Xander's Folly

by Belinda M Gordon

  "It's okay. You're home. Everything's okay now."

  I held her until she relaxed. I kissed her quickly before pulling away—just a soft peck, because in my peripheral vision I saw my daughter come through the door. We hadn't told Sophia about the day's drama; she knew only that her grandfather was coming for a visit. She skipped to the car door singing, "Poppy, Poppy, Poppy!"

  Dad didn't react to her. He sat motionless in the back seat, staring straight ahead. She smacked her palm on the door window and he still didn't respond. Lady, who lay with her head in Dad's lap, looked up at Sophia and wagged her tail.

  I opened the car door and peered in. Dad turned his head, but he made no move to exit. Lady scrambled across his lap and jumped out.

  "Wow, that's a big dog!" Sophia said.

  Lady's head was taller than Sophia's. The dog stretched her neck forward to sniff the girl. Sophia leaned forward, touched Lady nose to nose, and giggled. She brushed her hand down the dog's wiry gray coat as she went to her grandfather.

  "Dad, are you okay?" I asked while Sophia took his hand and pulled. Her touch broke him out of the strange stupor.

  "I'm fine. Just tired is all. Hey there, baby girl!" he said, letting Sophia pull him from the car.

  Shamus met my father at the door, greeting him with great formality before bustling him and Sophia off to the dining room. Tressa and I put our arms around each other and walked behind them. At the door she stopped and turned.

  "Where's Lady?"

  "The dog?" Matt asked from inside the foyer. "I saw her on the monitor. She ran after the girl."

  Tressa looked out into the night, her face creased with worry.

  "There's nothing you can do for Sloan if she doesn't want your help. She knows where to find you if she changes her mind."

  Tressa nodded and closed the door.

  We conversed lightly over our evening meal, as if nothing unusual had happened that day. After eating I suggested that Sophia take her grandfather to the farmhouse and show him around.

  The rest of us met in the library. The place so closely resembled Tressa's grandfather's study that it was hard to believe it was an entirely new room.

  "Let me get Shamus," Tressa said as Matt and I settled on the leather furniture by the unlit fireplace. Before she had even finished saying his name, Shamus came to the door. "Oh good, you're here. Please come join us."

  Shamus didn't sit, but stood leaning on the wall next to the fireplace. Tressa retold her story about the afternoon's events. We listened quietly until she finished.

  "So you're saying that the Morgans lived across the street all those years, watching for my mother to return?" I asked, incredulous.

  "Aye. Evidently Deaglan Mór was punishing them for something by banishing them from the Otherworld. I couldn't make out whether Mór assigned them to stay close to your father, hoping to catch your mother if she returned, or if it was their idea. He seemed confident the bringing me to Mór would serve the same purpose."

  "And he threw the Unseelie Faugh a Ballagh into the wind?" Shamus asked.

  "Aye."

  The old fae contemplated this with a creased brow. "It would be difficult to judge what that means. Did he make the Faugh a Ballagh in the middle of the fight out of habit, or was he calling to Unseelie whom he knew to be in the area? It could have been either."

  "But if these guys could flit the way Tressa does, wouldn't they have arrived almost immediately?" Matt asked.

  "And if the Morgans were out of favor with Deaglan Mór, would the other Unseelie come to his call?" I piped in.

  "Have there been any more attempts by Unseelie to get onto the estate?" Tressa asked.

  "We haven't seen any sign of them," I said. "How does that fit in with everything else that's happened today?"

  "All superb questions," Shamus said. "We thought had we kept the Unseelie out of the Human World. Yet in these last few weeks, we've learned that some have slipped through anyway. I cannot believe, given the Seelie's years of vigilance, that an entire army of Unseelie could be here."

  "I agree," I said. During my stay in the Otherworld I had seen firsthand the security at the borders. No border patrol is perfect, but I doubted many had gotten past them. "And, to Matt's point, if they were answering his call they would have flitted there in seconds."

  "So what's the plan?" Matt asked, rubbing his eyes.

  "We have done everything in our power to make Pine Ridge safe. There's no safer place for us to go. We must stay diligent and fight our battles as they come," Shamus advised.

