by Reed James
Gunnar blinked, staring at the stone sword thrusting out of the bolder.
“Anyway, it's good that we can talk,” the Detective said, reaching out to shake his hand. A rosy scent lingered on the Detective, a woman's perfume.
“Detective.” The nervousness returned, and Gunnar swallowed, standing up from the rock.
The Detective pulled a notepad out of his coat pocket. “I just want to go over a few statements. Now, you said you were at Corrigan's house Saturday night?”
“Yeah,” Gunnar nodded, his cheeks reddening.
“Did you meet Shenandoah Morganson while you were there?”
“Who?” Gunnar asked.
“She's the registered owner of the house Corrigan gave as her residence.”
“Oh, that's Corrigan's grandmother,” Gunnar smiled. “She's on a cruise or something while Corrigan is house-siting for her.”
The Detective made a few notes. “And did you see anything there that would corroborate the story. Any brochure or pamphlets. Or maybe a postcard.”
“No. Why?”
“Shenandoah was reported missing in mid-September by her friends at the Ruston Senior Center. None of them have heard from her since then.”
Gunnar's insides chilled. “What are you saying?”
“That she may have gone on a cruise, but if she did, she told no one other than Corrigan.” The Detective looked down at his notes again. “Also, none of her friends thought she had any living family. Now, they could be wrong, but...it's troubling.”
Gunnar swallowed.
“Have you ever seen Corrigan with Tihomir Ivanovic, Anthony Corti, or Richard Bryant before. They were all members of your college's football team.”
“Those are the guys that attacked Maeve, right?” Gunnar asked, his heart beating faster. “What do they have to do with anything? With Corrigan?”
“When we arrested Tihomir, he claimed to serve a mistress named Leann Sheed. We thought it was a first and last name. But it's not. Corrigan's last name is Leenshed. They sound very similar.”
That's where I heard her last name before.
Gunnar gripped the table as the world spun.
Is Maeve right? Have I made a terrible mistake?
“I think you need to be very careful around this Corrigan,” the Detective continued. “While there's no overt proof about anything, there are some pieces that don't add up about her.”
“I'll keep that in mind.” I need to find out if Maeve is telling the truth. She claims Corrigan is a Lean Sidhe Fey.
“Well, if there's not anything else, Detective,” Gunnar said, struggling to keep his voice normal, “I need to hit the library and do some research.”
“Just be careful son. And watch out for anything. We can protect you.”
Not if she's like Maeve.
~ ~ ~
Evan pulled his station wagon up to Olympic Iron Works. Maeve shuddered in eager anticipation. I never thought I'd be excited to get my hands on cold iron.
Evan turned off his engine and climbed out. Akiko followed, the Japanese woman nervous and excited. Maeve opened the passenger door, scooting out so Felicity could follow while her boyfriend Brad got out on the other side. Everyone wanted to come down when Raven reported the order was finished.
The money for the cold iron spikes was in Maeve's purse. They had rushed out of school at noon, skipping their afternoon classes in their eagerness to get their hands on the spikes.
Maeve wrinkled her nose. The foundry smelled so foul. Smoke drifted into the air from tall stacks, the tang of metal and rust irritated her nose and eyes. She felt dirty just standing in the parking lot. Men in brown jumpsuits smeared with soot walked about, white hardhats on their heads, willingly walking into the source of the pollution.
“There's the office,” Evan said, pointing to a fairly normal looking building, white siding stained gray, beside the metal buildings of the foundry.
The gravel crunched beneath their feet. No life thrived here, not even grass poking through the parking lot. Every bit of nature had been twisted by these men. They reached the door, pushing it open. A mousy-looking women with glasses smiled at them. “Hi. How can I help you?”
“Yes, we're picking up an order of spikes,” Maeve said. “Under the name Raven.”
“Oh, yes, the special order.” A look of disbelief appeared in the woman's eyes. “I believe we agreed on fifteen dollars a spike given the complexities of changing our production line around.”
“Yep,” Maeve nodded, pulling out the cash and setting it on the counter. “Fifteen hundred.”
