She made a beckoning gesture as the construction worker sauntered up the ramp to the gate in an effort to hurry him along. He persisted in taking his time, damn it.
He grabbed hold of the top of the gate and leaned casually against it. “I went to all that effort for lipstick?” he chided as he held up the lipstick case, now covered in mud.
“Yep, thanks,” she said as she reached for it.
He moved it out of range. “Tut, tut. Give me your number, first.”
Melanie glared up at him. “Why don’t we just agree to meet somewhere?”
He grinned, and she saw those dimples again as he shook his head slowly. “Nuh. Give me your number.”
Melanie pasted a smile on her face as she reached inside her handbag for her business card holder. It took a little fumbling around, which wasn’t quite the dramatic whip-out she’d been hoping for, before she found the metallic case. She pulled it out, flipped the lid and removed a card. “Here.”
His grin broadened as he took the card through the gap in the chain-links and handed her the lipstick case.
“Thanks,” she muttered, grudgingly and turned to leave.
“Hey, what about our date?” he called after her as she started to walk away.
“Uh, call me,” she responded. She had every intention of hanging up on him. No way in hell was she going out with the jerk.
Another worker, this one taller, with a figure that seemed just a little bigger and bulkier, and not so much tanned as sunburnt came up behind her, and quickly moved out of her way as she turned.
“Can I help you, lady?” he asked, tipping his hardhat.
“No, thanks, I think I’ve got it,” she said absently as she stepped around the hulk and started to jog down the street to her car, hopefully before Lionel saw her. She put the flash drive inside the side pocket of her handbag and retrieved her keys, climbing into the car hurriedly. She drove away without looking at the construction workers, or the council chambers.
Jerks.
Esmerelda knocked on the door and folded her arms as she waited for admittance. She was right in the middle of testing a potion, and didn’t appreciate the summons. But she couldn’t really say anything. Flutterbies, no. She’d find herself painting dew again.
“Come in,” a lilting, feminine voice called from within.
Esmerelda rolled her shoulders back, settling her wings into place and pushed the doors open. Whatever the problem was, she hoped it could be sorted quickly so that she could return to her cooking. The imposing doors slowly opened inward, their massive weight causing them to shift with the speed of a sloth.
She entered the room, her slippered feet making soft flapping noises as she walked across the parquetry toward the large desk situated in front of the massive floor to ceiling cathedral windows. Originally the flooring had been carpet, but the fairy dust had created such a monstrous cleaning bill, and with the recent budget cuts, it was decided to remove the carpet to save on costs. She missed the carpet. So soft, so plush. So sparkly with all that glitter. Pretty.
The chamber was enormous. The large columns were giant tree trunks, and the walls were a combination of stone and tree limbs, creating a strong, living shell. The windows were framed with branches that rose and entwined, like graceful fingers clutching the glass panels. The ceiling was high, like the pointed canopy of a rainforest.
She approached the large desk, while the tiny woman who sat behind it continued to read over a file. After a moment the fairy sighed. Her face was smooth, her dark hair pulled back into an elaborate braid, threaded through with scarlet blossoms to match her flowing gown. Her wings were a pearlescent white, her skin dusted with a shimmer that oozed power. She was an old fairy, yet still looked beautiful, her powers still strong.
Bet she doesn’t have any problems with warding potions. Esmerelda waited patiently for the G.F.C. to address her. Nobody hurried the G.F.C.
Matilda, the Grand Fairy Co-ordinator, finally closed the file and looked up, her glistening grey eyes showing a calm astuteness. She inclined her head in greeting. “Esmerelda, thank you for coming so quickly.”
Esmerelda nodded. “What’s the problem?” She had a pot on the boil, and warding potions were tricky. Left too long and they bubbled over. It would take ages to clean her kitchen, and she wouldn’t be able to practice any more spells or potions until the effects wore off.
“A challenge, Esmerelda, not a problem. We have a challenge.”
Esmerelda nodded. Some say potato … “Certainly, G.F.C. What challenge do we face today?”
