Liam's Gold

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eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. Samhain Publishing, Ltd. 577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520 Macon GA 31201 Liam’s Gold Copyright © 2008 by Jody Wallace ISBN: 978-1-60504-228-2 Edited by Bethany Morgan Cover by Anne Cain All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: November 2008 www.samhainpublishing.com

Liam’s Gold Jody Wallace

Dedication

For Carrie, who may never even read this. Which makes it tempting to use this space to cast aspersions on her character or share embarrassing moments from her past, but I guess I really shouldn’t.

Liam’s Gold

Chapter One

The doorbell buzzed while Liam was in the shower. It was barely audible over the rush of water, even to his sensitive ears. He slid the bar of Irish Spring, his favorite soap, back onto the wire rack, rinsed quickly and cranked off the faucet. The doorbell buzzed again. “Hang on, hang on,” he muttered. It was probably Sal here to fix the computer he’d fried with another virus. She had terrible timing, but if she cooled her heels on the doorstep too long, she’d get pissed and he’d have to pay somebody to repair the demon box. His cash flow was diverted to other things right now—more important things. He wrapped himself in a concealing robe and padded, dripping, to the front door. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of his body. He just didn’t want Sal to notice his skin was as flaky as phyllo dough. He checked the peephole. Sure enough, his next-door neighbor, Ms. Salvia Rose Winter, leaned against the porch column with a scowl on her pretty face and her computer repair kit balanced on her hip. As always, he felt himself lighten at the sight of her, at the funny way her mouth bowed when she frowned. Grabbing a pair of sunglasses, he slipped them on and opened the door with a flourish. “Hey there, Sal my gal.” Liam flashed his most charming smile, the better to keep Sal’s attention on his face. He needed about a gallon of moisturizer, stat. “Long time, no see.” Sal pushed up the brim of her cap. Her sky-blue eyes narrowed. “You’re not speaking to me, remember?”

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“And here I thought you were the one mad at me.” He’d been avoiding her, but the reason she assumed was not the reason why. “Guess I was wrong. Well, here you are now. Bygones?” She dug in her repair kit and handed him a Tupperware box. “Gram sent cookies. What’s up with the shades, Cory Hart?” “Hangover,” he lied. He didn’t have his contacts in, so his shamrock-shaped irises would disclose to any human he wasn’t altogether normal. “Are you alone? You’d better be alone.” She eyed his plaid robe and wet hair with a suspicious glare. “Of course I’m alone.” He’d been “alone” more than she realized of late. He was too close to completion to risk sex. Too close to completion to invite a Finder spawn into his house, but that was a risk he was willing to take since it was Sal. His gal Sal. She gave a decisive nod. Her blonde ponytail, shoved through the back of her cap, bounced. “I can give you three hours. But don’t bitch me out about firewalls and filtering software this time. Everyone uses firewalls.” He motioned her in and shut the door. “I couldn’t surf my favorite sites.” “Porn sites.” Sal tightened her lips, but to him she still looked kissable. “A guy’s gotta have hobbies.” As they walked through the house, Liam was careful to stay behind her. Not that Sal knew flaking skin was one of the signs, but she had the genetics to recognize him. Her heritage was the main reason he’d bought the house beside her and her grandmother. Nobody, but nobody, would expect a leprechaun in the final phase of deuchainn to live next door to Finder humans. Nobody would expect a leprechaun in any phase of deuchainn to live next door to Finder humans. “What stupid thing did you download this time? Lesbian three-ways?” Sal whisked into the master bedroom and wheeled out his office chair. She flexed her hands and fingers over the keyboard. “Come on. Don’t you think I’ve learned my lesson? It was a greeting card. Probably from your grandmother.” He’d sent it to himself, actually, so he could hose his computer.

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Viruses concealed the electronic burps and glitches his presence caused in electronic equipment. “You should get a Mac.” Her voice was gruff, but a tiny smile fluttered across her lips. She inserted a disk and booted up the system in safe mode. He leaned over her shoulder, close to her ear. She smelled like roses—not her grandmother’s roses, but the whisper-sweet scent unique to Sal. “I appreciate your help, Sal. What would I do without you?” She hesitated before she answered. Unless he mistook his hearing, which he didn’t, she caught her breath. In a slightly forced voice, she said, “You’re dripping on me.” He glanced at her chest. A drop of water plopped onto her collarbone and rolled down her creamy skin, glistening like a diamond. Others had spattered her shirt. Her blue cotton tee was more low-cut than usual. Much more. From this angle he could clearly distinguish her firm tits and lacy bra. He’d always loved Sal’s chest, even if he’d never gotten his hands on it. And he never would. It would be his biggest regret when he completed deuchainn and left humanspace forever. “Nice shirt. Sexy.” Liam blew across her cleavage. “Is that for me?” She jerked in shock, and her head clonked against his. “Ouch! What the hell, pervert? No, it’s not for you.” A flush pinkened her skin. Liam laughed and straightened, rubbing his head. He knew it was for him. He’d known for years, and he was a bad, bad man to tease her. “You look nice,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to finish my shower.” Sal waved, already entranced by the quagmire of his computer issues. He needed to moisturize and put in his contacts before she noticed anything unusual. The bathroom was off the master bedroom. Once inside, he doffed his robe and grabbed a towel, giving his back a good scratch. He line-dried his linens so they’d be rough enough to…ahhh!…hit the right spots. He’d been human-sized so long, his skin itched and peeled, a sure sign his power cache was nearly replete. It was also one of the signs in Finder legends—and one a gaidache looked for.


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So Liam doffed his shirt a lot and bought lotion by the gallon on the Internet using an anonymous account. What leprechaun with any claim to good sense would bare this much skin during the peels? The constant flakes were like a sign reading “Ask me how I can make your dreams come true!” stamped across his back. Using a special tool to reach his shoulder blades, Liam applied several layers of oils and lotions everywhere. It should give him a couple hours of normalcy before the peels returned. Then he inserted his brown contacts. He ordered them off the Internet too, instead of going to the optometrist, for obvious reasons. First there would be questions about his “deformed” irises, then the research, and then, some of them, the few who could find space in their twenty-first century perceptions to believe in fairies, would make a wish—a wish he would be compelled to grant. A wish that would drain his magic reserves and add that much more time to his deuchainn. Optometrists invariably asked for perfect vision when they found a leprechaun. Even the bald or fat ones. Liam wiped the last blot of lotion on the tops of his feet and tossed the empty bottle in the trash. In his linen closet, behind the towels, he had twenty more. He swung his arms back and forth to ensure he didn’t feel the pinch of dry skin along his spine. Outside in the bedroom, his telephone rang. This time he draped a towel around his hips before he exited the bathroom. “It’s for you.” Sal held up the portable phone without glancing around. God, he hoped it wasn’t Kristiana. He’d been fielding her post break-up calls for months. For a therapist, she had a hard time letting go. He ambled over to Sal, sort of hoping she would look at him and sort of thankful she didn’t. If she reacted to his nearnakedness, he would get an erection that would be hard to hide with just a towel. In fact, the thought of it, the thought of Sal, was causing some stirrings in his nether region. Maybe it hadn’t been a smart move to ditch the robe, all things considered. He grabbed the phone and hurried into his walk-in closet. “This is Connell,” he said.

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“Hello, Mr. Connell, I’m calling on behalf of Sterling Consumer Surveys and wondered if you’d have time to answer a few questions.” His newest PI couldn’t say hello without dropping into code. “I’d rather have answers. You have news for me?” Pete cleared his throat before responding. “Your target’s on the move.” Liam stopped sorting through his shirts. “I thought he was in New York.” “He and several flunkies boarded a private jet. They’re headed to Stevens Point, Wisconsin.” Liam leaned against the back wall of the closet, ties and belts trailing around him. This was not good news. Not good news at all. “When’s he supposed to arrive?” he asked. “Where’s he staying? Tell me everything you’ve found out.” Pete rattled off the facts one by one. “Private jet, Central Wisconsin Airport. Due to land in a few hours. Booked at the Royal for three nights. Executive penthouse. He’s got meetings with several real estate agents, two sessions of golf at SentryWorld. Dinner reservations for four tonight at the Matador, seven p.m. Massage at the hotel directly thereafter.” It sounded normal enough for an investor like Robair Faolin, known as Robert Ormand to humans, but there were only two reasons the son of a bitch would come to Stevens Point, Wisconsin, and it sure as hell wasn’t the Tater Toot. One, the gaidache fey, the bastard who preyed on his fellows to facilitate his sojourn in humanspace, had sensed the Wisconsin sith ring, even though it wasn’t on any of the lists, and was trying to pinpoint the location. Or two, he’d located Liam. There were worse things than being compelled to grant a wish for a Finder human— being compelled to grant a wish for a leprechaun, a fucking traitor to his kind who deserved to be eaten by gnomes. When Liam had left his homeland three years ago, his tribe, or what was left of it, had been waging a political campaign against a certain faction on the searsanach council, a battle to increase protections for outlying peoples


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and better police magic theft and treason. But bribe-taking, power-abusing tribes like the Faolins had gained influence in the leprechaun’s governing body after a period of turbulent times in the Realm. The Anich were counting on him to earn the rare open seat on the council and restore the balance between the Anich and the Comas. That meant never being recognized by human or gaidache and completing his deuchainn before anyone else competing for the position. Not that the Comas part of the council acknowledged the growing incidence of magic theft in humanspace or the Realm. “Did you get a visual?” he asked Pete, trying to moderate the rage in his voice. “Any signs of the things I told you to look for?” He could practically hear the man on the other end of the phone roll his eyes, but the PI was too well paid to balk. “No peeling skin. He’s bald, so no obvious hair dye. He was the same height as the last time I photographed him in New York…you want I should keep going?” “That’s enough.” Liam didn’t exhibit any obvious signs, either. “How many traveling companions? Any of them have the signs?” “One tried to fire up a laptop and it wouldn’t come on.” Which meant one of Robair’s sycophants could be a leprechaun. Hell, any of them could, or none. It was hard to imagine Robair would be the type to keep anyone around who knew about him, who could ruin his chances at the council seat with three little words. Even though leprechauns who took deuchainn vowed not to sabotage their fellows in any way, not all obeyed the laws. It was a character flaw far too common in the Realm and far too close to tainting the searsanach council permanently. Some rules should never be broken. “Did he have a woman?” Other leprechauns in humanspace kept to themselves, especially in the bedroom. During orgasm, they exuded a trace of their power cache, increasing their chances of being recognized. Some leprechauns claimed you could reduce the three-year deuchainn by a month if you didn’t get off the whole time.

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Needless to say, Liam had employed a different strategy, and it had been working great until now. Ironic that Robair’s amoral tactics had enhanced Liam’s chances, since the gaidache had interfered with almost all of their fellow competitors, as far as Liam could tell. “One woman was with the group,” Pete said. “The one with the laptop. Goodlooking, brown hair, big tits. Really short.” “Interesting. Unusually short?” “Yeah,” Mike said. If despair hit a leprechaun in humanspace, he or she shrank, sometimes half an inch, sometimes back to natural leprechaun size. Since it was magic, it was overlooked by humans, who didn’t notice much when it came right down to it. But there was no growing back unless you found another leprechaun and wished for height. “Have you seen her in his company before?” Liam asked. If she was a leprechaun, he wouldn’t be surprised if the poor woman’s disappointment involved Robair Faolin. “Yeah, in New York. Name’s Gail Smith. She’s worked for him a couple months. A secretary, but they definitely screw around on the side. Want the shots of it?” “Not of that, just of her.” Wow, Pete was thorough. “Email me close-ups of her face and feet.” He heard the clicks of Pete’s computer sending the files to Liam’s anonymous email address. Hopefully Sal could get his demon box working in time for the images to be of use. Son of an anishag. Why now? Liam was almost replete. He’d give anything if some snot-nosed kid found Robair and wished for a million bucks or an Xbox 1000 or whatever it was kids wished for these days. A nice fantasy, but convincing a human to do that would violate the code of ethics they’d all sworn to uphold during deuchainn. Robair might be close to crux himself, but instead of slipping out of humanspace like a bad dream, the scumbag had to invade Liam’s turf. Pete’s computer beeped. “I sent the digitals.” “Thanks, Pete.” With one hand, Liam tugged on a pair of boxers. “If you hear anything else, page me. Any time of the day or night. I want to know when he moves.


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What he does. If he veers from his meetings, the hotel, the country club and maybe a place called Slippy’s Shoestore, I need to know.” “If you want me in Wisconsin, I’ll need double the travel expenses,” Pete said. Pete was pricey, but he was worth it. Liam knew PIs. He’d employed enough of them the past three years, spying on Robair and other leprechauns—the better to avoid them. “Done. Get there as fast as you can.” “I thought you’d say that. I’m already close. I can beat him there.” Pete paused before continuing. “I just gotta ask, man. Why are you so curious about what this guy does in Stevens Point?” “I’m curious about what this guy does anywhere.” “You’re a real curious guy, Connell. I’ve had weird clients before, but you take the cake.” “When I signed our contract, I agreed not to do anything illegal with the information you provided. If you’re uncomfortable, I can find another PI.” Liam didn’t want the hassle, but if Pete couldn’t keep his nose out of Liam’s business, he’d call one of his other contacts and toss the job their way. “Nah, you seem harmless enough. Later, Connell.” As Liam pulled on jeans and a shirt, he considered his options. Robair would arrive tonight, and Liam estimated he had two weeks before he could head for the sìth ring and use his power to, at long last, return home. To the Realm, to bring the searsanach council back into balance and right the wrongs the Comas had inflicted since they’d gained a majority in the ruling council. It was the one time in humanspace a leprechaun could use his power for himself. The one time that really mattered. Should he try to beat Robair at his own game? Break the rules in order to win? No, he wouldn’t thieve someone else’s power, not even Robair’s. And he didn’t want to run. Deserting his life here, tonight, without a chance to tie up loose ends didn’t feel right. Robair had all known sìth rings under surveillance. Liam had found out about this tiny one from a fairy—and it had cost him. It was going to be hard

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enough to access this one if the bastard had found out about it. Making a break for a different one wouldn’t be any safer, and he had no way to contact his fairy informant to bargain for another unmapped location. Dammit. Robair would stop at nothing to win, but Liam’s disguise was foolproof. Everything he did was what they taught you not to do. He was a footwear designer— could he be more obvious? He had a vigorous sex life. His hair remained its natural red shade. He surrounded himself with electronics. He lived far from any known sìth ring. Best of all, he’d bought the house next to a Finder. Not just any Finder, but one whose ancestors had a ratio of recognition even higher than the Kennedys’. Sal’s grandmother was the most recent of their line to hit gold. Infertile, she’d met a leprechaun sixty years ago and wished she could have children. For three years, he’d run tame in Gram’s house. Gotten himself invited to family gatherings—whole rooms full of humans genetically predispositioned to recognize him. He’d been in the same room when Gram had told her leprechaun story, told her ancestors’ leprechaun stories, and he’d agreed with everyone it was a wonderful fairy tale but also total bunk. There was always a chance. Finders knew the legends, the signs. They were more likely to believe in magic than other humans, even in this day and age. And he’d been up in their business for three years without a glimmer of trouble. Liam could do nothing more to hide his heritage from Robair Faolin. Fleeing to a different síth ring was even more dangerous than staying here—and possibly the exact thing Robair was counting on him to do. But if there was any way he could enhance his disguise over the next two weeks, he’d do it. Failure wasn’t an option. Too much depended on him making it home fast, first and unfound.


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Chapter Two

Sal couldn’t hear Liam’s closeted conversation, just his deep, muffled voice and an occasional bout of cursing. Probably something about a woman. With Liam, it always seemed to be something about a woman—a woman who wasn’t her. His computer was barely affected. The virus was such a minor threat, she was surprised he’d noticed. She deleted the offending files and chased down the blips in the registry. While she waited for the computer to reboot, she feathered her palm across her chest and relived the sensation of Liam’s breath on her cleavage. They’d been friends since day one, but they’d never been more than friends. There’d never been a hint he was interested in the girl next door, not with the tall, glamorous women he normally hooked up with. Sal didn’t let it stop her from living her own life. She dated. She had other friends. She just had a little crush on him because he was so sexy. And he made her laugh. And his eyes lit up when she made him laugh. And he sought her out even when he was dating some bimbo. And he came to all their family gatherings, paired off with her as if he and she were a couple. Stupid man. Liam exited the closet dressed in a button-up shirt and snug jeans. She’d seen his reflection in the computer screen when he’d had on that damp towel, and she’d been afraid to turn around. The man was delicious with a capital D, and he knew it. His shirt was unbuttoned. To make up for denying herself the towel, she swiveled her chair and inspected his muscular chest and abdomen as he sorted through his sock drawer. The towel he’d been wearing was lumped near the door.

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When he glanced her way, she feigned disgust with his slovenly housekeeping, his porn habit, his good looks, his silly shoe fetish and, well, everything about him. “What?” he asked. “Your computer is a mess,” she lied. She tugged off her hat and pretended to wipe her brow. Sitting on her butt was such hard work. “It’s going to take me a while to finish. Is that going to ruin your hot date?” The longer she stuck around, the more likely he was to order a pizza, pop in a movie and ask her to stay. Then they’d pop in another movie, a bad one, and make fun of it together. It was one of their things. “I don’t have a date. Take all the time you need.” He paused and stared at her with his eyebrows raised, as if she’d just done something shocking. “Have I mentioned how flattering your shirt is?” “Thanks.” Self-consciously, she crossed her arms, crunching the hat still in her hand against her ribcage. Gram had talked her into buying the shirt. And wearing it. It plunged to the closure of her bra and fit like a glove—a winter glove, granted, but tighter than her normal blouses. “Let me ask you a question.” He perched on the edge of the desk, his long legs crossed at the ankles. His gaze lingered on her chest before focusing on her face. “If you had a week before you got shipped off, I don’t know, to war or something, what would you do?” Sal rolled backwards so she didn’t have to break her neck looking up at him. She wasn’t sure if she could handle his scrutiny of her feminine assets. This wasn’t some guy. It was Liam. She felt breathless and anxious. She also felt her nipples harden. Good thing she was hiding them with crossed arms. “Did you join the army?” She hoped she sounded unaffected. “I thought they had a cutoff age.” “Maybe I asked the wrong question.” He fingered his chin, something he did when he was deep in thought. “Is there anything you’d regret if you didn’t do it?” “I want to see Niagara Falls.”