“Okay,” the receptionist said. “I'll let them know.” She took the money while talking on the phone, then wrote out a receipt, handing it over to Maeve. “It'll be a few minutes.”
A dirty worker arrived in a few minutes, holding a wooden crate. “Where's your car?” the worker asked, his face covered by soot.
Maeve's skin itched. The top of the box was open, the cold iron spikes exposed. Microscopic bits of cold iron were in the air, irritating her skin. She shuddered, staying as far away until the crate of a hundred spikes was dropped into the back of Evan's station wagon.
“What do you need all of these for?” the worker asked.
“To trap a Faerie,” Maeve answered.
“Oh, you're those, um, Wiccans.”
Maeve blinked. “What?”
“Yes,” Akiko said. “We're Wiccans. We worship nature and cast spells. Thank you for the help.”
“So we plant them tonight?” Felicity asked once the worker walked off.
Maeve shook her head. “The full moon isn't until tomorrow night. If we don't plant them then, Corrigan will sense the spikes before walking into the circle.”
“Why the full moon?” Brad asked as Evan started up his station wagon.
“The moon is associated with illusions,” Maeve answered. “While it appears to glow, it doesn't. It reflects and beguiles. The sun shines with truth, the moon reflects distortions. To hide the cold iron, I'll need to tap into that power.”
“Wow,” Akiko nodded. “Magic's kinda fascinating.”
“Sure,” Evan nodded. “So Corrigan won't have any clue where the spikes are and once she enters the circle, she'll be trapped.”
“Any Fey will be trapped,” Maeve answered. Using the trap violated the Accords, but Maeve didn't trust Corrigan to abide to the treaty. The Unseelie Fey would look to break any provisions she could get away with.
And so will I. I'll do what it takes to free Gunnar. Even if it is over between us. Maeve hoped the damage to their relationship could be repaired, but Corrigan had destroyed the trust. It might be impossible to replace.
Maeve tried not to think of that on the hour drive back to the Sorority.
~ ~ ~
Gunnar almost ran to the library. He had to find out the truth. He burst into the glass doors, heading straight to the computers. He searched the catalog, writing down the dewy decimal numbers of a few promising book titles.
His hands shook as he headed into the Religion and Mythology section of the school's large library. He kept glancing down at his notes, searching for the right section for his books. He found the collection of British and Celtic Mythology, scanning the titles until he found the right ones.
The heavy books clutched in his arms, Gunnar headed to a table, spilling the books on them. He had two thick reference books and a more condensed guide. The condensed guide was a bust. It had no mention of Lean Sidhe in it.
Gunnar turned to The Encyclopedia of the Myths of Celtic Britons. He flipped to the back and found the glossary. There was an entry for Lean Sidhe. Gunnar's heart thudded faster as he flipped through the book, the pages whisking as he thumbed through them. On page 508, he found the entry:
Lean Sidhe: A rare species of Fey associated with the Unseelie Court. These tricksome women delight in tormenting lovers, particularly maidens. Leah Sidhe despise love and seek to destroy it. Their magics seem to work easier on females, twisting those women's love into
rampant lust with a single kiss. Lean Sidhe are often blamed when a young woman becomes wanton in her dalliances, particularly in mid-to-late Christian times. A Lean Sidhe also possess the ability to transform into a raven and can create hellhounds to serve as familiars.
“Fuck,” Gunnar grunted, staring down at the paragraph. “Is Maeve actually right?”
He reread it. After Mindy had broken Gunnar's heart, he had irrationally believed Corrigan's kiss had turned Mindy into a nymphomaniac. When Corrigan kissed Felicity days later, it almost confirmed it in Gunnar's mind. He had dismissed it, rationalizing it away.
“Are you a Fey, Corrigan?”
A part of Gunnar didn't want to believe it. The part of his heart that had submitted to Corrigan. The part that urged Gunnar to close the book and return to his mistress and grovel at her feet in forgiveness for even thinking she might be evil.
I have to have proof.
He kept digging. That's when he discovered cold iron.
That's why the poker worked on the dogs. The hellhounds. And why Maeve had been so afraid of it.
