A Court For Fairies (Dark Heralds Book 1)

by Lynn S.

  The doctor got closer to the fence to allow Marissa to appreciate the animal, a beautiful dark chocolate mare with a thick, heavy mane. The woman caressed the side of the horse’s head and then placed her hand on the whiter star-shaped mark on its forehead. Within seconds, the animal took a step back, neighing, scared, flaring its nostrils. Raising to its hind quarters, the animal kicked against the fence, forcing Marissa to move.

  Doctor Roberts was quick, regaining control of the animal, holding its reins tightly. Though he was able to distract the animal from focusing on the fence and perhaps damaging itself, he had to let it go. The mare trotted along, keeping steady at a safe distance, some twenty feet from the fence. Loyalty for its master helped the equine trump fear.

  “I’m really sorry, Marissa. I feel like an idiot. I just told you the horses have been behaving erratically and next thing I do is allow you to get close to one. Candy is used to me I guess; your presence might have triggered something. I’m solely responsible. Are you okay?” The doctor offered to come around and check on her. Pain in her face was obvious even though the fence had kept her safe from the mare’s kick.

  “It’s okay, doctor. Just a scare. It’s starting to rain…gotta go.”

  She turned on her heels and ran toward the house. By the time Marissa reached the stairs she was limping. The steps were a pain to get through. When she reached her room, she didn’t even bother to close the door behind her before taking off her pants. The intense pain had nothing to do with the horse, not directly. The hex mark Malachi had given her burned through her skin, almost boring a hole. When she removed it, a slice of peeled off skin, very much like the effect of heavy sunburn, came off along with it as well.

  Marissa examined her skin carefully. It was cracked, with white edges against angry reds, and it felt like a hot poker had just gone through her thigh. She kicked the amulet and dodged around the pile of clothes to close the door. Turning on the shower, she let the water run cold. The burn looked to be at least third degree, eating through several layers of skin, but being away from the discerning horse and the amulet reversed the effect.

  Water ran, placating the heat that seared through her body, purging through that oozing burn. Eventually, the burn became a thick layer of tissue on top of restored skin and she was able to scrape it away and let it disappear down the drain.

  Marissa excused herself from dinner that evening and stayed secluded in her room. She didn’t sleep much. As her fingers found their way to where just hours before there had been a deep, painful burn, she found only smooth skin. Marissa clenched her teeth and cursed her mother.

  Chapter IX

  Neil In The Past, Adriana In The Present

  Toward March of 1984, Neil O’Reilly’s life had taken an unexpected turn. Carla arrived within hours of Isabel announcing her pregnancy. His wife’s mother was not shy about making herself comfortable. Soon, the apartment on Madison Avenue was altered and adapted to meet both women’s extravagant demands.

  For starters, mother and daughter required more staff. Isabel kept from doing chores as her pregnancy was declared high risk. The new employees were hired and paid for their discretion as well as their skills. They scurried around the household almost unseen and never expressed their opinion, which Neil found a little bit unnerving.

  As far as doctor’s appointments, they were met in a rigorous schedule, however, Neil only spoke to said specialist over the phone. O’Reilly didn’t get to meet the doctor, whom his wife visited sometimes twice a month. Isabel became apprehensive to the point of crying whenever he offered to escort her, relying on her mother for such things. More than once she mentioned that birth was a woman’s business. It seemed that underneath the independent façade, the women were quite superstitious about certain subjects.

  Carla was adamant about it. She insisted that gestation was something the father shouldn’t bother with. Isabel, on her part, grew sick, pale, and agitated when in her husband’s presence—all attributed to hormonal changes. At first Neil was relentless about it. After all, it was also his child, his first, and he had the right to…but then, all too easily, he conceded. The thought was still on his mind, but each passing day it grew less urgent. Some other demands became his priority. Isabel requested an expansion that required the rearrangement of rooms and new construction. Apparently, the apartment on Madison was too small for her new interests.

  So it was determined the place was to go through several renovations. Both women agreed that the mother-to-be needed to keep away from the agitated feeling of the city, and the terrace was adapted to become a greenhouse. Quick and efficient, the blue print that called for glass walls and wood beams was soon functional. It was a delicate plan to follow. The designers advised that the use of iron for support was not only easier, concept wise, but would turn out to be quite affordable. O’Reilly told them not to worry about money, as he was willing to cover it all to meet his wife’s specifications. Isabel made it clear that she was not having iron anywhere near the greenhouse, not even at the supports, even if it was kept from sight.

  It was decided that the wood for the project had to be cypress, cut in wide beams and covered in delicate chiseled patterns that merged into life like impressions on wood. There were hills linked together until their shape was lost against the horizon, lakes with turbulent waters crashing against rocks upon a shore. A paradise in tones of cream and brown.

  Flowers with sweet scents and colorful shades bloomed, protected by the controlled temperature within glass walls. There were also pale night blooms and other exotics. Deleterious, fragile petals that hid stamens loaded with poison. As expected, the presence of greenery attracted birds. Robins and sparrows, larks and jays fluttered about, seduced by the inviting branches. Once a day, the women opened a small window that allowed the birds in, as if to enrich their little garden with their presence. Carla and Isabel were happy with their project—a wonderful, balanced microcosm, an oasis of sorts, in the middle of the city.

