Fairyville (2 page)

Magnus was sweet to women no matter what their species.

You can handle this
, she told herself.
Every month you see him do the same thing, and every month you survive
.

But the pep talk didn't help. The "Open" sign in her gallery window sent her pulse into a panic. Magnus was already there, probably lazing back in her chair with his long, strong legs propped on the desk she used for paperwork. He looked good in cowboy boots, Magnus did, a man's man with a sensually handsome face. The memory of how his faded Levis cupped his basket made her whole body flush. He always looked mellow the morning after, as if he'd just lie back and let a woman ride.

Chickening out at the last moment, Zoe ducked into The Fairyville Cafe one door short of her own storefront. Her first client wasn't due for fifteen minutes. She didn't have to torture herself by spending every one of them pining after her well-screwed landlord.

Metaphysically speaking, that wouldn't do anyone any good.

The cafe's owner was Teresa Smallfoot. A mix of Native American, Anglo, and six-foot-tall goddess, she'd been a friend of Zoe's from the day she opened, trading free coffee for the occasional free reading. Since Teresa's troubles were of the mild romantic sort and the coffee was hot and strong, Zoe considered the exchange a fair one. Plus, Teresa's departed relatives were well behaved. Not a pesterer in the bunch. Considering some of her clients' connections showed up hours ahead of schedule to jabber inanities, Zoe valued the ones with restraint.

Teresa was watching her customers from behind the coffee bar today. The decor was Western Victorian, with little round antique tables and sepia photos of long-dead people hanging on the walls. Teresa leaned forward as soon as she saw Zoe.

"Girlfriend," she said in a low, excited tone. "You should have heard the ruckus from next door last night! There was such a caterwauling coming out of Sheri's bedroom windows, you'd have thought a pair of cougars had been locked inside!"

Zoe fought a wince. She'd forgotten Sheri Yost was Teresa's next-door neighbor.

"Great," she said, pouring herself some coffee from the carafe of dark roast on the counter. Teresa used real cups, mismatched china she picked up in junk stores. "Just what I was hoping to hear."

"I know, honey," Teresa crooned sympathetically. That lasted about two seconds, or until Teresa's love of good gossip had her grinning again. "I'll be surprised if Sheri comes to work today. In fact, I'll be surprised if she can walk. That manager of yours is a
luuuvv
machine. Every time I thought he must be wrung dry, they started up again. If I didn't know you had a thing for him, I'd throw myself in his path out of sheer curiosity."

Zoe took such a big swig of coffee, she nearly scalded her throat. "Don't let me stop you," she said through her coughs.

"Oh, right. Like you wouldn't want to gouge out my eyes if I slept with him. I know the girlfriend rules."

"At least I could see why he'd go for you. Sheri Yost is a whiny bore."

Teresa flipped her long black locks behind her shoulders, her expression indicating pleasure at the compliment. "Sheri Yost is a whiny bore who isn't smart enough to make change. You, on the other hand, are beautiful, sweet, and wise. Clearly, Magnus has no sense."

"Unfortunately, you can't force people to have sense—as I've learned from my many years of giving advice." Zoe turned her cup between her hands. "I just don't understand him. Why would a guy with his looks and charisma restrict himself to having sex once a month? And why does it have to be a new woman every time?"

"Maybe that's the secret to his stamina. Abstinence plus variety. I mean, he can't be the only man who'd like to be able to perform like that. Without Viagra, I mean."

With a rueful cluck, Teresa interrupted the conversation to serve another customer.

"He's a freak," Zoe said when her friend returned, though she should have let it go. "I have no idea why I like him."

"How about because he's a hunka hunka burning love, and you've got eyes? Plus, he's nice."

Magnus was more than nice. Magnus was considerate, charming, funny, and had the sunniest disposition of any human being she knew. Nothing got him down—not hundred-degree weather, not dents in his SUV, or the evening news. His only flaw (and, to be fair, it was only a flaw to Zoe) was his refusal to look at her in a sexual way.

Teresa set her elbows on the counter. "Couldn't you ask your little friends what his story is?"

Zoe's mouth quirked. Teresa was open minded, but she'd never liked saying the word
fairy
. "I have asked them. They're keeping mum."

