by Erica Ridley
“Shit!” Trevor snatched the wand out of her hand. He let go as though the silver staff burned his fingers, and the dainty rod clattered to the floor. “You can’t go around turning people into stone!”
“It’s not stone.” With a graceful dip, Mama retrieved her wand. “It’s Remember Rock.”
“Remember Rock?” Trevor repeated. “Like, he’s going to remember you materialized out of thin air and turned him into a rock?”
“No,” Daisy corrected. “As in, he won’t remember turning into a rock and he’s not aware of what’s going on around him.”
He squinted at her suspiciously. “Will he remember what happened before he turned into a rock?”
“I don’t know.” She cocked her head toward her mother. “Will he?”
Mama shrugged. “Maybe. But that’s not why I’m here. I needed to make sure my baby was all right. I know the judge didn’t give you a specific deadline, but when you didn’t come by for dinner, I got worried.”
“She’s fine.” Trevor gestured down the hall. “But my colleague looks like he lost a battle with Medusa.”
Mama patted him on the shoulder. “It’ll wear off.” She turned to Daisy. “When will you be done helping the human? Are you coming home tonight? If you like, I’ll conjure spinach lasagna.”
Trevor stepped in front of Daisy to face down her mother. “When? When will the spell wear off?”
Mama cast him a disapproving frown. “Five or six minutes from now, so shush for a second.”
With a growl of frustration, he stalked past her toward the statue at the end of the hall.
Daisy cleared her throat. “To answer your questions, Mama, I have no idea. I thought it would be easy, but complications ensued. Again. No—don’t make that face. I’m fine and I’ll be home… I’ll be home…” She swallowed and chanced a sidelong glance at Trevor, who was now nose to nose with the rock-encrusted Dr. Berrymellow. “I’ll be home as soon as I can,” she finished. “But listen, you can’t just teleport in where you’re not expected. Stay home with Dad. And promise me you won’t come again unless I call for you.”
“Sweetie, I’m your mother. I can’t help but worry. What kind of daughter tells her mother not to come visit? I need to check up on you from time to time. Make sure you’re okay.”
“Trust me for once. No more magical visits. I’m serious. You could make things worse.” She jerked her head in the direction of the impromptu Berrymellow statue. “Trevor’s life is messy enough without extra fairies popping up. Not to mention the possibility of you getting yourself in trouble on top of everything else. Okay? Promise me, Mama.”
“Okay, okay. I promise.” Mama stepped forward and hugged her before disappearing in a burst of sparkling pixie dust, leaving Daisy’s open arms around nothing but glitter.
The following morning, after yet another sleepless night guarding a frog-inhabited aquarium, Trevor remembered to knock before barging into the bathroom.
Unfortunately, no wet and naked Daisy lounged inside the tub. The bathroom was clean and empty. He could brush his teeth in peace.
Damn it.
Not that he aspired to be romantically involved with a tooth fairy, apprentice or otherwise. He liked his uncomplicated, unmagical life just the way it was. At least, just the way it used to be before Nether-Netherland’s unwelcome imposition.
Which only went to prove a basic cosmic truth: Nothing good came of magic.
People were better off doing things themselves. The old-fashioned way. Elbow grease, self-reliance, and unwavering determination. Then again, if he hated the taint of magic so much, why was he spending the night on his couch in order to let a tooth fairy sleep in the bedroom?
It was probably past time for him to send her packing. If she couldn’t turn back time, what mystic future was he still holding out for? She’d returned him home, as promised. She’d returned Katrina to normal. And she’d returned the teeth he could’ve put away himself. She’d even helped him in the library with a can-do attitude, despite the fact that he’d hijacked her only means of returning to her home dimension. She had to have been resentful.
He set down his toothbrush. Maybe he’d been the tiniest bit unfair after all. Unable to make eye contact with his reflection, he rinsed his newly brushed teeth with tap water from a Chicago Cubs Dixie cup and spit suds into the sink. He wasn’t holding her hostage for revenge, was he? No way was he that petty. Despite the destruction she left in her wake, that surreal farce of a trial proved her an innocent party who had never been out to get him.