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Liam shook his head. “Other types of things. The kinds of things you’re too chicken to do, not too cheap to do.” “I’m not cheap, I’m frugal.” Liam was goading her, but knowing that didn’t keep her from feeling goaded. Unexpectedly, he grabbed the arms of the office chair and rolled it into the bed. When she tried to get up, he blocked her with his body. Even more unexpectedly, he brushed aside a strand of hair that had fallen onto her face. This close, his eyes weren’t pure brown. They were almost hazel and twinkled like holiday lights. His contacts fluttered at the edges of his irises. “How long have we known each other, Sal?” “Two years, eight months and… Give or take a year. A while.” She tore her gaze away from his, blushing furiously. She’d moved in with Gram when the feisty old lady had broken her hip while salsa dancing. Liam had arrived not a month later. Though she could afford it, Sal hadn’t gotten around to buying her own house, and it had absolutely nothing to do with Liam. Nothing at all. “I just realized something.” Liam shifted, bringing himself even closer. “I’d regret it if I never asked you out.” “We go all sorts of places.” Her heart lurched. Good Lord, he was leaning in. He was about to kiss her. Where had this come from, the closet? Oh, yes. Oh, yes, yes, yes! She parted her lips and angled her face toward him, closer, closer… But he didn’t kiss her. He straightened and put his hands on his hips. “Can you believe it’s taken me this long to ask you out?” “No…no…I mean, what?” She huddled in the chair and clutched her hat. Her heart pounded madly. Had he noticed her trying to lay one on him? “We should go on a date. Tonight. Forget the damn computer. I’ll make reservations at the…at the Matador.”

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“A real date?” To match her heart, her stomach lurched. Was this really happening? The shirt was magic. And she’d just thought it was kind of slutty. “Hell, yes, a real date.” For a man who’d been beguiled by a slutty shirt, Liam seemed full of a different kind of energy. He paced to the bay window that overlooked his front yard and ran his hand through his hair. “It’s the perfect plan. You and me, together. Salvia Rose Winter, granddaughter of Dorothy Ann Winter. Maybe we could even invite Gram.” Sal’s heart clunked back to normal. “Gram’s busy tonight,” she said sourly. “You’re right. That would be overdoing it. We’ll do better on our own. Seven. No, seven-thirty. I am a genius.” Was he even talking to her? She watched him stride out of the room, still babbling about this date, the muscles in his tight rear and thighs bunching. What was wrong with this picture? Well, nothing was wrong with his butt, but there was definitely something afoot in his attitude. She might have on a titty shirt, but the last time she’d hung out with Liam, she’d mocked him for visiting a site that claimed to have naked photos of some actress. The site, of course, had trashed his PC. He’d laughed, tossed her a bottled water, and picked up the phone to argue with his most recent ex. She’d fixed his computer, all right, and loaded net-nanny software on it set to “child” so he wouldn’t infect himself with yet another virus. When he’d realized the Internet hadn’t deleted all its porn sites—that she’d turned his PC into a PG—he’d phoned her at her office and cussed her out. No, aside from the shirt, she hadn’t done anything recently to make her secret dream come true—to have Liam notice her. Really notice her. Despite her efforts, which, granted, weren’t drastic, their relationship had never budged out of the sibling category. Which was for the best. Liam had a terrible track record, and this way she got to keep him as long as she wanted. So why had he asked her out? Was the shirt that sexy? Had three years of her winning personality finally sunk in? Or was it something else?


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Maybe she shouldn’t go. Who was she kidding? Of course she was going. If nothing else, the man owed her a steak and lobster dinner for all the free computer service.

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Chapter Three

“I’ll be home around midnight, Gram.” Sal waved to her grandmother and allowed Liam to take her arm. She needed the support. “Don’t you worry about me, baby girl.” Gram rubbed her left arm absently. Her arthritis was flaring in the onset of cooler weather. “Stay out all night. I know what you young people like. Plus, I know where he lives.” Sal clenched her teeth. Liam led her to the cab waiting at the sidewalk. “Breakfast’s at nine sharp,” Gram said as she waved. “Have a good time, and make sure you do everything I’d wanna do.” “Jeez, Gram, then I’d break my hip,” Sal called over her shoulder. Despite her nonchalant words, a blush suffused her cheeks when her so-called date gave a low chuckle. “You look amazing. I like the Manolo Blahniks you’re finally wearing.” Liam opened the door of the taxi and she climbed into the back. “Uh, thanks.” Sal reinspected her knee-length black skirt, green blouse, black angora cardigan and the strappy black sandals Liam had given her for Christmas last year. Did something in this outfit say amazing to her? No, it said clean and less than five years old. She hadn’t worried…much…about getting dressed. She was positive this was some kind of joke. Or bribe. Anything besides a date, no matter what her grandmother said. “And you smell…” Liam slid into the seat beside her and inhaled, disturbingly close to her neck. “I smell?” Sal quirked her eyebrow. “You smell like roses. I love roses.”


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“You do?” She didn’t think that was true. He brought Gram violets on pot roast night. Of course, Gram had a garden full of roses, so why would she need cut ones from the store? “Love ’em.” He arranged his blazer on the seat beside him. “You look all right yourself. Nice Blackio Wingtipios.” She sniffed him, loudly. She was determined not to lose their usual rapport just because he’d put her on edge with all this date talk. “You smell okay too.” “My new Mephistos have a toe medallion and punch-out trim. Very old-style, newstyle.” He angled his foot so she could appreciate his shoe in all its shiny wingtip glory. And he did look good—grey slacks, crisp white shirt unbuttoned enough that she could see a slice of tan chest. No tie. Big, seductive smile. Sneaky expression. “Matador,” he said to the cab driver. He leaned back against the seat and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Take your time. The lady and I are in no hurry.” Sal resisted the urge to smack his arm away because, hey, it felt nice there. His long fingers cupped her shoulder. “What’s with the cab?” she asked. “My car’s in the shop.” He shrugged. “That’s what I get for buying a Cadillac with computerized everything. You know my luck with computers.” “Why didn’t you say something? I could have driven.” Sal’s Toyota never broke down, but then, her computer didn’t, either. It helped when you didn’t delete your antivirus software or visit porn sites. “What if we want to drink? I thought we could relax and enjoy being chauffeured.” They rode in silence for several miles while Sal tried not to squirm. Aside from the fact Liam had his arm around her, he wasn’t paying attention to her. There was nothing lover-like in his demeanor. The Matador was a place for lovers—the most expensive restaurant in town. In several surrounding towns. You had to get reservations. Liam’s dates often cooked dinner

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at their condos, or so she gathered. She happened to know, from the many times he’d eaten with her and Gram, he preferred home cooking. Liam was pulling out all the stops. For what, she had no idea. She’d only been to the Matador for Gram’s seventy-fifth birthday party—which he’d thrown. He’d invited the whole gang. Her parents had even flown in from whatever European country they’d been touring, though they rarely visited Stevens Point. “So tell me, where have you been all my life?” Liam murmured. His gaze was trained on the cab’s rearview mirror. Sal made a rude noise. “Quit being such a dork.” Liam blinked. “What?” “You know exactly where I’ve been, Liam Connell. Next door, when I wasn’t in your house, fixing your stupid computer.” Liam tugged a lock of her blonde hair, which bounced on her shoulders, clean and curly. “My little technowhiz. Beauty and brains.” She considered her hair one of her best features, second only to her refusal to put up with crap. “Yeah, about that. We need to talk.” “We’ve got all night. I specifically heard Gram say breakfast was at nine a.m.” He glanced over his shoulder, as if checking to see if they were being followed. By whom, her grandmother? “I want to know why we’re really going to the Matador. On this…date.” She paused before she said “date” so he’d be sure to note her skepticism. Liam tore himself away from the window and his brown eyes bored into hers. So close. He smelled of fresh soap and woodsy aftershave. A lock of his dark auburn hair fell across his forehead in a rakish strand. Her breath hitched like it had today when he’d leaned over her shoulder and whispered sweet nothings to her boobs. His gaze dropped to her lips. “If you have to ask that, after all these years, you’re not as smart as I thought.”


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She would like to believe him, but why now? Nothing had changed. It was like she’d scripted the evening straight out of her puerile fantasies, except for the sneakiness he kept exhibiting. Like he expected to see something. Somebody. Hit the pause button! The last time she’d debugged his computer, he’d had that painful phone call with Kristiana, otherwise known as the Stork—by Sal. She’d wanted to stuff wax in her ears like Odysseus’s rowers to blot out the quarrel. She hated it when Liam was single almost as much as when he was with someone, because she wondered if this time he’d see the light and realize he was deeply in love with her. Or at least ask her out. This time, she guessed he had. And she didn’t trust it. “I’m smart enough to know when something’s not right,” she said. Her conclusion made sense. He wanted to shake a stalker ex. Enlisting Sal as his newest flavor was part of the plan. Why couldn’t he let Sal in on it? Why trick her too? It’s not like she would refuse to cooperate if he said please. Before she could confirm her suspicions, he continued. “I want to apologize for yelling at you last week.” He gripped her shoulder gently. “You didn’t deserve to be called a managing shrew because you turned my computer into the Disney Channel. No, let me finish.” He placed a finger over her lips. “I’ve been thinking, Sal, about how you’re always there for me and how much we enjoy each other’s company. I saw you today and wondered why I’d never asked you out. Rick was a fool to have dumped you.” “He didn’t dump me, I dumped him.” Her lips brushed his finger, and a smile twitched the corner of his mouth. “Of course.” “You asked me to go to the Server because you want to ditch the Stork, didn’t you?” “Kristiana and I broke up some time ago.” He rubbed his finger slowly back and forth across her lips, and she drew back.

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They hadn’t sounded broken up during that phone call, but Liam wasn’t a liar, or he hadn’t been a liar prior to tonight. “Is there a new chick who’s going to be there? Am I supposed to act like your girlfriend to throw her off?” “You don’t think I could possibly have asked you out because I like you? Because I thought you might like to go to the Matador with me? Because you’re a lot prettier than any IT professional has a right to be?” He cupped her face, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. Liam was touchy-feely, but not with her. The unaccustomed contact was a huge distraction. “Friends don’t hook up after a billion years of living in the neutral zone.” “Why wouldn’t friends make the best lovers?” His breath whispered across her hair, and a rush of desire yanked at her. “Besides, I don’t need help breaking up with women. I—” “Since when do you not need help?” she interrupted. “You spent a month hiding at Gram’s after the last stalker.” Liam, with his smooth good looks and amiable charm, with his astounding knowledge of footwear, had had his share of semi-stalkers. Sal almost sympathized. You had to value a man who understood the importance of the perfect pair of shoes. “The women I’ve dated before now don’t mean anything,” he said. “I do think you’re pretty. I want to take you out and get to know you better.” “How much better can you know me?” He grinned. “I’ve never seen you naked. And I’ve never—” “Shut up, you perv.” Sal crossed her legs to inhibit the desire pooling between them. “Why don’t you just confess? You’ve got yourself a shadow, and you’re too embarrassed to admit it. I told you to be honest with these women and not give them the friends line, didn’t I?” “You tell me a lot of things.” He put his hand on her knee. “You told Kristiana it was you, not her, and that you wanted to be friends, didn’t you?”


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“I did.” He rubbed up her thigh, hitching her skirt. “But it was me, not her. She didn’t do anything wrong.” “Did you think because she’s a therapist, she’d understand? It’s always you.” Sal shook her head and pushed his hand off her leg. “I’ll help you, you know that. Like that time I got stuck with the chick who got sloppy drunk after you broke it off. She still sends me Christmas cards.” “I’m not proud of that one,” Liam said. “She was nice, but she wanted to get married.” “Don’t get me sidetracked. We’re talking about this fake date. I want you to scrap the ‘Oh, Sal, you’re gorgeous’ nonsense. I’m not your type, and you’re not my type.” Her type, unfortunately, was Rick the Pennypinch, whose idea of going Dutch meant handing her a buy one-get one free coupon to cover his share of the bill. A tic pulsed in Liam’s cheek, which meant he was restraining a rude comment. Had she struck a nerve? “All right,” he said, finally. “Pretend you’re my girlfriend, and if you still feel this way tomorrow, I won’t ask you out again.” It was for the best. Sal ignored her sinking stomach. Liam would never see her in a romantic light, and really, did she want him to? He wasn’t a jerk, a miser or a cheater, but his longest relationship had been less than six months. Not good odds. She forced a smile and fluttered her eyelashes. “I believe I’m going to be a very expensive date unless you admit it’s because of Kristiana. Lobster, filet, caviar, maybe some Dom Pérignon. Oh, and a diamond pendant wouldn’t go amiss.” “I’ll admit it’s because I want something from you.” His eyes glittered in the dim light of the cab as they eased under the canopy at the Matador. A white-suited valet opened the door. “What that something is, you’ll have to work a little harder to find out.”

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Chapter Four

The rest of the evening, Liam behaved like this was an actual date. Like they’d never argued in the taxi. He opened doors, flirted outrageously and acted the way she’d always wished he would. Surprisingly, it wasn’t that different from normal, except for the sexual innuendos. And the lingering eye contact. And the fact he kept touching her. Sal smiled as he held her hand across the table and enjoyed the feeling of his big, hot palm against her small one. He drew suggestive circles on her skin as if he couldn’t help himself, as if he had to caress her. The flickering candlelight burnished his handsome face, and envious females inspected them, wondered what she, short, stubby Salvia Rose Winter, was doing with a tall drink of water like Liam Connell. Still, no reason not to enjoy herself. One true thing Liam had said—the two of them did get along when they weren’t fighting about his computer or the mannish way he handled breakups. She ate too much and drank too much and generally had a grand time. It was easy to talk to Liam, easy to listen to him. It would be equally easy to slip from a silly crush into something substantial. During dessert, chocolate truffle delight, which Liam kept feeding her even though she was stuffed as a turkey, she grabbed the fork out of his hand and thumped it onto the table. “If I eat another bite, I’ll blow up.” The waistband of her skirt cut into her belly, and she leaned back in her chair to ease the pressure. “We can’t have that. No blowing until later.” “You’re foul!” She laughed, an accidentally loud bark that turned heads, not in a good way. In a lower voice, she added, “You were in a fraternity in college, weren’t you?”


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“You could say that.” Liam leaned back in his own chair and sipped his cognac. “What shall we do next?” “Actually, I’m tired. All this rich food.” She didn’t want the evening to end, but if she hadn’t had so many glasses of wine, she’d be tense as hell. She waved her hand across the expanse of white tablecloth. “I’m used to eating Gram’s pork chops and scalloped potatoes.” “Me, too. But this was delicious, don’t you think?” “Thanks, Liam. I appreciate the dinner.” Sal appreciated it even more that there’d been no sign of Kristiana, no drama. “I’ll consider it payment for computer services rendered.” Liam watched her over the rim of his glass, his eyes hooded. “I owe you a lot more than steak and lobster.” “Like an explanation,” she joked. If the Stork wasn’t the reason for Liam’s behavior, what was? “None of that.” Liam raised his nearly empty glass to her. “To evening out the score.” She didn’t understand his toast but nodded anyway. “Sure. Let’s even out the score.” She pretended to raise a glass, and the efficient waiter set a cognac in front of her, as if that’s what she’d motioned for. She hadn’t, but what the hey?

The back of Liam’s neck itched madly. Either he hadn’t moisturized enough or he was being watched by one of his race. Casually, he stretched his arms in the air and linked his hands behind his neck. “Good food, good wine, good company,” he proclaimed and stuck his thumbs inside his collar. No peels. He lowered his arms. So they were being watched. As there were no leprechauns in the area, his best guess was Robair did have countrymen in his employ and they’d kept the reservations. It was almost a surety they’d recognize Sal from the database that provided basic information

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about Finder family trees. Leprechauns with any claim to good sense would keep an eye on—and avoid—Miss Winter, considering her heritage. No way would they suspect Sal’s date was as fey as a pot of gold. “Too much good wine,” Sal said. “Whew! If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get me drunk.” She rested her chin on her hand and her vibrant hair coiled around her cheeks in natural ringlets. Her pretty pink cheeks. She smiled with her kissable red lips. Liam grinned back and ignored his neck. “Who’s to say I’m not?” “Now, Liam, what would Gram say?” “Take two aspirin and drink a liter of water before you go to bed.” Liam’s neck prickled and he adjusted his shirt collar so it abraded the itchy spot. “I haven’t had enough to be hungover. You’ve had less than me.” Sal appeared at ease tonight and even lovelier than usual, though he’d seen her green blouse nearly every time she dressed up. She’d relaxed after their argument in the taxi—and after he’d plied her with drinks. She laughed readily, and the scent of her, spiked with desire, floated around him like pleasant incense. “Do you want more? I can order more.” Actually, now that his neck had alerted him to potential danger, he wanted to leave as soon as possible. They wouldn’t dare find him in a room full of humans, but they might try to trail him, catch him in an isolated location. “Better yet,” he continued, “we could have the cabbie stop by Copps for a bottle.” Where were their observers? They had to be leprechauns. A human’s surveillance wouldn’t affect him the same way. However, there was no guarantee he could identify a fey unless it was Robair and his immediate cronies. Spirit knows Pete had emailed him enough photos of the gaidache gang to pinpoint them at two hundred paces. “I’ve had enough.” Sal dropped her cloth napkin on the table and stood. She lurched, caught herself and gestured widely. “See what I mean?” He half-rose as well, but she waved him down. “Ladies’ room.”


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He watched her slip into her cardigan, shoulder her purse and wobble away, the high, thin heels of the expensive sandals adding a feminine sway to her hips. He didn’t think she knew how much Blahniks actually cost. It had amused him to gift Sal, who wore offbrand tennies, with pricey, impractical footwear. He was thrilled she’d finally taken the damn things out of the box. After she rounded the corner, he inspected his fellow diners. Nobody inspected him back, and he didn’t see anyone peeling, scratching their necks, poking their contacts, sporting wigs or obvious hair dye. He didn’t see any small people except for a child or two, and he didn’t see anyone who seemed threatening. He could do two things—remain safely in a public place or run. The waiter deposited the credit card slip in that apologetic way of high-class servers. He scribbled his illegible signature on the line and plotted his next move. Call a taxi, meander along a few back roads to see if they were being followed, mess around in the backseat… “Liam Connell, fancy meeting you here!” The low-pitched female voice jolted Liam off his thought-train. He relaxed when he recognized Kristiana. Or maybe he shouldn’t relax. She had yet to accept their breakup. “Hello, Kristiana.” He rose and deftly avoided her outstretched arms by clasping one of her hands and shaking it like a business associate. “Good to see you again.” “On a date with your new girlfriend?” He didn’t like the set of her jaw or the flush on her cheeks. The last thing he needed was Kristiana pointing out to their fellow diners he wasn’t Sal’s long-term love interest. “I’m with Sal,” he answered ambiguously. “We were just finishing up. You?” “Out on the town. Out with the girls. Something I can do now that I’m single.” If they’d been pinwheels, Kristiana’s dark eyes would have been whirling a mile a minute. Liam held his breath. Would she crack? He’d had some experience gauging whether or not females would explode, and he thought he could circumvent it. He spoke in a soothing voice. “It’s good to visit with friends.”

