A Little Something Extra

by Pam McCutcheon

  Once alone in her hotel room, P.J. hugged the knowledge to herself. Magic was real! And her beloved Connor was one of the magic wielders. It was wonderful…or was it?

  The elation slowly faded, and in its place was left…emptiness. Why did she feel this way? Now that she knew magic really did exist, she should be overjoyed. After all, she’d finally accomplished her goal.

  Her goal. That was it—the quest for magic had consumed her entire life. Now that she’d found it, what was left? She felt adrift, rudderless. And that wasn’t the worst part. In her dreams of discovering real magic, she’d always assumed that once she found it, it would be only a matter of learning how it worked, then using it herself.

  That’s why she felt so low. She’d found real magic, all right, but only those with faerie blood could use it. Save for a massive transfusion—and what faerie in its right mind would go for that?—magic was forever beyond her reach.

  No, the only way she could experience magic was through Connor.

  And he was slated for a faerie woman.

  Chapter Ten

  As Connor drove from the airport, all P.J. wanted to do was go home and rest. She’d been elated once he’d cleared Ambrose of suspicion and she realized their quest would keep them together a little longer, but the proof of his magic had changed all that.

  She’d tried to sort through what had happened and what it meant to her, but she hadn’t been able to think with Connor around. All she knew was that her world had turned upside down and she needed time to think about it—away from him and his distracting presence.

  Connor stopped at her apartment and carried her suitcase to the door. She turned to tell him goodbye, but he wore a stubborn look that told her he wasn’t going to leave until he saw the inside of her apartment.

  She sighed. Why not? He knew her by now, knew her more intimately than most people. Since she hadn’t told him her real name, she might as well let him see another small piece of her. She handed him her key in a gesture of surrender and he opened the door, ushering her inside.

  She turned on the light and paused. How would he see it? The living room was small and cramped, the tiny couch in front of the television fighting for space with the army-surplus desk and filing cabinets of her profession. Papers spilled over every available surface, and the walls were covered with photographs of the many subjects she’d interviewed over the years, interspersed with framed articles with her byline. It was more of an office than a living room—not exactly the ideal place to entertain a guest.

  Connor looked around in silence, then smiled. “Yes, this reminds me of you—all professional and aloof on the outside, but the inside…”

  “The inside?”

  “I’ll bet…” He took the few steps to her bedroom door and opened it.

  P.J. knew what he’d see there—the room was decorated in soft floral pastels, with light, airy furniture. It was the one place she allowed her whimsical side to show through.

  He nodded and smiled at her. “Aye, ‘tis as I thought. The inside is warm and soft and feminine just like you.”

  Why had she worried? She should have known Connor would understand. She gave him a tender, tired smile.

  “Ah, but you’ll be that weary, and here I am blathering on. Tomorrow will be soon enough for us to talk to Stayle. I’ll be picking you up around noon so you can get some rest, all right?”

  P.J. nodded. Right now all she wanted was to go to bed and rest her fatigued brain.

  Connor placed her suitcase in the bedroom, kissed her on the forehead and murmured his goodbyes. He let himself out and P.J. lay down on the bed, promising herself to rest for just a moment before she tackled the chore of unpacking. Instead she fell fast asleep.

  P.J. HEARD A KNOCK at her door and opened it, smiling at Connor. It’d only been a few hours, but she already missed him—missed his ready humor, his slow, dimpled smile and those laughing green eyes. Now seeing him anew, she realized how lucky she was to be with him, if only for a short time. This man could have anyone he wanted—he was magic, in more ways than one.

  Connor caught her up in a big bear hug. “I missed you,” he said simply.

  “Me, too.” She felt safe and warm and loved. Everything would be just fine, she knew it.

  An hour later she wasn’t so sure.

  Stayle muttered and paced the length of her boutique’s showroom, closed to the public until the talisman was found. She looked haggard and wan. Turning on Connor, she said, “What d’you mean, you haven’t found me talisman? You’ve been off gallivantin’ all over the world, and with what t’show fer it?” She gestured mockingly at P.J. “Nothing but an infatuated mortal, it looks like. I warned you about that, y’know.”

