by Chevon Gael
Rhian stopped in her tracks. Her mind whirled with possibilities. Could it be done? Of course it could. She already knew the story. She'd danced it. It had a beginning and a middle. All it needed was an end. She had the right partner. All she had to do was find him.
"Get on the phone. Tell everyone to get their asses over here ASAP. The show is going on as scheduled."
"What?"
"And tell Moira I need a queen's costume with wings. Something in blue and gold in your size. She can sew on the plane."
She ignored Kat's confused expression and attempts at trying to understand what was going on.
"Yeah, okay, but ... but ... a queen. Like a good, beautiful queen? Or an evil queen?"
"Evil beautiful,” she yelled as she ran down the hall, leaving Kat to mutter helplessly.
"Hey, what's my motivation? Do I send you into the woods? Talk to a mirror? Poison your apples? Rhian ... Rhiannan..."
* * * *
For the next two hours, Rhian frantically burned the phone lines between Blarney and Boston. She hurriedly sketched out dancer's roles in point form and fleshed out the storyline.
"Basically, it's The Nutracker Meets Sleeping Beauty and we can use the existing sets, lighting, costumes, and most of the routines."
"But what about the lead? As director of the BCDC, I have final approval of all roles, Rhian. You can't just call me up and say you've found a replacement and that's that. The union rules state we have to hold open auditions if the understudy can't play the role. And there's no way Craig Murdoch can learn a new role under the current timeframe. Christ! Craig looks like an Italian tenor on a pasta binge. We'll just have to cancel and eat our losses."
Rhian tried desperately to convince the director and not to chew her nails in the process. “So tell the union we held auditions here and found someone. They won't know until after it's all over. Listen to me, Danny,” she was reduced to pleading now. “We can't cancel now. Not after all the advertising we've done. We may never get another chance for the kind of exposure PBS will give us."
Now was the time for the denouement, to hit Danny McCullough where she knew it would hurt. “Think of the grant and the PBS financing. We'll sell a hell of a lot of DVDs. You can shoot the BCDC to the forefront of Irish-American dance culture,” she finished and crossed her fingers.
"What about Craig?"
Rhian was prepared for a last impotent argument. “I have a perfect role for a short, pudgy dancer. Have I ever told you how much I thought Craig resembled a leprechaun..."
* * * *
"And he went for it?"
Rhian leaned back in one of Mrs. Mac's scarred oak kitchen chairs. “There's nothing like hitting Danny where he lives; with an inflated ego and an empty wallet.” Satisfied with her accomplishments, Rhian helped herself to one rounded teaspoon of forbidden sugar and stirred it into her black tea. She eyed the plateful of rich, buttery scones on the table and decided the world wouldn't come to an end if she had one. She watched as Kat wolfed down two of them, but said nothing. Even Kat needed a break.
"This has just come for you, Rhian.” Mrs. Mac handed her an envelope. “Davy dropped it by on his way home from the castle."
She took the envelope with thanks. It was the same black ink and scrawling hand as the note with her gift. She set it down on the table and picked up her mug of tea.
"Well?"
She looked up and saw Mrs. Mac standing over her. The woman had a damp dish towel slung over her shoulder. Her arms were folded across her chest, supporting her sagging breasts. She tapped her slippered foot impatiently. “Aren't you goin’ t’ read it?"
If there was one thing Rhian knew from growing up Irish, it was that in large families and small towns there was no such thing as privacy.
Rhian heaved a sigh and picked up the envelope. She opened the envelope, took out a single piece of folded paper and read it. It was an unfamiliar hand. She refolded the paper and slipped it back in the envelope. She smiled up at Mrs. Mac and gave the woman a single nod.
"Done."
"Well, what is it?” This time the question came from Kat.
Rhian rolled her eyes. “Not you, too. I'm going for a walk.” She pushed the chair away from the table, pocketed her envelope and went to change. Alone now, she allowed herself a little emotion. Her heart pounded with anticipation. Her hands trembled as she slid into flesh-colored tights topped off with a pink tunic sweater and silver scarf. She brushed out her hair and patted on some lip gloss. She struggled into high heel leather boots, picked up her purse and at the last minute grabbed her practice taps and stuffed them inside. She'd stop at the dance school and drop them off for repair.
