by Erica Ridley
The plus side was that even a renowned socio-anthropologist like Berrymellow couldn’t possibly guess the events that transpired on this side of their common wall.
“Where’s the student?” he managed to choke out, still gawking at the room. “The little blonde?”
“What student?” Trevor kept his manner indolent and his voice curious. “I don’t see a student.”
“Don’t play games with me, Masterson. Did she hit you? Why did she hit you? Were you exhibiting inappropriate behavior?”
Trevor almost laughed. If he ever laid eyes on Daisy again, he’d exhibit inappropriate behavior aplenty. First thing he planned to do was inappropriately wring her little neck. But he couldn’t exactly share those plans with Berrymellow.
Instead, he waved a hand at the windowsill. “I turned her into a frog. You caught me.”
Berrymellow loosened his bolo tie and squinted toward the window. “Bullshit.”
“Huh.” Trevor lifted a shoulder. “Guess there’s no getting anything past you.”
“This isn’t over, Masterson.” With a huff, Berrymellow turned on his heel and pranced out of the room, no doubt jetting off to type up a socio-anthropological special report for the Weekly World News.
Trevor placed the pink wand on top of his desk and rooted underneath for his other shoe. Bingo. Sitting right next to that weird golden peach. He pulled both out from under the desk. He slid his foot into the shoe.
The sight of the peach no longer sent him into a hormone frenzy. The intoxicating garden-of-aphrodisiacs scent no longer pulsed from its smooth surface. Weird. Maybe the effects only worked when Daisy was around? Just in case, he couldn’t leave it here for his boss or Jeb to stumble across.
He pulled himself to his feet. Maybe Daisy the sexy siren had disappeared from his life for good this time. Limping a bit from his hard landing, he headed to his lab. He might be able to regain a morsel of equanimity if he made progress on his research. The one and only safe zone left in his unraveling life.
Or it was, anyway. The big steel door to his laboratory stood several inches ajar. And he always closed the door.
He rushed inside to inspect the lab’s treasured contents. The teeth from every single one of his recent expeditions were conspicuously AWOL. Berrymellow wasn’t above sabotage, but a stunt like this could only have been perpetuated by one relentless, scheming blonde. Trevor slumped against the steel counter. The least she could’ve done was leave money behind.
Enough to compensate for the job she’d just helped him lose.
Daisy pushed open the front door to the Tooth Fairy Regional Headquarters and wheezed. Her mentor’s flowery perfume swirled in the air like dust motes in a windstorm. She couldn’t control an impromptu coughing fit. Perhaps excess eau de toilette was Vivian’s low-tech version of an intruder alarm.
Before Daisy could catch her breath, Vivian swept into the lobby with raised brows and pursed lips.
“Finally,” she said, with a brief close-mouthed smile. “How did it go?”
“Fabulous,” Daisy said guardedly. “Until the end.”
She stared at Vivian, hyper-conscious of the fact that her mentor was the one soul capable of granting her deepest desire… provided Daisy did nothing to jeopardize that relationship. The last thing she wanted to do was antagonize the one person who could help her, but if Daisy didn’t stick up for herself, who would? With a deep breath, she rolled back her shoulders and stared her mentor in the eye.
“Why did you give me a Himalayan Lust Charm?”
“Did I?” Vivian’s features smoothed into the perfect appearance of confused innocence. “I must’ve handed you the wrong pouch. What a silly mistake. I do hope it wasn’t a bother. Did you bring it back?”
“Did I bring it—” Daisy choked in disbelief. Her voice rose until it cracked. “No, I didn’t bring it back! And of course it was a bother.” Not that Daisy could perform a competent spell of any kind herself, mind you, but she certainly recognized the difference between Trevor losing his memory versus Trevor losing his mind. “What were you doing with a Himalayan Lust Charm in the first place?”
Vivian’s smile froze. Her gaze narrowed and hardened. “My love life is none of your damn business.”
