When his inquiry was answered positive, Padraig hadn't expected to find himself in the living room of a high-rise apartment in…Seattle?
"I did not know Shill had a son," a silky voice came from behind him.
Padraig turned from the scenic window view of the Needle and faced the ultimate in the representation of the Goddess.
She was every bit as beautiful and elegant as legend would have. He also sensed her subtle power, and her lustful desire. He bowed formally. "My name is Padraig Donaghue , son of Shill of Connemara, Donaghue of Underhill in Karnach."
"That's quite a mouthful for such a small, handsome man," she wore a simple suit, black, with a crimson shirt. Her hair was the color of raven feathers and her lips as red as the deepest ruby. A part of him felt he could get lost in those lips. "You have an elven mother?"
Padraig nodded. "Yes."
"But you are Leprechaun—of that I can sense. Your magic is limited, though, because of your elven blood." She took a step closer and sniffed. And then she sniffed again. "You are not soused?"
"I don't drink."
"How many pots of gold?"
"None."
She laughed. "No wonder Shill has never spoken of you."
Sighing, Padraig nodded. "I am sure. But that is not why I've come."
"Oh I know why you're here. And you do realize that once your father discovers what you've done, you'll be condemned to eternity under the earth, don't you?"
"I only want a single piece of gold to save my lover's life."
"So why don't you ask your father for the gold?"
"Because the wish only works if the gold is found."
"Tragic," the Morrigan said and in her tone there was acid. "But do not think me totally without feeling. I will tell you where to find the next rainbow, but for that I will exact a price and a warning."
"A warning other than that of my fate if my father catches me?"
She nodded once. "Other than that. My warning is this: trust no one, Padraig. It is the simplest of rules and the only way to survive in our world."
"I'll take that into consideration."
"And my second is my price."
Padraig tensed. "I am prepared."
There was a pause. "I want you."
"You want…" he frowned at her. "I don't understand."
"I want you, Padraig, son of Shill. I can remove the gaze from all but me."
Taking two steps back, Padraig shook his head. "No one can own that gaze—it's simply the price of what I am."
"I can own anything and do anything I wish," she said. And he believed her. "I would own that gaze—and I would mark you as mine. And…if you succeed and manage to cure your lover's life, then I will take your strongest bond." She gave him a languid smile.
She wants my love of Shonti, and her love of me.
He swallowed. "No…"
"That is my price, half-breed." She shook her head. "That bond is what will save her life. The bond or there is no deal."
"But…you're talking about taking our bond from us. Our bond of love?"
The Morrigan said nothing, only stared.
"And what if I fail?" he said, taking a step forward.
"Then there would be no reason for my request since you would spend an eternity in the earth."
And if he succeeded…then their bond would be broken.
This wasn't a decision he should take lightly, but if he didn't retrieve one of those pieces of gold, there would be no wish, and then there would be no Shonti. He took in a deep breath and turned away so the Morrigan wouldn't see the emotion welling in his eyes. "I agree."
He didn't miss her excited smile.
"Then I will tell what you need to know."
Now…
The dirt filled his lungs as he tried to claw his way out of the hole, but the torque was draining away his strength. Images of Shonti dying filled his world as he choked and struggled to breathe. He pushed at the dirt and used what strength he could muster to put his hands on the torque.
The cold iron burned his fingers but he continued to curl his hands around it. He pulled at the two sides of the torque, rolling his body into a fetal position as he ducked his head down and gave a buried scream, his nostrils filling with earth. He choked, knowing he would die in this hole as his love died alone, wondering why he'd gone, why had he abandoned her. The thought of Shonti suffering without him, of her leaving this world was enough for him to give his survival one final push—
The agony of pulling the front opening of the torque away from his neck as the edges touched his skin nearly took away his consciousness.