  "You held Dominion over my father!" I said in mock horror when Tressa and I were alone. "What happened to all that talk? 'Oh, I'm a Sidhe, I can convince anyone to do anything.'"

  "You had to be there to understand. He wasn't rational. Nothing would make him leave that house. Truly, it was my last resort."

  "You might just be losing your Sidhe mojo," I said, wiggling my eyebrows up and down. It was easy to laugh about it now, though earlier I thought I would die knowing she was in trouble and I was too far away to help.

  Tressa slapped my arm lightly as she climbed into bed. "Don't tease me! I feel bad enough as it is."

  I pulled her close until she sat with her neck in the crook of my shoulder, my arm wrapping her into my embrace. I played with her hair, almost subconsciously.

  "I need a way to address him besides John, and he doesn't want me to call him Mr. Mannus." Tressa rarely addressed people by their proper name, preferring nicknames to avoid holding Dominion over someone accidentally.

  "Sloan calls him Mr. M, like his students used too, but I think you should call him Dad. He would like that." I kissed her as a wave of gratitude washed over me. "Thank you, my love, for getting him here safely."

  Now that Tressa, my father, and Sophia were secure under one roof—and no Unseelie had descended upon us—I felt giddy with relief. Dad, still experiencing the after-effect of being held in Dominion, had quietly gone to sleep with Sophia fussing over him.

  It took longer for Sophia to drift off; the excitement of having her grandfather close kept her amped up long past her bedtime. The farmhouse was getting crowded, and—like it or not—we would have to consider swapping Matt for the Guesthouse or moving back into the new Manor House.

  "Tell me again, why didn't Sloan come home with you?" I asked. I was curious, but not unhappy that the girl had chosen not to stay.

  Tressa cuddled closer, turning onto her side and laying her arm over my waist.

  "Sure and she's a stubborn child," she said drowsily. "We got all the way to the gates at the end of the drive and she demanded to get out of the car. She said she was a loner and preferred to be on her own."

  "But where will she go? She doesn't know anyone here. She can't stay on the streets—it's too cold." Tressa lifted her head, looking at me with raised eyebrows.

  "What's this? Are you starting to care about the 'street urchin?'"

  "I still don't trust the girl in the least, but that doesn't mean I want her to freeze to death."

  Tressa smiled warmly and kissed me. We lay together, quiet for a while. I continued to pull her copper curls straight just to let them spring back.

  "When I was in trouble, she didn't hesitate to come to my defense. She carries that blade around, however I don't think she's a seasoned fighter. Morgan's death seemed to shock her."

  "Yeah, I'm sure it was different than the Gray Man. He seemed more like a monster. Morgan was a person."

  "Plus, you killed the Gray Man. She didn't," Tressa said. "I don't know that she killed Morgan, necessarily; it could have been any or all of his wounds that were actually fatal. She was fine during the ride home. It seemed like something else was going on at the gate. She seemed to be in physical pain."

  Emotionally drained, I had nothing left in me to spend worrying about Sloan. "Maybe she'll flit back to the lighthouse," I suggested, instantly hoping it was true. I felt better not having her around.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  TR
ESSA

  Things went badly with John once the after-effects of being held in Dominion wore off. Whether it was the move or the fight with George Morgan or both, his mind became more addled than ever.

  He had lucid moments, but more often than not he didn't know where he was or recognize the people around him. He frequently called Alexander by his Uncle Steve's name, and he treated the rest of us like polite strangers. His confusion frustrated him and caused him to lash out, accusing everyone of conspiring against him.

  The photographs were a godsend. He enjoyed poring over them. Although confused about his current situation, he easily remembered every detail of what happened before and after the moment he took each picture. It was as if his mind lived in the past and the present didn't exist.

  I researched dementia. My books from Faery had barely any information on the subject. What little material I could find implied that a damaged brain was beyond the healing power of Sidhe essence. This explained why I hadn't been able to heal my grandmother after her stroke.

