Saltwater crossed his arms, an expression of smug, superior sourness in his piercing, blue eyes.
“You think I haven’t heard you guys fighting? You think I can’t put two and two together? I don’t look like him.” he motioned at his father who felt his balding pate prickle at his son’s audaciousness. “And I am nothing like the other fey! Am I adopted?”
“What?” Lemon gasped at the same time that Salacious, his patience level exceeded, grabbed his son by the front of his Bee Gees tee shirt and squawked, “We have argued over you, you little snot, before you were a glimmer of mud in your mother’s eyeball!”
Lemon-drop quickly added, “Your real mother! Me! Hello? And listen, mister, there is nothing wrong with being a changeling!”
Saltwater looked unconvinced.
“Son, son,” Salacious entreated, “You are my spawn, no matter how it came about.”
“And you should have seen the boggle we found to put in your place—”
Saltwater cut off his mother’s words, “I have been hearing that story since I was a brat. You should have just kept the boggle if you liked him so much!”
With that, Saltwater stomped to his room and slammed the door behind him with a mighty bang.
Salacious looked at his wife, who stared back in accusation.
“Yeah, that helped!” she snarled.
“Gnarling!” but his attempt at sweet talk failed, and that night, it was the couch for him.
It was the very next day that Lemon-drop discovered the circle of salt in front of her son’s door. Salacious woke to the sound of his wife shrieking.
“Saltwater, you clean up this mess this instant!” Lemon-drop hollered, trying not to look at the damned stuff. “This is a new low, and don’t think I won’t tell your father.”
“He’s not my father!” Saltwater screamed.
Salacious rushed to his wife’s side and she hurriedly covered her husband’s eyes with her hand.
His leathery wings stretched taught in distress. “What is it?
“Salt,” Lemon-drop hissed. “The handsome little bastard poured salt on the floor.”
“What?” Salacious gasped. “Where? How?”
“I don’t know how,” Lemon-drop replied, eyes averted, a slight bit of color coming to her cheeks in a blush.
“It’s his damned mortal blood; don’t even try to deny it!”
Lemon-drop pulled her husband away from the salted floor, “Not in front of the offspring!”
“No. He has gone too far.” Salacious pulled his wing free from his wife’s grasp. “This is your fault. All of it. You wanted a cub!”
Lemon-drop gasped, “You wanted a whelp!”
“Yes, I did,” roared Salacious, “but you couldn’t even have the decency to choose someone suitably unattractive.”
“Not this again!” Lemon yelled, hands covering her pointed ears. “I was drunk!”
“That’s what you always say. As if it were some kind of excuse. Admit it, you acted like a succubus.”
“You take that back!” Lemon-drop howled.
“I will not! I almost have to wonder if you even hated it as much as you say you did.”
“Oh, really?” Lemon-drop placed her hands on her hips. “Just what are you trying to imply.”
Salacious spat the word. “You are a pervert!”
“Oh!”
“You know it’s true! And you left him there for almost a year, no wonder we have problems!”
Lemon-drop’s bottom lips quivered, “It isn’t true… I...told you…”
“Yes, you told me alright. You didn’t feel like raising a baby, so why have one in the first place? Why? Admit it, you liked that Johnson guy!”
“No!”
Unnoticed by either, Saltwater watched from his slightly opened bedroom door.
“Yes, you did. Do. Still do. When was the last time we frolicked?”
Lemon-drop dripped oozing tears.
“You liked the hair, didn’t you?” Salacious furiously accused, years of resentment rising to the surface like delicious scum to the top of a bewitched pool. “And his blue eyes and his dimples …”
“I did not!” Lemon-drop sobbed.
“You did!” Salacious continued maliciously. “You think I don’t know why you left the whelp there for so long? So you could…”
“Don’t say it!”
“Watch!” continued her fed up husband.
There was a silence.
“Dad?” came Saltwater’s voice from his bedroom.
Salacious huffed, and Lemon turned tear filled eyes toward her son, who stepped over the salt as if it were not laying there in its warding, grainy way. Lemon-drop shook her head; her son was just so mortal at times...
