“He—he—”
“You have two weeks. If you can’t pull this together in two weeks, I’m pulling this case from you.”
With that, Andres disappeared.
Lilly gritted her teeth. “I can’t believe him! He can be so warm and compassionate in one second, and the next, he wants to pull me from my charge!”
Christy flew to Lilly’s side. “What? What did you say? Andres wants to pull you from your charge?”
Ava joined them as well. “Did you tell him to screw off?”
Lilly shook her head. “I wanted to.”
Christy pulled Lilly in her arms. “Whatever you need, you ask. We will figure this out. Knock some heads if we have to.”
Ava slid in as well. “Yeah. We can make this work.”
“Did he—do you have a time limit?” Christy asked.
“I have two weeks.”
Christy nodded. “We can make this work.” She rocked her head back and forth. “My case is in limbo for the time being anyway. We can get yours on track.” Christy patted Lilly’s arm. “Now, tell me everything.”
Lilly nodded, and the three fairies flew into the corner. While their charges played pool, Lilly told her two best friends everything about this mess, and together, they worked on a plan to bring these two together.
Chapter Fourteen
Wednesday Night
Come on, please… - Bruce
Greta shook her head like Bruce could see her.
No. - Greta
Yet she couldn’t help grinning.
Giving up Bruce was turning out to be harder than she thought. They’d video chatted off and on for days, and now he’s pestering her about the steampunk con this coming weekend.
And she’d like to go. She would, but it would mean she’d have to, well, be in public. Where she could be seen.
Come on, it’s a steampunk con. You have to come. - Bruce
And it did sound fun. Dressing in full steampunk garb? The corsets, the ruffles, the metal? How could it not be fun?
Well, it would be around people. That usually killed the fun buzz. Especially when the staring, pointing and whispering started.
Night of the living dead might be better.
No. She wouldn’t let herself get down today. She’d finished her book. And surprisingly Bruce—wait, Barney—had wound up being a pretty decent guy.
She needed to do a bit of cleanup work, take out the horrid, editor-screeching adverbs and the eye-twitching passive verbs, and it would be pretty much ready to go.
Normally, she celebrated with something—a margarita, a big chocolate bar, something. But her parents were home, and while she hated hiding her “other job” from her family, it was necessary.
Her mother had never read a word outside of Christian-based fiction as long as Greta could remember. If her mother and father knew their daughter wrote romance novels—with sex in them—they might very well have a heart attack on the spot.
But she did need to celebrate somehow.
Something…
Her phone chirped.
I will pick you up if transport is the issue. - Bruce
She snorted.
I bet you would. I am not in the city. - Greta
Don’t care. How often do we get to dress up and play? Come on? Please? - Bruce
She couldn’t. Steampunk was all about the beauty of the Victorian era, mixed with the pulp fiction—alternate universe concept of steam engines being the primary form of power. It was an era of beauty mixed with the idea of the metal—women were beautiful, men were cowboy gentlemen, and everything was made of brass.
Greta didn’t fit.
She touched her cheek. There was no way she could go.
She’d have to wear a mask.
A brilliant idea formed in her head.
“A mask,” she whispered. “A Phantom of the Opera–inspired mask with a—” She grabbed a piece of paper off her printer and a pencil. In a giddy, manic glee, she started sketching out a wonderful—no, an incredible—steampunk mask.
She could do this.
She could make this awesome.
On a fresh sheet of paper, she sketched the full costume—using her old Halloween corset and skirt with a little adjustment here and there—
Her phone beeped.
I’m serious. I will bring you. - Bruce
Greta rolled her eyes. She didn’t need a ride… but what about… She darted to her closet and pulled out a very heavy box. She emptied the books inside and stacked them on the floor.
“It isn’t much.” She counted the stock copies of her books. “But I bet…”
She’d have to get a hold of the people having the con, see if they are letting authors bring their books…
That isn’t safe. We’ve never met. But don’t worry, I’ll be there. - Greta
Whoot whoot! JJJ - Bruce
“It may not be me,” she said to the phone, “but Lisa Lee Smith will be there.”
For once, her pen name will come in handy.
She started sorting out what little swag and promo materials she had, and glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall.
Not a lot of time, but she might be able to get more sent if she got on the ball right now.
“Well, look at this,” Cupid said as he appeared next to Lilly.
Lilly jumped back, her yellow sparkles hanging in the air of Greta’s basement apartment. Cupid waved his hand and they swirled, then flew back into the tip of Lilly’s wand.
“What do you want, Cupid?”
“I find it interesting you’re here and not with your charge.”
She crossed her arms and fluttered away from the god. “I merely am making sure my charge isn’t saying the wrong things.”
Cupid smiled, and for a second Lilly knew why he was the god of love.
“Now, you know and I know that is not true,” Cupid said.
Moment gone…
Lilly turned away and looked at Greta, who still sketched her steampunk costume, the inspiration hitting the mortal hard.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Lilly said.