Matilda lifted the file on her desk, and Esmerelda took it. “We have a fairy tale off-track.”
Chapter 3
Esmerelda frowned as she scanned the contents. “The Frog Prince? What is wrong?”
Matilda sighed. “Our Frog was late. Missed his opportunity.”
Esmerelda read the status report, shaking her head slowly. “Interesting. The Interferer has made the appropriate responses, almost to the letter.” She read the last demand and smiled. Ah, a romantic. Or a creep. Sometimes it was difficult to tell.
Matilda nodded. “True. The thing is—he’s not the Prince. He doesn’t look anything like a frog. He’s not supposed to be there. Now the fairy tale may not play out. We can’t allow that to happen.”
Esmerelda nodded. “Of course.” Fairy tales were necessary. They taught lessons. They charted destiny. Things were supposed to happen in a certain order. What if Little Mermaid ended up in the Goldilocks tale? Esmerelda shuddered. Anarchy. No, Little Mermaid had her tale, Goldilocks had her three bears, and never the twain should meet. There was a reason those characters ended up with those stories, those particular personalities. Lessons and destiny. Messing with a fairy tale was like messing with Fate. You didn’t want to mess with Fate. Fate could destroy the very fabric of the Fairy Isle.
“You need to go and sort it out.”
Esmerelda winced. Fungus. She could sense her pot bubbling over. “I’m supposed to be dropping in on Cinderella,” she demurred. “What about one of the other F.G.Es?”
Matilda shook her head. “Unfortunately they’re not available. Many of them are in preparation for Sleeping Beauty’s christening.”
“What about Mistyweather?” Mistyweather was a fairy floater; she drifted from tale to tale, helping out wherever needed. Some said the reason Mistyweather didn’t have her own fairy tale was because she was incompetent. Others believed she was cursed. Esmerelda preferred to think Mistyweather had her own destiny, her own lessons to learn.
Matilda grimaced. “Mistyweather drank just a little too much dandelion wine. She’s in detox.”
“Oh, poor thing.” Dandelion wine was delicious, seductive, and sickening in too large a dose. “I hope she’s all right.”
Matilda nodded. “She’ll be fine. Unfortunately the same can’t be said for the seven dwarfs. They’re going to have to work off the damages they caused to Snow White’s glass coffin. Again.” The G.F.C. shook her head. “Another fairy tale postponed. Again.” She smiled brightly. “But that’s why you’re here. We need to get the Frog Prince back on track. You’ll be taking a partner, but you need to get going. Our frog has missed his opportunity, so you’ll need to orchestrate another one.”
Esmerelda slowly closed the file. “A partner?” She didn’t need a partner. She was a Fairy Godmother Enforcer. One of the best, as a matter of fact.
“I don’t need a partner.”
Matilda’s smile didn’t falter, but her eyes sparked with impatience, just a little, and Esmerelda ducked her head. Nobody argued with the G.F.C.
“This partner has already done some background work. You’ll need his access to be able to get to the princess.”
Esmerelda nodded. “Yes, G.F.C.”
Matilda glanced past her, and lifted her chin. Esmerelda felt a cool breeze quiver through her wings, a suggestion of orange bergamot teasing her nostrils. Her skin prickled with unease. No. Surely not. It couldn’t be…
She turned and watched the figure stepping out of the shadows by the door, and her wings shifted. She wished she had her warding potion on her right now.
The imp smiled at her as he approached. Contrary to popular belief, the imps weren’t so tiny, or so benign. This one was taller than some, and yes, maybe well-formed, but she recognised him instantly. His golden brown skin was dull, crackling, but it was his impish grin, the twinkle in his eye, that dragged at her memory. Enticing, seductive, he could charm the hair off a witch’s head. She lifted her chin. But she was immune to his charms. And if she wasn’t, she’d make another potion.
“Rump. What are you doing here?”
Rumpelstiltskin bowed. “I am at your service, Essie.”
She tightened her lips. She’d told him repeatedly not to call her that annoying pet name.
