by Judi Fennell
And then a gnome took off his hat and another gnome—an exact replica of the one who’d been wearing the hat, only smaller—popped out of it like one of a set of Russian dolls, and Samantha relegated everything to insanity, regardless of how wonderfully the guy could kiss. This place was just too much. Too surreal. Too unbelievable. She had to be dreaming.
Samantha pinched herself again, hard enough to leave a bruise, but… nope. She was still here. Still seeing things that shouldn’t exist but somehow did.
Including the centaur who walked—cantered? trotted?—over to Kal. “Aw, man, Kal. I’m sorry, dude. I thought you’d be done by now.”
Samantha was done, wholeheartedly, with whatever was happening here.
“Alad—Kal?” Samantha cleared her throat and stood. Not that her five-three gave her any advantage over him—over the munchkins, yes—but she was feeling at such a disadvantage that, if she could feel like the Jolly Green Giant around some gnomes, well then, she was going to take that advantage.
“Yes, Samantha?” All eyes, including Kal’s warm, dark, melted-chocolate ones, turned her way.
There had to be some rational explanation for all of this. There had to be. Genies and lanterns and magic and gnomes just didn’t exist.
“Um…” She shook the curls off her face and tried not to look at anyone but Kal. “Please tell me David put you up to this.”
“David?”
She licked her lips, grasping at the straws lying haphazardly around her sanity. “Yes, David. Hughes. The owner of The Main Event.” She’d recently sent David a slew of referrals for the event company she used for all her functions. He’d done an awesome job in converting the estate grounds into something out of Lawrence of Arabia; this had to be a bonus he’d come up with to thank her. His way of showing his appreciation for the business.
She wasn’t quite sure it was appropriate, given the reason for tonight’s party, but at least David was giving to her instead of taking from her. After Albert’s little nondisclosure, she’d take the good where she could get it.
But this… She didn’t know if she could take this. Albert’s defection wasn’t enough; now she had to deal with mythological beings, hairy sitcom creatures, and a devastatingly handsome, half-naked man who could kiss her right out of her djellaba if he so desired.
He could?
Samantha rewrapped her fingers around the lantern’s handle, never more thankful for an interruption than for the fox with his squeaky voice, bouncing as high as her thigh next to her.
And if that didn’t sound insane…
“Owner? There’s another djinni around here?” Another bounce. “Cool, Kal! Someone for you to play with!”
The centaur laughed so hard he started choking. Cousin Itt whacked him on the withers until he neighed. Samantha didn’t want to contemplate what that meant.
Kal looked at her. “I don’t know anyone named David, Samantha. Not in this century anyway.”
She’d had a feeling he was going to say that. Well, not the century part. And did she even want to know what that meant? Hell, no.
“So you’re saying that you… and the fox… and the little green men—”
“Leprechauns.” The mayor coughed the word behind his hand.
Samantha shot him a look. Of course they were leprechauns; she knew that—
What?
Samantha shook her head. In denial or to clear it, it was anyone’s guess. “But you all can’t be real.”
Kal gripped her shoulder and that touch was definitely real. So were the electricity and goose bumps it ignited. “I assure you, Samantha, we are very real.”
And if all of that wasn’t enough to convince her—not to mention the tingle still going on with her lips from his kiss—something dropping out of the sky and landing on the road in front of her went a long way toward doing so.
Something that looked a lot like a dragon. An iridescent, purple-scaled, ridge-backed, frilled-neck dragon. With lime-green fingernails. Claws. Talons. Whatever.
Samantha shook her head. Again.
There was a dragon in front of her.
“What’s your hurry, hon?” The dragon was chewing gum—at least, Samantha was hoping it was gum and not a leprechaun.
She stumbled back to the chair. David couldn’t have had anything to do with this.
The dragon ambled closer, its long, pointed nose inches from Samantha’s face.
Samantha held her breath.
“Kal?” asked the dragon—which was so much more wrong than a talking fox or people congratulating her for throwing a good funeral. “What’d you do to this one? She’s looking a little green.”
