Excerpt:
"You must be
Maurice," a woman said, and her voice came from high overhead.
Okay, he liked tall women, but
this was ridiculous.
Before his neck could get a
cramp from looking up and up and up, Maurice's perceptions changed, and he
realized that this heart-shaped face and waterfall of hair in ten shades of
gold and cinnamon weren't particularly tall. He was very, very short.
Unable to resist, he looked
over his shoulder. Wings. Butterfly-shaped, glistening, iridescent, lacy,
rainbow-streaked wings fluttering like the lashes of a coy maiden flirting with
him, moving a little faster the longer he looked at them. Maybe if he turned
around and pretended they weren't there, they would fade away. Fae hadn't had
wings for thousands of years.
How could they do this to him?
"Cute, but not you,"
the woman said. That was laughter sparkling in her big blue eyes, and putting a
rich tone in her voice, but she didn't smile. Somehow, her sympathy and attempt
not to hurt his feelings just made the whole situation worse. "Especially
not with those Italian shoes. I hope you won't end up with permanent holes in
that sweater. Cashmere?"
He barely restrained his
tongue and changed his words to something less offensive. "Who the heck
cares?" Maurice had always been a quick study, and he put all the pieces
together here within a few seconds, despite his head reeling from the utter
indignity--five inches tall, and wings no self-respecting Fae would wear to a
costume ball! "I suppose you're my probation officer?"
No comments:
Post a Comment