Enchanted Ever After Read online

  He put an odd spin on "human." Had some sort of soft, lilting accent she couldn’t place, European, maybe.

  "Eight Corp," she murmured. The parent company of the game Fairies and Dragons, where she'd applied for the job she yearned for, to create new stories for the game.

  He turned his body so he looked at the two-story blonde brick Denver square where Jenni Weavers lived. "Jindesfarne Mistweaver Emberdrake will vouch for me."

  Again the unfamiliar accent.

  Jindesfarne Mistweaver Emberdrake? Kiri slid her glance to the house he'd indicated. Jenni Weavers's house where she lived with her husband of six months. Did this guy really know Jenni? Kiri had never heard the "Jindesfarne" bit.

  Day had gone, darkness sifted through the sky. She wanted that perfect job badly, that career. She wanted to love her work.

  But now his hands were in his pockets and the card seemed to be floating midair. He puffed a breath and it drifted toward her.

  She blinked and blinked again and the evening was just dark enough that she wasn't sure what she'd seen. She hadn't been in the game; this shouldn't be a game, but reality…but…

  One too many too weird items. Kiri whirled and trotted home, her feet slapping concrete, her breathing ragged. She hopped up the stairs to the porch. Sticking the key and keycard in the slots, she rushed inside, slammed the door behind her. She stood sucking in breaths in the living room standing on the smoothly finished honey-colored wood floor. Walls safe around her.

  He hadn't tried to stop her. Might even still be where she left him. She wasn't going to look.

  Instead, she yanked on the cord that drew the thick burgundy curtains over the front window and hustled past the bay window alcove with her home office and into the tiny bedroom. Safe.

  The man had been too fascinating—compelling—and so not her type, urbane and lean. She liked men burlier. Overtly muscular. No this man wasn't what she wanted. Really.

  He said he was from Eight Corp. The company that had an opening for a story developer and writer for Fairies and Dragons. She sniffed, realized her nostrils strained to get the last whiff of the guy's scent. A fragrance she couldn't pin down, just like all the rest of him. Sweetly musky? With a faint sharp tang? His skin had seemed to shimmer. That couldn’t be good.

  Would she really see him tomorrow?

  Lathyr Tricurrent watched Kiri Palger hurry back into her home. She seemed odd even for a human, the waves of her personal field resonating in ways that he recognized—Kiri had a potential for magic.

  That potential vibrating around her, bending the light into tiny rainbows enveloping her, had drawn him out.

  He'd underestimated the charm of this place and of Kiri herself.

  In the spring, more magic had graced the world and much had changed for the Lightfolk. Lathyr was one of those who had begun to experience new powers. And the Meld—merging magic and human technology, had rapidly increased.

  Some humans could actually become Lightfolk, transform into magical elemental beings.

  As for Lathyr, he could sense that potential in certain humans—his own new talent. He’d been unsure whether to be pleased with this or not.

  He was not quite a full Merfolk; the slightest trace of elf lived in his blood, enough to give him a point to his ears.

  And the highest Lightfolk did not value anyone who wasn't pure Lightfolk—or purely of one element. He'd been abandoned by his mother, no family claimed him, he had no home. He'd mostly lived on sufferance as a servant at the royal palaces or a guest of lower nobles, forced to be a drifter, and he hated it.

  He could never reach the highest status, or even be awarded a tiny estate by the Eight who controlled all the true domiciles under the ocean. He wanted a home of his own, not a rough cave.

  He wouldn't have had a chance at that home before the infusion of magic that had given him his new power.

  But a notion began edging into his mind that the calcified lines of rank and status were cracking…becoming as fluid and as new as the Meld. Great change brought new opportunities.

  In the spring, a halfling—half-human and half-Lightfolk—had become a Princess of the Lightfolk, a Fire Princess. Unprecedented.

  He glanced toward the abode of Her Highness, Princess Jindesfarne Mistweaver Emberdrake. He didn't need to see the light in her office window to know she was home. The waves of magic—human and Lightfolk and from the Treeman who was her husband—blended and flowed to Lathyr, like the taste of rich chocolate on the air. The Princess had summoned him because she thought the human residents of Mystic Circle could become magical. She was right.

