by Lani Aames
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
About the Author
Also by Lani Aames
Must Be Magic
Lani Aames
To save his princedom from the greedy Faerie King, the Prince of Pixieland must marry by the next Equinox. A desperate spell hurls him into the realm of his Heart Match—who just happens to be a mortal woman!
Cast into the Other Realm—the human world—on St. Patrick’s Day, Prince Myghal pursues Kerry O’Neill with physical pleasures beyond her wildest dreams. He has only three days to convince her they are meant to be together.
Kerry has to believe that the man she had fantastic sex with and is falling hard for is actually the Prince of Pixies. She must accept it, because she has to brave the tunnels of the Troll who lives under the bridge across the street to save Myghal. And her heart has known all along that their incredible connection must be magic.
An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Must be Magic
ISBN 9781419926174
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Must be Magic Copyright © 2005 Lani Aames
Cover art by Syneca
Electronic book publication 2005
The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
MUST BE MAGIC
Lani Aames
Chapter One
The rush of high winds displaced the roar of furiously beating Faerie wings as Prince Myghal darted through the doorway at the top of the tallest turret of Castle Faer. His trusted men, Malthe right behind him, and Sirrin bringing up the rear, slammed the heavy wooden door shut and leaned against it just in time.
Myghal relaxed. Two Pixies, especially if one of them was his massive friend and personal guard Sirrin, could easily hold back a horde of infernal Faeries.
As soon as Myghal stepped out from the shelter of stone around the doorway, the gusting wind made it difficult to stand, but he bent into the wind and made his way to the edge of the parapet. Leaning over in the narrow space between the protective blocks of stone, he looked down.
Winks of light, indicating cozy homes, dotted the storm-shrouded landscape as far as he could see to the right. In the other direction, there was nothing but the darkness that marked the edge of Wildwood, the dense and treacherous forest separating the Faerie Kingdom from his home, Pixieland.
Looking down, he saw that most of the Faerie Guard had made their way outside and were fighting the gusting wind to the top of the turret. The storm delayed them, but Myghal and his friends had to think of something. Fast.
“My liege,” Malthe shouted from his side. “It appears we’re trapped.”
Myghal agreed with his Chancellor who had the most annoying habit of stating the obvious. Still, Malthe’s habit allowed them both to look at a situation clearly.
Faeries at the door, Faeries swarming the turret by air, and even Faeries who probably thought they might reach them faster than braving the wind were climbing the side of the tower. Myghal had been held captive for nearly two moons, and he was sick to death of Faeries.
Sirrin joined them, his bulk blocking most of the wind. Beside him, Malthe was dwarfed, even though the Chancellor was as tall as Myghal himself. Sirrin made anyone in his vicinity look small and insignificant.
Myghal glanced back at the door. Sirrin had moved a huge block of stone from somewhere to hold the door closed. Myghal wouldn’t be surprised to find out that he had ripped it from the sheltering wall. Unusually large and muscular for a Pixie, Sirrin’s strength often came in handy.
“I’ll fight to the death, Myghal.” Sirrin’s brown eyes sparked, and he punctuated his impassioned declaration by drawing his broadsword.
“No.” Myghal laid his hand on his friend’s shoulder. Sirrin had been with him since childhood and, since the death of Myghal’s father had made Myghal ruler of Pixieland, the only person to call him by his given name. “We’ve not spilled Faerie blood so far and we won’t. They won’t be able to hold us responsible for this in any way.”
Sirrin slid his weapon back into its sheath, but his wide forehead creased and his eyes narrowed. “We’re not responsible at all. Who would blame us for defending ourselves and our prince?”
Myghal exchanged meaningful glances with his Chancellor. Sirrin was his best friend, but the politics of the princedom and their sometimes precarious position within the Faerie Realm escaped him.
“They’ll find a way. They always do.” Myghal looked out over the edge of the parapet again. The Faerie Guard drew closer, but battling the stiff winds would keep them at bay a while longer. Maybe long enough for them to think of something.
Sirrin snorted. “If I can’t kill’em, can I clip their wings?”
“No!” Myghal shouted.
Sirrin’s growl of disappointment was his only response.
“Do you have any dust?” Myghal asked when he turned back to his men. His supply of pixie dust had been confiscated at the time of his kidnapping.
“My liege,” Malthe began in a tone of voice that signified what he was about to say was not good news at all. “Sir Sirrin and I brought as much as we could carry, but the Faeries were taking no chances. They had half the Guard on watch and it took all the dust we had to get past them and reach you. I used the last of it on the six guarding your cell.”
Suddenly, Sirrin drew back and swung his meaty fist toward Myghal’s head. Luckily, Myghal’s reflexes were quick. He ducked and Sirrin’s fist smashed into a Faerie face. The guardsman shrieked as he fell back.
