She merely pulled her hand back and instead ran it through her hair. “Great. We can have fun with that.” She fluttered her wings and held out her arms for a hug.
Roark stepped into her embrace, sliding his arms down. “This is so awkward,” he muttered, his fingers grazing the long, thick spots where the wings came out. The slits traveled down to the small of her back, just stopping at the curve. He tried not to put his hands on her butt, but he was very close, and it felt really weird.
She let out a smirk. “Sorry, I should have—”
“Holy hell. Your words don’t mean jack shit, do they, Turner?” Stephanie snapped from the bottom of the stairs.
Christy and Roark pulled apart.
“Stephanie,” he said, staring at her. On one hand, she looked great—beautiful, perfect—even if she was in simple jeans and a loose top, her hair in a ponytail. On the other, she looked ready to hurl something at him. And there were a lot of breakable things in here.
“Oh, hi there!” Christy said, smiling at her. “This really isn’t.” She started waving her hand with her wedding ring in the air.
“It’s not what you think,” Roark said, glancing at Christy. He could still see her wings. Why couldn’t Stephanie?
“Oh, so you just always cop a feel of a married woman’s ass, Roark? Jesus Christ. You can’t keep your dick in your pants, or what?” She glared at Christy. “He’s good in bed, but don’t get your hopes up. He tends to flip flop a lot.”
“Oh, no, nonononononono,” Christy said. “You really have this all wrong.”
“No, I think I have it all right,” Stephanie said, and turned to walk back up the stairs.
“Christy,” he said, hoping the fairy would do something to stop Stephanie from leaving. Tie her up would be good… She wasn’t bolting again. He charged across the room toward Steph.
“I can’t impede free will, Roark!”
“Block the stairs.” While the basement wasn’t large under the shop, it still took a few good strides to get all the way across.
Stephanie was on the first step.
Christy waved her wand, blue sparks shooting from the tip.
A brick wall appeared in front of Stephanie, inches from her nose, sealing the three of them in the basement.
“What the?” she said, stumbling backwards.
Right into Roark’s arms.
Stephanie pushed off him. “Let go of me. What the hell?” She went up to the wall and punched her fist into it. “Where in the hell did this brick come from?” She slammed her hand again and again.
Roark grabbed her arm. “It’s brick. Stop it—you’ll hurt yourself.”
“Since when did you give a shit?” Stephanie snarled at him and cradled her hand. He could already see blood on her knuckles.
“Come on, you’re bleeding.”
“No thanks to you.” She glanced back at the wall. “What in the heck is going on, you asshole?”
Roark bit back a smart retort, instead leading her to the work sink so he could rinse off the cuts. “There is a lot you need to know,” he said as he started the faucet.
“Tell me about it. Like who is she?”
Roark glanced at Christy. Christy shrugged, as if to say “go ahead, tell her.”
He wiped off the cuts, patting them with a paper towel. “Stephanie, meet my Fairy Godmother, Christy.”
“Yeah, um, okay. Roark, have you been drinking?” She asked as she turned to look at Christy.
And Stephanie let out a blood-curdling scream, falling into the sink.
“It’s okay,” Roark said. “Really. It’s fine.”
“Wings!” Stephanie exclaimed, standing and pointing. “She has goddamn wings!”
“That’s because I’m a fairy,” Christy added, smiling and making the wings flutter.
“I have a Fairy Godmother,” Roark said, his arms around Stephanie. “I know it sounds dumb, but it’s true. She’s been trying to help me.”
“Hey!” Christy said, fluttering her wings.
Stephanie’s lips were moving as she raised her head—counting, he could hear the minute whispers on her lips. “Ten,” she said, and looked at Christy. Shook her head, then looked down at the floor again.
“For someone who’s a wedding planner, she doesn’t seem too terribly believing of fairies,” Christy said.
“I would think you get this a lot,” Roark replied.
