Her sister scrolled through the page, lips pursed. “Why does he need a criminal defense attorney?”
Emma shrugged. “Not sure, but he seems to be slammed. I’ll find out more tomorrow.”
“What’s his name?” she asked in a small voice.
“Says right there. Henry de Daumier-Smith,” Emma slurred with a flick of her wrist. She let her head fall back against the couch and stared at the ceiling. “De Daumier-Smith. De Daumier…am I crazy, or does that name remind you of your eleventh grade English class too?”
“Oh my God.”
“Did you ever have Ms. Mantello for English? She was awesome but had this crazy theory about Shakespeare.”
Daphne sat up ramrod straight and deposited her margarita on the coffee table.
“What?” Emma asked with a frown.
Her sister gave her the dazed, startled look of a deer about to fly over the top of a pickup truck. “You’re sure that’s his name?” Not waiting for a response, Daphne threw Emma’s phone on the couch like it was possessed.
“Why, do you know him? Or did you accidentally switch to my incognito tab?” Emma winced.
Momentarily forgetting her horror, a grimace of distaste crossed Daphne’s face. “Gross, no. Also, the whole point of incognito tabs is to close them once you’re done.” She held up a hand. “Not the point. I…uh. I need to call someone.”
“Are you okay?”
Daphne gave her a forced smile and promptly downed the rest of her margarita. “Don’t worry your pretty head, lil’ sis. I’ll be back in a sec,” was all she said before disappearing into the kitchen and shutting the door behind her.
Emma stared after her, mind boggled. Did anyone ever actually use the term “lil’ sis” outside of a bad sitcom? Daphne was being downright nonchalant, which was suspicious, because that had never fallen into her lexicon of behaviors before. She had always been sassy and spoken her mind, never one to hide things. But ever since Emma had moved back to Tucson, random situations frequently made Daphne edgy then overly casual. The next minute, she would suddenly wander off to do something alone.
Who would freak out at the sight of a neighborhood lawyer’s website? Maybe she knew Henry. But why wouldn’t she say so? She hoped her sister wasn’t in trouble. Maybe she owed someone money. Or maybe she was dating someone! But why wouldn’t Daphne have told her? As Emma finished her margarita, she concluded that none of it added up. There were too many whys and maybes to factor into the situation.
A few minutes later, Daphne emerged from her hiding spot in the kitchen with two fresh margaritas. She shot Emma a beaming smile that almost looked real.
“Everything all right?” Emma took another exaggerated slurp of her new drink, hoping to bring back the levity from earlier. But she choked instead. “Christ, how much tequila did you put in here?”
Daphne avoided Emma’s gaze and sat down on the couch with the daintiness of a debutante. “Oh, you know, not much.” Suddenly changing gears, she said, “You know what you deserve after all this job searching?”
“A job…?”
“A scalp massage!” Daphne said before crawling across the couch and kneeling above Emma. She threaded her fingers through Emma’s hair and hummed.
“What are you…” Emma started to recoil but then immediately relaxed. “You know, now that you mention it…that’s a fantastic idea.”
Daphne had the hands of a goddess. Her fingertips worked in firm yet gentle circles that eased knots of tension she hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying. Suddenly, her scalp felt warm and tingly. Tequila and massages were a beautiful combination. Too soon, Daphne moved away from her and plucked Emma’s drink from her hands before it spilled everywhere. Emma sighed, sinking into the welcoming couch cushions. It felt like they were made of quicksand, ready to swallow her. She never wanted to get up.
“You’re an ace at massages,” she murmured. “But are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
Her sister drank her own margarita with more aggression than necessary before answering. “Just. Give me a minute.”
They fell silent, and Emma gave up on getting her sister to talk. Confronting her was not the best idea considering she was drunk. She slid off her sandals and wiggled her feet. Letting herself enjoy the buzz from the alcohol and the massage, Emma studied the room.
Daphne had inherited the house from their grandmother, but her sister hadn’t changed the décor much. Abstract oil paintings still hung from the walls, and antique floor lamps gave the room a warm glow.
