This man was her happy ever after. And in that moment, she knew the danger she was in, the danger they were all in from Lance DeVere. Because when his eyes left her hand and looked at her, she wasn’t sure if she could ever have the strength to die, rather than give up her wand. Not when she understood that if she wasn’t part of this world, Kain wouldn’t want to be part of it either.
It was one thing to give up your own life, but quite another to give up the life of another human being.
“Coffee,” she said brightly, and tugged her hand away from his.
“Coffee,” he repeated, his voice thick with emotion.
“Make yourself at home,” she said, as she headed for the small kitchen, leaving him in her sitting room in amongst her old furniture. Most of it had belonged to her grandma. She’d grown up around it, and there was little she could bear to part with. It all belonged here. Sometimes Marra thought it had more right to be here than she did.
The wand incident only compounded those thoughts.
“Sugar?” she called.
“No, just milk, please.”
Making the coffee helped calm her, and she began to go over the images in her head, the ones centered around her Cinderella. Kain was right; they were the key. Once she helped her damsel in distress, then she could focus on the wand.
“Thank you,” he said, as she handed him a mug of strong coffee.
“No. Thank you,” Marra said. “Thank you for coming to the police station, and for getting Officer Partridge to let me go.”
“I was doing my job,” he said, but a small smile played across his face.
“And do you escort all your jobs home?”
“No. You are the first,” he said. “How did Lance get up here? Wouldn’t the magic have stopped him?”
“It should.” She’d given it some thought, and come up with the only plausible answer. “He must have something of mine. Something personal. A couple of strands of my hair, a scarf, even one of the antiques I’ve repaired. It’s not strong magic. There’s never been a need until now.”
Marra moved past him, and sat on the lumpy sofa. She’d never had the heart to re-stuff this. It held too many memories from her childhood. Often, she’d pretended it was a whale, lying across it and pretending she was being carried across the sea. It was the right color, a dark bluey gray, all faded from the rich midnight blue it had once been.
Kain sat next to her, not so close that they were touching, but close enough that she could feel the heat from his thigh radiating across the small distance between them. The air in the room evaporated, at the same time as the heat level rose to leave her flushed, breasts heaving.
“So how do we find your Cinderella?” he asked gently, and Marra thought her body would explode as his words caressed her soul.
“I have some hazy clues. It was as I grabbed hold of my wand. When Lance DeVere was heading out of the door. I launched myself at him, and got my hand around it. He wouldn’t let go, and I was afraid it would break. Then I got hit by the image of a young woman. A secretary, I think. She was in an office.” She shook her head. “I don’t have a name or an address, or anything. I tried to stop DeVere, but he was too strong.”
“But you gave him a black eye,” Kain said.
“And scratched his face,” Marra said proudly. “But he got the wand.”
“OK.” He slapped his thighs. “Pen and paper. Write down, or draw, everything you saw. We can find her.”
“I wish I had your optimism.”
“I defend people for a living. I could not do that if I wasn’t optimistic. Now, draw.”
She got up and fetched a pen and paper, then set to work. He was right: she had to try.
Chapter Seven – Kain
Sometime after midnight, he’d told Marra to go to bed. That was several hours, and several mugs of coffee, ago. His eyes were heavy, but Kain fought sleep, knowing he had to try to solve the puzzle sitting in front of him, while trying to block the thought of his mate lying in bed, only a few feet away from him, in the next room.
He wasn’t succeeding in either of these feats.
Plumping up the pillow, he lifted his feet, minus his shoes, and slipped them onto the sofa. An hour or two of sleep might do him good.
Often, it was during a nap that his subconscious managed to put the puzzle pieces of a case together and come up with an answer.
***
He dreamt of Marra, dressed in a sparkly dress, floating in the air, wand in hand. Did fairy godmothers actually fly? He would ask her in the morning. Did that mean he believed in her?
