Luck of the Irish (4 page)

Was this all there was?

The old-fashioned lever above the elevator doors moved like molasses in winter, and when it finally hit Lobby she almost wept with relief. She loved the beauty and character of the pre-war building, but the elevator was more than a little frightening. It creaked and moaned in protest during every ride, but Dave, the superintendent, assured her it was inspected regularly.

The doors finally slid open and Maggie stepped into the empty car. She punched the button for the fourth floor and then checked her makeup in the mirror along the back wall. She was a mess. A hot mess. Jeez. No wonder she hadn’t had a date in months. But then again, it wasn’t like she actually
tried
to get a man. Most of the guys she dated were nice enough, but none of them held her interest long enough to warrant more than three or four dates. After her last outing with a big blockhead she met online, Maggie decided that romance and sex were not in her wheelhouse.

She wasn’t good at it. Dating was awkward and weird. Nobody ever came out and said what they really wanted and the game was exhausting. She’d rather spend her time digging around in antique shops or reading books than trying to pretend to be someone she wasn’t. Besides, what guy would want to hear about her mirror story or the fairy tale that went with it? And if a man really did get interested and he wanted a family, what then? She couldn’t give that to anyone. Who the hell would want her?

The answer? Nobody.

The elevator dinged signaling the arrival at her floor. After digging her key out of her purse she managed to let herself into her apartment without dropping the mirror, which was tucked under her arm. Her muscles were screaming in protest, but she got inside and kicked the door closed before bringing it over to the coffee table.

Letting out an exhausted sigh, Maggie tore off her coat and gloves before tossing them on the overstuffed, beige chair. She nibbled on her thumb and stared at the wrapped package. Wine. She definitely needed a glass of wine before taking the paper off and exploring the possibility that she was either crazy or in possession of a magic mirror.

Maggie changed her clothes quickly and slipped into her black yoga pants and tank top. The clothes she wore to the city were too confining and a little voice in the back of her mind told her to get comfortable. Smiling at her foolishness, Maggie snagged the glass of Chardonnay off the mantle of the fireplace and took a sip. Her gaze never left the package.

“This is silly,” she whispered out loud to her empty apartment. “Just open the damn thing.”

Maggie drained the rest of the wine from her glass before sitting on the floral sofa and carefully peeling open the bubble wrap and brown paper. Her stomach was in knots as she turned the mirror face up and held it in front of her with both hands. It looked normal enough, but there was no denying what she’d heard when she touched the glass back at the store.

The gold emblem, the one that matched her necklace, sat at the top of the oval gilded frame, and when she leaned closer she realized that it was a recessed space. She ran her finger over it and let out a shuddering breath. Maggie had a sinking suspicion that the amulet around her neck would fit perfectly in that space.

“A key,” she whispered through trembling lips. “Aunt Lizzie said the amulet was a key to release the leprechaun from his prison.”

Rising to her feet, Maggie carried the mirror down the narrow hallway to her bedroom. She bumped the door open with her hip and stepped into the small, cozy green and white room. When she changed clothes earlier she’d already removed the old print and left the blank spot above her dresser for her long sought after prize.

With great care she hung the mirror onto the nail and adjusted it so that it was straight. She stepped back and inspected it as she removed the amulet and gold chain from around her neck. The heavy, gold disc felt warm in her palm as she curled her fingers around it and debated what to do next.

Part of her was as eager as a kid on Christmas Eve brimming with anticipation. She wanted to slip the amulet right into that spot on the frame and see if the fairy tale was true. But the other part of her, the one that dominated at the moment, was reluctant. Not because she was afraid of a leprechaun jumping out of the mirror.

In fact, it was exactly the opposite.

What if after all this time and all the searching she puts the amulet in the mirror and
nothing
happens? That would be a big, fat, fucking let down of colossal proportions.

Tears stung her eyes and she sniffled, laughing out loud at her foolishness. How long had she been searching for the mirror never really believing she’d find it? The hunt for this treasure was what kept her going after family was gone. It was like an invisible tie that kept her connected to them, but now she’d found it and the hunt was over.