“Come, come, now girl.” He gestured to Greta. “The blast of magic still hangs like a halo around her head.”
“So? What if her muse hit her with an idea?” Lilly said.
“I do not see any muses here,” Cupid replied.
Lilly put her hands on her hips. “I did not do anything wrong here, Cupid. You know we fairies are allowed to work both sides of the coin, if deemed necessary. It’s written in the bylaws.”
“Yes, you fairies and your rules.” He smirked. Snapped his fingers.
A little cherub appeared, arrow at the ready.
“I suppose, if you needed help…” Cupid said.
“Absolutely not! You get going, get out of here, Cupid, before I… I…”
“You’ll what?”
A soft wisp of air blew on them both. “Before I report you to the Council for ungodly-like activities,” Andres said, joining them.
“Oh, report me? Is that the best you can do, Councilman?” Cupid snarled at Andres. “That is always your threat. A report. And what good has any report ever done you?”
Lilly was so relieved to see Andres, she almost missed Cupid’s little minion with his aim on Greta, ready to shoot.
“No you don’t!” Lilly said, blasting the minion.
The minion snarled, but Lilly’s magic caught the arrow as it left the bow.
“Cupid!” Andres snapped. “You will leave now. And take your pet.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Anteros will be happy to assist you,” Andres said. Anteros, the opposite of Cupid in every way, was one of the fairies’ greatest allies on the Council. Anteros worked, like the fairies did, in mutual attraction, a
nd never forced relationships on those who did not want them.
Anteros didn’t bend free will, like Cupid.
Needless to say, the two did not get along. But when did brothers ever get along?
Cupid stammered, then glanced at his minion. “Come, let us be off.”
The minion grumbled, but the two of them disappeared.
Lilly’s shoulders relaxed, relieved for a second Andres had showed up. But only for a second.
“Thank you—” she started to say, until she saw the snarl on Andres’s face.
“Lilly,” he said, his voice deep and grave.
Oh, this will not end well…
“What, I was just—”
“I heard your feeble excuse,” Andres said. “You should be with your charge.”
“I’m going, I’m going.” She started to wave her wand.
Andres threw up a binding cast, freezing her. “I told you, this will not work out well—”
“Look at her,” Lilly said. “She is giddy, excited, about the prospect of meeting Bruce. And going out, doing something. Getting out of her home!”
“Because you made her!” Andres got in Lilly’s face.
“I did no such thing!”
“The yellow sparkles—”
“Gold. They’re gold, thank you!”
“Semantics!” Andres snapped. “Regardless, that’s your work.” He put his hand on her arm. “And you are bending rules! I will have to report this, Lilly.”
“Fine,” Lilly snapped back. “Then I’ll retire too!”
Andres froze. “What?”
“I will retire after this too. I hereby put you and the Council on notice. This is my last mission. I retire after this!”
“No, Lilly, you can’t.”
“Watch me,” she fired back. “Find me a nice little life back on Earth, with a husband and maybe an army of kids.” The last was more for herself than for Andres, but in the heat of the moment, her heart had spat out what she really did want. And she wasn’t about to find it here in the Fairy Realm. She hadn’t been on a date in probably a decade.
It didn’t matter if looking at Andres sent little tingles through her.
Maybe in the Mortal Realm, she’d be able to finally find that thing she craved—love.
“You cannot leave me—the Realm.”
Lilly rolled her eyes at Andres. “Like you don’t have a dozen other fairies you can make miserable for three hundred fifty years. Go, find someone else. I’m done with you.”
Andres made a motion with his hand. The binding spell released.
Lilly waved her wand to check on her charge. Make sure Cupid wasn’t doing anything terrible.
And to get away from Andres.
Because after her announcement, the one she never thought she’d ever say aloud— to anyone—she really needed a moment to herself.
What have I done?
Chapter Fifteen
Saturday—Steampunk Con
Bruce carried his boxes through the gate, grinning at the steampunk convention. The Frontier Museum, an outdoor venue with Old West buildings brought in from all over the state to create a true Old West town, always made him giddy. Especially when the gorgeous vintage buildings were filled with people dressed in their steampunk cosplay.
He smirked.
Cosplay.
Roark and Jason would give him hell if they heard that one.
But, of course, they didn’t get the fun of it.
Men, women, and staff milled about in their steampunk costumes—women in skirts with corsets, accented with goggles, brass fittings and gears ran about, getting certain buildings ready. Men in their black and brown suits wore fake guns strapped to their hips, or rifles over their shoulders, all decked out with tons of steampunk accessories, including modified top hats.
“Ahh, Bruce, there you are!” came Angela, one of the proprietors of S. S. Gears. She had a corset, but instead of skirts, wore tan trousers, boots and goggles, and resembled a prospector.
He grinned. “Hey there, Angela.” He gave her a hug. “You’re getting things together?”
