by Erica Ridley
Women wearing glitter wings, on the other hand, tended to not crop up on archaeological digs. And that was the moment his rational, ordered life began its inexorable descent into absurdity. Pausing the slideshow, he cast another sidelong glance toward the mysterious fairy paging through his research books. His growing conviction that a sexy, stubborn tooth fairy had invented a Genetic Teradata Carbon Dentition Spectrometer, and was speaking yeti under her breath, blew his freaking mind.
But that didn’t mean he could trust her—or the magical data provided through pseudo-science. He would earn his continued employment by hard work, not by trickery. First he’d fact check every single detail, and personally research a thousand more. He would be an expert on every grain of dirt, every sliver of pottery, every shard of bone.
Speaking of which… He alt-tabbed to Chrome and clicked his Google bookmark. This was probably a fool’s errand, but anthropologists were nothing if not thorough. He would begin with the obvious. Tilting back in his swivel chair so his laptop screen faced away from Daisy, he tapped out A-N-G-U-S S-C-O-T-L-A-N-D C-O-S-T-A R-I-C-A and pressed enter.
205,000 matches. A soft puff of disbelief came out unbidden. He’d have to hire an intern just to page through all the crap in search of something useful. He scrolled through the first page of results.
Apparently, Angus was the name of a town in Scotland. Angus was the name of a hotel in La Fortuna, Costa Rica. Angus was the name of the fabled Scottish explorer who’d set sail in the late 1100s with his faithful crew and a boatload of stoneware to barter, never to be heard from again.
Wait. What?
He clicked the Wikipedia link and got a highlighted disclaimer in a giant blue square at the top of the screen.
“This article needs additional references or sources for verification.”
Great. A crowd-sourced article with no legitimate sources would be a fabulous component to a well-received academic treatise.
He paged through the article anyway, beginning with the inauspicious qualifier, “According to Scottish lore,” continuing past, “Since no substantiation has ever been found, such a tale can never be proven,” and ending with, “Although the legend is no doubt an apocryphal myth to reimagine Leif Ericsson for Scotland, the tale of Angus the Explorer has entertained children and adults alike over the centuries for both its sense of adventure as well as its Amelia Earhart-like ending.”
Despite his misgivings, Trevor’s breath scraped against his throat. What if it was true, at least partially? Was it too much to hope? Was it even possible? His shoulders sagged. Even if the cosmos were aligned in his favor, how would he prove it?
He needed to get to a university library computer as soon as possible in order to scour every academic article in every database system. He needed to know, unequivocally, if he might be the first person to prove the legend as fact.
If so, it wouldn’t be easy. He followed link after link with a mixture of cautious excitement and full-blown misgiving.
Angus the Explorer, if he truly existed, disappeared a millennium ago—long before dental records and handy Interpol databases. Even if Angus kept a conveniently detailed diary of his travels, the pages would have rotted away centuries ago, in the moist soil and humid environment.
But… if it was true… and he could somehow prove it… Trevor caught himself wriggling with excitement. Man would that be something to publish! Eat that, Berrymellow.
He tore his gaze from the web browser long enough to see Daisy pluck yet another encyclopedic volume from the shelves and carefully flip through the pages, bobbing her head to whatever played on that weird-looking iPod. He couldn’t stand it anymore.
“What are you doing?” When she didn’t respond, he teased, “Looking for pictures?”
She shook her head without taking her eyes from the falling pages. “Reading.”
Trevor chuckled. But before he could call her bluff, a knock rapped against his doorframe. He snapped his laptop closed and buried it beneath a sheaf of student papers. Just in case there was something to this Angus stuff, no sense giving Berrymellow any inkling of potential excitement on the horizon. “Come in.”
The door swung open.
“Professor Masterson.” Dr. Papadopoulos stepped into the office and caught sight of Daisy, who was tugging headphones from her ears. “Oh. You do have a… guest.”