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Long, maroon fingernails that matched her pantsuit flashed as she gestured toward the back of the restaurant. Her voice lowered to an intimate level. “I couldn’t spend much time with them when I was always with you.” It hadn’t been an “always” relationship. Or even close. Liam smiled, nodded and slid his gaze to the nearby diners, who seem uninterested in their conversation. “I neglected my friends shamefully. Deana swears she doesn’t even know me anymore.” “That’s good, that’s good.” At a table near the window, a party of suits stared across the room in a way that didn’t seem to be anticipating their waiter. They could have been admiring Kristiana, and they could have been taking Liam’s measure. Time to end the conversation and get out of here. “It’s been nice seeing you again. Take care.” “I simply must say hello to Sal.” Kristiana tossed her hair in a sable rustle of silk and then did it again. “How’s she doing after that horrible Rick dumped her?” “She dumped him,” Liam said. “Poor little Sal.” Kristiana fluttered her eyelashes as if holding back tears. With a wicked expression, the individual in question crept up beside the much taller female. “Poor big Kristiana.” “There you are.” Kristiana’s voice took on an unpleasant edge. Kristiana was tall, nearly as tall as Liam. Sal barely reached their shoulders. She tilted her head towards the brunette and raised an inquiring eyebrow at Liam. Liam sighed and nodded. Sal moved to his side with a sickeningly sweet smile and wrapped her arm around him. Out of Kristiana’s sight, she pinched his bottom. Hard. He gritted his teeth. He’d hoped to get rid of Kristiana before Sal returned. This would fuel her theory he wanted to fake a liaison with her when in actuality he was considering a real one. He hadn’t been joking when he’d told her he would always regret it if he never asked her out. If he got lucky—and he was often lucky—he could kill two birds with one stone, enhance his disguise and taste all the delights his Sal had to offer.


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“Bunnycakes, sorry to interrupt your chat, but the cab’s waiting for us,” Sal said. “Bunnycakes?” Kristiana raised her eyebrows. “You and Sal? But you said she was—” “It’s her little joke,” Liam interrupted. “She uses a different horrible endearment each time to see if one sticks. So far, so bad.” “Right on, muffintush.” Sal patted and then caressed his bottom. Even in the middle of a restaurant with Robair Faolain’s potential spies, even while confronted by his jealous ex-girlfriend, Sal’s hand on his butt gave him a hard-on. Kristiana opened her mouth to speak. Again, Liam found himself holding his breath. Fortunately, her therapist training overcame her personal reactions. “Call me, Liam. I still have your coffee mug.” Liam inclined his head, and he and Sal wound their way through the myriad whiteclothed tables. The Server wasn’t as crowded as usual, but there was still a full complement of customers, including the suits near the window. Liam risked another glance. They were still watching. Sal cupped his ass below the hem of his sport coat as they walked away, in full view of Kristiana. “Stop it,” he hissed. “I like your muffintush.” Sal giggled and leaned against him. Her cushy breast pressed against his ribs. “My turn to use the john.” He quick-stepped to the men’s room, locked the door and splashed cold water on his face. It was dangerous to be alone, but he needed his head clear, and that meant no distractions from down below. The immediacy of his physical response to Sal surprised him. He’d kept her at arm’s length for two years, eight months and…give or take, but he hadn’t harbored extreme lust. He’d just found her attractive. Enjoyed her company. Sought her out frequently. It was like a banked fire, waiting for the right tinder. The tinder, apparently, was realizing he only had two weeks left.

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How far should he push things? If he bedded her, would that get her out of his system? Or was it kinder to maintain a platonic friendship so when he left, it didn’t break her heart? Perhaps that would be wise as well as kind. Sal had heard Gram’s story about finding the leprechaun enough to put two and two together if the number four slipped into her bed, peeling, shamrock-eyed, exuding strange sensations at crucial junctures. Gram hadn’t slept with her leprechaun. She’d just known him for what he was in that mysterious way of Finders and wished she could bear children. Some leprechauns might have tried to queer the deal so the human’s wish wouldn’t drain all their power, but Gram’s leprechaun hadn’t, and she’d had many children. Finders who had many children themselves. Finders he was happy to call friends. The question was, should he call Sal more than a friend? His arousal under control, he returned to his more-than-friend, and she preceded him out the door of the restaurant. The valet called them a cab. What would Sal wish for, if she knew she could? Health? Beauty? She had both, like a sweet-scented rose whose petals curled at the ends. Her pink cheeks shone as she laughed at something the valet said. Her waist curved in, and her hips and bottom curved right back out again. Her silky green blouse was unbuttoned at the top, and the curve of a creamy bosom peeked out at him. Peeked out at the valet too. Did Sal notice how the kid was leering at her? With a scowl for the valet, Liam slid an arm around Sal’s waist. He tipped a finger into the waistband of her tight skirt, marking her as his woman. His. With a fixed smile, the valet stepped off the curb and opened the back door of the cab. His woman. His woman’s breasts. He couldn’t wait to bury his face between those magnificent mounds. To clutch her generous behind as he… That decided it. His arousal was back and not to be ignored. Sal wanted him, he wanted her, and he’d make it worth the aftereffects—for both of them. He had only two weeks, after all, before he shook the dust of this world off his feet forever.


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Chapter Five

Liam cuddled her during the cab ride, and Sal loved it. At the same time, it freaked her out. The drinks at dinner had planted wayward thoughts in her mind, not that groping Liam’s butt—and Liam in general—hadn’t already revved her fantasy motor. Why was he doing this? Kristiana had no way of knowing what happened in their cab, unless she was friends with the lady driver, but that was too conspiracy theory. Liam directed the woman to take the long way home—the really long way. His arm slid behind Sal. His fingers played with the small hairs at her nape, sending electricity down her spine. He chatted about inconsequential work stuff, as if unaware his touch was affecting her. When Liam’s other hand dropped from her forearm to her thigh, ever so lightly, her nipples pebbled. There was a certain point where she’d have to stop him, but her imagination flashed images of Liam naked, Liam sprawled beneath her in his huge bed, Liam planting wet, luscious kisses lower and lower on her torso until… His fingers slipped inside her cardigan and blouse at the top. Smoothed across her collarbone. Traced the line of her brassiere strap. Sal held her breath and a throb awakened between her legs. When he didn’t inch further down, she realized she was getting dizzy and exhaled as quietly as possible so he wouldn’t know how uptight she was. She wanted to be cool and collected. Impassive, like she was groped by her platonic, totally hot friends on a regular basis. Liam, apparently, was unaffected as well. He discussed his new urban-inspired footwear line, whatever that meant, and his incipient trip to some plant in Asia while his hand crept up her thigh. And he swiveled his head constantly to check the surrounding traffic. 32


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Sal stared at the hand on her leg, pale against the black fabric of her skirt. He had to notice how tense she was. Her thigh muscles were tightened like legs of steel, and Sal was no hard body. His contorted position—one arm around her, one hand on her leg— was the taxicab version of Twister. Right hand on right thigh. Left foot, left calf. Right hand, left shoulder. Oooh, that’s a stretch! And no explanation? No murmured words of seduction? She was borderline insulted. He was copping a feel and she didn’t even have his full attention. What was this, foreplay on autopilot? Hell, they’d never even kissed, much less been married for thirty years. Sal drew a deep breath and grabbed his hand. What a shame. She’d love to feel it buried between her legs. To punish herself for her wicked thoughts, she started strong, in a tone of voice guaranteed to shrivel any man’s penis. “Liam, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” * On the surface, Sal wasn’t cooperating, but the rich scent of her desire was unmistakable. Liam’s hand stilled on her thigh, and he chose to misunderstand her. “Telling you about my new line of shoes?” “Not that.” She plucked up his hand and dropped it. It fell to her leg with a flop. “The Mr. Octopus routine.” “This is what happens on a date, Sal.” She could have slipped into sex without a word, like the women Liam normally chose, but Sal wasn’t that kind of woman. She had to know where she stood. What his intentions were. What he wanted from her. Damn. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “This is not a date.” “Hmm.” He could do several things at this juncture. He could play along with Sal’s crazy idea about Kristiana, but that would be admitting he lied and Sal might avoid him. Time was too precious to waste with her angry, whether or not they had sex. Another option would be to engage her in an earnest, extended conversation. It would only take a


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day or so to convince her that he really, really wanted to date her, whereupon she’d fall in love with him, which was cruel. Or he could use his masculine wiles to gloss over the intimate stuff while keeping her close at hand. Very close. Conversation and intimacy deepened a relationship, not wordless, hot sex. It was a much better way to pass the next two weeks than jumping at every Robairshaped shadow that crossed his path. The men in the restaurant had to have been his. They could be trailing him now, if they’d figured out who he was. He knew his subterfuges were more clever than most, but the scumball obviously had some way of identifying other leprechauns, just like Liam did. He was a gaidache, after all. A truth Liam intended to blast open as soon as he returned home. If the leprechaun in question hadn’t turned gaidache in humanspace, anyone who made it back to the Realm under his or her own power qualified to be a searsanach. The first few back qualified for open seats on the council. Robair as a searsanach would be bad enough, but Robair on the council would be disastrous. Balance might never be restored. How Robair thought he could get away with all the magic theft when he’d turned on so many leprechauns, Liam wasn’t sure, but he knew for a fact a number of competitors for the open seat had gone missing. He wasn’t going to be one of them. “It’s definitely a date, Sal,” he said at last. The next few minutes were crucial. He continued to stroke her silken skin beneath her shirt. “At least, I want it to be a date. Don’t you?” “I want the truth.” He didn’t like to lie. “The truth is, I like you a lot and I think you’re attractive.” “You said you wanted something from me. I’d feel more comfortable if you tell me what that is.” The taxi coasted to a stop at a traffic light. To Liam’s right, a vehicle slid up beside the taxi. A limo, black windows, silver trim. Not many of those in Stevens Point, Wisconsin.

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Liam’s jaw tightened. Robair, or his representative. Had to be. If the limo had followed their cab, the gaidache had to be suspicious of Liam’s identity, which could be disastrous. Too much rode on an Anich taking the seat. This called for drastic measures. A leprechaun with the peels might use a Finder as a cover, but no leprechaun with the peels would ever have sex with one. “What I want from you is a kiss.” Without further ado, he swooped down and captured Sal’s lips with his own. Fireworks. How many women had Liam kissed and experienced fireworks? Answer—zero. He lost himself in Sal’s warm, flowery scent. The pitch of her desire rose, surrounded him, tickled his nerve endings. He slanted his head to the side so he could taste her more fully. His questing tongue stroked her lips and parted them. She sighed, a hint of surrender. Winding her arms around his neck, she matched his actions with slick demands of her own. She tugged his bottom lip with her teeth, licked it, and when he returned the favor, she moaned, low and quiet. He pulled her into his lap. She wriggled against the evidence of his attraction and expelled a little gasp, which he caught in his mouth like a candy. More kissing. Rubbing. He cupped her full, perfect breast through the silk shirt and lacy bra. Nuzzling his earlobe, his neck, she ran her hands through his hair. When he manipulated her nipple between his fingers, her hand slid inside his coat. He wanted, he needed, to be closer to her. To bury himself in her scent. Somehow they sprawled in the back seat, his hips pressing into her softness. One of her feet twined around the back of his calf as if she expected him to bolt, and she divested him of his jacket so she could massage his back and shoulders. His erection rubbed between her legs, and heat flared through him. Her heat. He longed to bring her pleasure. His hand fell to her thigh to lift her skirt. She’d be wet, slick, soft, and… The cabbie’s radio flickered to loud static and a hard rock station blared in their ears.


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The noise jarred some sense into Liam’s pounding brain. They were in a cab. There had been a car, a limo. Robair? He came up for breath, checked, nothing. Sal drew his head back down. “Look over your shoulder or kiss me, but not both. Take your pick.” He stared into blue eyes dark with passion. “I pick kissing.” He straightened and cuddled her against him. “But not now. We’ll reconvene at my house.” The cabbie cleared her throat. “Good choice. No sex in my cab, unless it’s me having it.” She winked at him in the rear view mirror. “Sorry,” he said, though he wasn’t. Sal chuckled. “I take it you want me to head home now?” the cabbie asked. “Yes,” he and Sal answered as one. “Fast,” he added. They weren’t far from the house. “I told you this was a date,” he whispered to Sal, conscious of the cabbie’s stare. Sal tilted her face towards his, a little crease between her eyebrows. “I’m willing to go with the flow for now. Like Gram said, I know where to find you. I know you’ll call me, too, because your computer’s bound to explode at some point.” Liam kissed her and ignored the fact she sounded like she was trying to convince herself. It would suffice. He mentally gave himself a pat on the back for diverting her from that talk about honesty. Sal’s fingers danced up his thigh, dangerously close to his erection. She pulled the fabric of his pants taut and inspected his lap like it was a new computer keyboard. A little embarrassed, he pinched her chin lightly. “Cut that out.” She grinned. “You run around half-naked all the time. Don’t tell me you’re shy.” In response, he peered down the neck of her shirt and scrutinized her bra. Lacy, pale blue. Her nipples strained against the fabric. “Are you shy?” The tip of a pink tongue touched her lips as she considered. Her gaze dropped to her chest, and she shook her head. “If I take time out to be shy, I might change my mind.” He slid his finger inside her bra and rubbed her nipple. “Please don’t.” A challenging expression on her face, she smoothed her palm over his straining erection. “If you keep that up, you’re going to find out how shy I’m not, and our driver

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already said any sex in this vehicle had to include her.” She withdrew her hand. “I’ve shared you for three years. That’s long enough, don’t you think?” The cabbie barked with laughter. Liam whistled and raised an eyebrow. He’d always figured Sal would be reserved in bed. She dated boring guys, and she certainly didn’t have flings. She stayed home most weekends, not that Gram, the party animal, stayed home with her. Sometimes Liam did. The taxi idled at the curb, and he tossed way too much money into the front seat for the understanding driver. Whether that limo had belonged to Robair or a roving Green Bay Packer, it was gone now. It hadn’t followed them. Robair might be suspicious, but he hadn’t honed in on Liam yet or he’d have already made his move. He’d have cornered Liam as swiftly and securely as possible. He wouldn’t have gotten a massage, played golf, relaxed at the hotel. He wouldn’t have taken any chance Liam might beat him to the Realm. Because Leprechauns who weren’t searsanachs amassed power at approximately the same rate, anyone from their group who hadn’t been found would be nearly full. From the inquiries he and his PIs had conducted over the years, Liam had good reason to believe only he and Robair were still viable. Competitors for a searsanach berth were linked enough to know when one of their number completed deauchainn, but nothing else. If Robair wasn’t here for the ring, Liam suspected the gaidache had gotten desperate and come to flush him out, which meant he didn’t know exactly where Liam was located. Liam had certainly done everything he could to keep his location secure. If he didn’t run, he was temporarily safe. Tomorrow he’d give Robair the slip by doing what he always did when he had a stalker—stay at Sal and Gram’s. But tonight, Liam had other things to attend to—like removing Sal’s underwear with his teeth and kissing his way from her toes to her head, with several detours en route.


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Chapter Six

He’d taken off her cardigan and blouse before he unlocked his front door, and goose bumps blushed across her skin. Late September in Wisconsin wasn’t exactly toasty. Sal wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her face on his chest, also bare to the night air. Her heart pounded with fear and excitement. What remained of her common sense screamed at her to put her shirt back on and get her ass home before she slept with Lothario Liam, her tomcat of a neighbor. The problem was, she could tell how good it was going to be. He kissed like an angelic devil, or a devilish angel, some otherworldly sex god, and he knew how to make her whimper. Didn’t she deserve the kind of sex she’d always imagined? Liam tossed her blouse and sweater on the rocking chair near the door and kissed her again. Her purse hit the porch with a thump. His fingers threaded through her hair, fisted, and she couldn’t turn away. She could only kiss him back and, well, shove one of her hands down his pants and squeeze his butt. His hips twitched against her belly. Definitely no way to fake an erection like that. How could this be about Kristiana? No, she didn’t want to think about the woman he’d been with last. She just wanted to think about her dreams coming true in a very carnal way. How many millions of times had she fantasized about this? She caressed his bare, nearly hairless chest, muscular but not brawny. Next she stroked his ribs and ended at the perfect hollow above his hipbone. The hollow she’d yearned to lick whenever he’d been shirtless. By golly, she’d do it. She unlocked his fist from her hair and dropped to her knees. His eyes widened and his lips parted, but no sound came out. Sal wrapped her arms around his waist and rubbed

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her cheek against his flat, hot stomach. His shirt flapped open in the same unseen breeze that cooled her overheated skin. With her lips closed, she placed tiny kisses around his navel and allowed her tongue to flicker out and sample that delicious spot above his hip. Slightly musky. Clean. Liam. She’d have known that taste anywhere, though it had never crossed her lips. She closed her eyes and breathed him in, rubbed her face across him with a sigh that tickled his skin. “Sal.” His hoarse voice penetrated the fog of lust that had driven her to her knees on a first date, so to speak, not twenty yards from her grandmother’s house. She didn’t want to be sane. In response, she licked him at his beltline and trailed a hand from his knee to his thigh, halting at his groin. He grabbed her hand before she could undo his belt. Sal grinned into his belly and nipped him. “Let’s go inside.” He fumbled for his keys and scrambled to unlock the door. The deadbolt always stuck. He couldn’t free it unless he pulled back on the doorknob while turning the key. This forced him to release her hand, which she promptly used to fondle his crotch. Liam wheezed. The door opened and he fell into the living room, dragging her across the threshold. Sal ended up on top, her lace-clad bosom brushing his chest. Warm air from the house bathed their chilled skin, and Sal shivered. She flattened herself against him. Liam rubbed down her shoulder blades, her spine, and around her buttocks. There, he lingered and massaged, increasing the ache between her legs. Mmm, he was good. She nibbled his shoulder and tried not to grind her hips like a dog in heat. “By all that’s holy, woman,” he muttered into her hair. “Why didn’t you drop a hint years ago that you were so…” He swallowed. “What am I so?” She raised herself and stared at him. Along his cheekbones, his skin had tightened, and his eyes were black. Warm, yellow light from the kitchen, open to the living room at one end, etched the planes of his chest. Liam blinked. A tiny smile lightened his tense expression. “You’re so half-naked on top of me.” He drew her down for another luscious bout of kisses and squeezes.


