Faeries Gone Wild

by MaryJanice Davidson

  “Well . . .” He started his car, glanced at his watch, failed to register the time, and tried not to think about her nipples or her legs or her kneecaps. “Listen.” He turned onto Maplewood Street. “I had better get to work, so . . .”

  Her stomach rumbled. She put a hand on it. He wanted rather desperately to do the same. To skim his fingers beneath his blessedly lucky pajamas, to feel her heart beat against his palm, to . . .

  He closed his eyes for a second and remembered his mother. She would gladly have abandoned everything for love. In fact, she had. Had turned away from her parents, who had insisted that she give him up. Had nurtured him and laughed with him and taught him the meaning . . .

  But what the hell was he talking about? He wasn’t in love. He probably wasn’t even in like. He was just in some sort of dazed lust.

  Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out his billfold. “Here. I’ll give you a few dollars and you can get yourself some breakfast.” He tugged out a pair of tens and handed them to her, but she only blinked. He drew them back. “Listen, Fern, I’d love to have breakfast with you, but I have a job . . . and a fiancée and . . .”

  Her stomach rumbled again.

  Thirty seconds later he had parked the car. A little bakery stood across from McClenna Park. Flower baskets hung dismally above round, rickety tables that cluttered the sidewalk.

  The screen door squeaked as they stepped inside. Fern eyed the glass cases like a mischievous child, peering wide-eyed and adorable at the goodies while a few tendrils of lively gilt hair pressed to the display case as if admiring the apple fritters.

  His mouth felt a little dry as he watched her, but he steeled himself. It was more difficult with some parts than with others. “whatever you like,” he said. He’d buy her a couple sweet rolls and drop her off at the police station. Fini. End of story.

  She pointed to a selection.

  “The turnover?”

  She nodded and shrugged simultaneously.

  He gave her order to the employee behind the counter, but Fern gasped and pointed again.

  “We’ll have a caramel roll, too,” he told the employee. She was female. He was pretty sure because her mouth was pulled down like an angry boxer’s as she stared at Fern. Thus far men had proven incapable of looking less than euphoric in her presence.

  By the time they stepped out of the shop, Will had spent thirty-two dollars and twenty-seven cents, but she was smiling, making the world seem strangely, indescribably right.

  But just then a Mercedes cruised past, zapping his mind back to reality. What was he thinking? He had plans, goals, strategies.

  “I have to get to work,” he said, forcing out the words. They felt hard and gritty against his teeth.

  She was standing a few feet away, stroking the petals of a stunted, drooping blossom. And when she turned toward him, he saw that her eyes were as bright as meteors.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. If she cried he’d topple like a prefabricated two-bedroom.

  “Pesolaania,” she said.

  He stared, mesmerized by the musical stroke of her voice. “I thought they were petunias.”

  She looked thoughtful, immersed in the moment, then touched the next blossom. “Reybannya.”

  “Latin? Do you speak Latin?”

  She shook her head, but the motion was vague.

  “You know the names of the flowers, but you don’t know your own name?”

  She touched the other three baskets of blooms, then gave him a smile filled with hope and reached for the bag of goodies. He could do nothing but pull out a chair for her.

  “Have a seat,” he offered.

  She did so. He set down a carton of milk, then glanced down the street toward his office. He wasn’t absolutely positive, but he suspected there was some sort of activity he sometimes engaged in this time of day.

  But her eyes were shiny, her dimples devastating, and he was weak.

  “Eat,” he said.

  She looked up at him. Her hair had twined around the twisted metal back of the chair.

  “Go ahead,” he said, and, taking the opposite seat, reached into the bag to remove a fritter.

  She followed suit, pulling out a turnover, and touched it delicately with the tip of her candy apple tongue. After that, there was nothing he could do but stare, transfixed, mesmerized. For she made every bite seem irresistible, every scent delectable. By the time she had finished, five rolls had been consumed. He was fairly certain he’d eaten none of them.

  Across the street in McClenna Park, a piebald animal of uncertain heritage chased a Frisbee.

  “Airedale,” she gasped, and, grabbing his hand, lurched to her feet, leaving the thirty-seven-dollar bag behind.

  Will paused for a second, glancing behind to grab the remainder of their breakfast, only to find that it was lost beneath a trailing profusion of petunias.

  He staggered back a pace. “Holy crap! What happened?”

