Must Love Magic (Magic & Mayhem Book 2)

by Erica Ridley

  She supposed a human mother would react much the same if her child’s lifelong passion was for cleaning toilet bowls or mopping up vomit. There were no such menial jobs in Nether-Netherland, because everyone could perform magic on call. Science was not only the sole form of manual labor, but unlike cleaning toilet bowls or mopping up vomit, science was widely considered a useless endeavor. Why spend months or years researching and engineering and constructing something any child could conjure with a flick of the wrist? Daisy’s own mother could perform successful spells with her very first words.

  “Can you look me in the eye and tell me it doesn’t bother you when people whisper to each other, wondering how a powerful fairy godmother could possibly have given birth to an ordinary, non-magical scientist?”

  “I don’t care what other people say.” Mama’s smile was a little too wide to be believed. “I’m your mother and I love you.”

  “Then you’ll love me even more when I have real wings like you.” Daisy turned away, unable to bear the gossamer perfection of real wings gently fluttering at her mother’s back. “Can we talk about something else, please?”

  “Certainly.” Mama tapped a slender finger against her cheek. “I have just the topic. Maeve has a serious boyfriend. When are you going to find a man? You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

  Jupiter’s rings, any topic but that. Daisy massaged her suddenly aching temples and tried to think up an acceptable answer.

  “I already did,” she said with as much conviction as she could muster. After all, she wasn’t technically lying. She did “find” a man, even if she couldn’t keep him. The corner of her mouth quirked. Maybe she should’ve waited for Trevor in that tent after all, just to have something to tell her mother.

  “Oh, sweetie, that’s wonderful!” Mama’s hands clasped to her chest and she beamed at Daisy, all thoughts of magic and science forgotten. “Well? Aren’t you going to tell me all about him?”

  Daisy swallowed. “Um, no.” As in, hell no.

  “Come on, sweetie, I’m your mother.” Mama leaned forward. “I just want to see you settled and happy. I promise not to pry.”

  Daisy stopped massaging her temples long enough to lift an eyebrow.

  Unabashed, Mama’s tone turned pleading. “At least tell me his name.”

  “Fine. I found a cute guy named Trevor. Now can we discuss something else?”

  “Trevor.” Mama sucked on her lower lip as if tasting the word. “Trevor. Well, that’s not a very magical name.”

  Daisy sucked in a deep breath. “Not everyone is born magical. Look at me, for example.”

  “Is he a scientist?”

  Daisy paused. Was—what had he called it?—paleo-anthropology a science? In any case, it wasn’t here in Nether-Netherland. It didn’t exist in Nether-Netherland.

  “Nope, not a scientist.”

  “Whew.” Mama smiled in relief, then clutched her chest. “He’s not… he’s not a troll, is he?”

  “Don’t be prejudiced,” Daisy scolded automatically, then tensed as the words sank in. “You think I’m so hopelessly unmagical that I can’t do better than scientists and trolls?”

  “I’m just saying, dating can be tough for some girls. I’m a fairy godmother, sweetie. I make the impossible possible all the time. If you would just let me do a bit of magic…”

  Daisy’s eyes stung. “Never.”

  Blinking, she turned away before her mother could see how deeply her words had wounded.

  “Arabella?” Wings aloft, Dad glided back over the hill with Maeve coasting alongside. “You about ready to go home? For some of us, Sunday is still the day of rest.”

  Before Mama could answer, a deafening thunderclap rattled the air. Daisy jumped back as scowling trolls in black Elders’ Minions jackets tumbled out of nowhere onto the pumpkin-laden grass and swarmed the lawn.

  She broke out in a cold sweat. Whatever the hired muscle wanted, she doubted they came bearing tidings of joy. Or requests for a date. Her heart began to race.

  “DAISY LE FEY!” The loud, mechanical voice echoed through the countryside. “By order of the Elders Upon High, you are hereby brought under questioning for occupational misconduct.”

  Daisy fought down a sudden wave of nausea. What a fabulous way to top out the morning. Thick anti-magic netting whooshed down from the sky, trapping her in its sticky, spider-web-like threads. Overkill, given her lack of magical ability, but she was secretly pleased the Elders were taking no chances. At least they believed she had potential. Or maybe it was just protocol. The one thing keeping a magical world from total anarchy was the strict adherence to protocol.