  People with such potential—as well as other Lightfolk—had migrated to the cul-de-sac because of Jindesfarne's powers.

  Evil magical ones, Darkfolk, could not live in Mystic Circle, and Lightfolk magic even kept wicked humans from the neighborhood. Too bad Kiri Palger didn't know that—yet.

  Princess Jindesfarne—Jenni Weavers Emberdrake—had been right. Lathyr should have waited until the next day to approach Kiri Palger. But Mystic Circle's cul-de-sac threw all his magic, not only his new skills, off. He'd never been in a place so rich with magic where all four elements were balanced. When balanced, magic was so much easier to do, to experience.

  Balanced magic made living heady, and he'd felt the rush when he'd coalesced from a cloud to the pond in the park a few minutes before, then taken his human-seeming shape. The richness of the place and Kiri had made him act impulsively, speak when he should have stayed silent.

  Now Lathyr could feel the minor earth elementals who were attached to two of the households—brownies—running through the tunnels they'd carved under his feet.

  Even as he thought of them, one of the brownies popped out of the ground before Lathyr.

  "You have any chocolate?" the small man with wrinkled face and large triangular ears asked.

  Lathyr frowned. "You should be able to smell that I don't." He'd heard the brownies in this area were out of control in their demand for the rare sweet.

  The brownieman sniffed lustily. "I smell drying merskin. You go back to your pond. There's nothing for you here, now." The under-a-meter-high being glanced at Kiri Palger's shut door.

  Lathyr set his teeth, let his lower lip curl.

  "When you come back tomorrow, bring us chocolate." The little earth elemental frowned, looked up at sky full of dark clouds and shivered. "Darkfolk are very aware of Denver, now. Glad I am here, safe." He vanished with a discourteous pop.

  And Lathyr had to face facts.

  He'd liked the looks of Kiri Palger, had wanted to impress her and show her real magic. He'd floated his card to her. That had not gone well.

  He'd failed at first contact with the human in a project that might bring him the chance that his birth had denied him. A chance to provide outstanding service and be rewarded with an ocean home, some small ocean valley with an acceptable current. The stability of not having to move every few months, or live as a long term guest.

  He aspired to more than a cave in the ocean or a house on land. He wanted a real home, a place where he could—perhaps—start a family or at least secure his future.

  With this project, with Kiri Palger, he could get it. Gaining the notice of a high noble like Princess Mistweaver Ember drake was the first step.

  That was worth any cost.

  Chapter 2

  The Mystic Circle neighborhood party was the first since Kiri had moved in a month before. The residents she'd met seemed like a friendly bunch—most of them extroverted. Unfortunately, she wasn't.

  So the party was a big deal to her. Not only would she have to come out of her shell and be personable with her neighbors, but she wanted to impress Jenni Weavers.

  Kiri wanted the writing job—and a career like Jenni had—so badly Kiri could taste it…sweet joy like melty caramel.

  As soon as she'd heard that the Fairies and Dragons team location had changed to Denver, she'd begun watching the website for job opportunities. Then she'd disc
overed Jenni Weavers actually lived in Denver, had for years.

  Kiri had done a tiny smidge of discreet snooping and discovered Jenni lived in Mystic Circle. Though Kiri had spent time with her grandmother in Denver on and off all of her life, and lived there the past four years, she'd never heard of the small cul-de-sac. She'd driven to it…and fallen in love. With the cul-de-sac. With the houses. And one had been for sale! A month ago she'd taken all of the savings she had left from the nest egg her parents had given her and bought the place.

  She didn't regret it. Now maybe she could land her perfect job, too.

  But she hadn't actually met Jenni yet, and Jenni would be one of the people hiring.

  That meant good clothes. For any other block party, Kiri would've gone in jeans and a t-shirt, maybe with a sparkly design. For Jenni Weavers, it meant pressed beige linen pants and white, man-style shirt with tiny beige pinstripes and cuffs. Kiri was glad she'd gotten only a temporary tatt of the Fairies and Dragons logo and it had worn off a long time ago. That would have been over-the-top fan-girl.

