of the faerie realm that the humans had relegated to the category of fiction. It hadn’t always been that way. Many years ago, before he was born, contact between the realms had been far more common. The humans had been more in tune with the earth and the ways of magic. They had believed.
But as the generations went on they had been taught to ignore his kind, and a veil had fallen over their eyes. As a result, many of the denizens of the faerie realm who could not pass for mortal creatures, such as the sprites, had become invisible to humans.
The Seelie Court, who worked to maintain the eternal balance between good and evil, had been forced to put measures in place to uphold the separation between the realms. They feared mass chaos would erupt if the humans were suddenly confronted with the fact that a realm of immortal beings coexisted alongside their own. Doyle understood, but he thought it was a shame.
The two realms had so much they could learn from each other.
“How do you expect to earn your reward if you keep slacking off?”
Violet’s teasing voice interrupted Doyle’s musings, and he realized he was staring into space, still holding the book on Celtic legends. He smiled to find her looking up at him from amidst a new stack of papers she had created on the floor.
“This is quite a collection your parents had,” he commented, indicating the shelf beside him. “They must have been real mythology buffs. And all these spell and witchcraft books. Were they Wiccan, by any chance?”
Violet snorted softly. “They were…eccentric. They had a lot of romantic notions about magic and alternate realities, and how cross-cultural similarities between myths and legends proved that they contained a core of truth. I swear they probably believed most of the stuff on that shelf was true.”
Doyle frowned at her, nettled by the dismissal in her tone. “It doesn’t seem all that farfetched to me,” he said, trying to sound casual.
Violet’s eyes widened and she smiled at him in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?”
His frown deepened. “No, I’m not.”
“Oh, come on,” she insisted incredulously. “It’s a nice fantasy, but mystical creatures and magical worlds, existing right alongside our own, even though no one can see them. How does that work, exactly?”
She laughed as if expecting him to share in the joke.
But Doyle couldn’t seem to work up any humor. He told himself he should just concede her point and drop it. Something inside him, though, compelled him to argue with her.
“Do you honestly believe, then, that there is no mystery or magic left to be discovered in this world? That there is nothing out there beyond what you have the ability to see and comprehend?” he demanded in mounting agitation.
She gave him a bewildered look. “I’m sure there’s plenty left to be discovered—in the depths of the oceans and in remote jungles and definitely in outerspace. I just think that if there was really some invisible magical world all around us, someone would have caught onto it by now.”
Doyle was so exasperated he couldn’t speak. The urge to prove Violet wrong was like a live wire burning through his mind. He had to get away from her before he said something rash. He tossed the Celtic book back toward the bookcase and walked out of the office without another word.
Violet stared after him. What in the world was he so worked up about? Then it occurred to her that he had asked if her parents were Wiccan. Maybe he was Wiccan and she had just offended his religion. People could be really touchy about that sort of thing. She pushed herself to her feet, thinking she should probably go apologize.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
Doyle retreated into the solitude of the bathroom and stood in front of the sink, palms pressed into the cool marble countertop, his reflection looking back at him from the mirror. He made an effort to loosen the frustrated tension tightening his shoulders.
It wasn’t Violet he was upset with so much as himself.
What had possessed him to needle her like that? He’d never had a problem keeping the existence of the faerie realm a secret from any of his other human friends, male or female. Why was he suddenly so eager to reveal himself to Violet? Whatever the reason, he needed to get over it.
He splashed some water on his face and, feeling more composed, exited back into the bedroom. Violet sat on the edge of the bed waiting for him, her feet crossed at the ankles and her hands clasped as if she was forcing them to remain still.
“Doyle?” she said apprehensively. “I’m really sorry if I offended you. I like you very much and I would never intentionally say anything to ridicule your beliefs. I don’t know what I would have done without all your help yesterday and today.”
The words were almost as sweet as the lips they had fallen from, and Doyle realized that once again he’d been a jackass. He strode forward to stand before her, trailing the backs of his fingers down her soft cheek.
“You did nothing wrong, Violet. I’m just tired and cranky and I was being argumentative. My blood sugar probably dropped too low and it addled my brain.”
“I forgot all about stopping for lunch,” she said apologetically. He had been thoughtful enough to make her breakfast, and she’d worked him all afternoon without feeding him. She grimaced as she thought about the empty fridge. “Do you want a yogurt cup to tide you over? I could get us some takeout.”
Doyle laughed, but the relief he expected to feel at her acceptance of his excuse was annoyingly absent. “No, thanks. I actually need to get home and take out my poor neglected dog.”
“Oh, right.” She tried not to sound as disappointed as she felt. But the slow caress of his fingers was addling her brain. “Um, do you want a ride?” she asked breathlessly.
“No. The walk’ll do me good. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, okay?”
Was there regret in his voice, or was it her imagination looking for reasons to ask him to stay? “Okay, then. Thanks again for all your help,” she managed.
Doyle told himself it was for the best. Her very presence wreaked havoc on his control. He needed to put some distance between them, and maybe tomorrow he’d be able to approach her with a fresh perspective.
But it took every ounce of willpower Doyle possessed to turn and walk out her door.
Chapter Five
Violet spent the night tossing and turning, the bed suddenly seeming too big for just one person. She woke up late, grateful for the coffee Doyle had left, and spent a restless afternoon prowling about the empty villa without accomplishing much of anything.
She figured Doyle must be out on the boat. Her traitorous imagination kept spinning out scenes involving him, sexy and shirtless, surrounded by groups of adoring, bikini-clad women who were only too happy to invite him home and have him cook breakfast for them.
Her heart leapt when the doorbell rang a little before 5 p.m. But it wasn’t Doyle. It was Melody, standing there in jeans and a t-shirt, looking cute with her blue beret perched atop her fiery curls.
“Hi,