He jumped to his feet. “Dr. Papadopoulos, meet Professor Fey, an old college friend of mine here on sabbatical while she researches a new theory. Professor Fey, meet Dr. Papadopoulos, the head of the Anthropology department.” He hoped he conveyed enough emphasis that those last words translated to Daisy as “keeper of my job.”
Daisy re-shelved the book she’d been browsing and turned to Dr. Papadopoulos. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She smiled warmly and shook the other woman’s hand. “I’ve heard such good things about you.”
He held his breath, inwardly pleading the Lord above for Dr. Papadopoulos not to ask what, specifically, she’d heard, since he’d never once mentioned his boss to Daisy.
Dr. Papadopoulos thanked her without pressing for details and turned to face him. “Perhaps needless to say, I was quite—Trevor. What happened to your eye?”
“My eye?” His fingers touched his still-tender bruise. “Oh, my eye. Side-effect from sliding into home. I’m fine, I promise. You were saying?”
His boss stared at him as if she’d much rather discuss the unlikeliness of this tale than whatever she’d dropped by to announce. But after a tense moment, she nodded and picked back up where she’d left off.
“Yes. I was quite disappointed yesterday when I learned you missed all your classes as well as your appointment with the dean. Without so much as a phone call. And I’m particularly disappointed to learn you were not beset by an emergency, but rather the urge to play baseball.”
Yikes. Maybe he should’ve told her he got the shiner falling onto his desk after all.
Daisy cringed at his strangled expression and stepped a little closer. “I’m afraid his absence was my fault. He was… helping me. An out-of-town personal matter cropped up quite suddenly, something neither of us could have possibly prepared for. Once the emergency had passed, I would’ve offered Trevor the use of a telephone, but cell service is sparse in remote locations. I do apologize.”
“Hmm.” Dr. Papadopoulos didn’t break eye contact with Trevor, even during Daisy’s impromptu alibi. “I see. In any case, certain things came to light that might have positively affected faculty opinion in your favor for the upcoming tenure vote. It’s too bad that you were not here to take advantage of them. The board was displeased.”
Fantastic. The great and wonderful “almost” strikes again. He fought the urge to bang his head against the wall.
“Words cannot convey how sorry I am to hear that.” He swallowed. “I won’t miss another meeting.”
“You may not be invited to another.” With her trademark blank expression, Dr. Papadopoulos inclined her head and strode out of the room, quite possibly taking Trevor’s last chance for tenure with her.
Shortly after Trevor’s mentor left the room, he made a beeline toward the university library. Intrigued, Daisy followed close behind, marveling at the sea of overflowing bookshelves. How strange and wonderful to have so many books just waiting to be read!
Libraries didn’t exist in Nether-Netherland. The inhabitants conjured whatever book they desired, or obtained knowledge by some other means, such as the handheld interdimensional digital fact-sharing database of charms and magic.
But libraries like this… Oh! She could stay here for hours, days, weeks. Not just because she couldn’t conjure a book to save her life, but because of the freedom to browse. How could she know what book to summon if she didn’t even know it existed? This was wonderful. And if she’d thought Trevor’s bookshelves were cramped with a plethora of eclectic volumes, this seven-floor building knocked her speechless.
Unfortunately, the sexy, stubborn anthropologist wouldn’t let her wander the
aisles and take it all in. Instead, he dragged her to a large, multi-windowed room filled with students and computer screens.
“Where are we?”
Trevor pointed a finger toward a wall-mounted sign. “IT lab.”
“Why?” She tugged her elbow free from his grasp.
“Periodical databases. Lexis-Nexis. Electronic journals. High-speed Internet. Starbucks.”
He yanked a wheeled chair over to an empty monitor and gestured her to sit. She sat. Although she couldn’t claim to understand the exact terms he’d used, she imagined he referred to a network along the same lines as the interdimensional digital fact-sharing database system.
She peered at the screen while he searched in vain for another empty chair. “Your laptop doesn’t have these things?”
A muscle at his temple twitched. “If it did, would we be here?”
She shrugged. So he was back to surly again. Fine.
After failing to find a free chair, he returned to her side.