Sirrin looked at Myghal and shrugged. “I didn’t kill him and I didn’t touch his wings.”
Malthe frowned, his brows furrowing over his eyes. “We have to do something and soon. It won’t be long before more than we can dispatch will be upon us.”
Myghal agreed. But what could they do? Pixies didn’t have wings. They could fly, but only for short distances. None of them would make it to the ground from this height or through these high winds alive. They needed dust.
Sirrin laughed and clapped Malthe’s thin back, nearly sending the older man to his knees. “You have Myghal’s Heart Match dust.”
Malthe’s pale blue eyes widened. “Of course. As required
by law, I have the charmed dust on me at all times.”
Myghal held out his hand. “Give it to me.”
“But, my liege—” Malthe began with a splutter.
“We don’t have time to argue and we don’t have any other choice,” Myghal snapped.
Malthe reached beneath his cloak and tunic, to a pouch fastened around his waist. “The dust has already been charmed and can’t be used for anything else. You know this.”
By the laws set upon them when Pixieland broke away from the Faerie Realm and declared their independence, a newly coronated prince must be wed by the next Equinox or the princedom would revert to Faerie rule. Myghal had had his share of women, but he’d never found one he favored over another. Having no preference, Myghal had decided to invoke the ancient custom of using Pixie magic to find the perfect mate to be his Princess.
The night before the ceremony was scheduled to take place, he had been kidnapped by the Faeries. Norfe, the Faerie King, had been trying to regain control of Pixieland for as long as he’d been on the throne. The Pixies supplied the Faeries with dust, and rulers before Norfe had recognized the importance of keeping the Pixies happy. Norfe’s pride wouldn’t have him or his realm beholden to anything or anyone.
Malthe and Sirrin had managed to infiltrate the castle and rescue Myghal, but now they all were trapped without Pixie dust. Using the Heart Match dust was the only way.
“The incantation brings your mate to you,” Malthe reminded him, still clutching the pouch. “Transporting an unsuspecting maiden into the middle of this situation will only give King Norfe a greater advantage in preventing your marriage.”
Myghal nodded, but the idea had already formed. “Can’t I change the incantation?”
Malthe’s eyes grew wide again. “My liege, that incantation was composed eons ago and has been tested by time. To change the spell without careful thought is to invite disaster.”
“What could be more disastrous that the mess we’re in now?” Myghal asked and took the bag from Malthe.
The three men huddled around the small bag of dust as Myghal untied the knot.
“How does it go?”
Malthe recited the rhyme:
“In the realm of Fae and Kin,
“We have dwelled, alone, apart.
“Bring to me, in good will and good faith,
“The other half of my heart.”
Myghal thought a moment, then put his hand into the bag and brought out a fistful of dust. “I'll change one line, to take us to my Heart Match instead of bringing her here. That should be all right, shouldn't it? Are you ready?”
“I think changing that one part won't be harmful. But my liege,” Malthe added quietly, “the dust will only work on you.”
Myghal looked at his friends. He’d forgotten about that. If he used the dust, he’d have to leave his two most valuable advisors—and friends—behind.
“Hurry!” Sirrin suddenly shouted. “Here they come!”
Myghal looked up. Two Faeries, with swords unsheathed, hovered over the parapet trying to land safely in the wind. He was glad it had always been standard procedure to charm the dust before it was shipped to the faeries so that they had limited use. They couldn’t use it to transport and couldn’t use it against Pixies. Otherwise, he and his friends would have been surrounded by faeries before they’d gone far from his cell. Now, at least, they had a chance, however slim.
“He’s right, Prince Myghal,” Malthe said. “Do it.”
“As soon as I’m gone, give yourselves up,” Myghal shouted his orders. “They don’t have any reason to harm you, and they know if they do, they’ll lose their shipments of dust.”
Sirrin growled.
“You heard your Prince,” Malthe said sternly.
But before Sirrin could agree, the Faeries landed. One leaned into the wind, and with a feral growl, charged.
Myghal watched as Sirrin blocked the Faerie. He grabbed the guardsman’s slender wrist in his huge hand, and Myghal heard a bone snap. Myghal started toward them, but Malthe held him back.
“Hurry!” his Chancellor shouted into his ear. “You have to go. I’ll keep Sirrin under control.”
Myghal knew he had no choice. He tossed the dust straight up and as it fell the wind whisked it around him, the fine glittering crystals swirling around him in ever widening spirals. More Faeries landed and raced toward him. He didn’t have time to recite the entire incantation.
“Take me to the other half of my heart!” he shouted.