It was a stark reminder that her family was never coming back.

Maggie was alone.

“I wish the story was true, Aunt Lizzie,” she whispered. “But true or not, thank you for sharing it with me... .I miss you all so much.”

She turned her teary gaze to her reflection as she ran her fingertip over the amulet. It was time to face the truth and stop hiding inside her own fairy tales, the ones she perpetuated every time she went in search of the magical mirror from Aunt Lizzie’s stories. She had to face the reality of the world she lived in.

Her family was gone and they weren’t coming back. The mirror wasn’t magic and she wasn’t anything special, and the only way to really face it was to put the amulet in the mirror—and watch as nothing happened.

Fairy tales weren’t real.

Neither were leprechauns or warlocks.

No more hiding from the world or retreating into fanciful stories.

“Time to face the truth.”

Maggie pressed the amulet to her lips before reaching up and slipping the disc into the recessed spot at the top of the mirror. The moment it clicked into place she whispered the Gaelic phrase Aunt Lizzie always uttered when she told this part of the story. “
Scaoileadh mé tú.”

At first nothing happened and Maggie was ready to drown herself in the rest of the chardonnay. She was about to leave the room in search of the wine when a ripple in her reflection caught her eye. Maggie swallowed hard and squinted, not sure she was actually seeing what she thought she was seeing. But sure enough the glass surface of the mirror began to undulate and swell like silver waves in an otherworldly ocean.

She backed up as her image in the mirror blurred and a low, pulsing throbbing sound began to rumble through the room. Maggie scrambled backward and up onto the bed as the deafening noise grew louder by the second. Her hands flew to hear ears, the pulsing noise permeating every single cell of her body making her teeth clatter. It felt like the entire building would come down around her any second and if she wasn’t completely paralyzed by fear, she might have run.

But Maggie couldn’t move. She curled up into the fetal position, hands over her ears, as the world rumbled around her. She half expected the ground to open up and swallow her whole.

A split second later, the mirror erupted in an explosion of light and Maggie squeezed her eyes shut. As a scream threatened to rip from her throat the world went completely silent and still. No more bone rattling throbbing running through the air like an otherworldly bass. The shaking and trembling had ceased, except for her body. She was quivering like a damn leaf and cowering on her bed like a total coward.

Her heart hammered against her ribcage and her eyes were screwed tightly shut as the unmistakable sound of someone breathing heavily filled the room. At first, she thought it was her own breath because she was huffing and puffing like she’d run a freaking marathon. But about a second later, it became glaringly clear she was no longer alone.

The fairy tale was true.

“It’s about damned time.” The man’s voice, deep and guttural, cut through the room like thunder. “What took ya so long?”

Maggie shot up to a sitting position, ready to let out an ungodly scream. She was expecting to see a leprechaun like the ones she’s seen in the movies. A tiny guy with red hair and a green suit who was maybe one or two feet tall... but she could not have been more wrong.

Standing at the end of her bed was a guy who was anything but tiny.

He was a brute of a man, stood well over six feet tall and was absolutely gorgeous. He had shoulder length, brown hair and scruffy facial hair to match. A loose-fitting white shirt, or a shirt that used to be white, was draped over his broad torso, and a green plaid kilt hung low on his hips and covered him to his knees. He looked like he’d stepped out of a movie, or had escaped from a Renaissance Faire or something.

A massive sword was strapped to his back, but what stood out to Maggie most and kept her pinned to the bed was the ferocity of his steely stare. His stormy eyes looked almost silver as they peered at her beneath a furrowed brow. His meaty hands were balled into fists at his side as he loomed over her from the foot of the bed.

In what world were Leprechauns six-foot tall hotties? Aunt Lizzie failed to mention
this
in her story.

The room started to spin. Maggie’s mouth opened and closed but no sound would come out, and the man standing in her room gave her a puzzled look. This couldn’t be happening. He strode around the bed swiftly and grabbed her by both arms, hoisting her off the bed as though she weighed nothing at all.