She scooted sideways to give him room. “Now. What do I type?”
His jaw tightened as if it pained him to have her help. It was the same expression fairies wore when they were forced to include her during magic practice. But this time, her spine was tall. Those who can’t conjure essays learned to type very, very quickly. And if he didn’t want her assistance, he could feel free to send her home. Until then, she intended to do her best to fix the mess she’d caused. Maybe then he’d truly forgive her.
“Well?” she prompted, fingers poised over the keys. “Now what?”
He tugged a little notebook from his back pocket and knelt down beside her. “Type, ‘Angus the Explorer.’ ‘Scotland.’ ‘Legend.’ Boolean ‘and’. No, don’t type ‘boolean’, just click on the little box.” A tiny burst of static leapt from the monitor when her fingernail touched the screen. “No, with the mouse. This thing.” He slid a device toward her. “Now hit ‘enter’.”
“What?” Heat tingled from her neck to her cheeks as he gestured to one of the keys. “Oh. There.” Maybe she should’ve let him type after all. She might be the best typist in Nether-Netherland, but she was mortifyingly incompetent on Earth. There were no “browsers” at home because there wasn’t any “Internet”. Everything operated on magic.
Except her. She couldn’t even operate a human-grade computer.
Faced with a choice between giving up and bursting into tears of humiliation, she chose to back away from the table. He stopped her progress with his shoe.
“It’s okay.” His smile was sincere and spine-melting. “You’ll get it.”
“Maybe,” she muttered under her breath, but she let him ease her chair back in front of the screen. Probably Trevor was just being nice. Probably he wished she’d never stepped foot outside Nether-Netherland and into his university. But it sure felt nice not to be ridiculed for not being able to do what everyone else could do. He seemed so confident she’d catch on quickly that she couldn’t help but regain a little optimism. She peeked at him over her shoulder. He smiled encouragingly.
He cared about empowering people to learn and grow, she realized suddenly. Not “cared” like just trying to earn a paycheck, but cared-cared. As passionately as she felt about earning wings. He must be the best coach and best teacher of the entire university. No wonder his students loved him. And no wonder her heart melted a little more every time he—
She froze when he leaned over her to squint at the screen, his hard, muscular torso scorching the thin layers of fabric between them. His warm, calloused palm slid over the back of her hand, covering her trembling fingers.
With his index finger atop hers, he clicked the little mouse and scrolled through pages of text. If he was absorbing anything from the paragraphs that raced by, he could speed-read almost as fast as her. If he wasn’t… Then maybe his every nerve, every sense, every pore was hyper-attuned to their entwined fingers curling over the mouse. Maybe he could barely breathe with the searing sensation of physical closeness. Just like her.
“You’re partially right.” The heat of his breath steamed against the back of her ear.
She started, and fought a wave of panic. Could he read her mind? Bless Venus, she hoped not. But then, partially right about what? The part where she wanted him to clear the row of flat, rectangular monitors off the table so they could—
“Thirty-eight.” He grinned at her, triumphant.
She stared back blankly. Every time she tried to breathe, her lungs sucked in the spicy scent of his aftershave and muddled her brain with his nearness. “Thirty-eight what?”
“Years old. He’s Angus, age thirty-eight. Not Angus, age eight.”
Her brain crystallized. With a gasp, she snapped her attention to the flickering screen. Dear Sophrosyne, the man was right.
“Typo?” she intoned darkly, blood pressure rising. “Or sabotage?”
“What are you talking about?” His brow furrowed, then cleared. “Vivian?”
She pointed at the screen. “The evidence is undeniable. But what would Vivian possibly gain from sending me out to repo old, dead teeth?”
“Who knows. I don’t try to force logic on crazy people.” He clicked a few articles and scanned their contents. “What does she usually send you for?”
She lifted a shoulder. “This was my first assignment.”
“Maybe she thought not having the owner around would be easier. Do kids ever fight for possession of their teeth or sometimes haggle for more money? Dead guys can’t do that. Typically.” His voice lowered to a theatrical whisper. “Do you see dead people?”