  Daisy wasn’t any good at that, either. Her fingers scrabbled through the holes in the netting as she twisted to shout toward the trolls.

  “All of this because the tooth wouldn’t fit in a glass vial?” Unbelievable. It was hardly her fault she was summoned to an archeological dig instead of a nursery.

  Daisy’s father folded his arms over his chest and kept his feet on terra firma.

  “Sweetie,” came Mama’s disappointed voice behind her. “You said the mission went well.”

  “Mostly well,” Daisy amended, cursing fossilized teeth everywhere. “And then complications ensued.”

  “I knew you should’ve stayed a scientist.” Mama stepped into Daisy’s line of vision, right next to Daisy’s stoic father. “You’re so good at inventing machinery and dissecting brains. Even if it is embarrassing to the rest of us.”

  “And you shouldn’t have kissed him,” Maeve muttered. “Even if you’re good at that, too.”

  Mama clapped a hand over her gaping mouth and fainted backward onto Daisy’s father.

  “Shut up, Maeve.” Daisy glared at her big-mouthed friend. “That isn’t what this is about. The Elders are just making a fuss because I didn’t follow tooth containment protocol, that’s all. Glass vials, labeling procedure, that sort of thing. This’ll be cleared up in no time.”

  “DAISY LE FEY,” the voice roared. “You are hereby summoned before the Elders’ High Court. They will see you in one hour.”

  Trolls surrounded Daisy. They hoisted her over their sweaty shoulders in a tangle of scratchy netting.

  “This is an outrage!” Kicking back, she twisted to face her father. “Dad, go get Vivian. She’ll know what to do.”

  “Why is my daughter being arraigned for anything?” He propped up Mama’s limp body with one arm and shook his fist at the melee. “I demand an explanation!”

  A gnome stepped out from behind a row of Elders’ Minions and unfolded an ivory scroll. “It has come to the attention of the Pearly States that Miss Daisy le Fey not only failed to collect the required tooth as is her duty, but also fraudulently and with malicious intent deposited a foul, misshapen rock in its place.” He paused to take a breath, and then continued, “The charge is Defrauding and Deceiving a Government Body.”

  “Whaaat?” Daisy choked out. “Trevor said the tooth was buried inside the rock!”

  The expression on the gnome’s face confirmed what the clenching in Daisy’s stomach had been hinting at all morning:

  Never trust a human.

  Chapter 3

  Back at his lab in Indiana, Trevor was unpacking the last of the crates when soft footsteps hesitated on the other side of the closed door. He frowned. There’d been less than a dozen cars in the entire parking lot. Who was sneaking around the Anthropology department on a Sunday evening? It had to be Berrymellow, spying on Trevor’s research yet again.

  He grabbed the first solid object on the lab counter and swung open the door.

  “Gotcha!” he shouted and lunged forward. His momentum died mid-swing when he caught sight of the blue and white university jumpsuit. “Oh. Jeb.” Trevor gave a sheepish smile. Finding a barefoot blonde in his tent had gone a long way toward fostering paranoia. “Hi.”

  The lanky janitor glanced up from the trash and shook his head. “What were you gonna do, son? Smack me with an arm bone?”<
br />
  A what? Oh. Trevor lowered the impromptu weapon. “It’s not an arm bone. It’s a femur.” At Jeb’s dubious expression, Trevor bent one knee and brandished the bone like a light saber, hoping to play off his impulsive reaction as a joke. “See? Leg bone. Very masculine.”

  Jeb stared. “You catch jungle fever or somesuch down in Puerto Rico?”

  “Costa Rica,” Trevor corrected. He returned to the lab adjoining his classroom and placed the femur gently on the counter. “And I hope not.” But maybe he was suffering from a mild case of insanity caused by annoyance and misplaced lust. Last night’s dreams had been filled with images of a certain alleged tooth fairy, heating up his sleeping bag with good old-fashioned naked fun.

  When Jeb bent to tie the trash bag, Trevor stepped forward and held the door open for the older man. “What’s new?”

  “Well, my grandkids got new pictures.” Jeb dug a tattered leather wallet from his back pocket. He plucked a plastic photo-keeper from inside and handed it over. “That one there’s the youngest, Cody.”

