His Fairy Godfather

by Nico Jaye

  “I should probably get some rest since this will be such an eventful week,” Edwin said, trying not to let his thoughts show in his expression.

  Estella looked at him with concern, but didn’t say anything in the end. “Of course. I look forward to hearing from you again soon, dear. Good night.”

  “Good night, Mother.”

  Once Edwin had shut his communicator, he flopped back onto his bed and let his thoughts wander.

  He had definitely grown fond of Trick and his no-nonsense, yet secretly kind, personality, which was probably not wise. Once he was back in Paravale, Edwin knew what was expected of him and the obligations that fell to him, especially as son of the Fairy Queen. His mother was likely waiting until he passed his certifications before introducing him to any… candidates.

  Sighing, Edwin turned onto his side and punched his pillow.

  He shouldn’t dwell on it because there was nothing he could do about the situation right now. He was in New York City for a purpose, and he would do his fairy best to achieve the goals set for him.

  TRICK’S HOLIDAY party emergency kept him very busy over the next few days. Edwin sought to help, but because so much of it was done with computers and personal communication with actual clients, Trick had declined any assistance.

  Trick had, however, visited Edwin at Elixir on Tuesday to share a word—and quiz him on something.

  “So I normally wouldn’t share gossip, but this is ridiculous, Edwin. Callie Echo and Brendon Walsh calling off their wedding the same week it’s supposed to take place? And where was it supposed to take place? The Grazie Hotel.”

  Edwin had glanced up from where he was wiping down a table and raised his brows.

  “On Friday,” Trick said with a significant look.

  “I’m sorry it didn’t work out for them?” Edwin wasn’t sure what Trick expected him to say to this statement.

  “I mean, yeah, me too,” Trick said quickly, “but my point is the news didn’t hit Page Six until yesterday. We booked the hotel on Sunday. How did you even know?”

  Ah, that one Edwin could answer.

  “I just had a feeling,” Edwin said with a shrug and resumed his cleaning.

  “You and your feelings,” Trick said, smiling. “I love your feelings.”

  Edwin did too, and he hoped those feelings—along with his skills—would help him be the best fairy godfather he could be for Trick.

  Trick finally managed to complete the preparations by Thursday evening, the day before the party. With all of Trick’s attention focused on ensuring the party went well, he had no time for anything else, which was how Edwin found himself in Trick’s new apartment, sorting through a couple of bags of clothes.

  “I don’t know what you’re looking for, Edwin, but I can almost guarantee you aren’t gonna find it in there,” Trick said from where he was sprawled on the couch.

  Edwin ignored him and continued picking through the clothing. Although he hadn’t been given the opportunity to help Trick with the party planning, he had been doing research of his own into preparing Trick himself for the event. No matter what little pangs he felt when he thought about the situation, Edwin wanted Trick to have his heart’s desire, and if that desire was Preston Ward, then Edwin was going to make sure Trick looked the part.

  “Ah, these will work,” Edwin said finally as he opened a garment bag hanging in the nearby closet.

  “What’ve you got?” Trick asked, his voice much closer now.

  Edwin glanced over to catch Trick’s curious gaze. “A foundation. A good one, which I assume is what is needed if I’m to replicate something called Armani.”

  “Uh, what? What do you mean?”

  “The dimensions of this suit are a good fit for you, am I correct?”

  Trick nodded, still watching Edwin with a puzzled look.

  “Right.” Edwin turned back to the suit. “What I mean”—he pulled out his wand—“is I’ve been doing research, and my resources suggest Armani’s suiting is superior and well received by critics. Although GQ showed it in a cranberry red, am I right in assuming something more subtle is needed for the party?”

  “Yeah, subtle is good in this—holy shit.” With that, Trick broke off and stared.

  With a wave of his wand, Edwin transformed the nondescript black jacket and pants into a charcoal gray suit that held the subtle sheen of luxury. After visiting a shop on Fifth Avenue and viewing a number of these Armanis in person, he was reasonably confident in his ability to replicate that material and style.

