Lance showed up as she dug in her pocket for the tip for the first one to reach her door, a girl wearing a baseball cap for the local college team and a brace on her wrist. He handed out five dollar bills to each driver who showed up and deposited their cartons and trays of steaming food in Glori's hands or on the front step.
"Thanks," she muttered, when the last one dashed down her flagstone front walk and vaulted the white picket fence to get to his car.
"I figure, you paid for dinner." He snorted and shook his head. "You know, I always wondered how it is I always have enough money for tips and emergencies, but I can never remember putting money in my wallet. Think I inherited some of that magic Matilda was talking about?"
Glori made the mistake of turning and looking up into his big blue eyes. There were many different varieties of magic in the world, and not all of them had to do with inheritance or flashy special effects.
Although, come to think of it, she certainly would be interested in seeing what sort of fireworks and special effects Lance could produce.
Bad girl! She mentally slapped herself and focused all her attention on the food. That was why she had ordered it, anyway. For a distraction.
"Yes," she finally managed to say. She stepped into the house and waited for Lance to get out of the way before kicking her door closed. "You probably do have some involuntary, unconscious magic working for you, as Matilda would put it." Another thought occurred to her as they walked down the hall to her kitchen. "You're taking all these revelations a little too calmly."
"You didn't grow up with ghosts flying through the walls and ceiling and trying to raise you to go hunting Fairies instead of playing baseball in high school."
"Ah. We all have our handicaps."
"Yours happens to be puberty." He let his share of the hot cartons slide onto the table. "Sure you got enough food?"
"Puberty does that. Or so I've been warned." She sighed, set down her own burden and started opening boxes.
"Exercise does that, too."
That lovely, churning heat shot through her at the speculative caress in his voice. It tangled around her lungs, making it hard to breathe, then settled down low in her belly and sent out tendrils to make her fingertips and toes and lips tingle.
"What do you like better?" she said, concentrating on the food to keep from looking at him. "Kung pao chicken, hot and sour soup, ribs, chicken pizza with artichokes and olives, sun dried tomato and basil hummus with tabouli and mousaka and baklava on the side, or would you like to start with the dessert sampler tray from Aphrodite's Bakery?"
"Dessert's always a good place to start."
Chapter Seven
Lance's hand on her shoulder startled Glori. She turned and found him standing so close she stumbled--right into the arm stretching out to wrap around her. The next thing she knew, Lance hauled her up against his chest. Yes, it was as warm and washboard rugged as she had guessed. Hoped. He cupped her cheek in his other hand and tilted her head slightly to the side and kissed her.
He tasted of cherry cola and his lips were warm and not too hard, not too thin, not wet. Just right.
I'm turning into Goldilocks. Glori pushed aside the analytical part of her brain and started to lift her hands, to hold onto Lance and really enjoy her first adult kiss.
"Wow." Lance grasped her shoulders and put her away to arm's length. His pupils were dilated so only a thin ring of blue showed around the black. He sucked in a deep breath, let it out, and his shoulders sagged. "I guess Matilda wasn't joking, was she?"
"Huh?"
Not the most intelligent thing she had ever said, but compared to the vulgar noises Theodosius had considered sexy and alluring, Glori knew she was still eons ahead of the game.
"You're a powder keg ready to go up. You really do need me as much as I need you." There was no warmth, no hunger in his eyes, and no indication that Lance wanted to continue that kiss. Just that same calculating look she had seen him use when he faced the challenge of her infested daycare building for the first time.
Cold showers had nothing on the arctic chill that raced through Glori's veins.
He didn't mean need, as in the Need, or even two stupid adolescents ready to rip at each other's clothes and practice artificial respiration on each other.
Lance meant need as in, he'd take care of her problem if she took care of his. Trade. As in, the offer he made that morning.
Except that, from the warmth and slight trembling she felt in the hands holding her shoulders, Lance considered changing the terms of their deal. He thought he could have a good, hot tumble and maybe take care of a few other needs while she hunted for a reasonable facsimile to a Fae princess to lift his curse.
"Nothing a good vibrator couldn't handle," she rapped out, trying not to clench her teeth. She regained her balance and twisted her shoulders free of his grip. "At least my problem will go away in time."
"Hey, Glori--"
"I said, my problem will go away. That's a hint."
"Huh?" He reached for her again, that smile coming back to soften his mouth. "This might turn out to be something good for both--"
Glori snapped her fingers at him and he vanished. She felt a moment of panic, just enough to make her knees wobble almost as badly as that kiss. Somehow, she made it to the front window and looked outside.
Lance sat on the support post for her front gate, grappling to keep his balance and not fall over backwards. She sighed, partly relieved at that show of controlled power, partly disappointed she hadn't thought to have him straddling the post instead of his cute, tight butt perched on it. Lance got to his feet and turned to glare at the house. She ducked out of sight.
Well, he should be grateful she hadn't left him straddling the jagged edges of the picket fence.
"I guess this generation isn't as smart and well-mannered as Matilda thought," she snarled, and stomped back to the kitchen. She needed to pig out after that magic she had just performed, but for once, she didn't plan on starting with dessert.