Maybe he was keeping her close at hand just to make sure she didn’t inadvertently screw anything else up. Maybe he was hoping she would dream up a way to dig him out of the mess his missing day had created.
Or maybe he didn’t want to examine his motives too closely.
He headed to the kitchen to check the status of the automatic coffeemaker. Daisy was already there, pouring dark, aromatic coffee into two matching 1921 Wrigley Field “opening day” collector’s mugs. He opened his mouth to say, “Those cups aren’t for drinking! I keep them behind glass for a reason!” but what came out of his mouth was a simple, “Thanks.”
He couldn’t say for sure, but his lack of rancor might have something to do with the fact that she’d thought of him. Was trying to be nice. Had been trying to be nice from the moment she’d brought him back to Earth, despite everything. He couldn’t help but respect that.
“Hi,” she said shyly, the lower half of her face obscured by the coffee cup and her eyes hidden behind steam-misted glasses. She held the oversize mug with both hands, her full lips pursing in tiny, tentative sips. “How did you sleep?”
Like crap, of course. With her lying in his bed without him, how could he possibly sleep?
Instead of answering her question, he eyed her as he sipped his coffee. “Nice robe. Why are you in a robe? Are you naked underneath? Don’t answer that. Why aren’t you dressed? I can see your bare legs. I can see your collarbone. I can see—is it that cold in here? Where did you get bunny slippers?”
“Clothes powder,” she answered simply, choosing to ignore the majority of his questions. “And I thought it might be nice to start the morning in pajamas. Don’t you?”
Pajamas? He didn’t own any pajamas. He owned worn, holey baseball t-shirts and soft cotton boxer shorts. Oh God. Boxer shorts. Without a robe of his own, he couldn’t disguise how much he liked her taste in pajamas.
He pivoted away from her, sloshing coffee on his hand in the process. Shit. Holding his burnt fingers to his lips, he strode into the living room, set the no-longer-mint-condition mug on a helmet-shaped coaster, flopped onto the couch, and covered his crotch with his laptop.
Chapter 16
Trevor stared blankly at the laptop screen, trying not to think about the delectable body underneath his houseguest’s soft robe. Just because it was Saturday didn’t mean he couldn’t concentrate on work. If concentration were possible, with the tousle-haired fairy just a few yards away.
“Break time over already?” Daisy asked, wandering into the room and joining him on the couch.
He ground his teeth. Why didn’t she sit in the recliner? The proximity of her thigh to his wasn’t helping matters one bit. It’s like she wanted to torture him.
“Why aren’t you talking to me?” She nibbled her lower lip.
Totally trying to torture him.
“I am talking,” he muttered. Okay, he wasn’t. He was too busy trying not to say something stupid, like, “Hey. Wanna get it on?”
Stupid because, what if she said yes? If she said yes, then he probably would. And enticing as that sounded, he didn’t need the complication. And neither did she. He wasn’t sure when the tides had turned, but he’d begun to build a grudging respect toward her. Fine, he liked her. And he didn’t want to mess that up.
Instead, he fired up his email program, determined to concentrate on saving his career. Back at the library, he’d emailed himself articles from the university database
system, just in case something happened to the hard copies. He scanned his inbox to make sure all of them came through.
The plump softness of a ripe breast grazed his bicep. Daisy craned her neck to see the screen. “Can I help?”
“No.”
His jaw clenched. Lord save him. He leaned further away, hanging sideways over the edge of the armrest. So help him, if she scooted any closer, he’d be forced to push her down onto the couch cushions, throw himself on top of her, and make love until the couch caught fire.
“What would you like me to do?”
Since he could only come up with X-rated answers to that question, Trevor unplugged his cellphone from its charger and dialed the number on his computer screen.
“Museum of Scotland,” came a deep, guttural voice with an accent so thick Trevor had to pause to decipher the words.