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Jody Wallace

A gust of wind whooshed through the open door and up her skirt. Sal uttered a startled whoop. Several dry leaves blew across the hardwood floor and came to rest on the red and brown Oriental rug in the center of the large room. “Why don’t we take this somewhere more comfortable?” Liam traced the waistband of her skirt before tickling his way up her back. His fingers twitched the clasp of her bra. “Maybe.” Somewhere comfortable. That sounded so…final. Sal licked her lips, nervous again. Was she really going to do this? She felt her bra loosen, her breasts spill free. Liam rolled until she was on her back and dipped his head to nuzzle her collarbone. With a hot tongue, he moistened the flesh and slowly circled his way down her chest. Her nipples peaked, anxious for his attentions, but he ignored them, kissing his way around the underside of her breast. “It’s your call.” He raised his head and captured her gaze, his own mischievous. His lips parted and he lowered his head, so slowly, towards her nipple, never breaking eye contact. Sal bit her bottom lip and said nothing. All she wanted right now was… Liam’s breath feathered across her tingling skin. His tongue barely touched her nipple. She flinched. Her hands flew to the back of his head, buried in his silky hair. “Bed?” he breathed across her skin. The rosy tips swelled and she felt an answering echo deeper inside. “Come to bed with me, Sal.” He plucked one nipple with his lips, then the other. “I don’t know.” She didn’t recognize her own voice, sultry with passion. Liam sucked her nipple deep into his mouth, a sensation that spiraled all the way to her core. When he finished, he murmured, “What can I do to convince you?” “We’ve been friends so long. I don’t want to ruin it. You’re sure about this?” Because she wasn’t. “Sal, if you don’t want to have sex—” He punctuated his words with little kisses. “— my computer is still broken. You could fix it for me. Or you could fix this.” He thrust his pelvis against hers, his hard-on prodding her puss.

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Liam’s Gold

Not the sexiest proposal she’d ever had, but it was from Liam. What if she never had another chance? “Fine. Let’s do it.” Before she could reconsider, Liam sprang to his feet and swung her effortlessly into his arms like a newlywed. He kicked the front door closed with a decisive slam. “My purse and clothes,” she whispered into his neck. “They’re on the porch.” One of her high-heeled sandals dangled from her toes. “Safe neighborhood.” As he carried her down the hallway to the master bedroom, he kissed her. She wrapped her arms around him, impressed he showed no strain from her weight and didn’t bonk her head on the doorjamb. He must have had practice hoisting women through the house without watching where he was going. Liam tossed her onto his big, indulgent bed with the rumpled green velvet spread. Tall, cherry posts at each corner cast long shadows across the room, dimly lit by a headboard reading lamp. The room was cluttered, as usual, clothes on the floor, the bed half unmade. His bachelor’s chest stood massive against the wall nearest the closet, and a bottle of lotion lay on the floor next to the garbage can. Sal’s heart raced as she looked up at him. “Stay exactly where you are.” Liam stroked her calf. “I have to check the alarm system.” Sal had had a key to Liam’s house for over a year now. “You don’t have an alarm.” “Sure, I do. It’s just not electronic.” Liam strode to the bay window and ran his hands along the sills. “Admit it. You’re checking for stalkers.” Sal didn’t really believe that, but it had certainly been known to happen. Mostly she didn’t want him to leave the room and take the chance he’d change his mind. “Nope.” Seemingly satisfied, he whisked out of the room, his footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor. “I mean it,” he called back to her. “Don’t move.” Sal wriggled in defiance. When he returned shortly thereafter, she offered him an uncertain smile and he grabbed her ankles.


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Jody Wallace

“You moved, didn’t you?” “Didn’t.” “I’m going to have to confiscate your clothing as punishment.” In about two seconds, he divested her of her skirt and panties, but, instead of removing the shoes, he lovingly fastened the thin strap of the sandal that had nearly fallen off. Sal couldn’t help it. A flush of embarrassment overwhelmed her and she tried to conceal herself. What female bodies had lounged on this bed? Naturally perfect ones? Surgically perfect ones? Waxed and toned ones that definitely didn’t wear size “hide my belly please”? Liam trapped her wrists at her sides. “Don’t you know men are visual creatures?” “That’s what I’m worried about.” She tugged her wrists. He threw a leg over her bare thighs to keep her from struggling, and the friction of his slacks abraded her sensitized skin. “Oh, Sal. You have no idea.” He kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips, lingeringly. He shifted to her chest and paid the attention to her breasts and nipples she’d been longing for. Lips and tongue and teeth, palms and fingers, even his hair, his beard stubble. By the time he reached her hips, Sal didn’t care anymore. She just wanted. She made no protest when he kissed her intimately, curled his tongue through her cleft so she bucked upwards and moaned. Liam murmured into her body, blowing and suckling. Sal’s fingers dug into the bedspread. His tongue teased and flickered, his hands kneaded and stroked. God, he was good. He hit every right spot and none of the wrong ones. When he inserted two fingers into her sheath and sucked her clit, Sal saw stars. One, then two. Then more until… Almost as soon as he started, he stopped, slid off the bed, and stood before her. “Damn,” she said. His tongue flicked his top lip, savoring the tang of her body. “You’re getting ahead of me.” “Then catch up.” She reached for him, and he stepped back.

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“Are women visual creatures?” His dress shirt hung from his shoulders. He shrugged it off. A strand of hair fell over his forehead as his hands dropped to his belt. Sal blew out a huge breath, stemming the crest of her libido, and propped into a sitting position. She clenched her thighs to subdue the sharp hunger that lurked there. “This one is.” Liam grinned and unbuckled his belt. He withdrew it from the loops and pulled it through his fingers, measuring its length. The rasp of leather on skin, the tick of the clock on the cherry nightstand, did nothing to conceal the sound of Sal’s indrawn breath. He folded the belt and smacked the leather against his palm. Her insides shivered. After he kicked off his shoes, Liam unbuttoned his pants and skated the zipper over his erection. The grey slacks slid down his legs. His boxers, incongruously, were white with bright green shamrocks. She’d always pictured him in black silk and found herself titillated by this disparity. His erection tented the front of the cotton garment. “Shall I continue?” His thumbs stretched the waistband of his drawers. “It’s only fair.” She let her hand trail across her hipbone, thread through the curls that covered her mound. She couldn’t help herself. She ached. She needed. She was slick with his saliva and her own moisture. His gaze latched onto her fingers, and he slipped off the boxers. Magnificent. “Turn around,” she commanded. She twirled her finger in the air and drew one of her sandaled feet up to brace against the bed. Liam flexed for her, then did the same from behind. His back, which she’d seen often enough, curved with muscles, and his behind was taut, his thighs lean. No tan lines, no freckles. What looked like the remnants of a sunburn marred the surface of his flesh. When he faced her, she reached to unbuckle her sandal, and he stopped her with a warm hand. His body brushed her legs as he loomed over her. “Leave them on.” “You like these?” She tiptoed her foot up his body until it rested against his chest. The tall heels, which had pained her all night, suddenly seemed more than a cruel torture device.


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Jody Wallace

“I picked them out for you, didn’t I?” His hands circled her ankle and he lifted her leg higher. Sal wasn’t designed to bend that way while sitting, so she lay back. He caressed her calf—thank goodness she’d shaved—nipped her ankle, and kissed her toe. Faint perspiration added a sheen to his skin. He rubbed his hand along her leg until it tickled the inside of her thigh. Her loins pulsing, she stilled the instinctive thrust of her hips. She wanted to go into this cool and sophisticated, not like some horny schoolgirl. “I thought the shoes were an odd present,” she said. “Not like the gift certificate to Circuit City you usually give me.” Liam pulled her to the edge of the bed until her bottom was touching his erection. Sal gulped. She felt exposed and vulnerable and sensed that he knew it. He shifted closer with a little smile. “Is it all right to admit I’ve occasionally thought about you wearing them…and nothing else?” He kissed her ankle again and traced the strap with his finger. “Oh,” Sal said, feeling like an idiot. He’d thought about her in a sexual way? Why had he never said anything? She opened her mouth to ask when something hot and hard prodded her nether region, scorching her moist folds. Liam’s jaw tightened, and he closed his eyes. “Is something wrong?” Had he suddenly realized who, exactly, was in his bed? They couldn’t stop now! “Nothing a few multiplication tables won’t cure.” He smoothed his palm across her stomach, ending at her breast. His thumb chafed her nipple. With a gasp, she arched into his touch. They wouldn’t stop now. She’d see to it. She reached between their legs and grasped his erection. She fondled the rigid shaft from tip to base, rubbing the head against her wetness without allowing penetration. Liam, his breath rapid, bent and tugged her nipple into his mouth. His movement pushed Sal’s leg into a painful stretch. To ease the strain, she wrapped both legs around him until her sandal-clad feet met behind his back. There was just enough space between their bodies for her hand to pleasure them both with his shaft.

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A liquid pulse began to ripple through her. She hummed with pleasure and wriggled her slick fingers over the head of his erection, stimulating the sensitive area underneath. Liam’s teeth scraped her nipple, nearly causing pain. She whimpered. Panted. He suckled the side of her neck hard enough to leave a mark, nipped her earlobe, and kissed her. Their tongues circled and danced, shared breath. With a low growl, he replaced her hand on his cock with his own, assuming control. He stroked it up and down her cleft, through and through. Fast and slow. He pivoted himself against her clit, both of them slick with her cream. When Sal reached for him again, he teased the thick head of his erection into the beginning of her sheath. Just the tip, stretching her, burning her. When he withdrew, she whimpered. Grabbed his hips and pulled. She craved his body inside hers. “Liam, please,” she begged. “I need a condom,” he said. “But not yet.” Again and again he taunted her with his cock and refused full penetration. Her pussy ached so badly, it almost hurt. They slid together and apart, both gasping for breath. When he inserted three fingers into her body, she clenched around him. He groaned into her mouth. “Sal, you’re so tight. So wet. So—” “So get a condom,” she interrupted. He ripped himself from her and dug in the nightstand for the condom. In seconds, he’d fumbled into it. He positioned himself between her legs and captured her gaze as he eased into her. She moaned and reached for him, wanting to feel more than just the physical connection. Liam complied, his eyes black with arousal. Connected, nearly dizzy, they scooted back on the bed and she locked her legs around his waist. With increasing vigor he rocked in and out of her. Pleasure radiated through her, and his pulse thundered beneath her lips when she kissed his neck. What began as a sensual rhythm turned into a maelstrom of thrusts and moans. Something tickled the back of her mind and expanded, like a sneeze that convulsed her whole body.


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Jody Wallace

She rushed upward, outward, and exploded in wonderful spasms that drove him over the edge. Her body squeezed his cock convulsively. Liam groaned her name and sank into her, his face buried in her neck. “Holy spirits,” he whispered, which surprised her, because she hadn’t known him to follow any particular religion. “What a rush. Was that sex or a dream?” An odd feeling suffused Sal, as if she floated in a pool of bubbles. Soft pops ran along her arms and legs, her belly, her breasts. She’d never felt anything like it and attributed it to the dream come true thing, magnificent sex and nearly simultaneous orgasms. Liam, too, had called it a dream. What did that mean? Several long moments passed as they lay joined and savored the outcome of their lovemaking. She wondered if Liam felt bubbles too, but decided not to ask in case he thought she was hallucinating. Could one hallucinate with joy? He was heavy but not too heavy, his weight a sweet reminder of the differences between them. She sighed aloud and stroked his sweaty back, surprised that it seemed to be covered in bits of gunk. Weird. She was the one mashed against the dust-magnet velvet spread. Had his white dress shirt been new and linty fresh? She inspected her palm—small pieces of skin speckled it. “That’s quite the case of peels you’ve got there.” She rubbed her hand on his bedspread. Liam sprang off her as quickly as a cat deciding to be in another room this very instant. Her privates squelched in an unattractive manner, and she clapped a hand over them. A wild expression on his face, he backed off the bed. Sal felt like he’d turned her inside out. “Dude, that hurt. Give me back my vagina.” “I don’t have the peels.” He reached the door. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She sat up. “Liam, I don’t care if you toasted yourself in the tanning bed. Jeez, I already know you’re vain.”

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Liam halted at the door and eyed her warily. “The tanning bed? You think I have a sunburn?” “You’re peeling like crazy.” She showed him her hand, still decorated with his skin. “What did you think I meant?” He deflated against the doorjamb. “I have to chuck the condom and use the bathroom.” “The bathroom’s that way.” She jerked her thumb at the master bath, which was not the direction he’d been headed. “I, ah, wanted a beer first.” “Which makes perfect sense.” Sal collapsed on the bed and grimaced. Was this why he never dated longer than a month? He turned into an insane person after they slept together. Maybe they’d broken up with him, not vice versa as he’d claimed. “I’m really thirsty.” “Liam, don’t bother explaining.” She rolled over and buried her face in the mattress. The plush velvet spread annoyed her still-sensitized nipples. “You busted me.” Liam hooked a towel off the ground and wrapped it around his waist. “I was going to use the other toilet. I didn’t want you to hear me pee.” “Like you haven’t peed with me in the next room a million times.” She rested her chin on her hands and glared at the brocade throw pillows stacked against the headboard. “In fact, you’re a very loud urinater.” “Sal, I…” He paused, lowered his voice. “It’s different now. You’re my lover.” “Oh.” A little frisson passed through her at his use of the L-word. Correction, a form of the L-word. “You’re being ridiculous.” “Hold that thought.” Liam disappeared into the master bath and she heard a blast of running water, which she sincerely hoped was the faucet. He exited after a bit, minus one condom, plus one cocky grin. The bedsprings creaked and a warm pair of arms clasped her from behind. She smelled soap and lotion. “We all have our hang-ups. I don’t like to appear at a disadvantage in front of my lover.”


47

Jody Wallace

Again, the little thrill at his use of the word. Liam Connell was her lover. Did that make him…boyfriend? Significant other? Sex buddy? She didn’t do sex buddies, and he knew it. Probably not the best time to bring it up. Maybe in five minutes, after he apologized for his weirdness. “Too late to impress me,” she said. She turned her head to the side so he could see her profile. “I know you too well.” He nuzzled her neck. “Remember what I predicted in the taxi? Wasn’t that the most knowing sex you’ve ever had?” Was it ever! Should she mention the bubbles? Nah. Maybe that was a woman thing. She grinned, and he kissed the dimple in her cheek. “What I know is having your ego stroked is another hang-up of yours,” she said. “Not to mention this whole shoe thing.” Sal waggled her feet in the air. His hand slid down her back, across her buttocks. She giggled. “I seem to recall a little hang-up you have titled ‘Does this make me look fat’?” He shook the flesh of her bottom, which continued to jiggle when his hand stopped. “Shut up!” Any lingering arousal and contentment drained out of Sal like a speeding taxi. Mortified, she tried to wriggle out of his arms, but he held her fast. Was he going to list her deficiencies now that he’d gotten laid? Too fat, too shrewish, too… “You have never once looked fat to me.” Liam shifted and dropped a kiss at the base of her spine. “Not even in your white sweatpants. You’ve always just looked…” He paused and scraped his teeth across her bottom, which awoke a response in parts she thought had been humiliated into silence. “Edible.” A hot tongue trailed down the crevice of her behind, and Sal yelped. Her hips bucked off the bed in surprise. “That tickles!” It did more than tickle, but he wasn’t off the hook yet. As far as she and her ass were concerned, even teasing about the “f” word was tantamount to a cold shoulder.

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But that would mean going home. Leaving Liam alone in this big, rumpled bed when she’d finally wormed her way into it. It might give him time to reflect on the fact that she wasn’t his type. She didn’t understand his motivations for seducing her, but she was willing to see what happened next. She was even willing to postpone the relationship discussion till tomorrow, after Gram’s French toast, hash brown casserole, cheese eggs and corn fritters stupefied him into a complacent torpor. For now, should she…turn the other cheek? Sal snorted. “You think that’s funny?” Liam nudged her legs apart and kissed the curve of her derriere. A finger slid between her thighs. “What are you doing?” Her pulse sputtered to life. He could turn her off and on like a light switch. She felt a little out of control. He rubbed his long finger across her center, and she parted her legs. “I said I was thirsty. Turns out I’m hungry.” His teeth sank gently into the back of her thigh. “I want to talk.” Forget the French toast. She had to know. “What are we doing? I mean, is this dating or what?” His finger continued to manipulate her. “Does it matter?” “It does to me,” she said with a gasp. His hot breath trickled between her legs. “Relax, Sal. We’ve got all night.” Liam kissed and caressed her bottom while he explored her folds with his clever fingers. Sal arched off the bed and whimpered. Liam rubbed and rubbed, plucking her clitoris, inserting one, then two, then three fingers into her body. He alternated between deep thrusts and swift, slick stimulation. His moist tongue fluttered close to her clit, then away, teasing and taunting. Moisture trickled down her inner thighs. She clenched the bedspread, feeling vulnerable and mad for it at the same time. What was it she’d wanted to ask him? She couldn’t think, couldn’t see him, couldn’t tell what he was doing, but she could feel it. He spread her legs wide. Wider. She was not made to stretch this way!


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Jody Wallace

It felt so good, she stretched anyway. His thumb pressed against her anus. Tested her. Then his tongue followed. An intense, aching sensation turned her whole body to melted wax. When his wet fingers grazed her clit again, she realized she was firmly on the path toward a second climax. Just when things were getting sweaty, a crash sounded against the front door followed by the tinkle of pottery. Again Liam leapt off the bed, leaving Sal’s feminine parts bereft. “G-gah!” Sal stuttered. “You bastard!” screeched a hysterical female voice. Something else exploded against the front door. “I brought your coffee mug back!”

