“I still can’t believe it,” Layla whispered, in awe as she examined the stickman, which lay inanimate between her fingers. “What else can you do?”
Quin scooted to the spot beside her and took her hand. “Is this okay?”
Layla looked down, blushing through her answer. “It’s better than okay. I feel like I’ve stepped into a fairytale.”
“Then let’s see some magic,” he approved. “If something worries you, let me know and I’ll stop.”
“Okay,” she happily agreed, wiggly with excitement.
“What’s your favorite animal?” he asked.
She froze, nervously eyeing him. “What are you going to do?”
“I want to show you the magic,” he countered, “not tell you about it.”
She started to argue, but stopped when he pulled the back of her hand to his lips. “Just watch,” he insisted. “What’s your favorite animal?”
“Dogs,” she answered.
“Any breed in particular?”
“Um . . . I have to go with spaniels.”
Quin pointed to the waterfall, and Layla looked over, watching it hit the smooth rocks at the bottom of the embankment. As the droplets rebounded off stone, they conglomerated in mid-air, forming a King Charles spaniel!
Layla’s mouth fell open. “That’s . . It’s . . .” She looked at Quin, who still held her hand to his smiling lips. “No way!” she exclaimed, returning her gaze to the liquid creature.
The dog bounded from the stream, flipping water droplets from its shimmery coat. Then it lapped at Layla’s cheek, leaving it soaked. She burst into laughter, wiping her face with the sleeve of her sweater, and the spaniel skipped back to the brook, diving into the water with its tongue hanging out.
Layla’s cheek was dry, and the dog had melted into the current, but she couldn’t stop laughing. “That was incredible.”
“Your laugh is incredible,” Quin replied.
Layla immediately stifled her giggles, but couldn’t erase her smile. “It’s been years since I laughed like that.”
Quin frowned, but then he smiled again, watching her profile as he laid his cheek on the back of her hand. “I’d say that makes me a uniquely lucky man. What’s your favorite color?”
Surprised by the change of subject, it took Layla a moment to answer. “Oh. Um . . . green.”
“Second favorite?”
“Blue.”
“How about your favorite flower?”
“Lilies.”
“Second favorite?”
“Roses.”
“Hold out your hand.”
Layla obeyed, and a blue and green marbled rose appeared an inch above her palm.
“Take it,” he insisted.
As she picked the smooth stem from the air, a wide variety of lilies sprang from the moss, slithering over her shoes and around her ankles. “They’re beautiful,” she marveled, smelling the rose.
“Yes,” he agreed, “but they’re outshined. Let’s see . . .” He scanned the clearing then pointed toward the brook, moving his finger up and down.
Layla anxiously looked over, finding a small section of the creek oddly bubbling. Then six narrow streams of water shot into the air like a circular fountain, jumping higher with each surge. Quin flicked his hand at each jet, and tiny lights ignited at their bases, alternating green and blue. With one more sweep of his hand, a large liquid rose bloomed from within the fountain, rotating to reveal its sparkling, blue and green petals. As if the moment wasn’t enchanting enough, he whistled, and two black-capped chickadees soared from the forest, singing as they circled the tips of the bouncing jets.
Layla raptly watched the magic show, still mystified by the turn of events, still inclined to wonder if she was dreaming, but the fingers gently wrapped around hers suggested otherwise. More solid than the stone at her back and the earth below, Quin’s hand felt like a harness safely suspending her between two shaky worlds—one of them hopeless, the other outlandish. She glanced at him, expecting to find his eyes, and sure enough, they were watching her, delving deeper than her surface. She blushed and looked at the fountain, wishing she had the guts to lay her cheek on his arm, to dip into his body heat and breathe his masculinity, but she’d never made a move on a man in her life and had no idea how to do it.
The lights at the base of the jets eventually vanished, the water stayed down, and the birds returned to the forest. “Wow,” Layla breathed, shaking her head. “Crazy.”
“Do you want to see something more impressive?” Quin asked.
“More impressive than that?”
“That’s just the beginning,” he revealed. “Magic goes far beyond stick people and fountains.”
“I want to see,” she beamed.