“Yes, hello. This is Dr. Trevor Masterson, from Michiana University in the United States.”
“Good morning, Dr. Masterson. How can I help you?”
Trevor took a deep breath. “Are you familiar with the legend of Angus the Explorer?”
“Who isn’t?”
“Um, okay.” He grabbed his notebook from the coffee table. “I read an article published by your archiving division about an extant text from that time period, referencing the legend. Can you verify this? I’m looking for any legitimate data indicating evidence of his existence.”
The voice paused. “Here?”
Trevor frowned. What kind of question was that? “Anywhere.”
“There is a—well, it’s largely unsubstantiated as far as the legend goes, but carbon dating has proven the time frame matches, and—legitimate, you say? Yes. Well, maybe. Then again… no, probably not. My apologies.”
“What?” Trevor choked out. “What were you going to say?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing. It’s part of a traveling exhibition of many others of its kind. To be honest, I wouldn’t bother calling the exposition if I were you, because it’s no doubt a dead end the size of—”
“Give me a contact. Any contact. Please.”
“Okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Country code—”
“One sec.” Trevor uncapped his pen. He scribbled the number on a blank sheet in his notebook, repeating each digit back to verify. “Thanks.”
“What happened?” Daisy asked when he hung up the phone. “Is it Angus?”
“I don’t know yet. Gotta call some traveling exhibition.” He punched in the numbers and tried to ignore the proximity of Daisy’s pink-painted toes. “Hold on, it’s ringing.”
The person on the other end of the line said something so completely unintelligible, he almost chucked the phone through the nearest window. Instead, he clapped the receiver to his chest and grimaced.
“What?” Her big hazel eyes widened. “What did they say?”
“I don’t know. Sounded like ‘mushy, mushy’.”
To his surprise, Daisy laughed so hard she fell off the couch. “Do you mean moshi moshi? Give it here.”
She reached for the phone. Trevor batted her hand away. He’d made his way this far in life on his own. Surely he could place a simple phone call without her help. Then again, moshi moshi meant something to her and absolutely nothing to him. No sense spiting himself.
He helped her back onto the couch and handed her the phone.
She spoke into the receiver, her voice both amused and sexy, biting out staccato syllables Trevor could never reproduce.
He couldn’t believe Daisy spoke—whatever she was speaking. Japanese? Chinese? Korean? What were the freaking chances?
She covered the mouthpiece with one hand and whispered, “Do you have a pencil and paper?” before resuming her incomprehensible conversation.
Trevor handed her his pen and notebook, and tried not to look too impatient. Or too impressed.
While she chattered into the phone, her hand flew across the paper, jotting down row after row of neatly printed letters. He hung onto every stroke of the pen.
“Angus definitely existed,” read the first line. “Museum has papers detailing partial inventory of ship prior to sailing, donated centuries ago by the merchant who provided the pottery for barter. Only recently did the Museum of Scotland archival team realize the connection between the itemized list of stoneware and the contents on the legendary voyage. Hence the article you read.” A plethora of bulleted dates and items followed. “Everything’s in Tokyo for an exhibition on twelfth century bookkeeping. They’re not interested in Angus, specifically, but they’ve only got one collection on display from Scotland, so that’s got to be it.”
She covered the mouthpiece again. “You can’t borrow the actual papers, of course. But thanks to a worldwide trend in digitizing museum archives, Tanakasan says he can email you a copy of the manifest and a list of found objects.”
Trevor scratched his email address on the notepaper so fast he ripped a tear through the top two sheets. Before she even hung up the phone, he popped open his email and clicked Receive thirty times.
“Settle down.” She nudged his shoulder. “Give him a chance to look for it first.”
He glowered at his flickering inbox. No career-making emails appeared. All that flooded in was spam from email marketers concerned about his erectile functioning. Certainly no problem there. Too bad they weren’t sending him free trials of whatever invention could reverse time before his life got all off-track. Then again… if Daisy hadn’t been here, how would he have made it through that phone call by himself? Would his “big discovery” have stalled out before he even knew he’d discovered something?
