"Do you think that's a good idea? What does Eileen say?" I wondered how it was possible that Holly's pit-bull of a sister hadn't been able to stop this backslide.
Holly's eyes flew up to meet mine, her neck flushed.
"It's not up to her," she said harshly. She sighed and took a deep breath. "She's been working a lot recently, taking longer trips to make extra cash."
From that remark, I gathered that Eileen didn't know that Fred was worming his way back into Holly's life.
"I just think that with a baby coming, and because he tried to stop himself at the end of that last... well, incident... he deserves another chance to get it right."
Her expression was so sincere and hopeful that guilt ran through me. If only I could have explained that I forced Fred to leave the shop that day against his will.
"I don't think people change that easily," I said.
I wished that I could solve the whole situation by just holding Dominion over her and instructing her to stay away from him. However, she was entitled to make her own decisions. Suddenly I remembered one bit of protection I had been able to create for her.
"Listen, Pix. I won't bring it up again if you promise me one thing."
She shrugged.
"Sure, Tressa, I'd do anything for you. You know that."
"If he has reformed—great. But if you are ever afraid, or if you ever need to get away from him, you come here to the store. You come directly here, and you call me after you get inside. Will you promise me that?"
"I don't understand. Why here?"
"Please just trust me on this. If you ever even think it's a possibility he might lay a hand on you, or if he gets started on another drinking binge, come here as quickly as you can and think about your next step after you’re here."
She looked puzzled, but she nodded and smiled tentatively.
"Sure, Tressa. No problem. I'll come to the store and call you if I need help... but I won't. I'm more worried about this new flu than Fred. So don't worry about me, okay?"
I pretended to be reassured, made all the harder because her comment brought back a different concern. I needed to speak to my grandmother.
It was late afternoon before I could leave the store without raising Holly's curiosity. Twenty minutes later, I turned off the road onto the long driveway that led to Pine Ridge Estate.
When I let myself into the back door of the Manor House, as usual, the house was oddly quiet: no music blaring, no Shamus running up to bother me.
I was standing in the foyer wondering where everyone was when I caught the aroma of melted chocolate and burnt sugar wafting through the air. I turned right and headed toward the kitchen.
The long, marble-top island in the middle of the room held the source of the chocolate aroma: a platter of large round chocolate cookies with chocolate icing smeared clumsily on top.
Two baking sheets of cookies sprinkled with colored sugar lay next to them. Jenny Jamison, Mamó's cook, stood at the far end of the island.
Sophia stood on a chair at the foot of the island, covered in flour and holding a rolling pin. A ball of dough lay in front of her.
"Tressa!" Sophia exclaimed with such joy I couldn't help but smile.
"Hello, Pretty Sophia. You look like you're having fun."
I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. Shamus sat over by the window, smoking his pipe. His chair leaned back on its two hind legs and he propped his feet on the windowsill.
"Shamus?" I said, shocked at seeing him relaxing in the middle of the day.
"Nothing wrong with your eyesight, 'tis me all right. Mistress Órlaith is napping, so I'm tending the child for her." He made a 'humph' noise intended to show he wasn't obligated to explain anything to me.
"Seems like JJ's tending the child."
"Oh, I don't mind," Jenny said with a grin. "We’re having fun."
"Shamus, I need to speak to Mamó." I moved closer to him, dropping my voice. "It's important."
"She'll want her tea before long. I can put an extra serving on the tray and you can join her then," Jenny suggested.
"Sure, that's a good idea," I agreed. Shamus wouldn't wake my grandmother unless the world was ending.
Jenny sprinkled flour over the ball of dough in front of Sophia. She took the rolling pin, placing it into position on top and holding it there as the little girl took hold of each of the handles.
Sophia leaned over the rolling pin, using her weight to help flatten the dough. Jenny's expert hands guided the girl's clumsy ones. They cut the dough with a cookie cutter and placed the butterflies onto cookie sheets. Jenny praised her work, though the dough was far thinner in the middle than on the edges, making the cookies a little lopsided.