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Liam’s Gold

Chapter Seven

“Holy crap on a muffin,” Liam cursed. Sal was willing to bet Gram’s prize pink roses the pissed-off female was Kristiana. So much for therapists knowing how to deal with anger in constructive ways. From the sound of it, she’d just shattered a window in the living room. Liam shrugged into the green plaid robe he snatched from the back of the bedroom door. “I’ve got to take care of this.” He ran a hand through his auburn hair and grimaced. Sal wrapped herself in the velvet bedspread in case Kristiana came barging into the house. “Call the cops on her. Destruction of property. If you’d have done that with Virginia, it would have been over a lot sooner.” Liam’s gaze cut to the side. “I can’t do that.” Outside, Kristiana ranted. “Whose pocketbook is this?” Something thudded against the bedroom window that faced the front yard, but the glass didn’t break. Sal rolled out of bed and peeked out the curtains, afraid a brick would burst into the house at any moment. Shock hit her when she saw her purse and its contents strewn across the landscaping. Kristiana, in the front yard, noticed the bedroom curtains flutter and pointed. “Tell whatever bitch you’ve got in there I’m going to do this to her face!” At her feet was Sal’s cellular phone, which she promptly impaled on her stiletto heel. “That’s my phone!” Sal exclaimed. “She smashed my phone. Liam, do something about your crazy girlfriend.” As she watched, another woman exited the red car parked askew at the curb, this one even taller and more beautiful than Kristiana. “Kris, come on, he’s not worth it,” the woman called. Unlike Kristiana’s shrill, angry tones, her voice was muffled by distance.


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Jody Wallace

“She’s not my girlfriend. She hasn’t been for months.” Liam glanced at Sal, his gaze unreadable, before tightening the belt on his robe and heading towards the front door. He flicked on lights as he went. That’s right. He’d broken up with Kristiana and was now sleeping with her, Sal. A feeling of buoyancy flooded her. “Be careful,” she called to him. “I think she’s got a beer bottle. Oooh, it’s cheap beer too.” No matter the reason, she was the one in Liam’s bedroom, naked and aroused. Beautiful, perfect, condescending Kristiana, who always hinted Sal needed therapy, was the unwanted woman in the cold, dark yard. A bar of light from the living room flashed across the grass when Liam opened the door. Kristiana threw down her bottle and stalked toward the porch, exiting Sal’s line of sight. She was not, however, out of earshot. “Oh, my God, this is her hideous green blouse,” Sal heard Kristiana say, apparently noticing the clothing she and Liam had deposited on the front porch. “You’re fucking the Frump Queen.” “Kristiana, is this behavior productive?” Liam’s voice was even and calm. “This isn’t you. This is the, ah, malt liquor talking.” The other woman, halfway up the walk, bit her lip nervously. “Kris, give me the car keys and I’ll take you home.” “Shut up, Deana.” That was Kristiana. “I’m not drunk.” Now who needed therapy? To exacerbate matters, Sal trotted to the side window of the bedroom, from which she could see the porch. She rapped on the glass. Kristiana and Liam turned towards her. She captured Kristiana’s furious gaze and deliberately dropped the bedspread just far enough to flash her breasts like a floozy in New Orleans. She grinned at the woman’s outraged expression. Behind her, Liam covered his mouth with his hand. “You fat, geeky bitch!” Kristiana yelled. Sal wiggled her fingers in a wave.

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Kristiana snatched Sal’s sweater off the rocking chair and tried to rip it in two. The veins in her neck popped out. Apparently angora didn’t tear easy. She looked apoplectic. Maybe Sal shouldn’t have taunted her. Liam reached for Kristiana’s shoulders. “This really, really isn’t you, Kris.” She shrugged him off and shook her handful of wool at Sal. “You should have heard him talk about you, how he charmed you into fixing his computer. He knew the whole time you were in love with him.” Liam didn’t correct her. Sal dropped the curtain and continued to listen, hugging herself. Was it a surprise he’d known about her crush? Kind of. And it hurt. It hurt that he’d used her weakness to get her into bed. They’d shared three years of nonsexual companionship, and they’d joked about Liam’s propensity for short-term relationships on many occasions. “I’m not husband material,” he’d tell her, and she’d agree. He wasn’t even “book a cruise” material. Not only did his job entail lots of unexpected travel, but he never stayed with anyone long enough for the departure date to arrive. All of Sal’s misgivings about sleeping with Liam washed over her. If this screwed everything up, she’d never forgive herself. Never forgive him. He’d known her feelings were involved and seduced her anyway. Did he think she’d settle for friends with benefits? Screwing him in between girlfriends? She should have refused him. Well, she should have accepted the steak dinner but refused everything else. “He used to make fun of you, Sal,” Kristiana barked, spite dripping from her words. “He asked me to convince you to get counseling so you’d quit mooning over him.” “That’s a lie,” Liam stated flatly. Sal wasn’t sure she believed it, either, but the fact he’d known about her crush had a ring of truth as loud as a bugle. The truth was more uncomfortable than the sandals she had on. She heard a crash, a curse, and Kristiana whined, “You said no woman with her horrible taste in shoes would ever interest a man like you.”


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Jody Wallace

That had a ring of truth, as well. Sal shifted her weight back and forth, the highheeled footwear Liam had chosen for her pinching her toes. These shoes weren’t her. Sleeping with Liam when she knew how he was with women—also not her. Liam cleared his throat. “It’s time for you to leave, Kris. Go home and sleep it off.” Sal couldn’t help it. She had to watch. She parted the curtains. The couple on the porch was beyond noticing her. The woman in the yard backed towards the vehicle. “Come on, Kris. Please.” Kristiana swung at Liam’s face. She hit like a girl, and he easily caught her arm. “I’m glad I told that man about you tonight!” she yelled. “I told him everything about you. Your home address, your place of employment, your credit card numbers, your clothing size. You’re such a bastard, Liam Connell. You deserve to become the victim of identity theft.” “How the hell do you know my credit card numbers?” The ice in Liam’s voice could have frozen a great lake, but not Kristiana’s ire. The angry woman jerked her arm free. “I have an excellent memory. He even wanted to know where you get your contact lenses and whether or not you dye your hair. If you have a lot of shoes. If your skin peels easily.” Sal glanced down at her palm, a few shreds of Liam’s skin on it. Credit card numbers and social, sure, but why would some guy ask about Liam’s shoes and skin? A light bulb popped into her head, but she couldn’t get it switched on. What was it? Why did it sound familiar? “Do you know what you’ve done? You had no right!” Liam secured Kristiana’s shoulders and marched her down the porch stairs. “I can’t believe you’d violate my privacy because of an emotion as petty as jealousy.” “It’s not jealousy. Jealous of Sal? She’s easy, and you got horny. What I am is…is disappointed, Liam. Disappointed in you.” Easy? Sal’s jaw dropped open. She wasn’t easy!

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No, she refused to get upset. Kristiana was speaking from a place of pain, her voice more shrill and earsplitting as she ranted. Porch lights popped on up and down the street. Gram was a restless sleeper—was she standing on her porch, witnessing this? “Don’t be so shocked. Sal’s my friend.” Liam gestured for Kristiana’s companion to approach. “You always told me that the better a man and woman know each other, the better they can be together. I’ve known Sal for years.” Kristiana swayed on her feet. “I only told you that so you’d confide in me. Get to know me, not Sal. You’re too closed off. It’s unnatural.” “Not with Sal, I’m not. I can trust her. Unlike you, I see.” Was that true or was he trying to shoo Kristiana off his property with some wellplaced criticism? Sal couldn’t get over the fact he’d known about her feelings for years. How awkward. How humiliating. How…infuriating. “You and that bitch can go to hell. You don’t deserve my trust.” “If you don’t leave now, I’ll call the police and get a restraining order.” Liam crossed his arms and glared. Kristiana’s face blanched and she burst into helpless tears. “Oh, my God, I’m…I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” She groped for his neck, but he handed her off to her mortified friend. The other woman led Kristiana to the car and drove her away. Sal let the curtain swing shut. She felt no sympathy—for Liam or Kristiana. Mostly she felt confused and annoyed. Then again, maybe she should feel something for Kristiana. Would that be her, Sal, in a month or two? Deserted, distressed and resolved to wreak vengeance on the charmer who’d broken her heart?

“It was not meaningless sex,” Liam assured Sal, but she’d wound herself into such a tight coil of resentment, he couldn’t get through. She’d heard everything Kristiana had screeched and had believed parts of it…unfortunately for Liam, the true parts. He’d have to deal with the mysterious man


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who’d approached Kristiana soon, but right now, the furious woman in his living room took precedence. “All these years, you knew I had feelings for you. When you asked me out, you knew I’d say yes.” She spat the words out as if they tasted like rotten meat. “I hoped you’d say yes.” “I wish I’d punched you in the nose!” She crossed her arms over a baggy sweatshirt—his sweatshirt—that swallowed her. Her Blahniks protected her feet from the broken glass all over the floor. “What were you going to do next month when you got tired of me? Did you think I’d be so hung up on you I’d have kept fixing your damn computer for free?” “Next month was the furthest thing from my mind.” The ceiling fan whirred quietly above them, ruffling her hair. His skin itched all over and he could see more flakes on his legs. He still wore his flannel robe and no shoes, which left him feeling extremely vulnerable. His skin was in worse shape than he’d thought. He didn’t know what to say, honest or otherwise, that would explain the situation and salvage their friendship. He’d be gone in two weeks. He wished he could convince himself this didn’t matter, but it did. Sal mattered. Had seducing her been about his disguise? About saying goodbye? Whatever it was, it was selfish and thoughtless. He couldn’t disappear without bedding her, without knowing her flesh as intimately as he knew her mind. She’d been his personal reward for success, the apple at the top of the tree. And she deserved better. “You look like you have gas. What’s going through your mind?” she asked. That you’d be the perfect camouflage. That I could have my bonnach and eat it too. “I don’t know. I thought you’d be pleased.” Sal flapped her arms in frustration. His sweatshirt slid up her white thighs. “Pleased by what? That my friend Liam would toy with my feelings?”

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“I was not—am not—making light of your feelings.” He’d convinced himself she wouldn’t be harmed because he wanted to believe it. He prided himself on his tribe loyalty, his ethics, his ability to outmaneuver the gaidache. His arrogance had driven him to abuse Sal’s affection and trust. He should have run, should have hidden, when Pete told him Robair was headed to Stevens Point. Why hadn’t he run? Why hadn’t he been able to do the sensible thing, the right thing? “I care about you, Sal.” “You knew there’d be no way to end this without hurting me. What did I do to deserve the Liam Connell Special? I thought we were friends.” What had she done? Befriended him. Laughed with him. Griped at him and praised him and argued with him and fed him and all the things friends do. “We are friends,” he insisted. “This is different.” “Sure it is.” Sal edged toward the door and he blocked her. He couldn’t let her go yet. “You’re right. I’m a selfish bastard.” His cock had never made his decisions for him before. Shame twisted his innards like hair in a drain. The ends did not justify these means. “I didn’t use those particular words, but since you mention it, you’re a selfish bastard. What changed, Liam? You ignored me as a female for years. Apparently you went so far as to mock me with your girlfriends. I can handle that, but what I can’t handle is the fact you knew this would kill me. You took advantage of me, and I don’t even know why.” She was right. How did she know? Because she did know—him. With little conviction, he said, “We’re consenting adults. No one has to get hurt.” But they both would, in the end, and he knew it. “That’s lame. And assholic.” Some leprechauns who chose deuchainn fell in love with humans and remained in humanspace instead of returning to the Realm. They gave up their families, their magic, their heritage, their mission, their political aspirations. Meachainn. Soft. His uncle


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Badger was in a rest home in Florida. Liam had gone to visit him, but the old man hadn’t recognized Liam as a relative or a leprechaun. He’d had a photograph of a white-haired human woman on his bedside table, her face a soft roadmap of wrinkles. Had he loved her so much he’d stayed on purpose? Had he felt anything like this? Liam just shook his head. He didn’t know what to say. “Lucky for us both I can explain.” Sal stooped, picked up her bra from the floor, and wadded it in her fist. When she straightened, her face was hard. “You can’t go a month without screwing somebody.” Her words slapped across his face like a physical blow. When she shoved past him, he made no move to stop her. “Sal, I’m sorry. I didn’t think this through.” No, he’d pretended that if he was all action, no talk, it would be just sex and nobody would suffer. “Think this through. We’re over. Our friendship, our relationship, whatever you want to call it. You can pay somebody to fix your virus-riddled, porny computer, and when I tell Gram what a total wad you are, you can consider your food source dried up as well.” “Let’s talk about this tomorrow, after we cool off. What happened between us—I didn’t expect it. I didn’t expect it to be so overwhelming.” He wanted to take her in his arms and stroke the fire out of her, stroke the fire back into her. His one taste of her wasn’t enough. Two weeks might not be enough. And from the startling rush he’d experienced at the grand finale of their lovemaking, he sensed his tenure in humanspace was at an end two weeks early. Who would have guessed sex with a Finder would create magic? He wanted to ignore it, but there was a replete tingle inside himself where he stored his power. It knocked gently on his mind like the swaying of wheat in the wind. He had enough to return home now—if he wanted. If he wanted, he could complete his deuchainn, prove himself to the searsanachs, help save his people, see to it Robair and those like him were punished and never set foot in humanspace again. Instead, he held out a pleading hand to Sal, palm open. “You can’t just turn your back on this. I want to work it out.”

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“Watch me. The Frump Queen is outta here.” She slammed the door when she left, rattling the pictures on the walls.


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Chapter Eight

After deserting Liam in his glass-covered living room, Sal gathered the contents of her purse from his lawn, no easy task in the pitch dark dressed in a sweatshirt and highheeled sandals that kept jabbing into the dirt. Shivering, she cursed her stupid shoes, a stupid gift from a stupid man. He’d always fantasized about her wearing the shoes, her big butt! He’d probably fantasized about how far his control over her lovesick willpower would extend. Once home, she threw her possessions across the kitchen counter in disgust, bits of grass and leaves still clinging to them. The answering machine light blinked red in the dark room, but she ignored it. Probably Liam, begging her to save him from the horrors of an empty bed. How could she have been so dumb? He was a man slut. To be fair, he was more of a serial monogamist, but he always had somebody, while she rarely had anybody. And she’d never had anybody like Liam. Her traitorous body yearned for his touch. Her heart begged her to let him heal her with smooth words and smoother kisses. What if he’d seen her in a new light for no reason other than her time had come? Was it so hard to believe they could build a lasting relationship on a friendship that had already endured three years? It could be different for them, her soul whispered to her. He’s different. Body, heart and soul were fallible. They’d gotten her into this mess. She would take advice now only from her brain. Her grandmother’s house was silent and empty, not unusual for a Friday night. In fact, Sal was thankful Gram was out carousing or playing Bunco instead of lingering over a decaf coffee, eager to hear all the juicy details of Sal’s date. She and Gram shared nearly everything, including Sal’s middle name. Her attraction to Liam had been a long60


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standing source of amusement for them both. It had helped to giggle about it, make light of it, so it didn’t turn into an obsession. Gram’s insistence that Liam kept heart-secrets he’d one day reveal to Sal had been less amusing. “You mark my words, Sal gal,” Gram would say. “The boy thinks he’s clever, thinks he’s hiding it, but these old eyes can see right through him. I’d tell him myself, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s your secret to find.” Of course, her grandmother also believed she’d met a leprechaun fifty years ago whose magical powers had enabled her to get pregnant. She swore leprechauns lived among humans and all Sal had to do was recognize one to wish her dreams into reality. Like her dream of a passionate, fairy-tale romance with Liam Connell, perhaps? If a leprechaun had caused that dream to materialize, well, the little green bastard needed to go to remedial wish-granting school. Liam Connell was not her dream. To be more exact, he was no longer her dream. She’d always thought he was special. From the moment they’d met, she’d sensed something unusual about him. But he had no deep secret that awaited her and only her. The only thing he concealed from the world was a heart of stone. Sal would follow her head and do the smart thing. And she wouldn’t cry. It had only been sex, for heaven’s sake. She’d had sex before. Tomorrow they could pretend it never happened. An hour later, Sal was still crying. And Gram still wasn’t home.

After he donned a pair of hand-stitched sheepskin slippers with rubber soles and swept up the glass in the living room, Liam placed an emergency call to Pete Malinowski’s pager. He had little doubt Robair was behind the man who’d questioned Kristiana. Perhaps he’d even been the man who questioned her. Pete would know what the gaidache was doing. He was going to have to run. Flee like a gutless bleideir. He packed everything he couldn’t bear to leave behind. Photos, papers, books, the fat little Buddha Sal had given


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him last Christmas. In a file with his lawyer, he’d left documents that bequeathed everything he owned to Sal in the event of his disappearance. His house, his car, his bank accounts, which weren’t abundant but weren’t laughable, either. Since his computer was somewhat functional, he initiated the hard drive wipe. Computers he would not miss. Sal he’d miss like a left leg. Could he run, tonight, without seeing her once more? In the file he had a letter, too, a letter Gram, as a bona fide Finder, would understand, even if Sal didn’t. It seemed inadequate now. An inadequate goodbye to someone he realized meant more to him than…than what? He was in the act of running like a frightened rabbit, so she didn’t mean more than his mission, did she? He wasn’t his uncle Badger. After his tribe had been devastated by an anishag incursion, he’d sworn to gain that key position on the searsanach council. His presence in humanspace was the result of years of preparation and study. His success, as the sole Anich party member who’d qualified to take deuchainn—a fishy detail he’d also have to deal with on his return—would restore balance to the legislative process. The result would be a council forced to do its job without bribes and help thousands of leprechauns live safely in a Realm that was hostile to the weak. Partisanship and power lust had no place in the crucial charge of guarding their people. He was only a sìth ring away from success and a short drive from that sìth ring. The magic, finally replete, fizzed inside him. His phone rang. This late, it wouldn’t be a telemarketer, so he picked up the cordless in the living room. “Hello, Mr. Connell, I’m calling on behalf of Sterling Consumer Surveys.” Liam interrupted the PI’s spiel. “I need to know where Ormand is right now. Where all his employees are.” “The hotel. Two are at a nearby sports bar.” “Are any in transit? On the move?” “Not unless there are ones I haven’t identified.”