She left Mrs. Mac's, waving good-bye to her host and Kat while ignoring their rapid-fire questions and pleas for information. She reached into her purse for the car keys, but decided that walking would be faster than wrestling the stick shift for reverse.
She struck out for the castle on foot.
* * * *
The Buchanan school closed early on Monday nights, as evidenced by the darkened interior and by the sign on the door listing the operating hours. And, according to her feet, it wasn't the first time that evening she hadn't done her homework. Her high heel boots were drop dead sexy, but were clearly meant for someone who didn't dance for a living. In short, they were killing her. She looked at the castle turrets in the distance. The last thing she needed now were more blisters.
She made a practical decision. She sat down on the cement step, shed the boots, and put on her taps. Not exactly a fashionista statement, but comfort had to reign. She stuffed the boots inside her purse and continued on.
It was after hours she knew, but Seamus's note gave her instructions on how to enter through the layman's gate, an entrance left over from when the castle actually functioned as a castle. She followed the dark passage up through a set of back stairs. She didn't think to bring a flashlight, but there was a ramshackle railing which functioned and kept her from stumbling in the darkness. Finally she saw the faint glow of a security light over a steel door. She pressed the latch and the door swung open. Through the dim light she recognized the interior of the stone room. A lone figure stood looking out the window on the opposite side of the room. From where she was and even in the absence of light she could tell the person was not Seamus.
The figure turned.
"Paddy? Paddy O'Roarke?"
"Aye!"
The headiness of sexual anticipation turned to a stone of disappointment. The warm tingling between her thighs became a sudden cold plunge in her stomach. It was suddenly clear to her instinct that she knew she shouldn't have come here—alone.
Rhian drew closer, then wished she hadn't. The smell of stale ale polluted his breath. Stagnant smoke reeked from his clothes. It occurred to her suddenly that the note she supposed was from Seamus actually came from Paddy and had been meant for Kat.
"I'm sorry, Paddy. I picked up the message, not Kat. I can give you her cell number or you can call Mrs. Mac."
"That won't be necessary."
The voice came from behind her. Before she could act, an iron grip imprisoned her arms. Adrenaline rushed through her. She struggled with her captor and screamed at Paddy for help. He did come to her side, but only to slap a width of builder's tape across her mouth.
"You, boy. Help me with her."
It was Fergus. Bloody strong for a little guy, but then she remembered. Fergus was no ordinary old man. If he did indeed possess his ancestor's soul, then his leprechaun magic could match Seamus's. Possibly more. Too late, Granny's warning came back to haunt her: Never turn your back on a leprechaun. They're tricksters and they'll do you a hurt if you run a-foul of them!
Together, her captors dragged her over to the precipice above the stone and tied her hands to one of the iron bars. Thankfully, they hadn't touched her feet. Even as a prisoner, she was conscious of her most precious commodity.
Fergus stood beside her. Her fae spirit picked up the stench of evil
. He meant to do her harm. Maybe not this minute, but she could read it in his face. His eyes raked her. A lewd, malicious grin split his menacing, wrinkled mouth. That kind of harm was unthinkable. She'd rather leap from the highest turret of castle than submit to him. As it was, she had to suffer his running his fingers through her tangled hair. He wrapped a length around his hand and yanked hard.
Rhian screamed behind her gag. Tears of pain welled up in her eyes.
"What's wrong, little fae? Be they tears of happiness I see? We've both waited a long, long time for this union.” He licked his thick, lined lips. Rhian didn't stop to think of the consequences when she used the only weapon she had available. She lined up Fergus's crotch with her left foot and let loose. The leprechaun bawled and doubled over. A moment later he recovered and came at her with rage in his face and an open hand. Rhian cringed and shrank away from him.
"Father!"
Fergus lowered his arm and turned his attention away from her.
"He is coming."
