Changeling: An Appalachian Magic Novel Book 2 (Appalachian Magic Series)

by Debbie Herbert

  She narrowed her eyes. “How did you know that?”

  “You introduced me to Tanner, remember? And I heard someone call you that in the store, the girl with the black hair who never smiles.”

  “That would be Glenna.”

  “How did you come to work in that kind of a store?” he asked. “It’s the sort of place that attracts—” he hesitated slightly, “— people with unusual beliefs.”

  This time it was Skye who took a long sip of coffee before answering. No way would she tell him she was a witch, even if she did suck at it. She skirted around the issue.

  “I’m a poor student and I need the money.” She shrugged. “Besides, I’ve always liked crystal jewelry and Claribel sells lots of it.”

  “Claribel?” He arched a dark eyebrow. “That can’t be her real name.”

  “She’s the owner.” Skye cocked her head to the side. “I never questioned whether it’s her real name or not. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was made up. It fits the name of the store though, a fairy-sounding name.”

  “After seeing her in action yesterday, I think Claribel should have named her shop ‘The Mad Fairy’ instead of ‘The Green

  Fairy’.”

  Skye laughed and tried to swallow at the same time, ending up coughing. She wiped her face with a paper napkin.

  “Is that a marketing move or does she think fairies are real?” he asked.

  Kheelan smiled and Skye felt most of her apprehension melting away.

  “Oh, she believes they’re real. She sets out food and water for them at night and blames them for every lost item in the store.” Skye grinned expectantly at Kheelan, but he stared back without a glimmer of amusement this time.

  “And you?” His voice softened, grew husky. “Do you believe in fairies?”

  Skye returned his serious gaze. Maybe customers of metaphysical bookstores were open to the supernatural. She wasn’t in podunkville anymore, didn’t have to watch every word so carefully for fear of being branded and ridiculed. She drew a deep breath. “I’ve never seen one, but who’s to say there aren’t things out there—,” she gestured to the window reflecting the night’s storm, “—forces, energies we can’t see with human eyes.”

  He didn’t laugh at her or flash her a get-real look, a novelty in her limited experience with the opposite sex. It was liberating.

  Neither spoke. The rain was loud on the roof and they were sheltered together in warmth and light. It was strangely intimate.

  Her skin prickled and her insides warmed. She could be near him all night, and not drink in enough of his presence. What would it be like to spend the night with a man like Kheelan? Not that she had any experience. She’d protected her precious virginity in a stubborn insistence to save it for Tanner.

  Who evidently didn’t appreciate the sacrifice.

  Kheelan cleared his throat and heat flamed her cheeks. Thank the goddesses that thoughts were silent. What would he think of her sexual musings?

  He spoke, in a voice that was heavy and velvet smooth.

  “You may or may not have seen them with your eyes, Skye, but you know they’re real.” The golden flecks in those dark eyes danced.

  “I do?” It came out as a whisper.

  “You’ve felt . . . something. Anything unusual going on in that store? Pinpoints of light, unexplained sounds, whispers of something brushing your skin . . .?”

  She paled. The humming, the floaters, the feel of a light pressure on her eyelids and in her hair, the high-pitched buzz of ‘helpmehelpmehelpme.’ Fairies?

  The room spun and she gripped the edge of the table for stability. His hands settled on her shoulders, hot and heavy. His touch stabilized her senses like an anchor in a storm at sea.

  WTF? What The Fairy? She glared at him. The little fantasy game of romance was over. Kheelan, or Kyle, or whatever his real name might be, had sought her out for information, not because he was interested in her as a person. “Who are you really?”

  “I’m someone who has lived with the fairies all my life.”

  5

  The Key

  Kheelan inwardly cursed. He was blowing it. Skye had a temper to match the red hair, and she was furious. If he had more time, he could go slower, not play his hand so quick. But Samhain, All Hallow’s Eve, was only nine days away. He’d intended to petition Queen Corrigan of the Seelie Court this year for his freedom after breaking the case on the mysterious Fae murders. If he were lucky, Corrigan, in a rare fit of kindness and gratitude, might actually agree to a release.