“Mom? Dad? Listen.”
****
The next day, an enchanted and attractively dressed Lemon-drop knocked on the door of the Johnson’s house. Mr. Johnson opened the door and looked between the woman and the tall young man who stood by her side.
“May I help you?” asked Mr. Johnson pleasantly.
Lemon-drop cleared her throat and Saltwater fidgeted nervously. “Ian? I would like to introduce you to your son.”
We Danced
We danced, twirling and dipping to the orchestra as they played the most beautiful music I’d ever heard. The ballroom glistened in shades of gold and silver, every surface covered in pure decadence. The throngs of people mingled and paraded along the edges of those of us who twirled like spectacles on display.
I looked up into his sky blue eyes and brushed his ebony hair from his forehead as he smiled a thousand-watt smile down at me. His fine features might have looked too pointed or thin for some, but I found everything about Domingo to be perfect. He was nearly six-foot, just tall enough that I could lay my head over his heart, and nestle my face in the curve beneath his collar bone as he pulled me closer in his arms.
The music went on and on, yet, I never tired. I danced until there were holes in my silk slippers, and my hair fell from its pins in golden waves over my shoulders. We laughed, Domingo and me, and we talked as we whirled around the room, my pale blue skirts fanning out around my calves. I never wanted it to end, this paradise I had found myself lost in.
Yet, the time had come for me to go. The gilded clock struck five times, the lights dimmed, and the musicians laid down their instruments. The party wasn’t over. In fact, I don’t think it ever truly ended, but Domingo took me by the hand and led me toward the carved ivory doors. Too afraid to make demands of him, for fear he may not invite me to return, I allowed myself to be dragged away.
One hand resting on the door and the other coming up to cup my cheek, he murmured adoring words. “Fiona, my sweet, I shall cherish this moment until we meet again and make memories anew.”
I sighed, smitten. “I do hope it is soon. Tomorrow night?”
He brushed a sweet kiss across my parched and awaiting lips. “Every night for as long as you will have me, my dear.”
“Then it will be always,” I said, meaning the words with all of my heart.
He turned to open the door, but I stopped him with my hand on his arm.
One eyebrow slanted upward, he questioned, “M’yes?”
I steeled myself for what I was about to ask, fearing rejection from the beautiful boy more than I had ever feared anything. “Can’t I plea—”
His finger pressed against my lips, he spoke in a reverent tone. “Shh. Dear one, ask anything else of me, but that one thing. I will give you your every desire, but not that, not just yet.”
Opening the door, his hand at the small of back, he guided me forward into the purple of pre-dawn.
*****
My whole body ached. I had blisters on my feet, my muscles felt twisted, and my head pounded as if there were an army of drum players marching a line through the center. The sun glared through the open drapes, its piercing rays assaulting my puffy eyes, and I felt as if it were sapping the life from me. The room spun as I struggled to s
et up against my mound of pillows, the weight of the heavy comforter seeming to glue my legs to the mattress.
Once the dizziness lapsed, I re-opened my eyes and stared across the room into the large oval mirror on top of my dresser. The girl who gazed with listless and dull eyes back at me was a stranger, one who looked as if she were closer to a corpse than a living being. The dark circles under her red rimmed eyes, the sallow cheeks, and the edge of her collar bone jutting sharply from beneath her nightgown were all signs of someone who was ill.
Touching my cheek, a creeping sensation of shock and fear crawled up my spine as if it had materialized into a large spider scurrying up my back. I shivered, and even that slight motion caused my flesh to ache and my muscles to painfully spasm.
That’s me? That’s actually me? Oh, no! What’s wrong with me?
The answer came into my mind. Every night, I dance, and every day, I waste away.
“No! It can’t be true!” I whispered in a harsh rasp as a burning thirst drove me to try to stand. I couldn’t believe my beloved would cause me harm. Not Domingo. Even the thought of his name caused my heart to long for him with bitter desire.
