Maggie and Arthur's Magic Moment

by Leslie René

Genres: General Fiction; Romance; Fantasy Romance; Paranormal Romance; Witches

Synopsis

A dangerous spell gone wrong forces the passionate professor of incantations to share tight quarters with her magical college’s leading—and most brooding—alchemist.

Despite the college’s budget cuts that slashed her syllabus, Linguistics and Incantation Translation professor Maggie Linden has almost made it to the end of the spring semester. To celebrate, Maggie attends a magical masquerade on Beltane. Maybe the end-of-year frenzy explains why she kissed a masked stranger at the festival, though her celebration may have come too soon….

An accident in the lab of famous (and famously broody) alchemist Arthur Taliesin sets loose a dangerous, haunting magic called a pall that renders the nicer parts of their academic building uninhabitable. Maggie is assigned to share her tiny basement office with none other than Taliesin himself. With his insufferable attitude and unfortunate good looks, Arthur makes it impossible for Maggie to concentrate on anything—her research, her students’ final exams, or tracking down her mysterious Beltane suitor.

She’ll do anything to get Arthur out of her office, including offering to help him reverse the magic that threatens the school. But Maggie is starting to realize her officemate may not be the conceited grump he pretends to be. In fact, much of what she thinks is true about Arthur is merely a mask….

Release date: July 28, 2026

Publisher: Ace

Print pages: 432

Sample

Chapter One

On Beltane night, Dr. Maggie Linden always drove the long way around the Wilds to the bonfire on the beach. It took nearly forty minutes, but the last thing she wanted was to run into someone she knew-gods forbid a student-at the festival closer to campus. In fact, all she wanted tonight was to forget everything in her life and get lost in music, in fire.

Up and down the shore, big bonfires sent sparks into the sky, and a nearly full moon set white, downy clouds aglow. Maggie and her best friend, Dahlia, stood in a short line that wound through the dunes leading down to the beach. That afternoon Maggie and Dahlia had woven fragrant flowers into each other's hair and dabbed morning dew on their cheeks, like they were girls again. Now, a woman dressed in a diaphanous lavender gown handed them each a delicate mask constructed of moon-colored hawthorn petals, palm-sized hazel leaves, and sticks green with new growth. Beneath each mask's right eye, set like a teardrop, was a rune carefully carved into a leaf.

The woman curled her lips into a smile. "Let known become unknown," she cooed, her voice theatrically mystical. "Let truth be revealed."

Maggie and Dahlia exchanged grins as they put on their masks, waiting to see what magic the rune contained. As Maggie adjusted it over her eyes, the world shifted in a subtle way that she couldn't quite pinpoint until she looked in Dahlia's direction. She knew her friend only by the coronet of hazel blossoms she had laid on top of Dahlia's curls that morning. Everything else about the planes of her face beneath the mask became unrecognizable.

"What a cool spell." Even Dahlia's voice was slightly strange to Maggie's ear.

"Don't take those flowers out of your hair, or I won't know you at all if you run off with the Green Man this year," Maggie said playfully, knowing that she only had to remove the mask to recognize her friend again. "Promise me you'll stay close."

"Promises are meant to be broken, dearest Mags," Dahlia singsonged as they walked through the dunes to the nearest bonfire.

The air was a heady combination of ember and salt and sand, crackling with all that a Beltane night promised. The festival was a celebration of the coming summer, when the veil of winter and the demands of spring were cast aside with fire and feast and communion.

The beach churned with people, nearly all of them wearing masks, each of which was decorated with spring blooms, bright green leaves, and the rune beneath the eye. As they walked around the bonfires, Maggie tried to hold on to the pieces of the people she saw. A woman with umber skin wearing the prettiest set of glimmering wings. A tall, pale man with hair like midnight who was wearing a tweed jacket and met her eye. A person with freckled apple cheeks who had enchanted the twinkle lights woven into their hair to blink with the pulse of the music. But the magic of the masks made the details slip away before anything else could take root, leaving Maggie with just an impression of the wonder she felt when she saw them.

She had been coming to this bonfire every May since she moved to Galloway four years ago to teach in the Linguistics and Incantation Translation Department at Hawthorn College. The festival always took a slightly different spin on the old traditions that welcomed the fruits of summer-fertile soil and fertile, well, loins-but this was the most interesting one she could remember. "It's like a masquerade ball in a story," she said wistfully to Dahlia.