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“Where’s Ormand?” Liam twisted off the water supply to his washing machine, then his guest bathroom. No telling how long his house would stand empty before his lawyer transferred ownership. He should pop his letter to them into their mailbox on his way out tonight. With a broken window, Sal’s new house standing empty wasn’t safe. “I told you, Ormand’s at the hotel.” “You have a visual?” “Saw him enter, didn’t see him leave. Look, it’s late, Connell. I’ve got doughnuts to eat and a rental car to sleep in.” “Get a motel room. Stay at the Royal. Hell, I’m paying.” “Are you afraid Ormand’s going to come after you? Sic his goons on you or something? You’re more anxious than usual about what he’s doing.” “Something like that.” Did it matter what he told Pete since he’d be in another Realm as of this time tomorrow? “I want to avoid him, so I track his location.” “Did you steal something from him, something he legitimately wants back?” Skepticism tinged Pete’s voice. Liam paused in his preparations for departure. “Why would you think such a thing?” He should have fired Pete the first time the guy had became too curious about Liam’s motivations. “It’s a natural assumption. I see it a lot in this business. Aside from missing family members, the person hiring a PI to track somebody usually doesn’t have the other guy’s best interests at heart.” “I just don’t want him to find me, that’s all. He’s holding a grudge for something I did a long time ago that was totally above board.” Like speak out against the Comas and qualify for deuchainn. “He’s a resentful bastard.” “It’s above board to swipe somebody’s family heirlooms?” “What the hell are you talking about?” “Look, I know we’ve been doing business for a couple months now, and you pay well, but I’ve got to tell you, he pays better. And his case makes a lot more sense than


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yours. I’ve decided our relationship violates my client confidentiality clause and I’m terminating our contract.” Pete had to be talking about Robair. Robair pays better, which meant his PI was on the gaidache’s payroll. To do what? Look for other leprechauns. Look for Liam. But Liam didn’t have the signs. He defied the customary leprechaun disguise to the extent it should have duped the gaidache. At least, he hadn’t had signs until recently with his peels. And the man who’d questioned Kristiana about them… “You!” Liam exclaimed. “You cornered my ex-girlfriend and badgered her about me.” “I happened to be at the Matador and witness your confrontation. I was doing my job, spying on Ormand for you. Figuring out your vital stats, too. I love getting paid twice for one job. Why pass up a golden opportunity like that?” “Did you tell him you worked for me?” “I’m not insane, Connell. Of course not.” “What does Ormand pay you to do?” Pete was based in NYC, like Robair, which is why Liam had hired him. Pete’s voice was smug now, almost dismissive. “Client confidentiality.” “I can sue you to high heaven for violating my client confidentiality, Pete,” Liam growled. “Ormand could as well, if he found out. Which could be arranged. You’re obviously not chock-full of ethics. I’ll wire you a thousand bucks if you tell me. Does he pay you do the same thing I pay you to do?” “I want to see the money first.” “Sorry, can’t get to the bank until the morning and my computer’s down. You’ll have to trust me.” Liam could hear chewing, swallowing. “He pays me to locate people who want to know the things you want to know. In fact, he had another PI locate me. Make it two thousand and I won’t tell Ormand about this conversation.” Liam agreed and hung up the phone. Tricky bastards, both of them.

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The trickier of the two bastards was doubtless on his way here, or would be soon. Robair would come himself rather than send a sycophant. He’d want to see the expression on Liam’s face when Liam realized the gaidache had traced him before he could complete his deuchainn. Maybe he’d known Liam’s location for years and had been biding his time like a poisonous viper. So close, and yet, so stupid. What a fool he’d been. If Robair found him, his forcible use of Liam’s power would sentence Liam to three more years in humanspace. Ruin his chance of making the searsanach council. Would that be so bad? Spirits, what was he thinking? Not only would it skew the council for who knows how many more years and put countless fey in jeopardy, but it would be terrible to be recognized by Robair Faolain. Liam would shrink like a prune if he had to grant a wish of Robair’s. He’d rather Sal or Gram find him. What would Sal wish for? Right now, his balls on a platter. He was inside his closet shoving a set of true-sized clothing into a duffel bag when a rapid tattoo of knocks rattled his front door. A buzz of adrenaline sizzled through him, and he raced silently through the house, grabbing a baseball bat en route to the front door. The gaidache wouldn’t knock. Liam peeked through his broken window. Sal. She was crying. He could taste her pain. Liam ripped open the door, and Sal dove into his arms, sobbing. “What is it? Sal, honey, what’s wrong?” He stroked her tangled hair. She still wore his sweatshirt, only she’d added a pair of pajama bottoms and her favorite shabby house shoes sewn to resemble mice. A gift from him. Her vitality, her immediacy, inundated his senses. Had she reconsidered her decision to break up with him? “It’s Gram. She’s had a heart attack.”


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Chapter Nine

“They couldn’t reach us by phone,” Sal explained to Liam on the way to the hospital. The tires of her car screeched as she rounded a corner at too rapid a speed. She gripped the black steering wheel harder, as if she could control the car by squeezing. While she’d dallied with Liam, Gram had needed her. Guilt iced her insides. “When did it happen?” “I think when we were in the taxi. By the time they got my cell phone number from Mom, I guess Kristiana had already trampled it. I didn’t check the messages when I got home. Did you check yours?” “No, my answering machine—” “Is broken, as usual.” “Yeah.” He hadn’t spoken when she’d told him the news. He’d only grabbed his wallet and keys from a bedroom overturned by a tornado, clothes, shoes, papers and even suitcases everywhere. She’d spared only a moment to notice the state of his possessions as her guts clenched and her teeth chattered with anxiety. His hand rested warmly on her tense shoulder. Sal didn’t care about the argument they’d had. She didn’t care that he’d abused her trust. All she could think, when the hospital had called the house and informed her Gram was in critical condition, was that she wanted Liam beside her. This was a time for family to draw together and support one another. Liam—he was part of her family. When had he morphed from her secret crush, her friend, into the person she turned to during an emotional crisis? Tonight, when he’d taken her to bed? No, it had been before that, though there was no defining moment in her memory. 66


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And it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was reaching Gram. She parked crookedly in the hospital lot and they raced to the waiting room. Gram, during a particularly competitive game of Trivial Pursuit with friends, had endured a massive heart attack and been rushed to the hospital. She’d had emergency angioplasty to increase blood flow to the heart. Now, only time would tell if it would be enough, or too little too late.

Meachainn. Liam could fix this. He could repair Gram, save Sal from anguish. The small hospital had extended little effort to craft a restful waiting room. The pale yellow walls boasted a few scratched, framed art posters. The vinyl chairs were hard and uncomfortable. Several other individuals perched stiffly in them, awaiting news of their own loved ones, though none from Sal’s family. Except for him. What was he going to do? Sal clutched his hand, her palm sticky and hot with nerves. Gram was sleeping, unconscious. Sal had placed several phone calls from the downstairs payphone to family. He wondered why she hadn’t already made those calls, why she’d come to him. And he felt privileged, touched deep inside, that she had. He, Liam, who didn’t deserve it, figured at the top of Sal’s list. She was a resilient woman, confident in her own way, and capable of facing a crisis alone. She didn’t need him, which meant something more significant—she chose him. “Would you like a soda? Something to eat?” If he had control of his magic, he could trickle strength to her through their joined hands until he ran out. In the Realm, refilling took days for the average leprechaun, hours for the searsanach he hoped to be. Here it took much, much longer. “My stomach is too upset.” “She’s going to be fine. Your grandmother’s a scrapper, Sal. She’s lucky, too. Heart attacks don’t have the finality they used to, not with medical science these days.”


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Sal turned to him, her blue eyes rimmed with red. “Her luck has run out.” “Not genetically possible,” Liam said. “Once a…lucky person, always a lucky person.” She leaned against his shoulder, and he slipped an arm around her. Her blonde hair hung in soft snarls around her face. “Did she ever tell you the story about how she met a real fairy?” “You mean a leprechaun. Fairies are a different race.” “Leprechaun, right.” She sighed, deep and shuddering. “She and Gramps had been trying to have a baby for years with no luck. One day she bumped into this guy on the street and she just knew if she made a wish, he’d grant it.” Ironic that Sal would bring this up. Liam chewed the inside of his cheek, his mind spinning furiously. “That man was a leprechaun, a sprite from another dimension. He wasn’t happy about it and cursed her for ruining his ducky or something, but she got pregnant shortly thereafter. I thought leprechauns gave you a pot of gold.” “She wished to get pregnant, not for money.” “The whole family’s heard that story a million times.” Sal laced her fingers through his. “I guess it’s silly, but I keep thinking about it.” “You believe her story?” Sal sniffled and surreptitiously wiped her nose on his shirt. “Of course not. I don’t believe in fairies and leprechauns. Or Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. She always told me I’d know if I met a leprechaun, because he’d be different from everybody else. The only person I’ve met like that is you. Are you a leprechaun, Liam?” Liam opened his mouth and closed it. Part of his deuchainn compulsion was he couldn’t lie if a Finder asked him that question. He could refuse to answer, which the wise Finder would take as an affirmative. Sal, however, wasn’t a wise Finder. She didn’t believe. She only asked him in jest. Did it count? He tried to say no. The word wouldn’t come out of his mouth, but his compulsion wasn’t blocking it.

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His conscience, his affection for Sal, his empathy with her pain, was blocking it. “Yes. I am.” Sal blinked. “You’re what?” He lowered his voice. There was no reason to tip off anyone else in the waiting room, though they’d probably think he was nuts. “I’m a leprechaun. I’m from another realm where magic exists. Your grandmother was telling the truth.” She twisted out of his arms. “What the hell?” she asked, her voice a furious hiss. “Are you mocking my grandmother at a time like this? You think you’re being funny? I’m not in the mood for jokes.” “I’m not joking, and can you lower your voice, please?” “No, I can’t lower my voice. That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever—” A white-coated, balding doctor bustled into the waiting room, a clipboard in his hands. “Ms. Winter?” Sal leapt up. “Me. Here. How’s my grandmother? Is she awake? Can I see her?” “She’s asked for you.” He turned to Liam, who rose to stand beside Sal. “Are you Liam Connell?” “Yes.” “You’re not immediate family, so I can’t let you see Mrs. Rose, but she asked me to give you a message.” The doctor frowned. “You’re not to use it on her because she’s had all the good luck she needs.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” Sal demanded, but Liam knew instantly. Gram had known about him the whole time. She didn’t want him to save her with his magic. “I don’t know what it means,” said the doctor. He drew Sal and Liam aside. “Your grandmother suffered a period of time where the blood supply to her heart was very limited. If she makes it through this, there might be repercussions.” “If?” Sal said, a hitch in her voice. “Ms. Winter, let me take you to your grandmother now.”


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Liam hugged Sal tightly. She was rigid in his arms a moment before she melted. He kissed the top of her head, her forehead, and ended lightly on her lips. “I’ll be here.” His decision was made. “I’ll always be here for you.”

Gram’s tan, healthy features were sunken, tinged a ghastly yellow in the horrible hospital lighting. Tubes ran from her thin, spotted arms, her nose, and machines beeped on both sides of her. Her lips were pale with fatigue, and her closed eyelids didn’t even twitch. A nurse paused in the doorway. “Five minutes,” she said, her voice soft and respectful. Sal muttered a brief but fervent prayer before speaking to her grandmother. Let her be all right. Let her heal. You don’t need her yet, God, but I do. When she was finished, she licked her dry lips. “Gram,” she said. “Baby girl, is that you?” At last, Gram’s eyelids fluttered. The blue eyes all the Rose women had stared out at Sal, dazed. Gram’s fingers patted the bed, and Sal clasped her bony, warm hand. “I’m here, Gram. Liam’s in the waiting room, and everyone else is coming.” “Don’t use it on me,” she whispered. “Don’t waste the wish.” Her eyes closed again and she sighed. Then, silence. The machines continued to beep. “Gram? Gram?” Sal leaned over the figure in the bed, placed a trembling hand on her grandmother’s cheek. Her chest rose and fell with delicate breaths. “What do you mean, Gram? What did your message to Liam mean?” Not expecting an answer, she rested her forehead on the white cotton blanket. As she stared at the floor, she could see a ragged hole in her mouse slipper where the lining had come unstuffed. “Liam and I had sex, and I don’t think he loves me. I don’t think he has a heart-secret he’s been saving just for me.”

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Her grandmother’s breath stuttered in a tiny cough. Sal bolted upright. A flicker of a smile lightened the gaunt severity of Gram’s face. “He’s peeling. He’ll have to choose soon, and he’ll choose you. When I’m gone, he’ll still be here.” “You’re not going. You can’t go, Gram. I need you.” Sal willed her grandmother’s body to mend. “Tell your mother and aunts and uncles I love them all. They were the best wish I could ever have made.” “Tell them yourself.” Sal’s voice came out sharper than she intended. Should she yell at a dying person? Gram’s eyebrow quirked. “I don’t know if I can wait. Your mother’s been late to everything since before she was born.” “Three weeks late, I know, and you had to use a leprechaun’s magic to get pregnant. Liam said…” Sal’s voice trailed off. Not only should she avoid yelling at Gram, but she shouldn’t fill her ears with the idiotic details of her most recent romantic misadventure. “Liam said you have to get well soon because he’ll starve if you don’t.” “He told you, didn’t he?” “He told me he’d starve.” “He told you he was a leprechaun. Believe, baby. The skin, the hair, the shoes. And those eyes.” Sal knew the list even if she didn’t believe it. “Gram, he has brown, circular irises and a sunburn. We shouldn’t be talking about this now. This is not important.” Gram’s eyes opened again, and this time her gaze was clear. “I know you feel it. You sense him. It’s why you love him so much. But he loves you for yourself.” The nurse in the doorway cleared her throat. “Ms. Winter, your grandmother needs to rest. We’ll let you know if anything changes.” Tears welled in Sal’s eyes. She kissed the limp hand in her grasp. “Gram, get better. I love you.” “And I love you, Sal gal.” Gram closed her eyes.


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Chapter Ten

“Skin will peel, hair unreal, shoes all over, eyes of clover.” The childhood rhyme clouded Sal’s mind when she needed to focus on how much she loved her grandmother. She needed to exert every atom she had to send healthy vibes to that sterile, white hospital bed. She didn’t need to wonder whether leprechauns existed, whether the man she’d known for years hailed from another world. If he was a leprechaun, he could use his magic to mend Gram. Sal could wish for it. That must be what her grandmother meant when she’d told him no, that she’d had enough luck. Hope surged, but she recognized that grief was deluding her. There was no such thing as leprechauns. There was no such thing as magic. As Sal returned to the waiting room, she could see Liam supporting his russet head on his hands as he hunkered in one of the uncomfortable chairs. He heard her approach, glanced up. His brown eyes—were they brown?—were tormented and, at the same time, resolved. Without speaking, he rose and folded her in his arms. Sal softened against him. The other occupants of the waiting room politely averted their gaze. “She thinks she’s dying,” Sal managed at last. “The doctors wouldn’t say one way or the other.” “When are your parents due to arrive?” He stroked up and down her back restfully. Sal buried her aching face in his chest. She wanted to drift away in the fog of exhaustion that muddled her. “Tomorrow morning. No, it is tomorrow.” The large silverrimmed clock on the wall read 4:55 a.m. “In a couple hours.” “Let’s go somewhere private. I let the nurse on duty know where to find us.” 72


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Liam led her down a cold hallway to a small, enclosed courtyard, dark in the predawn light. Empty industrial ashtrays stood at intervals around the concrete benches and picnic tables, remnants of the days before the hospital had a smoke-free campus. A single tree, branches nearly bare, rustled in a hidden breeze. Liam seated her at a table and lowered himself beside her. Close. He sat close, his arm around her, for which she was grateful. His sweatshirt and her pajama bottoms weren’t the warmest outfit she could have chosen, and her mouse slippers were falling apart. She wished she’d grabbed her coat. “I need to tell you something, and I need to show you something.” The grim determination in Liam’s voice jogged Sal out of her trance. Liam faced one of the two doors into the courtyard, his profile etched and shadowed. “What?” she prompted when he fell into silence. “I’ve never told anyone this.” He turned, met her gaze. Definitely, he had brown eyes. “I love you. I think I’ve loved you for a long time, but I needed a little push to see it.” Sal drew in a restorative breath. No way would Liam lie about this now, not even to ease her mourning. He did love her. “I love you, too,” she said. “But you know that.” “I am so…” He sought the right word. “Thankful, that you do.” Their lips met in a brief but tender kiss. After a moment, he drew away. “And I need to show you this.” He raised a hand to his eye and tweaked out one contact lens, then the other. Two beautiful, green irises shaped like shamrocks jumped into focus. Eyes of clover. Definitely, he didn’t have brown eyes. “I’m a leprechaun. I have the power to make your dreams come true, if you’ll just say the words.”


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Sal knew what he meant. Suddenly, she knew. Recognition blossomed, like her grandmother had always promised. Her world tilted, and Sal slid off the edge into believing. “What will it mean to you if I make a wish?” she asked. Liam pressed his forehead to hers. “It will mean I can make you happy.” “The leprechaun Gram found said she’d ruined his duck.” She ignored the sense of impending doom that pressed the back of her mind. “Deuchainn,” he answered, pronouncing the exotic word slowly. “Some leprechauns come to humanspace to hone our mettle, if you will. We earn the right to return to our native realm by saving enough power to transport there.” That didn’t make sense, but neither did leprechauns in general. “Why do you have to go away?” “In the Realm, others seek to turn our magic to their own uses. Not the sìth—the fairies—who have their own magic, but droch baobh. You might call them hags or harpies. Creatures you call gnomes. They’re magic eaters. Sometimes, other leprechauns. We have to be discreet to avoid them, strong to resist them.” “Can’t you live here and be safe from the monsters?” Who would want to live in a place like that? “It halves our life spans and cuts us off from the magic.” Liam squeezed her hand. “Not many are willing to give that up, even with the benefits.” But are you? Sal wanted to ask. Instead she said, “Is it like Earth—blue sky, green grass, carbon-based life forms?” Liam’s gaze fixed on an invisible spot on the wall, as if he were remembering. “It’s similar, but your world has no magic.” “Then how do you grant wishes?” “Our bodies manufacture magic. At a trickle, but it’s there. When someone finds us and makes a wish, it empties our stockpile.”