“No, she doesn’t, because she is not supposed to reveal herself like this,” came a man’s voice.
Roark glanced across the room at a rather attractive, almost statuesque-looking man, dressed in clothes circa 1902, including the top hat. The outfit looked both dignified and ludicrous, especially on the large man.
“Cupid, this really isn’t your business,” Christy said.
Roark blinked. This was Cupid? He expected a guy with a diaper and wings and a bag of arrows, not someone who looked like he walked out of Sherlock Holmes.
“Oh, I think it is.” Cupid adjusted his hat. “You get very angry when I break my rules. Yet here you are, breaking yours. Showing off your wings to someone who’s not your charge? Tsk, tsk, little fairy.”
Roark’s eyes narrowed on Cupid. “So you’re the bastard who shot me.”
“Not me personally,” Cupid said, smiling like a cheap used car salesman. “But I do have a staff who works for me, and they do the shooting of the arrows.”
“Tell me I’m not crazy,” Stephanie whispered. “This cannot be real.” She kept staring at Christy’s wings, which fluttered more and more as the Fairy Godmother glanced at Roark. “And she’s like thirty. Maybe thirty-five. That’s not a Fairy Godmother. They’re old, in little hooded dresses, with big pink bows.”
Christy snapped her gaze to Stephanie. “You watched Cinderella too much. Fairy Godmothers are not old.”
Stephanie stammered, staring at Christy. “I’m not crazy, I’m not…” She rubbed her head.
Roark put his arm around her. “You’re not. I’ll explain it to you later.”
“Explanations now would be even better,” Stephanie replied.
Cupid took a seat on the center of the work table that dominated the room and crossed his legs. He rested his elbows on his knees like a kid watching a movie, looking far too amused at this whole situation.
Roark really did not like him.
“What are you doing here?” Christy snarled at him.
“This is what I’ve been waiting for.”
Christy rolled her eyes. “What do you care, other than to bug me?”
“To prove you need me, against your beliefs.”
“That’s what all this torment is about?” Christy snapped. “To prove we need you?”
“Why else would I spend so much time around a bunch of fairies?” The last word came out with utter disgust.
Christy fluttered her wings in what Roark was learning was frustration. Blue sparkles flew around the basement. “Fairies are noble, honorable beings. Unlike you. Someone who takes advantage of people in their hour of need, and fill them with unwanted feelings.”
“Oh they’re so unwanted? How many, just in your tenor, have wound up happy because of my encouragement?”
“How many hours have I had to spend over the centuries, correcting you and your minions’ misfires?”
They continued to yell at each other, the words echoing off the walls and blue sparkles going everywhere. Roark hoped no one upstairs could hear this, because he didn’t want to explain why there were bricks at the bottom of the steps. Among other things.
Stephanie put her hand on Roark’s arm. “Are you getting all of this?”
He nodded. “Guess it’s some big thing between them.”
As she watched them, Roark noticed the tightness in her features began to disappear. Her brow still had that crinkle in it, but it wasn’t as pronoun
ced as it usually was when she was ready to explode.
Not that he could explain away all of this, either, even though it was right in front of him.
“So this is real. You have a Fairy Godmother. Cupid’s real, all that stuff really exists?” Stephanie whispered.
“I guess.” Roark said. “It’s crazy, but it’s real.” He watched the two of them go back and forth for a little longer, both arguing about things that made no sense to him. Something about a council and laws, all stuff he had no clue about.
Steph crossed her arms over her chest and tipped her head to the side, like she was about to…
“Time out.” Stephanie waved her hand in the air, moving closer, though still not within arm’s reach of either Christy or Cupid. “So you’re a fairy. Where the hell were you when I had the shittiest teen life possible? Aren’t you supposed to help kids?”
“This is real life, not Fairly Odd Parents.” Christy let out a sigh, flipping a strand of hair out of her face. “People aren’t assigned a Fairy Godmother until they’re mature enough to handle it. And even then, only some get godmother help.”