"More like a perfect opportunity to forget that loser ex of yours and make out with someone." Dahlia locked her elbow with Maggie's, walking arm in arm through the crowd. Maggie leaned into her friend and groaned.

"I don't want to hear it!" Dahlia interrupted as Maggie opened her mouth to protest. "You can't come up with a single excuse with that mask on. You're invisible here and we're miles away from Galloway. Make out with someone hot."

Maggie felt a thrilling lightness as she considered Dahlia's suggestion. Emboldened by the mask, maybe she could admit that Dahlia had a point. "I'll try," she conceded as they sifted through the other revelers. "For the gods, of course."

"Sure," Dahlia said with a wink. "For the gods."

Before long, Maggie and Dahlia were dancing together with wild abandon, drinking a punch made of berries and honeysuckle syrup that stayed sweet on their tongues long after the drink was gone. They danced for what felt like hours to the hypnotic music as the moon rose high, casting a gleaming path through the surf. During a lull, Dahlia broke her promise to stay close, with Maggie's blessing and a pinkie swear to meet up again later for the drive home.

Relieved for a moment of quiet, Maggie sat alone in the sand at the edge of the water, her toes just out of reach of the foamy surf. Though it was an unseasonably warm spring, the sand was already leached of its heat, and she was grateful for the warmth of the bonfires. It settled in her skin, turning her cheeks pink beneath her mask. She watched the moonlight dance on the water, reflecting off the whitecaps until she was sure she saw figures darting in and out of the surf. She let herself get lost in the mesmerizing swells.

Dahlia sometimes chastised Maggie for this habit of hers, to seek solitude in a crowd, but she found it comforting. There had been a time in Maggie's life when she had done everything she could to be in the thick of it, and what did she have to show for it? A healthy fear of what happened when you let the wrong people get too close, that's what.

Maggie sighed, sifting her fingers through the sand. Her thoughts wandered, dancing around memories she'd rather not revisit, when someone sat in the sand next to her, warm and solid against the chill. "This isn't really in the spirit of Beltane, is it?" the someone said, his voice warm, too, and rich like honey.

She turned just enough so she could get a look at him. He wore one of the festival masks with fluffy rowan flowers arranged like bushy eyebrows that reminded her of Dean Clearwater. His jacket, tweed with patches sewn on the elbows, seemed so out of place at a beachside festival, and the combination of the mask and his attire was too much. She hid her smirk in her shoulder while she tried to pull together the details of his face.

Above his mask, his hair was dark and smooth, with just a few grays that caught the moonlight. His eyes were kind and the color of amber, and he watched her with an intensity that made her suspect he was trying to piece her together, too. He sat with one knee raised, like he didn't quite know what to do with his long legs.

"Sitting alone, staring at the ocean. That won't do at all."

Maggie laughed, but this time she didn't hide it. "I don't think the gods will mind if I sit this one out." Before she could stop herself, she added, "They know I'm not engaging in any fertility rituals tonight. Or any other night." She covered her mouth with her hand, blowing out her cheeks that were suddenly burning bright red, and not from the heat of the bonfire. What was she doing talking fertility rituals with a stranger? Let alone a man who was-well, she didn't know if he was handsome, but he was at least tall.

"Ah, I see you haven't had a reason to discover the other rune." He raised a hand and brushed her hair back just slightly. His fingers grazed the surface of the mask where it curved near her left ear, and though he didn't touch her skin, the gesture felt so intimate it caught her breath. Could he see the goose bumps along the curve of her neck?

He turned his own face to the moonlight, bringing into focus a sharp jawline that she would soon forget, showing her the rune she had missed. Maggie thought about what the woman had said as she'd handed her the mask: Let truth be revealed.

"A truth spell," she said under her breath. They really should warn a girl, Maggie thought. Have them sign a waiver. A disclaimer. Something.

"To keep us honest in these masks. I'm surprised you didn't find it until now."

Why would she? Dahlia didn't need a spell to get the truth out of Maggie. The two had shared so much over the four years they'd been colleagues and friends that they knew all of each other's secrets. "I'm here with my best friend, and she already knows everything there is to know about me."

"Lucky you. I unwillingly told my baby brother a truly embarrassing story that he will use against me for the rest of eternity." He grimaced. "I haven't said a word to him in over an hour because I'm afraid of what else I'll reveal."

"Be careful, or I might ask you to tell me that story. It sounds like a good one."