The leprechauns chuckled.
“I didn’t do anything to her, Maille. She’s still adjusting to the magic, and now you all come along and upset her. I haven’t even had a chance to explain.”
Upset… The word didn’t quite convey what she was feeling, but Samantha had a feeling nothing would, so it was as good a word as any.
She licked her lips and then wished she hadn’t when the dragon’s eyes narrowed on her mouth. No need to give the giant lizard any ideas.
“You guys really don’t have anything to do with The Main Event, do you?” Samantha was amazed she had enough air in her body to utter that question.
“The Mane Event?” the mayor asked. “Heinz’s place? Faith, lass. Do ye think Orkney looks as if he’s had a haircut lately?”
Cousin Itt—make that Orkney—shook his head with a weird, snuffling sound that Samantha was going to assume was laughter just for her own peace of mind.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said the centaur—Wayne. “I’ve seen Heinz’s cuts, and I have to say, that’s one of his better ones.”
Another garden gnome ran out from between the dragon’s front legs and poked Wayne’s fetlock with a pitchfork. “Watch it, Hoof-and-Mouth. That’s my cousin you’re talking about.”
The centaur pawed the ground. “Who are you calling Hoof-and-Mouth, you worm weasel?”
A colorful bird dove from the crooked spire of the highest building, its long purple-and-gold tail feathers skimming inches above the centaur’s head. “Worm weasel! I love it!”
And then the bird burst into flame.
“Show-off,” the dragon muttered, blasting the same spot with her own fire.
Samantha tried to move, but her legs weren’t paying attention to her brain.
Neither were her eyes, apparently, because she couldn’t possibly be seeing little gossamer-winged people flying off every balcony to the accompaniment of the peal of tiny bells with colorful ribbons streaming behind them. Though why they should be any more unbelievable than a dragon, Samantha couldn’t fathom.
There was a lot she couldn’t fathom.
The dragon sent a puff of lavender smoke at the beings. “Great. Just what we need. The do-good peri brigade.”
“Hey, Maille, watch what you say about the peris. They’re the bright spot in this place.” The gnome who’d gone after Wayne now waved his pitchfork at the dragon.
“I’ll say what I want to, worm weasel, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.” She grabbed him by his collar and tossed him into the air.
He landed on his head, grumbling as he rolled over and grabbed his hat from where it had landed on the ground. He punched his fist into the tip—right through the tip—then hopped to his feet, pitchfork aimed like a lance. “You are so dead, Maille—”
“Fritz!” Kal got off one word before the dragon torched the gnome’s hat.
“That could have been your head, worm weasel, so I’d step back if I were you.” The dragon lowered her snout to the ground. Her eyes were as big as the gnome was tall. “Got it?”
Samantha had to hand it to Fritz. The little guy stood up to Maille—not that his was all that great of a height, but still, that took some balls. Which the dragon looked ready to fry.
Instead, she gave him a hotfoot.
“Ouch! Curses, you dirt-eating amadán!”
“Me? Dirt-eating?” The dragon shook her head, and the frill on her neck rattled. “Take a look in Seamus’s shiny gold buckle, you twit. I’m not the one who lives in a hole in the sand.”
“Now, now, there’s no need t’ be insultin’, Maille.” The mayor stepped forward and removed his hat to shine the buckle on it. “No worm weasel is going t’ use me gold for anythin’. Especially no’ a mirror.”
The rest of the leprechauns’ laughter was cut short by the river of gnomes that popped out of every drainpipe on the surrounding buildings and army-crawled across the sand faster than the leprechauns could run. But not faster than the unicorns, whose boas billowed onto a street lantern when they bounded over a row of empty white planters along the side of the road before fading into the background.
Literally fading into the background. Sparkles and all.
While Samantha was still processing that, the gnomes, en masse, raised their pitchforks.
And then all hell broke loose.