“Rumpelstiltskin will be your backup on this case.” Matilda held up a hand to forestall Esmerelda’s objections. “He is on work release, Esmerelda. He has to learn to help the humans, instead of…well, instead of what he did last time. He’s already established a cover with the princess, so he can get you in. Now, off you go.” Matilda waved them toward the door.
Esmerelda turned and stalked out of the G.F.C. office.
Fungus.
Melanie swept into the real estate office, removing her sunglasses so that she could see inside the darkened interior. She quickly scanned the office. Her boss must be out to lunch. She frowned. It wasn’t normally like him to leave the office unattended.
She hurried over to her desk and sat down. She was up to date with her work, and she only had a couple of letters to type before the end of the day. She had time to check what was on the flash drive. Her mobile phone rang inside her purse, and she glanced at the screen. She didn’t recognise the number, so she ignored it. Just in case it was The Village People calling.
She pulled the flash drive out of the side pocket of her bag and shoved the handbag under her desk. Keeping an eye on the front door, she pulled the lid off the drive, but halted short of inserting it into the computer. She looked at the empty space there and frowned. Where was it? She twisted the base of the container. Nothing came out.
She looked inside. It was—empty. What the hell? Her eyes widened, and she twisted the container again, hoping the plug would mysteriously appear. Only it didn’t. Melanie’s breath whistled through her lips. Oh, God, she was going to puke.
She turned the container upside down and shook it. That didn’t work either.
Perspiration dotted her lip. Where was it? Oh, God, had it fallen out at the site? She wrapped her arms around her midriff. Oh, hell. She’d lost it. She rocked in her chair. Damn it. All that effort, Lionel touching her… She stood up and paced away from her desk. Oh, hell, oh, hell. She searched her pockets, then her handbag, dumping everything on to her desk and fumbling through the contents. Nothing.
She’d lost the drive.
Hands on her hips, she turned and walked away, then back to her desk. Stopped. No, it can’t be. She couldn’t be that unlucky. She thought about having Lionel as a stepfather. Okay, that was unlucky, but—come on! She needed a break. She went back to pacing.
What was she going to do? She returned to her computer, opened up a word processing document, and started typing what she could remember of the addresses. She grimaced. She’d only glanced at them quickly, and Fairy Meadow wasn’t an area she was familiar with. What was Lionel planning to do down there?
She knew her stepfather, probably a lot better than he thought she did. She knew he was as crooked as a corkscrew. If she could find the proof, though, she could confront him, make him go away. Hopefully far, far away. Or, if not, then at least she’d be able to get her poor mother away from his influence.
She leaned back in her chair. Okay, so she’d lost the drive. She’d gotten the information once, she could do it again. Her stomach heaved at the thought of putting herself in Lionel’s reach.
Since he’d met her mother, he’d always stared at her. He’d hugged her at every opportunity. She’d tried to run away when she’d heard they were getting married. Unfortunately, at fourteen, she’d run to a friend’s place, whose mother had called her mother. She still remembered the talk with her mum, the tears, the promises to never run away again. She also remembered the talk with Lionel, that night in her room, after her mother had taken her ‘medicine’ and fallen asleep.
He’d threatened to hurt her mother if she ever tried any of that shit again. She was his kid, now, and she had to learn to behave. And if she resisted, he was more than willing to discipline her. She shuddered at the memory. Lionel was clever, though. He always stopped a fraction shy of what others would consider inappropriate. But Melanie was now twenty-six, and not so easily threatened. She still lived at home, although she hated it. Her fear, though, was what Lionel would do to her mother if she moved out. She wasn’t stupid, she knew Lionel knew, and he was manipulating her, but she wasn’t ready to leave her mother alone with Lionel.
A tear rolled down her cheek, and she brushed it away. She squared her shoulders. She was a Rhys, not a Lowry. She would ultimately win. She could take care of herself, she’d made sure of that. Lionel didn’t know of the self-defence lessons she’d taken over the years. If push came to shove, she could shove back. Hard. But she wasn’t the one in immediate danger.