“What ails ya, witch? Ya have nothin’ to say to me on behalf of Malachi?” He yanked her close and Maggie, in spite of the insanity of the moment, noticed that he smelled like spice and earth and rain. His fingers tightened their hold on her and he shouted, “The bastard had not the courage to face me himself? He sent a wee girl here with my amulet to do his dirty work after all these years.”

Witch? This guy, whoever he was, thought she was a witch? Great. She wasn’t a witch. She was a boring, lonely girl who grew up listening to a story—his story—one that had come to life in the middle of her bedroom.

Dizzy and completely disoriented Maggie shook her head and pressed her hands against his rock hard chest. But it was no use. The guy was a wall of muscle and she would never be able to fight him off. She whimpered and held his fierce stare as fear and confusion swirled through her like a storm.

“Speak, woman!”

Nausea bloomed as another wave of dizziness, fueled by fear, and overcame her. Maggie knew she was going to faint. It was the same feeling she had right before she passed out in the school gym when she donated blood in tenth grade, and there was no stopping it. As the darkness closed in she whispered the only words that came to mind.

The words she hoped would save her. “
Scaoileadh mé tú... .
I release you.”

W
hen the beautiful, young witch with the hair of gold fainted in his arms Declan first thought it was a rouse. A trick to get him to let his guard down so she could finish him off, but as he gazed upon her lovely innocent face he realized she was no threat. In fact, she seemed shocked by his arrival. So much so, that she lost her wits and fainted.

Declan concluded that this petite female with the face of an angel was not sent to destroy him and he felt like an arse for handling her so roughly. She did not have the aura of a witch. Hers was far to faint for her to be of a supernatural line. However, the lass did possess the amulet, which meant she was connected to their world and to him whether or not she knew it.

Cradling her carefully, he laid her out on the soft covers of the bed and brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. Her fair hair and creamy skin gave her an almost ethereal glow, and though she had the look of an angel it was clear the girl was unaware of the magical world. Until now, that is.

Oh, she’d said the words and used the amulet to free him, but it was as though she had done it by mistake.

If she was not a witch sent to destroy him on behalf of Malachi then who was she, and why was she in possession of two powerful magical objects? How had she known the words to free him? Did she know of his daughter or what had become of her?

Declan ran a hand over his face as a wave of weariness and frustration swept over him. He stepped back from the bed and winced in pain. His muscles screamed in protest and the room began to spin. He shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of the sudden and disorienting sensation, but it was no use. Weakened by exhaustion, Declan leaned both hands on the edge of the bed and gripped the fabric as though that somehow might give him more strength, but it was no use.

His entire body was stiff and sore and for the first time, in more years than he could count, Declan felt pain. He grunted as a muscle spasm shimmied up his back. With significant effort he crawled onto the bed, which felt impossibly soft beneath him. He should get up and go find his daughter, but even as that thought whisked through his head his eyes were closing. After more than two hundred years Declan finally drifted into the welcoming arms of sleep.

***

M
aggie sighed contentedly and snuggled deeper into the firm, warm, male body that surrounded her along with the clean, fresh smell of rain. She was dreaming. Funny how she knew that, but she did. The gruff, handsome Irishman who emerged from the mirror now lay in her bed with his long, masculine form spooned around her body. She should be frightened, but she wasn’t. Oddly enough, she felt cherished... cared for. That made no sense, but since when did dreams make any sense?

He cradled her against him in a dominant, but protective, posture and nuzzled her ear with his lips. Hot, damp breath puffed against her neck and heightened her arousal, as did his growing need, which pressed against her back insistently. And when his hand began to wander over the swell of her hip and drifted between the juncture of her legs, she did not protest or attempt to push him aside.

Hell, it was only a dream... so why not? She hadn’t had actual sex in over two years, so if dream sex was all she was getting she was taking it, especially with a gorgeous hunk of man like this.