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“Do you want to go home?” Distracting her, a gust of sour, artificial air brushed past them. She glanced toward the courtyard entryway. Had the door just opened? No, it was closed. Perhaps there were vents nearby. “I want to be with the woman I love.” Sal nibbled her swollen lip. “Gram said not to use the wish for her. Do I only get one?” The air around them lightened as dawn arrived. Birds chirped in the tree above them. “A wish like that, yes. It will consume all my power.” He clasped her shoulders. “Wish, Sal. I can’t use magic here unless someone wishes.” “I—” Before she could answer, the main door to the courtyard slammed open, and a tall, hook-nosed man with a bald head strode through. He wore an expensive black suit and carried a silver briefcase. An aura of menace surrounded him in an almost visible miasma. Liam jumped up and shoved her behind him. “Is it showdown time?” the man asked, his bass voice strong and arrogant. “No, of course not. It’s time for my revenge. You won’t find me, Liamhnach Scolaidhe, unless your tenure in humanspace has erased those crippled things you call ethics. And I don’t think it has. My PI did his job exceptionally well.” Sal peeked around Liam’s broad back. There was something about this man, something like the difference she sensed in Liam, only dirty. Unnerving. He was a leprechaun, too. And presumably, a powerful one, if his demeanor spoke true. She stepped away from Liam. What words should she use? It didn’t matter. “Leprechaun,” she said, pointing at the man. “I see you. I know you.”

Sal was a Finder. She’d believed in him without a struggle. Of course she could distinguish what Robair was.


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The mouth of Liam’s overconfident nemesis dropped open. His eyes widened so far Liam thought they might roll out of his skull. Twisted lips began to form words, words that would steal Liam’s magic. He braced for the pitch and yaw of disappointment. What would the gaidache wish for? Sal beat him to it. She shook her finger at Robair. “Make my grandmother healthy, and no tricks, asshole, or I’ll seek you out and find you over and over.” The man snarled, a ferocious animal sound that curdled Liam’s blood. Wordless anger bubbled from his lips, and Sal shrank against Liam. “Nooooo!” The scream was akin to a pig being butchered, not that Liam had ever been to a slaughterhouse. Robair crumbled to his knees and clutched his head between his hands. Liam hugged Sal, stifling a shout of relief. He wouldn’t have prompted her to find Robair, but the fact that she had, independently, filled him with grim pleasure. Pressure built in the air like an airplane taking off. Bubbles danced across his skin. Sal gasped. Magic frothed around them, seeping from Robair as the power grew. With a whoosh, an explosion of invisible energy geysered out of the kneeling leprechaun and into the air. As the magic siphoned out of him, he shrank. He grew smaller and smaller until his suit hung from his shoulders like a sack. Safe in the circle of Liam’s arms, Sal rubbed her eyes. “Am I seeing things?” “Disappointed, Robair?” Liam couldn’t have planned this better, had he been amoral enough to include a Finder as an active part of his defense. Ironic that the crime he’d refused to commit had been the one that saved him and Gram alike. He and Sal faced a bald man in overly large clothing who was about four and a half feet tall. Robair climbed to his feet, trembling with anger. “Your wish is granted, Finder.” Each word he spoke echoed in the courtyard like a curse, and Liam knew he spoke the truth. Incongruously, the same deep voice issued from him, though he and his vocal cords were two-thirds their original size. Yet somehow, despite his new stature, Robair’s menace escalated. “I’ll have my revenge on you, you useless human. I’m not without power in this realm.”

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“Don’t threaten me, fairy. I’ll call the cops.” Sal struggled in Liam’s grasp. Robair glared. Liam’s grip on Sal tightened. “It’s not legal to take revenge on Finders,” Liam said. “That will get you banished even quicker than all the magic stealing you’ve been doing. You can’t get away with everything, gaidache.” “Do you think I care about legality? Faolains have no need to be restricted by the rules of peasants like yourself.” The man flipped open his briefcase, never taking his gaze off the two of them. Was he bluffing? Liam doubted it. If he left Sal, she’d be at Robair’s mercy. But if he stayed, he couldn’t take his place on the searsanach council and initiate the cleansing that needed to occur. “What if he tries to find you back?” Sal tugged him. “I want to go check on Gram. We’re done here. Please, Liam.” “He can’t find me for some time. He has to have a little power himself to do that, and I suspect he’s fresh out.” “You’re not fit to be a searsanach,” Robair hissed. “The council will know you used a Finder against me. I’ll see to it.” “How the hell do you plan to do that?” Liam knew the threat was idle; leprechauns in humanspace had no way of communicating with the Realm. At least, Robair couldn’t return to the Realm for three more years, minimum, and by then, Liam would be firmly ensconced on the council. Robair just smirked and pulled out a cell phone. “Give me that phone, mister,” Sal said. “Don’t you dial it.” Liam held her back. She was right to be cautious. Robair himself couldn’t find Liam, but someone else could—one of his sycophants. And if Robair was as corrupt as Liam feared, Sal wouldn’t be safe from humanspace threats. “You can’t do this, Robair. I won’t let you. When I return, I’ll secure the council seat and let them know what you’ve been doing over here.”


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“You haven’t made it back to the Realm yet.” Robair’s teeth snapped on the words. “You always were a cocky bastard.” “You always were a dishonorable prick.” “I can stop you.” Liam’s anger increased as the gaidache’s arrogance hit him. “Will you break all the rules of deuchainn?” “I won’t be bested by a meanchinn Scolaidhe who has no business wielding power.” “I’ve already won, Robair. You saw to it our competitors were put out of commission yourself.” Robair shook his head. “My father will never allow you a seat on the council.” “Your father isn’t the council chair,” Liam countered. “Oh, but he will be soon. He told me so himself.” “You communicate with the Realm?” Liam frowned. The only way that could be true was if someone from the Realm served as a go-between. “I do as I want.” Robair dialed the cell phone. Sal surged forward, nearly breaking Liam’s hold on her. “There’s been a change of plans,” he muttered. “Move in.” “Son of a bitch,” Sal said. “Get the hell out of here, Liam.” Liam was torn between his desire to protect Sal and his desire to shove his size eleven, top-of-the-line New Balance trainer in Robair’s belly. Running a close third was the desire to flee to the sìth ring and wish himself home. Report Robair’s criminal activities to the searsanach council. Restore the balance and protect his people. Sal shook his arm. “Go on, dammit! I don’t want anybody using your magic. What if somebody reverses my wish? Or worse? You run that way, I’ll run to Gram.” She kissed him, hard, and shoved him towards the door. “I won’t leave you.” It wouldn’t be safe for her. Even though Robair wasn’t her height, he bristled with muscle and menace. Sal nodded and held out her hand. “All right, we run together.”

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Robair moved to intercept them. “Where are you going, Liamhnach? You can’t be replete yet. You’ve got at least two more weeks. Besides, I have need of your magic now that this baobh has drained me.” He glared evilly at Sal. “I have need of my fist against your face,” Liam threatened. He took a step forward. Robair drew a gun from his briefcase and pointed it at Sal. “Don’t move, or I’ll shoot her.” “Have you got any power saved up yet, leprechaun? I should find you again,” Sal said. “I wish you wouldn’t shoot us.” Robair spat on the ground derisively. “I’m out, bitch. Your old crone of a grandmother was nearly dead. Of course, she’ll be dead soon enough.” “What do you mean by that?” Sal stomped forward, and he cocked the pistol. Liam tensed to jump into the line of fire, but Sal held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. Robair laughed. “Ah, ah, ah. Never rush the man with the gun.” “You’d better not hurt my grandmother,” Sal said. Robair’s attention was on Sal, so Liam inched toward him. Robair sneered. “I won’t have to. She’s got a human lifespan.” “And you’ve got a bunch more years here yourself,” Sal said, “if I understand things correctly. You’re, what, thirty-something? And now you’re really short. And ugly. You’ll be a short, bald, middle-aged asshole before you get to go home. I should tell everyone I know how to find you and you’ll never get back.” Robair’s face reddened and he took aim at Sal. “He’s got a gun!” she screamed and bolted towards the opposite wall of the courtyard. Robair pulled the trigger. The report of the weapon bounced off the concrete walls. Fear that was hot and icy at the same time flashed through Liam when Sal cried out with pain. He surged forward and punched Robair in the head. The man fell like a sack of rocks. Sal stumbled but kept her balance, clutching her upper arm. Liam kicked the gun into the scrubby grass at the edge of the courtyard.


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In the dawn sunshine, Liam saw blood between her fingers. “He shot you.” Sal shook her head. “I’m in a hospital. I’ll be all right. I’m sure somebody heard the shot, and Robair called reinforcements. Go, Liam, please. Go home, where you belong. He’ll never leave you alone here.” “I know.” She was right. If he stayed, Robair would never stop hunting, never let them be. Sal would be in less danger if Liam left to become a searsanach, but how could he desert her? “He’ll never leave you alone, either.” “Liam, go!” Sal blinked back tears. “I’ll be all right. Tell the leprechaun cops he’s a crook. Somebody has to report this so he can be stopped.” Robair stirred, groaned. If Robair’s employees arrived, in three words they could ruin everything. They could drain Liam’s power, and Liam wouldn’t be able to stop it. He had to decide. He had to go. “I love you, Sal.” A small woman tumbled through the other door. She noticed Liam and her eyes widened.

“Leprechaun,”

she

gasped

out,

her

hand

clutching

ssss…ssss…see—” Liam disappeared like a mist through the main courtyard doors.

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her

side.

“I

Liam’s Gold

Chapter Eleven

Tears trickled down Sal’s cheeks. Her arm throbbed, and Liam was gone. “I see you, I see you, I see you!” screamed the man on the ground. “You bitch, you missed him! How hard is that to say?” “I’m sorry!” The woman covered her mouth with her hands and glanced at Sal. “Did…did he shoot you?” “Hello, blood everywhere?” Sal flapped her throbbing arm. “Are you a leprechaun too? If so, I see you, lady, and please fix my arm.” “No, I’m not. Oh, shit.” The woman stumbled back into the hospital and disappeared. “I’m going to kill you,” Robair snarled. Heart racing, Sal decided to run as well. Two security guards burst into the courtyard. “What’s going on out here? Hold it right there, lady. Are you hurt?” She froze and raised her hands. Pain lanced through her upper arm. The increased blood flow dampened her sweatshirt. Liam’s sweatshirt. “That man shot me. The gun is over there somewhere. I need to sit down.” Wooziness overwhelmed her. Her knees gave out, and she sank to the packed dirt of the courtyard. One of the guards rushed to her side. The other loomed over a furious Robair. “Buddy, if what she’s saying is true, you’re in big trouble. What do you mean, bringing a gun into a hospital? What’s your name, buddy?” “It’s certainly not buddy,” Robair snapped. Several men in business suits who looked faintly familiar to Sal opened the doors, saw the security guards, and turned tail. “Cowards!” Robair yelled, struggling with the guard. “You’ll regret leaving me!” Sal couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation because she fainted. www.samhainpublishing.com

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By the time Liam reached the center of Lake Winnebago in his rented speedboat, he was four feet tall. The disappointment of being found wasn’t the only sorrow that could shrink a leprechaun. He knew that intimately now. He could taste the glow of the sìth ring in the air. He must be close. He circled the speedboat in a tight swerve and sliced through an area that felt like the Realm. Power billowed around him, called out to him. The ring. Liam cut the motor and veered again, back to where he’d felt the magic. He had nothing. His clothes no longer fit. He wore only a T-shirt. His feet, disgustingly, were bare. He hadn’t returned to his house for his shoes or keepsakes, fearful that Robair’s spies were watching, or that damned Pete Malinowski. Sal would take care of everything, but who’d take care of her? He had to believe that the burly security guards he’d seen running down the hospital corridor would protect her. He shivered. Late September on Lake Winnebago wasn’t warm. The boat coasted to a stop close to the ring and bobbed up and down on the swells. He could go back to Sal. He still had his reserves. Sal could wish him human-sized or wish Robair neutralized and learn to love Liam as a very short man. Only he wasn’t sure she’d cooperate. She’d love him, but she could also wish him back to the Realm. The water was nearly black and relatively calm. He stared at it, mesmerized, as if the answer might be written in liquid words on the surface. He loved her with all his capricious leprechaun heart. What would life be like without Sal? It would be like a cold sea, with no land in sight. Like this lake. But he was useless to her like this. He couldn’t protect her. Once he crossed over, there was no coming back. It was an inflexible law, set by the searsanach council long ago. Unless… Liam took a deep breath and jumped overboard. The icy water wrenched the air from his lungs. He shook himself and settled into a fast stroke toward the circle of power. Once he reached it, it was a small enough matter to use the magic for the one thing that didn’t require a Finder’s wish—going home.

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Sal pried open eyelids that felt glued to her face, and the first thing she saw was Gram, pink and vital, playing solitaire on a laptop computer. She had on a green fuzzy robe and not a single tube attached to her body. “Gram.” Sal’s voice was a painful croak. “You’re all right!” “I told you not to use a wish on me,” Gram scolded, but she hugged Sal just the same, careful of Sal’s bandaged arm. “I had a spare.” Sal inhaled the reassuring violet scent of her grandmother. “Did the doctors run a million tests on you when you popped out of bed?” “Not many. I think part of the leprechaun’s magic mutes the spell to the rest of the world. No one seemed surprised.” Gram fingered the bandage on Sal’s arm. “Does it hurt, baby? You could have been killed.” “You could have died too. But we’re both fine.” “Your mother expected me on my deathbed and instead found her daughter with a gunshot wound. She’s convinced I was responsible somehow.” Gram sat back and wiped a single tear from her blue eye. “Did Liam…did he choose you?” “I sent him home. I think he wanted to go. The man who shot me, Gram, was another leprechaun. I knew he’d never leave Liam alone.” Gram nodded with understanding but no pleasure. “Robert Orland is in custody for attempted murder, resisting arrest, carrying a concealed weapon, and I don’t know what else.” “What does everyone think about the fact he’s so…short?” “I didn’t know he was tall before. Nothing on the news about it.” It must have been like the spell on Gram, glossed over by the rest of the world. “He’s dangerous.” She glanced around the hospital room. No one else there. “I found him to make you better. He was going to take Liam’s magic, and I didn’t want a jerk like that to get a wish.”


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“It’s a wonder Liam didn’t let us in on his identity before.” Gram closed her laptop and replaced it in its case. “My sisters and I had a good chuckle over that boy, strutting around like a rooster, thinking we didn’t know.” “You knew? And you didn’t find him?” “I’ve got everything I need, baby girl. Like I always told you, he was yours to find.” “I’ll miss him.” Sal turned her head to the side so her grandmother couldn’t see her tears.

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Chapter Twelve

Sal flung her pocketbook onto the couch and herself after it. She’d just testified at Robert Orland’s trial, held in Madison, and driven home despite her exhaustion, desperate to sleep in her own bed. The little man had been a tense bundle of resentment, dressed in a small, very expensive Armani suit and accompanied by five lawyers. Sal was so relieved the verdict was in and she could get her life back. The media had had a field day because he was some sort of real estate bigwig. In fact, they’d been lurking on her street for months, hoping for an exclusive. She’d ignored the ones she’d seen today like she’d ignored all the others. Now that it was over—except for those “Gunshot Victim Actually Daughter of Elvis” articles in the tabloids—Sal allowed herself a mean grin. She tapped the toes of her Manolo Blahnik pumps on the brown and red Oriental rug—pumps she hadn’t owned a couple days ago. When she’d taken the stand, she’d phrased one of her answers so that she’d found Ormand again and wished for expensive shoes. He’d had just enough power to grant that wish. When he’d dissolved into a hissing, screaming ball of fury, it hadn’t helped his case one bit. The incredible shrinking Ormand—at least the shrinking part—hadn’t made it to the tabloids. The case itself certainly had. One rag claimed he was an elf who’d met her on the Internet and fallen in love only to seek revenge when she didn’t return his affection. That was her favorite. Elves in love. It always reminded her of Liam. She lived in his house now, slept in his bed, and missed him every day. She’d retrieved his Cadillac from the shop, and the sleek green automobile purred like a happy tiger, which was puzzling, since it had given Liam no end of trouble. She’d thought about selling it, but she couldn’t bring herself to sell anything, not yet. It had only been six months. www.samhainpublishing.com

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A knock sounded at the back door. If it was a reporter, she was going to bean him with her Blahnik. They weren’t supposed to be on her property, much less the patio. Likely it was Gram asking her over for dinner. Sal rolled off the couch and made her way across the living room. “Coming.” The door opened before she reached it. A bouquet of pink roses in his hands, Liam Connell, otherwise known as Liamhnach Scolaidhe, stood grinning on her patio. “I like the Manolo Blahniks you’re wearing,” he said. “Oh, my God!” Sal jumped up, stumbled on the rug and fell into his arms. Flowers scattered across the floor. She kissed him so enthusiastically, their teeth bumped. “What are you doing here? You said you couldn’t come back.” He showed her a round, intricate tattoo on the inside of his wrist. “You can if you’re part of the searsanach humanspace enforcement squad. Newly formed, mind you.” Sal couldn’t restrain herself. She squealed and jumped up and down like a puppy, holding onto his arms, and he laughed. She loved his laugh. She loved him. “I can’t believe you’re back! I missed you so much. Are you okay? You’re still tall. Is anyone after you? That guy Robert Ormand’s in jail. Oh, I thought I’d never see you again, Liam.” “I missed you too.” They kissed again, this time with less teeth and more tongue. Despite how nice it was to hold and kiss him, she broke it off and held him away so she could see his face. “Did you say you’re a cop?” Rapscallion Liam a bastion of law-abiding society. Hard to picture. “So to speak. By the spirits, I’ve missed you.” He nudged the door shut and started unbuttoning her blouse. “We’ve got all night for question and answer. Isn’t there something else you want to be doing? Like me?” It was Sal’s turn to laugh. “Where have I heard that before?” “Right before we made love the first, and last, time.” Liam pulled her blouse free and pushed it off her shoulders. He knelt to kiss her belly. Sal’s heart raced. She was too flustered by his arrival to give in to the passion she felt. “Wait, wait. What does this mean? Can you stay?”