Gunnar had to find some. He had to test Corrigan, to see if she really was one. He thought about driving out to Corrigan's and finding the poker, but he had no idea how to find her house. He didn't know Gig Harbor at all, and he hadn't paid attention as the cab had wound through the confusing streets of the small city.
In minutes, Gunnar found a foundry in Olympia that might be able to help. He called them up. A pleasant woman answered. “Yes. I need some cold iron.”
“Really?” the woman asked. “Another person. How much do you need?”
“Just a small amount. Even a sliver will do,” he said, wiping a sweaty hand on his jeans.
“I can do a sliver,” she said. “It'll cost you ten bucks.”
“Done. How late are you open?”
“Oh, about another two hours.”
Gunnar glanced at his watch. “I'm on my way.”
~ ~ ~
Corrigan waited for Gunnar by the Commons. He never showed up.
She gritted her teeth, her fingers clenching. Everything had been perfect, and then Maeve had crawled out of the rose bushes. Gunnar had begun pulling away from Corrigan, fighting against the chains she had already wrapped around his heart.
What if he went back to Maeve? What if they're love is strong enough to overcome the damage I wrought?
Corrigan shivered. She couldn't stand to believe love was actually that strong. That those disgusting Seelie Fey could be right.
Corrigan called Gunnar, but he didn't answer. She decided to walk to Gunnar's apartment. Maybe he just went home early. Gunnar's Charger was missing when she arrived. She grabbed her cell phone and called Evan.
The phone rang and rang and rang. “Pickup, hound,” she hissed.
“Mistress,” he whispered. “I'm at the Sorority. I can't talk long.”
“Is Gunnar with Maeve?”
“No, Mistress. She's here in the Sorority. We picked up the spikes. She plans on planting them tomorrow night.”
The full moon. “Never mind that. I need to know where Gunnar is.”
“I have no idea. Sorry, Mistress.”
“Call him and find out!” she shrieked and hung up.
A minute later, Evan called back. “He didn't answer, Mistress.”
Corrigan's magic flared out of her, slamming into Maeve's roses planted around the building. Frost crackled, covering the flowers. The ice melted into beading water, the roses still blooming red and vibrant, sustained by the Pixie's magic.
Chapter Eight: The Test
Gunnar raced down I-5 to Olympia. He was almost one-hundred percent sure that Corrigan was exactly what Maeve claimed. But he had to know for sure. He had to know if he could really trust his ex-fiancee.
Gunnar so wanted to trust Maeve.
But he also wanted to kneel before Corrigan and let her make all the decisions. It would be so much easier.
The rain came, hammering hard as he sped, water spraying in his wake. His windshield wipers whined as they sloshed back and forth. The rain fell in thick sheets, the fat drops covering his entire windshield again before the wipers could make their next pass. Traffic slowed. Between the rain and the bottleneck at Fort Lewis, Gunnar watched his odometer drop from seventy to sixty to forty to twenty.
“Come on,” he groaned, his insides twisting. He had to get this over with. He had to make sense out of his life.
He glanced at the clock on his phone. He still had an hour. Gunnar ignored the missed call and text notifications. Both Corrigan and Evan had tried to call. Gunnar didn't intend to call them back. He didn't have the patience to explain himself to Evan, and he feared Corrigan preventing him from getting the cold iron sliver.
If she is a Fey...
Flashing lights blinked ahead. A traffic accident slowed everything to a crawl. He drummed on the steering wheel. Gunnar had thought it would take an hour to get to the foundry. He was only halfway there and an hour had already passed as all of I-5 had to squeeze into one lane to get around the bad accident.
Finally, he was past, racing back up to speed. Some of his fear dwindled. He had forty minutes to get there. He should make it.
Gunnar exited the freeway, following his phone's GPS as he navigated through the side streets. Ahead, smoke poured from large stacks, the residential houses falling away before an industrial park. He passed through an open gate in a chain link fence, razor wire spiraling along the top. He pulled his car into a parking lot and headed into a white-sided building besides the foundry.
“Hi,” Gunnar said when he walked in.
“The guy looking for the sliver?” the receptionist said as she busied behind the desk. “You just made it.”
Gunnar nodded. “Great. I really need it.”
