A Court For Fairies (Dark Heralds Book 1)

by Lynn S.

  Though half naked, the old, voluminous trees cast an intertwining shadow, while their trunks, taking in the last of the setting sun, looked golden.

  The house had three stories, all set in tall columns that though beautiful in design, made it look like an out of place Southern manor. The women stepped out of the vehicle while the security guard helped unpack their belongings and Esteban’s ashes—an urn secured inside a box.

  Marissa was not one for seeking luxury, but it struck her as odd not to see domestic employees running around the property. After all, Isabel considered help indispensable. But then she assumed the woman just disposed of the employees for the weekend, avoiding the need for repeated acts of condolence.

  It was obvious, though, that someone had seen to their arrival. Protective sheets were taken off the summer house furniture and the whites of the main living room looked immaculate, down to the soft rug in front of the fireplace. The kitchen was stocked with fresh fruits and vegetables, and four rooms were prepared for incoming guests.

  The rest of the house was sealed. Heavy, shut doors reminded all that the reason for their stay was marked by a somber mood.

  “I hope it doesn’t bother you to help out with some chores during the weekend,” Isabel called out to Marissa, letting her know she needed help with the door that connected to the garden.

  She agreed, holding and tying the heavy curtains. Right across from them, through the garden, Marissa could see the outline of a traditional chapel. Inside, roses set up early that morning adorned the premises, bunches of luscious red contained in crystal vases. Votive candles burned, dripping delicate silver tears upon glass stands.

  Carla, who had disappeared since their arrival, took it upon herself to spread the mantle on the cedar table. Marissa recognized it as the same piece of cloth that adorned Esteban’s urn table during the service on Long Island.

  “Do you think Carla might need a hand in the chapel?” she asked of Isabel.

  “Nothing much until morning. Mother will take care of it all. You can get acquainted with your room. It is just upstairs to the left,” the woman replied while showing the way.

  Night had fallen and though they were all tired, Marissa would have appreciated a bit of conversation. But Carla and Isabel had a different way to handle grief. It was more than just the generational gap. The young woman started feeling lost, as if invited to witness instead of taking part; her only claim to their world was a body turned to ashes resting in an urn she could not even visit until morning.

  From her window, she could see the ghostly white of the fences that marked the extension of the property and a smaller gate leading to the lake. Small fishing boats were tied to a rustic, short pier. Those were the only means of transportation to reach the small island that granted the property its name. On the lake, a fishing cabin was halfway devoured by darkness. It was impossible to say where water ended and shore gave way to land. It was all still, the breeze had died down and it no longer ruffled the waves.

  Marissa’s room had a country feel to it. Though they had electricity and hot water, there was no air conditioning. The alternatives lay with French windows during spring and summer, and fireplaces through fall and winter.

  The young woman took her time in the shower, rubbing off the physical stress of the day. As far as her mental stress, well, it could be remedied with a call and some confidence. She tried her mother’s number, but the screen of her phone showed it to be out of range. Unpacking, sorting out her troubled thoughts, and getting used to the room, kept her busy. Sometime close to ten o’clock, Isabel knocked on her door.

  “I hoped you rested at least a bit. I have some cucumber sandwiches downstairs. It is not wise to go to bed on an empty stomach.”

  “Thank you. Hmm…Isabel, could you lend me your cell phone? I was trying to place a call and mine has no bars whatsoever.”

  “No problem, mine has a few.” The woman was dressed in a navy blue hoodie and sweatpants. Free of her customary austere clothing, even the expression of her face looked sweetened and relaxed. She gave the mobile phone to Marissa and the blonde smiled, waiting to be left by herself, which didn’t happen. Isabel stood at the doorway, returning the smile, but not giving her time.

  Marissa dialed her mother, but the conversation didn’t take the turn she might have wanted. It was all reduced to trivialities. “Hello…yes, all fine…terrible reception…” was all she got out before communication was interrupted once again.

