Fairyville (7 page)

That hiccup in his ambitions should have told him his simple desire to enjoy Zoe's nearness wasn't going to stay simple long.

He wanted her heart and body, and he wanted both for keeps. Sadly, this was a luxury the very magic that allowed him to be near her forbid. The only thing that pained him worse than not claiming all of her was knowing how his monthly ritual bruised her feelings. That, more than anything, prevented him from taking extra partners. No amount of temporary gratification was worth hurting her.

But who said sex was all that could gratify him? Magnus straightened as Zoe's door opened, the glass pane flashing like a mirror. Seeing it was her, he waved his arm to catch her attention and jogged across the street.

It wasn't the few seconds of exercise that had his heart pumping hard. An unfamiliar nervousness battled with the physical excitement that always hummed through him in her presence. Magnus couldn't read human thoughts, but he sensed their earlier kiss hadn't left his friend in an ideal mood.

"I thought we'd have lunch today," he said, putting all his fairy power into the smile he turned down at her. This was nothing to the power he could have called on if he'd still lived in Fairy. The denseness of the human realm muted all glamour. All the same, he knew the flash of teeth was persuasive.

Zoe rubbed her forehead perplexedly. "Today?"

"Sure. My treat."

It wasn't an unusual invitation. They ate together several times a week, under the pretense of it being casual—though Zoe was the only protegee he did this with. Now she looked down the street toward the Longhorn Grill, where they usually went. The words
oh, no
swam into his mind. Until that moment, he'd forgotten the existence of Sheri Yost. He might not know all the ins and outs of human romance, but he was pretty sure having lunch in the restaurant that employed his previous night's lover wouldn't count as considerate.

"I didn't mean for us to go there," he said, trying to recover.

Zoe kept looking down the street, her eyes squinted and resigned. The sun turned their gray to silver: old soul eyes, temporarily tired of life.

"I don't think so," she said. "I think today I'm going to see if Teresa's free."

Something uncomfortable twisted in Magnus's chest, something he didn't think he'd ever felt before. It was more than hurt at being turned down. It was… insecurity. It was, just maybe, a little loss of hope.

"Sure," he said, trying to swallow the feeling down. "It's not as if we had definite plans. Perhaps tomorrow."

Zoe wriggled her feet in her flat leather thong sandals. Her toes were painted cherry-red, a fashion choice that seemed to fascinate her now.

"Sure," she said. "Tomorrow would be fine."

The listlessness in her voice didn't make him feel better. Always when they were together, Zoe gave him her attention. Always he sensed her enjoyment of his company. Sometimes, when he didn't do what a human would, she thought him funny, but she always looked at him fondly. He hadn't known how much he relied on that. It was, truth be told, a big part of the reason he was happy here.

Bored with his long life in Fairy, and increasingly leery of his mother's plans for him, Magnus had tricked his way into the human realm in search of new adventures. He'd loved the challenge of doing magic in a place where it took focus, where the things he wanted didn't fall into his lap with a thought. Every day he'd been here, he'd embraced the drama of human life, and every power he'd managed to recover was a thrill singing through his veins.

In that moment, though, watching Zoe walk away and not look at him, he'd have sacrificed every one of those pleasures to see her smile at him.

By the time they pulled into the Desert Spa Hotel two miles outside Fairyville, Alex's laughter had worn off. It was too hard to forget how much he didn't want to be here, nor did his old hometown waste time reminding him. Charlene had booked their rooms without a hitch, but it came as no surprise—at least not to Alex—that no trace of their reservation could be found.

"I know our secretary didn't screw this up," Bryan said in the gruff, menacing tone he used to make lowlifes sweat. With his thick New Jersey accent, he sounded more like a mob enforcer than a licensed dick.

The young male desk clerk in the light pink golf shirt did him the courtesy of going pale. "I'm sorry, Mr. McCallum, but every place in Fairyville is booked up with this 'Meet Your Animal Guide' conference."

Bryan looked ready to introduce the clerk to
his
animal guide.

Before he could do more than snarl, Alex took his elbow and pulled him aside. "Forget it, Bry, it's not his fault. It's just more Fairyville shit."

"
Towns
don't lose reservations. People do."

"Let it go. I know an inn on Canyon Way that almost always has an extra room."

