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“Are you a ghost?” Nick had read somewhere that ghosts tended to smell like roses or tobacco, scents they carried with them from their former lives to reassure the people they left behind. Of course, he didn’t believe in ghosts or, for that matter, people who could disappear at will.

“Not a ghost. I’m a faerie. Though we prefer the term Fae.”

“A faerie.” Well, why the hell not? “Like sugar plums and Tinkerbell?”

Callie shrugged and moved across the kitchen to lean against the counter by the sink, once again cutting off his access to the phone. “Those are stereotypes, of course, but you’re close.”

“Where are your wings?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She winked, crossed her legs at the ankle and gave him a cockeyed grin. “If we succeed, maybe you’ll get to see them. Right now, we need to start formulating a plan.”

“My plan is to get myself to a rubber room ASAP. I’m not too proud to admit that I may need professional help.”

“You don’t. Well, you do, but that’s another story. You’re not imagining me.”

“It’s funny, I don’t feel crazy. I don’t think I’m asleep. Maybe I hit my head going over the embankment, and I’m in a coma or something.”

She sighed. “You’re not any of those things. I’m real. You’re real, and we’re in a real fix. The Fae Goddess, Freya, has sentenced us to the task of joining together three couples in true love before the night of the Oak Moon. If we fail, we will both lose love forever.”

Nick blinked again, hoping his visitor would “pop” out of existence and leave him to go quietly insane by himself. None of what she said made sense. He still thought she might be a lunatic who’d broken into his apartment with plans to kill him, or chain him to the bed and cut parts off like that crazy dame in the Stephen King novel.

He was beginning to think he should have stayed at Miranda’s and duked it out with Skip. At least he’d be in jail or in the ER now where he could get some professional help.

She snapped her fingers, and his drifting gaze bounced back up to her face. “Stay with me, Nick. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“Right. Work.” He rose and headed for the fridge, sparing the telephone another longing glance. Why bother now? Might as well hear her out. He opened the refrigerator and reached past the half loaf of bread and a jar of grape jelly to grab a beer. Would this be his fourth tonight, or his first? He popped the top, not caring that the cap landed on the cracked linoleum and rolled under the stove. He downed half the brew while the faerie eyed him expectantly. “Want one?”

“No, thank you.”

“Good. Now, I’m going to drink the rest of this and probably at least one more before I’ll be ready to deal with any more of this. If you’re still here by then, we’ll start at the beginning. You can explain what exactly you are and what I’m supposed to do to get you out of my head and my house before I really do go insane, assuming I’m not already. Capice?”

She nodded, and he drained the beer. He set the empty bottle on the counter and snagged a second. She was still there when he closed the refrigerator door. When he placed the second empty beer bottle on the kitchen table and took a seat, she was also still there.

“Are you ready now?” she asked, and the exasperated undertone in her voice gave him a chilly reminder of his mother.

He closed his eyes and nodded. “Start at the beginning and go slow.”

Calliope shrugged out of her coat under Nick’s disconcerting scrutiny. He obviously expected her to turn homicidal at any moment, and she wasn’t quite sure how to convince him to trust her. Most of the humans to whom she’d demonstrated any of her Fae abilities immediately wanted to see more amazing feats and ended up begging her to grant them wishes.

She squeezed her eyes shut at that unpleasant memory. Granting wishes seemed like such a nice thing to do—and the ones she’d granted in the past were simple, benign. Not much more than favors, really. It wasn’t as if she’d given anyone eternal life or inexhaustible wealth or ultimate power.

She shook off the creeping tingle of shame that tickled the edges of her well-hidden wings and tossed her coat on the back of one of Nick’s pomegranate-colored kitchen chairs. “May I sit down?”

She almost missed Nick’s response, a nearly imperceptible tilt of his head. She pulled the chair out and sat before he had a chance to change his mind. The cold, faded red surface of the ancient kitchen table gave her a chill when she leaned her forearms on it, and she had to rub them briskly with her hands to keep her Fae blood flowing. Why couldn’t she have been exiled to a warmer climate to carry out her task?

“It’s a complicated story,” she said.

“I’ll bet.”

“Um…” Why did he have to stare at her like that? He seemed to look into her, suffusing her with the heat of self-consciousness.

Despite the hard-earned wisdom she saw in his eyes, he still thought her a menace to his well being. One sudden move and she had no doubt she’d find herself evicted from his apartment as unceremoniously as he’d ejected her from his truck.

“Okay. Here’s the short version. Feel free to ask questions. I’m a Fae. I belong to the caste that governs the fulfillment of destiny, specifically love. The Fae goddess, Freya, presides over my caste. She’s my boss, so to speak.”

“What is she—like Cupid?”

“He’s retired now, but yes, in a way. My caste—we help the cause of true love. We help put people together.”

“That sounds better than taking them apart.”

“Let me finish.” Had he smirked at her? Was she cracking his gruff, skeptical exterior? “I really like my job. Maybe too much. I got carried away recently and did something I wasn’t supposed to do. I granted a wish.”

“You grant wishes?” He sat forward, suddenly interested. Next he’d be asking to win the lottery. Callie rolled her eyes and settled her gaze on the fine cracks that marred the finish on the table. She traced the delicate lines with her thumb as she continued, reluctant to confess her sins. Remember, if this all works, he’ll forget everything I tell him.

“I don’t grant wishes. That’s the point. I’m not allowed to, even when they’re simple, easy, mostly harmless little wishes. I’m not allowed.”

“So you broke the rules?” The tone of his question told her he admired that. Nick was a rule breaker of epic proportions, so he understood the need to buck the system.

“Yes. I allowed a human to wish for someone to fall in love with her—someone who was the one she wanted, but not the one she needed. I made a mess of things.”

Nick put one elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. “Go on.”

Callie saw it immediately—the change in his demeanor from guarded skepticism to guarded amusement. He no longer thought she was a psychopath, just a harmless loony bird on the loose.

Fortunately she still had an arsenal of Fae tricks at her disposal to help him become a true believer. “After Freya stepped in and helped me set things right, and after an eternity of heated debate, it was decided that my punishment for breaking the rules was…you.”

“Me?” He laughed, and the deep sound rumbled pleasantly. How could a man with a laugh like that be all bad? “Sweet cheeks, I’ve been a lot of things to a lot of women, but I’ve never been anyone’s punishment. I’d say you made out on the deal.”

“Oh please.” Such arrogance. Nick’s biggest problem was that he liked himself for the wrong reasons. His sex appeal and charm were undeniable to any human female, of course, but as Freya had explained to Callie, those shallow qualities were all he had. There was nothing underneath, or very little anyway, that could be salvaged into a loving, caring soul. “You’re my punishment because you’re a hopeless case. Or nearly hopeless.”

“A hopeless case of what?” He laughed again and rose, turning his back on her in a show of trust she hadn’t expected so quickly. He opened the fridge again and fished out a third beer, which he offered to her. “You need this more than I do.”

“No, thank you. Alcohol does bad things to Fae. Now, back to you. You’re a hopeless case because you’ve been decreed an enemy of true love.”