  Then he’d walked into The Green Fairy and everything changed. He’d seen her. If he could convince Skye to help him, his chance for freedom increased substantially.

  And even before he saw her rainbow-colored aura, he had been attracted to the girl, no point in denying that.

  He drank in her nearness. Unlike the fairy lovers the Sidhe occasionally selected and rewarded him with, Skye was so . . . real, so earthy. The band of light freckles across her nose drove him to distraction. It was all he could do not to reach out and touch the tip of her nose. Kheelan deliberately lowered his gaze to her hands. She had beautiful, smooth skin but he was drawn to a couple of scratch marks on her right palm. Beauty in imperfection. He wondered how she got the scratches. He couldn’t help himself; he reached out and lightly traced the all so human mark. Her hand was warm, not the frosty perfection of the Fae.

  A million times more exciting than any Fae woman. Did she feel that same electric energy he did at their contact?

  Skye jerked her hand away as if she were near a coiled rattlesnake.

  Disappointment doused his inner flame. No one had ever wanted him his whole life. Why should she be any different? Best to focus on his task. The whole point of meeting her was to win her trust and approval, not become enchanted with her. He had a mission to accomplish and nothing was going to stop him.

  He lifted his eyes and looked into the forest-green of hers. She was so open. He could plainly read fear, confusion and mistrust.

  “Who are you really?” she repeated. “I don’t get what you mean about living with them all your life.”

  Good question. He didn’t even have a last name. The Fae didn’t think he was important enough to grant him that. Fine, bestowing him a last name would be another lie heaped upon the whole rotten pile of deceit.

  “I told you, I’m Kheelan.” He had better get the subject off of himself, quickly. It was too early to reveal everything about who and what he was. First, he had to convince Skye about the existence of the Fae. No small task since as a changeling he possessed no power of his own. He couldn’t snap his fingers and demand a fairy materialize. “You’ve seen something. I can tell by your eyes.”

  “I saw nothing until you started showing up,” she accused. Those green eyes flashed again in anger. “Are you playing tricks on me?”

  Kheelan raised his shoulders in a shrug of innocence. “No tricks. I’ve only been in the store once, remember?”

  She frowned. “Maybe you really are Kyle, maybe you’ve been fooling us all along and there’s not a thing in the world wrong with you. And now, for some reason, you’ve chosen to reveal the real you.”

  “That would be an elaborate trick, and one I can easily disprove.”

  “Oh yeah, how?” She folded her arms and sat back, challenging him.

  “I could come in this weekend when Kyle’s working.” Kheelan ached to do just that, but it was too early. If he showed up unannounced, he would tip his hat to the pixie murderer. It was always best to remain in the shadows and blend in as much as possible. Because after tonight, he was sure he was in the right place. The fairy’s cross crystal under his shirt had detected the malevolent aura of bad Fae who had shape-shifted into human form. But he didn’t know which person, or persons, in the shop was his target. But he would find out. And having a ‘twin’ brother at the shop confirmed something sinister was going on there. The Mad Fairy indeed. As owner, Claribel was first on his list of suspects.

&nbs
p; “Sounds like a start,” Skye said, her voice tired and flat.

  He would find an excuse later to get out of meeting Kyle. At least until she trusted him and could arrange a private meeting between them. If people in the store saw them together, there would be questions. Any bad Fae around would immediately suspect the truth.

  Kheelan watched as she dug through her purse and pulled out a bottle of aspirin. “Hard day?”

  “Just a backache, I get them all the time. Scoliosis.”

  He held out his hand, palm up. “Could you spare a couple?” All that manual labor in the winter garden the past two days had got to him. He was used to hard labor, but he’d grown a bit soft the last six months during Finvorra’s term as Guardian. Other Guardians, not the boozing kind, had worked him sunup to sundown.

  Skye was careful to drop the pills in his open palm with no accidental touching. Doubt crept into him. Skye acted cautious, fragile, timid . . . very human. Had he been wrong that she was ‘The One’ of legend?

  He immediately squashed the doubt. She had to be.