The leprechauns started dropkicking the gnomes, their curses in a brogue so heavy that Samantha couldn’t understand a word anyone said. Then Orkney and his cousins started stomping the ground, which sent the fox into an apoplectic frenzy of bouncing, the phoenix poofed back into existence in a crackling burst of flames, the centaur pranced around the edges playing whack-a-gnome, and the dragon swung around to join in the fray, her long, sinewy tail almost slicing Samantha in half, if not for tall, dark, and genie-ish grabbing her out of the way.
Well, grab wasn’t exactly the right word. Samantha wasn’t sure what the right word was for what Kal did because he simply waved his hand and she went—
Flying across the sky!
4
Albert Viehl flipped his phone closed and, with Henley’s threats still ringing in his ears, barely refrained from throwing it across the biggest guest suite in Samantha’s home. He didn’t want to have to pay for wallpaper repairs when he moved in as soon as she accepted his proposal. That she would, he had no doubt. He wished Henley wouldn’t doubt it either—and he wished Monty had died six months earlier so that this nightmare would be over already.
Albert leaned against the headboard and dropped the phone onto the pillow. No sense crushing it in his fist; that would just be one more expense he’d have to cover. His funds were a little low.
A lot low.
He eyeballed the phone. Henley was getting impatient. With good reason. Albert owed him too much money for it to be written off. If only he’d stopped when he was into the thug for the first hundred grand…
Albert flung his forearm over his eyes. What the hell was the combination to that safe? Monty had been the sentimental sort, so Albert had tried every date that could possibly be special to the man, but none had worked.
He needed that genie.
Albert stood up and shoved his phone into his pocket. What a coup it’d been the day he’d gone looking for Monty to ask for Samantha’s hand in marriage. She was the quickest way to get his hands on a huge amount of cash, and if he didn’t love her, well, hell, her bank account was an equitable trade, and her utter lack of interest in anything resembling business would give him carte blanche to plunder it. But then he’d seen Monty conjure up that genie and plans had changed.
He’d listened to the two of them chat while they’d played chess. He’d heard it all, how Monty and his wife had found the genie’s lantern in the Moroccan marketplace and then discovered the genie inside, and how the genie’s magic had made the company what it was today.
And now the lack of that magic was sending the company spiraling down the tubes. Just like Albert’s gambling career and bank account. Jesus, he should have stopped months ago.
He needed that combination.
He headed into the sitting room. With Samantha occupied playing hostess, and the housekeeper, Pitbull Wanda, directing the staff in the kitchen, now was the perfect time to search the old man’s office yet again.
He paused in front of the full-length mirror in the sitting room and adjusted his robe. Samantha’s insistence that everyone dress in costume had been a boon; he’d sneaked inside the house without anyone noticing, and he’d go out the same way.
He reached for the fez he’d set onto the table beside the love seat—
Samantha’s earring was on the cushion. It hadn’t been when he’d put his hat there.
She’d been in this room. Had she heard him? Did she know?
Damn! Albert ran from the room and tore down the steps. He had to find the lantern before she did or he was going to be shit out of luck.
Outside Monty’s office, cold sweat snaked down his back. The door was ajar. Dim light bled beneath it.
He listened but didn’t hear anything inside. Good. Maybe Samantha was in her room crying because of what she’d overheard. Albert would be, too, if he wasn’t so pressed for time.
The door swung open on well-oiled hinges—perfection that could be traced to genie magic. Probably how Samantha had gotten the drop on him upstairs.
Biting back the fear that his meal ticket had been fried to a crisp, Albert went inside.
No Samantha.
He exhaled, then caught his breath when he saw the safe. The door was open.
For a second—the tiniest, barest of seconds because no one would ever say Albert wasn’t an opportunist—he stared at the open door as if it couldn’t be real. And then he moved, practically vaulting the desk to get to the safe.
It was empty. Well, not completely empty: two bags were inside, but the lantern, the most important thing, was gone. Samantha must have found it.