Glori's appetite wasn't what she had expected, after the stress of the day and her fury with Lance. She couldn't quite figure out why. She actually put most of the Greek food and the ribs and pizza away for later, and only ate two slices of carrot cake and one of the white chocolate cheesecake. When she came back from jamming the delivery cartons into the garbage can, she heard her answering machine click on.
"Look, Glori, I'm sorry. I was a jerk." Lance sighed. "Okay, so only some of it is hereditary. But it's been a really weird day and you're soft and pretty and you taste good and I guess I got the wrong idea from Matilda. I thought maybe you were interested in me as a...a pressure release valve. I'll still be your exterminator, but could I be your friend, too? I won't expect anything past that. So I'm sorry. Again. I'm gonna keep working on your bug problem. Even if you don't keep looking for a princess for me. And I promise I'll keep my hands off you if you let me take you out for dinner tomorrow. Okay? You don't have to call me back. Just smile when I come by your school in the morning. Okay?"
She nearly reached for the phone when Lance paused. She heard him sigh, then a click, then the dial tone.
* * * *
"That was the stupidest thing you ever could have done," Rector Willoughby snarled. He swooped down from the ceiling, generating enough Afterlife energy to knock the phone off the wall, right after Lance hung it up.
"No, it was brilliant." Sir Mortimer conjured up a sword and wielded it like a fan, moving all the crowding ghosts away from Lance in the kitchen. "What woman can resist a little false humility? She'll be eating out of his hands. She'll be tripping over herself to find a Faerie Princess. Good strategic thinking, boy. You take after me, after all."
"Yeah, and that's half the problem," Lance growled. "We wouldn't be in this mess if you'd done a little strategic thinking in the first place. But no, you have to jump in first and start stabbing people, instead of finding out what's going on. If you'd just waited to hear Matilda's side of the story--"
> "Matilda?" Mortimer blew up to three times his normal size, filling the kitchen with churning fog and ectoplasm. It served to crowd all the rest of the ghosts out of the room, the ones who hadn't been intimidated by his misty sword. Unfortunately, conjuring up ectoplasm gave him some physical being, so he crowded Lance.
But Lance wasn't budging. Not after the day he'd had.
He stood his ground and wondered if he could use ectoplasm in his work. No bug would come near the stuff. He could put himself out of business and finally get one benefit from being haunted by family ghosts all his life. If there was ever any benefit.
"What about Matilda?" Mortimer roared. His face turned an interesting shade of transparent red and his hair stood out from his head in a bush.
"Your slimy Uncle Maximilian was trying to--" Lance paused. Molest was too modern and sophisticated a word. He honestly didn't think Mortimer would understand it. It sounded French, and Mortimer had a loathing for anything French. Especially food. "He liked using little girls for sex, and Matilda was his next target. That's why she ran away that day."
"She didn't run. She was kidnapped. Matilda was too much a lady to run anywhere. Did that wretched Faerie tell you those lies?"
"No." Lance stepped forward, so he was nose to ectoplasmic nose with Mortimer. "Matilda told me her side of the story. That linebacker Faerie, uh... Fae," he corrected himself. "That Fae woman rescued Matilda from the river after she fell in, and she was helping her get away from your creepy uncle. The guy stole your title and your castle, and you actually believed him when he said Matilda was kidnapped? Give me a break, Morty."
That stopped the knightly ghost for a previously unheard of ten seconds. Mortimer deflated. His eyes got round and troubled and the unhealthy color gradually leached out of his face. Then he shook his head.
"That's a lie!" It lacked his usual bluster.
"Matilda is very happy. She's still alive and young and she says our family has Fae blood. That's why the curse worked the way it did, and that's why Feathedora came to rescue her. She was just taking care of one of her own. Nobody gets to be a Changeling unless they already have Fae blood."
Lance shook his head, amazed at how much he remembered, and that he believed a few things that were certainly contradictory to what Dudley had taught him about the Fairies. No, he had to call them Fae. A smile started to crook one corner of his mouth as he remembered Glori's little speech about "smelly mortals."
"Half-breeds?" Squire Rigley moaned. His Elizabethan-style neck ruffle puffed up in horror and his hair stood out straight in greasy strands. "We all have polluted blood?"
Half the other ghosts drew back in horror. Lance thought their collective gasps could have created a vacuum, if they'd been breathing real air.
"Not to belabor the point, but only Lance has any blood right now." Dudley floated in to take up some of the air space vacated when Mortimer deflated.
Lance took advantage of the maneuvering room to pick up the phone and slam it back into place on the wall.
"Matilda? My baby sister is still alive?" Mortimer gaped like a stranded fish for a little longer, then he started to blow up again. This time he looked excited, rather than enraged. "We have to rescue her! She's a prisoner of those filthy Fairies."
"She's Glori's supervisor. She has a lot of power and she's trying to help break the curse, you moronic bag of hot air," Lance snapped back.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the stainless steel face of the refrigerator and recoiled. He looked like Mortimer, just like Matilda had said. That horrified him. How could Glori smile and sparkle at him like she did, when he was a red-face, loud-mouthed, bull-headed idiot?