  “Well, at least you spoke to her,” Isabel offered. “You will see her soon. While you are here, feel as if we are your own kin.” The words were kind but quick, and she was rushing downstairs before Marissa could let them sink in.

  Carla waited for them with a tray of petite sandwiches and chamomile tea. Marissa nibbled on the bread while taking short sips of tea. She was not hungry, but her need for company could not spare time away from the women when they decided to bond. She was naturally shy around strangers, and Esteban’s family consisted of nothing more than acquaintances to her. She had met them but a handful of times in the two years they had been together. His death had brought them closer than any other event.

  “Are you waiting for someone else over the weekend?” It was an attempt at conversation, not the best, but she had reasons to ask.

  “What makes you think that?” Carla asked.

  “It’s just that back on Long Island, you mentioned relatives. You said I was the woman Esteban wanted all to meet, and now I noticed there is an extra room upstairs that has been prepared as well.”

  “No one rises from the void.” Isabel’s answer was as unexpected as her changing tone. She seemed troubled by Marissa. “We were talking about extended family of course. Had there been a wedding, cousins might have visited. We have family in both Europe and the Caribbean. It’s just my mother and me now. We are all who is left here in the States. The extra room is courtesy, I guess.”

  “I’m sorry. As far as my mother and me, well, it is just the two of us,” Marissa tried to explain herself. “I didn’t count on you having extended family. Esteban only mentioned the both of you and…” She was slipping into feeling miserable, color rushing to her cheeks.

  “Stop it.” Carla turned toward Isabel with a stern voice. “Isabel, grief doesn’t give you the right to be excessive. The girl just asked a simple question. Had I known you were to be so rude about it, I’d ask you to excuse yourself.”

  Carla crossed a line, humiliating her daughter for Marissa’s sake. It was not appreciated by either woman. While the blonde simply closed her mouth, further embarrassed, Isabel rose and struck the table with an open hand. “Really, Carla? It is my son’s death we are talking about!” Her exit was marked by furious steps. Marissa tried to go after her, intending to make amends with the woman, but the matron stopped her.

  “Now, dear, don’t indulge her. She’ll just turn toward you in anger. It has been rough since the accident. She blames all but the icy road.”

  Marissa knew quite well what Carla meant. Esteban and Marissa had one of their pet peeve discussions that turned into a fight. She had been excessively dramatic over a trifle and he decided to go for a drive to clear his head. He tried calling her a couple of times and she didn’t answer, letting it go to voice mail. His last words were captured in a recorded message and were just for her. “I deserve it. Have it your way, don’t answer. I, too, run to my mother once in a while…yes, I’ve been to Long Island, but I’ll see you at home.” Upon finding the circumstances, Isabel silently judged her as much as she blamed herself.

  Carla left her exposed, and Marissa couldn’t help it. She held on to the elder woman, crying. By the time Marissa found out about the accident, some forty-eight hours later, Mrs. O’Reilly had disposed of her son’s body, cremating him. Marissa’s only consolation was seeing a picture of the car crash and a silver urn. It was more than punishment, and on top of that she’d had to exhibit enough composure so as to not disturb Isabel with the weight of her words.

/>   “Shhh…easy now.” Carla embraced her and caressed her back with motherly affection. “It’ll do you good to take a walk with me. Would you like to see him?”

  The young woman nodded, folding over the handkerchief Carla had offered, following her into the chapel.

  The older woman stopped, sighed, and smiled ever so sweetly. “What is it with those ponytails lately? Your hair is so pulled back it’s giving me a headache. Here, let’s fix it. I know Esteban loved those gorgeous blonde locks of yours. Let me help you out of that dreaded rubber thing.” Carla helped her, coiffing her hair until it fell, heavy and free, upon her shoulders.

  Both women entered the chapel which, unlike the main house, was not furnished with electricity. The candles placed on tall glass spirals were meant to illuminate the sacred enclosure until sunrise.

