Passionate Magic. Dawn Addonizio
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from the shelves down into them.
Her mom had owned hats in every color and style imaginable. Some had feathers or veils. Others were decorated with buckles, flowers, bands or pins. She found two almost identical berets made out of shiny red vinyl. Violet smiled and shook her head, wondering how a person could possibly find the occasions to wear them all. But her mom had probably worn every single one without worrying whether or not they matched the occasion. Both Vicky and George Hendrickson had been the types of people to live for the moment and experience all the joy that life had to offer.
The magnitude of their loss slammed into Violet, combining with the vestiges of her earlier fright in the water, leaving her too overwhelmed to fight her grief. She sank to the floor of the closet, between the boxes of hats. Her fingers clutched at one of her dad’s favorite Hawaiian shirts, pulling it off its hanger as she went.
She cried until the shirt was wet with her tears and her nose was too stuffy to smell the lingering scent of his aftershave.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
“I’m sorry I didn’t see the lindita go under, hermano.”
Doyle looked up from hosing off Ocean Magic’s deck. He’d been staring at the bench where Violet was sitting earlier, lost in thoughts of her. “It wasn’t your fault, man.”
Manny eyed him doubtfully. “I was supposed to be watching the group, no? And you been cranky as a wet gato ever since. If you no mad at me, then what’s eating you, hermano?”
Doyle exhaled heavily as he debated how much to tell Manny. The Costa Rican was a stand-up guy and a good friend. They’d been partners for ten years now, and Doyle trusted him almost as much as he trusted his best friend, Pat. But he’d never entrusted any human with the knowledge that he was sidhe, descended from a noble line of immortal warriors that made their homes in the faerie realm.
He settled, as always, for giving his friend a partial truth.
“I like her, man,” he said simply. “I liked her from the moment I saw her. I wanted to ask her out, but those two blondes kept after me and I think she got the wrong idea.”
Manny’s face broke into a huge grin that pushed his cheeks up into rounded pouches. “You had me worried there for a minute, hermano. I was wondering how come you did no want to sample what those two were offering.”
Doyle smirked as he bent to pick up a discarded soda can left behind by one of the passengers. “I’ve got my mind set on sampling something a bit more exotic than those two, and I’m afraid Miss Violet Hendrickson is the only thing that will do.”
“I know what you mean, hermano. I have been dating this new chica for several weeks now, and no other can turn my eye from her. I think I am in love.”
Manny crossed his hands over his chest and raised his face heavenward.
“I hope she feel the same. Her name is Melody. Beautiful, no? I will bring her to meet you some time soon.”
Doyle smiled. “I’d love to meet the woman who’s finally stolen your heart, brother.”
They finished cleaning the boat in companionable silence and agreed to meet back at the docks in a couple of days for their next round of tours.
Doyle walked the few blocks to the secluded, residential street where his old-Florida-style house was situated on a two acre lot. It was a white rectangle of a building, with a low, flat roof and green-trimmed windows with jalousie shutters.
Coconut palms dotted the property and a veritable forest of waxy-leaved sea-grapes fenced it in. Grass grew sparsely at best in the sandy soil, but it was less for him to mow and it gave the place a distinctly tropical feel. As soon as he opened the slat-paned front door, his Irish wolfhound, Bruno, nearly knocked him over in a frenzied, slobbery rush to get outside.
“Sorry buddy. Couldn’t make it back for your afternoon walk. Tourists kept me busy all day. I met a bonnie one, though.” He rubbed the pony-sized dog’s soft ears and Bruno looked at him reproachfully before trotting out into the yard.
Doyle grinned and went inside, knowing the dog would return to the door when he was ready to come in. He dropped his keys next to a pile of mail on the shelf in the entryway, kicked his shoes off, and made his way barefoot across the cool tile toward his bedroom to take a shower. Manny had helped him lay the flooring a month ago, and it was still shiny and new, adding to his home’s growing contrast of modern updates and vintage fixtures.
He was scrubbing the salt out of his hair, his eyes 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