Sophia and Jenny were covering the newly cut cookies with colored sugar when Shamus put his pipe down and stood.
"Mistress Órlaith is ready for her tea now," he said.
"Oh sure, let me get the tray together."
Jenny washed the flour and sugar off her hands. She pulled a silver tray out of its slot along the line of bottom cupboards.
Shamus loaded it with the necessary dishes and silverware while Jenny retrieved a three-tier curate stand from a cupboard in the island. She placed raisin and currant scones on the top tier, crustless sandwiches cut in delicate triangles in the middle, and three of the large chocolate cookies on the bottom. She took a plate of lemon slices out of the stainless steel refrigerator.
In a matter of minutes, they had the tray ready to go. Shamus lifted it and balanced it on his left hand.
Jenny shook her head as she watched him bustle out the door. "How does he know the minute she wakes, or the second she needs him?"
"They have a bond," Sophia said matter-of-factly.
Jenny and I both laughed. The grownup sentiment sounded funny coming from the four-year-old.
"I guess that happens when people are together so long," I said. "Ladies, it's been fun, but I've got to go. Oh, and Pretty Sophia, you make wonderful cookies." I winked at Jenny to show her I knew where the real talent lay, then waved goodbye to both and followed after Shamus.
I mulled over Sophia's last comment as I walked up the stairs toward the master bedroom. Could she possibly understand that Shamus and my grandmother have been bonded for over two hundred years? Did she know that Mamó could summon Shamus telepathically? I had dismissed this line of thought as ridiculous by the time I reached Mamó's bedroom suite.
My grandmother's suite was a study of rose and cream fabrics. Its Imperial style suited her old-world, aristocratic mannerisms.
When I entered the room, Shamus was assisting her to the cream silk sofa in the sitting area. The tray with the tea service already lay on a small table close to the sofa.
The sitting area overlooked the labyrinth she had planted on the lower lawn, about an acre behind the house. From this second story view, the garden had the estate’s namesake woods as its backdrop.
I stood holding the back of a chair as I waited for her to get comfortable. Shamus held her elbow as she eased down onto the sofa. He walked to the table to serve the tea.
"A leanbh, what a pleasant surprise."
I went to her and kissed her cheek, inhaling deeply. She smelled natural and soothing, like pine needles, jasmine, and vanilla.
If she had been sleeping, there were no signs of it. Her hair was neatly in order. She wore her usual clothes, and her eyes were clear and alert.
"Mamó, I need to show you something."
I pulled the newspaper article from my pocket, unfolding it and handing it to her. I stood in front of her, watching her face intently as she read. Her expression remained impassive. My anxiety rose, and I grew impatient for her to respond.
"People started getting sick around Beltaine just when the walls between the Otherworld and here were thinnest. Anyone could have gotten through if they tried hard enough."
"I see that," she said, her tone entirely too calm for my liking.
"And at Niagara Falls, of a
ll places. It's the closest threshold to where we are right now." Agitated, I paced to the window and back.
"And a flu outbreak, in May. It's peculiar don't you think?"
Mamó finished reading, setting the paper down and staring trance-like into the space in front of her. She came out of it only when Shamus reached out with her tea. She smiled at him as she took the delicate china, placing a palm under the saucer and holding the handle with her other hand. She took a sip, nodded her approval and smiled again at Shamus before speaking.
"It is quite an unusual set of circumstances. And you're suggesting that this is the work of a band of Unseelie Rebels?"
It sounded absurd when I heard it said aloud, and that made me feel better. I needed to be wrong about this. I had just gotten my life back in order, however tenuous my hold on it may be. Unseelie Rebels would mean chaos and danger all over again.
I took a deep breath and blew the air out sharply, letting a measure of stress escape with it. I dropped into the chair.
"So I'm just imagining things. There's nothing to worry about."