As soon as he said it, Alex rubbed his face, adrenaline surging through him unpleasantly. He'd been counting on a little distance in this swank new place where the staff barely knew each other, much less who'd lived in Fairyville fifteen years ago.

"You're sure about this?" Bryan asked in an undertone. " 'Cause I'm willing to bet if I leaned on that desk clerk, I could make him cry."

Alex laughed dryly. "I'll keep that in mind in case we have to come back."

He knew they wouldn't, though every parking slot behind the Vista Inn was full.

"This is nice," Bryan said, taking in the lobby's antique log-cabin atmosphere. "Comfortable."

"Glad you think so," Alex muttered and braced himself to handle the woman behind the reception desk. She was about his mother's age, stocky and silver haired. Her soft beige sweater declared her as noneccentric as Fairyvillers got. Alex didn't recognize her, but that was no guarantee that she wouldn't know him.

He'd been this town's hero once upon a time.

The woman greeted them with a friendly smile.

"We'd like a room," Alex said, doing his best to smooth out the distinctive rock-star rasp of his voice.

"Oh, honey." The woman flattened one hand on her trussed up bosom. "I'm afraid we're all booked up."

"We'll take four-ten," he said curtly.

Her brows went up. "Adventure seekers, are you?"

"We read about it in the guide book," he said before she could ask how he knew about the Vista's special attraction. "We were curious."

"Well, it's available," she said, reaching behind her for the key. "But I have to tell you, nobody stays there more than a night."

Alex said nothing, just took the old-fashioned metal key and handed her his credit card. It was the firm's card, with Goodbody & McCallum imprinted on the front. His own name was on it, too, of course, and her motions slowed as she ran it through her machine, the tumblers in her head beginning to fall into place.

Alex scrawled his signature on the credit slip as illegibly as he could.

"Enjoy your stay," she called with a definite lilt of question as he stepped away. "Let me know if I can help you find your way around."

Alex ignored that minefield, already striding up the broad, carpeted stairs. His face was hot, his breath coming in too-short rushes. He knew he couldn't run away from facing this, but his body sure as hell wanted him to try.

Bryan caught up to him at the first landing. "You want to tell me what that was about?"

Alex set his jaw and kept climbing.

"At least tell me why she called us adventure seekers. I have to admit, right at this moment, I'm kind of hoping for a mirror on the ceiling and a big, round bed."

Alex stopped, his palm on the peeled log handrail, his heart wishing he could respond to Bryan's humor with the appreciation it deserved.

"We're not staying in the room with the big, round bed," he said. "We're staying in the room with the ghost."

"Oh," Bryan responded… and said not another word after that.

Despite his annoyance at the change of plans, Alex enjoyed watching Bryan's wide-eyed scan of their perfectly ordinary-looking haunted room. To judge by the way his head was swiveling, he expected some grisly specter to jump out of a corner in broad daylight.

The only object that seemed to fascinate him more was the room's king-size bed, which he was trying not to eyeball too obviously. Alex wondered if Bryan realized there was no chance in hell he wasn't getting laid tonight. The lid was off that particular Pandora's box and, for better or worse, Alex had no intention of forgoing his favorite method of stress relief.

Keeping his amusement to himself, he emptied his suitcase, set out his toothbrush, and picked up the phone. Somewhat to his surprise, he got lucky with his first call. The hospital informed him that the intern who'd been named in Mrs. Pruitt's now defunct malpractice suit was having her day off. Alex worked a little magic on his laptop and, within minutes, had Dr. Alisha Kerry's home address.

"You want to call ahead?" Bryan asked. "Make sure she's there?"

Though they hadn't been here longer than half an hour, Bryan's half of the room already looked messy. Evidently as organized as he was going to get, Bryan parked himself on the bed a foot away from Alex. The distance was carefully calculated—familiar but not presumptuous, Alex considered the small open stretch of mattress, then smiled directly into Bryan's eyes until the other man flushed slightly.

The response inspired a pleasant heaviness in his groin. Yes, indeed, Bryan was on the menu for tonight.

"No calling ahead," Alex said. "She'll only avoid us if she gets a chance."

