Is everything all right out here? I thought I heard someone shout." Bea's voice was like a chorus from the heavens in Ella's ears. With people all around her, she could never predict what might happen, and the constant tension of holding on to her self-control made her head pound and her nerves fray. Being an antisocial hermit just made life easier. When Ella's guests had scattered, Bea waved her over and introduced her to both Dr. Maurice Lefavreau and one of the museum's greatest benefactors. Even with her mental shields still up from interacting with the tour group, something about Stanley had slipped through Ella's defenses and convinced her that this was a man she'd much prefer to keep at the greatest possible distance in the future.

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Ella caught the final hate-filled glare the man shot her way and could just imagine what kind of suggestions Stanley would make tomorrow; first would be firing the museum's gift shop manager, but she'd have plenty of time to worry about that later. After she got a hold of herself. The lighting out here was dim, especially with the caterer's lamps removed and the museum shut down for the night. A full moon partially obscured by drifting clouds made it possible to see, but somehow the silvery sheen it cast only made the quiet of the gardens deeper and reminded Ella of the lateness of the hour. She enjoyed these hours of the night, enjoyed the play of the moonlight on the artful plantings and graceful sculptures scattered through the museum garden. As time went on, she would further her brand as an author, finding what it was that she wanted to say in the field of romance. She would also become outspoken on a number of different subjects, from feminism to politics, always making her voice heard. Currently living in New York, she spends her summers with her family on the Great Lakes, always looking for her next big idea. And that wasn't even considering what other things might happen here in this place full of history and artifacts. Old things, especially old things full of talent and beauty, held power of their own, and they could be destroyed if she was so weak as to lose control. If she couldn't hang on, those same things could feed the madness.The assistant museum director raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips. "The two of you certainly startled me," she said. "I knew you were out here, of course, Ella, but I was afraid you might have hurt yourself." Stanley stood less than ten feet away on the darkened terrace, which was about twenty feet too close for Ella's comfort. Normally, strangers couldn't get that near her without her sensing their presence, especially the ones who made her uncomfortable. She'd gotten very good at being difficult to surprise. This book is heartfelt, dealing with all its drama in the real-world, effectively reflecting it every step of the way. The story itself is engaging, and it’s easy to see why this series became so successful with its worldwide audience and following. Fully invested in the characters and their outcomes, the story has many twists and turns, constantly managing to surprise the whole way. He also creeped Ella the hell out, especially when she caught him repeatedly staring at her the way he'd been doing all evening. She'd thought he left with the other guests. She'd thought she could relax.

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From what Bea had told her, Ella knew that the sculpture had a long and slightly murky history. Obviously French in origin, it had likely adorned the battlements of some abbey or castle for centuries before making its way to England during the Enlightenment, and subsequently along a convoluted trail that had finally delivered it into Western Canada.For an instant, her control wavered. The unmuffled touch of this man's tainted skin on hers opened her up to the most intense surge of murky energy, and she could feel the dark, vicious nature of him trying to infiltrate her defenses. Drinking wine and nibbling canapés might not sound like a year in a Stalinist gulag, but having to do it in the midst of five hundred elegantly dressed strangers while maintaining a polite smile in the face of their inane conversations and pretending to laugh at their lame jokes ranked even worse in Ella's mind. She'd rather volunteer for the hard labor. She made a concerted effort to keep Stanley in her vision, but the man seemed more amused by her tactics than inclined to play along with her. He stood where he was until she drew even with him; then with a speed she hadn't anticipated, his hand darted out and grabbed her arm. He jerked her to a stop, nearly upsetting her balance. Béatrice Boucher, the only other staff member still present, said, "Now, Ella, tell me how you really feel about these little events."

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Stanley focused on his phone as he composed some sort of text message, so he missed seeing Bea's eyes narrow at the threat. Carefully, she crossed to the far side of the terrace to perch at the feet of her favorite work of art in the museum's entire collection. Its familiarity and looming presence comforted her, made it possible for her to think and be and regain her balance. I admit I got a little bit of a scare from Mr. Stanley here," Ella said, her voice tight but determinedly cheerful. The last thing she wanted was some kind of nightmarish scene involving lodging a complaint about the lecher's behavior, or even worse, filing some sort of assault charge with the city police. "I didn't think there was anyone still here but you and me. He startled me." Not Your Ordinary Faerie Tale is a delightful read from the first word to the last. Christine Warren has created two amazing characters, given them an incredible plot and laced the story with witty conversations, lots of snark and a hefty portion of danger.” — Single Titles Ella liked to think the artist had seen him as she did—a fierce guardian, willing to battle evil on its own terms, determined to protect his charges against any harm.Pulses of restless energy battered at her weakened barriers, but she refused to let them overwhelm her. If they did, not only would she be unable to fend off Stanley's advances, but she'd also find herself barely able to function for days, if not weeks, to come. Without warning, Stanley jerked away, releasing her mouth and leaving her with the taste of her own blood in her mouth. Five minutes after the last guest of the Friday evening fund-raising gala had exited the front doors of Georgia House, the historic building that housed the main museum gallery, Ella gave in to the pressure she'd felt building all through the evening. She rolled her eyes, blew a raspberry, and thumbed her nose simultaneously. It was childish of her, but satisfying.