Must Be Magic

by Lani Aames

  And how was he supposed to carry a human woman back into Pixieland in the Faerie Realm when he was out of dust and wasn’t sure he could get back himself?

  But he found his gaze drawn to the way her hips swayed in the tight blue leggings she wore. No, they were called jeans, he suddenly remembered. He liked everything about her, from her red-gold hair to her crystal blue eyes to the sprinkling of freckles across her upturned nose. Twice, she had slammed into him, and twice, her generous breasts had pressed against his chest. He’d seen her nipples tighten under the form-fitting shirt she wore—T-shirt, it was called.

  A dull ache began in his balls as his cock responded to…her. He didn’t even know her name.

  She didn’t seem to want anything to do with him and that went against what the dust was supposed to do. His Heart Match was supposed to instantly recognize him as her mate, as well. But she seemed to have other things on her mind. Like the contest across the street.

  She disappeared through the door, and Myghal’s gaze drifted over the statuary inside the fence. An army of garden gnomes—from small ones only as tall as a handspan to two in the back that were about the right size for Gnomes—was spread out over most of the area, along with bird baths, small benches, and flower pots. Too bad the Gnomes weren’t real.

  He smiled. No self-respecting Gnome would be caught in the clothing these wore. Red vests, blue trousers, yellow shirts, purple caps. Gnomes dressed in browns and tans and dark greens to blend in with the forest they lived in and the earth they worked in.

  One of the two tall statues near the fence caught his eye. It looked suspiciously like a Troll… Myghal strolled through the stone army. No, not stone—concrete. The human words were coming back to him slowly. He wandered near the suspect statue. That one looked like a Troll because humans had no idea what Gnomes and Trolls really looked like. Just as they had no idea how evil Faeries could be or they wouldn’t present them as children’s playthings.

  Satisfied that the statue was only human error, Myghal turned around and headed toward the building where she had gone. If it was what humans called St. Patrick’s Day here, then he had only a few days before the Spring Equinox. Not much time to convince the human woman that he was Prince of the Pixies, she was destined to be his Princess, and discover a way to get them both back to Pixieland.

  * * * * *

  Tredje, the Troll, sucked in a deep breath when the Pixie Prince disappeared into the building. He punched the Gnome next to him. “Do ye think the Pixie recognized us?”

  Gomit grunted. “Here, now. I don’t have to suffer that kind of abuse.”

  Tredje snarled. Neither of them was happy with the situation, and the other knew it. When the old Faerie Queen—the present King’s great-grandmother—banished the Trolls to live with other assorted earth-based kin in the Other Realm, they had declared their independence from the Fae. Of course, the Fae still considered them in their service. Fortunately, the Fae rarely visited the Other Realm these days and seldom had need of Trolls.

  But the Sprite messenger, tiny in both realms and able to pass from one to the other in a body of water as small as a dewdrop, had arrived a month ago and called on the Troll Thane and the Gnome General. Through its ability to locate Faerie Realm folk that all Sprites possessed, it had brought news that the Pixie Prince would soon pass into the Other Realm to go to his Heart Match. Sprites were also able to pass through the time continuum as well. This one had slipped through to see where the Prince had gone and who he had gone to, then it had brought the news into this realm before the Prince’s escape actually happened in the Faerie Realm.

  The Trolls and the Gnomes were to stop the Prince by any means necessary. It happened that Tredje lived across the way from where the Prince would land, and the General had chosen Gomit, so the two had been paired to carry out the Faerie King’s mission. A sorrier warrior, Tredje had never seen. Still, a sorry Gnome warrior could beat the best Pixie any day. And with the help of a Troll, they’d soon be done with this assignment and Tredje could be back home under his bridge sipping dandelion wine in no time at all.

  Gomit scratched behind his ear. “I don’t know. He looked at you a long time, but I think we blend in well enough.”

  Tredje looked at the colorful clothes and little pointy hats he’d pilfered for them to wear to match the other Gnome statues. Pitiful, what humans thought of Gnomes.