Daisy’s lips parted but no sound escaped. Of all the responses she’d expected—reproach, accusation, outright lies—a casual admission of having created the charm and unflinching admission of planning to use it herself were the last things she’d imagined coming out of Vivian’s mouth.
Maybe Daisy had misjudged her. Maybe even someone as talented as Vivian Valdemeer made mistakes once in a while.
After all, her apprentices’ success or failure impacted Vivian’s reputation as a mentor, too. She would have no reason to intentionally sabotage Daisy’s would-be career. And she hadn’t tried to lie about possessing the lust charm. Daisy appreciated honesty. And dearly hoped she wasn’t the only one who occasionally made extremely big mistakes.
Besides, hadn’t Vivian been the one to champion Daisy when her mother had barged in and tried to get her fired? And defended her in the courtroom? Now that she paused to think it through, Vivian had stood by her side through a whole lot of hassle. It would be the biggest mistake of Daisy’s life to destroy her own career for refusing to forgive someone else’s goof up.
“Okay,” she said slowly, once it became clear no further commentary was forthcoming from her mentor. “Fair enough. Your private life is your business. But I’ll go elsewhere for another ForgetMe orb.”
“Agreed. See that you do.” Vivian disappeared in a glittery burst.
Daisy trudged into her office, her guilt and frustration doubling in size. She may not have lost her job (yet) but she’d certainly lost the easy working relationship she’d once shared with her mentor.
Now who would make spells for her?
Maeve could conjure non-magical things like handbags and LinguaLearners, but her hooves prevented her from creating charms, like love spells and ForgetMe orbs. And Trevor and Katrina both still needed one. ForgetMe orbs, that was. But without Bubbles, how was Daisy going to get Katrina back to Earth anyway, with or without her memory?
As Daisy threw herself into her chair, her handbag thumped into her lap.
One thing at a time. At least she finally had the teeth. She jerked open a drawer to grab a Pearly States delivery pouch. Empty. Freaking empty. She’d used the last one to deliver that stupid rock and hadn’t had time to order more. She’d have to walk the damn teeth to Headquarters. What was one more humiliation after a day like today?
When she stalked from her office into the next room, the gilded frame of the wall-mounted Mortal Locator caught her eye. Stupid thing. She still couldn’t believe it had complicated her life twice—once by tripping the illegal transportation alarm and later by giving D.A. Sangre more fodder against her in court.
Daisy paused. How had the D.A. known, anyway? Did the Mortal Locator keep usage records?
She changed course and strode closer to its swirling surface. She’d only ever seen the Mortal Locator utilized to, well, locate mortals. What command would let her access its internal settings?
“Uh… Settings,” she guessed. Nothing happened. “Preferences.” Still nothing. “Menu. Options. Configuration. Choices.” More nothing. Her forehead banged against the cool surface. “Help me out here,” she muttered.
And the glass sparkled to life.
She jerked her face from the mirror just as “Help Menu” marqueed across the top, followed by “Would you like to: Reset into original condition? Locate a mortal? Access activity logs?”
Daisy breathed at her good fortune. “Activity logs.”
The heading flashed to “Location Request Logs” and the submenu became “View Request History” and “Request Processing Rules”.
She bounced on the balls of her feet. “Request Processing Rules.”
“Current Settings,” the mirror proclaimed. “Auto-send all location requests to the Tooth Fairy Tr
ansporter. Copy all log files to Vivian Valdemeer.”
To Vivian, not D.A. Sangre? Well, Daisy supposed that made sense. The D.A. no doubt subpoenaed the logs for evidence. Just like she’d subpoenaed Maeve.
Before the choices faded from the mirror, Daisy altered the configuration settings so activity history was only stored locally and the alarms were deactivated. There. Now she could use it without being spied upon.
Time to visit the Pearly States.
Chapter 9
A tall, gangly jackalope with big teeth and even bigger antlers loomed from behind the Pearly States’ customer service counter. “May I help you?”
“Yes, please. I’m a tooth fairy and I’d like to turn in some teeth.” Daisy upended her bag and coughed as enamel dust plumed into the air like smoke from the Arenal volcano.
