screwed tight against the soapy water, when a faint high-pitched whistle sounded in his ears. “What the devil?” he mumbled.
Laughter tinkled over him. His eyes shot open and he cursed as shampoo ran into them.
“Yer a fine specimen of man, ye are, Doyle Thresher,” Violet’s faerie guardian mimicked in an exaggerated Irish accent, casting an appreciative eye over Doyle’s naked form.
“I don’t sound anything like that.” Doyle scowled and continued rinsing his hair, not bothering to give the sprite the satisfaction of trying to shield the parts of him she’d obviously already seen. “And you wouldn’t know what to do with me, ye bloomin’ faerie, so get yourself out of here before I mistake you for the soap and wash my specimens with you.”
The faerie chuckled. “You can call me Eleanor, sweetie.”
“Nice to be on a first name basis after all we’ve shared,” Doyle replied in a sarcastic burr. “Get out then, Eleanor. Why don’t you go wait in the living room like a normal guest?”
“Alright, don’t get huffy. I just wanted to let you know that there’s a monstrous creature currently attempting to break down your front door. It looks a bit flimsy and I’m not sure how much longer it will hold up against the beast. I’ve got some dust that simulates extra-strength catnip, but I’m not sure what it will do to this brute. I could put it to sleep for a while if you want…”
Doyle tucked a towel around his waist and sprinted from the bathroom before she could finish her offer. Eleanor trailed after him and found him sitting on the edge of a worn brown leather recliner, bending down to rub the creature’s belly as it rolled on the floor. Its tongue lolled from its mouth like pulled taffy, its huge paws flailing in the air at the tips of ridiculously long, lanky legs.
“You’re a good puppy, yes you are Bruno,” Doyle growled in a doltish, sing-song voice.
Eleanor’s eyebrows climbed up her silvery forehead. “You call that thing a puppy?” she asked in horrified amusement.
Doyle raised his eyes and just missed being whacked in the face by a stray paw. “Well, he probably won’t grow any more. But you’ll always be my puppy, won’t you, boy?” he asked the dog fondly as he rose and straightened his towel.
“Now just wait here while I throw on some clothes. And no peeking this time, ye pint-sized pervert,” he warned as he closed his bedroom door with slightly more force than necessary.
Faeries, Doyle thought with disgust as he yanked on a pair of cargo shorts and the first t-shirt he pulled from his drawer. They were always sticking their noses in other people’s business, especially if they thought they could gain the slightest favor for their charges. And they could usually talk the teeth out of a saw when they had a mind to. If Violet wasn’t this one’s charge, he’d flick the little blighter right out the window. The audacity of her spying on him in the shower…
He ran his fingers through his damp hair and fixed a polite smile to his face as he returned to the living room. He stumbled to a halt at the sight of what appeared to be Bruno’s attempt to ingest the annoying little menace.
“Bruno, NO!” he shouted, hurrying forward to grip the dog’s massive jaws in his hands before he could clamp them around Eleanor’s tiny frame. Despite the satisfaction it would give him, he couldn’t allow his dog to eat Violet’s faerie guardian.
Eleanor whizzed out of Bruno’s mouth, giving Doyle a bemused look. “Relax, big boy. The pup had a bit of a toothache and I thought I’d save you a trip to the vet. Bruno would never try to eat me. Would you, pumpkin?” she asked the enormous dog.
The faerie landed on the dog’s sloping snout and began scratching him between the eyes. He stared at her with a blissful expression, one of his rear legs kicking reflexively against the tile floor.
Speechless, Doyle released Bruno’s jaws. “Traitor,” he mumbled, stalking toward the kitchen. “Can I get you anything to drink?” he called, forcing a pleasant tone. A thimble full of cyanide perhaps, he added to himself. He opened the stainless steel refrigerator door, pasted with photos of Bruno and landscape scenes shot from the Ocean Magic.
Eleanor darted over the long breakfast bar to hover above his shoulder. “I don’t suppose you have any decent champagne?” she asked in a hopeful voice.
He looked at her askance. “Let me just check the wine cellar,” he answered dryly.
Eleanor sighed. “I figured. But it never hurts to aim high. What are you having, then?”
“Beer.” He punctuated the word with the thump of the bottle on the ancient olive-green countertop. “It’s beer, o.j., whiskey or water. Take your pick,” he added, grabbing a frosty mug from the freezer.
Eleanor sniffed. “I’ll just have a nip of yours, then.” She pulled a tiny earthenware mug from somewhere within her color shifting dress and held it beneath the foamy, amber stream as he poured.
Doyle led the way back into the living room and dropped onto his leather recliner, murmuring in contentment as he took a long, cold swallow of carbonated heaven. He waited for Eleanor to seat herself on the edge of the gently scuffed wooden coffee table in front of him.
“So, now that I can talk to you without your charge thinking I’m a complete jackass,” Doyle gave the faerie an accusing look, “why is it that you think a merrow would be trying to drown Violet?”
“I have no idea,” Eleanor said glumly. “Like I said before, I didn’t sense she was in danger until it was too late to help her avoid it. But I did get there in time to see one of them pulling her down. Doesn’t make much sense, does it?”
Doyle frowned and shook his head. “From the little I know of merrows, they tend to stay as far from humans as possible. And they’re not known to be violent. You said something happened to Violet a couple of months ago as well?”
“Not to Violet, to her parents.” The faerie grimaced. “They were killed at sea. The human authorities said a freak wave must have sunk their boat and they drowned before they could be rescued. She’s here to pack up their house.”
“Poor lass,” Doyle murmured softly. What courage it must have taken for her to go in the water today. And to nearly suffer the same fate as her parents, then have to return to their house and all the memories awaiting her there.
“But what makes you think her parents’ deaths had anything to do with what happened today? It sounds like it was just a tragic accident.”
Eleanor shrugged. “It’s a feeling I have.”
Doyle stared at her. “A feeling? Anything more solid than that?”
“Just that it’s my job to sense anything that might be a danger to Violet,” she retorted, her wings giving off a mutinous buzz, “and my feelings are rarely mistaken.”
“Alright. I meant no offense.” Doyle held his hands up. “It’s just a bit hard to believe that we have a rogue merrow on our hands, out there murdering humans for no apparent reason.”
“Three humans from the same family? There must be a reason, Doyle,” Eleanor insisted. “And I don’t want her going back in the water until I know she’s safe.”
“So warn her away