Stephanie put her hands on her hips. “Well, who decides?”
“You do, actually,” Christy said.
“Me? I don’t remember that class in school,” Steph replied.
“You have to ask for help. Ask to find that special someone,” Roark said, and faced Christy. “Isn’t that right?”
“Correct.”
“No wonder, I never asked for anything in my life,” Stephanie said.
“When you do not ask, you cannot receive,” Cupid said, still perched on the table, his eyes glittering with glee.
Stephanie’s gaze shifted from Christy to Cupid, then back again. “So you’re saying my life was hard because I didn’t ask for anything?”
“Basically,” Christy said.
“Okay, fine. So give me a million dollars.” She held out her hand.
Cupid smirked as he removed his top hat. “That is why free will is overrated.”
Christy whispered something to Cupid, making the man roll his eyes, then faced Steph. “You can’t ask for that,” Christy said.
“Why not? You said ask for help, and I’ll get it. Go big or go home, all that jazz.”
“You have to earn it,” Christy said.
“You just said if I asked I would receive.”
“It’s no different than praying for help to pay your bills,” Christy said. “You still have to work for it. Your prayer is answered by getting extra overtime. Not that you were just handed an extra five hundred dollars.”
“Well, what’s the point of that?” Stephanie asked.
“How many lottery winners go broke five years after they win? They weren’t mature enough to handle what a true gift of money means.”
Stephanie shook her head. “So why are you here with him?”
“Because she made a bet,” Cupid said. “One she probably will lose unless…” He pulled out one of his arrows.
“Oh, you will not shoot that, Cupid!” Christy said.
“Bet me, fairy.” In a blink, a bow appeared in Cupid’s hand, and he aimed it toward Stephanie. “You need this, miss. Or this lovely fairy will never get to retire. And I enjoy helping out, because, unlike you, I can bend free will.” With that, he pulled back the string.
The arrow flew.
“What?” Stephanie stammered.
Roark shoved Stephanie down. As she fell, the arrow grazed her shoulder and clattered on the concrete floor.
“Son of a bitch!” Stephanie cried out, her hand going to the wound. Roark was at her side in a second.
Cupid muttered, and Roark heard the string being pulled back again.
He didn’t hesitate, and grabbed the first thing he saw—one of his nearly cured perfumes. He hurled the glass bottle at Cupid.
It was obvious Roark wasn’t a baseball star in high school, but he did hit Cupid’s arm. The glass shattered and the room filled with full-strength perfume.
“Let me see,” Christy said.
Stephanie released the wound. “How am I supposed to feel? How am I supposed to feel? I don’t feel different—” She glanced at Roark.
Her eyes sort of glazed over as she looked at him.
“Oh crap, how much is on that arrow tip?” Roark asked.
“Enough,” Cupid said, sounding rather pleased with himself.
“Cupid, I don’t care what you are, I will punch you in the face,” Roark said.
“My hero,” Stephanie said, giggling.
“Oh crap,” Christy muttered, and started waving her wand over the rip in her skin. “I might be able to…” She materialized a bottle out of the air and dumped the glittery white liquid on the wound.
“What is that?” Cupid snapped.
“Antidote,” Christy said, rubbing it into Stephanie’s arm. “Here, sweetie, have a drink.”
“What is this? Oh, it glitters. I love glitter.”
“That’s great, Stephanie, now please, take a sip. You’ll feel so good after.”
“Cool,” she said, and swiped the little bottle. Tipping it up, she drank the whole thing. Stephanie shivered as it went down and her eyes closed—and boom, she hit the floor, hard.
“Perfect,” Roark muttered, angry at himself for not catching her.
Christy waited, arms crossed and wings softly fluttering back and forth.
“As much fun as this is, I need to return home,” Cupid said. “Work on my formulas, and come up with something a little more potent if you have antidotes.”
