These ideas had barely run through his mind before he dismissed them—the latter because he wasn't ready to face his old high school flame, and the former because he didn't hold out much hope for it paying off. This case was already steeped in Fairyville weirdness. His mother's confidence notwithstanding, they'd never solve it by following the book. No, they'd have to rely on subtler forms of guidance.
Like maybe praying for a decent lead.
He shook his head at the thought. His focus was all over the place today. He needed to get himself together before they tackled anything.
"We're going back to the inn," he decided. "I need to think for a while."
He glanced at Bryan just as the other man turned his face to the window. Bryan's elbow was on the armrest, his hand covering his sensual, half-Italian mouth. Despite the barrier, Alex could tell he was smiling. The knowing expression made Alex realize he was warm from more than the near-century temperatures. His zipper was clutching his c**k a good bit tighter than it had before.
It seemed Bryan had guessed what his partner needed besides "thinking."
Chapter Four
Magnus lived in what humans colorfully termed an "earth ship." It was a small one-bedroom house with its backside dug into the ground, built with recycled materials like automobile tires and cans. Solar panels enhanced the energy conservation of the three-foot walls, but living green hadn't been his incentive for buying it.
His incentive for buying it had been the unobstructed view of the town's red rocks. Fairy was a lush, green cradle, cloying in its sweetness. This landscape reminded him he wasn't there, reminded him, too, that the Earth itself was a power object.
Tonight he was more pleased than ever that nothing stood between him and the stark formation called the Giant's Teeth—nothing except the scrub and dirt of national park land.
He watched both through the single window that ran the length of his home, drinking in the beauty of the sunset until the last blood-red glimmer disappeared and the land went black.
When it did, he couldn't restrain a shiver. His soul felt as if a similar shadow had snapped over it.
"You won't lose her," he said quietly, his fingers pressed to the sun-warmed glass. "She's still your friend."
He shut his eyes to the darkness. He'd known for some time that he loved Zoe, but he hadn't known how deeply until she turned away today. Friendship truly wasn't enough to ease the ache inside him, but it was better than never seeing her again.
"Stop," he whispered, feeling the first tinge of hopelessness beginning to stain his spirit, like an octopus's ink clouding a sunlit sea. He knew the basic laws by which all realms operated, Fairy or otherwise. Hopelessness drew more reasons to lose hope as surely as magnets drew iron filings. Joy was its only cure, but sometimes—like now—joy needed help to bloom.
Knowing he couldn't reach for it on his own, he turned to the simplest magic, the one that demanded no rituals or spells, the first and purest any child of Fairy learned.
"Send me sweeter thoughts," he murmured to the Will-Be. "I am the child of your maker, and I am willing to receive."
The Will-Be wasn't a being or a realm. It was a sphere of influence, discrete unto itself but overlapping the worlds of matter and spirit. The Will-Be was the nonplace where wishes first began coming true. Magnus pictured it as a limitless metaphysical storehouse for possibilities that hadn't yet taken form. Every desire—assuming its birth had been intense and focused—existed, ghostlike, in this not-quite-real domain, waiting for its summoner to welcome it. The way its summoner did this was to embrace two things. The first was faith in the mechanism that brought desires into being. The second was belief that the summoner was worthy of the gift. So long as these qualities could be sufficiently sustained, no desire was too big for the Will-Be to gratify.
In Fairy, as long as the request didn't oppose an edict of the queen, the process was quick and easy. In the human realm, coaxing wishes into manifestation took more time than most beings had patience for. Magnus was still working on his ability to wait gracefully, but he knew frustration slowed the magic, and despair shut it down entirely—because what did that emotion represent but a lack of faith?
Magnus couldn't afford to despair over the prospect of losing Zoe's friendship. Yes, his fear would take time to appear. Everything happened slower in the human realm. But feeding it even a little would lead him in a direction he didn't want to go. Far better, and far easier, to stop the dread when it was small.
"I am clever," he said, determined to head off his gloom. "I have wooed many women and won their hearts. Surely keeping one woman's fondness isn't that different. I love Zoe, after all, and love is a good, strong magic, perhaps the oldest magic of all. Caring for her need not lower my spirits, not when it's so clearly an advantage."
His breath came easier with the soothing, and his heart didn't feel so heavy in his chest. Opening his eyes, he noticed a field of energy wavering outside the window, a heatlike shimmer in cool, moon blue. Magnus smiled at the sign that he was making progress. As he did, a tendril licked against the glass. The Will-Be was coming close enough to taste his thoughts.
"Just an idea," he petitioned politely. "A little help getting Zoe to feel easy with me again."
The Will-Be gathered against the glass, taking on a shape Magnus recognized.
"Perfect!" he exclaimed, delight tugging at his lips. "That's even better than I asked for."
Zoe floated na**d in the hot tub on the deck behind her adobe house, her arms and neck draped limply over the padded rim. She didn't fear being spied on. None of her neighbors were close, in addition to which, Fairyville had an ordinance against commercial lights shining after ten. Left undisturbed, the stars were twinkling crystals on a field of ebon)'. Coupled with the sea salt she'd thrown into the roiling water, the view of the undimmed heavens acted as a balm. She felt her upsets drain away—at least, as much as they were going to.
No amount of sea salt could tell her what to do about her sexy manager.
It didn't seem she could forget him. Magnus called to her emotions and her body too much for that. Being friends had already proven painful, and yet the thought of not being friends appealed to her even less. At lunch, Teresa had suggested she try to seduce him, just go for it and get him out of her system. On the face of it, this appeared to be her best option. Magnus had kissed her—more than kissed her, strictly speaking—and surely a seduction had a chance of success. The problem was, even if she did succeed, she was far from certain one night with Magnus would put her itch to rest.