At length, Emma said, “I miss Gram.”
“Me too.”
Their grandmother had died about a year ago. Gram had always smelled like magnolia incense and enjoyed giving unsolicited but insightful advice. A lover of tarot cards, she’d also had a penchant for wearing diaphanous silk blouses and watching documentaries on exotic fish. Emma regretted not seeing her more often in the last couple years. Work always got in the way.
She contemplated the ceiling. “You’re lucky you got to spend those last years with her. Have to admit, I’m jealous she gave you this amazing house.”
“The only reason she did was because you weren’t a screw-up like I was. You were kicking ass in Phoenix. She always said you had your head squarely on your shoulders, that you would always be fine.”
Emma snorted. “So much for that. Though I guess she had a point. You were a mess before vet school.”
Daphne gave her a light shove. Emma giggled.
Still, Daph getting the house made sense given how close she and Gram had been. And it wasn’t like Emma had been ignored. Gram had paid for most of Emma’s undergrad degree with her talent for playing the stock market just right.
They were quiet for another moment. Emma swung her head toward her sister to see she was frowning, lost in thought.
“You have your thinking face on,” she accused. “Tell me why you have your thinking face on.”
Daphne stilled and peered at her closely. Then she halfheartedly punched a sofa cushion. “I have to tell you something. I was hoping tequila would make it easier, but it’s not.”
Emma jabbed a finger into her sister’s shoulder. “I knew it. Ever since I came back to Tucson, you get shifty about random stuff. Is it drugs? You can tell me if it’s drugs.”
Daphne laughed without humor. “No, it’s…I don’t know how to say what it is.”
“Let it flow freely, my dearest, most wonderfulest sister. I’m all ears.” She wiggled her ears for emphasis.
“Shut up, I’m serious.”
“Okay, then say it.”
“I will.”
“You’re not.”
“I am!”
“Say it. Say it. Saayyy it,” Emma egged her on.
“Fine, okay! I’m a fairy! There I said it. I’m a fairy.”
Emma lolled her head to the side and stared at her sister with wide eyes. The alcohol had apparently dissolved her wits as well. She leaned in close and not-whispered, “Daph, did you put something in the margaritas?”
“No, I—”
“Shit, it is drugs, isn’t it?” She placed her hands on Daphne’s shoulders to steady herself. “Why would you give me drugs? I can’t do drugs. I’m a member of the bar. Not like a bar, but the bar. The lawyer bar with the ethics and character and fitness.”
Her sister blew out an exasperated breath and pried Emma’s hands from her. “Damn it, I didn’t put anything in the margaritas. Would you stop being a bowl of oatmeal for one second? I meant I’m a fairy like Tinkerbell, not a fairy like high off my ass and tasting colors. Literally the mythical creature—a healer fairy, actually.”
Emma snorted.
“I’m serious,” Daphne insisted. “Did that de Daumier-Smith guy tell you anything about what he is?”
“What do you mean, what he is? Like a Freemason or something?”
“This is so weird. He obviously didn’t tell you anything, but you can’t be blindsided. I should’ve told you. Ages ago.” She
covered her eyes with the palms of her hands and groaned.
Emma shoved her shoulder against Daphne’s and giggled some more. “What are you going on about?”
Daphne let her hands fall to her sides and squared her shoulders. “Emma, something happened to me last year. It was before Gram died and why she gave me this house. It’s why I became a fairy.” She swallowed. “I haven’t had the guts to tell you.”
What utter nonsense. Daphne was the strongest person she knew. Her sister was babbling, likely as drunk as Emma was. Why wasn’t the babbling stopping? Uh oh. More importantly, why wouldn’t the room stop spinning? She didn’t have the highest alcohol tolerance, but she didn’t usually feel this bad after two margaritas. If it wasn’t drugs, what the hell was it?
“Daph, I don’t know what you’re going on about. I feel like a fairy princess too when I wear too much blue shimmer eyeshadow, but it’s not a crime. That’s what micellar water is for. If you’re not going to tell me what’s going on with you, fine. Just don’t make stuff up. It can, and probably should, wait until your TV and bookshelves stop dancing around the room.”