Of course, Matilda did say his generation was an improvement.
Not much of one, though.
Matilda didn't think Lance was good enough for Glori. Maybe as a fling, to help her ease the pressure of this change of life she was going through. But not for the long term.
If that didn't deflate him and cool his head--and other parts of his anatomy--nothing would.
Lance traded one more round of glares with the ghosts and stalked out of the kitchen.
No way in the world would he admit to those blockheads that he meant every word of his apology to Glori.
Everything but the part about not expecting anything more than friendship. He wanted a whole lot more.
If he could just find some way to get rid of the ghosts, everything would be perfect.
* * * *
The next morning began a routine that lasted for two weeks of peace. Lance and Glori met two hours before the daycare opened. He pumped in his various repellents and hung up bug traps. She wolfed down several pounds of dark chocolate and boosted her spells to work in concert with the chemicals. It really amazed him how she was able to push all those creepy crawlies into the walls to sleep the day away. If roaches and spiders and flies slept, they didn't breed and they didn't eat and they didn't leave traces of themselves everywhere. The daycare looked perfectly spotless, once Glori got her recalcitrant cleaning spell working. The bugs stayed in the walls, and everything was perfect.
The following Monday, one mother heading for an early meeting dropped off her daughter half an hour ahead of schedule and caught Lance at the daycare. She immediately started asking questions about pest control and the germs spread by insects. Lance knew how much damage one exaggerating parent could do to Glori's business. He did some quick thinking, remembering the calendar Glori had on the wall by the front door. Since she had no one lined up for Career Day that week, he told the curious mother that he was talking with Miss Glori about speaking to the children.
The gratitude in Glori's eyes made him feel as if he could fly. If she had kissed him... Well, it was a good thing she didn't kiss him, because the fireworks that might have resulted from that would have been hard to explain.
That Thursday, Lance got to meet Glori's children for the first time. And for the first time, he actually enjoyed talking about being an exterminator. The children asked amazing questions. He had never realized how intelligent and observant children were, and what strange ideas they came up with to explain adult behavior.
However, some things they got all too right.
"Are you Miss Glori's boyfriend?" a little girl with Shirley Temple ringlets asked, near the end of the morning.
"Yeah, when are you gonna go outside and suck face?" a little boy with two missing teeth crowed.
"Hey, pal," Lance stammered. "It's called kissing, and that's not something I discuss because..." He inadvertently looked at Glori. She leaned against the wall at the back of the room, her hands pressed over her mouth, and shuddering with laughter. At least, he hoped it was laughter and not terror.
"Well, it's just not something a gentleman discusses. How would you feel if someone said something that embarrassed Miss Glori?"
That was the right tactic to take with the children, silencing them, widening their eyes, and proving they loved their Miss Glori. He looked at her again, even knowing it wasn't smart. There was only so much a distraction a man could take before his brains boiled over. Her eyes gleamed with tears and her face rippled through pink, lavender, robin's egg blue, pale green, around the spectrum back to pink. Sparks in matching colors shot off the ends of her ponytails.
He didn't find it strange at all. In fact, the way her face changed colors when she blushed and laughed--he hoped she was laughing--seemed perfectly right for her. It was a Glori kind of thing, and he wouldn't have her any other way.
But would she have him?
Somehow, Lance stammered his way through an explanation that got the children off the subject and back onto bugs. Glori said nothing about the children's questions and Lance decided if she wasn't horrified by the thought of kissing him, then he had made some progress. Life, all in all, was pretty great.
The problem came after the children left. Glori explained to Lance how the natural aura of magic exuded by Human children helped her keep her balance, recharged her batteri
es, and enforced all her spells so they worked like they were supposed to. But just like when the sun went down and solar batteries became drained, the magic reverted to its wonky state once the children had been gone an hour or two. Lance met Glori every evening, after the children and their parents were all gone, to set more traps, pump more bug repellent and kill more pests.
She was always tired, so their conversations over a burger or pizza didn't go much of anywhere. He would tell her stories about the various ghosts haunting him and the stupidity of his ancestors, and she would tell him about the Enclaves, growing up Fae and her daycare center.
Lance could see she really loved every child in her care. He knew she would make a wonderful mother, and wondered why she didn't have any children of her own yet.
Then he would remember Glori's problem. She had to finish growing up before she could have children.
Why would it be so bad for him to hook up with her? He had Fae blood, didn't he? So what if it was diluted? From what Glori told him about Matilda and her children, Halflings were accepted without any problem. From what Glori told him, Halflings were popular as spouses because they were free of some of the problems--like Glori's--that Fae faced.
He didn't know whether to be amused or disgusted that Matilda considered him acceptable as a short-term stud for Glori, but not as a long-term partner.
When he got home every night, the ghosts either lectured him about his stupidity in helping and making friends with a faerie, or they gave him the silent treatment. Lance deliberately argued with the ghosts, in the hopes more would leave him alone for longer periods of time. The silent treatment was no punishment, from his viewpoint. Dudley, being Dudley, valued scholarship over family loyalty and kept him up late every night, talking about all the things he had learned about the Fae from Glori.
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