Once the metal left his hands the earth magic surged through his veins, healing the iron burns as best it could, but he couldn't enjoy the relief as the dirt filled up over his head. The weight combined with the lack of oxygen was more than he could endure and he felt himself losing consciousness as his lungs burned for air—
Abruptly he was on top of the earth, on his back and then on his side as he coughed up grass and soil, vomiting it from his stomach. He heaved over and over as he pushed himself up to his hands and knees, fighting to stay awake.
He was no longer in the snow, but back along the shores of his home. The sky was lightening overhead and he felt he had failed. Cully had taken everything.
Everything from him. Shonti…
"Padraig!"
That voice. How long had it been since he'd heard that voice?
He struggled to stand and fell again, still unable to breath. There was dirt in his lungs and he couldn't remove it—he was suffocating.
Falling forward he felt himself surrounded by strong, warm arms and the smell of rich, Irish whiskey filled his nostrils.
"F-father?"
"Och…what has ye gotten yerself into, lad?"
Padraig couldn't answer as he coughed again, but he collapsed backward, his father over him. He wanted to tell him what happened, to tell him he hadn't taken the gold. But he couldn't speak.
"Shhh," his father said and Padraig could see he held his Shillelagh in his hand. He held it over Padraig's chest. The wooden staff glowed a brilliant gold and suddenly Padraig's lungs were clear. He coughed a few more times and then was able to breath easier.
"F-father I didn't—"
"Shh," Shill Donaghue said as he pulled his son into an upright position. Shill was much shorter than Padraig but that didn't diminish his power. "I'm very much aware of what Cully did, boyo. It's my gold, isn't it? And I can tell when my blood touches it, and when it is not my blood."
Confused, Padraig coughed again. "But…he took it."
"And it turned to coal because he's right stupid," Shill said and then sat on the ground beside his son. He pulled a silver flask from his little green jacket and took a big swig. "Oh, it 'tis a nasty habit—the drinking—but it does dull the pain."
"The pain?"
"The pain of my life, Padraig. Of what I've loved and lost over the years. The pain of seeing you, because when I look into your lovely face I see hers. Of the love I had for her, until her own spirits wore away and realizing what a night of Beltane had wrought." He grinned. "Did I not tell you this? That you were born of an Elven Maiden?"
"Yes, you did. But I didn't really think you loved her."
"Oh…loved her. Watched her from a distance. Longed for her. And then I struck up a bargain so that I could lay with her at least one night."
Padraig's eyes widened. "You bargained with the Morrigan?"
"Aye. And I got me wish. But what the Morrigan wanted was the memory of that magic. That instant of perfect bliss. And so she took it from both of us, leaving only a void. But what she didn't foresee lad was ye. The fruit born of that one union. And then of the friendship yer mother and I have."
The flask shown bright in the approaching dawn. "But you drink to forget her?"
"I drink because she loved another man, son. Because no magic can make one love another if the seed of love isn't shared in twine."
Padraig nodded
but hung his head. "I've failed to save my own, love, father. Scully took my last wish from me."
"Did he now?" Shill said with a thicker than usual brogue. "Why is it, boyo, that ye came to this very spot? Here back home in the land of yer birth?"
He looked at his father. "I thought you brought me here—to save me."
But Shill shook his head. "I dun have that kinda strength, lad. I could feel your pain—as you are a part of me and your mum. But I haven't been able to Walk well through the pages in quite some time. No, boyo, you brought yourself here."
Padraig frowned as he slowly twisted his head from side to side. "No father. I was nearly dying. I had no idea where the magic would take me."
"Aye," Shill beamed as he kicked back another mouthful of sauce and then looked past Padraig and nodded. "You were drawn to me biggest and most precious pot, son. You were brought here because it's rightfully yours."
He turned slowly, twisting his torso around where he and his father rested on the ground. Padraig's eyes widened as he realized they were at the mouth of a cave, hidden deep within the forest of his childhood. And there, nestled just inside the cave where he and the other Underhill creatures once played, he saw the twinkle of a post of gold, the largest one he'd ever seen in his life.