  I had been able to help relieve her symptoms with a tonic, however. I put together one for John, experimenting with ginkgo, sage, and an herb from Faery called basal root. The difficulty was in getting him to drink it. Most of the time he simply refused.

  Making John's tonic reminded me of Gobban, constantly in pain as his burns healed. I owed him a debt—I had promised to replace the polyester backpack.

  I had worked with burns before; I already knew how to mix an ointment that would help him. I went ahead and made the ointment while I had my supplies out, hopeful that I'd be able to convince him to use it. His wounds were too fresh and sore to rub the salve over his skin, so I thinned it down and put it in a spray bottle.

  I went to the kitchen of the Manor House to find a suitable vessel for a Leprechaun's cauldron. I was kneeling on the floor with my head deep in a cupboard when Shamus came into the room.

  "What in heaven's name are you doing?" he asked, disapproval ringing in his voice.

  I crawled out from inside the cupboard with a copper fondue pot I had retrieved from the far corner. I sat cross-legged, examining the pot and judging it perfectly suited for my purpose.

  Sophia came around Shamus and settled herself into my lap. "That's pretty," she said, touching the copper and smearing her fingerprints over the shiny surface. "What's it for?"

  "It's a gift for a friend."

  Shamus frowned down at us, shaking his head. "Perhaps you are beyond redemption, but must you teach the child your odd ways?"

  "You are such an old fuddy-duddy," I said, grinning as I lifted Sophia from my lap and stood. I placed the copper pot on the counter.

  "Who is it for?" he asked, eyeing the pot dubiously.

  "Shamus, what can you tell me about Gobban the Great?" It suddenly occurred to me that I should have asked him this question when I first met the Leprechaun.

  He furrowed his brow as he scrutinized my face. "Are you saying this pot is for him?" He spoke as if I had lost my mind. "Gobban the Great is dead."

  "Aye, well I'm not sure about that. A Leprechaun, named Gobban, has recently turned up in town."

  Shamus sighed. He sat next to the window, grabbing his pipe off the sill and lighting it up.

  "He came looking for you?"

  "No, quite the opposite. He seemed annoyed to find me here. Is he a bad guy?"

  Shamus took a long pull on his pipe. "He was a master woodworker by trade. He had quite a reputation as a con artist, but that was a misnomer. His true talent lay in creating illusions. He could create glamour that even the fae couldn't see through. On occasion he used the ability for personal gain."

  "Occasionally?"

  "Aye. They say he had the most valuable cauldron in all of Faery."

  "Well, if this is him, he has no cauldron at all now."

  I took Sophia with me when I set out to find Gobban. The cold, brisk weather wasn't well suited for a stroll, so I parked four blocks down Second Avenue and hoped we wouldn't have to walk too far.

  Sophia carried her ballerina doll, hugging her with one arm. I carried a canvas bag with the cauldron and ointment inside. We walked hand in hand and passed several thriving businesses, including a bank and a medical practice, on the first two blocks. When we crossed the street to the third block, the sense of a robust downtown drifted away. This block had three empty lots screened off with metal fences. Sophia pulled on my arm to quicken our pace.

  "What's your hurry, a leanbh?" I asked.

  "This is it, we're almost there!"

  The next building rose three stories high. A layer of dirt dulled the red brick facade. The sign painted on the side of the building had faded and peeled away, but enough remained to recognize that it had once been a feed store. Plywood boards covered the windows on the upper levels, but the first-floor windows were uncovered.

  Gobban sat on a pile of wood planks inside the store, leaning against the wall. He looked exhausted, shoulders drooping and eyes half-lidded. I pushed in through the unlocked door, startling the old Leprechaun out of his relaxed posture.

  He wore a baggy shirt with the collar open and the sleeves rolled up, exposing burn scars from his neck down to his chest and over his entire arm. The wounds looked raw and painful.

  He carefully sat up straight and shook his head when he saw me.

  "Dag—" His voice dropped off when he noticed Sophia. He scowled as his eyes flickered back and forth between our faces. "The Jewel has a child?"

  "This is Sophia, a child of my heart. Sophia, this is Mr. Gobban."

