by Casey Morgan
The sprite was about five inches tall, dressed in green and yellow plaid pants and a tiny green shirt. He was smoking a small pipe and his wrinkled face made him look old enough to be my grandfather.
Not that I was related to any sprites. As far as I knew, my family was all witches. We were from a clan who left Luck’s Hollow years ago to start an idyllic village in New York for witches and other magical beings: Love’s Hollow.
Derek had been researching the ancestry and was super excited about coming to visit Luck’s Hollow here in Ireland. There is an annual Turnip Festival he was excited about coming here for, although I didn’t really know why. Derek was rather strange like that and got caught up in things other people thought were weird.
But I did like his idea of getting married in the beautiful – and affordable, for a wedding venue – Luck’s Hollow, and coming to find my relatives here. I didn’t want to waste all my money or sit around Love’s Hollow with the embarrassment of having been stood up at the altar in such a bad way, so, here I was. In the rain and muck of Luck’s Hollow.
“Lass?”
The small man crinkled his forehead and flew closer to my face. His itty-bitty eyebrows creased in concern.
His compassion was so touching, I couldn’t hold back my tears any longer. They came down in streams, following the trails that the rain had already made on my cheeks.
“There was a sheep,” I hiccupped between sobs.
The little flying man put his hands on his hips and nodded. “A sheep, yes. There are lots of sheep around these hills.”
He nodded again, as if encouraging me to go on.
“A big black one…”
“Aye, that’s Gerald. He’s a jerk.”
The sprite took his pipe out of his mouth and knocked it on his arm, letting a bit of ash fly out.
“Gerald. In the road… I swerved… to not hit him,” I choked out. “Hit something else… now my tire is flat. My boots are ruined. They were four hundred dollars.”
My words came out in a torrent now, as I unloaded all my thoughts and feelings onto the poor old sprite flying in front of me.
“Stupid Derek wanted to come to Ireland in the fall. What kind of honeymoon is that? It’s so wet and cold here. I want to be on the beach somewhere. Not stuck on a dirt road in the muck.”
“Who’s Derek?” The sprite asked as he flew closer.
When he was about on my shoulder, he moved his tiny hands in a pattern. A much larger rain-ward flowed from the magic in his hands and encompassed most of the rental car. Thank goodness.
“My ex. We were supposed to get married this past Saturday, but he left me for my sister.”
The sprite gave a low whistle through his teeth.
“Well, that’s the real muck, isn’t it, dearie? Bad luck and leprechauns!” he swore and spit over his shoulder. “What a bitch your sister must be!”
His comment shocked me, and I choked a bit on my tears before breaking into a slight smile.
“Yeah, you could say that.”
He moved his hands in another delicate pattern and started a warming spell. Heat blossomed from the little man. My clothes began to dry, and my hands started to feel less frozen. I choked out a few more tears and then tried to dry my eyes.
“Thanks, I really appreciate your help,” I told the little grandpa.
He did a little bow midair and then cleaned his pipe again. He relit it with a spark from his own fingers.
“Happy to be of service, Lass. The little bit that I can be.” He looked over at the tire and furrowed his brow. “That I canna help with, but I can keep you dry while you see to it.”
I smiled at him. “Thank you, sir. I’m Shanna.”
“Glen O’Sullivan,” he reached out his hand to me.
Unsure of how to shake hands with a sprite, I just offered up a pointer finger. That seemed to be suitable, and he flew forward to take it.
Shaking it lightly, he said, “Now, let’s get you fixed up and on ye way.”
I nodded. Under the protection of Glen’s rain-ward, I felt around in the mud until I found my trapped boot. It took a few pulls, but it came free.
I dumped a small lake out of it and pulled the repulsive wet thing back onto my foot. My foot was wet too, so it didn’t really matter.
Glen and I moved towards the front of the car. I put the tire iron to one of the lug nuts and pulled. It held fast.
I stood back and did a quick loosening spell over all the nuts, by moving my fingers quickly. Glen hummed his approval. After my spell, the nuts came off easily.
