Page 11 of Perfectly Charmed Pixie

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Opening the door, I numbly walked into my rental house. My wings fluttered, but not enough to lift my feet from the floor. A smattering of aqua pixie dust drifted behind me, but I doubted it would be enough to so much as tickle a nose.

Without much thought, I reached for my phone, dialing Lance’s number again. I halfway expected it to go to voicemail, just like the previous five times. With my heart sinking, the line rang for a fourth time before an exhausted voice answered.

A voice that didn’t belong to Lance.

“Hello.”

Hello?That’s all I got. I briefly pulled the phone from my ear, double-checking the number, verifying I’d dialed Lance and not someone else.

“Who is this?” I asked. No sense beating around the bush. Besides, my nerves couldn’t take it. “Where’s Lance?”

A long, heavy sigh was my answer. “Name’s Tony. I’m Lance’s stepbrother. As for where Lance is… He’s in the hospital.”

“Hospital?” I gasped, slumping into a nearby chair. “Why? What happened?” That fluttery panic I’d felt earlier hit me full force, slamming into my gut and bending me forward.

“Idiot tried a spell he didn’t fully research. Didn’t turn out the way he thought it would. The magical backlash took out half his apartment. Lance’s landlord’s not very happy right now. Truth be told, neither am I. I’m stuck here, in the hospital, fielding all of Lance’s unhappy customers. I’m guessing you’re gonna be another one of those.”

He was damn right I was going to be another pissed-off customer. Pushing down the ever-rising panic, I tried to think clearly. I didn’t know when Lance had pushed his warlock luck, but maybe he’d had time to get my charms done. Maybe they were sitting in a box somewhere, ready to ship. There was still hope.

Licking my dry lips, my voice quivered when I said, “I was supposed to receive a shipment of charms. Lance said they were done and he’d get them to me. They’re very important. Maybe you could look around and—”

“You don’t get it. There’s nothing to look around at. Lance’s apartment and everything in it—charms, ingredients, spell books, family heirlooms…you name it, it’s gone. The magical backlash fed on the base ingredients he had in his apartment and worsened the explosion. They’re still trying to decontaminate the area. They had to evacuate the surrounding buildings while they figure shit out. When Lance wakes up, he’s going to be up to his eyeballs in legal repercussions. I’ve already had two fairy visitors. Fucking lawyers,” Tony grumbled. “Trust me, whatever Lance had done for you, it’s gone.”

My breath caught. Precious moments ticked by, and I couldn’t force air into or out of my lungs. It had taken me forever to find a warlock as capable as Lance. It hadn’t been easy. I not only needed a talented warlock, but I also needed one with discretion. And I needed a morally ambiguous one. That wasn’t an easy combination to find.

“Listen, I’m sorry if this is a problem for you, but there’s nothing I can do. I’m human, not a warlock. I’d offer to give you your money back, but I don’t even have access to that. You’ll have to wait for Lance to wake up before anything else can be sorted. Good luck.” Tony ended the call before I could comment.

Not that I knew what to say. My mind was blank, and my constant low-grade headache turned into a lion’s roar. I sat there, time ticking by. The charm strapped to my thigh felt weightier than usual. It was an itch I couldn’t scratch. That itch grew until it couldn’t be ignored. Until my situation couldn’t be ignored.

“Think, Parsnip. Think!”

My body came back to me by slow degrees. My fingers ached from gripping my phone. With great effort, I peeled my fingers off one by one, easing my phone on a nearby side table.

Somehow, I needed to do the impossible. I needed to find another warlock. I needed to find someone capable of doing what I needed. Someone that wouldn’t out me. Someone that could save my career. Someone that could save me.

* * *

Warlock Wishes? The name was dumb, the storefront even dumber. Or maybe sadder. I’d spent last night trolling the internet, searching for a warlock that might fit my needs. I was stuck in the Southeast United States and needed someone within driving distance. Vander Kines was the second name on my rather anemic list. The first name struck out quickly. Family and friends had inflated his social and professional profile.

Vander Kines was different. I’d waffled on where to place him on my list. He was still young. Maybe too young. Warlocks’ powers rose with age. Lance was middle-aged. Young could have its benefits. Many young warlocks weren’t financially fluid and were more eager to take on questionable assignments.

The small sign on the door sparkled. The wordopenshifted through a rainbow of colors. With my hand on my hip, I stared at the kitschy sign for a good thirty seconds, debating whether it was worth opening the door.

My indecision was helped along when an older woman came through the door, the tinkling of bells sounding as the door opened and slid closed with ease. She was human. Whatever she’d gotten from the warlock inside wasn’t a spell to look younger. Or, if it was, then she needed to go back in and demand a refund.

“Good morning.” She beamed up at me, a wide, nearly toothless grin pulling at her cheeks before she hustled away, the bag in her arms held tightly, as if it was the dearest thing she owned. Her gait was livelier than her age suggested.

“Maybe a pain charm,” I mused.

Some thought being pain-free was more important than looking good. If money were tight, then perhaps that was the direction the older human female had gone.

Tossing my hair over my shoulder, I wondered at that. I’d pick looking good over discomfort any day of the week. Given my constant headaches and fatigue, that’s exactly the choice I’d made.

Deciding action was better than supposition, I pulled the door open. Shoulders back, I flew into the small space, allowing pixie dust to scatter, temporarily coating every surface before dissipating into nothing.

The room was warm and inviting, pushing away winter’s chill. Tugging my cream shawl off my shoulders, I momentarily thought about removing my pixie boots but wasn’t certain I’d be staying long enough to warrant that level of undress.

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