The tip of one long furry ear curled downward. “Why are they in your purse and not an official vial?”
“They wouldn’t fit.”
“Then why didn’t you transport them via Pearly States standard issue magic pouch?”
“I ran out.” She fought the urge to kick the counter. “Are you going to take them or not?”
His ears twitched as he thought it over. “Whose are they?”
Daisy’s neck tightened. Ugh. The question she’d been dreading since the moment she realized she couldn’t find the Angus tooth and she’d have to take them all.
“It’s hard to say with absolute certainty,” she hedged. “Empirically speaking.”
He gaped at her, horrified. “You don’t know?”
“Well, at least one belongs to my assignment. ‘Angus, age 8.’ Human archaeologists regularly steal teeth. I don’t know which is which, so… Here they are.”
The jackalope’s whiskers trembled in bureaucratic dismay. “Miss le Fey, this is highly irregular!”
“I know, I know. But look.” She flattened her palms on the counter and leaned forward. “Doesn’t the Pearly States utilize skeletal thermo-enamel dental imaging in conjunction with human history micro-holograms to verify the chronology and source of all incoming specimens?”
His tiny pink eyes blinked in confusion. “Well, yes. We’ve got a station for that in the back office.”
“Then you’ll figure it out.” Daisy looped her purse back over her shoulder. “Just tell me where to sign and I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Hare?” He frowned, pink eyes narrowing. “Is that some kind of joke?”
“No, I didn’t mean hare-hare, I meant hair-hair.” Biting back a curse, she held up both palms in surrender. “Never mind.”
He glared at the pile of teeth and then at Daisy. “What’s your badge number, fairy?”
“Four eight six three two.”
His paws flew over the keyboard. “Says here you’re in a spot of trouble regarding a tooth you claimed to collect, but didn’t.”
“It’s right in front of you.” She gestured at the pile. “Think they’ll drop the charges?”
“Maybe. If you return the right tooth.”
Daisy cast a nervous glance at the miniature tooth mountain she’d dumped from her purse. “I’m positive it’s there. Can you check for me real quick? Please?”
“No.” He scooped the teeth into a series of pouches. “I’m a customer service representative, not a Dental Chronology Diagnostician.” He punched a few keys and the pouches disappeared. “Go home, fairy. We’ll send the Elders’ Minions if there’s a problem.”
And wouldn’t that be a delight.
Daisy pivoted and headed for the exit. Fabulous customer service. No wonder tooth fairies dealt with these jokers through disappearing delivery pouches. Somebody ought to write a letter to upper management.
The doorway was within another stride or two when Daisy caught a glimpse of a long marble table piled high with forms.
Maybe she could file a complaint. It was practically her civic duty.
Daisy inspected each meticulously labeled stack until she came upon the General Complaint packets. Twenty-seven pages. Lovely. They were probably hoping if they made it hard enough, nobody would bother complaining. Well, too bad. Scientists persevered.
She grabbed a feather pen from the floating repository and settled into a plastic seat. Using her Encyclopedia of Human Slang and Culture as a makeshift desktop, she attacked the first page.
Name, Daisy le Fey. Occupation, apprentice tooth fairy. Superior, Vivian Valdemeer. Beat, Central America Grid 418. Height, five foot three. Weight, one hundred and—weight? Daisy scratched out her response. What in Hades did body dimensions have to do with anything? All they really needed was contact information and customer comments. Annoyed, she flipped through the stapled stack until she got to the actual complaint box on the last page. Figured.
Suggestion for improvement? Quit making such stupid forms.
Daisy poised her pen over the comment block and contemplated her words.
“Dear esteemed members of the Pearly States advisory board,” she began. “I have recently become embroiled in a legal situation due to difficulties inherent in the collection of an assigned tooth. My supervisor provided the name and pertinent details of the owner (Angus, age 8) and personally adjusted the Tooth Fairy Transporter for the appropriate address. Although the location was correct, I arrived in a tent, not a bedroom.”