Weirdly mum, in fact. Zoe's fairies tended to air their opinions about everything.

"Well, what good are they then?"

"They aren't my slaves, Ter. They hang with me because they think I'm fun."

"Fun on every topic but one."

This tease was a bit too close to the mark. Some days Zoe thought if she didn't get over her crush on Magnus, she'd turn into a lifelong grump.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she grumbled into her empty cup. "I never used to like guys that tall."

Teresa reached out to pat her arm. "Oh, face it, honey. It's not the height you like, it's him."

It
is
him
, Zoe admitted, though she only pulled a face at her friend.

She was debating buying a chocolate muffin as consolation when a flicker of gray in her peripheral vision reminded her of the time. The ghost was one she knew: Mrs. Darling's late husband, Leo. Once he'd finished materializing, Leo nodded to her and smiled. He was one of her favorites, as gentle in death as he'd been in life. In spite of her sour mood, it cheered her to know he'd be her first job.

"Gotta go," she said to Teresa. "My special guests are starting to line up."

"Brr," Teresa responded, pretending to shiver as she hugged her arms.

Leo tipped his Stetson to Teresa, but Zoe was the only living being who saw.

Zoe gave her readings in the front room of the gallery. The furnishings were as homey as she could make them—secondhand chairs and sofas, with nicked tables set between. A beautiful Navaho rug hung on one wall, her biggest decorating splurge. The light from the wide front window filled the space with gold, glinting pleasantly off her assortment of crystals and stones.

The fairies had insisted she buy them to "cleanse the atmosphere." They were her only mystical bric-a-brac. Most of her clients felt more comfortable without too much woo-woo stuff, though tourists sometimes asked why she didn't use tarot cards. Zoe knew such touchstones worked for others, but she'd never wanted to be dependent on objects. She needed nothing to jump-start her gift except an open heart and a focused mind.

Even that seemed unnecessary with a contact as clear-spoken as Leo Darling. As usual, Ada Darling's weekly appointment went smoothly. She liked to share her news with her disincarnate spouse and get his advice on the decisions of daily life. Her husband was always patient with her concerns, letting her know which handymen she could trust, reminding her she didn't need his permission for anything.

Mrs. Darling never seemed to doubt the authenticity of these interactions, but she also never seemed to realize they might inspire deeper thoughts. The soul survived death, and the dead still loved those they left behind. That was Big, as far as Zoe was concerned; that was a message she suspected she'd never tire of delivering. Although Mrs. Darling was a sweet old lady, sometimes Zoe wanted to shake her out of her mundane world.

Heaven loves you
, she longed to say.
What does it matter if your best friend cheats at bingo
?

When her hour was up, Mrs. Darling counted out her payment in cash like she always did. Her old, arthritic hands made each bill seem as heavy as a volume of
War and Peace
. Every time Zoe watched her do it, she had to bite her tongue against telling her to keep her money. Zoe performed a service, and she performed it well. This was her sole source of income. Even more important, if she didn't charge Ada Darling, Zoe suspected the woman would come in ten times a day.

Mrs. Darling sighed with satisfaction once the painstaking ritual was complete. "Thank you, dear," she said, handing over the fee. "You've put this aching old heart to rest."

Zoe smiled in spite of her impatience. "That's why I'm here."

Mrs. Darling nodded, her usual reluctance to leave showing itself. She really didn't like facing her life without "dear old Leo" to hold her hand.

"You'll be fine," Zoe said, reaching out to squeeze her plump but fragile arm. "Leo watches over you all the time, not just when you talk to him here."

"But you're the one who makes me feel him," said Mrs. Darling. Her faded blue eyes teared up, though she waved off the tissue Zoe offered her. "You're a good girl, Zoe. I hope you find a man like Leo yourself someday."

"So do I," Zoe admitted, and then had to clear her throat.

Without warning, Mrs. Darling cackled out a laugh. "Ask those fairies of yours to fix you up. Then you'll be set!"

"You hear that?" Zoe said to the apparently empty air above her head.

No piping voices answered, even after Mrs. Darling left. A prickle at the back of Zoe's neck told her why. Magnus was standing in the door behind her, the one that led to her office.