  Besides an extravagant number of roses, the place lacked ornamentation. Sturdy wooden pews faced a stone altar. There was also a small podium that had been set aside. The O’Reillys professed themselves to be Catholic, as did the Alejandros—Isabel’s side of the family—yet there was an absence of customary sacred symbols. Not a cross or a pious painting. The pulpit lacked the usual heavy, gold-leafed Bible. All attention was drawn to the urn as flowers and candles were arranged in a semicircle around the table, fashioning a comforting embrace.

  Carla sat quietly by the entrance while Marissa approached the altar. The silver craftsmanship of the urn presented a beautiful black filigree design that curved into concentric circles encrusted with quartz, the initials E.O. in their center. The grieving woman saw her reflection in the shiny surface. Her lively blonde hair looked ashen, the paleness of her skin and inevitable dark circles underneath her eyes seemed a stain upon the perfect beauty of the container. She stood there for a while, imagining a conversation that never took place, saying conciliatory words that made her feel less burdened. Turning toward Carla, the young woman mouthed a thank you. The grandmother closed the door behind them and asked her to follow into the garden.

  Paths of now familiar blue cobblestone met them, twisting and turning between stations of carefully kept seasonal flowers, all illuminated by elegant lanterns.

  “It is a shame you are visiting under these circumstances. Esteban grew apart from this place as his career took off. As much as he loved it when he was a child…well, the city called. Had you come with him, perhaps in your company he might have rediscovered the magic of this place.”

  “It is beautiful,” Marissa almost whispered. Her attention had been drawn beyond the cobblestone path, to an unassuming elderberry tree. Right in front of it were several stones creating a pattern Marissa had learned too well, though the stones on Esteban’s urn were polished and these showed to be rough at the edges.

  Carla noticed her gaze and added, “This was his favorite place in the garden. When he was a child, no more than five, Esteban asked his father to help him polish the top of the stones and place them in a circle. He used to say they were seats on a court for fairies.”

  Marissa smiled, tracing her finger on the smooth top of those quartz with roughened edges, conjuring the innocence needed to believe such wonderful tales.

  “I don’t think we could call it a night with a better story. I’ll try to sleep now. See you tomorrow, Carla. I must insist, though. I think I’ll go to Isabel and…”

  Carla didn’t take her sight from the stones while answering. “Don’t you fret; I’ll take care of my daughter.”

  Marissa went upstairs. As the agitation of the day finally caught up with her, it was easy to fall asleep within minutes.

  For Isabel, it was not as easy to find that elusive sleep. Carla opened her door, knowing she’d be awake. After all, there were things pending between them.

  “I can’t trust you to keep your head cool for a handful of hours,” the elder woman reproached.

  “I am sorry, Mother.” The submissiveness that characterized Isabel and Carla’s interaction was once again present. “Did you gather what is needed?”

  “Sure, darling. What have I told you about butterflies? You catch them with a flicker, not a flame.”

  Carla produced the rubber band that Marissa had worn earlier, taking a couple of hairs that stuck to it, placing it carefully around the edge of a small porcelain plate that contained fresh cream and tiny pieces of oven baked bread. Requesting Isabel’s hand, Carla took it upon herself to cut her daughter’s palm with a sharpened letter opener. Blood flowed freely, and hair, cream, and honeyed bread were soon stained crimson.

  “Now it is out of our hands, my dear. If the Dark Heralds accept our offer, then we can start negotiations.”

  “Ah, but they must, Mother,” Isabel replied calmly while licking her wounds and leaving no trace of a cut upon her skin. “It is, after all, a family requisition.”

  Carla abandoned the room without a further word. Isabel stayed there, in the dark, feeding the furious green that speckled her dark eyes.