“Where ye headed to, dearie?” Glen asked, as he floated near my shoulder.
“Luck’s Hollow. Hennessey House Bed and Breakfast.”
Glen smiled mysteriously, then nodded. “Aye, a bit of fun, Hennessey House is. That whole family is a true riot. I get a stout there when the missus is looking the other way.”
He winked his tiny brown eye at me.
“Are the Hennesseys witches?” I asked, as I rolled the tire away from the car.
Glen thought for a minute, stroking his little white beard. “Witches? No, Lass. Those devils be leprechauns.”
My eyes widened. My head was filled with thoughts of two-foot tall men with green outfits and buckles on their shoes. I had never met a leprechaun before.
“Really?” I asked, staring at Glen.
He laughed and slapped his knee. “Hell no, dearie. I’m just pulling your leg. The Hennesseys are elves. Just like most big folk around here and in Luck’s Hollow. This is Ireland; we come in big stock. We do have some witches. A family or two.”
He seemed like he wanted to say more but held back.
I pulled the new tire from the trunk and tightened it on. The rain had let up by this point and I was finally able to see my surroundings. Low green hills surrounded both sides of the road. They seemed to be pastures for sheep, broken up by rocky borders and a few sparse fences.
The sky was pale blue as the clouds headed away. I could see for miles. It was beautiful.
I turned back to my small companion.
“Thanks, Glen. I think I can make it from here. I really appreciate your help.”
He nodded and flew around in a small circle, a typical farewell for a sprite.
“Nothing to it, Lass.” He flew up higher and headed away, but not before shouting back over his shoulder, “Besides, Gerald’s my sheep.”
Chapter 2
Shanna
There was no one at the front desk of the Hennessey House Bed and Breakfast when I arrived late in the afternoon. I rang the little bell sitting on the rough wooden desk a few times, but no one answered.
No one seemed to be around. The whole bed and breakfast looked empty.
Outside, Hennessey House was a large cottage-looking building, made out of rough stones plastered together. The door, shutters and wood lining the windows was painted red, which stuck out starkly against the gray stones.
Inside, the walls and ceiling were lined with white wooden planks, giving the rooms a lighter, airier feel than I expected.
I wandered a bit in the sitting room to the side of the front desk. The old floral couches and chairs looked comfortable and clean. Knickknacks lined the shelves and low wooden side tables; little statues of angels or hearts, a flower here and there. An old silver lined mirror caught my attention. It reflected my rumpled appearance.
I usually prided myself on the curls in my light red hair, but now I looked like a drowned rat in a yellow trench coat. I sighed and tried to comb the mess into something respectable.
My mascara was smudged down my face. Not wanting to bother with a spell, I took a tissue from my purse and rubbed what I could off my cheeks, then gave up quickly. What I needed was a hot shower, and soon.
I clumped around with my wet bags, looking for someone, anyone — and discovered a side door that opened into a pub.
Hey, it was Ireland. Go figure.
The pub had a much higher ceiling than the rest of the house.
The wood paneling was brown, natural looking. A few ceiling fans spun lazily. There was a flat-screen TV on one wall but that seemed to be the limit of modern conveniences.
About ten patrons looked at me as I slumped into the door. I glared back at them and they quickly turned away. I set my wet bags into a corner and wandered up to the bar.
The patrons seemed to be a mix of magical beings. I saw the long, pointed ears of a few elves, a couple of witches that radiated their recognizable magic aura, and quite a few sprites that zipped above head height.
One gentleman, who was sipping a beer and working on a spreadsheet on a laptop, was clearly a werewolf. His broad shoulders hunched over his screen. I gave him a wide birth. Wolves were notorious for their tempers.
I slumped onto a red-topped barstool and waited for the bartender to notice me. The fellow was pouring a tiny ale for a rumpled and annoyed looking sprite.
The sprite took his thimble-sized drink, flew in a circle and wandered off to find his friends. I couldn’t help but wonder if he had been charged full price for it, or given some kind of discount for small creatures' beverages.