She shifted in her seat. Considering the heat level of recent nights, perhaps it was just as well she hadn’t first met Trevor in a bedroom.
“As it turns out, the person asleep on the tooth was not the tooth’s owner. Furthermore, said owner was not present at the scene, as he happens to be dead.” Daisy went to nibble the end of the pen and choked when the feather coated her tongue.
Gagging, she pulled a long quill hair from her mouth. Gross.
“I propose that checks and balances be put into place to prevent other apprentice tooth fairies from running into troublesome situations similar to mine. I further suggest the Pearly States stop collecting teeth from dead people.”
Daisy signed her name and returned to the customer service counter.
“I have a complaint.” She pushed the papers across the counter to the same churlish jackalope.
“Well, we’re experiencing a delay.” He tossed the stapled pile over one shoulder onto a teeming bin of other forgotten stapled piles. “As you can see, there’s a bit of a backlog.”
Several forms teetered on the edge of the bin before tumbling to the floor in a flutter of crumpled papers. Daisy gritted her teeth. “When do you suppose mine might be attended to?”
The jackalope shrugged. “Twenty-four to forty-eight.”
“Hours?”
“Months.”
“Right.” Daisy gave up and headed for the door. Enough time-wasting.
She had to tell the court the tooth-retrieving mission was successful—whilst praying to the gods that they never learned about the shenanigans with the naked human—and then hurry back home to figure out what to do with an ice pumpkin named Katrina.
Good thing Daisy disappeared when she did, or Trevor would have to add murder to his ever-growing list of professorial misconduct.
His fists clenched at his sides, he stalked back to his ruined office. Fuming.
He couldn’t believe she’d stolen his teeth. He couldn’t believe she’d put him under some crazy lust spell. But most of all, he couldn’t believe he’d just gotten naked with an actual freaking tooth fairy. Who could disappear into thin air.
Trevor snatched the wand from the desk and the frog from the windowsill and glowered at both.
“I wish I knew where the hell that woman was right this second.” He scowled at the stupid wand and the tiny blinking frog. “I really would turn her into a toad.” He closed his eyes to savor the image. “But first, I’d drop in on her house, make a mess of her job, screw up her life. I wish she was right in front of me so I—”
With a soft pop, Trevor’s cramped office was replaced by a massive, rolling meadow of bright orange pumpkins. A larg
e red-and-white barn floated overhead, flanked by ivy-laden cottages. Also floating.
“Holy shit,” he breathed.
“Let me guess,” came a dry female voice from behind him. “This isn’t Angus.”
Trevor whirled to see an open-mouthed Daisy standing next to a lavender horse. A lavender, winged horse. Make that a lavender, winged, talking horse. Had reality merged with Disney?
“He’s kind of cute for a human,” the horse stage-whispered. “I can see how you might get sidetracked into illegal office sex.”
He blinked.
Cheeks infusing with color, Daisy studiously avoided eye contact. “Shut up, Maeve. Stay out of this.”
Maeve. Wow. The horse had a name. And attitude.
Trevor shook his head, trying to control his tumbling thoughts. Forget about being angry over missing teeth. Think like an anthropologist. This was the most incredible—and incredibly bizarre—opportunity to observe a wholly foreign culture. He could publish an entire set of Trevor Masterson encyclopedias. If he had proof. And material.
Start with the talking horse. Of course it had a name. Even Mr. Ed had a name. The world over, most high-functioning, socially communicating creatures identified themselves in some manner, names included. Why wouldn’t that phenomenon be true in—in—wherever he was?
He cleared his throat. “Uh, where am I?”
“Nether-Netherland,” supplied Maeve with a horsy snicker. “How’d you get here if you didn’t know where you were going?”
“Look who he’s carrying.” Daisy pointed to the tiny green frog sunning himself on Trevor’s hand. “Bubbles brought him, the traitor.”
“Nether-Netherland. Okay.” Trevor frowned as the implications multiplied in his brain. “Is this where you’re keeping Katrina?”
Maeve whinnied. “Is that why you’re here?”