"Well, I don't know. Shamus, come look at this." She handed the article to him.
I watched his face as he read it and was not encouraged. Although I wouldn't have thought it possible, his usual stern expression grew more so.
When he finished reading, his eyes locked with Mamó. They conversed without speaking and I quickly grew impatient with being left out of their thoughts.
"Well, what do you think?"
"It's probably just what it says: humans getting sick." He shrugged. "Their resistance to this kind of thing is so low."
This was exactly what I wanted to hear: that it was unrelated to us. However, something about his contemplative tone made my anxiety return.
"The Unseelie haven't moved against the House of Finna in decades, and it's been longer still since any have gotten past the threshold guards," Shamus said.
"That we know of," Mamó said. "We never unearthed the truth of who or what was behind the so called Bird and Swine flus."
"Why don't we check with the Pixies to see if they’ve heard anything?" I asked.
Mamó nodded. "Better yet, Shamus, send a dispatch with Kelly. Find out if anything unusual is happening in Faery.
"It's unlikely that this will amount to anything. But we lack the level of protection here we would have at home—that calls for extra diligence on our part."
Shamus made for the door, but my next question stopped him short.
"What could they be after? Just hurting humans seems unlikely." I hesitated, taking a steadying breath before I spoke my deepest fear. "Mamó is the likely target, isn't she? If it's Unseelie Rebels, they must be planning to assassinate her."
Shamus glanced at my grandmother before answering. He startled me by addressing me by my formal title, which he rarely did.
"Princess Tressa, since your grandfather died and your grandmother retired, she is no longer the Queen. She is the Queen Mother. Though she is well loved by all her people, she holds no political power. She could be a target, but not the most likely one."
I had a moment of blissful relief. No one was hunting my beloved grandmother.
"Your grandfather may be gone, but you are still the King's Jewel. You may still be the one of whom the prophecy speaks," Shamus continued. "You, Princess Tressa, are the most likely target."
CHAPTER NINE
I watched, dumbfounded, as Shamus scurried out of the room. Why would he suggest there was still hope for me to be the Jewel foretold in the prophecy?
When he was gone, I turned back to my grandmother.
"Surely time has shown that I am not the King's Jewel of the prophecy. That must be as clear to everyone in the Otherworld as it is to me." I shook my head to emphasize how wrong he had to be.
"Tressa, I believe that is exactly who you are," Mamó said in a hushed voice.
My eyes widened with shock and dismay. I groped for the arm of my chair to support the turmoil growing inside me.
Speculation regarding the likelihood of me fulfilling the King's Jewel Prophecy had dominated my entire youth. My people had adored and blessed me at first, but as time passed, they began to disparage me. It began to seem like the moment would never come when I would conceive and take the next step in becoming everyone's savior. Yet not once had I heard my grandmother remark on it, let alone make such a proclamation.
Mamó would never speak blithely about such a serious matter. She held my gaze with her own stoic stare, still managing to show empathy for my anxiety. She broke our connection and gazed out the window.
"Do you see the labyrinth out there?" She waved a graceful hand toward the garden. "Life is like that labyrinth, full of pathways that seem like the right way, but end up being detours. We go one way and then another until we find our true path."
"Aye, there certainly have been detours," I remarked sardonically.
"A few affairs with men who your grandfather and uncle thought of as politically advantageous was hardly the way to find your Anam Cara. You will find your way when the time is right."
I said nothing. I didn't know what to say. Arguing with Mamó was foolhardy—she was never wrong.
The weight of my race's deliverance pressed down on me, suffocating me. I gathered my strength, closed my eyes and pushed away the burden of their expectations.
My grandmother's attention wandered while I struggled with my thoughts, giving me some mental space. She appraised the food on the curate stand. After a moment of silence, Mamó patted the seat next to her on the sofa.
"Come sit next to me and have tea," she said gently.