  Chapter III

  Night Calls

  Esteban ran through the closing statement of the weekly report while Marissa raced to change out of her work clothes and take a shower. Once in a while, he’d give her a furtive glance, following the wreckage she had been leaving behind. Sure, he could have reminded her that the gala at the museum had been canceled, but it was fun to see her run about, agitated. He’d surely make it up to her, having plans of his own that included a not so official dinner in quite a romantic restaurant. A shoe flew by and he smiled, snorting a bit and shaking his head slightly. People at the office thought she was so…put together and dry. He knew better. Marissa worked about trying to conceal her natural shyness, therefore enforcing an emotional perimeter. When they were together, he joked about seeing her “in the wild.” Disarray seemed to be her natural habitat.

  Though he loved every crazy little turn of their private life, sometimes Esteban wished for her to be more open and carefree in the outside world.

  Adriana, Marissa’s mother, tried to make her daughter as independent and tough as herself, but one of those funny turns of life gave her a daughter she deemed “as delicate as an asphalt flower.” She found in Esteban an ally of sorts. In her judgement, O’Reilly brought about the best in her daughter, and neither of them would rest until Marissa found that spark that both knew was there.

  Being lost in thought gave him away and his smile became broader, obvious and mischievous enough for Marissa to read. “That thing at the museum was canceled, sweetheart. I kinda forgot to tell you,” he said nonchalantly.

  The blonde stopped in her tracks, choosing between being annoyed and letting it go. Urgency be damned. Unbuttoning her blouse, she let the silk slip slowly, uncovering her shoulders, allowing a glimpse at the curve of her breasts. Esteban held to his pretense of reading last minute memos. Yet it was a bit difficult not to fixate on the creamy, smooth skin contained by the lace of her bra, or the sensuous movement of her hips as she decided to bend over to take off her shoe instead of kicking it hurriedly across the room.

  Esteban could do no more with that red marker of his as Marissa unhooked her bra and slipped out of her skirt. She discovered his little game early enough not to be vexed—she’d make him beg just to touch her.

  “Come here, I know to quit while I’m ahead. I’ll say sorry before that swing of your hips really makes me cry uncle.” He grabbed her by the arm as she made a point of crossing in front of him with the innocent pretense of grabbing a towel. She sat on his knees and he quickly embraced her, a loving hand placed by her hip, another on her shoulder.

  “I’ll make sure you pay for this,” Marissa said, her faux rage culminating into a gentle brush of the lips that soon turned deeper. She moaned softly as the fabric of his shirt brushed against her exposed skin. Turning around, she straddled him, breaking the kiss with a smile and an arched eyebrow as his desire was made evident.

  “You know, the shower is running…”

  “In all honesty…” Esteban told her while helping her out of one last
piece of clothing, “…I had other plans, but for those, we are not that late.”

  She giggled against his neck, and the constant sound of the forgotten shower dissolved into rain falling softly as gray clouds rushed toward the hills…

  Marissa opened her eyes. It was no surprise that they were humid with fresh tears. She had barely slept, as the small clock on the nightstand confirmed. It was three o’clock in the morning. The woman felt a shiver down her spine, thinking of some folktale her mother used to tell her as a child. There were certain strikes of the clock considered wicked. Midnight was a time for witches, but three was the hour of restless spirits. “It is not good to be away from home at that hour,” Adriana used to say. And now Marissa was as far from home as she had ever been.

  The light on the screen blinded her for a second as she turned on her phone. Still no bars. Marissa felt ridiculous, childish. She had never been as close to her mother as Esteban was. That they had just recently bonded over Esteban’s death didn’t take away from the fact that they were not too close. It felt awkward to want to call home. Still she murmured, “Mother, it will please you to know I miss you miserably right now.”

  Marissa got out of bed, stretching. The night creeped into the room through an open window. Somewhere in the distance, the hoot of and owl traveled, steady and clear, over the cacophony of night life. Crazy as it sounded, she was suddenly possessed by the idea of joining that symphony that gave voice to the night. The cold presence of the stars above her and the uncertainty of a half-lit road should have persuaded her otherwise, but it felt not only right, but necessary.

  She changed into jeans and a light sweater, and when reaching for the band to tie her hair, she was surprised not to find it at her wrist. It was something she always kept there.