  Sophia took my hand, a sure sign that he made her uncomfortable. However, upon hearing my explanation, Gobban relaxed and Sophia let go.

  Desks, dressers, and other castoff furniture filled the showroom. A beautifully restored dining table with chairs sat close to the front. Sophia wandered off to look around when I pulled out one of the chairs and sat.

  "It looks like you've decided to settle here."

  "Too hard to go anywhere else," Gobban grumbled. "I used the last of my jewelry to get this building, since you ruined that for me." He watched Sophia walk away as he spoke. When she had put some distance between us he turned to me, anger blazing in his eyes.

  "Why did you come here?" He shifted his weight uncomfortably, as if my presence made his injuries sting.

  "I brought your cauldron," I said, showing him the canvas bag. "Did you expect me to break my promise?"

  "You could've had it delivered. You know who did this to me." He waved his good hand toward the burns along the left side of his body. "I don't want to meet with him again."

  No doubt Deaglan Mór had tortured him. I didn't know how he had survived; not many did. But instead of wanting to run from him, as his words implied that I should, these facts drew me to him. It made me all the more determined to help him. I pulled the spray bottle of medicine out of the bag.

  "I brought you the ointment for your scars. It will help them heal faster and take away your pain."

  The old Leprechaun pursed his lips, crossing his arms over his chest and stubbornly looking away. He watched Sophia dance around the showroom. Since he refused to respond, I changed strategies.

  "Sure and I don't want to meet him either, but this is a small community. If you stay, we'll bump into each other. Wouldn't it be better to work together?"

  "You listen to me now," Gobban spat, jerking his head around to glare at me. "We are not friends. You aren't welcome here."

  I pulled away from him, startled by the venom in his voice. I couldn't imagine what I had done to make him so angry.

  Sophia began to sing softly as she danced, swinging the doll around with her. The song was a favorite of mine, an old Sidhe hymn I used to calm agitated patients. I also used it to lull Sophia to sleep on restless nights.

  I decided he must have been lashing out at me with misdirected anger. I changed tactics, hoping to learn more about him.

  "A friend told me that Gobban the Great is dead, but I don't think that's true. He
also said he had great abilities."

  Gobban's brow smoothed a bit, though he continued to scowl. I could feel Sophia's song calming him as she mimicked how I pushed my Sidhe essence into the song.

  "He is dead, and any abilities I had were burned out of me," he said, his voice flat and monotonous. He still refused to look at me.

  Sophia came to stand next to me. She leaned against me and I wrapped my arm around her waist. She smoothed the doll's hair, appearing not to listen to our conversation.

  "I see a lovely Chippendale chest of drawers over there—or it will be when you refurbish it. Restore it for me in exchange for the medicine."

  Sophia climbed up on the boards to sit next to him. She was nearly his size. She took his hand from where it rested on his leg and held it in hers.

  "Mr. Gobban, you seem very nice. Can't we be friends?"

  He peered down at her and took a deep breath. He looked away as his half-lidded eyes swam with tears. Finally, he nodded. "The dresser for the medicine, if it will get you out of here faster."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Matt knocked, entering the farmhouse kitchen through the backdoor. He carried a bulging canvas bag from the Manor House kitchen.

  "Jenny thought you would be too busy to make lunch, so she sent me with sandwiches," he said. He laid the bag on the island in the middle of the kitchen.

  "She's right," I said as I looked at the cardboard boxes piled on the floor. The past few days had proved Alexander's point that the farmhouse was too small after adding John to the household. I had spent the morning packing up to move. "Xander took Sophia and his dad out to run errands, so it's just me right now. Will you sit and eat with me?"

  I pulled two plates out of a cabinet. We only needed to take our personal items into the fully furnished Manor House; the kitchen boxes contained the things from my apothecary. If I had to live in the other house permanently, I wanted my herbs, essential oils and other medicinal supplies close by.

  Jenny had sent us food so often that she had even bought the white paper that delis use to wrap sandwiches. I felt a pang of guilt as I unwrapped two of the sandwiches and placed them on the plates. My insistence on staying at the farmhouse had caused her extra work. Well, at least that was one good thing about the upcoming move.