“I want to show you,” he approved. “Do you want to take part in it?”
She hesitated, nervously biting her lip.
“You don’t have to,” he assured, “but if you want to, you should. It isn’t dangerous.”
“What will we do?”
Quin stood and helped her to her feet. Then he led her several steps away from the boulder. “Put your hands on my shoulders,” he instructed.
“Like this?”
“Sure.”
He wrapped his hands around her waist, and her heart raced, pumping feverish blood.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she breathed.
He watched her face for a moment, fingers lightly flexing across her lower back. Then he smiled. “Remember, there’s nothing to be afraid of, but if you get scared, tell me.”
“Okay,” she agreed, once again bewildered by how weird and wonderful he was, by the things he showed her and the way he made her feel—like she was floating.
“Still okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she mumbled. “Why? Do I not look okay?”
He grinned. “Look down.”
She did, squeaking and digging fingernails into his shoulders. They were floating three feet above the ground!
“I won’t let you fall,” he said, squeezing her waist. “You can relax.”
She retracted her claws, but her grip stayed firm as she looked around. The sensation of standing on air was odd, supernatural and stomach flipping, but fantastic. “This is insane,” she whispered. “We’re actually flying.”
“No,” he corrected, “we’re hovering. Flying will come later.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You can fly? You can fly! That’s why you don’t drive!”
“Yes.”
“You fly everywhere?”
“Yes. I guess you’re okay with heights?”
Layla looked down and squeaked again. They’d risen another fifteen feet. She didn’t feel threatened, but had a clear sense of risk, the thrill of uncertainty, like performing a well-practiced routine on a balance beam with no mats below. “I guess I am.”
“Do you like to dance?” he asked.
“Um . . . yeah, but I’ve never danced with a guy.”
He whistled, and the chickadees returned, singing a soothing tune as they perched on a nearby branch. Layla smiled at the winged creatures. Then she lost the view when Quin spun her around, cutting wide, lazy circles through the air. After giving her a few minutes to adjust, he quickened his pace and tightened his circles.
“May I pull you closer?” he eventually asked.
Layla nodded, speechless as she blushed from head to toe, spellbound by him and everything he did.
“I’m going to let go with this hand,” he warned, wiggling his right fingers, “but you’re not losing any support.”
She nodded again, so he moved his right hand to her left, lifting it from his shoulder as he wrapped his other arm around her waist. After sliding her up his body, bringing her face even with his, he released her hand and covered her back, slipping his fingers under her hair.
Layla’s oxygen intake was practically nil, her blood blazing as she stared him right in the eye, fingers and toes tingling. Was it possible to have weak knees when weightless? Apparently, because hers were jelly.
She swallowed a lump, and he smiled, gently urging her to tuck her blushing face into his neck. She easily complied, and as her trembling lips touched his skin, he burrowed his face through her hair, sweeping the tip of his nose across her clavicle.
Oh wow, Layla thought, eyes drifting shut as a thrill shot through her core.
Quin tightened his fingers around a tuft of silky spirals, chest expanding as he wondered if Layla’s flavor was as bewitching as her scent. He yearned to find out, but his confession wasn’t over, and he didn’t know how she would feel about his lie of omission.
After several heavenly minutes, he pulled his face from her hair, sent the birds away, and returned to earth in more ways than one. When his feet found cool moss, he kept Layla in his arms, itching to squeeze tighter. “We’re on the ground.”
“I know,” she whispered, prickling his skin.
He closed his eyes, withholding an aroused groan. “There’s something else I need to tell you.”
She breathed deep then abandoned his neck. “What’s that?”
“Well,” he hesitantly answered, “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
She tilted her head and scanned his face. “Let me guess,” she teased. “Karena’s not having a two-for-one special.”
“I wish it were that simple,” he replied, lowering her feet to the ground, “but it’s something more serious.”
Her hands slid from his shoulders, and he cringed. “I haven’t actually lied,” he hurriedly continued, “I just haven’t been forthcoming with the truth.”
She bowed her head, watching him out of the corner of her eye as she shifted away. “The truth about what?”