The only bright spot in my whole ordeal was that the bartender was handsome as all get-out. I mean, he was gorgeous, and I caught myself staring. He was a tall, broad-shouldered elf with more muscles than I could see, and a strong chiseled jawline.
His eyes were the brightest green I had ever seen. They almost seemed to glow. Now I was really wishing that I didn’t look like a train wreck.
Before he could turn his attention to me, I ran my hands through my lank hair and tried to soothe it. I quickly remembered my messed-up makeup and did a brief cleaning spell over my face.
I wouldn’t look fantastic or up to my usual standards but clean-faced was better than having mascara smudged everywhere. When the bartender turned to look at me, I was ready for him.
“Hey, I’m Shanna,” I said, trying to get my damp hair to frame my face. “Is there someone here to check me in?”
The hot bartender grinned at me. “Aye, mi brother Ryan shoulda’ helped ye,” he replied. “I’m Brody Hennessey. Let me get his lay-about ass down here.”
The points of Brody’s long, graceful ears turned slightly pink and he waved his fingers in a subtle arc. I felt his spell catch in the air and connect. It was a calling spell; his brother must have picked up.
“Ryan, there’s a guest here,” Brody said into the air, while looking at me. “A comely lass by the name of Shanna, so drag yer carcass over here.”
Brody winked a deep green eye at me.
Jeez, this guy is forward. I couldn’t help but blush and think that, well, I was back on the market.
Brody twirled his fingers and then ended the spell with a flourish of his thumb. He looked me over again.
“My brother and I own the place,” he explained. “Hennessey House has been in our family for many a year. Inherited from our grandmother. Can I get you a pint while you’re waiting, Shanna?”
“Not right now,” I said, declining. I folded my arms and leaned onto the bar. My long day was starting to get to me. “Maybe another time. After I get settled. It was kind of a rough ride getting here.”
Another sprite customer was trying to get Brody’s attention, but he ignored the tiny flying man.
“The storm, was it?” Brody’s green eyes locked onto my face.
I could see the light brown stubble that lined his chin. It gave his features a rough appearance, manly, despite his elegant ears.
“Yeah,” I said. “That and a sheep.”
“Gerald?” he asked, furrowing his light brown eyebrows.
I nodded. “Yep. Caused me to get a flat tire.”
“Gerald’s a jerk.”
He grinned at me.
“You changed your own tire,” he continued, sounding mildly impressed. “Good for you, lass. I admire a woman that can do for herself.”
“Speaking of doing for yourself,” moaned the sprite with a gray beard. He fluttered closer to Brody’s face. “Mi glass is almost empty.”
“Finish your drink then, Todd,” said Brody, practically crossing his eyes to stare at the small man flying in front of his nose. “And I’ll pour you another thimble when your current one is empty. It’s not rocket science, it’s drinking. Now go sit down, until you’re really in need.”
He waved his large hand at the sprite, who immediately flew back a few feet. Brody turned back to me.
“Sorry about that, Shanna.” He rolled his eyes. “My regulars can be a demanding lot. Gotta keep 'em happy, for some reason. Even though this is the only drinking hole around here for miles.”
“It’s fine,” I replied. “I don’t want to keep you.”
“You’re not keepin’ me at all,” he smiled, leaning towards me. His breath was minty and sweet.
I stared into his deep green eyes and then down at his full, soft looking lips. I found myself leaning towards him, like his body was magnetic.
The sprite flew in front of my face, his back to me, disrupting the spell that was between Brody and me.
“I’m finished,” announced Todd, his swallow-sized wings fanning my forehead. He turned his tiny mug upside down and shook it. “Can I have another thimble now?”
Brody took the cup from the little man with a sigh. He filled it and handed it back to the sprite.
Another elf walked into the pub and around to the back of the bar to join Brody. They were about the same height, a good foot taller than me, and shared a similar jawline. This must have been Brody’s brother, Ryan. He looked harried.
“I’m here, I’m here,” he said to his glowering brother. He stopped short when he saw me. “Who is this?”