I refilled her empty teacup and poured a cup for myself. When she waved off a fresh slice of lemon, I put it in my own cup instead. I dropped two lumps of sugar in each of our cups. Then I fixed a plate for each of us with two sandwich triangles. I cut a scone in half, spread cream on both sides and put one half on each plate.
I settled down in to the space next to her on the sofa. She sipped her tea and smiled approvingly.
"Did you see the child when you came in?" she asked.
This lighter topic was an unexpected and welcomed turn in the conversation.
"She's in the kitchen making cookies with JJ. They made the chocolate ones there." We both took a bite of chicken salad sandwich.
"Do you remember when I said that I had a feeling about her father—about Alexander?"
"Of course, Mamó."
She was quiet again, as if deciding how to continue. Her hesitation proved my first impression wrong; we weren't going to have a casual chat. Instead, she was weighing the consequences of telling me something important.
"Having 'a feeling' about someone isn't unusual for you, is it?" I said, encouraging her to continue.
"True enough. Actually, I get a feeling about everyone." She smiled ruefully. "Since I rarely ever explain what I mean by that, most fae conclude I have a vision, or some kind of second sight—a Darna Shealladh."
"Well, don't you?"
"Not at all."
"Oh?" I picked up a second piece of sandwich, making sure my movement was smooth and natural, feigning a sense of calm. She was about to reveal something that, until now, she had kept deeply hidden.
"You are aware, of course, that I can see auras?"
I nodded.
"Everyone's aura is different. They can tell you a great deal about a person."
"Is it true that your aura shows the quality of your character?"
"Auras come in many colors. The shade of that color is what you are referring to."
"White for good and black for evil, like in storybooks?"
"Yes, essentially, but in reality they are normally shades of gray. Angels have the purest auras, so much so that they are difficult to look at. I saw one once. Her aura was so pure, so flawless that it burned my eyes to look upon her.
"Fallen angels are the opposite; only Lucifer himself could be more devoid of light. I've never seen one myself, and I've ne
ver been sorry about that. I always believed seeing one would have a negative consequence.
"We Seelie Sidhe come closest on the spectrum to the angels, and the Unseelie to the fallen. Though we have variations, our auras are discernibly lighter or darker than humans.
"The colors and textures are harder to explain. They're subtler, and they take a while to understand when you first receive the gift. They can tell you many things—for instance, how artistic, healthy or intelligent the individual is.
"When you know these things about a person's makeup, it isn't hard to predict that a person with a dark aura may end up in jail one day, or that the marriage of a person with poor health to a person with little fortitude will fail."
It was a lot to take in.
"I see what you're saying. However, if you excuse me for saying so, you encourage people to misunderstand your ability when you make half statements or refuse to answer questions."
She smiled and nodded. "Aye. I find it's best not to reveal all you know about a person, otherwise they behave differently around you. The aura is an even more useful tool when you compare someone's behavior to their true nature. If they know about what I can see, they become cautious." She held my gaze with a look in her eyes that I didn't quite understand. It looked almost like a warning.
I tried to imagine what it would be like to be born with such a gift, and then I remembered something.
"Wait—earlier you said 'when you first receive the gift'. ‘Receive’ seems like an odd word to use for something you're born with."
"Aura Sight isn't something you are born with. We pass it down through our family, but not by genetics. It can only be bestowed upon you by the one who last possessed it. My great-aunt Tressa, for whom you were named, bestowed it on me when she passed on. I was a great favorite of hers, and I loved her dearly."
Her gaze became distant, reliving her past in her mind's eye. Sadness cloaked her face when she spoke again.
"She died when I was a child, suddenly and violently. I was quite young and had no warning. I did not understand what had happened. It was terrifying at first. The auras were so strong—overpowering, really. They blocked the physical person from my sight. However, I quickly learned to control the ability. Now when I meet someone for the first time, their aura is bold and obvious, but I'm able to tone it down." She sipped her tea before continuing.
Tressa's Treasures (The King's Jewel Book 1) Page 8