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He glanced up at her between thick, dark lashes. Was his hair a little browner? Were his eyes a little greener? “I can even stay with you if you’ll have me, Sal.” “I don’t understand. What happened to you in the Realm?” “Not much.” He shrugged, but his smirk belied his casual words. “I completed my deuchainn, reported Robair’s activities, exposed the Faolain prìomh for contacting his son during deuchainn, gained a seat on the searsanach council, restored balance to the political system, helped form a humanspace enforcement branch and volunteered for this assignment. So here I am.” “I want to hear about it all. Everything.” “Later.” Liam rubbed his face on her belly, releasing a gusty sigh that tickled her skin. “Can’t we enjoy our reunion first?” “Ormand’s in prison here. I told you that already. I’m safe—we’re safe. Oh, Liam, I’ve missed you!” Liam rose to his feet, kissing his way up her body. That provoked another bout of kisses before Sal broke free. “What about your magic, your life span?” “I have control of the magic, what there is of it.” He kissed her ear. “The only Finder I have to please now is you. I’ll sacrifice the life span to be here with you. What’s a hundred years?” “Liam, you can’t—” “Shush.” He placed a finger on her lips. “I love you, Sal. I think we should get married. I hope it’s all right if we adopt children because our genes don’t splice that way.” He lifted her into his arms and headed for the bedroom. Since she’d never imagined her dreams would come true, she’d never considered children. But she’d learned in the past five minutes that dreams did come true, that anything was possible. “What if I made a wish we could have children?” she asked. “You know, after you saved up?” Liam dropped her on the bed with a wicked smile. “Then I’d do everything in my power to make it happen. Starting right now.”


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About the Author

Jody Wallace is published in romance fiction under the names Jody Wallace and Ellie Marvel. She has always lived with cats, and they have always been mean. To learn more about Ms. Wallace, please visit www.jodywallace.com or the cat’s website, www.meankitty.com. You can also send an email to [email protected].

Look for these titles by Jody Wallace

Now Available: A Spell for Susannah Survival of the Fairest

No magic for two weeks? What’s a fairy to do? Go to Vegas, of course!

Survival of the Fairest © 2008 Jody Wallace Princess Talista of the fairy clan Serendipity has been sent, like all young fairies, to a remote forest in humanspace for mandatory survival training. But headstrong Tali’s got different ideas about where to spend two weeks without magic. What better place than Las Vegas to learn to live like humans, a true test of survival? Tali might not blend, but she’d like to be shaken and stirred with stage magician Jake Story. Their attraction is instant and electric…and Tali senses there’s more to Jake’s show than flashy tricks. Jake always knew he was different, even before he developed an unusual flair for hypnotism. He has no trouble mesmerizing the luscious Tali during act three, but the lights that appear around them when they kiss weren’t part of the program. When the authorities from Tali’s homeland track the missing princess to Vegas, Jake and Tali end up on the run. In between magic experiments, evil gnomes and astonishing sex, Tali learns what it really means to be human—by falling in lust, followed closely by love. But Tali’s not human. And Jake doesn’t believe in fairies. The truth will either bind them together—or tear the fairy realm apart.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Survival of the Fairest: “The hotel with the red and blue spires.” Tali bounced in her seat, forgetting that she was belted to it, and the heavy strap bit into her shoulders. “Oof!” “What?” Jake snapped his cellular teley-phone closed. Tali had listened avidly as he’d called his sibling, that copper fellow, and cancelled their appointment for the evening. The cellular teley-phone seemed almost as efficient as communication spells. She squirmed until she was more comfortable in the restraints. “The hotel that looks like a palace. Take us there.”

“The Excalibur?” Jake deftly maneuvered his automobile into the stream of traffic on the main road. The black car had darkened windows and room for five people. The soft seats were upholstered in leather, a rare material in the Realm now that civilized fairies were vegetarian hippies. A pleasant herbal odor emanated from a gaudy cloth bag that hung around the mirror on the front window, and the motor purred like a giant cat. Vast buildings towered behind the flashing lights and signs, inns Jake said were often full to capacity. People in showy outfits thronged the sides of the street. There was no sign of Elder Embor and his menacing team anywhere among them. How in the world had they found her? Probably her obnoxious survival teammates back in the Bitterroot, though that didn’t answer how the Elder had known to transport to Las Vegas. Maybe a tracer spell of some sort. She wouldn’t put it past the Court to have bugged her or something. Dang. Well, they couldn’t track her now that she wasn’t using magic. A flume of brilliantly lit water caught Tali’s eye. “Look!” She pointed at a lake in front of the huge beige hotel glowing with yellow lights. “Waterspouts!” “That’s the Bellagio.” Jake made a decent guide, if she ignored the sidelong glances he kept shooting her. He’d better not be thinking of kissing her again. She was having enough trouble putting it out of her head. “It’s one of the most expensive hotels ever built. There are about twelve hundred fountains in the lake.” His tight black shirt outlined a taut abdomen and broad shoulders. When he shifted the right way, she could even see his nipples. Maybe she should quit trying to forget their embrace. What was wrong with a little kiss, anyway? So he sort of convinced her she wanted it with that hypnosis business. She’d kissed men before, lots of them. No harm done. The spectators hadn’t found it odd or suspicious, which meant it was a normal human activity. Pleased with her deduction, she settled back, ready to relax and enjoy the scenery. Tali rapped on the thin glass window. “Do I hear music?” Jake clicked a button on the shelf between the seats, and the window sank into the door with a whir. Strains of instrumental music accompanied by a man’s rich vibrato

drifted through the opening. The fountains soared higher into the air, mirroring the music, and crested above the lake. The humans standing on the sidewalk applauded. The air breezing in smelled of metal and smoke and grease. She inhaled, exhaled. The music sounded like the symphony at home, but larger. Not many fairies were musically talented, but the ones who were received much acclaim. “That’s a fine tune. I can see why they like it.” She leaned her chin on her hands and stared at the water arcing over the heads of the crowd. Perfectly lovely! She wished she could admire it more closely, but dawdling wasn’t a good idea at the present time. She knew her punishment would be intense, but she had no intention of returning until her time was up. Her jig was jagged, so she might as well enjoy it. This would be her only chance to explore humanspace and advance her knowledge of blending firsthand. The game of cat-and-mouse with the Elder might even make things more exciting. Speaking of exciting, she peeked at Jake under her lashes and thought about the kiss. The electric exchange of tongues and heat. The silken feel of his hair under her fingers. She was here to learn new things, right? To blend? A conversation with her sister about the sexual prowess of human males echoed in her mind. It wasn’t as if Tali never planned to have sex, but it was difficult to relax when one’s partners all had political ambitions. Wedding a twosie guaranteed a higher position in Realm society. Even wooing a twin could boost status. Desire for advancement drove her suitors, not desire for her. Ani enjoyed the attention, enjoyed working through The Thousand Kisses, a series of mating rituals designed to enhance one’s chances of bonding, but the posturing, and the lack of actual affection, bored Tali to tears. Fairies never knew whom they’d bond with, or if they’d bond with anyone. It was so...arbitrary. What if she ended up with a fellow she didn’t even like? Casual sex that could result in permanent bonding wasn’t something Tali had been inclined to try. Jake, on the other hand, didn’t care about the status involved in courting a twosie. Didn’t hope they’d join forever and ever. Had no idea she was anything besides a tourist and a woman.

She was fairly certain he was aware of her as a woman. “How much further is it, Jake?” Maybe she’d ask him to stay in her hotel room tonight. Jake glanced at her. His hair gleamed in the low lights of the car’s interior. Their car idled behind others in front of the waterworks. His dark clothes blended with the seat that cupped him, and the half-smile at the corner of his mouth fascinated her. No men she knew had that twinkle in their eyes or those perfect laugh lines. Drakhmore clan members were dark like him, a little scary, but Jake Story didn’t scare her. Exactly. “A couple miles, but this traffic’s pretty bad. So what are your plans? What else do you want to do while you’re here?” he asked. She hid a smirk and wriggled deeper into her cushioned seat. “I want to attend a water park, look through a humble teley-scope, surf on the Internet, visit the White House, shop at a supermall and see baseball.” She wanted to do the things normal humans were lucky enough to do every single day. She wanted to know how human technology had replaced magic and what it would be like to live here permanently. She wanted to know more about Jake Story and why he made her tingle. “There’s a water park at the end of the strip called Wet ‘N Wild. I take my cousins’ kids when they visit. Malls are everywhere. The White House is across the country.” “I was testing you.” Tali could never remember how far things were in humanspace. The land the fairies inhabited in the Realm didn’t correspond to the continent here. “What about a humble teley-scope to see the stars? I read about it in HumanWa…”—oops!—“a science magazine.” Tali waited to see if Jake would catch her slip. He didn’t. “There’s a planetarium at a community college nearby. Their telescope is nice, though. I wouldn’t call it humble.” “Baseball and surfing?” “No baseball, but we have an arena football team called the Gladiators. As for the Internet, you can check it out with any computer. That’s not very exciting when you have a whole city to explore.” What else did she want, besides to kiss Jake again and run her fingers through that silky hair? “Oh, I want to see Chip and Dale.”

“The cartoon?” The traffic around them moved. Jake edged the car forward, and the bag around the mirror swayed. The music from the dancing waters faded into a babble of pedestrians and car horns. Humans young and old milled on the sidewalks. What was a cartoon? She’d overheard the ballet praised by two female researchers. “They’re dancers. The Chip and Dale ballet.” Jake pinched his lips together. “I see. Those Chip and Dales.”

Love will redeem them…or damn their souls.

The Fallen © 2008 Gwen Hayes As Darkfall gains a foothold in the small coastal town of Serendipity Falls, Bridget, a witch and healer, fights a battle on two fronts. Against the chaos bleeding through the fissures of a cracked portal between realms, and against her attraction to a fallen angel with his own agenda. Talon’s dark ways and mysterious magics go against everything she believes in, but he's the only man she's ever loved. Talon, forever haunted by his fall from grace and his ceaseless desire for the headstrong Bridget, longs for what he can never possess. Though he is no longer her guardian, she tempts him with pleasure he can never touch and emotions he can never reveal. Caught on opposite sides in a war between good and evil, they struggle against their mutual passion. Then an ancient prophecy points to the one who will break the portal wide open and shift the balance of power: Bridget. She has no choice but to turn to Talon, and the love that will damn their souls—or save the world.

Enjoy the following excerpt for The Fallen: “I’m not leaving.” Her voice sounded flat and toneless. Defeated. She wished he would go. She regarded the sharp planes of his face. A beautiful face, one that could make a grown woman weep. Perfectly symmetrical features framed by jet-black hair of silk. She knew his skin would be warm and his breath would be sweet. An angel. One so beautiful it was hard to remember that she hated him. And she did hate him. “It isn’t safe.” He faced her again, and she cursed his features. She would rather look upon his face than the most glorious sunset. He must know the power it yielded over women, over her. It always made his damning words all the more hateful, to come from such an angelic mouth. She blinked away her reverie. “Which is why I stay.” “Poppet, it is unsafe for you most of all.”

When he loosened his grip, she realized he still hadn’t let go of her arms. All her nerves warred with each other to get to the patch of skin he touched. Why wouldn’t he just leave? “What did you say?” He smiled. A lazy, sardonic grin that made her want to spit nails. “I see, in your eyes, great promise for passion. Sometimes, I wonder what it would cost a man to see you finally soften and yield in his arms. I’m certain it would be worth the price.” He was wearing her down—she steeled herself against his charm. “Why is it most unsafe for me, Talon?” “Even the demons don’t know why they are drawn here. They just know the mystical epicenter is humming and enticing them like flies to honey. Some are gossiping about a prophecy. A Sorceress of Fire cracking the rift open. Some believe that could be you. Word is, you could be in high demand.” He rubbed his hands down her arms. “The Agency can send someone else. You should go into hiding.” “A prophecy? Please. They’re only accurate predictions about what could happen if the course doesn’t change from its current path. The older the prediction, the less accurate it becomes.” “Demons are very superstitious. They put a lot of faith behind those forecasts.” Since when did he care what demons believed? “The demons would be foolish to attempt going after me, and they all know it. I’ll stay and do what needs doing, just as I always do.” “Woman, your powers do not make you infallible.” She clenched her fists with purpose, and a loud rumble of thunder shook the house in answer. “Demons are afraid of me, for good reason. I don’t cower and I will not run.” She flexed her fingers and lightning lit the sky, casting purple shadows on the walls. He didn’t flinch at her display, but instead gazed openly at her lips. They tingled under his gaze, and she unthinkingly wet them with her tongue, struck dumb by the flash of desire he didn’t try to hide in his eyes. The teakettle whistled, breaking their concentration, and thankfully, he dropped her arms. She turned off the stove. “Again, I have to ask. Why the sudden concern?”

“I have such few pleasures in life. You’re my favorite diversion. I’d hate to see you gone.” She scoffed and poured the water into two mugs. “Talon, your self-indulgence is legendary. I know you find amusement at my expense, but I refuse to believe that it is one of only a few pleasures you seek.” “Are you offering an alternative pleasure, poppet?” He fingered the end of her hair. The air was suddenly heavy around them. She met his gaze, even knowing as she did, it would be a mistake. “I have nothing to offer that you would be interested in.” He smirked as he reached for her hand, bringing it to his lips and gently kissing her knuckles. “You are a beautiful and vibrant woman, Bridget. You offer pleasure of a thousand kinds just by entering a room.” She closed her eyes, her turn now to nurse the wounds caused by their exchange of words. His compliment only served as a reminder of humiliation. His perseverance to sway her would last only until she wavered. And then he would shame her and laugh at her weakness. Again. Some lessons stung. “Leave,” she commanded. “I have no use for your games.” He dropped her hand. “Take heed, please. Let the prophecy rumors die down. Surely your Agency has trouble in every city in America. I’m not asking you to stop saving the world, just do it somewhere else.” “I’m not leaving. But you are.” He muttered a curse and stalked away from her, slamming her front door behind him. She hated him. She hated the way he sauntered in and out of her life. That he possessed not a shred of honor or valiance. That when he left, she would cry for his soul. She hated that she loved him. And that he was fallen.

A troll’s missing head could cause Markhat to lose his own.

The Mister Trophy © 2008 Frank Tuttle All the finder Markhat wanted was a beer at Eddie’s. Instead he gets a case that will bring him face to fang with crazed, blood-craving halfdead, a trio of vengeful Troll warriors, and Mama Hog’s backstreet magic. Plus, the possible resurgence of the Troll War. All right in his own none-too-quiet neighborhood. Through the town of Rannit’s narrow alleys and mean streets, Markhat tries to stay one step ahead of disaster. And ignore Mama Hog’s dire warnings that this time, the head that rolls could be his own.

Warning: This book contains well-dressed vampires, extremely polite Trolls, and occasional bursts of humor. Avoid reading it when landing aircraft, welding in the nude or taunting grumpy jackals while wearing pork chop earmuffs.

Enjoy the following excerpt for The Mister Trophy: Eddie the barkeep stared at the Troll and then at the “Dead Troll Tavern” emblem carved into the bar-top and then back at the Troll. The Troll grinned. Forty-eight fingerlong incisors popped out, sharper and shinier than anything Eddie might have hidden behind the bar and dripping with poisonous Troll saliva to boot. Eddie deftly dropped his drying rag on the Dead Troll carving, wiped his grubby hands on his equally grubby apron and donned a shaky tough-guy scowl. “Yeah?” he said to the Troll. “You want something?” The Troll boomed something back. A second later, Kingdom words rang out in a flat male human voice. “I come for the finder Markhat.” I choked on my beer. The Troll’s neckless head swiveled, owl-fashion, to face me. It gargled more words in Troll, and its translator spell spoke again. “You are the finder named Markhat.”

“Nope,” I said quickly. “Not me. Not Markhat. Never met the gent.” The Troll glided over, flashing me that mouthful of nightmares smile. “I was told you would deny your name,” it said. “Shameful. I am—” The Troll spoke its name, and the translator gave up, leaving me with the sound of dishwater gurgling down a sinkdrain. “Honored to meet you, Walking Stone,” I said, as the Troll reached my table. “May your shadow fall tall and your soul grow to meet it.” I rose, my knowledge of Troll etiquette nearly exhausted. “I am not he that you seek, though, and anyway I hear he married a centaur and retired to the Fiti Coast. Why don’t you finish my ale and—” The Troll’s grin split wider. It made a very human gesture for silence, finger at lips, and then it pulled back its greatcloak just far enough to reveal three fist-sized chunks of shiny solid gold on a fat wrought silver chain. Trolls don’t value gold themselves, but they do use it to barter with the other races. Word is that Trolls don’t haggle; they just stack money in big piles until someone says “yes”. I sat down. Hard. The Troll shoved a rickety chair aside and squatted on the floor across from me. “I walked fifty sunsets to see you, Finder,” it said. “I wade wide swamps, swim deep rivers, sleep on brother stones.” “I live three blocks from here,” I replied. “So, I suppose, I walked fifteen minutes and drank two beers and sat on cousin chair.” The Troll’s translator choked my words slowly out. The bar cleared, except Eddie, whose right eye—the blue one—hovered unsteadily behind a wide crack in the storeroom door. The Troll barked and gurgled. My hackles rose, though I recognized booming Trollish laughter. “You jest with me, Finder Markhat,” it said. “You are brave. I admire bravery.” It leaned closer, yellow slitted owl-eyes narrowing. “I pay well for bravery.” I shook my head. “Someone usually does, Walking Stone,” I said. “Just how much bravery are you wanting to buy?”

“You will go to a place I shall name,” said the Troll. “You will contrive to be admitted therein, and you shall determine if a certain object is displayed there. If so, you shall communicate my message to the masters of the place.” Boots scuffed at the door, but hushed voices warned them off and Eddie lost another customer. “This isn’t very private, Walking Stone,” I said. “And before I say yes or no, I need names. What place, what masters and what object?” The Troll leaned close. My hair tried to stand on end. I’d been that close to a Troll only once before, twenty years ago. If a fat Marine sergeant hadn’t put a harpoon through its skull, I’d be laid out with the other war heroes up on the Hill. “The place is called Haverlock, Finder,” whispered the Troll’s translator. “Its masters bear the same name. The object is a trophy taken during the War. A head, stuffed and mounted. A Walking Stone head.” I finished my beer. “What’s the message, Walking Stone?” The Troll grinned again. “You have what is ours,” he said. “Return it. With apologies. At once.

Samhain Publishing, Ltd. It’s all about the story… Action/Adventure Fantasy Historical Horror Mainstream Mystery/Suspense Non-Fiction Paranormal Red Hots! Romance Science Fiction Western Young Adult www.samhainpublishing.com

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Liam's Gold

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Crusader Gold

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