  “Wow.” Trick touched the lapel. “This is really nice.”

  Preening a bit at the praise, Edwin gestured at the suit. “You should try it on.”

  Trick looked around briefly before his gaze landed on the suit again. “I guess? I mean, maybe not with this,” Trick said, glancing down at his orange T-shirt, which looked rather worn and read Atlantic City across the front in white script.

  “Oh, of course,” Edwin said, scolding himself for being overeager. He bent to reach into one of the bags and pulled out a wrinkled white button-down shirt. “And you’ll want to see how you look,” Edwin muttered to himself, remembering Trick’s lack of a mirror other than the bathroom cabinet above the sink.

  Once he’d finished transforming the shirt into a crisp currant-red one—as inspired by one of the GQ photos—he summoned a large mirror from the vault. Edwin held it firmly and propped it up against the wall.

  “Okay,” Edwin said, turning around holding the shirt, “here’s something I think would look nice with—”

  Pale, smooth flesh.

  A lot of it.

  Edwin tried to gather his thoughts, but Trick stood there, his discarded T-shirt in hand. Edwin was vaguely aware of Trick tossing the brightly colored shirt to the side. Trick had already changed into the slacks, which skimmed his hips and thighs in a gentle caress. His body held a wiry strength, his muscles lean and softly yet visibly defined, and his bare skin seemed to invite Edwin’s hands to explore.

  It wasn’t the first time Edwin had seen a bare chest. He’d done his fair share of swimming in Paravale, and he hadn’t been shy about taking his own shirt off to do so. Cousins, friends, and other well-formed acquaintances had been there in the past, and it’d been like any other day.

  But no, while it wasn’t the first time he’d seen another’s bare skin like this, it was certainly the first time he felt a spark of fire in his blood and an overwhelming desire to touch.

  Good Fairy, what was he thinking? Trick wasn’t for him. Not in this universe or Edwin’s own.

  At that moment, the thatch of hair at Trick’s navel disappeared behind Trick’s hand as he scratched lightly at his belly, breaking Edwin’s fixation on that particular patch of skin.

  “Edwin?” Trick asked.

  Clearing his throat, Edwin shook himself out of his disturbing thoughts and met Trick’s searching gaze. “Here you are,” Edwin said, holding out the shirt. His voice didn’t sound right to his ears. “And I should also do something for your shoes.”

  When Trick took the shirt and began to put it on, Edwin’s gaze dropped to the floor where a few pairs of shoes were lined up inside the closet. He aimed his wand at a pair of black ones that were the closest to the Prada dress shoes he wanted to replicate.

  “Is everything okay?”

  Edwin looked up to catch a questioning look on Trick’s face. “Yes, of course,” Edwin said, infusing his voice with cheer. “Just concentrating on the preparations. Preston Ward will not be able to resist.”

  Trick looked startled for a moment before he nodded slowly. “Right, Preston.”

  With a determined nod and a smile that he feared appeared faker than a hoppi dinfizzy, Edwin held up the jacket for Trick to shrug into. Trick was quiet as he did up the buttons and bent down to lace up the shoes.

  Once he straightened, Trick faced the mirror. After a moment, he met Edwin’s gaze in the reflection, an appraising look on his face.

  “So, how do I loo
k?”

  “Perfect.”

  For Preston, Edwin added silently, reminding himself of his duties. For Preston.

  Chapter Fifteen

  TRICK COULD scarcely believe he was standing in the same room. The Palace ballroom at the Grazie Hotel that had seemed so expansive and sparse five days ago had been miraculously transformed into an intimate space for three hundred. He didn’t even know that would be possible, and yet somehow the staff had pulled it off. He had no idea how they’d managed it, unless they had a magic wand of their own.

  Tables dotted the room, silver centerpieces adorning each and reflecting back the glow of candlelight from the votives surrounding them. A Christmas tree dressed in silver and gold stood in the corner, the top nearly brushing the twenty-foot ceiling.