  “Aye, but Pixies have a sense about things, I’ll give’em that,” Tredje said and tugged his beard.

  “Do we have a plan?”

  Tredje sighed. They’d been over it dozens of times while waiting for the Prince to arrive, but the Gnome’s short term memory was shorter than he was.

  It would have been easier if they’d been able to snatch the woman before the Pixie showed up, but the Pixie’s spell would have brought him to the exact spot where they would have hidden the woman, so it had to be done after he arrived. “We kidnap the woman until after the Equinox. With the woman out of the way, the Pixie won’t be able to wed her and all will be well for King Norfe.”

  “True, true. But how do we get her?”

  “We wait until dark. You know as well as I do that she stays here until past sunset. Then we grab her.”

  “And where did we say we’d hide her?”

  Tredje sighed heavily. The Gnome was hopeless. “We’ll take her back to me bridge across the street. The Pixie won’t think to look right under his nose.”

  Chapter Three

  Kerry was all too aware when the Leprechaun entered the greenhouse. She continued to trowel dirt, moving plants to bigger pots. She couldn’t stand the thought of throwing out any plant and tried to keep them all until they sold. Or died. She really wasn’t very good at running a nursery, something she’d always dreamed of doing. But her dreams had entailed actually working all day with the plants, not spending most of her time taking care of the business end.

  Kerry had decided long ago what she really needed was a job as a gardener. Unfortunately, she didn’t discover this until after she’d borrowed the money to open Cockleshells & Silverbells Nursery…well, the whimsical name had sounded good at the time.

  She watched the Leprechaun out of the corner of her eye as he surveyed the rows of plants. Too bad he wasn’t a real Leprechaun because she’d caught him twice. Inadvertently, but still she’d had her hands on him both times. He would have to give her his pot of gold, and she’d never have to worry about money again.

  When he started moving the plants around, she stood and called out to him.

  “Hey, is there something I can do for you?”

  “The plants aren’t happy. Coriander and dill should be together, but mint should never be near the parsley.”

  He sounded like he knew what he was talking about. And if re-organizing her plants kept him away from her, then all the better. Why he didn’t just go across the street and enter the contest, she didn’t know.

  After a while, when she’d almost finished, she looked up. He’d moved nearly every plant in the herb section and had started on the flowers. But, she had to admit, the new arrangement looked—and even felt—more harmonious as she walked between the rows of herbs to stand beside him.

  “You really do have a wonderful way with plants,” Kerry said, not in the least jealous. Well, maybe a little. She had a green thumb and plants prospered under her care. But she didn’t have any kind of sixth sense that let her just know which plants should be where.

  “Where I come from, knowing about flowers and plants is natural,” he said with a shrug.

  “Where do you come from? You sound like you might be from England, but your accent’s not quite like anything I’ve ever heard before.” Then Kerry laughed. “Not that I hear very many English accents around here. Mostly what I hear is on TV or in the movies, and I imagine most of them are faked.”

  “England,” he said as he stepped around her to move another pot of marigolds.

  Kerry had the feeling he was just repeating the word, not re
ally confirming that it was where he was from. When he didn’t say anything else, she didn’t pursue it. It wasn’t any of her business anyway.

  “My name’s Kerry O’Neill. I own Cockleshells & Silverbells, and I wish I could afford to hire you. Although if I could hire anybody, it’d be a bookkeeper, so that I could spend all my time with the plants.”

  He straightened another pot and looked at her. His eyes were the lightest and loveliest shade of green she’d ever seen. Even the color of spring shoots was too dark. Misty green…like morning fog drifting across a forested mountain in summer…

  Kerry shook her head. When did she become poetic again? There had been a period in her life when she could take the time to stop and smell the roses she loved to tend, and then describe the experience in poetry or prose, but she hadn’t been able to do that in too long. Now, all her energy was spent in keeping her head above water.

  “Kerry is a beautiful name. I’m Myghal,” he said.

  Strange name for a strange man.

