the entire world, mundane and magical. After you’ve settled into your role as magistrate,” he paused to add, “if you accept, eventually the magics will adopt you and you won’t need anything external to see. But if you want proof now, put the shoes on.”
I couldn’t help a grin. “Okay. This really is when somebody pops out to say, ‘Gotcha. It’s the new ‘Voyeur Video’ show.”
Neither Lochlan nor Maggie gave anything useful away. My super claims adjuster powers were silent as the grave.
At this point I wasn’t sure if I wanted it to be a hoax or if I wanted it to be true. What I really wanted was validation one way or the other.
“Alright,” I said. “I’m going along with this just so I can say I fulfilled my promise to hear you out in exchange for an entertaining evening and the best pot roast I’ve ever had.” I looked at Maggie. “Give me the shoes. I hope they’re a size nine.”
She handed them across the table. “They’ll fit like they were made for ye.”
I took the shoes which, I had to admit for the second time, were beautiful; glittery and glitzy. That alone should have told me something was odd. I’m not typically attracted to glittery and glitzy. They appeared to be made of fiberglass or something equally uncomfortable, like a glass slipper for instance, but they were soft as suede to the touch.
Turning away I pulled my boots off and set them aside. I was wearing some black lacey socks that were as thin as stockings. That meant that, if the shoes were true to size, they’d still fit without me having to try them on with bare feet.
With no expectation other than going along to get along, I gingerly slipped first one foot, then the other, into the shoes as if I was Cinderella. They were a fit so perfect they might have been custom made by the best shoemaker in the world.
“Who made these?” I blurted, looking over at Maggie.
“Why, Thomasin Cobb, o’ course,” Maggie said. “He’s irritatin’ as a goblin can be, but he’s also the best shoemaker in the world. How are they feelin’?”
“Perfect,” I said. “They actually…”
I looked over at Lochlan and received such a start that I almost tipped my chair over. Reflexively, I grabbed the table edge to restore balance, all while never taking my eyes away from my host.
The ‘person’ sitting where Lochlan had been was wearing the same clothes, but appeared to be closer to thirty than eighty. His white hair was reddish blonde. His skin was smooth and flawless, his eyebrows not so thick and curly. That was the least of the shocks. The truly astonishing change, the one that would render even my Aunt Brigid speechless, was the pair of rather large, very pointed ears. Shocking and handsome at the same time.
I supposed the facial structure was basically the same. And he was wearing the same clothes. But the telltale clincher, the thing that caused me to know for certain that I was in the presence of Lochlan’s true form, was the laughing blue eyes that were the same young or old.
“Lochlan?” I rasped.
“Indeed,” he said. “It is I.” We heard the semi-distant sound of a door closing. “And that would be my wife come to help with your orientation. Ivy’s a pixie who spends a bit of time in her more magical form each day.”
“Pixie? Like, um, Tinkerbell?”
With a laugh, Lochlan said, “Yes, my dear. Now and then mundies get something right. Would you like to see?”
Did I want to see a real pixie? Do bears bare? Do bees be? “If you mean what I think you mean, then yes, Lochlan. I want to see.”
“Ivy!” he called.
Within seconds I was holding onto the table’s edge again. A four-inch-tall woman flew into the dining room leaving a trail of yellow pixie dust that disappeared within seconds. Her wings were moving so fast they were a blur. Like a hummingbird. She hovered between Lochlan and Maggie.
“If you hold your palm up, she’ll land there,” Lochlan said.
I wasn’t at all sure I wanted that, but didn’t want to be rude. So I raised my palm and Ivy landed. When her six-inch wings quieted, they were striking variations of blue and green and reminded me of peacock feathers. She was light enough to be a butterfly. Beautiful. Magical. And, unless I’d been drugged, I was no longer wondering if I was the butt of an outlandishly costly joke. “Why