  Trick tugged at his jacket, making sure it was smoothed into place. The guests would be arriving any minute. Butterflies pinged around in his stomach as he waited. Standing in the center of the room, he could hear some of the staff members talking behind one of the sets of double doors that led inside.

  The clock on the wall rang out, bells chiming in harmony to announce it was seven o’clock. Trick had been there since three, making sure the centerpieces were centered and the place cards were placed. The room took on a more magical glow as the daylight receded, and now that it was time for the party to start, there was a strange sort of enchantment that crackled in the air.

  The main doors opened, pulled to the side by a girl dressed in black pants and a crisply pressed white shirt, and the first set of guests entered.

  Trick recognized Mrs. Sebastien, whose Fifth Avenue home they’d worked on the year before. She was invested heavily in Manhattan real estate, and Redden had actually cracked half a smile when they’d landed her account. Tonight the immaculately tailored suits had been exchanged for a slinky black-sequined number, and her normally neat and tidy bun had been transformed into an elegant updo. She and her date looked like they belonged on a red carpet somewhere.

  The guests filtered in slowly, each one looking more glamorous than the last. Trick felt out of place. Thanks to Edwin, his suit more than passed muster, but everyone here was sophisticated and cosmopolitan. He was more… Morningside Heights.

  Only he wasn’t. Not anymore. Once again, thanks to Edwin, he had a beautiful garden apartment in a nice area of town. Everything had magically clicked into place for him, but he supposed that was the point of having a fairy godfather looking out for you. Only his professional life and love life were lacking.

  Becoming an established architect would take time. Trick didn’t think there was any kind of spell that could fast-forward it. His love life, on the other hand, was something Edwin seemed fairly confident he could improve with a wave of his wand. Trick was skeptical, but for a guy who was still in training, Edwin seemed to be capable of a lot more than he gave himself credit for.

  As he finished that thought, Trick’s gaze swept across the room, landing squarely on Preston Ward in an impeccably tailored charcoal gray suit. Trick’s knees almost buckled at the sight, and when Preston’s eyes rose to meet Trick’s, he felt like the oxygen in the room had thinned.

  Trick’s attention moved from Preston to the door where Redden entered, his wife latched securely on his arm. She was wearing a deep blue gown and teetered slightly on her stilettos as they walked into the room. Her eyes appeared a little glassy, and Trick guessed she’d already been into the champagne.

  Not that he could blame her. If he had to live with Redden, raging alcoholism would be his only saving grace. Trick shifted his gaze back to Redden, whose eyebrows were pushed together, furrowing into a tight knot in the center of his forehead as though he already disapproved of something Trick had done. Maybe he did. It wasn’t often that Redden wasn’t pissed off at Trick for something.

  People filtered in behind them, and Trick watched them schmoozing and making small talk with their guests. Mrs. Redden was stiff—she had always reminded Trick of a doll, like her body was made mostly of plastic. She bent forward to allow one of the engineers from Maldonado and Associates to press a kiss to her cheek.

  A scattered semblance of a line formed, as people waited their turn to greet the host and hostess of the party. The whole thing seemed much more formal and stilted than Trick had imagined the evening would be. In his head, the Christmas party was a stunning affair, filled wall-to-wall with romance and glitz. He’d expected waltzes and canapés, not more of the same elbow-rubbing and ass-kissing he’d witnessed at business meetings.

  Where was the whimsy?

  Trick shook his head. He’d been spending too much time with Edwin. The evening had begun with a touch of magic, but there was no reason to believe it would continue that way.

  As the crowd advanced farther into the room, Trick snagged one of the glasses of champagne off the tray of a waiter who passed by. He edged the room, nodding politely to those who made eye contact with him before he moved on, finally retreating far enough to locate his spot at the table.

  He wasn’t sure if the fact that his place card ended up on a table way in the back had been an accident, or if Redden had intentionally shoved him in the rear corner. Logic told him his seat placement hadn’t been random, but Trick was fine with it. Large groups of people had never been his forte, and adding formalwear to the mix didn’t make his social awkwardness any less prominent.