  Before Trevor could make any cute-baby comments, his cellphone vibrated against his belt. He held up a finger to Jeb before enabling the Bluetooth headset at his ear.

  “Professor Masterson.” Trevor pointed at the baby’s face, smiled at Jeb, and then flipped to the next photo. Two little girls with messy braids and matching outfits grinned behind the worn plastic cover. A few more years, and they’d be old enough to play some baseball.

  “Hey, Coach,” came the loud, familiar voice in his ear. “It’s Katrina. Three more hours until takeoff. The natives are getting restless. Can I kill them?”

  Jeb pointed at the pictures open in Trevor’s palm. “Them two are the twins.”

  “Cute.” Trevor couldn’t tell them apart. He smiled and turned to the next photo.

  “Who’s cute?” Katrina demanded. “Trust me, ain’t nobody cute on this team. I might get wasted on Imperial cerveza so I can just pass out on the flight home.”

  Trevor grimaced. Maybe putting Katrina in charge of the second plane was a bad idea. Then again, he couldn’t be on both flights, so she would’ve had to be in charge of one or the other. “What’s wrong with them?”

  “Not a damn thing wrong with them,” Jeb snapped. He snatched the photos out of Trevor’s hand and shoved his wallet back in his pocket. “Lots of kids have teeth what stick out like that.”

  Before Trevor could explain he hadn’t meant any insult to Jeb’s grandkids, Katrina’s voice blasted in his ear again. “Can Alberto be in charge for a while so I can finish typing the field notes and adding metadata to all the dig photos?”

  Trevor’s eyelid twitched. If he ignored the question, would Katrina take initiative and exhibit some autonomy? He reached out toward Jeb. “No, come on. I didn’t get to see the photos. Nobody’s teeth were sticking out. Please hand it over.”

  “I have no idea what that means,” Katrina said after a brief pause. “I can’t hand the laptop through the phone. And what’s your hang-up with teeth?”

  Jeb turned and hefted a trash bag with each hand. “I’ll come back when you’re not so busy.” He headed down the hall with a foul trail of god-knew-what leaking from the bottoms of the bags.

  Trevor leaned his head back against the corner of the doorframe. “You’re the TA. Remind them there’s still an essay due, and they ought to concentrate on that. In the meantime, keep working on those files. Delegate what you want to Alberto.” He checked his watch. “I just finished unpacking crates and now I’m headed to the office to start the prelim reports.”

  “Oooh, prelim reports,” came a nasal voice from the other end of the hall. “So the great paleo-anthropologist returns from safari.” Joshua Berrymellow strutted across the wet linoleum in his usual crisp white suit, goatee, and bolo tie. He always reminded Trevor of a redheaded Colonel Sanders.

  “K, Coach,” Katrina said with a sigh. “Catch ya in six hours.”

  Trevor disconnected the Bluetooth and turned to Berrymellow. “What sudden attack of industriousness brings you here on a Sunday evening?”

  He smirked at Trevor. “I’m finalizing the acceptance speech I’ll be giving at the tenure meeting.”

  Trevor raised an eyebrow, feigning disinterest. “Does anyone even give acceptance speeches at tenure meetings?”

  “You’ll never know.” Berrymellow’s lips curled into a pitying smile. “So sorry about your job. What a shame you won’t be joining us next year. I suppose it’s all the more time to gad about being Indiana Masterson. If you could get paid for that, of course.”

  Trevor’s jaw clenched. “Give me a break, Berrymellow. I’m up for tenure just like you.”

  “Doctor Berrymellow to you.” He drummed manicured fingers on a black leather briefcase. “And you’ll be getting a permanent break. Publish or perish, as they say. You don’t have a chance.”

  “We’re both doctors of anthropology. And I’ve got a massive chance.” Trevor pushed away from the doorframe. Berrymellow flinched, and Trevor fought a smile. Jackass. “I managed to talk the Costa Rican government into letting me borrow a few artifacts for several months. I’ve got a partial skeleton in my lab right now. Once my TA gets here with the spreadsheets and photos, I’ll have the foundation for one hell of an article.” Trevor jabbed a finger at Berrymellow’s bolo tie. “While you’ve been dicking around on the golf course with the dean, I’ve been doing actual fieldwork.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Berrymellow’s chin jutted forward, bushy red goatee and all. “Well, while you were wasting time in the jungle, I was proofing an article that comes out this month, not next year. Guess who’ll lead the next senior trip? Not you, cowboy.”