Those thoughts were swept away as she handed him the piece of paper on which she had written down everything she could remember from the fragments of images that her wand had given her. If he believed in the wand. OK, enough with questioning Marra’s story. He had to embrace this, and go with it, not caring if it was real or not. Marraine Le Fey was his mate, and he was going to support her, and if that meant he ended up making a fool of himself, then he was willing to do that for his mate, his woman.
The floating Marra in front of him smiled, and then touched the top of his head with the tip of her wand. Like an electric shock, he jolted back, hitting the floor hard. As he lay prone on the ground, he stared at the sky, where clouds skittered across the blue, to form a picture. It was like lying on a field of grass, staring at the summer sky, trying to imagine the clouds in the sky were images. A dog carrying a bone, Santa Claus, round and puffy with his sack of toys on his back. And there were his reindeer, shooting across the sky.
One of the images from Marra’s drawing came to him: duck on a pond, swimming past a garden gnome who was sitting peacefully, his fishing rod in the water, while a frog leaped up into the air before plopping into the water, leaving nothing but shimmering ripples in his wake.
Then the clouds all blew away, leaving a clear sky, and the building Marra had drawn could be seen in the distance. Then the building seemed to tumble down toward him, so close he could look in the window and see the woman Marra had described. Young, pretty, unsure of herself. Next to her, an older woman was berating her, handing her a huge pile of files.
The young woman, who could only be Marra’s Cinderella, opened her mouth to speak, but they were words Kain could not hear. Then the older woman put her hands up, blocking the Cinderella’s way.
As quickly as the close-up had occurred, the building grew larger, the window smaller, and Cinderella disappeared from view. Instead he could see the whole building, read the name on the sign on the front of it, and see the street. Was it possible, was this where they had to go?
Kain sat up. The light was coming in through the pale-yellow curtains; it was morning. For a second he lay still, not sure what he was doing on the faded-blue lumpy sofa. Then his bear stirred and said one word. Mate.
Kain thrust his feet off the sofa and padded to the bedroom door, through which his mate had disappeared last night. He lifted his hand and was about to knock, when a sudden shyness came over him, an unusual emotion for the confident Kain. He took a step back and smoothed down his clothes, running his fingers through his short, dirty blond hair, then over his stubbly chin; he was looking a little unkempt, but it couldn’t be helped. He raised his hand and knocked on the door.
The knock was more of a light tap, but Marra’s voice came from behind the door. “Come in.”
Kain turned the handle, and opened the door slowly, expecting to find her lying like a fairy tale princess on the bed, her auburn hair swept across the pillow, her lips rosy red, moistened, waiting for the kiss of her Prince Charming.
Instead he found her poring over a drawing, with a laptop open next to her. “You’re awake.”
“Yes. Couldn’t really sleep, so I’ve been up most of the night using Google Earth to try to figure out which building my Cinderella is in.”
“I know which one,” Kain said.
She looked up sharply, her hair swishing around her shoulders. “How?”
“A dream.” H
e shrugged. “It could be just that. A dream. But type in Heron Street. There’s a building called Drake House.” He held the piece of paper with her drawing and notes on. “I’m guessing that’s where you got the image of a duck.”
“Oh. Wow! A dream?” Marra asked.
“Yes. I have been past the building several times, and it kind of fell into place. It must have been lurking in my subconscious.” Why was he lying to her? He should say he saw her dressed as a fairy godmother, all sparkles and light, magic wand in hand. He should tell her he thought the dream and the image of the fairy were linked.
But he couldn’t. Not yet. He was close, but not yet ready to let go, not yet ready to completely believe.
“Once you are dressed, we’ll head over there,” Kain said.
“I will be ready in ten minutes. I have to shower, and dress. Can you put some coffee on?” Marra was already off the bed and heading out of the room. But she paused, and then came back to him. “Thank you.” She stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek.
A kiss that seared his soul. Then he broke out into a grin. “You’re welcome.”
