Enchanted, Inc.

"Well, um, well, your nose is a little big, and you could use a good skin-care routine," I said with a wince. The other women in the room stared at him, then looked at each other with raised eyebrows. "But it wasn't the way you looked that put me off that morning," I hurried to add. "It was more your personality. You were kind of sleazy, and you acted like you thought you were hot stuff, which is never attractive."



"All part of the test," he said, as one of the fairies on the other side of the room rolled her eyes and a business-suited woman snorted.



"So, what was that supposed to prove, that I have good taste in men?"



"What you see isn't what other people see. Let's just say that the face I show the world is a far cry from the way you see me. I was also using a fairly intense attraction spell, both in the subway and with your friends. Your reaction to my appearance could have been just your personal preference, but believe me, if you could be influenced in any way by magic, you would have been affected by the attraction spell, no matter what your personal tastes might be."



I remembered my roommates comparing him to Johnny Depp and wondered if that was the illusion he wore or the effects of his spell. Then I realized that I was taking all of this seriously. I'd yet to see any proof that magic really existed. I'd just seen that some rather unusual people could apparently walk the streets of New York without drawing unwanted attention. "That's all very interesting," I said, "but it's not as effective a proof as you might think. I mean, there have been a lot of men everyone else seems to think are gorgeous while I'm not impressed. Take George Clooney. I don't find him appealing at all, but everyone gushes over him."



"Would you like something to drink?" Owen asked in what seemed like a major non sequitur or evasive action, until a small silver tray bearing a crystal goblet of water appeared in front of me with a poof and a flash of light that lingered for a second. I looked up at Owen, then he waved his hand and a red rose appeared on the tray next to the goblet. "Or would you prefer coffee, perhaps?" The goblet disappeared and was replaced by a steaming mug. "Cream or sugar?" he asked with a mischievous smile that was almost as cute as the grin I'd seen Tuesday.



I tried to think of a way this could be a trick. I was sure there was some way he could have staged that. Maybe there was something in the table that could spring up at the touch of the right button. That might explain the initial appearance of the tray when I hadn't been looking, but I wasn't sure how the coffee could have just appeared. I tried to keep my hands from trembling as I reached to pick up the coffee mug. I brought it to my lips, but I could tell as it got near that the coffee would be too hot to drink.



"Too hot for you?" Owen asked, then waved his hand, and I felt a puff of cool air sweep past me. Now the coffee was just the right drinking temperature. I would have dropped the mug in shock, but the coffee smelled too good to waste just for the sake of a dramatic gesture.



"I don't suppose you can conjure up some Valium?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.



"Does this mean you believe us?" the head honcho asked.



I thought about his question. I knew that the more I considered things, the more excuses I could come up with to explain everything away, but I'd reached the point that any explanation I could come up with would only be hideously complicated, something worthy of Agent Scully. I'd spent my college years yelling at the television and complaining about how someone so supposedly smart could be so dense and insist on disregarding evidence that was so obvious.



The only noncomplicated way I could think of to explain people with fairy wings, the unreasonable attraction of every woman in sight to a man I found repulsive at the time, and the sudden appearance of refreshments out of thin air was that I was the victim of the latest television reality show. There could be hidden cameras recording my reactions. But then I remembered that I'd seen weird stuff from the moment I got to New York. They couldn't have been following me all that time.



No, chances were very good that this was real. "Yeah, I do think I believe you," I said at last. "But where do I fit into all this?"



"It's like Owen said the other day," Rod put in. "We need a reality check. We need someone who can tell us what's really there. Imagine if someone wrote a clause into a contract, then veiled it so we couldn't see it. But you could. If we compare what we see to what you see, we have a better chance of getting to the truth."



"So what you're saying is that my superpower is that I'm totally ordinary and unmagical?"