  “Please.” Trevor folded his arms across his chest to keep from locking his fingers around Berrymellow’s neck. “You haven’t been on a single dig or alternate-culture expedition in the five years we’ve been at this university. What did you publish? Fried chicken recipes?”

  “We can’t all play in the mud like you.” Berrymellow disguised a high-pitched snicker with a fake cough. “Being a leading socio-anthropologist, I concentrated my efforts on documenting local phenomena.”

  Tendrils of ice snaked through Trevor’s gut. Behavioral sciences were always so… ambiguous. Berrymellow never seemed to need actual results or new findings. Just new theories. He arched a brow. “Such as?”

  Berrymellow clicked open his briefcase. “A study of how the behavioral patterns of socially powerful men on golf outings differ from the passive-aggressive conduct of career-climbing individuals engaged in boardroom politics.”

  “What?” Trevor would have burst out laughing if it weren’t his career on the line. “No self-respecting academic periodical would print that drivel.”

  “Read it and weep.” With a flourish, Berrymellow thrust a copy of the magazine article at Trevor. “I took the liberty of stapling it for you.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Trevor snatched the twenty-five-page monstrosity from Berrymellow’s hands and flipped through so fast his fingers should have bled with paper cuts. “You actually dreamt up 3-D pie charts for this shit?”

  “Ah, jealousy,” Berrymellow chided, eyeing him delightedly. “Don’t externalize your ill-managed aggression, or I’ll write another paper on Destructive Behaviors Caused by Career Envy in the Workplace. I’m sure you won’t go down in history as a complete failure.”

  Trevor’s jaw ached from all the gnashing of teeth he was doing to keep himself from biting Berrymellow’s head off. What happened to that leg bone? He’d be glad to go down in history as the lucky bastard who clubbed Joshua Berrymellow with a femur.

  Berrymellow snapped his briefcase closed with a self-satisfied smirk. “If you think you can beat me at the tenure game, feel free to try. You’ve got until the end of the semester. And I just might get another important socio-anthropological treatise out of it.”

  He sauntered off down the hall with a sashay in his step.

  Trevor’s damp palm slappe
d angrily against the metal door frame. Unbelievable. Mere weeks to churn out a career-defining piece documenting the biggest find of his professional life—a partial skeleton unearthed from the bottom of a lake and a few mismatched artifacts—in time to save his reputation, his paycheck, and his academic future.

  He glanced at his watch. His students would be boarding their jet within the next few hours. In the meantime, he needed a plan. There must be a way to beat Berrymellow at his own game.

  Trevor just had to find it.

  “DAISY LE FEY,” boomed the three-foot-tall court gnome from his perch next to the Elders’ golden desk. His piercing blue eyes peered at Daisy from beneath bushy white eyebrows and a pointy red hat. “For the charges of Defrauding and Deceiving a Government Body, how do you plead?”

  “Urgh,” her attorney grunted confidently. “Urrrrrghhhh.”

  Daisy closed her eyes and concentrated on intonation and dissonance.

  If it had been up to her, she might not have picked a yeti for a lawyer. Not that big feet meant small brains, mind you. Just that she couldn’t quite comprehend his legal advice. It had been years since her grammar school language courses. She’d have to remedy her lack of fluency fast if she wanted to have any chance of following along at her own trial. If this went to trial. Note to self: Have Maeve conjure How to Speak Yeti in Just 10 Days.

  She opened her eyes and nodded as though his guttural mutterings made sense. Since the Elders appointed every defense attorney for every defendant, you’d think they’d only hire multilingual representatives of the law. Then again, attorneys were only slightly more respectable than scientists, so perhaps she shouldn’t judge. Daisy bit back a sigh.

  “What’s that?” squealed Judge Bedelia Banshee, who often presided over matters pertaining to the Pearly States. “Speak up, fairy.”

  “Er, not guilty.” Daisy offered her most innocent smile.

  “The people request remand, Your Honor.” District Attorney Livinia Sangre, the most notoriously anti-fairy prosecutor in all of Nether-Netherland, tucked glossy black hair behind one pointed ear. “The defendant is a flight risk.”