by Erica Ridley
Presumably, those were his good qualities, given they fell under the heading “PRO”. Based on the header, though, they weren’t good enough.
The “CONS” side of the paper bore only three words. The first was “Anti-wings.” He supposed that was true enough, although he could hardly be blamed for it, what with wings being a bit unusual for people on Earth. The second was “Illegal.” True, but… he had to believe there was some way around that. The third was simply, “Human.”
Human.
He couldn’t do anything about that, now could he?
Nausea gripped his stomach. Nausea at his own foolishness. His muscles shook. Her disregard of him didn’t stem from how he treated her, or how he felt about her, or whether or not he was a good person at heart. No, she dismissed him for the one thing that no matter what he did, he couldn’t change.
He wadded the paper in his fist and hurled the mangled ball into the cold fireplace. He strode to the wall switch and slapped on the gas, desperate to see his list of faults burst into flame and disintegrate into ashes.
What was the point in sending him this garbage? Just to prove she didn’t miss him? Didn’t need him? Didn’t want him?
His heart clenched as he stared into the crackling fire.
Not because his feelings were hurt. No, not at all. If she didn’t want him, he didn’t want her. He wasn’t hurt. Not the tiniest bit. He was angry. Super-angry. Utterly and completely pissed off. And he wasn’t going to stand there and take it, either.
He was going to make her stupid where-frog reunite them just so he could tell her off. To her face. Not because he missed her. How could he miss someone who disliked him just because he was human? Hadn’t he been willing to overlook her fake wings and scientific magic?
He switched off the fireplace, reset the house alarm, and scooped the tiny where-frog into his palms.
Was he really ready for this? He took a deep, shaky breath, his heart beating a thousand times a second, pumping out more blood per minute than a fire hose on full blast. Would he really be able to say all the things he needed to say in order to exorcise her from his mind?
“Look alive, Bubbles.” Trevor did his best to ignore what the desperate crack in his voice might mean. “Take us to Daisy.”
A tiny pop whistled in his ears.
Before he could take his next breath, Trevor found himself squished between two warm bodies and a row of hard metal shelves protruding from a cluttered wall.
Daisy! And her mother.
They stared at him in shock, eyes huge and mouths gaping. He tried to back up and couldn’t. Damn it. He hadn’t counted on Arabella being around when he launched into his big “You can’t hurt me because I’m so over you” speech. And he definitely hadn’t planned on playing Sardines at the same time.
“Uh, hi.” He cleared his throat. “So… Where are we?”
Still speechless, Daisy pointed at something high above his head.
He craned his neck to see a jumble of mismatched signs. “‘No Smoking on the Tarmac,’” he read aloud. “‘Objects in Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear.’”
Arabella’s cool palms flattened against his ears, turning his face a little more to the left. There, in big block letters, was a black and white sign that read:
* * *
PURGATORY SUPPLY CLOSET
EMPLOYEES ONLY.
Chapter 23
“Purgatory?” Trevor stammered. “As in, purgatory-purgatory?”
Daisy nodded.
“Holy shit,” he breathed. “I’m not Catholic. I would’ve never guessed that Purgatory was a supply closet.”
“Purgatory isn’t a supply closet.” Arabella lowered her voice. “And I don’t recommend exploring the rest of the grounds uninvited.”
He had no intention of going anywhere. He had come in search of exactly one person.
Daisy stared up at him, long lashes framing her eyes. “How are you here? Why are you here? Is something wrong with the Angus project?”
He tried not to notice how the mere sound of her voice calmed the tense nerves spasming between his shoulders. He wasn’t here to start falling for her again. He was here to take her to task for leaving him a Dear John bulleted list.
“I came,” he said slowly, trying to remember the eloquent way he’d phrased the litany of wrongs in his head before dashing between dimensions and landing somewhere between heaven and hell, “because I got your note.”
“My what?” Those big hazel eyes blinked a few times before her face erupted in a blush rivaling the intensity of Mount Vesuvius.
“I see you remember.”