  “Thank you. Myghal is an unusual name.”

  “Not where I’m from.”

  “England?”

  “England.”

  “Right.” Kerry had the feeling he wasn’t being entirely truthful with her, but he wasn’t exactly lying either. He was…a puzzlement. “I’m sorry, but all I can offer for all your help is to share my lunch.”

  “You have a smudge.” He raised his hand to her face, his fingers splayed across her cheek and jaw as his thumb wiped a spot at the point of her chin. Then the tip of his thumb slowly swiped across her bottom lip.

  She had the sudden urge to share more than her lunch, like her bed. Desire, hot and sweet, swept through her at his touch. She just wanted to close her eyes and let him kiss her like he seemed to want to do. Maybe if she lost herself in a kiss and sex with a stranger, she wouldn’t have to worry about the nursery or how to make the loan payment or anything else for a while. It would be nice not to have to think about anything except physical pleasure.

  It would be over too soon, though, and the money problems would still exist. She sighed and backed up a step, tilting her head away from his hand. He took the hint and his arm dropped to his side.

  “Let’s get cleaned up and then we can eat.” A quaver in her voice revealed how much he affected her.

  She led the way to the sink, washed up, and left him to do the same. She hurried to her desk, set in a corner of the greenhouse behind a row of potted pampas grass. There was a smaller building in front, but she had felt suffocated and closed in when she tried to work there. One day she had simply dragged her desk and chair out into the greenhouse. Afterwards, much of her anxiety about doing paperwork had disappeared.

  Not all, but quite a bit. Being closed inside a tiny office with no window had just about sent her over the edge.

  She pulled her lunch out of the mini-fridge and opened the first plastic bowl. Four boiled eggs. She hadn’t had time to make a sandwich that morning. She lifted the lid on the other bowl to reveal pale green grapes. She split the bunch and dropped one in each bowl, then put two of the eggs in the other bowl. Two eggs and half a bunch of grapes would hold her until supper.

  Myghal joined her as she opened a desk drawer. She kept salt and pepper shakers on hand, so she wouldn’t have to remember to bring them from home if she needed them for her lunch. She motioned for Myghal to take a seat, then pushed aside papers and a handful of pens looking for the containers. She found the black pepper shaker easily enough, but the white saltshaker was nowhere to be found.

  “I know it’s got to be here somewhere,” she muttered, rifling through the papers again. The drawer wasn’t that big and it wasn’t that cluttered. She should be able to find a four-inch-tall shaker.

  “What are you searching for?”

  She set the black shaker down with a solid thud. “All I have is pepper. I can’t find the—”

  She’d pulled the drawer out too far and it fell with a clatter, scattering pens and papers in all directions. Myghal helped her to gather them up. She still hadn’t found the saltshaker. Where could she have put it? She’d never moved it from her desk before.

  As Kerry reached in the refrigerator for something to drink, she thought she must be losing her mind. Her first set of plans for the Leprechaun contest had disappeared, too. She’d manage to recreate half of them when she saw the sign across the street at Sir Plantsalot announcing a Leprechaun costume contest. She’d thrown them away in disgust, wondering if someone from Sir Plantsalot had pretended to be a customer and stolen her papers. Now, it seemed she might have mislaid them herself and the contest was an unhappy coincidence.

  Chapter Four

  Kerry brought out two bottles of water, her last, and made a mental note to add it to her grocery list.

  “I usually have iced tea, but I was running late this morning and left it sitting on the kitchen counter. We’ll have to drink water.”

  She pushed one bowl and a bottle of water toward him.

  He plucked a couple of the grapes and popped them in his mouth. She had the urge to tell him he should eat the eggs first, but who was she to tell anyone how to eat their lunch? Even if it was her lunch.

  “What was the sign you were putting up when I—when I arrived?” he asked as he ate a few more grapes.