Daphne loomed over her with concerned eyes. “Damn it, I knew I shouldn’t have called Lana for advice. ‘Liquor before calming spell, and you’ll be swell’ is a bunch of crock.”
“Who’s Lana?” Emma slurred.
“A fairy who doesn’t know what she’s talking about. You went past open-mindedness and swam straight to shitfaced. Don’t puke on my couch. I’m going to get you some water.”
She disappeared, and Emma wiggled until she could lie flat. This couch was way too comfy. It would make a good fainting couch—or in her case, a passing-out couch. Sleep was definitely trying to curry her favor.
Mild panic made her jolt up. She pawed through the cracks between the couch cushions until she found her phone. Despite her slightly blurry vision, she managed to set an alarm for early enough in the morning that she would have time to go back to her apartment and get ready. Even when drunk, she remained responsible. Super smart and super reliable, but super boring—that was Emma.
No. No. Not anymore. She was making life different for herself. Fun, adventurous women could still be practical enough to set alarms for work. Before Emma could get too involved in the argument with herself, a giant pink glass of water appeared before her. Emma accepted it from Daphne’s outstretched hand, sat up a little, and gulped it all down. If she didn’t want a hangover, she would need every drop. She handed the glass back to Daphne, who squeezed her forearm lightly. It felt warm and tingly like the scalp massage had felt. The dizziness abated slightly, but her eyelids felt a lot heavier. Emma fell back into the couch cushions.
Daphne knelt in front of her, lab coat mysteriously gone. She held Emma’s chin and shook it gently. “Em, look at me.”
Emma struggled to keep her eyes open. She heard a flapping noise and saw something blue and shiny spread out behind Daphne.
“I’m not lying. I’ve got wings and everything. You have to see,” Daphne insisted. “You can’t go into his office without knowing. Your clients will be people like me.”
The room was still spinning, and now there was weird blueness to add to the mix. She pushed Daphne away and hugged a throw pillow to her chest.
“That’s a nice blue cape you’ve got on, Daph. Wait, is this a bedtime story? I like this. This is good. I’ve been reading a book Gram gave me when I was a kid. The one about the monsters. But tell me a story instead. I was reading something about a malelo…a malulovent. A mal—forget it. An evil badass mermaid. Say something about that.”
“Oh Christ.” Daphne groaned.
“You’re such a fun sister.” Emma yawned inelegantly. “But maybe the story will hafta wait till your house’s not a Disney tea cup ride. In case you didn’t know, I’m sleeping at your place tonight. Love you oooodles,” she cooed.
Her eyes slipped shut. She felt Daphne trying to shake her awake, but it was a pointless effort. Before long, sleep was a foregone conclusion.
Chapter Four
Emma fumbled with the shiny, crinkly sun visor and shoved it into place to block the sunshine streaming in through her car’s windshield. It was a useless defense against the Arizona sun, but she had to try, right? She dragged her leather tote into her lap and sat in quiet stillness. A cool, gentle breeze hummed through the air vents. Her brain told her to pull the door latch, but her shaky hands told her to wait a goddamn minute.
She tried to blame her tension on the jitteriness she usually woke up with after a night of drinking, but she was bad at tricking herself. Emma clenched and flexed her hands a few times. Even if her odds of getting the job were high, it was totally reasonable to be nervous. She’d turned her life upside down by leaving Big Law, so of course it felt strange to slide back into the law saddle after a brief hiatus.
The weirdness with Daphne hadn’t helped this morning’s mood, either. Wary of her possibly delusional sister’s bizarre talk of fairies, she’d snuck out of the house before Daphne could corner her. Something serious was going on with her sister, though, and tonight Emma would have to get an explanation. There was nothing she could do about it now, though.
Instead, she had to get her head in the game for the interview. She was early for her appointment—like serious overachiever early—but it would give her some time to practice interview questions in her head. If she got lucky, maybe she could coax some inside intel from Henry’s assistant to see if working with him would actually be a good fit. Courage gathered, she climbed out of her car.