Through the sparkling haze of the dust as it enveloped him and his body began to disintegrate, he saw Malthe’s eyes widen in horror at his abbreviated spell. By Malthe’s reaction, one would have thought he’d bring about an end to civilization as they knew it by shortening the incantation. Malthe was overreacting, as usual. What could go wrong? Myghal would be taken to the one woman who would make the best life-companion for him, and he for her.
Malthe and Sirrin had backed away from him.
Myghal didn’t often use the dust to transport himself and the sensation was unsettling. His stomach lurched, and he felt as if every joint was being pulled apart. He knew he’d arrive in one piece, wherever he landed, but the journey there was never something he looked forward to.
Through the thickening haze, he saw several Faeries capture Malthe and Sirrin. A couple of the guardsmen braved the dust and reached in for him, but their hands went completely through his now transparent body.
Then everything went black.
Chapter Two
Kerry O’Neill bumped into the Leprechaun when she turned around from hanging the latest sale price sign. He caught her before she fell, his strong hands on her shoulders, and she clutched his arms to regain her balance. Her eyes swept over him. She’d seen any number of Leprechaun costumes since the first of March, but this one was the worst yet. Aside from his eyes, which were the color of tender spring shoots flecked with gold, he wasn’t wearing a speck of green.
He wore brown leather half-boots, tan leggings, and a maroon tunic laced over a billowy sleeved shirt cinched in with a brown belt. His long ash-blond hair fell in thick waves below his shoulders, random strands in tiny braids decorated with beads and feathers. He reminded Kerry of the elf in the Lord of the Rings movies…except that his rugged face, height, and breadth was more than any elf could ever hope for.
“Are you all right?” He spoke with a slight British accent in a deep resonant baritone.
“Fine, thanks.” Kerry found her balance, removed her hands, and backed away, shrugging off his hold on her. There was something achingly familiar about his touch, as if she belonged in his arms and he belonged in hers. But she was certain she’d never seen him before in her life.
“You’re at the wrong place,” she told him, kneeling to replace the hammer in her toolbox that sat on the ground. “The Leprechaun costume contest is across the street at Sir Plantsalot.”
His gaze followed hers to the medieval themed garden nursery on the other side of the thoroughfare. The false front was shaped and painted like a castle complete with a turret at each end. The entrance and exit driveways were drawbridges over the drainage ditch “moat”. Strands of colorful pennants ran from the tops of the turrets to the ground. Larger pennants fluttered in the breeze from poles in the cone-shaped tower roofs.
“I’m not a—” he began.
But Kerry didn’t care what he was or wasn’t. She slammed the toolbox shut, drowning out whatever he was saying. “They stole my idea. Somehow, they caught wind of the Leprechaun costume contest I was planning for St. Patrick’s Day, and they stole it.”
Kerry picked up the toolbox and brushed past him, once again all too aware of his physical presence. She couldn’t understand her reaction, why her body was responding to him as if they were lovers.
Shaking her head, she pushed through the gate that led to the lawn and garden ornaments. The toolshed was in the back. When she reached it, she opened the door, but the darkness within was like a black ab
yss just waiting to swallow her up and crush her. She flipped the switch a couple of times, but no flare of light filled the small shed. The damn light bulb had blown again. Sweat broke out on her upper lip, and she set the toolbox just inside the threshold, pushing it farther in with her foot. Shutting the door, she turned around—only to collide with the Leprechaun again.
Once more she found herself in his embrace, and her body immediately switched from an unnatural fear to a natural arousal. Her heart raced and blood pounded through her. She didn’t know why she was having such a disturbing physical reaction to him. Her hormones didn’t normally go off the chart over every good-looking man she encountered.
Maybe because it had been too long since she’d been with a man, but she didn’t have time to deal with it. Ever since Sir Plantsalot moved in across the street six months ago, with its extravagant display and double the area of her own nursery, she’d been concentrating on trying to keep the business afloat. But it had been an uphill battle. She extricated herself from his arms.
“I told you, the contest is over there.” She backed away from him with a toss of her head then looked him up and down again. “Tell you the truth, I don’t think you have a very good chance of winning. You don’t look like a Leprechaun. You’re not wearing green.”
“But I’m not—”
Kerry didn’t wait to hear his response. She strode off toward the greenhouse. She had too much work to do without getting involved with a badly dressed Leprechaun…no matter how attracted to him she was.
“…a Leprechaun,” Myghal finished to empty air.
He frowned as he watched her hurry down the path toward the transparent building filled with all kinds of plants. He’d never considered his Heart Match could possibly be in the Other Realm, the dimension where humans lived. It’d been a long time since he’d walked among humans. Their world was too noisy and flashy, their air too dirty. They were always rushing, yet they seemed to accomplish little.