Alex was convinced he'd made the right decision when he saw the good doctor's home. It was a modest, single-level ranch, whose yard was overgrown with bear grass to the point where the clumps were swallowing a small birdbath. In Alex's experience, this was not the mark of someone who'd welcome uninvited visitors. The windows were dark, increasing the abandoned look, but an old blue Honda Civic sat in the cracked driveway.

It seemed Dr. Kerry hadn't upgraded her circumstances since her days as a broke intern.

"TV," Bryan said, pointing to a flicker on the front window.

"Oprah," Alex replied after glancing quickly at his watch.

They grinned at each other, realizing things were looking up. Oprah fans were favorite targets for interrogation. As long as you appealed to their emotions, you could almost always get them to talk.

They needed the advantage. When Bryan knocked and began to explain who they were, Dr. Alisha Kerry turned fury-red.

"That crazy bitch needs to let this drop!" she snapped—once she'd stolen enough breath back from her anger to speak.

Alex caught the door she was trying to slam in their faces. She was better looking and better kept than her surroundings might have led them to expect. Slim, thirty-ish, and tidy, she wore a pair of jeans and a crisp white T-shirt, which she filled out generously. Her dark brown hair was brushed back into a shining pony tail. Her eyes were blue and, beneath their glare, desperate for understanding. The minute Alex saw them, he knew the interview had a chance.

"Our job isn't telling our client what she wants to hear," he said, holding her gaze as steadily as he held the door. "Our job is telling her the truth. Frankly, we're concerned about her inability to accept Oscar as her son. For his sake, we'd like to settle this once and for all."

"Fuck," said Dr. Kerry, but it was a curse of resignation. She stepped back from the threshold to let them in. "I've told this story a thousand times. Why not a thousand and one?"

Bryan and Alex followed her into a darkened living room that smelled of unwashed dog and stale takeout. Two open cartons waited on the coffee table: rice and teriyaki steak. Dr. Kerry switched off Oprah, and they all sat down—Alex and Bryan on the old plaid couch and Dr. Kerry in a big armchair. She sat forward on its cushion, her body canted over her knees. Hollows deepened beneath her eyes as she played with her fingernails.

The controversy surrounding Oscar's birth seemed to have cast a long shadow.

"I was an intern," she began with a heavy sigh. "First year. Pediatrics. Oscar Pruitt was practically my first case. He had a heart defect, a murmur. It made him turn blue periodically. Hearts were my thing then, and, damn, I was sure the problem was serious. The attending surgeon, Dr. Lopez, was sure of it, too. He ordered an echo… an echocardiogram," she explained when Bryan made an inquiring sound. "Lopez told me to inform the mother. I assumed he meant for me to warn her that her kid might need surgery, or even die, so that's what I told her. I thought she had a right to know."

Alex turned his most soothing look into her defensive eyes. "Of course you did. I'm sure most mothers would want to be told."

"Damn right they would." Alisha Kerry stared at her nails again. "Lopez had no call to tear my head off the way he did, or to put that reprimand in my record. He was the one who didn't explain clearly. The thing was, when the tests came back, the baby's heart was clean. No murmur whatsoever, benign or otherwise. That's when Mrs. Pruitt started up her racket about the baby being switched. She said he didn't
fed
the same as when she'd held him for, like, two minutes after he was born.

"I swear to you, though, nobody could have taken him. Even if the DNA hadn't come up a match, he couldn't have been stolen. Those neonates aren't left alone. There's always someone watching them."

"And none of the nurses or other interns had a history of mental imbalance? Nothing you might have seen that someone else would miss?"

Bryan had asked the question, and Dr. Kerry shifted her gaze to him. Alex noticed she did this reluctantly. In the time he and Bryan had known each other, he'd never understood why women seemed to prefer him. To his mind, Bryan's roughness was more attractive—ironically, more masculine. On occasion, Alex had seen his partner respond to women just as he would himself: with automatic sexual speculation. How would this one look naked? What would she be like in bed? So Bryan wasn't giving off unavailable vibes; he was giving off vibes that said he'd be a challenge.

But it wasn't a challenge Dr. Kerry was rising to. She shrugged sardonically. "Every intern is imbalanced those first few years. Believe me, though, no one at Fairyville General was insane enough to snatch an infant. Shit, I can hardly take care of my dog. If you ask me, Mrs. Pruitt had a bout of postpartum depression that she hasn't gotten over yet."