  Sitting down at his place, he watched the guests mingle as well as he could from his partially obstructed viewing area behind one of the decorative topiaries dressed in holiday silver.

  He amused himself with watching Leif and Jasper fall all over themselves to talk to one of the guests—a woman who looked to be in her early twenties, her blonde hair and alabaster skin complemented perfectly by the deep purple dress she wore. She was gorgeous, and way out of their league, but that didn’t stop the wonder twins from making fools of themselves trying to talk to her.

  Trick was midchuckle when he heard a voice from next to him.

  “Is anyone sitting here?”

  Looking up, he saw Preston standing there, peering down at him expectantly. Trick’s tongue knotted in his mouth and he grappled for the right words.

  “It seems Mrs. Judy Carmichael is.”

  So smooth. Trick could have kicked himself. Why couldn’t Edwin have magicked some suaveness into him? The suit wasn’t going to fool anyone.

  “I’m sure the Carmichaels would be much happier sitting closer to the bar,” Preston replied, slipping their place cards off the table and popping them on a passing waiter’s tray.

  “Could you relocate those to table twelve, please?”

  “Of course, sir,” the waiter replied with a knowing smile.

  Trick watched, barely able to believe it was happening, as Preston sat in the newly claimed seat.

  “I don’t think we’ve ever formally met,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Preston Ward.”

  “I know… I mean, it’s nice to meet you. Formally. I’m Trick. Patrick Grigsby, but you can call me Trick. Everyone but Redden does.”

  Preston took Trick’s hand and shook it, the warmth of his palm traveling up Trick’s arm. He waited for the butterflies to flutter to life in his chest, but they never came.

  “Trick,” Preston said as though he was mulling it over. “I like it.”

  “So how are you enjoying the party?” Trick asked. It was banal small talk, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. This was the first time he’d had the opportunity to talk to Preston without being late for work or in a moving elevator. He’d imagined this scenario a thousand times, and now that it was a reality, some of the gleam had vanished from it.

  “It’s nice. I always enjoy Redden’s parties. His wife knows how to do an event.” There was an awkward pause in which Trick tried to think of something to say before Preston followed up with, “How long have you worked for Redden?”

  “Ten years.”

  “You’re an architect too, right?”

  Trick n
odded. The fact that there was no actual architecture with his name on it that came out of the firm was something he would rather not discuss. Preston was so successful. He oozed confidence and power. It was something Trick aspired to, and he’d rather Preston not know how far apart they were professionally. “Yeah, my dad was Redden’s partner when they opened up the business. I followed in his footsteps, and Redden initially hired me to do odd jobs when I started in the architecture program….”

  “That must be a dream come true for you.”

  “Sure.” If his dream had been ordering lunches and vetting e-mails for a Neanderthal of a man with a short temper and bad breath.

  Loud, high-pitched feedback from a microphone pulled Trick’s attention from Preston and redirected it toward his boss, who was standing in the center of the room, mic poised at his mouth, glaring with intent over the crowd.

  “Speak of the devil,” Trick muttered under his breath.

  Redden waited for the guests to quiet down before he spoke. A long, uncomfortable silence passed, and Trick assumed Redden was trying to create drama, to build up the anticipation before he addressed the room. Trick suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

  Redden cleared his throat and then began his speech. “Thank you all so much for being here this evening. We appreciate your patronage this holiday season and throughout the year. Redden and Sons would not be the success it is without your continued support.”

  He leaned forward, his voice amplified even more by the mic. “When I started this business, I dreamed it would bloom to this level of success. I worked hard for everything I have accomplished, but none of this would be possible without all the people in this room.”

  Trick listened as Redden elaborated on his years as an architect, telling stories and sharing anecdotes from his years starting out, and finally, celebrating his own numerous successes in more recent ventures. As the crowd sat enthralled, Trick’s anger simmered to the surface. There was one thing unmistakably lacking from Redden’s monologue—any mention of John Grigsby.