  Her pants felt little loose—power walking around the circle and down to the small business district had its benefits, as long as she didn't stop at the gelato shop.

  She slipped on her lucky silver bracelet and hurried to the kitchen to pick up the huge pan of still-warm brownies she'd made for the potluck.

  As soon as opened her door, she could hear the cheerful noise of voices at Jenni's home. "You're going to be fine. You like the neighbors you've met," she reassured herself. "Amber and Rafe, Jenni's guy, Aric, and the gay couple, Dan and Frank. You'll find something to talk about."

  The Mystic Circle people seemed nice, a real community, almost a family. Since Kiri and her parents weren't close—hell, her Dad was in Baja and her Mom in Florida—and they'd emotionally abandoned her as a child, and neither had the same values as she—Kiri had the hope of joining this extended family. One more reason Mystic Circle appealed to her, she'd heard they were a tight community. Another thing she wanted to accomplish today, get further along that path to being accepted.

  And if Kiri was going to work with Jenni Weavers, she'd better learn how to speak to her without stuttering.

  Kiri turned and locked her door, stopped at the street and checked for vehicles. Nothing. Crossing Mystic Circle, she skimmed the south edge of the park, taking a few seconds’ time to watch the koi, sluggish this morning in the shadows. She drew in a deep breath of flowers, including a lush bank of roses—the thick and heady last scents of summer. Then she walked to Jenni Weavers's place, number eight. Kiri was invited; she'd be welcome.

  Would the man she'd seen last night be there, or had she been in a haze of work exhaustion and created him from the shadows of the park?

  Had he really said he was from Eight Corp's human resources? Well, if he showed up to the neighborhood party, she'd see him.

  She strode up the steps to Jenni's house and saw a brass plaque: “Emberdrakes.” Right! Right, Jenni’s name had changed from Weavers to Jenni Weavers Emberdrake—or, maybe, like the guy the night before had said, Jindesfarne Mistweaver Emberdrake. Very cool name and Kiri had better remember it. Names were important.

  Another big breath and then she went through the enclosed porch and was at the front door. She rapped with the silver “Hand of Fatima” knocker.

  Aric, Jenni's husband, opened the door. He stood tall with wide shoulders and looked like he had a Native American background. Again the recollection of the guy from the night before wisped through her mind in comparison. Aric had the build she preferred, but the man she'd met earlier had certainly been interesting.

  "Hello," Aric said. "It's Kiri, isn't it? Number one?"

  "Yeah."

  He offered a huge hand and she propped the brownie pan on her other arm and put hers in his and got a quick shake before he stepped aside and held the door wide. "Welcome. Appetizers are on the kitchen counter, salads et cetera in the dining room, and we're grilling in the back." He glanced down at her brownies and laughed. "Brownies. We all love brownies and chocolate, but don't often make them. Can be confusing."

  "Huh?" Kiri said.

  A charming smile from Aric. "Sorry, neighborhood in-joke."

  "Oh." She wanted to learn all the in-jokes, wanted to be truly a part of the neighborhood.

  "But we'll really appreciate your brownies," Aric said. Since he noticeably swallowed as if saliva had pooled at the thought of the taste, Kiri believed him.

  "Good," she said.

  "The dessert table is in the back, too."

  His stride was long and fast. Prickles ran through her when she entered the house. Her nerves about the job twitched through her more than she expected. But she wanted the position, the career, so much.

  Now she lagged behind Aric and had to hurry through the kitchen and sunroom to the backyard. That space, too, seemed to have…a little something extra. A little more of the feeling that the whole cul-de-sac had. Increased ozone, maybe.

  The smell of sizzling meat teased her nostrils. She glanced over and nearly froze in place. Jenni Weavers—no, Emberdrake!—stood at the grill. Kiri recognized her from web pics. The woman wore a red apron and poufy white chef's hat and wielded a long fork as if it were a weapon.

  But Jenni in the flesh seemed more vibrant than her photo, dark red hair instead of red-brown, and light brown, very sparkling, eyes.

  Kiri wrenched her gaze away to sweep over the people. Almost all of the residents of Mystic Circle hung out, along with folks Kiri didn't recognize, a few guests, she supposed, everyone clumped together in small groups talking. About fifteen people. The guy from last night—who would not have pointy ears or a shimmer to his skin that must have been some cloud-cast or rising moonlight illusion—wasn't there.