  P.J. kept silent and Connor came to her defense. “My relationship with P.J. is none of your concern, and I’ll not be havin’ you sharpen your tongue on her.” He turned to P.J. and lowered his voice. “She usually isn’t like this. ‘Tis the loss of her talisman that’s done it. She can’t help it, y’see.”

  P.J. nodded in understanding, though she thought privately that Stayle could use some lessons in manners.

  Stayle frowned. “Never mind her. What about me talisman? Are you prepared to use your magic to find it now?”

  “No,” Connor explained with far more patience than P.J. would’ve had in a similar situation. “My month isn’t up yet, and we want to make sure we’ve exhausted all leads.”

  Stayle rolled her eyes in exasperation. “And what leads will those be? I told ye everything I know!”

  Connor made a conciliatory gesture with his hands. “Maybe. Maybe not. P.J. here is a fine reporter and has a great deal of experience in investigations like this. Let her ask you some questions.”

  Stayle folded her arms and glared at P.J. “And what do you know about finding a magic talisman, mortal?” she challenged.

  P.J. forced herself to reply calmly. This was Connor’s sister, whom he obviously loved even when she was being driven bonkers by the loss of her talisman. Ignoring Stayle’s challenge, P.J. said, “Let’s go over what happened again to see if we can find anything new.”

  Stayle’s lips hardened into a firm line, then opened to utter what P.J. was sure would be a scathing reply.

  Connor grasped his sister’s shoulder. “She’s only trying to help, Stayle, and you’re not making things easier. Now answer the lass’s questions.”

  Thus appealed to, Stayle reluctantly cooperated and recited the events of the day. She slapped the records down on the counter. “If you don’t believe me, look at the records. There were only five customers that day in the fittin’ room, and you’ve cleared the lot of ‘em.”

  Patiently, P.J. prodded, “Were there any other customers who might have entered the room who didn’t purchase the custom-made shoes?”

  “No!”

  “Tradesmen, perhaps, selling something?”

  “No, I told you-”

  “Children, relatives of the customers?”

  “No, there wasn’t…” Stayle paused in thought. “Wait. There was someone else.” She grabbed the records in front of her. “Shaughnessy—he brought his wife. And the actress had a man with her.”

  “A man?” P.J. exchanged a glance with Connor. Was he thinking what she was thinking?

  Connor’s eyes narrowed as he focused on his sister. “Was he about P.J.’s height, fortyish, with light brown hair?”

  Stayle frowned in thought. “Aye, that he was.”

  “Neil Chalmers,” P.J. and Connor said in unison.

  Stayle’s eyes widened in sudden hope. “Do ye know him?”

  Connor grimaced. “Aye, we know him.”

  P.J. regarded Connor incredulously. “You mean, in all the times we’ve run into him, you’ve never touched his hand?”

  Connor’s eyes narrowed as he thought about it. “No, I haven’t. Each time we met, Neil held a drink, a bandage or something so he couldn’t shake hands. Very clever.”

  “You think it was deliberate?” />
  “It had to be—’twould be too much of a coincidence otherwise.”

  “But how would he know to avoid your hand?”

  “I don’t—” Connor broke off and snapped his fingers. “Remember when we interviewed Melissa? The maid left us alone downstairs and we talked about the power of the shoehorn. Then later Neil came out of the side alcove. I’ll bet—”

  “He was listening! He overheard us saying how we could identify the thief by shaking his hand. No wonder he avoided it.” P.J. paused, thinking. “So why has he been following us all over the world? Obviously not to pester me for a part in his film.”

  “Nay, lass, I’ll wager he’s trying to figure out how to use the talisman.”

  “You’re right, and that’s why he pumped me for so much information on magic.” She grinned at him. “He didn’t get much.”

  Stayle, who had been following the conversation with a perplexed look on her face, interrupted. “Does this mean ye know who has me talisman?” she demanded of her brother.

  “Aye, we’re fairly certain.”

  “Then go and get it!”