Ryan and I made eye contact. He seemed a little smitten. Truth be told, so was I. He was just as handsome as his brother. Both had long pointed ears, rugged good looks and that two-day beard growth that I liked.
Their hair was full, with a slight wave to it, but Ryan’s hair was lighter, a dirty blonde. Brody’s was more of a light brown. I wanted to run my fingers through both of their hair at once. I rather shocked myself, with that thought.
“I’m Shanna,” I finally answered, trying not to blush.
“I’m Ryan Hennessey,” he said, introducing himself. “Let me show you around.”
“Thanks,” I answered, looking away and suppressing a smile.
Brody gave me a quick wink and turned back to his customers. Ryan helped me gather my wet luggage and then led me back into the bed and breakfast. He checked me in at the front desk, having me fill out the appropriate paperwork.
“You’ll get a nice quiet sleep here,” promised Ryan. “Nothing for miles but sheep and drunken Irishmen.” He winked at me. “Wait, that doesn’t sound right.”
I laughed. I wasn’t sure if Ryan was funny or if I was swooning. Maybe it was just because I was on the rebound. I changed the subject, trying to get my mind off the handsome elvish brothers.
“I’m looking to visit some of my relatives while I’m here,” I explained. “Do you know Ailbe and Fiona McDonnell?”
His green eyes opened wide for a second and then he quickly looked down.
“The McDonnells, you say? You’re a McDonnell?” he asked, as if making sure.
“Yes, originally I was supposed to be married,” I explained. “The honeymoon was already paid for, so I decided to come alone.”
“Oh, aye. That’s why the different last name on the booking,” he said, tapping the paperwork I had just finished. “The McDonnells are… known here. Can’t say I’ve met Ailbe and Fiona personally.”
That was a strange answer. I wasn’t sure why he wouldn’t offer more information about how I could find them. Maybe it was just a cultural thing I wasn’t understanding, but whatever. As long as I was in Luck’s Hollow, I knew I’d find them eventually.
Ryan seemed a little dismayed, but I just figured he was trying to impress me and was disappointed he couldn’t help me further.
“This is to your room,�
�� he said, handing me an elegant old key. “Sorry about your canceled wedding, but I hope you enjoy your stay anyway.”
I looked around, taking in all the little details in the comfy cottage.
“How can I not?” I gushed. “This place is so scenic.”
Ryan nodded but didn’t follow my gaze. He seemed distracted now, less friendly. Now I was wondering if I had said something wrong. I couldn’t imagine what it could be, though.
“It’s the first staircase and then the second door on the left,” Ryan told me. “There’s a plaque on the door that says Honeymoon Suite.”
Well, isn’t that just great, I thought.
Ryan gave me one more quick nod and then went back into the pub.
Alone, I walked through the halls of the house. It was definitely like something out of a movie. The interior and the décor were vintage. There was an old tea set on a table. Normally, I would’ve thought it was just for display, but judging by the rest of the house, it very well could still be in use.
The furniture everywhere was beautiful. Everything seemed hand carved and made specifically just for this B&B. There was a chair made out of two different colors of inlaid wood. And a coat rack that appeared to be carved from one piece of wood, with the hooks at the end looking just like leaves. I mean, everything looked like an antique from your grandmother’s house, only it was perfectly kept and dust free.
There was a framed picture on the wall in the hallway that looked very old. Upon closer examination of the hand carved frame, I noticed the corner of the picture said “1898”.
It was that sepia color that old photos are and it featured a family of elves standing in front of the cottage. This must have been Brody and Ryan’s ancestors. There weren’t a lot of old pictures still left from that time.
A second picture appeared to be of the B&B, with a sign that said “Hennessey House”. The date on that picture was 1902.
At the top of the stairs, there was a table by the first door. On it was a little basin, a white, ceramic pitcher of water and a towel.
I immediately wondered if I had my own bathroom or if it was shared. I didn’t like sharing my bathroom, especially with other guests I didn’t know.