  Kiri wasn't disappointed. Really.

  Something bumped Kiri's knee and she joggled the pan. What? She looked around and saw an old, fat cat lying in the sun. Neither of the Davails' yellow labs bounced around her, they ran back and forth along the iron barred fence to the north—the Davails' place—with the occasional bark.

  Amber Davail walked to Kiri and swept the pan from her hands even as Kiri lost her balance again. She windmilled. "Wow," she said. "Good catch. I think my ankle twisted." She wasn't sure what had happened and offered a weak smile to the woman, who was slightly taller than she at maybe five feet six inches.

  "Brownies," Amber said. "You have to watch out for them."

  "Yes, nearly dropped them," Kiri said.

  "Your treats look fabulous."

  A pulse of satisfaction went through Kiri at her praise. "Thank you."

  Honey-colored brows raised, Amber said, "If you want one of these, I suggest you get one right away. They'll go fast."

  "That's okay," Kiri said and relaxed enough for her smile to widen. "I got enough when I cleaned up the bowl and the spoon."

  There was a little moan and Kiri blinked.

  "I'll just put this on the table, why don't I?" Amber said, not meeting Kiri's eyes. The woman's gaze focused on a lower point. "I'll make sure the brownies are taken care of. There will be no more accidents."

  "Sure." Which meant Kiri had to suck up her courage and greet her hostess and heroine, Jenni Emberdrake.

  After discreetly wiping her palms on the side of her pants, and trying to make her smile sincere and not…shaky, she walked up to Jenni at the grill.

  "Hi," Kiri said, offering her hand. "I'm Kiri Palger. I live in number one, the craftsman bungalow without the enclosed porch," she babbled, as if anyone in Mystic Circle wouldn't know which house was number one. Jenni appeared to be five feet nine or ten inches.

  Putting down the fork, Jenni took her hand in a really warm clasp. Kiri hadn't thought her hands were so cold. Nerves.

  "Pleased to meet you," Jenni said with a penetrating stare. "You do fit here in Mystic Circle."

  "Ah. Thanks."

  "And my colleagues and I at Eight Corp are interested in your background and résumé."

&
nbsp; Kiri's relieved breath puffed out a little harder than she wanted and she followed with a slightly bigger smile. "Thank you again."

  "We'll talk in a bit, so why don't you relax and get some food. Plenty of it here." Jenni picked up the fork again and gestured to a steak. "What kind of meat do you want?"

  Kiri wanted to resolve the job thing, but that wasn't going to happen right now. Meat-wise, she longed for a fat hot dog. "I'll have one of those skinless chicken strips."

  Jenni reached toward the far side of the grill for an empty plate, plopped a large chicken strip on the bright red paper dish. The tender meat fell apart.

  Kiri's mouth watered. "Looks great."

  "Eat and enjoy. We'll talk later."

  A dismissal, though said with kindness that reflected in Jenni's eyes. Maybe Kiri would pull this off after all.

  She shifted tension from her shoulders. She was so nervous she probably shouldn't eat. Food might have trouble squeezing into her clenched stomach, but she could hardly dump her plate.

  "Come and sit, Kiri!" called Amber Davail who’d joined her husband of four months, Rafe, at a picnic table. They lived in the Victorian house next door to Jenni. Amber gave a welcoming wave and Rafe smiled and lifted his fork.

  So Kiri crossed to the Davail’s table that had been set up in the shade of a box elder tree and sat.

  It took a while for her to settle down, and she gave credit to Amber, a genealogist, and Rafe, part-owner of the Denver Fencing Lyceum, for helping her. The couple was easy to be with. They also didn't seem to be as…intimidating as Jenni and Aric.

  Soon Kiri had munched a mixed green salad, raw veggies, chicken and fruit and felt full enough to ignore the dessert table in the corner of the yard. Thankfully, there were no irresistible potatoes or French fries. She even managed to stay away from the chips and salsa and guacamole, a real weakness. She wanted to lose a few pounds before she started her new job.