  In a short time, though, the birds started to resent their new found home, and just like Neil, they took to avoiding that greenhouse. Those who that trapped between those glass walls at sundown didn’t see the light of day.

  One of those rushed mornings, after forgetting some paperwork back home, Neil returned to the apartment at an unfamiliar hour. It must have been close to ten. The apartment was empty of house help, probably running chores for either of the women. Upon hearing echoes of voices in the sun room, Neil decided not just to step in and out, but to quickly check on Isabel. What he saw both enthralled and disgusted him.

  Oblivious to his presence, the women chatted away while a couple of ravens feasted at their feet, tearing into the body of a dead blue jay, their beaks touched with red as they had been enjoying spoils for a while.

  To his horror, Neil soon remembered that crows and ravens ate carrion, therefore, it fell on Carla and Isabel to snap the tender necks of the smaller birds to give the big ones more dead meat to calm their hunger. Apparently, they started their profoundly disturbing work early in the morning, as several carcasses of smaller animals were sprawled upon the floor and a line of ants had found something to entertain themselves with.

  Right then and there, Neil reproached them both, anxious to hear an explanation…but hours afterward it was hard for him to remember what felt so out of place about the scene. All he recalled was being slightly uncomfortable and a tad angry, and Carla placing her hand on his shoulder, telling him something that sounded quite irrational but somehow found a way into his brain.

  “These are customs of the old country. You must allow it.” His mother-in-law was serene and matter-of-fact about everything said. “They might not be lending an ear, neutral as they are when it comes to us, but since it was very hard for Isabel to conceive, this is done to gain the favor of the Mor-rioghain.”

  Neil tried to rationalize that his wife was suffering some sort of disorder brought about by the pregnancy and that her mother indulged her with stories and su
perstition to make her feel at ease. At the same time, he couldn’t shake the feeling that whenever he spoke to Carla, things seemed to slip from his grasp—he was either quick to comply or to forget. That was why he decided to make quick notes as soon as he finished speaking with either woman. A few hours later he looked at a paper, puzzled. He transcribed the word phonetically in order to read it out loud and grasp its meaning.

  Of course, he had heard the word Morrigan in literature when in college. Spirits of the air, women akin to valkyries who roamed the battlefield, carrying the souls of warriors to their final resting place. They were dark figures, half clad in warrior’s leather, and upon their shoulders, the ever ominous presence of a corvine bird. In a more feminine aspect, they presided over child birth within clan and royal houses. Kings were born and crowns were lost in the shadow of their wings.

  It was crazy talk, ridiculous impossibilities, but that image made him relive fears that little by little snuck under his skin. Sometimes he’d wake up agitated, bringing dark eyes from his nightmares into the waking world around him, convinced that the life contained in his wife’s womb marked his own demise.

  Isabel’s beauty and her soothing words erased those nightmarish premonitions and revelations. But in time, a feeling of apprehension started to creep in. He reached out to a renowned psychiatrist in the city.

  Doctor Bauer had been a friend of his father’s for a short while in their youth, and Neil simply reconnected, confident that old friendships would go above and beyond patient confidentiality agreements. And so, later that day, Neil found himself in Bauer’s office, the man in front of him taking notes of his every word. Once in a while he would suggest an exercise, a way to connect his fears to something closer to reality.

  “And what about the dreams, doctor? There are moments in which I can’t tell if something happened in my sleep or I’ve been through it. I saw something this morning, something in the greenhouse. But as the morning went by, I could no longer recall if it was something that really happened. I remember returning home to pick up some papers. Everything up to reaching the living room is clear and crisp in my mind, and then…it all becomes hazy until I got back to the office.”

  “Okay, has anybody else noticed these odd patterns of behavior in your wife and mother-in-law?” The psychiatrist kept scribbling on his notepad, but his eyes darted toward Neil, whose face was under the stress of trying to conjure a memory—lips sealed and eyebrows frowned.

  “No one. I’d have asked the service personnel, if that’s what you mean.” Frustrated, O’Reilly combed his fingers through his auburn hair.

  “Mr. O’Reilly, we can only assume that stress is making your dreams bleed into your reality and making you prone to panic attacks. Our friend said it best—” the doctor pointed towards a picture of Freud on the wall “—dreams are a legitimate path to the unconscious. Let’s talk about recent events. We have been seeing each other since Nathan’s death. I was at your wedding, invited by your father. I know the unexpected turn of events that night touched all present, myself included, at a deep personal level. You still have issues of guilt over your father’s death, as you relate his decision to commit suicide to your union with Isabel. The arrival of your mother-in-law reminds you of your own lacking extended family. Both your parents are dead. At an unconscious level, you might resent that Isabel has someone to rely on, other than yourself. Now Isabel has both mother and son and you are excluding yourself from that equation. Do I even need to mention that you, too, feel in part responsible for your mother’s demise and have extended that guilt to your wife as well? Your parents died due to reasons beyond your control, Mr. O’Reilly. The sooner you accept it, the better.”