Something shifted in his gaze beneath his mask. "Then I'll have to hide from you, too, and I'd very much prefer not to do that." He looked at her with a heat that made Maggie turn liquid. Oh.

Maybe Dahlia was right. It had been so long since she let herself give in to want. And here was this man with his ridiculous tweed and his kind eyes and thick hair she'd like to run her fingers through. And a mask to hide who she really was.

"Unless," he went on, "you'd like to take the masks off?"

"Afraid of what you'll find under mine?"

For just a second, his eyes traveled down her body before returning to meet her gaze. "Not in the least."

She weighed his offer. It would be nice, she thought, to see his whole face. It would be nice, for once, to let someone in. She had almost convinced herself, almost opened her mouth to say yes, but instead asked, "How old are you?"

He laughed and answered quickly. "Thirty-five. You?"

Not a student, she thought, relieved. "Thirty-three."

"Well matched, then."

Well matched for what? she wondered, and then surprised herself by wanting to find out. But, as much as she wanted to take off her mask, there was something intriguing about not knowing. Something more intriguing still that he, too, wouldn't be able to piece together her own auburn hair, full cheeks, and dark brown eyes if they ran into each other at the market later.

She bit her lip, looking over her shoulder at him. "Keep the mask on." Her voice was quiet but sure.

She didn't know if he heard her over the crackle of the bonfires and the roar of the surf, but then his smile widened. He had the face of someone who smiled easily, with soft lines bracketing his lips like it was something he did often.

"What can I call you?" he asked, the question carefully constructed.

"Linda," she said, taking inspiration from her last name.

He thought for a moment. "Call me TK." TK, the shorthand for a placeholder. The same one she got entirely too much use out of when she was drafting academic papers and working on translations. Was he a writer? A professor, too, perhaps? She had a fleeting fear she was flirting with a colleague, but she would have noticed if she worked with someone who had such kind, beautiful eyes.

She felt a sudden jolt of bravery, perhaps from the punch she drank earlier, and reached out to touch TK's jacket. It was so soft, and even in the firelight she could see that it was faded and worn in places. He watched her fingers graze the fabric. "Tweed is a bold choice for a beach festival," she teased. "But I think I like it."

The heat in his gaze was now undeniable as he said, his voice low and just for her, "I'm not sure it would be polite for me to tell you what I think of your dress."

Maggie swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. Before she could lose her nerve, she stood, shaking the sand out of the gauzy fabric of her skirt. TK didn't move to get up at first. Did he think she was running away? She reached out her hand to him, and he stared at it like it was a strange creature before grabbing it, engulfing it completely, and pulling himself up. When he was standing, he didn't let go of her and knit their fingers together. She thought it should have felt awkward, but it didn't. It felt like they fit. It felt right. "Will you get me a drink, TK?" she asked, and she wasn't sure if her cheeks would ever stop burning.

"Of course, Linda."


The ghost of his fingertips brushed her back as he led her through the crowd, sending more goose bumps along the curve of her spine. She turned to look at him as she took a sip of the honeysuckle punch he’d bought her, a shy grin on her face.

When they found a quiet spot close to the dunes where the crowd was thin, Maggie asked, "Do you dance?"

For the first time, she heard a hint of nerves in his voice. "I try." He downed the last of his punch in a single sip, stacked their glasses in the sand next to the shoes they'd abandoned, and returned to her side.

Their dancing started out innocent enough, the way you dance with friends. Maggie admired his slightly awkward effort, and as they drew closer and closer over the course of a song, she forgot completely any stiffness in his movements. She slid his hand to the small of her back, and he rewarded her by tugging her toward him until their bodies were flush together with Maggie's breasts pressed against him and their legs intertwined.

Usually, Maggie's mind was unstoppable, a constant stream of what-ifs and now-whats that she couldn't quiet, but the world telescoped to his touch. Through the paper-thin fabric of her dress, his fingers stroked the point where her back curved into her ass, and his leg between hers was a teasing glance of pressure. Her head rested on his chest, and she could feel his heartbeat, just as fast as hers.

Without letting go of her hand, he tipped her chin upward until she was looking at him. He leaned down, and Maggie thought, surely, he was going to kiss her. Instead his lips were against her ear, the flutter of his breath along her skin sending a flush across her chest, and he whispered so she could just hear him over the music, "I would very much like to kiss you."