“Oh hey, Nic,” he called, pulling me back. “Probably shouldn’t have, but I ate two of those cupcakes you brought in.” He smiled, patted his belly, and gave me a jaunty thumbs-up.

Fan-freakin’-tastic. I smiled with teeth, and feeling like a human time bomb seconds from detonation, I focused on moving myself as far as possible from the greatest population density. I was in the hall when I finally went off, a mini mushroom cloud.

Once it was over, I indulged in a poor-baby and spent yet another moment likening myself to Cinderella, the drudge, the girl desperate to go to the ball. Funny thing was, I already had a fairy godmother, and I’d been to the ball, albeit another sort of ball entirely. And that had been more than I could handle. I definitely didn’t want Fairy Jane messing around with this part of my life—I was having enough trouble reining her in as it was.

Still, I would love to do ... something. I couldn’t quit—that would be completely erratic and irresponsible—but something ...

“Ready for a change yet?”

The suggestion, out loud and “out there,” ignited a miniature spark in me, and I almost imagined it was coming from the little devil who sat, perpetually ignored, on my shoulder.

I quickly realized I was no longer alone in the hallway. Mark Frasier, division manager for the failure analysis lab, was standing two feet away, his approach having gone unnoticed amid the pity party.

The second I realized his comment had been intended as a legitimate offer, the spark exploded into a wild trail of color, a flare, wending its way through my thoughts, nudging disappointment into rebelliousness. Mark had casually offered me a place on his team more than once before, but I’d always brushed him off, a woman on a mission to management. But today I wasn’t in the mood for any sort of brush-off, having just been on the receiving end of a particularly upsetting one myself. Today I was feeling a little dangerous. I took a deep, steadying breath and let confident determination curl my lips.

“I think today I might be ready,” I admitted, exhilarated to register the startling effect this response had on Mark and just a little smug in the face of his slow, conspiratorial grin.

“Serious?” he said.

I let my eyes stray a little, nowhere in particular, and then brought them back front and center. “Yep.” It actually felt good to admit it. “Do you have openings?”

“We’re about to. One of our guys is moving to Phoenix, and you’d save me a lot of trouble, seeing as you’re an ace in the hole.” And then suddenly his enthusiasm and mine were dimmed somewhat by responsible thinking. “But you should probably take some time to think about it—this seems sort of spur of the moment.”

I nodded, exuding good sense but really only thinking how quickly I could have my cubicle packed up. “Well, I’m pretty sure, but if it’ll make you feel better, we can wait a couple days to make it official. How about I give you a call on Friday?” Me, I could make a clean break right now, toting along what was left of the cupcakes on my way to making new friends.

“Sounds good. Meantime, I’ll work on shuffling things up. We’ll get you in and get you to work before you can change your mind.” He winked.

I smiled, tossed him a wave, and moved off down the hall on my way back to my cubicle.

In fewer than twenty paces, the warm fuzzy of new beginnings and professional regard had started to fade, and suddenly struck by the reality of what had just happened, I was freaking out big-time.

I couldn’t take that job! I had no doubt it would be a fascinating career change and an oh-so-satisfying departure from the life of Go-To Girl, but it was wrong for me—it was counterproductive, impulsive, and it totally screwed with the big picture (i.e., The Plan). It would be like starting over. Instead of being focused on product testing and production efficiency, I’d be dealing with individual product failures, state-of-the-art analysis equipment, and angry customers. There’d be a significant learning curve, and management would be out of reach for a little while, likely beyond my target age of thirty... .

Transferring departments and switching jobs had never been on my agenda, but today, just now, it was nearly a fait accompli. Stress reaction? Possibly. Coincidence that it had happened within days of Fairy Jane worming her way into my life? Not bloody likely. You can bet I suspected foul play. How she managed it, I couldn’t even begin to speculate.

It had been over twenty-four hours since I’d decided to ignore Fairy Jane’s latest advice, putting her firmly in her place amid my collection of favorite fictional romances. Maybe she was a fellow grudge holder intent on kicking things up a notch. Well, I could play hardball too—the shredder was not out of the realm of possibility.

If she could derail The Plan in just a couple of unsuspecting minutes, then what was next?

A nose-pierced vision of myself, belting out “Beautiful” à la Christina Aguilera to a crowd of lesbians in an off-key show of solidarity was just as scary as it should have been. Part of me wondered if Fairy Jane had that kind of power. And part of me was starting to get very nervous.

I’d never planned to “meet him too” either. And look at me now—I’d kissed him, bought his CD, and I was well on my way to becoming a groupie. Could I even take credit for those decisions?

I was going crazy!

This shouldn’t be freaking me out. I could call Mark right now and tell him to forget it, that I’d been talkin’ crazy. Easy out. But honestly, I was still reeling from being passed over for management all over again, and I was afraid of what might come out of my mouth if I tried. Time to make a quick exit, go find that key, and get some answers. I promised myself I’d ask Beck about all this later.

The phone rang as I stepped back through the doorway of my cubicle, and I debated not answering, a little fearful of what I might admit or agree to in this fragile state of not-myself. But crossing my fingers against virtually every eventuality, I picked up and found myself in the middle of a rant.

“A bikini, a mangotini, and a cabana boy?” Gabe blustered.

“Yes, please!” After the morning I’d had, a little fantasy come true sounded very, very good. So long as Fairy Jane wasn’t involved. . .