  Bauer smiled tentatively, probing, Neil seemed to have come to terms with a couple of points. The stress on his face had diminished and now his features relaxed once again. When Neil contacted him requesting his professional services, the doctor had his doubts. Bauer’s relationship with Nathan had been turbulent at best, and the elder O’Reilly’s death had brought about memories the psychiatrist would rather keep buried. But he felt it was his obligation; he owed his friend to see to the well-being of his son.

  Each session gave him a better glimpse of his patient and the doctor had grown confident that in this case, it was nothing but the product of an overactive work schedule and stress. However, the man had decided to divorce himself from his patient. He knew too much about the O’Reilly family at a deep, personal level. He couldn’t compromise himself with Neil to the same degree he had with Nathan. He had done what was required; the young man was, within it all, all right. The next step would be to convince him to accept the care of another professional to avoid a conflict of interest. Whatever favor Bauer felt he owed Nathan, was paid for.

  “And so, Mr. O’Reilly, I have been thinking that since we have established your condition as…” Bauer stopped. A second before, Neil was making eye contact, listening actively, and now, his eyes looked vacant and his body went beyond relaxed—he slumped in the chair as if he had no control over posture. Neil brought a hand to his mouth and then let it slip, as if the hand itself had been moved by the pressure of an incoming secret about to part from his lips.

  “Mor-rioghain. Morrigan. The battlefield is drenched in blood and The Phantom Queens once took pity on the Dark Heralds of Fae. They opened the doors to the secrets of all dying and allowed them to fly in, to take their last living breath. Sure, the blackbirds still carry the souls of the dead, but the humming birds, though indignant, also have their share…”

  “Neil! Neil!” Doctor Bauer’s palm tapping on his cheek made him return from his altered state.

  O’Reilly jumped back, scared, remembering where he had been moments before…

  He was in a field of endless green. It was cold, enough to pull up his collar and bury his hands deep in his pockets. The sun was hiding behind the hills in a hurry, bathing the mounds in a golden hue before dark set in. And then they came. At first Neil thought the sound of their wings was the setting breeze and he closed his eyes, until he felt the touch of a thousand feathers that made his body tremble and ache wherever they grazed.

  Another quick slap and he was completely back in the office. Bauer had lost a great deal of his dignity and composure. The doctor looked nothing short of a frightened old man. And the situation soon slipped from urgent to embarrassing.

  “Neil,” the psychiatrist kept invading his personal space, “can you repeat what you just said?”

  The businessman brought his arms up, to indicate to Bauer that he didn’t feel comfortable with the man being so near him. Straightening, Neil took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose to regain focus before opening his eyes and speaking.

  “I’m perfectly alright, doctor, just got a bit of wind knocked out of me for a moment. I…I think our time is done. I…I’ll see you next week then.”

  “No. No. No.” Bauer repeated himself more out of fright than for the need of emphasis. “That will not be the case.”

  His hands were still trembling when the man grabbed a piece of paper from his notebook and scribbled a telephone number, handing it to Neil. He looked at O’Reilly and after grimacing, opted to let go of the required professionalism of his approach.

  “Neil, I knew your father for quite a long time, could even call him a friend. It all took a turn toward the professional with the death of your grandfather. What I’ll tell you is not ethical at all, as I am not supposed to discuss clients, but I guess my being a professional and all I’ve done for you will be put to the test once you dial that number. So, screw it. I started treating your father for what I thought was a looming psychosis taking hold. He suffered hallucinations, paranoia, and delirium, all derived, just like in your case, from a deep sense of guilt. Your father and I were friends, and I should have known better than to try to tackle it all on a professional level. There were things I knew that clouded my judgement and I am not about to do the same here. Tell me…have you ever heard of a Fran
cis Alexander in relation to your father?”

  “Not really.” Neil was quick to answer. “Well, except for…I don’t know if it is important enough. I might not even have remembered this if my father hadn’t died. But the first time I introduced my wife’s family, my father made a connection with that Alexander person you mention. My wife’s maiden name is Alejandro. She is a third generation Londoner with a family that has roots in Spain, but my father insisted on making a connection with an Irishman he met once in New York. Not much more was said, but I think his dislike for both Isabel and Carla started right then. What does this have to do with anything?”

  “Everything, I am afraid,” Bauer answered, defeated. “Mr. O’Reilly, I don’t want to commit the same mistakes I did with your father. There are things I’d rather not involve myself with again, things that might compromise my status as a healthcare giver. Our professional relationship ends today.”

  “Just like that?” Neil’s temper rose. He snorted, frustrated, and hit the doctor’s desk with an open palm. “You just started a whole lot of nonsense, only to kick me out the door. I want an explanation. And a damn good one, while you are at it!”

  Bauer’s secretary opened the door, using a careful voice. “Doctor, your next appointment has just arrived.” It was her way of asking if everything was all right.

  The woman scanned the office, looking for signs of a scuffle, ready to place a call to emergency services if needed. Both men understood it.