Padraig turned and glared at his father. "It was there—the whole time we played?" He glanced back and pointed. "That's where the rocks used to be—"
"Aye," Shill nodded slowly, his red beard bristling. "It was always there. But you couldn't see it—back when I thought you'd be more elf then leprechaun. Now you find it when you need it the most."
"I found it," he said softly. He crawled on hands and knees to it and peered over the side. "I found it—does this mean I can use— "
Aye. The moment you take a piece of that gold—" He smiled. "Eh…now go, and heal your love. I have a nasty little man to deal with."
But even as Shill stood to go, Padraig stood as well and in three strides caught up to his father to grab his jacket. "Wait…Father…"
"Aye?"
Padraig took a deep breath. "I'm sorry I shamed you, Father. That I wasn't cut out to be a Leprechaun…that I don't drink and that I don't save gold…"
"And if ye did those things son, would you be you? Or would ye be me?" Shill winked at his son and held his Shillelagh high. "All I've ever wanted for you is happiness, Padraig. It's what any parent wants. And like any parent, I'm willing to give up what I must for you to have that joy. My only regret was that to find happiness, you didn't have to make the same mistakes as me. Not grab a piece of that gold before the sun touches it. As the magic works, if'n you be gone from here before the sun touches the pot, the gold is saved. If not, coal it will be."
Padraig turned back to the gold and heard his father's voice. "Bonds are not always what you think they will be, Padraig. What you believe is a valuable bond—is more trivial to another."
Frowning he turned to look back at the small leprechaun. He saw Shill Donaghue wiggle his nose and disappear.
And the sun was rising. Padraig had only an instant to hide the gold piece and take it back to his fiancée.
Six months from now…
He sat in the coffee shop, an untouched sugar-free mocha in front of him. The senior partners had pumped more money into the lower floor as promised and Padraig was able to take on more cases, and right more wrongs.
He'd also tried whiskey and gotten immediately sick to his stomach, though he couldn't remember why he'd wanted to try it.
The doors to the coffee shop opened and a small, slender woman with beautiful dark skin came in. Her hair was pulled back and her smile bright. She was the most beautiful woman alive. She ordered the same thing. A white mocha, no whip. She waved at Padraig just like she always did this time of day, in this same coffee shop. And then she moved to sit in her favorite seat by the window where she could curl up to a good book.
He watched her without trying to be too obvious—or at least not in any manner that might get him arrested.
Padraig learned in the weeks after Shonti's miraculous recovery that he was a prize to be won—an anomaly in the Fairy Kingdoms. The Morrigan wanted him.
The Morrigan was the one who gave Shonti cancer.
The Morrigan pulled Cully's strings.
And it was the bond Shonti had shared with Padraig that she'd taken in payment. Shonti woke with no memory of Padraig. But Padraig could never forget what they had—or what he'd sacrificed to give her back her life.
A tall, slender African American man joined Shonti. He leaned over her, bracing himself on her chairback, and kissed her soft lips. She returned the kiss and smiled up at him.
The same way she'd smiled at him. Once.
After the pain retreated into a dull ache, Padraig stood, tossed his coffee into the trash bin by the door. He didn't look back at the couple—he would never be back. He idly touched the triskelion mark on the right of his neck, just beneath his ear.
The Morrigan's brand.
He was hers.
She had Shonti's bond—it was the Morrigan's right of power. And for now, he lived with his choice.
But one day he knew the Morrigan would look away. She would forget her gaze of intent, and Padraig would slip away into the shadow, a free man.
And then the Morrigan would pay.
Back Door Magic
A Familiar teaches a Witch that hope can conquer the overwhelming fear of doubt.
"Magic is believing in yourself, if you can do that, you can make anything happen." ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
The fire spark blew her a raspberry before vanishing in a black puff of sooty smoke.