Wobbling on throbbing legs with nausea rolling through my stomach, I attempted to cross the room. The edges of my vision turned dark, a tunnel forming in my line of sight. I could barely raise my arms to rub at my eyes, and when I finally could, a topsy-turvy sensation caused me to stumble. Droplets of sweat formed on my brow, and though I felt chilled, a sudden rush of warmth brought me to my knees as I desperately clung to consciousness.
“Fiona?” my mother’s voice called through the door. “Are you alright?”
“Mama, help me.” I hadn’t called my mother by that moniker since I had been a child, but at the moment, I felt as helpless as I had as wee babe.
I must have drifted from my mind for a moment, because when next I was aware, my mother was there beside me. Her wash worn hands cool against my face and eyes full of concern, she called out to my father. I felt the vibrations of his heavy boots treading against the hardwood floors of our house, and instead of peace, I felt fear.
My father was a kind and gentle man, but if he somehow discovered that my nightly adventures were the cause of my illness, he would not be forgiving. Domingo would be hunted down, and what my father would do to him, I couldn’t even begin to fathom. Terrible images of what might be washed over me, bringing about more chills to torture my body and send my mind into a dark abyss of depression, thick with agony. A desperate need to protect my secret and shield my love overcame me, and I fought to smile through the crushing despair and sickness that rode me as if the devil on the back of his steed.
My father’s strong arms lifted me and placed me back into my bed as my mother ran to fetch me medicines and cool water. I heard her whispering in the next room, and I knew she was calling the doctor.
“Father, really, I am fine. Just tired…so tired.” Even as I said the words my lashes fluttered against my cheeks.
He, a man of few words, whispered, “I know, Fi. Just rest.”
It was then that my mother came back into the room. I gladly took a spoonful of the bitter tasting tonic that she offered, and then gulped down almost a full pitcher of cool water. The effort of doing just that much drained me, and I felt as if my body had become my enemy.
I must get better, I must. I told myself. If I cannot get well, I cannot dance. I must see Domingo, once more. The last thought was nearly a prayer against the crashing waves of desperation building inside of me once more. I wanted to weep and rage against my failing body, but I didn’t even have the strength to cry. My heart broke at the thought of not seeing my lover again, the tiny shards falling to leave deeper wounds than anyone can imagine.
Again, my mind whispered its treachery. You dance all night, and when the sun rises, you waste away.
I shook my head from side to side, negating my thoughts and trying to free them from my pulsating brain. Taking my mother’s hand, I begged in gasping words, “Mamma, tell me a story.”
“Of course, child.”
My father brought her up a chair near my bedside, and quietly eased from the room as she settled in. After giving me another sip of water, she patted the blankets down at my sides and kissed my forehead. For a moment, she rested silently, a look of deep contemplation on her lined face. At last, she decided on a tale, and her sweet voice poured over me.
She told a story of a beautiful fairy that had fallen in love with a mortal man. Though he loved her, the young nobleman refused to give up his life in the human world to be with the fairy. Enraged, because she was spoiled and self-centered, the fairy demanded the mortal come to the fairy world or else she would punish him. Believing that the girl loved him too much, and not understanding how vengeful the fae were when they were used to always getting what they want, the man refused again.
The young fairy woman then devised a plan. With all the sugary sweetness and false adoration she could muster, she sent an invitation to the man, begging him to attend a final ball with her. She promised to let him go afterward, but she wanted to dance in his arms one last time. The man agreed, being a gentleman, and he attended the ball with hopes that he might also move on.
As my mother described the lovely evening that the two parting lovers shared, I thought of Domingo. The idea of choosing life in a mortal world over the man I deeply loved bringing tears to my eyes. I could not understand the man’s need to stay in a mundane world, and I knew that if Domingo were a fairy, I would gladly choose him. The slightest thought of not having him made my stomach threaten to expel the water I had so greedily consumed.
What would living be without the one I loved? The answer came quick enough from that cynical voice inside my head. It would be life rather than this half death you are in now.
