Free Fairytale by MAGGIE SHAYNE Page A

the front door of Akasha.
    The sign said closed. But as he peered
through the glass, he saw movement, so he tried the door and found
it unlocked.
    He stepped through and into what seemed like
another world. The place sparkled. The place actually sparkled. And
it wasn’t just the crystal prisms turning slowly in the windows,
and reflecting rainbows of color that danced with a life of their
own, touching everything. It wasn’t just the many windows that
seemed not only to admit golden sunlight, but to enhance it
somehow. Or the plants that lined every available bit of space. The
place smelled magical. A mingling of incredible perfumes, plants
and flowers, and some sort of incense, too, he thought, permeated
it. And the sound of it sparkled, too. Mystical music floating
softly on fragrant air, touching him, caressing him. Those wind
chimes that came alive with the slightest change in the air
currents, whispering, tinkling whenever he moved.
    He stood still, just inside the door, lost in
sensations for several moments, before he gave his head a shake and
reminded himself why he’d come here. To see her and figure out why
he felt he knew her. It was important, somehow. He’d sensed that
from his first glimpse of her.
    No one stood behind the counter. He heard
something. A sniffle. A sob. Adam was still holding the door in one
hand, and he let it go now, stepping farther inside, scanning the
aisles in search of her. The door swung closed, tinkling the chimes
overhead as it passed.
    “I’m sorry, but I’m not really open
today.”
    It was her voice, but not deep and resonant
as it had been yesterday. It was tear-choked and hoarse. It came
from somewhere beyond the slightly opened door in the back. And he
moved toward it, an odd sensation snaking around in his
stomach.
    “I just came in to take care of a few
things,” she went on, guiding him in, drawing him nearer. He
thought of sirens, and wondered if he were about to crash on the
rocks. “And then I’m going...”
    He nudged the door open and stepped through
it, into the warmth and light and humidity of a small room made
completely of glass. Her greenhouse.
    She stopped speaking as if she sensed him
there. Lowering the watering pot to a bare spot between several
ferns, she lifted her head, met his gaze. And behind the round
glasses, those black eyes were as mysterious as ever, more so even,
because they glimmered beneath an ocean of tears. She wore a green
silk blouse, tucked into a modest black skirt that hung loosely on
her, and skimmed the tops of her knees. Her wild hair was caught up
in a tight French braid that hung down to the middle of her back.
This was her costume. He knew it instinctively. Yesterday she’d
taken it off, and tried to look like one of his students. And he
thought maybe she didn’t even realize that she’d been more herself
in jeans and a crop top with her hair wild and free, than she was
now in her uniform of propriety.
    And why the hell was he thinking as if he
knew her better than she knew herself? He hadn’t even met her, yet,
technically speaking,
    “And then you’re going...?”
    She blinked, averting her face and removing
her glasses long enough to swipe the back of one hand over her wet
eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “Never mind. It’s...not
important.”
    “Looks pretty damned important to me.”
    He moved closer, because he couldn’t stop
himself. And she stood perfectly still, watching him, quickly
slipping those glasses back on as if to hide behind them. Fear
and—God, was that longing?—mixed in her eyes, and he almost
believed she couldn’t have moved away if she’d wanted to. He
reached out, unable to control the impulse to brush at a tear she’d
missed—or was it simply because he had to touch her again? He ran
his thumb across her cheek, his other fingers spreading gently over
her face. And there was something. Something that sent his heart
slamming against his ribs and made his throat close off. Something
potent