  “Not so fast,” Connor cautioned. “I thought Ambrose was the thief and it turned out he wasn’t. I’m almost positive Neil is, but I want to verify it before I scare him off and he runs and hides somewhere we’ll never find him. The world is obviously his playground.”

  “So go get him, then.”

  Connor grinned wryly. “‘Tisn’t that easy. We’ve been deliberately avoiding him. ‘Twould look a mite suspicious right now if we all of a sudden started seekin’ out his company.”

  “But, Connor, if ye know where me talisman is—”

  Connor made a shushing motion with his hands. “Quit your blatherin’ for a moment and let me think. If he’s still looking for us, he’s likely to show back up in Vail. He knows we were coming back here. We can’t count on that, though. Since we’ve been avoiding him, he may think we’re on to him.”

  P.J. had an idea. She didn’t like it, but if it would help locate the talisman and get this over with, she’d use it. “Connor? Remember when you took Melissa’s picture?” He nodded. “Well, you told her you’d give her copies of the photographs once they were developed—”

  Connor grabbed her and kissed her, swinging her around. “That’s it, lass—a wonderful idea. The pictures should be ready to pick up by now. I’ll just take them by and find out where Neil is and what he’s doing.”

  He started out the door, then turned back. “Wait, I almost forgot the shoes I promised you. Stayle, would you give P.J. your client questionnaire, please?”

  “What? You’re giving her a pair of me shoes, gratis? Why?”

  “Do you need to ask?” he said quietly.

  Surprisingly, Stayle quailed under the censorious look in his eyes and went into the other room. When she came back, she shoved a sheaf of papers at P.J. “Here. Ye need to fill these out—honestly, mind you.”

  Connor scowled, but P.J. touched his arm lightly to reassure him, then thanked Stayle and took the papers.

  As they walked out of the boutique, P.J. sighed in relief. Dealing with Connor’s sister was rather like confronting a woman with permanent PMS. For the first time in her life P.J. was grateful for her own sister; Stayle made Amaranth look positively normal.

  MELISSA’S MAID ushered P.J. and Connor into the white living room of Melissa’s condo, then left to inform the actress of their presence. Once the maid was out of sight, P.J. kept watch on the stairs as Connor silently checked out the alcove Neil had emerged from the last time they were there.

  Coming back to stand beside P.J., Connor whispered, “‘Tis a bathroom, and I’ll wager Neil hid in there and listened to everything we said.”

  P.J. nodded, then shushed him as she heard movement above them. They turned to see Melissa descending the staircase.

  “Ms. Sheridan and Mr. Michaels,” Melissa said politely. “How nice to see you again. Please, won’t you come in and sit down?”

  They sat opposite Melissa as she said, “Now, what can I do for you?”

  Connor gestured with the folder in his hand. “Here are the pictures I promised you.”

  Melissa smiled. “Wonderful! Let’s see them,” she said, and moved to sit next to Connor on the couch.

  Ignoring the stab of jealousy that lanced through her, P.J. forced herself to endure the sight of another woman leaning so close to Connor. She supposed she should be grateful Melissa wasn’t faerie. Then she’d really have something to worry about.

  “Uh, is Mr. Chalmers here?” P.J. asked. She and Connor had agreed on the way over that she’d play the eager aspiring actress as a ploy to learn Neil’s whereabouts.

  Melissa looked puzzled. “Neil? No, I haven’t seen him in quite a while. Why?”

  “He said he wanted to use me in his film, and I thought if he was serious…” She allowed her voice to trail off and plastered a suitably stagestruck look on her face.

  “I’m sorry,” Melissa said. “I don’t know where he is. He only shows up every few days or so. The last time I saw him he said he was going to do some research on magic for the film. He’ll probably be back tomorrow.”

  P.J. tried to look dejected. Research? That gave her an idea. She glanced down at the coffee table where Melissa and Connor were sorting through pictures. “Are there any pictures of him in there? I…I’d like to have one.”

  Connor looked surprised, but nodded. “Yes, I think he ended up in one or two shots.” He sorted through them and pulled one out that had a good view of Neil’s face. “Will this do?”