Hell. After just one peck on the cheek he was ready to throw caution to the wind and believe in magic. Once they had this Cinderella stuff sorted out, he would show her exactly what he was, and then he would tell her he believed in her, and didn’t need a wand to prove it.
Chapter Eight – Marra
Marra showered and dressed. Trying not to think of the day that lay ahead of her, or the sexy man in her kitchen. Both of them made her very nervous, for very different reasons.
Kain was a distraction, albeit a nice, easy on the eyes, warm-to-the-touch kind of a distraction, but a distraction nonetheless. And she wasn’t sure she needed distractions today. Not with so much to do. With no wand to assist her, she was going to find it difficult to get everything she needed done to help her Cinderella win her Prince Charming.
She stopped, her hand resting on the handle of the bedroom door. Was that why Kain was here? So he could help her. He’d said he trusted fate, and that’s why he was willing to go along with the idea of a Cinderella and Prince Charming, even if he wasn’t able to go as far as believing in fairy godmothers. So maybe, this was how they proved to each other they were fated mates. It was a test, just not the one she thought it was.
She knew magic worked in mysterious ways. Marra had lived around the ancient art of magic her whole life; she knew the unpredictability of it. Had her wand betrayed her for this reason, so that she could find her own true love and live her own happy ever after?
Opening the door and stepping out, she told herself those were the kind of thoughts that would end up with her looking insane. Magic had no motive. It was a tool, one which was wielded by those in touch with the deep chasm of power that lived within each and every one. Kain could tap into the part of magic that let him transform from human to animal.
“A bear,” she said under her breath, her mind pulling the image of the big, strong bear back to her.
“Coffee.” Kain handed her a cup as she walked into the kitchen, still deep in thought.
“Thanks,” she said, taking it from him. “I’ll fix you some toast.”
“I thought we could grab breakfast from this small bakery I know. It will save us some time and is on the way.” He pulled his smartphone out of his pocket. “I have the directions to the building. All we have to do is figure out which is the correct floor.”
She read his expression. “How many floors are there?”
“Forty-five.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. I think, if the image I saw in my dream is accurate, that we are looking at ten or above. Somewhere in the middle.” He closed his eyes and conjured the image of the building coming towards him. “Yeah. I can’t be sure.”
“Is there any clue in the pictures I drew?” Marra picked up the piece of paper lying on the kitchen counter. “So we know the duck was the building. What about this?”
She’d drawn a picture of a woman, dancing around a man playing a flute of some kind. “I wish I were a better artist.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.” He looked close at the image. “You drew a clock. Its hands point to 4:00 p.m. Is that accurate, or did you pick a random time?”
“I think the time had meaning.” She shrugged. “I can’t be sure, but I think that is our deadline.”
Kain frowned. “Deadline for what?”
“Whatever it is we have to help my Cinderella with.”
“Isn’t four o’clock a little early for a ball?” Kain asked.
“It probably isn’t a ball, as in long dresses and dancing.”
“Wait!” He sounded shocked. “You mean this is not a find the girl, buy her a dress, and get her to the ball kind of a deal?”
Marra narrowed her eyes at him. “This is the twenty-first century. There is more to women than pretty dresses and losing a glass slipper so the Prince can find you.” She drained her cup and set it in the sink. “Women leave business cards these days, you know.”
Kain chuckled, a sound she liked. “Well, don’t I need an up-to-date manual on this fairy godmother lark.”
“Don’t tell me you are a male chauvinist. Because it might shock you to know, that sometimes a Cinderella can be a man.”
He nearly sprayed his coffee across the kitchen. Instead, he stood coughing and hitting himself on the chest, not in a Tarzan kind of way, thank goodness. “A fairy godmother helps men too?”
“Yes. Since equality crept into society, men can be just as much in need of a helping hand as women.”
“OK. I’m only going to really believe all this, if I see it.” Kain finished his coffee, still clearing his throat from where he’d nearly choked.
