"What are you doing?" I asked.
"I figured we could move back into the farmhouse, now that Holly's gone. I know you'd be happier there, and you wouldn't have to listen to that buzzing noise. But mostly I was keeping myself busy until you got here."
The idea of moving back to the farmhouse delighted me, but his grim expression stopped me from voicing my joy. Something about his demeanor seemed off.
"Is something wrong?"
"Yeah. I can't get that phone call out of my head, and it doesn't help that I can't reach my father. I was wondering how you would feel about taking a drive down there today? We were planning to make a trip soon anyway. This way I would know he's okay. I'd get to introduce the two of you, and we can ask him about my mother."
"Aye, that's a grand idea. Just let me change my clothes," I said, waving a hand at my navy dress. I walked over to the closet glad to find he hadn't started boxing up my clothes yet. "What about Sophia?"
"Shamus agreed to pick her up later this afternoon. Since I'm not sure what we're getting into, I think it's better that she stays here."
As I stared at the clothes in my closet, a bit of nerves over meeting Alexander's father fell over me. I spent an extra minute debating what I should wear. I didn't want to overdress, but I wanted to make a good impression. In the end I kept it simple: a pair of jeans and a charcoal Aran wool sweater like we used to carry at the shop. To keep my curls under control I wove my hair into a thick braid that I pulled forward to hang over my shoulder.
"Do you think he knows something about your mother's disappearance that he hasn't told you?" I asked as I wound an elastic around the bottom of the braid.
"We haven't spoken about it in years. I was only seven when she left; I'm sure I was too young to understand everything. After what Deirdre told us, now might be a good time to go over it again. Maybe some of the old facts will have new meaning."
I decided on a white agate bracelet to anchor my glamour. Agate has a soothing, calming effect and bolsters self-confidence. I suspected I would need help with all those things before the day was done.
Alexander had packed duffel bag with few changes of clothes, in case we needed to stay over. He slung the bag over his shoulder as we rushed down the stairs and headed for the back door.
At the last-minute I suggested we take some food with us. I was loath to arrive at his father's house unannounced and empty-handed. I called in an order to the Apple Dumpling Café and we stopped to pick it up on our way out of town.
Ida was her usual chatty self as she retrieved my order.
"So, you're going to meet Alexander's family? How nice. Does this mean we'll be hearing a big announcement soon?"
I forced a smile while Alexander stood next to me, hands jammed into his pockets and a scowl on his face.
"I wouldn't read too much into it, Ida. We're just going to say hi and see how he's doing," I said.
"I understand," she said, giving me a conspiratorial wink. "Well, I have the sandwiches you ordered and I added a thermos of our famous tomato bisque soup. It'll be perfect for such a blustery day."
I thanked her genuinely; soup was a good idea. A lemon meringue pie caught my eye in the bakery display, and I added that to my order as well. After ringing up the food, Ida packed the sandwiches into a large wicker picnic basket.
"Ida, that's not necessary—"
"Shush, it looks special this way. It will make a better impression with the future in-laws." She grinned as she put the rest of the food in the basket and handed it to me. I shook my head—it was maddening how she could be so nice and so annoying at the same time.
"Just bring the basket back when you're done with it."
"Thank you, Ida."
A gust of wind slammed against the café door as I tried to open it to leave. I turned and leaned my back against it, intending to force it open, but Alexander reached over my shoulder and pushed it open for me.
We started out the three-hour drive to Alexander's father's home along the Delaware Bay in silence. In the close quarters of the truck's cab, the edges of our auras curled and danced around each other though the atmosphere in the truck was as gloomy and gray as the winter sky.
As we crossed the bridge into New Jersey I noticed a tattered brown leather-bound book in the area between our seats. The title, embossed in gold lettering, read The Four Treasures of the Tuatha de Danann.
"You found this in the library?" I asked. He nodded as I leafed through its pages.
"It's more like a storybook than a reference or a guide," he said. "It recounts histories involving the treasures—battles, miracles, that kind of thing. But I picked up a few useful tidbits from it."
The first quarter of the book was devoted to the sword. I read a few lines here and there, recognizing several of the stories from my childhood. Detailed, hand-painted drawings illustrated the book.
"The sword looks different in every illustration. I don't see any that have the knot on the hilt right," I mused. "What did you learn?"
"The main idea that struck me was the that no man can resist it. When I first read that I took it to mean everyone would want to take it away from me."
"And now?"
"Well… sometimes I feel like it's calling to me. It's hard to explain." He reflected somberly for a minute. Then he brightened. "Here's something funny. They describe the spear like it's a boomerang. 'It always comes back after it's thrown.' Doesn't that sound dangerous? You throw a spear and the next thing you know it's flying back—pointed at you!"
His laughter made me smile. I flipped to the group of pictures illustrating the stories of Lugh's Spear. Again, the treasure looked different in every picture. Clearly they were merely the artist's interpretation and not factual representations.
I skipped through to find the illustrations of the Lia Fail. I found several scenes depicting ancient rulers with the Stone of Destiny. A few were serene pictures of peaceful transitions of power, however most of them portrayed bloody battles.
