He wears a nice gray suit with a subdued silvery tie and a shirt a shade lighter than the suit. This man knows how to dress to impress. I couldn’t have selected better myself. With his dark hair, fair skin, and ice blue eyes, he looks good enough to eat.

Too bad he’s straight, and mundane. I can’t approve of him for my dahling Tess no matter how delicious.

He’s not Gollum.

I’m glad I dug out Tess’ little black dress that goes with everything; add Mom’s pearls and it fits any occasion. Only it isn’t black—Tess hates black and it drains the color from her face—it’s midnight blue. I picked it out of course. I wish she’d worn the glittery sandals with two-inch heels. They fit the dress perfectly. But no, she says. She can’t afford to limp in front of the good doctor. She wears the comfortable navy flats.

“Oh?” Tess replies to Dr. Sean.

I hope she at least gets dinner after all my hard work dressing her properly. If you only knew how much trouble I have talking her out of red undies. She always wears red “cause the Sisterhood of the Celestial Blade wear only red to remind them of the blood their Sisters shed in the good fight against demons.”

But red under the midnight blue? Honestly, she’d look like an American Flag. We celebrated the Fourth of July over four months ago. This is October, approaching Halloween. If she’s going seasonal we’ll go for gold and green.

“I’m on call at the ER from ten o’clock on.” Dr. Sean looks a bit sheepish, but proud too. “It’s the weekend and coming up on a full moon near Halloween. I’m expecting a full night.”

Tess shivers a bit in the chill wind off the river laden with drizzle. Typical of the season. Great weather for growing mold.

“That’s okay.” Tess flashes a brief smile. “My leg is tired and I’ll want to get it elevated in a comfy chair sooner rather than later.”

“Not doing too much are you?” He looks concerned as he hands her into his dark blue BMW. A really nice car but not as flashy as Donovan’s Mercedes.

I prefer Gollum’s rattletrap van. Mold hides in the rusting nooks and crannies.

“I drove my stick shift out to Gresham to visit my former sister-in-law.” The truth, just not the whole truth. “Working the clutch was a bit much for me.”

“Former sister-in-law?” Now he looks afraid.

“My husband, her brother, died about four years ago.” Four years, eight months, and three days ago. I remember ’cause that’s when my Tess caught the imp flu.

Only when she’d stumbled into the Citadel with raging fever and delirium and had the interdimensional infection lanced—leaving that beautiful scar on her face only imps and our companions can see—could she and I bond to become Warriors of the Celestial Blade.

“Sorry to hear that.”

“I’m getting over it. Grief never totally goes away, but we do learn to cope.”

We’d learned that the hard way.

“Nice to see you are moving on, dating again.” His grin brightened his entire posture. He must have used a professional whitener on those dazzling teeth. And yet his left eye tooth is slightly twisted. It gives him a wonderful puckish demeanor.

“Yeah, it’s good to be out and about again. I’ve had cabin fever really bad with that cast.”

“Let’s see what we can do about that.” He drove downtown to a cozy brew pub on the riverfront with a Celtic theme. Kelly’s, our favorite. Bright music spills out every time the door opens.

“I come here often,” Tess says brightly. “For the music.”

She certainly didn’t come for the food; she hasn’t eaten enough to keep a rabbit alive since Mom died, until recently that is. Almost as soon as she hooked up with her family again her appetite and her zest returned.

Time to clear out the mold behind the beer kegs. We haven’t been here for a while; the garden of my dreams should be ripe.

When I’ve eaten my fill, I’ll double-check our hiding place for the crystal ball. The Nörglein won’t find it so easily this time.

I think I know what they want with it. Can’t let them have it. Not ever. The ball came to Tess for a reason. She’s the guardian of that new dimension. She and me.

I take my responsibilities seriously.

Well most of the time anyway.

“Someone new,” he replied a bit sheepishly. “I’ve never heard Holly Shannon play, but all the music here is good. I figured we couldn’t go wrong.”

I couldn’t help the light laughter that trickled out of me. “You are in for a treat. Holly is the best Celtic harpist on the west coast. Not a bad soprano either.”

“I’m glad you won’t be disappointed.” He covered my hand with his own on the tabletop. Our gazes met and locked.

This could get very interesting.

The waiter interrupted us, impatiently tapping his order pad with a leaky pen. We hadn’t even looked at the menu.

“What’s the special?” Sean stalled while we hastily scanned the single sheet of computer print out, Kelly green ink on heavy white paper.”

“Give us a minute, Ian,” I said with a smile.

“Oh, hi, Tess. Sorry I didn’t notice you. As you can see we’re swamped tonight. Holly’s premiering a new CD. Let me get you drinks while you decide on the menu. The corned beef platter is the special, but we also have a salmon Caesar salad with fresh bread.”