Seamus! She realized now what was happening. This was a trap and she was the bait. Terror seized her as Paddy opened his jacket and produced a large, silver dagger. She had to warn Seamus. Somehow. But how? She couldn't scream or call out. She strained at the ropes, but they held too tight. She kicked uselessly at the wall. So much for being fae! She frantically searched for a way out. There had to be a way. They hadn't waited all this time to find each other only to be parted again. She tried to cast her mind back to the ancient time, to think clearly of an era when a fae princess danced above the clouds and made angels weep.
Only now, fear clouded that image. Her mind raced forward instead of back, to a gruesome scene where a vengeful creature struck her love's head from his body. No! She couldn't let it happen. Not even if she had to sacrifice her soul yet again. The sound of footsteps drawing ever nearer to her prison rang in her ears. She tugged and yanked at her bonds. She felt the wrenching pain of her wrists as blood ran down her arms. She heard something else, too. The echo of taps against the stone floor.
I know the story. I've danced it.
And in that instant, her feet became her messenger. If two souls could find each other over the ages, then the ancient dances could become her words. She closed her eyes and pictured herself back under the willow boughs, a flirting, fairy miss, dancing for an audience of one. Could Seamus hear her warning? More important, would he heed it?
Or was this her final performance and a swan song for both of them?
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CHAPTER 9
He heard her calling. A desperate call full of fear and fright.
He'd been sitting at Mrs. Mac's table where the talk had been naught else but the strange message Rhian received and her sudden departure. He easily persuaded Kathleen Callaghan to accompany Davy Butler to Flannigan's. She'd be safe there, among her own kind.
Seamus smiled his thanks as Mrs. Mac served him a mug of honey wine. “That message was not from me. Fergus must have sent it. I was sure he'd come after me, Mary."
Mrs. Mac wrung her hands and fretted. “And here I let her go, when it was my job to look out for her."
Seamus covered her hands with one of his own. “Now, now. Fergus might be a traitor, a thief, and a coward, but I don't think he'll hurt her."
It was no reassurance as the old woman began a fresh rain of tears.
"Then I think it's time you gathered the clan, Mary."
Mrs. Mac dabbed her eyes with a tea stained apron. “What are ye going to do, Seamus? They'll be at the castle, waiting for you."
Seamus took a bracing gulp. “What else can I do, Mary? I have to go after her."
"But it's a trap!"
Seamus stared into his now empty mug, as if the answers were written on the bottom. “I know it. I think I knew it then, too."
"Can ye do it? Can ye best him?"
"That piece of shite! Of course I can."
Mary laid her hand on his arm. “Can you be sure she'll be safe?"
Seamus grimaced at the thought. He didn't want to alarm Mary. Fergus had been a whoreson since his first breath. He'd used Rhian once already and it brought them all to a bad end. It was worth not underestimating him now. He gave a curt nod. “I'll see to it."
"But your magic! Sure but it's been such a long, long time."
"I've enough to do what I have to do and"—he rose and headed for the door—"I'll have some help."
"Be careful, Seamus. For her sake."
He bent and planted a kiss on Mary Mac's wrinkled brow. “I will, for all our sakes."
* * * *
"Stop that!"
Rhian's knees buckled as pain seared the backs of her legs.
"Try that again and I'll whip you raw!"
Rhian tried not to let tears sting her eyes as she glared at her captor. He grasped a long, wet willow stalk in his fist. He narrowed his evil, little eyes. They were filled with spite and hatred. He lunged forward and ripped the tape off her mouth.
"Oi! Why'd you do that, Father? She all but bit me hand off."
Rhian licked her stinging lips. “You're a thief and a traitor to your kind, Fergus."
"Ah. So you do remember. And do you remember you broke your mother's heart?"
"No! You both did that when she sent you to spy on me. Or should I say, you bribed her. She saw through you and your lies. And she knew I'd scatter my own soul to the four winds before I'd take you. I followed my true heart. You don't even have one!"
He raised his hand to strike her again, when Paddy stayed him. “Save it for the cluricaun, Father."
