the smooth stem from the air, a wide variety of lilies sprang from the moss, slithering over her shoes and around her ankles. “They’re beautiful,” she marveled, smelling the rose.

  “Yes,” he agreed, “but they’re outshined. Let’s see . . .” He scanned the clearing then pointed toward the brook, moving his finger up and down.

  Layla anxiously looked over, finding a small section of the creek oddly bubbling. Then six narrow streams of water shot into the air like a circular fountain, jumping higher with each surge. Quin flicked his hand at each jet, and tiny lights ignited at their bases, alternating green and blue. With one more sweep of his hand, a large liquid rose bloomed from within the fountain, rotating to reveal its sparkling, blue and green petals. As if the moment wasn’t enchanting enough, he whistled, and two black-capped chickadees soared from the forest, singing as they circled the tips of the bouncing jets.

  Layla raptly watched the magic show, still mystified by the turn of events, still inclined to wonder if she was dreaming, but the fingers gently wrapped around hers suggested otherwise. More solid than the stone at her back and the earth below, Quin’s hand felt like a harness safely suspending her between two shaky worlds—one of them hopeless, the other outlandish. She glanced at him, expecting to find his eyes, and sure enough, they were watching her, delving deeper than her surface. She blushed and looked at the fountain, wishing she had the guts to lay her c
heek on his arm, to dip into his body heat and breathe his masculinity, but she’d never made a move on a guy in her life and had no idea how to do it.

  The lights at the base of the jets eventually vanished, the water stayed down, and the birds returned to the forest. “Wow,” Layla breathed, shaking her head. “Crazy.”

  “Do you want to see something more impressive?” Quin asked.

  “More impressive than that?”

  “That’s just the beginning,” he revealed. “Magic goes far beyond stick people and fountains.”

  “I want to see,” she beamed.

  “I want to show you,” he approved. “Do you want to take part in it?”

  She hesitated, nervously biting her lip.

  “You don’t have to,” he assured, “but if you want to, you should. It isn’t dangerous.”

  “What will we do?”

  Quin stood and helped her to her feet. Then he led her several steps away from the boulder. “Put your hands on my shoulders,” he instructed.

  “Like this?”

  “Sure.”

  He wrapped his hands around her waist, and her heart raced, pumping feverish blood.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she breathed.

  He watched her face for a moment, fingers lightly flexing across her lower back. Then he smiled. “Remember, there’s nothing to be afraid of, but if you get scared, tell me.”

  “Okay,” she agreed, once again bewildered by how weird and wonderful he was, by the things he showed her and the way he made her feel—like she was floating.

  “Still okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she mumbled. “Why? Do I not look okay?”

  He grinned. “Look down.”

  She did, squeaking and digging fingernails into his shoulders. They were floating three feet above the ground!

  “I won’t let you fall,” he said, squeezing her waist. “You can relax.”

  She retracted her claws, but her grip stayed firm as she looked around. The sensation of standing on air was odd, supernatural and stomach flipping, but fantastic. “This is insane,” she whispered. “We’re actually flying.”

  “No,” he corrected, “we’re hovering. Flying will come later.”