She slunk a sidelong glance toward her mother, who looked like she’d rather crawl onto a shelf and plug her ears rather than eavesdrop on what would no doubt be a train wreck of a reunion.
He tried to cross his arms over his chest but couldn’t un-wedge them from between his sides and the metal shelves. “I can’t believe you of all people would be so selfish and close-minded that you have no problem judging me for things outside my control. You can’t even collect teeth.”
She sucked in a breath and staggered a couple inches backward, acting as though she’d crumple to the ground if there was physically enough space for her to do so.
Trevor wasn’t buying it for a second. The kind of person who loved ’em and left ’em just because they were human was the kind of person who didn’t give a good goddamn about anybody but herself. Sadly, his roiling gut indicated he’d still go home and pine for Daisy for a few more years.
But hey. At least they’d have a clean break. She wouldn’t suspect his heart was clogging up his convulsing throat and that all he really wanted to do was grab her to him and never let go. She didn’t want him. Well, her mom could whip him up a new ForgetMe spell—one that worked this time—and then Daisy could concentrate on fairy wings and pixie dust without worrying that she was breaking a human heart in the process.
A soft, quick movement reminded Trevor that Bubbles the where-frog still nestled in his palm, out of sight. Maybe this would be a good time to make a dramatic exit.
“Well, let me tell you a little something,” said the object of his unrequited affection, rising from her slump against the overstuffed shelving.
Her chin lifted, her shoulders straightened, and Trevor got the distinct impression that if there was enough space for her to do so, she’d jab her finger at his chest until she poked a hole in his ribs.
“You, Professor, lack a fundamental understanding about the concept of teamwork.” Her voice rose. “You’re the big bad paleo-anthropologist, not me. I’m just the silly little tooth fairy, the one you don’t want around your office unless I’m playing interpreter or stretched across your desk.”
Arabella choked on her fist and squeezed her eyes shut tight.
Oblivious, Daisy leaned forward. Her breath steamed against his cheek, hot and moist and angry. Never before had the faint scent of peppermint ever smelled so much like rage. “If you asked me, I’d say you’re awful full of yourself, considering most if not all of your recent advances were both created and augmented by my direct involvement.”
“I didn’t ask you,” he muttered, wishing like hell he had a better comeback than that. Somehow he’d visualized this scene unfolding much differently.
“No, you didn’t.” She jerked her head away, her lip curling above the whiteness of her teeth. “You didn’t ask me anything. You just expected me to do whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted, so long as it was convenient for your life. Is that about right?”
“Uh…” He faltered, sliding a glance toward Arabella, whose eyes were now wide open and staring straight at him with avid interest. “No?”
“Well, guess what,” Daisy continued, her face flushed and eyes narrowed. “This isn’t a good time for me. I happen to be here in Purgatory serving an all-expenses-paid five-year sentence for helping you, you big jerk. Where were you when I could’ve used some assistance? When I was being paraded in front of the jury as the Promiscuous Appren
tice Who Could? When my mother was dragged away just for sticking up for me?”
“You’re in jail?” He stared at her in disbelief and horror. “Both of you?”
A sudden knock rapped against the supply room door.
“Hey!” growled a deep, guttural voice. “What’s going on in there?”
“Just a second,” Daisy hollered, hoping the minotaur on the other side of the door wouldn’t burst in and gore them all with his pointed horns. “We’re… sorting the erasable pens by size and color.”
She held her breath and waited.
After a few grunts and snorts, he bellowed back, “I’ll be waiting for you when you come out.”
Right. Fabulous. A figuratively bullheaded human on the inside of the door and a literally bullheaded minotaur on the outside.
Mama slanted Trevor a calculating glance. “So,” she said in that I’m-about-to-embarrass-the-crap-out-of-my-daughter voice, “what exactly are your intentions toward Daisy?”
“My intentions?” He backed against the metal shelves as if he thought he could flee through solid objects if he tried hard enough.
“Drop it,” Daisy whispered, and kicked her mother in the ankle. “His intentions are perfectly clear. He came here to let me know how far I fall below his exalted standards.”