"Do any of the stories on the Lia Fail mention your family?" I asked, remembering Deirdre's assertion that his family often safeguarded the stone.
"Well, the Falias name is in almost every story… so I guess yes."
I closed the book without looking at the last section. I knew the stories about Cauldron of the Dagda too well and didn't want to raise my hopes that we may actually find it.
I put the book down and we lapsed in silence again. I looked over at his profile, trying to interpret what created this somber mood by the expression on his face. Clearly something troubled him. I reached across and placed my hand on his leg.
"Is there something on your mind—something other than your father?" He glanced over at me and shrugged. He clasped my hand.
"I didn't want to do it like this."
"Do what?"
"I wanted to discuss something before taking you to meet him." His cheeks flushed and he had an odd look on his face.
His serious tone puzzled me, but I nodded and smiled to encourage him to continue.
"We told your people we were handfast." My face burned and I was suddenly uncomfortable.
"Aye. I did that to protect you. It was unorthodox, but it gave you the respect you needed while in Faery. I wasn't trying to push you into anything. Is this about what Ida said back at the café? Because if it is—"
"No! It's not about her. I've been thinking about this for a while. Here's the thing—when we go to my father I would very much like to introduce you to him as my fiancé... and mean it."
He was quiet as he watched me. My chest ached as my heart twisted in two directions. I knew he waited for—expected—a certain reaction, and I could not give it to him.
"Xander, I don't think the time is right for this," I said choosing my words carefully.
"Are you saying you don't want to marry me?" he asked, dropping my hand. He gripped the steering wheel and took in a jagged breath. I shook my head and closed my eyes searching for the words to explain my feelings.
"I need you as much as I need my next breath of air. I love you more than should be allowed. I want to marry you and grow old with you. I long to bear your children and to be a family," I said, speaking from the depths of my heart. Tears filled my eyes as I continued. "However, I am not convinced you have fully considered what it would mean to be married to me."
He tried to interrupt but I held up a hand to stop him. I had to get the words out before my voice failed.
"If you are tied to me, your life will never be normal. In fact, it will make your life very difficult. Besides the danger I have already brought to you and Sophia, there are other things to consider. Your people will think I am one of them; but my people will always see you as different. Many of them will think you are inferior. And, as I've told you, I am likely past my childbearing years. Marriage to me means no more children."
"Is it so hard to believe that I can accept all those things? That I can see the same reality as you and still burn to make you mine—as my wife—for the rest of my life?" Alexander's voice choked on his own unshed tears.
"It's my deepest hope for that to be true. But we haven't known each other for long, and you've known the truth about me for an even shorter time." I wrenched his hand free from the steering wheel and clutched it in mine. I couldn't believe what I was doing. When I spoke, my voice begged him to understand. "I'm not saying no. And I pray you don't reject me now because I am asking you to give us time. I want you to take the time to truly consider everything and know what you want. So that when the hard times come—and they will come—neither of us will regret that we have bound ourselves to each other."
We drove another half hour without exchanging a word. The atmosphere inside the truck was absolutely frigid. At first I sat stewing in misery, certain I had destroyed the thing I wanted most in life. However, as the chasm between us grew I become adamant that I would not lose him this day. Nor did I intend to spend the rest of the trip in silence.
I used the easiest trick at my disposal to remedy the situation. I turned on the radio in the guise of filling the silence. After a song or two, I began to sing along, using my Sidhe voice to lull him out of his foul mood. I continued singing until the atmosphere in the truck felt normal again.
After my third song he smirked, glancing over at me. "I know what you're doing. Don't think you're getting away with it."
"Aye? And what am I doing?" I asked, a teasing note in my voice.
"Yeah, you know exactly what you're doing."
The blustery weather followed us through New Jersey as the rolling snowy hills in the northwest dissolved into flat expanses and then transformed again into swampland with salt filled air.
We exited the highway onto the local roads leading to Alexander's hometown. As we closed in on our destination, our focus returned to the reason for our trip and an anxious energy rose in both of us.
The gray sky darkened as we drove into the town and a heaviness filled the air. The change in the atmosphere outside was dramatic. Tree branches were eerily still—the gusty wind had abated. No birds or squirrels romped through the trees. The sidewalks were deserted. The only discernable movement in the entire town was our truck driving down the road—as if all of Mother Nature was weighed down or hiding.
"There's something odd going on here. It's so still and lifeless," I said.
"It's always quiet in the winter. The town's population grows by three times in the summer," Alexander said. We stopped at a traffic light, giving him a chance to glance around. "You're right though—it does seem weirdly quiet."
At the next corner he pulled into a gas station. While he filled the tank, I got out to listen for voices on the wind. The still air minimized any sounds I might otherwise have heard. I closed my eyes to focus and caught shrouded whispers of pain and loss.
"Tressa, the credit card reader isn't working. I need to go inside to pay," Alexander said, pulling my attention away from the haunting voices.
I followed him into the convenience store simply to stretch my legs after the long drive. One lone clerk stood behind the counter; otherwise, the store was empty. The young man moved as though in a fog when he took Alexander's credit card. He processed the payment without expression, though it took three attempts for him to slide the card through the machine.