Rhian shot a venomous glance at Paddy. She'd gladly deal with him, too, if she got a chance. If she had a chance at all. She knew Seamus was coming for her. She'd felt it. Rescuing her would be his death. She couldn't bear that. She'd rather Fergus cut off both her feet than be the cause of his demise. What she also couldn't stop was Paddy who slipped in between her and Fergus. He leaned in and wriggled his squat nose. His nostrils flared.
"Aye, he's plugged her already.” He reached up and gave one of her breasts a painful squeeze. She couldn't avoid the tears that sprang to her eyes. “Ah, but she's still worth a bit of fun, eh, Da?"
Fergus wrenched Paddy's arm off her and all but threw his son to the floor. It was probably the only good thing he was capable of. Or was it? This time he slithered up to Rhian until she was forced to turn her face away from his stench. Her stomach rolled and she gagged.
"Maybe. Just maybe we'll have a little fun with both of them. T'would be a grand send off if we make him watch while I toss her jib over her ears and fock her meself. Then we'll strike his head from the rest of him."
Paddy collected himself and grinned lasciviously. “Oi, we'll park ‘is head on the sill and he can watch while we each takes a turn."
They were both laughing now. That fast, high-pitch bleat that sounded so unnatural, so unearthly. Granny's warning rang in her ears.
If ye hear the sound of a ewe bawling where no sheep graze, then run, Little Rhian! Run like the wind, for it be a leprechaun come to steal your soul.
But this nighttime warning didn't end with a glass of milk and a cookie. By the time this story ended, someone would die.
* * * *
Kathleen Callaghan sat in front of Flannigan's fireplace in an old, worn wing chair with an equally worn shawl covering her legs. For once the flattery of a handsome man wasn't holding her attention. Something wasn't right. She could feel it. Perhaps it was her latent Irish roots kicking in. Maybe it was the setting or the haunting lure of Davy's whistle that unsettled her. It had begun when Rhian received the letter. It wasn't jealousy. Kat certainly didn't begrudge Rhian a little rest and relaxation. Rhian was her best friend and a responsible businesswoman. Savvy enough to know that the future of the BCDC rested on her shoulders—and feet—and gracious enough to accept the challenge with a smile.
Which was why, when Davy called an intermission and excused himself to the men's room, Kat used his absence to
slip outside and have a smoke. She pulled a cigarette and lighter out of her handbag. She put the cigarette to her lips and struck the roller on the lighter. Instead of flaring to life, the lighter only sparked. Normally she would have sworn, tossed the empty disposable, and begged a light from someone.
But for once the urge to light up didn't overwhelm her. Instead, she felt an irresistible pull toward the castle. She looked up just as the moon became visible through a wash of dark clouds. The turret stood out in an eerie silhouette. Something was wrong. The night had an uneven feel to it, much like a sharp rhythm marred by a faulty tap. A gust of cold wind hit her in the face. The cigarette dropped from her lips. The door opened behind her. She turned and saw Davy standing in the doorway. Instead of the admiring glances she'd been warming up to all evening, she saw him staring warily at the castle. His eyes told a story she'd felt all night.
"Let's go,” she cried and grabbed his arm. She flattened the cigarette on the ground.
* * * *
Seamus heard the echos behind him. The creak of the rusted gate. Footsteps behind him. One, no, two sets. But he clearly heard that Fergus and Paddy were lying in wait in the tower. He pressed himself flat against the cold stone wall and waited. If he were in true fighting form, he could use his magic to disappear into the wall and his company could walk right by him.
Seamus’ acute hearing picked up a woman's voice. Kat! Damn her. Now he had two women to worry about. Females! If they weren't getting you locked up in some damned rock for a thousand or so years, then they were dancing around and teasing your staff to life and jumping all over it as it suited them. He recognized the second voice and was relieved that Davy was with her. He'd wait for them and he'd tell Davy to bloody well take her back to where she belonged.
A hand on his shoulder made him start.
They were above him. But how...
"Barely saw you, old man. There's still a little magic after all."
The observation surprised Seamus. “Go back, boy, and take her with you. This isn't your fight."
But the younger sprite stood firm. “This is all our fight, Seamus. Especially if you get yourself killed. Then what are we to do? He'll have us by the balls and squeeze as he pleases."