“River Dance pale ale,” I replied without thinking.

“Do you have a nonalcoholic beer? I’m working tonight.” Sean blushed slightly. “And I’d like the corned beef platter.”

“Make that two, Ian.”

“Sure thing. We’ve got three NAs, including a version of River Dance.”

“I’ll try it.” Sean smiled.

“Should I tell the boss you’re here?” Ian asked.

“As long as he doesn’t make me sing. I’m on a date.”

“Gotcha.” Ian tipped his finger to his forehead in a salute and backed off.

“You come here often?” Sean quirked an eyebrow.

“I guess.” I shrugged.

Our smiles and gazes locked again.

“So do I, but I’ve never been treated with such familiarity. How come I’ve never seen you in here?”

“Because you work crazy shifts and I usually avoid quiet times when I have time and peace to contemplate my sins.”

“They can’t be many. Your sins, I mean.” He took both my hands and held them across the small table.

“You’d be surprised.” I closed my eyes so that he couldn’t see any secrets in their depths.

“Tess!” a squeal from across the room. Three twenty something girls sped across the room, elbowing aside anyone in their way. “When’s the next book coming out?” Janni asked.

Her two clone companions, Jen and Josie, nodded in wide-eyed agreement. They dressed alike, scooped their blonde curls (only one natural) back with similar clips, and wore the same shade of lipstick. I’d learned to separate them only after a full year of association at cons and pub crawls.

“Are you singing tonight?” Jen asked breathlessly.

“No date on the next book yet.” I had to finish the damn thing and turn it in to get it scheduled by the publisher. “And no, I’m not singing tonight. It’s Holly’s concert. You won’t want to bother with me once she starts.”

The girls faded away in disappointment.

“I guess you come here often,” Sean said, his brow crinkling in puzzlement. “I had no idea you were so famous.”

“Not really. Only in the science fiction and fantasy crowd. There’s a lot of spillover between the Celtic music scene and the cons.” Then I had to explain cons which can’t really be explained. They have to be experienced.

Ian brought our drinks and set cutlery and Kelly green napkins before us.

“To an enchanted evening.” Sean lifted his glass in toast.

I mimicked him. We took our first sips together.

Our conversation drifted from the smoothness of the ale to anticipation of the real music, not just the recorded instrumental being mangled by the sound system and the crowd noise fast becoming a wall of sound that separated us from normal pub activity.

“I remembered a conversation after the bruised bone in your right forearm from an over-vigorous fencing match. You bemoaned missing a concert by a local fiddler,” he said when half his ale was gone.

“You’ve been memorizing information about me for a long time.” That trip to the emergency room had been six months ago. “Should I be flattered or are you a stalker?” Only half a joke.

“Flattered, I hope. You’ve intrigued me for a long time. I’ve wondered what your life was like that you ended up in my ER so often.”

“Been curious enough to read any of my books?”

“Sorry.” He looked abashed. “I don’t have a lot of time for reading fiction. Or anything else other than medical journals. But I did buy one of your books after your friend Allie suggested it. It’s on my nightstand. I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

“Don’t flinch, but you are about to see more of my life than you want.” I leaned forward conspiratorially. Then I righted myself and plastered on a smile at the next woman to approach our table.

“Tess,” Squishy said as she pumped my hand with genuine warmth and enthusiasm. “I don’t want to intrude.” She looked embarrassed as her gaze flicked from me to my date.

“Not to worry. Any more ... um ... woodland adventures?”

She shook her head. “No full moons to bring out the craziness since we talked at the con. But I did get another short story published. On-line, but professional rates.”

“Congratulations. Send me the details and I’ll look it up.” About time I read something of hers.

She and Sean exchanged looks again. “I know you,” they said in unison.

“Mercy Hospital ER two months ago. We delivered a slash and grab baby,” he said cautiously. “Patricia—Newman, isn’t it? I was mighty glad psych released you long enough to help.”

Uh oh. Maybe Sean did have an idea of how crazy my life could be.

“The weird one?” I mouthed my question to Squishy.

She nodded.

Then something else clicked in my brain. Patricia. Pat. Psych ward. Surely she couldn’t be the nurse who helped Gollum and his wife, Julia.

I don’t believe in coincidences. Too often the concentric circles in my life tilt in their orbits and collide. Like Sean delivering that woodland elf baby.

“Look, I’m here on a first date and don’t want to leave her too long, she’s very shy and ... not really out of the closet yet, even if she had a few flirtations with ... friends back east. We started getting together at High Desert Con.” Squishy tilted her head toward a tall, elegant woman with shoulder length brown hair that flowed in a gentle curtain; the product of the most talented of hairdressers. My mop of dishwater blonde curls always looked the same sloppy mess even when I chanced upon a really good cut. That woman would never have to worry about how her hair looked. It always looked great.