  There was possibly a way to find out more. Unfortunately, he needed to wait until Finvorra was good and soused for the night to read up on the legend. For the past two days, he’d been uncommonly sober. Damn him. Rhoswen and her friends Maevea and Gwenllyn had popped by for a visit at the cottage, seen Finvorra stumbling about clutching a nearly empty whiskey bottle, and read him the riot act. Now his Guardian was sulky and irritable, issuing commands non-stop. Rhoswen and company had left packets of seeds and flats of seedlings for a winter garden. And when night came, Finvorra had him cook, clean, shop and do anything else he could think of.

  Kheelan shook off the memories. The first step in his plan was to establish trust. And he was failing big-time. Intelligence, patience and determination were his strong suit. Apparently though, he was lacking in the charm department. He smiled, the most sincere and trustworthy one he could muster. “Surely, you’ve noticed unusual happenings when I wasn’t in the shop. Strange noises like the far off tinkling of bells or a flute? Floating specks of light?”

  Skye’s eyes flickered; she’d seen something all right.

  “You can tell me.” Kheelan hoped his voice was encouraging.

  “Aren’t you curious? Maybe together we can figure this out.”

  She let out a sigh. “I don’t know who or what I’ve seen, but there’s something down there, in the basement storeroom.

  Whatever they are – they’re in big trouble.”

  Kheelan’s breath caught. His instincts were right. The Green Fairy was the headquarters for some kind of Dark Fae operation.

  “Tell me.”

  Skye stared him down. “No. You tell me how you knew something was going on at the store, and why it matters to you.”

  Kheelan ran his hand through his hair, frustrated. She wasn’t so timid after all. Time for Plan B. He dug in his pocket, pulled out a stone, and laid it on the table. Skye picked up the gray, smooth rock and ran her finger over the hole at its center, formed from years of running water.

  “A hagstone.” She smiled, cupping her hand around its polished surface.

  “You know what it can do?”

  “People used to believe if you held it up to a full moon and looked through a hagstone’s opening, you could make a wish and it would come true.”

  What a bunch of crap. He’d tried it once, and he was still nothing but a changeling.

  “It’s a bunch of crap,” she said.

  Kheelan started when Skye said what he’d been thinking. “I take it you’ve actually tried it too.”

  She placed the stone on the table with a bang. “Don’t tell me this one’s special and it really works. Even if it worked for you, nothing comes true for me.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You know, it has another purpose.”

  Skye’s brow creased. “I’ve never heard anything else.” “Would you believe me if I said you could see fairies with it?” Skye opened her mouth and then closed it.

  “Take it outside any night; it doesn’t have to be a full moon. You’ll have better luck though if the moon is visible. Find an oak tree, they have a special connection with fairies, or even better, find an oak tree with mushrooms growing underneath. Look through the hagstone and you’ll see the fairies. Guaranteed.”

  If Skye saw them with her own eyes, she might be more receptive to helping him in his quest for freedom. With this stone, this method, Skye would only be able to see the cute forest pixies so immortalized in children’s fairy tales. She would want to align herself with the Seelie Court Fae, the good guys . . . in a manner of speaking.

  She smiled a small upturn of the lips that had nothing to do with the rueful look in her eyes. “You don’t know who you’re talking to. If there is a way to mess it up, I’ll find it. That’s my special talent.”

  Her confession surprised him. Again, he questioned whether she was the special Halfling of legend. She certainly didn’t sound or act like someone with any special gifts. His faith wavered, then returned. He’d seen the crystal rainbows glowing around her at the shop.

  “I have faith in you.” To his surprise, he meant it.

  I have faith in you. Kheelan’s words echoed in Skye’s mind as she stood alone in a grove of oak trees, the Mustang’s headlights providing a dim luminescence in the silver fog. The rain had subsided to a fine mist but her shoes squished through several inches of mud. If she saw nothing after making such a freaking mess, she would be totally pissed. She took a few steps farther on the road bank, looking for mushrooms. No luck. The moon was also invisible from the storm cloud covering. Not the ideal conditions, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if she didn’t give this a shot.

  Skye took a last glance at the road behind. Not a car in sight.