From their first meeting, Magnus had struck her as more man than most. He was tall, for one thing, at least six five—though you didn't notice how big the various parts of him were until you stood up close. With half a room between them, he simply looked in proportion. At five foot six Zoe was no pygmy, but she wasn't fooled. Toe-to-toe, Magnus could make an Amazon feel delicate. His looks were as dramatic as his size. He had dark, beautiful hair—not long but a little shaggy—smooth, high-colored skin, full kissable lips, and eyes as green and clear as a mountain stream. If he hadn't exuded masculinity, he'd have been pretty. Instead, he came off as unbelievably sexy. Zoe had known him two years, and she still had to swallow at the sight of him.

No matter how cool she wanted to act, he was hard to look away from.

Now his face held something uncertain, something she hadn't expected to see on this of all days. She wondered how much he'd heard of her conversation with Mrs. Darling. She could only hope not a lot. Zoe might be psychic, but she wasn't a mind reader. The images she caught from people now and then weren't conscious thoughts. They came, she was almost certain, from the part of them that shared the same nonphysical territory as the deceased: the high, wise angel of their better selves.

As far as she could tell, Magnus's high, wise angel didn't have a peep to say to her.

"Your hair looks nice," he said, waving one hand in her direction. "Shiny."

Zoe couldn't help touching it self-consciously. Left to itself, her hair had a tendency to devolve into a long black snarl. "I had help this morning."

He nodded without his usual trademark smile. Like most of the locals, Magnus knew about her fairies. He also knew, because she hadn't figured out how to keep it from him, that they avoided him like the plague. She had only to think hard about Magnus, and they'd disappear into whatever dimension fairies hung out in when they weren't in hers. Zoe had no idea why they did this—unless they simply didn't like his effect on her moods.

In all her life, only one other man had provoked a similar reaction from her "little friends"… but that was a ghost Zoe preferred not to resurrect.

"I don't suppose they're still around," he said with an uncustomary tinge of wistiulness. His Western-style shirt hugged his chest just right, and his big, tanned hands were thrust into his front jean pockets. The faded patches in the denim, where his cock and balls habitually rubbed, pointed out how very well hung he was. Sadly, none of these things were encouraging Zoe's eyes to stay where she wanted them.

"I think the fairies are outside playing," she said. She shifted from foot to foot, caught off balance by his strange mood. "I didn't expect to see you here this late."

Magnus owned a number of properties in Fairyville, where he also acted in a managerial capacity. From the day he'd invited Zoe to set up shop here, she was always his first stop, though half an hour was generally as long as he stayed.

He didn't respond right away, and she was soon sorry she'd forced her gaze to his face. He was looking at her steadily, as if whatever he was thinking was serious. She would have given her right arm to have him look at her like that in bed. Unable to stop the reaction, Zoe felt a bead of sweat trickle down the small of her back. If he'd figured out she had a yen for him, she was going to die.

"You received some more requests to speak," he said at last. "I was trying to see if I could organize them into a tour."

"
A tour
?" she repeated, praying the words wouldn't strangle on their way out. He
had
figured it out. He was trying to get rid of her.

"You could go in the fall. Get your name better known. You deserve that, you know. You're a princess, Zoe, not a girl wrapped in a donkey skin."

Zoe blinked at this odd reference. Realizing her eyes were threatening to overflow, she dropped her gaze to her feet. The sight of his shoes momentarily blanked her mind. He wasn't wearing his usual cowboy boots, but a pair of high-topped yellow sneakers with Wile E. Coyote painted on the sides. With an effort, she pulled her concentration back.

"I'm not sure I want to travel. My friends are here. I… I feel more comfortable at home."

Her voice was low and husky, and all the curses in the world wouldn't erase the emotion that gave away. Magnus crossed the room before she could step back. He didn't touch her, but the heat from his body was distracting. Magnus's appeal was based on more than his looks. His energy always seemed twice as high as other men's.

"Zoe…" he began.

Zoe knew she had to stop whatever he was going to say. "I hope you're not unhappy with what I'm earning," she interrupted hurriedly. "I could advertise for more clients. Maybe put a site on the Internet."