“Don't get why you need a bit of cold iron? You're not with those others, right? The Wiccans?”
Gunnar shook his head. “Others? Wiccans?”
“Yeah, the redheaded girl, Black guy, Asian gal, the blonde, and the kinda hunky nerd.”
Maeve, Evan, Akiko, Felicity, and Brad?
“No,” Gunnar said. “What did they buy?”
“A lot of cold iron spikes. They were very specific. Pure iron, cold forged. But we had some cast off material from making them that hadn't yet been recycled. So you're in luck.” She grabbed a small, plastic tube caped on the ends. A sliver of metal rattled around in there. “That'll be ten dollars.”
Gunnar whipped out his wallet and paid without hesitation, his hand shivering as he clutched the plastic tube. The proof he needed was in there. If Corrigan was a Lean Sidhe, the moment he even got close to her with the sliver he would know.
And then what happens?
Gunnar shuddered. But he had to know. Whatever the consequences, he had to know if Maeve was telling the truth or if she really was a lying monster. He pocketed the container and marched to his car, his shoulders set.
~ ~ ~
Frost stiffened the sheets of Gunnar's bed. Ice coated his window and crept across his dresser, slowly spreading its white, crystalline arms like a mold. The temperature kept plummeting as Corrigan's fear mounted. The wind swirled around her as she sat cross-legged on the bed, her hands gripping her phone.
Gunnar had ignored all her calls. All her texts. He had disappeared.
What if he's fled? What if the Pixie has gotten to him somehow.
“If he had fled, I'll find him and flay his skin,” she hissed, icicles forming on her fingertips.
The cold engulfed her, caressing her naked skin. The moisture in the air condensed and froze on her flesh, becoming small, burning dots of frigid pain. She savored it. Ice coated her hard nipples and frosted the lips of her pussy.
Cold, merciless anger burst out of her in a fierce gale. The windows rattled and pictures were knocked off the wall, crashing to the floor. She poured it out. Anger at Gunnar for being so stubborn, anger at Maeve for daring to find a backbone again, and anger at the lying emotion that stil
l bound Gunnar to Maeve.
How she hated love.
Corrigan's phone chirped. She swiped her thumb across the screen, melting the ice. It was a text from Gunnar. The wind died around her. She read the text.
“Sry I didn't get back to you. Phone died. Had an emergency to take care of. OMW home. See you in 10.”
Corrigan stood up, the ice cracking and falling from her flesh. She threw the phone to the side, an icy flail forming in her hand out of swirling cold. “You are going to pay for every minute you made me wait,” she promised.
~ ~ ~
Gunnar pulled his Charger into the parking space at his apartment complex. He gripped the steering wheel, the plastic container bulging his pocket. He pulled it out, the metal sliver rattling around inside the tube. He used his teeth to pry off the cap and shook out the thin sliver onto a crease in his right palm, the metal end biting into his flesh.
Gunnar winced, closing his sweaty fist about it.
Gunnar closed his eyes. Maeve's smiling face appeared. Have I made the biggest mistake in my life? Did I let Corrigan trick me? Did I lose Maeve?
Gunnar's fear remained, but it was dwarfed by his drive to know the truth. He kicked up his door, striding out. His shoulders were set, his blond hair framing his fierce face. In another life, he would have been a viking warrior leaping from the longship and charging his enemy with sword in hand, screaming bloody fury.
Gunnar took the stairs two at a time, the silver biting into his palm. He reached his door and thrust it open with a bang, bursting in to his apartment. He couldn't stop. He had to keep moving. Gunnar knew if he stopped to think he was done. He would lose the battle to fear.
“You've been very bad,” Corrigan purred, slipping out of his bedroom. She was naked and lovely, water dripped off her ivory flesh, and a leather flail clutched in her hand. “It's time for your punishment.”
Gunnar couldn't help the overwhelming lust that shot through him. His knees buckled, begging Gunnar to kneel and accept her flail. He strode forward, marching at her, staring into her eyes and looking for any hint of the truth.
“Umm, someone's eager to be...” Her golden eyes narrow. “What is that stink? No!”