Brenda blinked a few times in the abrupt darkness before grabbing up at the flashlight perched handle up on the table. Since when did elementals have a sense of humor?
The evening shadows, elongated at that moment, stretching their hollow limbs into the crevices of the store's tall shelves. A row of authentic skulls, nestled among a neglected Halloween decoration of dried autumn leaves and miniature pumpkins, all illuminated by the streetlight outside, peered down at her from the top shelf near the cash register.
I never asked Granny to whom those belonged—maybe those are the skulls of hapless idiots like myself who thought they could make money at magic.
They starved to death.
Maybe this wasn't such a bad thing—sitting here in the dark. At least she couldn't see the deed of sale spread out on the table in front of her. She didn't really need to see it to know what it said. The deadline to pay the back taxes and over due mortgage on the shop was Friday, less than four days away.
With renewed anger (masquerading as determination), Brenda attempted again to conjure another fire spark. Nothing answered her call. Empty space and the faint smell of sulfur.
Could it get any worse?
Granny Pollsocks had lit fire with a snap of her fingers—sometimes with only a glare. One look from her violet eyes and all the fire sparks in the room jumped to do her bidding. Of the six grandchildren, Granny had declared Brenda to be the one gifted to carry on the tradition of magic in the family. None of the others were interested—or really believed in it.
Before granny died, Brenda had shown some aptitude for a few spells and potions. Flash powders were a sore subject. She'd managed to blind a store full of patrons one summer afternoon by accident. Granny had made sure Brenda practiced upstairs after that.
But then she died, and left "Back Door Magic" to Brenda. Books, supplies, scrolls, amulets, bills and debt included. The steady customers, the ones who'd depended on Granny for years came to Brenda at first, hoping she had even the slightest peep of the talent Granny had had. But after six months—the customers dwindled away.
The money dried up. And no matter how hard Brenda tried—she couldn't turn lead into gold.
Just yesterday they'd turned off the power. Now she shivered in the November evening, unable to light a simple candle. She couldn't find the matches—but Granny had never needed
them.
She heard the familiar backfire of her mother's car outside the door, pulling up along the curve in the street outside the shop. Detective Jackie Grafton always parked on the street, in a no-parking zone. Married wealthy, widowed wealthy once, never sick, never injured, always in a good mood. Of course, the widowed wealthy had come after Brenda's father had died, with husband number two.
Another noise came just as Brenda stood. She stopped and pivoted slowly on her worn sneakers. Most of the shop was dark and scary.
Just the way Granny liked it.
Well, I don't like it that way. And that noise sounded like it came from the stairwell.
Four steps that led to a back door that opened to a brick wall.
Brenda figured Mom could get in on her own—she had a key. She switched on the flashlight and took several cautious steps to the back of the room, closer to the stairs. "Hello? Is there someone down there?" Her voice echoed in the empty shop.
She aimed the beam down the stairwell—
—and a pair of electric blue eyes looked back up at her, eyes filled with pain.
It was a man!
The front door opened. "Brenda? You in here? Oh, gawd—where are the lights, child? There are enough candles in here—hell—light up one of those seven-day candles."
Brenda turned at the sound of her mother behind her, then she turned back to the stairwell and shined the light back down again.
The heels of her mother's boots clacked noisily behind her as Jackie neared. "What're you doing? You see something down there? Rats?"
Brenda blinked. She thought she'd seen a man in trouble.
A man with beautiful blue eyes.
Her mother sighed. "Never could figure out why that door was there. Never made sense." She turned. "Let's get some light in here. I think there are matches behind the cash register."
Brenda barely noticed her mother's retreat, the clacking of the heels, the faint scent ofWhite Shoulders perfume drifting about the air like an errant ghost. Her mind, her flashlight's beam, and her gaze focused again on the empty stairwell. Five steps down. To a door that went—nowhere.
Pandora: An Urban Fantasy Anthology Page 16
