Editorial Reviews. About the Author. Emma Holly reads and re-reads a wide variety of authors, including Nick Hornby, Sharon Shinn, and Christine Feehan. Emma Holly’s *Fairyville *, reviewed & recommended women’s fiction. Sexy, contemporary fun from the USA Today bestselling author of All U Can Eat. Meet Zoe Clare, a medium who has no trouble communicating with the dead.

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In this day and age, fairtville person could make a decent living talking to ghosts. The tugging changed to a weighted prickle on her scalp, between the corkscrew curls of her long black hair. The avoidance was ineffective.

afiryville Like many mediums, Zoe saw the other world better without her physical sight. Serious fairies, apparently, had little hope of rising through the ranks. Only the most persistently emja could be queen. This was usually true, but today was the day after the full moon. Spiritually, this affected her not at all. Personally, it hollly her stomach sink to her toes. The full moon was when her landlord-slash-manager, the painfully scrumptious Magnus Monroe, indulged in his monthly sexual debauch.

She wondered who his partner had been this time. She suspected the lucky lady was Sheri Yost. She shoved her tangle of long black curls away from her face. Now that her physical eyes were open, Rajel was a sparkly purple sphere, no bigger than a penny, hanging in the air in front of her. Must have been a slow night for parties.

ANo talking to the toaster! You guys keep shorting it out.

Fairyville Series

The darting rose-pink sparkle paid her no mind. It does have a primitive form of consciousness, you know. Cold cereal aside, if a person had to go to work, Fairyville, Arizona was the place to do it, especially on a cool, bright morning in July. A definite beneficiary of that power, Fairyville lay north of its more famous sister, Sedona, but shared the same awe-inspiring landscape of buttes and spires—and the same reputation for mystical oddities.

You became one by having a psychic gift, by treating those who had psychic gifts with respect, or by being so looney tunes everyone figured you had to be touched by something. Even at this distance, her walk would be reasonable. Zoe knew every inch of it, from the mix of Old West storefronts to the rock shops to the Spanish adobe restaurants. Her parents, normals down to their toes, had tolerated her claims of being visited by dead relatives. This was, after all, a mainstream sort of weirdness.

In truth, it would have been hard for Catherine Sweetwell to avoid it, seeing as how she liked to call in angels for consults. She felt in need of counting her blessings. The gallery in which she did her readings was only a few doors down, a restored brick two-story building from From where she stood, she could see the potted prickly pear cactus that guarded the entrance, the last of its lush hot-pink flowers drooping off.


Magnus loved that cactus. The first time Zoe had heard him do it, her heart had clenched. Magnus was sweet to women no matter what their species. You can handle this, she told herself. Every month you see him do the same thing, and every month you survive. Magnus was already there, probably lazing back in her chair with his long, strong legs propped on the desk she used for paperwork.

The memory of how his faded Levis cupped his basket made her whole body flush. Not a pesterer in the bunch. Teresa was watching her customers from behind the coffee bar today.

The decor was Western Victorian, with little round antique tables and sepia photos of long-dead people hanging on the walls. Teresa leaned forward as soon as she saw Zoe. AYou should have heard the ruckus from next door last night!

Teresa used real cups, mismatched china she picked up in junk stores. That manager of yours is a luvv machine. Every time I thought he must be wrung dry, they started up again. Zoe took such a big swig of coffee, she nearly scalded her throat. I know the girlfriend rules. Teresa flipped her long black locks behind her shoulders, her expression fairycille pleasure at the compliment.

Fairyville Series by Emma Holly

uolly You, on the other hand, are beautiful, sweet, and wise. Clearly, Magnus has no sense. Why would a guy with his looks and charisma restrict himself to having sex once a month? And why does it have to be a new woman every time?

Without Viagra, I mean. Magnus was more than nice. Magnus was considerate, charming, funny, and had the sunniest disposition of any human being she knew.

Nothing got him down: His only flaw and, to be fair, it was only a flaw to Zoe was his refusal to look at her in a sexual way. Teresa set her elbows on the counter. This tease was a bit too close to the mark. AI never used to like guys that tall. She was debating buying a chocolate muffin as consolation when a flicker of gray in her peripheral vision reminded her of the time. The ghost was dmma she knew: Zoe gave her readings in the front room of the gallery.

The furnishings were as homey as she could make them—secondhand chairs and sofas, with nicked tables set between. A beautiful Navaho rug hung on one wall, her biggest decorating splurge. The light from the wide front window filled the space with gold, glinting pleasantly off her assortment of crystals and stones. She needed nothing to jumpstart hollu gift except an open heart and a focused mind. Even that seemed unnecessary uolly a contact as clear-spoken as Leo Darling. She liked to share her news with her disincarnate spouse fairuville get his advice on the decisions of daily life.


Darling never seemed to doubt the authenticity of these interactions, but she also never seemed to realize they might inspire deeper thoughts.

The soul survived death, and the dead still loved those they left behind. Darling was a sweet old lady, sometimes Zoe wanted to shake her out of her mundane world. When her hour was up, Mrs. Darling counted out her payment in cash like she always did. Her old, arthritic hands made each bill seem as heavy as a volume of War and Peace.

Every time Zoe watched her do it, she had to bite her tongue against telling her to keep her money. Zoe performed a service, and she performed it well. This was her sole source of income. Darling sighed with satisfaction once the painstaking ritual was complete.

Darling nodded, her usual reluctance to leave showing itself. Her faded blue eyes teared up, though she waved off the tissue Zoe offered her. I hope you find a man like Leo yourself someday. Darling cackled out a laugh. No piping voices answered, even after Mrs. Magnus was standing in the door behind her, the one that led to her office.

From their first meeting, Magnus had struck her as more man than most. With half a room between them, he simply looked in proportion. Toe- to-toe, Magnus could make an Amazon feel delicate. His looks were as dramatic as his size. He had dark, beautiful hair—not long but a little shaggy—smooth, high-colored skin, full kissable lips, and eyes as green and clear as a mountain stream.

Instead, he came off as unbelievably sexy.

Zoe had known him two years, and she still had to swallow at the sight of him. She could only hope not a lot. They came, she was almost certain, from the part of them that shared the same nonphysical territory as the deceased: Left to itself, her hair had a tendency to devolve into a fwiryville black snarl.

He nodded without his usual trademark smile.

Like most of the locals, Magnus knew about her fairies. His Western-style shirt hugged his hooly just right, and his big, tanned hands were thrust into his front jean pockets.

The faded patches in the denim, where his cock and balls habitually rubbed, pointed out how very well hung he was.