During her speech, Trevor’s lips pursed, his eyes squinted, and his nose wrinkled. Either he was reacting strongly to her assessment of his motives, or there was about to be a very bad smell in the supply closet.
“I’m not so sure that’s what he said.” Mama’s head tilted to one side. “Purgatory seems a bit out of the way for someone who just wants to be snarky.”
“He didn’t know we’d be in Purgatory.” She stared at him. “He probably thought we were in Nether-Netherland.”
Mama shrugged. “Is that any closer to Indiana?” When Daisy had no ready response, Mama turned back to Trevor.
Whatever she was going to say next was drowned out by a renewed round of frenzied knocking.
“How long can it take to organize pens?” yelled the minotaur. “Break’s over. Thirty more seconds and I’m ramming the door down.”
“It doesn’t matter why I came,” Trevor said suddenly, his dark eyes focused on Daisy. “I’m here.”
Too little too late. She circled a finger in the air. “Yay. Now it’s a party.”
“Now, sweetie,” Mama chastised her. “If you always have such a bad attitude toward men, it’s no wonder you can’t keep a boyfriend.”
Daisy’s fingers clenched in outrage. Couldn’t keep a boyfriend? How about, wasn’t allowed to keep this one.
“Can you try being on my side? You’re my mother!”
A sly smile stretched across her mother’s face. “And a fairy godmother.”
Warning bells clanged in Daisy’s mind. “Don’t even think about—”
Something big and heavy and strong hurled itself at the supply closet door with enough force to knock binders and placards from their shelves.
“Look,” Trevor said, eyes wary. “Sounds like we should get out of here. Touch me.”
Daisy’s lungs tangled in her throat. “What? Here?”
“Touch me,” he repeated, jerking his head to one side. “Hurry.”
She gulped. “I can’t, Trevor. The punishment for escape is—”
The minotaur threw himself at the door until it began to splinter.
“No punishment is worth him killing you! Touch me right now, both of you. And hold on!”
Mama locked onto his arm. Daisy still hesitated.
Just as the minotaur’s horns crashed through the door, Trevor grabbed her hand and shouted, “Bubbles—Nether-Netherland. Please!”
With a familiar pop, the supply closet walls disintegrated and the stained carpet floor morphed into the white fluffy clouds of her parents’ front lawn.
“So that’s how—” Daisy said, reaching out to snatch her blinking where-frog from his new best friend. “Bubbles, you little traitor.”
She looked up at Trevor through tremulous lashes. She was still afraid—breaking out scared her even more than going in—but she couldn’t deny the warm rush of pleasure at just seeing him.
His hair was tousled as always, grazing the tops of his ears as though he hadn’t had time for a haircut. His lashes were long, thick. His lips, parted. His cheeks, unshaven. The tanned skin beneath his eyes was lined and puffy, as though he hadn’t been sleeping well. Tiny lines creased his forehead as if whatever worried him was still on his mind even now, as if things weren’t getting better for him, but worse. His gaze was dark, intense, unwavering. Unreadable.
Bubbles ribbited.
“Here.” Trevor’s voice was low and husky. “He’s yours.”
His free hand slid underneath hers, his skin moist, electric. She couldn’t have pulled away if she’d wanted to. The hand holding Bubbles nestled atop her palm, trapping her hands between his.
Slowly, gently, he tilted his hand until Bubbles was forced to hop onto the relative safety of her palm. Trevor’s hands fell back to his sides. Hers were left chilled, even though Bubbles still rested between her life line and her heart line.
“Thanks.”
His lips hinted at what might have passed for a smile, but his eyes were serious.
“Anytime.”
“Don’t say that.” Mama shook a warning finger. “Once was enough. We’ll have to talk to Mr. Squatch before anyone figures out you’re not where you’re supposed to be. Quick, let’s get inside.” She hurried up the walk.