Judging by the silence, Gabe didn’t agree. I forged ahead. “Desert isle chick came back with an answer, huh?”

“Seems we weren’t stranded on the island, just alone, and she had cabana boy plans for me!” I imagined Gabe’s shouted admission sailing over the open-air cubicles that surrounded him and suppressed a giggle. “A little clarification would have been nice,” he complained.

“It wouldn’t have mattered—you were proud of that EPIRB.”

“True.” I heard a muttered curse. “Do they all have to want me only for my body?”

“Ahh ... the dance of online seduction,” I teased, holding back a snort of laughter. “You Photoshopped, didn’t you? A little pec here and a little pec there ...”

“No! I did not. You may be programmed to only see a guy’s 401(k) potential, but I can hold my own on both the physical and financial fronts.”

This time I didn’t bother to hold back my burst of laughter. “Next time I see you, I’ll take another look,” I promised. “But now I gotta go.”

“To lunch? I’ll go with you.”

“No. I need to run an errand. Sort of a girl thing,” I added, knowing that’d stave off any and all follow-up questions.

“Say no more. Hey, how did your performance review go? That was this morning, right?”

“Tell you later,” I fudged, really not wanting to discuss it right now. I tried to hang up, but Gabe was evidently undeterred by my dismissive, slightly brusque manner. I yanked the phone back against my ear.

“What?” I demanded, my anger quickly morphing into guilt.

“Did Beck ... say anything?”

“About what?” I asked, trying to be nicer as I gathered up my purse and rummaged for my car keys.

“About me.”

I smiled into the phone. “You’re the one who left with her. I haven’t talked to her since.”

“Well, what’d you think?”

I was standing in my cubicle, hopped up on anxiety, ready to go but for the landline receiver attached to the side of my head, and Gabe wanted to dish like a junior high school girl. Resigned, I pulled out my chair and dropped into it.

“About you two? Well, let’s see. She’s very pink and a little punk; you’re very geek and a little ga-ga. And yet ... it seemed like you got along great. Just remember you’re old enough to be her mentor,” I teased. “Why not consider what your computer might think of the match? Seriously, can I go now?”

“Please do.”

Halfway to the lobby (and about four hours late) it occurred to me that the journal was spending the morning with the Austen ladies. No question it would take a miracle for me to find the right key amid the dubious treasures crowding Violet’s Crown Antiques, but it’d be downright impossible without the journal. Looked like I’d be making a little detour back home. I truly hoped I was in line for some good karma.

Pulling into the driveway in record time, I fully intended to run in and back out again with the journal in my hot little hands, but once it had been pulled from the shelf, a mingling of temper and curiosity double-teamed my typical efficiency. Grabbing a handful of dark chocolate M&M’s from the bowl on the counter, I parked myself cross-legged in a chair at the kitchen table.

I’d popped open an Internet window during that morning’s fidgety waiting period, typed “fairies” into the search box, and learned way more than I’d cared to. They were quite the little bitches—devious, self-serving, and prone to trickery. Fairy godmothers, on the other hand, were known for having their wards’ best interests at heart. So which was I dealing with? It was mighty hard to say.

With fairies of all sorts flitting about in my head, I jotted off the day’s entry, short and just shy of sweet.


Okay, what is the deal?! Seriously. I assumed we had some sort of arrangement: You supply the crazy, mixed-up romantic advice, and I let you. On condition that the magic is kept safely tucked away in its own little quiet corner, inside the journal. No spells, enchantments, or charms—nothing devious or underhanded. And that’s it. My job has always been positively off-limits.

And yet ... surprise, surprise ... when asked today whether I’d consider a job transfer, out of nowhere, I said I would. The funny (you could say suspicious) thing about that is that I won’t! I’ve worked my way up through the ranks of this job, and I’m holding out for management—I’ve earned management. I don’t want to start over on a whim.

You want to know what I think? You’re not just omniscient, you’re hands-on. A couple of magic words, a sprinkling of fairy dust, a little wave of the proverbial wand, and there I am talking crazy, soundly hexed. Well, I’d like to respectfully request that it doesn’t happen again—not ever. I’d like you to keep your charms to yourself. If you need to take a break from all the romance stuff for a little while, how about some savvy investment tips? ... seriously!


Glancing over my words, I wondered how well Fairy Jane dealt with sass. Feeling a little gutsy, I snapped the book closed, ready for the next round. Honestly, I would have much preferred to banish it back to the bookshelf, but today, it seemed, absolutely everything was outside my control.

And then, on the way out the door, as I grabbed a couple more M&M’s, my gaze happened to catch on the little square calendar propped jauntily beside the door. It clearly displayed today’s date, but the quote had changed from the one that had been there this morning. Now it read, “ ‘When he was present she had no eyes for anyone else. Everything he did was right. Everything he said was clever.’ Sense and Sensibility.” I smacked it face-down on the counter and slid it into the closest kitchen drawer.

I guess I had my answer. The crazy was no longer confined to the journal—it was on the loose, in Austin. I couldn’t imagine a more dangerous combination.


I tried calling Beck on my way downtown, but it rolled to voice mail. As soon as her class was over, she’d be getting quite the earful. I truly hoped she had a logical explanation for this, although, knowing her, it probably wouldn’t be the least bit reassuring—or logical.