Cold swamped his body. Could genies do invisibility? Were the two of them watching him right now to see what he’d do?
“Samantha? Honey?” He spun around, putting worry on his face. Not that he had to work at it, but he had to make it look like the worry was for her, not himself. “I don’t know what you think you heard, but you obviously didn’t hear the whole thing or you wouldn’t have left. I love you, babe. This is just a simple misunderstanding.”
Nothing. Not a single breath of anything fluttered the letter on Monty’s desk.
“Samantha?” He listened.
Nothing.
The bitch had taken the genie. She’d grabbed that lantern and left him to fend for himself. Some fiancée she was.
And where the fuck was she? Walking around the party, or had the pampered princess gone somewhere else? St. Moritz? Monaco? The South Pacific? Christ, she could afford whatever she wanted even without the genie; what more could she possibly want?
Albert cursed. It wasn’t fair. He’d been following her around like a lapdog, hoping for a few crumbs from the almighty Blaine table, and she ended up with the all-powerful being.
What the fuck was he going to do? Henley was going to kill him if he didn’t pay up. He had to come up with something—
The bags!
Albert turned back to the safe. If Monty had locked them up with his prized possession, they had to be worth something. Maybe enough to get Henley off his back.
He removed one of the bags and dumped a six-inch, orange crystal obelisk onto his palm. Light from the desk lamp prismed through it, scattering tiny particles of orange in the air. He doubted it was a gemstone because the cut was one he’d never seen, and the fact that Samantha had left it here would support that idea. The woman did know jewelry—especially when one of her pieces had gone missing. That’d been the last time he’d taken anything from her seemingly endless stash.
He set the bauble on the desk, where it threw orange sparkles onto the blotter in a trick of the light. Then he removed the other bag and untied its strings.
A thick, gold coin slid out. As big as his palm, the weight alone would mark it as valuable, but the profile etched onto one side of a woman in an Egyptian headdress made it even more so.
This was an old coin. An old gold coin. A big old gold coin. And if that profile was who he thought it was… Had that genie given Monty some treasure from Cleopatra’s
coffers?
Giddiness trickled out in the form of a muffled laugh. Oh yeah, this could more than take care of Henley.
Albert sat in the old man’s chair and set the coin on the blotter. He traced the profile. Cleopatra. Gold. He was rich. Beyond rich.
But he still wanted that genie. Monty had gone for small potatoes, wanting his company to be the best, never grasping his treasure’s full potential. Albert sure did. With that genie, he’d be the most powerful man on Earth.
He lifted the crystal in his other hand. First, a priceless genie lantern, then the rare coin. There had to be more to this crystal than met the eye.
Rotating it caused orange sparkles to shimmer in the air behind the desk—orange sparkles in the shape of a man. Albert waved the crystal around. More sparkles formed a path in the air from the safe to the image, and Albert’s pulse rate picked up. And then…
The outline of a lantern shimmered on the desk in front of him, and Albert almost let out a whoop. He’d found the genie—or, actually, a way to track him.
Albert tucked the crystal and the coin inside the breast pocket of the suit jacket he wore beneath the robe, and patted them in place against his heart. Gold might be intrinsically valuable, but that crystal tracking device was, to him, even more.
She wasn’t going to cut him off that easily. Albert Viehl did not go down without a fight.
His fingertips stroked the coin. Now if only he could find her… He wished he knew where the genie and Samantha had gone.
And, in a surprising poof of golden glitter, he was off to find out.
5
“What the—!” Samantha grabbed hold of Kal’s arm when she landed next to him on a carpet that was a good thirty feet above the ground.
There was nothing good about being on a carpet thirty feet off the ground. Actually, there was something seriously wrong with being thirty feet off the ground on a carpet that was supposed to be on that ground.
“What just happened? What are we doing up here?” she asked, trying to catch both her breath and her balance, the latter made easier by her now-missing shoes that were probably back on Earth somewhere—if that’s where she’d been to begin with.