He glanced at her askance. “I didn’t know you spoke Japanese.”
Her eyes widened. “Of course. I’m an aspiring tooth fairy.”
“Isn’t your beat Central America? Shouldn’t you have learned Spanish?”
“It is. I did. But I didn’t know ahead of time what my grid would be, so I felt it best to be prepared for anything. Everything. Plus, it’s fun to shake things up. That museum official could probably speak English just as well as me, but how often do I get to practice Japanese? Thanks for letting me talk to him.” She grinned happily, as though he’d just surprised her with a dozen red roses and a lifetime supply of chocolate. “I love languages. They’re my favorite hobby.”
“Prepared for everything.” The memory of her speaking yeti to his bookcase flooded back to mind. “Hobby. What the hell does that mean? You learned every language spoken on the face of the Earth?”
She shrugged as if learning another language was as easy as memorizing baseball stats. “And a few no longer spoken, which is too bad. Anyone else you want me to call?”
Before Trevor’s head could explode, he turned his attention back to his email. He was making progress. Some would say he was leaping and bounding.
And he couldn’t have done it without her.
“So,” Daisy said later that afternoon as she peered through Trevor’s windshield. She shifted against the unfamiliar pressure of the seatbelt as she gazed at the rows of neat houses and trim yards. “Where are we going?”
“There’s something I want to show you that I think you’ll really like.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and glared at the third train in a row to inch across the tracks in front of them.
She stared out the window and tried not to think about how she wasn’t in a rush to go home, how she hadn’t thrown much of a fit over her alleged “capture”, how she had enjoyed curling next to Trevor on the couch and helping him place telephone calls.
After a while, the red-and-white striped wooden arms lifted and Trevor bumped across rickety rails. He refused to tell her where they were going until they pulled up in front of an adorable ranch-style house on a little hill, with bright green perfectly trimmed grass and a big chalice-shaped stone fountain in the middle of the front yard.
“Where are we?” Daisy bounded out of the car when Trevor opened the passenger door. “Do you know these people?”
“No.” He pulled her out of the car and laced her fingers through his. She shivered. “But it doesn’t matter.”
“Why doesn’t it matter?” She tried not to notice how warm and soft and couple-y their hands felt together. If Trevor had been a guardian angel or a sandman or a genie or even one of the Elders’ attorneys instead of a paleo-anthropologist, maybe she could believe their hand-holding meant their relationship was possible.
But he wasn’t, and it didn’t. He was human. She was not. And she had better not hope for things that could never be.
“You’ll see.” He tugged her up the shoulder-high incline and led her to the water-filled basin.
“Aua and Eros.” Daisy ran the tips of her fingers along the bumpy rim in wonder. “It’s covered in teeth!”
Trevor squeezed her hand and grinned.
“Who lives here?” She stared up at him. “Retired tooth fairies?”
He laughed. “A local dentist. He’s been pulling out troublesome baby teeth for decades. He built this fountain for the birds to come drink from, and covered it with all the teeth he’d collected over the years. Most residents think it’s creepy.”
“I love it.” She ran her fingertip along the edge. “I’m going to drop a note in the Suggestion Box at the Pearly States the second I get back.”
With those words, the last remaining vestiges of sunlight dipped behind the single-story house, obscuring the detail of the fountain and casting them in shadow.
He tugged her into his arms, his face unreadable but his skin scalding to the touch. She knew she should break free from his embrace if she wanted to return to Nether-Netherland with her heart intact. And yet her body pressed against his and her arms looped around his neck.
She rose up on her toes and pulled him closer.
As soon as his lips touched hers, she was lost. From the moment his tongue swept inside her mouth, from the moment his palms glided up over her hips, from the moment his arms hugged her to him as if he never wanted to let go, she knew he just had to say the word and she’d make love to him right there at the base of a baby tooth fountain. She kind of hoped he would.