“We already have a line at the main entrance.” Two more people walked by, and she said a few quick words to them before turning to Bruce. “I wanted to set you up here at the dance hall.” She started walking him toward Empire Hall. The building, split in two sides, had a stage, bar and slightly raised VIP seating on one side, and a museum on the other.
As Bruce walked in, he smirked at the old train historical pieces. Wood gleamed and shined, the detailing very beautiful, and Bruce couldn’t wait to take pictures.
“Sounds perfect.” He headed into the train room. The windows would let in enough—
“No, over here, in the hall.”
Bruce blinked. “Oh well, okay.” He followed her into the dance hall.
The stage was lit with soft lights and its red velvet curtain hung, looking bored and ready to do something.
Two raised areas a few steps up dominated the back corner of the hall. Two women were setting up tables, their backs to Bruce. In the main part of the room, guys dressed in their steampunk finery placed chairs for the coming shows on the stage.
“I was thinking you could set up here.” She gestured to the opposite corner of the raised VIP section. “You can use the bar for background.” The wooden, but very functioning bar across the hall was littered with both modern day and vintage liquor bottles. “Or you can use this wall here.”
Bruce liked having his area sort of segregated from the rest of the people. His section was a few steps above the other two ladies and their tables, with plenty of space for him to snap portraits. “I still can go roam around and take pictures, though, right?”
“Of course,” Angela said. “But a good deal of the shows will be in here, so you won’t have to go far.”
“Perfect.” Bruce dropped his cases and started unpacking. He brought one small reflector stand, and started configuring the seating to get the best light. The room, full of wonderful old western detailing and wood, didn’t have a lot of windows.
He put a chair in one corner and started positioning the lights, wishing he had some kind of model to—
He turned. One of the women who’d been setting up her table stared at him. She wore a brass-looking Phantom of the Opera mask which covered most of her face. A big telescope lens poked out of the eyehole. Gold and brass chains and a shawl—clipped at the throat with a cameo pin and other bits of metal detailing—finished off the cosplay costume.
The metal continued to her heavy brown corset, which pushed her assets up high and made her waist look tiny. She had a pocket watch and other various pieces of metal attached to the corset, but her mask drew his immediate attention.
“Wow, what an amazing mask.” Bruce closed in on her. “Hi, I’m Bruce Matthews.”
“Hi,” she said, turning away from him.
Up close, he could see the minute details. Gears decorated the mask in a random pattern, and all of it had been painted a tarnished gold color, looking worn out.
The mask covered the left side of her face, and most of her forehead. Leather straps held it in place and wrapped around the back. She fiddled with the stuff on the table, straightening the piles of books.
Books by Lisa Lee Smith.
Bruce’s jaw about fell off.
“You wrote these?” Bruce asked, picking up one of the Lisa Lee Smith titles.
She rolled her shoulders, her chin tipped up, and a smile crept out from under the edge of the mask. “Yes, I did. I’m Lisa Lee Smith.” She held out her hand to shake his.
Bruce grinned. “It’s a huge pleasure to meet you! I’m a fan.”
She tipped her head to the side. “Really?”
“I am.” He picked up another book. “I’ve read Broken Chain at least three times. It�
�s probably my favorite. I loved David and Alicia’s story.”
“Well, thank you.” A blush crept over her cheek. “It’s one of my favorites too.” She didn’t quite look him in the eye as she spoke, instead fiddling more with the promo items on her table.
He couldn’t believe this.
He was standing in front of Lisa Lee Smith. He felt this strange whoosh go through him, both excited and a little humbled, meeting the woman who’d written books he adored.
He bragged to Greta about them the other day…
What are the odds?
“I was talking about you—rather—your books, to a friend of mine.”
“Oh really?” she said. “I hope it was good things.”
“Oh yeah.”
Bruce pulled out his cell phone and immediately texted Greta.
When are you getting at the con? Lisa Lee Smith is here! - Bruce
He stuck the phone back in his pocket and ran his fingers over the covers on the table. If he’d known she’d be here, he’d have brought his copies.
Her display, orderly and neat, was missing something.
“This isn’t right.” He started picking up the books.
“What isn’t?” she asked, her hand on hip, as her cell phone pinged. She picked up the phone, a grin on her face.
“This.” Bruce gestured to the table and the flat display. “No one can see these awesome book covers if they’re all lying on the table. You need some height…” Without thinking, Bruce rearranged the books, tipping some up, so the covers were visible to passersby.
“Um, excuse me, I don’t think—” Lisa stammered.
“Trust me, I’m a photographer. I know visual.” He arranged, making her table look a thousand times better, with a much more obvious display. “Come, see this.”
She walked around the table, mute, but followed as Bruce led her down the two stairs that signified the VIP area.
“See.” He pointed to the display.
“Wow, it does look better. You can see the books from here.”
“Yeah, people will want to come up and check your stuff out.”
She smiled, again with the not quite looking at him.
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