Daisy glanced back at Trevor. He was watching her, his eyes clear and focused. She wasn’t sure whether the brief tremor that flickered across his lower lip meant he was thinking about saying something or kissing her, but she forced herself to follow her mother to the porch without waiting to find out. First they would fix the present. Then they would decide on the future.
She hurried to catch up to her mother. He followed right behind.
Mama swung open the door, her face bright and alive. She called out, “Honey, I’m—” and gagged on the rest of the words.
From Daisy’s position on the porch step, she couldn’t see what stopped her mother in her tracks, but the strangled pause only lasted for a moment.
With a half-screamed, half-snarled, “You lying, two-faced slut,” Mama dashed to the bucket of pixie dust beside the couch, yanked out a wand, and let fly with a shimmering stream of furious magic.
When the big maple door slammed shut behind the two women, Trevor’s first reaction was relief. He’d never heard Daisy’s mother raise her voice, much less scream and curse. He wasn’t really sure he wanted to know what caused her to wave her wand like some psychotic winged she-Anakin.
With a fair dose of trepidation, he stepped onto the welcome mat and opened the door.
Daisy’s father stood in front of the swinging doors between the living room and the kitchen, jaw clenched, wings tucked behind him. A.J. didn’t look happy, but the two women squaring off on opposite sides of the room looked vicious.
Vivian Valdemeer stood before A.J. in a red sequined, spaghetti strapped, tube sock of a dress. She balanced on the balls of her feet with her hands overhead, knees shoulder-width apart, as if about to catch a pop fly. Her fingers gripped the handle of a steaming silver wand.
Arabella was on the other side of the coffee table, knees bent, legs wide, back hunched, as though about to hit it out of the park. Instead of a bat, she held a large, sparking wand. Not sparkling—sparking.
As in, bits of flame fizzed and spat from the shiny star tip.
The wall behind Vivian crumbled to ash. The framed pictures above her head clattered to the floor and dispersed as scattered embers. The stairway behind Arabella was a mushy mess of soggy carpet and what looked like bubbling lava. What was left of the spiral carpet runner had melted into little pools of singed plastic.
Daisy stood behind the overstuffed couch, one hand clutching her wand and the other hand cradling her where-frog, as thou
gh she was trying to decide which one she was better off using.
“Arabella,” A.J. said, his voice deep with warning. “I am not having an affair. You’re completely misconstruing the situation.”
Her back to A.J., Vivian arched a skinny eyebrow. Her glossy crimson lips tweaked up at the corners as if to say, “Yet.”
Trevor took a step backward.
“Oh, I’m sure she dropped by for milk and cookies.” Arabella jabbed her wand toward Vivian’s midsection. “In her hurry, she must’ve forgotten her bra.”
Daisy staggered against the big picture window and looked like she might be sick. “Please don’t tell me the Himalayan Lust Charm you slipped me was for Dad. If you tell me he’s some sort of fairy heartthrob, I might hurl.”
“You were going to trick him into having sex with you?” Arabella shrieked, her flapping wings lifting her higher off the ground.
“I don’t have to trick anyone into having sex with me.” Vivian touched her scarlet fingernails to her lips and then ran the palm of her hand from her neck down to her hip, one of her black-lined eyes lowering into a wink when her fingers slid over her breast.
“You will now!” Arabella’s wand fired off a blinding stream of high-voltage power, barely missing Vivian, who threw herself backward to avoid the blast.
Realizing the stiletto-heeled tooth fairy was about to bowl into him like a fallen redwood, A.J.’s hands flew out to brace for impact.
“Don’t you touch her!” Arabella charged across the living room, wand outstretched.
A.J. jerked his arms back so fast they probably broke the sound barrier.
Unable to correct her balance in time, Vivian tumbled to the ground. Hard. She recovered with a somersault, then sprung to her feet with her wand upraised, firing on Arabella even before completely upright.
Arabella feinted behind a paisley-upholstered recliner, firing off shots from one side, then the other.
Lava and fireballs decimated both sides of the room.
Trevor inched behind the couch next to Daisy, hoping that if she did decide to take off with Bubbles, she’d at least let him hitch a ride.