She thought it over. “Not usually. I’m only allowed in Heaven on Family Appreciation Day, and I’ve never had a reason to visit Purgatory. Or worse.” Daisy rapped her knuckles on the gray plastic folding table, hoping it counted for wood in a pinch. “And I doubt Vivian thought the Angus tooth was easier.”
He paged through more search results. “So, what’s your theory?”
She sighed in frustration. “I don’t have one yet.”
“I sent all the articles to the printer.” He rose to his feet. “C’mon, you can help me staple while you think.”
Casting longing glances over her shoulder at the rooms full of books, she trailed after him to learn the art of stapling.
Once they had the entire stack organized, they headed back across campus to the Anthropology building.
Before they reached his office, Trevor paused at a door marked “Men.”
“Stay here.” He handed Daisy the heavy stack of papers. “I’ll be right out.”
Daisy leaned her shoulders back against the cold cement block wall and balanced the pile of printed articles in her arms.
The door opened. Instead of Trevor, the nosy redheaded man stepped out.
“Professor Fey,” he said, overemphasizing each syllable. One hand stroked the metal disc hanging from his string tie. “What have we here?”
“Obviously we have Professor Fey.” She gave him a sunny smile. “And Barry Manilow.”
“Berrymellow,” he bit out between clenched teeth. “Dr. Joshua Berrymellow.”
“Ah.” She flattened her back against the wall.
“Take my advice—you don’t want to align yourself with Masterson. He’s a wily devil. And trouble.”
Daisy shivered as Trevor’s image formed in her mind. He was definitely hot as Hades.
“We have a stress-free professional relationship,” she managed to say without choking. “You, however, have an astounding capacity for slander and rumormongering. Professor Masterson has never hurt me, or killed me, or turned me into a frog.”
“I never believed you were a frog!” Cheeks pink, he drew himself taller. “It looked nothing like you.”
Daisy raised an eyebrow. “I see.”
Face empurpled, Dr. Berrymellow spun away and stalked down the long hallway without another word.
Before he’d disappeared from eyesight, the air crackled and a flurry of pixie dust flooded the corridor. Followe
d shortly by a worry-lined fairy godmother.
“Mama. Joy.”
Daisy didn’t even realize she’d spoken the words aloud until Dr. Berrymellow halted, one penny-loafered foot mere inches from the ground. His voice sliced through the drafty air like a kraken on the attack.
“My dear Professor Fey,” he drawled. “Did you just call me a mama’s boy?” One leg still hovering above the cracked tile, he pivoted toward the bathroom hall.
“Mama!” Daisy hissed, gesturing madly. “Wings! Wings!”
With a tiny huff, Mama tapped her wand behind her back and transformed her wing-highlighting ball gown into a conservative button-down ensemble mirroring Daisy’s own.
“Who is that?” Dr. Berrymellow demanded, tugging his string tie away from his neck as though choking on his words. “Where did she come from?”
“This is… Professor Bella.” Daisy shot a pointed glare at her mother. “She walked around the corner when your back was turned.”
“She did not!”
“Since your back was turned, how would you know?”
Dr. Berrymellow’s voice rose several octaves. “Because there is no corner! Where did she really come from?”
“The bathroom, obviously.”
He planted his hands on his sides. “The women’s bathroom is at the other end of the hall. Unless—you don’t mean—”
The bathroom door swung open, saving Daisy from having to dream up an appropriate response.
Trevor stepped out into the hallway and stumbled when he saw the unexpected visitor. “Arabella?” He seized the pile of papers from Daisy’s hands as if worried she and her mother might fly off with them. “What are you doing here?”
“Aargh.” Dr. Berrymellow edged toward them. “You know this mystery woman, too? No way is her name Arabella Bella. What’s the meaning of all this, Masterson?”
“Mama,” Daisy muttered, frantic. “Do something.”
In a flash, Mama’s magic wand shot a ray of light down the almost-empty hallway and encased Dr. Berrymellow in a thin layer of stone.
“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!”