  Kerry chewed a bite of egg and swallowed, washing it down with water. “Posting the latest sale, trying to get rid of the shamrocks and Irish roses. I ordered more than I should have in anticipation of the Leprechaun costume contest bringing in crowds of people. It did, but not for me. Sir Plantsalot has had a booming business all week long. I’ve seen people over there that used to be my best customers. But that happened as soon as Sir Plantsalot moved in.”

  Myghal had started eating an egg. “Why do you think your customers abandoned you?”

  “The ambiance. You can’t compete with a castle. And they have a wider variety of stock at lower prices because they can buy in bulk. Even if I could afford to carry everything they do, I don’t have the space. Their place is twice the size of mine.” Kerry shook her head and sighed. “I was doing very well before they moved in six months ago. I was the only nursery in this part of the city and had built a nice clientele for only having been in business one year. But the first weekend they opened, my sales where half what they had been the week before. They’ve gone down ever since. I had to let go the one full-time employee and the two part-timers, and I had to give up my dream of hiring someone to keep the books so I could concentrate on working with the plants. Some weeks I don’t break even. I guess you noticed that you’ve been here a few hours and not one customer has shown up. They’re all over there, voting on the best Leprechaun costume.”

  Kerry stopped. She was surprised at how bitter she sounded. She shouldn’t be going on and on about her problems.

  “I’m sorry things aren’t going well for you, Kerry,” Myghal said. He sounded as if he were truly sorry and not just being polite.

  “Thanks. I wish it could have worked out, too. The sign I put up slashed everything by fifty percent. I guess I need to change it to seventy-five percent now. I’m losing money, but I’d rather see the plants be sold than left to wither and die. Tomorrow, I’ll give away a shamrock and an Irish rose with every purchase. If there are any purchases, that is.”

  It was time to change the subject. Talking about how her nursery had failed was depressing. “Lunch isn’t much, but it’s the only way I can thank you for what you did with the plants. How do you know which plants go where?”

  “They tell me,” he said with a mischievous smile. He bit into an egg, foregoing the pepper, and washed it down with a gulp of water.

  She stopped chewing and pressed her lips together. She loved plants more than most people, and she often talked to them, but she had never even imagined that they talked back. She should have known better than to allow him to hang around. He was a stranger with a strange name and strange clothes, even for St. Paddy’s Day. Maybe he’d got a head s
tart on consuming green beer this morning.

  He laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling and his perfect white teeth shining. “I’m sorry, but the look on your face. I don’t mean they talk to me, but they do communicate in their own way. It’s hard to explain, but I can feel where they want to be.”

  “Of course, that’s what you meant,” Kerry said and ducked her head to pop in the last of the egg. “I wish I had that kind of affinity with plants. They flourish under my care, but I don’t hear what they have to say.”

  “Then you’re not listening,” he said. “All plants have an area of energy around them that changes when they’re happy or sick or dying.”

  “An aura?”

  “Yes, like an aura. You have to listen to the energy, feel its changes. Only then can you know what the plant wants.” Myghal rose, came around the desk, and stood behind her. He leaned over, his head close to hers and took her hand. Holding her palm about two inches from the nearest pampas grass plant, he whispered. “Close your eyes and listen, Kerry O’Neill.”

  Kerry grinned, but did as he said. She heard nothing except his deep, even breathing. She felt nothing except his arm along hers, his fingers entwined with hers. His breath brushed her cheek each time he exhaled. She couldn’t concentrate with him so close. He was too much of a distraction and a temptation.

  “Do you feel it?” He whispered again, a sexy, husky murmur of words that made her feel things, all right, but not what he had in mind. Or did he?

  She opened her eyes and shook her head, turning to look at him. This close, she could see the tiny flecks of gold clearly enough to count them. His fingers stayed snugly with hers as he brought her hand back away from the pampas grass and rested it on the desk.

  “If you practice, you’ll understand what they have to tell you.”

  She nodded, unable to speak. She wanted him to kiss her, wanted to kiss him, but she couldn’t bring herself to make the first move. She didn’t have time for a man in her life as much as she wanted one and needed one…no, wanted this one—Myghal.