Christy rolled her eyes. “Get going, Cupid. Don’t come back.”
“Oh, I’ll be around. I’m always around.” And with that, he disappeared.
Roark sighed. “How long will she be out?”
“I don’t know,” Christy said. “Let’s lay her on the table, get her stretched out.”
Chapter Twenty
Stephanie woke, the creepy florescent light hanging from the ceiling the first thing she saw as she came to. Oh and the smell. That overwhelming scent of perfume, like she’d fallen into a vat.
Where the hell am I? Her head throbbed, and she reached up, rubbing…
Crap. Ponytail.
She blinked, focusing.
“She’s coming around.” She heard Roark’s voice.
“Good, she took quite a tumble.” That voice—it wasn’t his office manager Glenda. Steph thought she remembered the voice, though.
She rubbed her eyes. When she looked up, hovering over her the florescent light made the woman’s pale blonde hair seem almost blue.
That or the wings.
Wait. Wings?
Steph blinked. “Wings?”
Roark grabbed her hand, and she winced. Why do my hands hurt? Oh right, the crazy brick wall.
And it came flooding back to her.
She’d come to Roark’s store to see him. She’d been avoiding him for over a week, and it was friggin’ killing her. They had to make this right between them, because she couldn’t live like this. They couldn’t live like this.
She needed him far more than she ever thought she did.
Steph had come, tail tucked between her legs, ready to tell him she couldn’t stand not having him around, and she was an idiot.
An understanding came to her a few days ago, after going through the motions without him.
Steph wasn’t romantic—she never really had been into the whole “world is prettier when you’re in love” thing. The world hadn’t turned all sorts of pretty for her, like so many poems profess. Everything had turned an ugly shade of gray, boring and lifeless. Not even her current clients could bring her any joy. Nothing really mattered.
Except she didn’t have Roark in her life anymore.
She really couldn’t live without him.<
br />
And then she got here, saw Roark copping a feel on some blonde chick. With big friggin’ blue wings.
Steph tried to sit up—she was lying on his work table. How’d she get here? She’d been on the floor—that guy had shot her with an arrow… She reached for her shoulder, which was still warm, but wasn’t throbbing nearly as much as it had been before.
“Baby, it’s going to be okay.” Roark stroked her forehead.
She turned to Roark. “Did I faint? And did you just call me ‘baby’?”
Roark smiled, a piece of his chestnut hair falling into his face. “Yes and yes.”
“And.” She turned her head to the woman. “There’s a woman here, with wings, Roark.” She thought she sounded pretty logical and sound, which was not how she felt just seeing those enormous wings sticking out of the woman’s back. A flash of panic hit her again, and she wanted to jump up, hide behind Roark or something, because wings just weren’t right.
“My name’s Christy,” she said, holding out her hand—a hand that looked perfectly normal. If Steph only looked at the hand, she’d assume she was looking at any normal woman, like any of her bridal clients. By her hand, this lady could have been any petite bride she’d ever worked with.
It wasn’t until she looked up that things felt really funky. She couldn’t quite bring herself to reach for the woman’s hand.
Christy pulled her hand back. “It’s all right,” she said. “Some people are a little afraid of me at first.”
“A little?” Stephanie asked. “Those wings probably are as wide as this room, and they’re…uh…attached.”
Christy looked around. “No, not quite across the room. Mine wouldn’t, anyway. My husband’s wings might, though.” She smiled. “Takes a lot to lift us off the ground in this form.”
“Is this…uh…” Stephanie rubbed her face. “Is this how you normally look?”
Christy nodded. “Mostly. I usually stay small, though. It’s easier to get around. But yes, I don’t have weird pointy ears or different features like movies make us out to look. We’re really not that different from you.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Stephanie said, turning to Roark. “Is this some kind of weird dream?”
“No, it’s very real.” He stroked her head. “Are you all right?”
Guys and Godmothers Page 13