  P.J. nodded and marked time as Melissa and Connor pored over the pictures. Finally P.J. couldn’t take it anymore. She glanced at her watch. “Uh-oh, we’d better be going or we’ll be late for our next interview.”

  Realizing she had to ensure Neil didn’t learn of their visit, P.J. turned to Melissa with feigned embarrassment and pleading eyes. “I hate being a pest, but would you please not tell Mr. Chalmers I was here? I…I don’t want him to think I’m a star-struck groupie or anything.”

  With a pitying look in her eyes, Melissa agreed, making P.J. feel guilty. She really had no reason to be jealous of the actress, even if Melissa was drop-dead gorgeous. In fact, P.J. could almost like her.

  When P.J. and Connor were finally alone in the car, Connor turned to her. “Well, we didn’t learn anything, but you’ve got an idea, haven’t you, lass? I could see those wheels turning a mile a minute.”

  P.J. chuckled. “Yes, I do. If Neil is doing research on magic in Vail, then no matter where he starts, I have a hunch he’ll end up at The Cosmic Connection.”

  P.J.’S HUNCH WAS RIGHT. Amaranth leaned over the counter, peering at Neil’s photo. “Yes, I remember him.”

  Amaranth had actually come down out of the clouds long enough to notice something? Amazing. P.J.’s spirits sank as she shared a disappointed look with Connor. “Darn, I was hoping he hadn’t been here yet.”

  “Oh, he’ll be back,” Amaranth assured her.

  “How do you know?”

  Amaranth shrugged. “He said so.”

  “Why? Does he know you’re my sister?” It was the only explanation she could come up with.

  “Oh, no. At least I don’t think so.”

  “Then how do you know he’s coming back?”

  “Because he said so,” Amaranth repeated patiently.

  P.J. rolled her eyes. This could go on forever. “Do you know why he’s coming back?”

  Amaranth nodded complacently. “Yes, of course.”

  P.J. glared at Connor, who seemed to find their conversation vastly amusing. Heroically, she restrained herself from heaving a sigh. “All right, why is he coming back?”

  “To pick up a book he ordered.”

  Now they were getting somewhere. “Do you know when he’s coming by?”

  “Sometime this afternoon.”

  How strange. Amaranth usually didn’t remember anything about her customers, let alone this much detail. �
��Why do you remember so much about this man?”

  Amaranth frowned. “He wasn’t very nice—he treated me like an idiot.”

  P.J. was speechless. To tell the truth, she’d often treated Amaranth that way herself, though she knew her sister was no such thing. In fact, P.J. was doing it now.

  Connor smiled at Amaranth and filled in the resulting silence. “That’s our boy. Now, lass, do you remember what he was looking for?”

  Amaranth smiled, blooming under Connor’s attention and charm. “Oh, yes. He wanted to know about objects with magical powers. We didn’t have anything in stock, so I ordered a book from Denver on talismanic magic.”

  P.J. shared a significant glance with Connor. Neil was beginning to look more and more guilty. And Connor had gotten more out of Amaranth with a smile than P.J. had in twenty agonizing minutes of questions. She had to remember his technique. For now she’d let him handle the rest of the questioning.

  “Will you be doing us a favor then, lass?”

  “Sure,” Amaranth said without hesitation. “What is it?”

  Connor leaned forward confidingly. “We need to meet the man, without making it obvious we’re looking for him. If we go upstairs to your sister’s office, could you let us know, on the sly, when he comes in? That way we can come down and run into him, accidental-like.”

  Amaranth considered for a minute. “Are you going to do something bad to him?”

  Connor gave her an honest answer. “We think he may have stolen something from my sister. This’ll help us find out. If so, yes, we’ll see he gets just what he deserves.”

  Amaranth smiled. “Good. I’m sure he’s your thief. He gave me such bad vibes, I had to do a spiritual cleansing of the store after he left.”

  Connor nodded as if Amaranth made perfect sense. Come to think of it, maybe she did. P.J.’s notions of what was real magic and what wasn’t had been exploded recently, and she wasn’t sure of anything anymore.