If she could find information on Lionel, something that proved he was the toad she knew him to be, she could convince her mother to leave Lionel, so that her mother could finally find her independence. She’d help her kick her addiction to the painkillers, the ones that sapped her energy, her will—her sense. And then they could live in peace, without fear.
She just needed a break. She’d go search his office again. She’d search at home. She would keep searching until she found something that she could use against her stepfather. And hopefully she’d find it before he figured out what she was doing.
Chapter 4
The door to the office opened, and Randall Stilson, her employer, shuffled in. He was nearly seventy-two years old, and not ready to retire. Melanie couldn’t quite understand how he managed to still run his own business, but, well, he did.
A woman, seemingly close to his age, followed behind him, and Melanie rose from her desk, a genuine smile on her face.
“Hi, Randall.”
Randall waved, taking small steps to turn around and close the door after the woman. “Hello, Melanie. I had to duck out and meet my wife at the bank. I hope I wasn’t gone too long.” He had a slight accent that she still wasn’t quite able to place.
“But I—no, everything is fine.” He had been in the office when she’d left. She’d explained that she was popping out for lunch, and was going to take pictures of a new property on their books—but he must have forgotten, the dear.
“I want to introduce you to my wife,” he said, and put his arm around the woman’s waist, hustling her forward. The woman twittered behind her hand, shaking off his arm before meeting Melanie’s gaze. “This is Esme, my other half.”
“Your better half, dear,” Esme said as she extended her hand to Melanie. “I’m pleased to meet you, Melanie. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Melanie shook her hand politely, finding the old-fashioned greeting charming. “I’m so pleased to meet you, too. Can I get you something to drink? A coffee?”
Esme shook her head. “Oh, no thanks. I don’t touch that stuff.” She crossed over to one of the waiting chairs and sat down, pulling some knitting from her tote bag.
Randall muttered something about dandelion wine as he shuffled into the kitchen at the rear of the office. “Esme will be joining us in the office this afternoon. She’s…at a loose end. Did you take the photos, Melanie?”
“Uh, yes, I did.” She’d pulled in very quickly, taken a few snaps, then hopped back into the car to get to work—and to see what she’d saved onto the drive. Damn it. “I’m just about to do up the sales flyers. What is the advertised price you want to put on it?”
Melanie sat down at her desk. “You know I can’t do that Randall. You’re the agent, you have to set the price.”
“Okay, maybe eight hundred.”
Melanie glanced over her shoulder. “It’s on Marine Parade, Randall.”
Randall nodded. “Okay, maybe seven hundred.”
Melanie shook her head.
“Nine hundred?”
Melanie frowned.
Randall beamed at her, and wagged his finger. “A-ha, I told you Esme, this is a bright girl, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did, Randall,” Esme said, not lifting her gaze from her knitting.
“See, she is so good when I test her. You know I’m testing you, right?”
Melanie arched an eyebrow.
“See, I’m testing you, because the right answer would be….?”
“One point three million,” Melanie supplied. She wasn’t supposed to do this, but Randall was lovely, sweet, and she found she pushed the boundaries of her role to help her old employer out.
Randall clapped his hands. “Exactly. That’s our price.” He turned back to the kitchen. “Are you sure you don’t want some coffee, Esme? You never know, it might give you a bit of a spark.”
Melanie smiled as Randall cackled away to himself in the kitchen, and Esme harrumphed in her seat. They seemed like such a sweet couple.
A few hours later, Melanie reluctantly shut down the computer at her employer’s urging.
“Go home, Melanie. You’re young. You shouldn’t work so hard.”
Melanie smiled as she leaned over to grab her bag. Sometimes her boss conveniently forgot that he was the one who assigned her that work. She was taking on more responsibilities in the office. She was handling all of the cash that came in from the tenants, all of the accounting for suppliers and landlords, and handling all complaints and queries. Now she was taking photos and inspecting properties. She should sit down and talk with her boss about retirement, but she wasn’t quite ready to lose this job. It paid very well, and she was saving as much as she could. Soon she would have enough for a down payment on a place for her and her mother. Just a couple more months. Then she’d talk to her boss.
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