“Really believe,” she repeated. “That sounds as if you are at least beginning to believe.”
He turned to her, and then closed the space between them, his head lowered, his lips close to hers. “I believe in you, Marraine Le Fey. That will have to be enough for you. For now, I promised to help you. I also promised myself to keep you safe. So whatever it is you feel you need to do to find this Cinderella, if she is real, then I will help you.”
“She is real, Kain. My magic is real. I wish I could prove it to you right now.” Her eyes flicked to his mouth, and she wanted so badly to kiss him. “We have to go.”
“I know,” he said, and moved away from her. “I’m ready. We’ll get breakfast and drive to Drake House, and start our search.”
She nodded and grabbed her purse, quickly scribbling a note to pin on the door that said she would be closed for the day due to unforeseen circumstances, and then they got in his car. Kain buckled his seatbelt and put the street name into his GPS, then he pulled out into the traffic, making one quick detour to the bakery he had mentioned.
And oh, was she glad Kain did. Marra had never watched her weight, preferring to enjoy life, and food, which left her a little curvy in the hips, and round in the stomach, and her breasts were what people called voluptuous. Not that she wasn’t confident in her body: she loved clothes and exercised to stay healthy. But sweet pastries were her one weakness, and these pastries were amazing.
“I don’t know which one to choose,” she said.
“I can recommend the strudel.” Kain pointed to a large, sticky strudel, with apple spilling out of it.
“Then I’ll have that.”
“Two strudels, and two white coffees, no sugar,” Kain said with a smile. “How’s your father, Claire?” he asked the young girl behind the counter, as Marra went along looking at all the other delicious cakes, knowing she would be back here to sample more. As she did, the music playing quietly in the background filtered its way into her brain. She smiled. This song always made her think of Christmas.
When she was younger, she’d sung it often with her mom as they put up the decorations. It always took them a couple of attempts to get everything in the right order.
“Eleven pipers piping, ten l
ords a leaping, nine ladies dancing, eight maids a m…” She pulled the piece of paper with her drawing on it out of her pocket. “That’s it!”
“What?” Kain asked, thanking the young woman and hooking his hand under her elbow, steering her out of the shop. “You have a clue?”
“The twentieth floor. Look. Nine ladies dancing, plus eleven pipers piping.”
“This is a little surreal.”
“Don’t knock it,” she said, taking her pastry and eating it as they stood next to his car. “We have to trust in what we see, what we hear. They are clues.”
“I hope so,” Kain said. “And as soon as we’ve eaten, we’ll find out. Drake House is only a five-minute drive away.”
“Wow,” she said, taking another bite of the pastry and letting it melt in her mouth. “I don’t see how you cannot believe in magic. Not once you’ve eaten one of these pastries.”
He laughed. “You have a point.”
Their pastries were soon eaten, and they stood sipping coffee as the world around them came to life. People were heading to work, their heads down, talking on phones, or listening to music; hardly anyone took notice of the world around them. No one stopped to look at the sun as it crested the buildings, still low in the sky at this time of year, but fiery and bright in the blue sky.
“OK?” he asked, as she shivered.
“Yes. I wish people would stop and talk to each other, to say hello, and pass the time of day.” She sighed. “I’ve always wanted to help bring communities together.”
“Can’t you? With your wand?” he asked.
She looked up under her lashes, trying to figure out if he was teasing her, but he looked serious. “Not for personal gain. If someone asked me, maybe I could.” She frowned. “You’re a lawyer, you’re good with words. When … if I ever get my wand back, you can help me word a spell that will make it happen.”
“Deal.” He thrust his hand out at her.
She looked at it, and prepared for the tingle of electricity that always came with his touch. But instead, as she put her hand in his, he pulled her gently forward, lowered his head and kissed her, tasting of sweet pastry, laced with apple and cinnamon, with a hint of coffee.
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