Emma couldn’t fight the grin from her face as she glanced up and down the street, scanning the rows of flat-roofed adobe houses. The historic neighborhood reveled in color; she would be lucky to work here. Made of clay and water, the houses dated back to the nineteenth century and were as colorful as gumdrops. One was pink, one burnt orange, another turquoise, and another lime green.
Henry’s office turned out to be a brilliant-white adobe building with a crimson door. Two large prickly pear cactuses with flat, thorny green paddles and bulbous magenta fruit stood guard just outside. Posted next to the bright door was a gold placard inscribed with the name of Henry’s firm in crisp small caps.
This is it. Taking a fortifying breath, Emma pushed the door open slowly…and nearly choked on the overwhelmingly pungent smells of cinnamon, apple, lavender, lemon, and vanilla. Had an air freshener factory exploded in the middle of Henry’s office? The combination of scents was more cloying than walking through the perfume section of a department store. She really hoped it wasn’t like this all the time. Something to ask Henry about later.
Closing the door quietly behind her, she grimaced and waited for her brain to adapt and mark the odor as normal.
Emma glanced around the welcome area and realized the chair behind the reception desk was empty. The door had been unlocked, but maybe they weren’t even open yet. She considered leaving to grab some coffee and come back in half an hour, when hopefully the airborne bath bomb would have dissipated somewhat. Then a thought struck her: This was a prime reconnaissance opportunity. There couldn’t be any harm in taking a quick self-guided tour, right? That way, she could assess Henry’s setup without being distracted by his charming smiles.
Yet as she looked around, she realized the space was as distracting as his smiles were. Blackout blinds shaded all the windows to keep the heat out, but the lighting was sumptuous and golden as it reflected against wooden floors shiny with varnish. She peered into a small, empty conference room to find a sleek glass table and cushioned swivel chairs.
But the real treasure of the building was a room on her right. It reminded her of an unfinished library. Half-empty, espresso black bookshelves lined one wall with the usual reference manuals and casebooks. A few sturdy filing cabinets stood at attention against another wall. Stacks of well-fed manila folders sat on top of them, maybe wondering when they would be stashed away.
Underneath the room’s one window sat a micro-suede sofa, looking perfect
for afternoon naps or crashing after working all night. She noted with some amusement that a blanket had been stuffed behind a fluffy throw pillow. The room’s Oriental rug was sprawled languorously across the floor, and her feet itched to kick off her high heels and walk across the plush softness barefoot.
A large rectangular cardboard box identifying itself as an unassembled desk lay on the floor. A thrill of excitement raced up her spine. If all went well, would this be her office?
“I’m paying for this time,” a man half-shouted and half-growled from somewhere toward the back of the building.
Emma turned with a start. Was that Wendell? A little ways past reception, a door was open a crack. The irritated murmurs floated out of what must have been Henry’s office. She waffled between minding her own business and succumbing to temptation and eavesdropping. Perhaps a happy medium would suffice. Taking care to keep her footsteps quiet, she continued her tour and walked down a narrow hallway with three doors. The first was open and revealed a full kitchen, which included an oven, refrigerator, dishwasher, and plenty of cabinet space. Considering how much time lawyers spent at the office, she mentally applauded Henry’s cleverness.
Leaving the kitchen, she approached a closed door at the end of the hallway. Hand hovering over the doorknob, she hesitated and wondered if she should keep snooping. But more raised voices startled her into backing away and creeping back toward Henry’s office. Maybe she should come back later after all. Or she could sneak back to her car and call Henry’s number to let him wrap up whatever tense meeting this was.
“There are more and more weird news stories coming from Tucson,” a man’s voice she didn’t recognize said. “Someone from the LA supernat government is complaining.”
Henry sighed. “Seriously?”
Curiosity officially piqued, Emma stood rooted to the spot like a stiff, silent Saguaro. The door was only open by a few inches, so all she had was a less-than-stellar view of Henry’s desk. He was leaning against the front of it with his arms crossed over his chest.
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