I resented her instantly.

She tucked that perfect hair behind her ear with long tapered fingers that had been professionally manicured on a regular basis. I noticed the flash of a simple gold wedding band on the hand.

“Um ... does her husband know?” My gut sank and soared with hope and a wild roller coaster ride. Squishy’s date couldn’t be Julia. Not Gollum’s Julia. The Squishy I knew wouldn’t be so unprofessional and unethical as to date a vulnerable patient. Too easy to manipulate emotions. Too easy to take advantage.

“I’ve got to go.” Squishy faded into the crowd as if she’d read my doubts on my face.

“The husband is always the last to know,” Sean sighed.

“You okay with alternative lifestyles?” Better to know right here and now and end our friendship before we got serious if he couldn’t accept some of my friends.

“Yeah. I just feel sorry for the poor sucker who married that gorgeous woman and is now going to lose her to another woman. That’s got to hurt.”

It might damage him emotionally. Irreparably, I thought. My gut sank again.

I forced myself to ignore it and concentrate on Sean. After all, I had no proof that Squishy was dating Gollum’s emotionally fragile wife.

Our food arrived. We reached for the spicy brown mustard together and laughed away any awkwardness.

“This is really good,” I said after the third mouthful of corned beef so tender it fell apart with the touch of a fork, new potatoes dripping in butter and parsley, carrots, and cabbage.

“They really know how to cook it right. My grandmother doesn’t do it any better,” he replied.

“Your family is Irish?”

“Second generation. Dad was born in County Cork but the family emigrated when he was two,” he worked his words around bites of food.

We talked about immigrant families. Mine had moved from Quebec to Massachusetts. His had come straight to Oregon.

Acquaintances waved to me but had the manners not to intrude.

We had just finished eating and settled in with coffee and bread pudding rich with raisins and cinnamon when Holly set up her harp on the tiny stage, two steps up from the main dining floor. Wide windows behind her looked out upon the river. Who could spare a glance for mere water and sparkling lights with Holly on stage?

She tossed her flame red hair behind her shoulders, spread her embroidered linen skirt, and sat on a stool with a lap harp, carved and painted with elaborate Celtic knots.

The strings had also been painted so a side view showed a St. Brigid cross in bright colors, to match the one on her tambourine. But it was more than decoration. The design had proved an effective protection for Holly when we had a small adventure together with a Pookah. The poor creature was lost. With no way to get home, he hung around the music and fed on other people’s life energy—almost to the point of death for one of them. Holly now used a St. Brigid Cross on all her instruments as a protective ward.

I helped the lost soul find a way home. In return, he gave me a prophecy.

“By the light of the moon trailing a silver path along the river you shall find an end and a beginning.”

I looked beyond the low stage to the river. No moon tonight.

The room hushed in anticipation.

Without introduction, Holly began a lively jig, her fingers dancing over the strings as light and lovely as a faery drunk on pollen.

Trust me, I’ve seen faeries dance. Sometimes I think Holly is one of them, loaned briefly to humans to impart a little joy.

The jig morphed into a poignant ballad. Her clear soprano sent knife blades of emotion to the heart. More than one cynical eye teared up. Mine always did and I never bothered to hide it.

About the time the audience needed to sniff, the ballad gave way to a whimsical story song, and then another lively tune. We sang along on the chorus. The bolder among the listeners began free-form dancing between the dining tables.

I smiled that Sean felt comfortable enough in the raucous party atmosphere, and with me, to clap along, and even lend his shouts of enthusiasm to the revelers. He didn’t sing though.

Holly brought the set to a close by the simple expedient of stilling her harp strings with the flat of her hands.

Applause filled the room along with wild stomps and hoots of approval.

The harpist ran her gaze around the room, picking out new and familiar faces. She flicked past me, then back again. I tried to look away as she nodded to me with a wicked grin. Knowing what was to come, I took a sip of water.

“How about we give my vocal chords a break, folks. Some of you know my good friend, Tess Noncoiré. Join me, Tess.” She held out her hand in invitation.

“Do you mind?” I asked Sean, still rooted to my chair.

“Of course not!” He avidly joined the applause.

How could I turn down that kind of response?

Holly handed me a mike as I came abreast of her. We bent our heads in a moment of consultation. Then she threw back her head and laughed long and loud.

The audience quieted in anticipation.

I hummed the first note coming from the harp to make sure I matched it. Then I caressed the microphone with my voice in the sexy foreplay of a torch song. Only the tune was an old folk ballad, “Blowin’ in the Wind.”

More laughter as the audience crooned along.

At least Sean got the jokes. Not a bad first date. This one might be a keeper.

After we talked about that woodland elf baby.

Have I ever said I don’t believe in coincidences?