  She must be a naïve idiot agreeing to meet a stranger alone, and then go into the woods by herself after he took off to who knows where. Best to get this over with, another failure to notch in her belt.

  “Here goes nothing,” she said aloud. Skye lifted the hagstone to her eyes. Despite her own low expectations, she couldn’t help the foolish disappointment when she saw nothing. She pictured Kheelan’s intense brown eyes, urging her on. “Screw you,” she said to his image. She lifted a muddy shoe out of the muck to turn around, then stopped at a faint rustling.

  It could have been leaves, falling acorns or branches swaying, but the echo had a melodic ting. She held the stone back up to an eye.

  In the misty fog, balls of murky lights with halo rings danced in the darkness. Her hand shook and she was afraid to move, not wanting the strange light spheres to disappear. Gradually, the lights crystallized and focused until Skye could make out four to six-inch humanoid creatures with wings.

  It was true! She hardly dared to breathe as they fluttered around at such speed she couldn’t actually call it flying. One moment they would be dancing on a wet oak leaf, then reappear in a flash on another tree branch. She clamped her free hand over her mouth to keep from laughing in delight, sure they would instantly take off.

  Could this be a hoax of some kind? Skye put the hagstone in the palm of her hand and studied it. Nothing unusual about it, no way it could be trick. This was magic as she’d never seen it. Sure, she’d been raised in a coven, but this . . . she held the stone up again. The fairies – what else could they be? - were still there, and a hundred more had joined them in a kind of rain dance celebration. Skye could barely make out the smiles and hear faint echoes of laughter as they skated on raindrops and shook the leaves to drink and bathe.

  She had no idea how long she stood there, and not once did any of them look her way. Perhaps she was as invisible to them as they ordinarily were to her. A car engine in the distance finally woke Skye from her dreamy trance. It wasn’t safe to be out alone like this at night. She went back to the Mustang and turned the key. The dashboard clock read two a.m., yet it seemed only minutes had passed instead of hours. Her body trembled, a combination of physical discom
fort and mental unease.

  She gripped the stone in her palm. She had the power to see them again, as much as she liked. Skye again pictured Kheelan’s face at the restaurant, the intensity radiating from those topaz flecked eyes, his determined jaw and the strange tattoo on his hand. How was he connected to the fairies? How had he known there were fairies in the shop? She was convinced now that those voices in the storeroom were trapped fairies.

  And the even bigger question—was Kheelan there to help them or to hurt them?

  Kheelan stole the key from the drunken, snoring Finvorra and opened the book.

  From the Perpetual Annals of the Daoine-sith, Book of Records… Kheelan scanned the index: Royal Court of the Seelie, Tribes and Chieftains of the Unseelie, Sidhe Shapeshifters, Pixies, Merfolk, Gnomes, Elves, Brownies, Fae animals, MacLeods of Dunvegan and other Half-Fae, Tacharan.

  Tacharan, aka Changelings, his heart pounded, remembering the cruel fairy taunts of his childhood. Despite his eagerness to read, Kheelan noted that his kind was listed even below the fairy animal classification. The arrogance.

  He read on.

  Changelings: Human children normally borrowed (hah! the little liars, they were stolen) at birth or up until age four, placed into service as deemed appropriate for the purpose of essential tasks related to either manual labor, (slavery was more like it) collection of information in tribal feuds (spy work), procreation (replenish the gene pool), or any other use to ensure the prosperity and perpetuation of the Daoine-sith.

  He skimmed over much of what he already knew – switching of humans with rejected fairy children determined to be strange or marked in some way . . . practice began only after the first thousand years of recorded Fae history . . . escaping detection during the borrowing or switching . . . enchantment spells to bind humans . . . role of The Guardians . . . At last he came to an alphabetized listing of human children by birth year.

  Kheelan stole a cautious glance at Finvorra and raked him over from head to toe in disgust. His hair lay in greasy clumps, drool ran down a corner of his chin, his tee shirt sported spaghetti stains. He wore grayish boxer briefs, and had long hairy legs that attached to tiny feet with twisted, malformed toes.