“Several things,” he answered. “Let’s sit. It’s not an easy story to tell.”
She stayed tense, maintaining suspicious eye contact.
“Please, Layla.”
She huffed and moved to the boulder, and Quin flexed his fingers as he followed, sitting down in front of her.
“I’ve already told you a few things about my family,” he began, tentatively taking her hands, “but there’s more you should know.”
“Like what?” she coolly asked, and Quin could tell she’d donned an emotional shield, bracing herself for a blow.
“Well,” he answered, “for one thing, they can perform magic as well.”
Layla’s eyes widened as she lowered her defenses. “All of them?”
“Yes.”
“Brietta and Banning, too?”
“Yes, all twenty-five of us are magicians, or witches and wizards if you’d prefer.”
“Witches and wizards?” Layla whispered.
Quin released her hand and pulled a drinking glass from his bag, summoning water from the stream with a flick of his wrist. “Yes,” he answered, handing the glass over. “I’m a wizard.”
Layla curiously watched him as she took a long drink. Then she shrugged. “I guess that makes sense. What else would you call yourselves?”
“That’s not what I need to tell you.”
“Oh.”
Quin set the water aside and took her hands back. “As witches and wizards, we can read people’s emotions by looking at them, and it works even better with other magicians. Having said that . . .” He paused, took a deep breath then slowly let it out. “…when Brietta saw you last night, she noticed something different about you, something that confused her.”
“You’re finally going to tell me why you sat with me,” Layla mumbled, looking down.
Quin’s stomach squirmed as he squeezed her hands. “Yes,” he confessed, trying to find her eyes, but she was purposefully hiding them.
“Go on then,” she insisted.
Quin didn’t want to go on. He wanted to lift her gaze and tell her any man sitting with her was a blessed man, but he forced himself to stay on track. “Brietta had never seen anyone like you. It worried her, and she wanted a second opinion from a member of our coven. I was in the bookstore next door, so she called me.”
Layla’s shoulders rose with a shaky breath. “I see. She sent you to my table.”
“No,” he countered, giving into temptation and lifting her chin. “Brietta called me in there, but I sat down on my own accord. I told you the truth last night. I was intrigued by the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Why wouldn’t I sit down?”
Her forehead wrinkled as she searched his eyes, and he could tell he’d soothed at least some of her insecurities.
“What about me intrigued you?” she pressed.
“Well,” he answered, anxiously flexing, “I’m getting to that, but I feel I should warn you.”
“About what?”
“About the things I need to tell you. They won’t be easy to hear, let alone believe, but please try to keep an open mind and stay calm, and if there’s anything I can do to make it easier, let me know.”
She nodded her curious agreement, and he deeply inhaled, trying to slow his speeding heart. “I know why you’re here, Layla.”
“You invited me here,” she replied.
“Not here in the clearing,” he corrected. “Here in Oregon.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I told you why I came here.”
“Yes, but you didn’t tell me all of it.”
“How would you know?” she countered. “Is that something you can magically see about me?”
Quin felt her shields go up, but he didn’t know how to soften the blow, so he grasped her hands tighter and ripped off the bandage. “I know why you’re here, because I know your grandparents.”
Her mouth fell open as she yanked her hands away, shocked, confused . . . and afraid. Shit. Quin ached to grab her hands back, but somehow managed to restrain himself.
“You… you what?” she asked.
Quin’s chest and stomach tightened, muffling his reply. “I know your maternal grandparents very well. And I know your past, what drew you to Oregon.”
Layla stood so fast she was on her feet before Quin realized he no longer held her gaze. By the time he jumped up, she’d turned her back on him and was staring into timber, intensely fidgeting with the sleeves of her sweater.
“That’s ridiculous,” she decided, spinning back around. “What makes you think that?”
Quin’s heart squeezed as he dropped his guilty gaze. “You know my family shares land with another magical family.”
“So?” she huffed, impatiently lifting a hand.
“Well, that other family is your family.”
Her hand fell to her side, slapping her jeans, and Quin took a cautious step, hoping like hell she wouldn’t flee. “You’re a witch, Layla,” he quietly added. “I knew it the moment I saw you.”