"Xander, look at this," I said, touching his arm and pointing a shaking finger at a stack of newspapers in a stand close to the register. Sprawled across the front page was a headline that read, 'Suicide Epidemic—5 Lost to the Bay in the Last Month.'
His eyes grew wide with panic as he read the headline. He snatched his card back from the attendant.
"Let's go," he said. I trotted after him as he rushed back to the truck.
"It might be a coincidence," I said, still buckling my seatbelt as he pulled out onto the road.
"Yeah, but it might not," he said tersely as we sped away.
CHAPTER SEVEN
We drove another two miles through the still, suffocating town. When we came out on the other side, the air lightened and stirred again. We both took a deep breath, as if a pressure had been lifted and it was suddenly easier to breathe. One block later, Alexander turned right off the main street and headed toward the bay.
Alexander raced through the neighborhood, barely giving me a glimpse of the well-worn houses, before making a swift left turn into a driveway.
I shivered in the cold wind that blew across us when we got out of the truck. I hooked an arm through the handles of the picnic basket and hugged myself to keep warm. The house, a small Cape Cod covered in weatherworn wooden shingles, was quiet with no visible lights inside.
"It looks empty," I said. I had hoped to see his father at the door, wondering who had pulled in and relieving our concerns. Alexander shook his head.
"I wouldn't expect him to be in the house on a Sunday afternoon. He's more likely to be back in the garage working on his latest project." He took my hand and led me to a detached two-car garage behind the house, covered with the same wooden shingles.
I heard the radio playing inside as we approached. The music blared when Alexander opened the side door. He leaned his head in and shouted.
"Dad, are you in here?" The sound of banging and then a string of curses answered him. Alexander took a deep breath as relief covered his face. "He's here. Come on."
I wrinkled my nose at the overpowering smell of grease and oil as we entered the dark and gloomy garage. Alexander led me past a plethora of gardening tools, outdoor equipment, and mechanical pieces before we reached an older model car with its hood propped open.
A lamp, hung from the hood to illuminate the engine, and a portable heater near the front wheel created a duel spotlight effect in the dark room. Two people had their heads under the hood; from our vantage point, only their legs were visible.
"Dad," Alexander shouted to be heard over the music. Both people straightened and turned our way.
Alexander's father stood closest to us. Although fit and trim, he looked to be in his late 60s or early 70s with white hair and soft, friendly eyes. His face had the same endearing yet weathered look as his home. He wore old jeans covered with oil and a dark navy hoodie with the Boston Celtics logo on his chest. He grinned when he saw us.
"Alexander, what a surprise!" he said as he grabbed a nearby rag to wipe off his hands. He turned down the volume on the beat-up old radio that sat on a workbench made of repurposed wood. "Why didn't you call to let me know you were coming?"
"I've been trying to call you since yesterday. The phone keeps going to voicemail."
"No, I have it right here. It hasn't rung in days." He fished an old phone out of his pocket and flipped it open, but it didn't light up. "I keep forgetting to charge the darn thing. Sorry," he said sheepishly. "And here I was getting angry because you hadn't called. Oh well, forget that. Where's my favorite granddaughter?"
"She's spending the day with friends, but I brought somebody I want you to meet," Alexander said as he pulled me closer to him.
"I see that," he said, smiling. "Who is this young lady?"
"This is Tressa Danann. Tressa, this is my father, John Mannus." John reached out and shook my hand.
"Alexander has told me a lot about you. It's good to finally meet you."
"Aye, 'tis a pleasure."
"What a great Irish brogue! Just like your mother, Alexander."
"What? Mom had an accent?" he asked.
"She did when I first met her; she'd lost it by the time you came around."
While the introductions went on, John's helper lurked in the background. He stood in the shadows wearing a baseball cap that obscured his face.
"Who are you hiding back there, Dad?"
"I'm not hiding," said an indignant voice. "I just can't get past the stupid dog."
The lad still didn't move, but a huge, gray-coated Irish Wolfhound came out from the back of the car with its tail wagging. The dog stood at least three feet tall at the shoulders, and I was sure it would be taller than Alexander's six foot two inches if it were to stand on its back legs.
Alexander crouched and held out his hand for the dog to sniff, but the precaution proved unnecessary. The dog greeted him like an old friend. She leaned her one hundred-twenty pounds into Alexander, nearly knocking him over as he scratched behind her ears. She licked his face and he laughed.
"Where did this big girl come from?" he asked.
"Yeah, that's the Nelson's dog. She's always wandering down here," John said.
Alexander looked up at his father with his brow furrowed. "Dad, the Nelsons' dog hung around when I was a kid. This can't be the same one. Dogs don't live that long. Besides, didn't they move away a couple years back?"
John stared at him. He seemed confused. Then he glanced at the teenager still standing in the shadows.
"That's right. I was just saying this dog is like the Nelsons'. This is Sloan's dog."
"She's not my dog. She just keeps following me around."
"Why don't you introduce us to Sloan," Alexander encouraged.
"Sloan is one of the neighborhood kids—I've been teaching her about rebuilding cars. She's getting to be good, too."
Xander's Folly Page 5