Focusing on my mother’s voice once more as I battled the nausea, I realized I had missed a great deal of the story. Somehow, the ball had been a trap. The man, foolish enough to trust the fairy, had danced until he was too tired to resist her demands to drink from a tiny cup made from the head of an Easter Lilly. The tiny sip of sweet honey-flavored wine tickled his throat and caused him to become dizzy, as if he had drunk a keg of ale. His cup had been filled with a magical spell that made him love her more than ever, a desperate love that would drive him mad if he did not have her by his side.
The fairy leaned down, her tiny features filling his vision as she whispered, “Now you’ll stay forever.” Dancing and laughing she spun away into the crowd, leaving her discarded lover in a haze of bewilderment.
As fairies are fickle creatures and are won’t to do, she forgot about him almost instantly. Having successfully captured his heart, the challenge was gone. The poor mortal was forever trapped in the land of the fairies, a changeling wandering aimlessly in search of the girl. His family wept over a wooden caricature, spelled to resemble the body of a man who has been dealt a sudden death, but he lived on forever in a whirl of insanity and longing.
The story was an old tale, used to warn children from the dangers of forbidden love. It had been entertaining and whimsical to me as a child, but in my current circumstances, it was a sharp reminder of my own sins. Unable to think of the shame I would bring on my family if anyone would ever discover my secrets, and finding it impossible to consider the end of Domingo and I, I fell into a restless sleep.
*****
Yawning and stretching, I smiled up at his loving face. My first instincts were to be delighted at his return, excitement drumming through me at the prospect of another long night dancing in his arms. I reached for him, welcoming him, and was surprised to find that all my aches and pains were gone. A miraculous recovery from the terrible state I had been in only hours before.
“Domingo, oh, my love. I was so ill. I felt as if I were dying. It’s baffling, because now, I feel wonderful again. Give me just a moment, and I shall be ready to go.” My voice was no longer rasping, and my head did not threaten to explode as I attempted to sit up in my
bed.
From behind his back, he handed me a prettily wrapped gift as he said, “I am glad you feel better, my dear. You must hurry, now. I have a special surprise waiting for you.” His words were cool and smooth, an edge of something dark in the lyrical tone and twisted smile.
I unwrapped the gift, almost forgetting to keep my voice down as I exclaimed over the gorgeous gossamer dress and satin slippers, both in an opalescent pearl color that shimmered in a rainbow of hues. Within minutes, I had swept up my wild curls, donned the silky smooth gown, and had lined my eyes with a dark coal liner. As quietly as we could, Domingo and I slipped from my window and ran across the dew-dampened and lush green grass to his awaiting carriage.
Each night, we had done the same. A new dress, new slippers, and a dash to freedom under the moon’s light, but on this evening, something seemed different. Domingo was quieter, his smile less bright. A chill seemed to settle inside the ivory carriage with its prancing white steeds pulling at the reins and the stalwart gentleman coachman guiding us at a trot through the streets.
My nervousness caused my voice to turn too girlish, too high, as I asked, “What is this surprise you have for me, darling?”
The twist of his lips brought about a smile that didn’t quite meet his dark eyes. “If I told you, love, it would not be a surprise then, would it?”
I laughed at his words, again the tone sounding strangely youthful. Before we could speak further, the carriage pulled to a stop at the door to the estate where we spent our evenings together. A sudden and strange thought seeped through my excitement. I’ve no idea where I am. With the dark curtains over the carriage windows, and Domingo being such a lovely distraction, I have never thought to take note of how to find this place.
A shiver ran up my spine as we climbed the glorious marble stairway to the front doors, and Domingo wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “Cold?”
I nodded my head, unable to speak. His scent—sandalwood, absinthe, and something like rain on hot asphalt—surrounded me, lulling away the trepidations that threatened to dampen my fun. In his embrace, even one as casual as his arm resting across the back of my neck, nothing else in the world mattered. As if by some magic spell, I was completely drawn into his charms and lost in his presence.
Tales of the Fairy Anthology Page 16