  She blinked, uncertain.

  “The flowers!” he said, motioning wildly. “What happened?”

  “Oh. Better now,” she said, and smiled.

  Chapter

  7

  “Better?” Will stared at her. His brain felt swollen. Minutes before, the flowers had looked anemic and weatherworn. Now they were . . . taking over the table . . . possibly the universe. “Better? What—”

  “Airedale,” she said again, and tugged him across the street.

  He tried to stop her, but she was unreasonably strong. Then again, she was fueled by a half a ton of sugar. So they stood in the park, watching a teenager toss the disc, watching the animal bound after. Will tried to focus on the weirdness of the exploding flowers behind him, but her hand felt like morning in his palm, and her laughter, when the spotted animal caught the toy, was somehow magical, a musical, silvery song of joy.

  “Airedale . . . astounding,” she crooned.

  “Well . . .” He pulled himself from her eyes with a Herculean effort. “I don’t think it’s actually an Airedale.”

  She scowled up at him. He refrained from kissing her. But it hurt to do so.

  “It’s just a . . .” He shrugged and didn’t tug her into his arms even though it seemed the sensible thing to do. “Dog.”

  “Dog?” Her eyes were shining like polished river stones, and a wayward finger of hair had blown up to caress his cheek. He didn’t fall to his knees and proclaim his everlasting adoration.

  “Surely you’ve seen dogs before,” he said, and forced a chuckle, because it seemed more law-abiding than laying her down on the grass beneath their feet and kissing every inch of her mind-numbing body.

  She shook her head, apple-cheeked and ridiculous in her borrowed pajamas, which he had somehow failed to make her change out of.

  He scowled. “But dogs are everywhere. Where—” he began, but in that moment she kissed him.

  His breath stopped. His heart raced, and suddenly there was no one, nothing. Only her with her jewel-bright eyes, her sweet-nectar laugh, and resistance was not only futile; it was downright stupid.

  He moved closer, giving in, giving up. But suddenly she shrieked, jerked out of his arms, and darted behind him. It took his stuttering mind a moment to realize the kiss had ended, a moment longer to realize the dog had leapt into the air only inches from them. It stood now, Frisbee in its mouth, watching them inquisitively, head cocked, one ear bent, crazy, off-colored eyes curious.

  “Fern . . .” Will turned toward the girl, but she was clutching his biceps in a tight-fingered grasp. “It’s just a dog.”

  She peeked past his arm.

  “A pet. It won’t hurt you,” he promised, but her eyes were unbelieving.

  William glanced at the teenager who was loping toward them in a disjointed manner. In a moment he ordered the dog to sit. It dropped to its haunches, tongue lolling, Frisbee atop its spotted paws.

  Still, it took a few minutes to convince Fern to ease out into the open, longer still for her to dare to touch the anim
al. And when it lapped its tongue across her fingers, she giggled with ringing happiness.

  Five minutes later, when they’d left the poor besotted boy peering after them, forgetful of his dog, Will sat in his car and stared across the armrest at her. The windows were open. The air felt balmy against his skin. She had pressed a palm flat against the gray fabric of the passenger seat.

  “Soft,” she said, and tilted her head at him. “Alive?”

  “Fern.” He looked into her face, feeling breathless and hopeful and strangely melancholy. “I have to take you to the hospital. To get help.”

  She scowled. “Something is amiss?”

  He would have laughed if he’d had enough saliva left for the job. “Honey,” he said, and headed east, trying to remember his mission, “you don’t remember dogs.”

  She glanced toward the retreating animal and smiled. “Alive,” she said.

  “Lots of things are,” he countered, but she scowled, staring out the window.

  “Many are not.”

  He followed her gaze, slanting his attention up at the bulky gray buildings that blocked out the sky.

  “Where is the green?” she asked.

  “Green?”

  He turned onto Lakeside, heading north, but when he glanced back at her, his breath knotted in his throat; her eyes were dark with a sorrow so deep it ground at the very heart of him.

  But that was ridiculous. He shook his head, looked forward again, and tried to be sane, tried to think, and realized, quite suddenly, that he was a fool. “Tell me the truth,” he said, voice quiet against the humming traffic.

  He could feel her attention turn toward him but dared not look at her.

  “You had me going,” he admitted, and slowed to follow the line of vehicles just creeping through a green light. “You’re a hell of an actress, but who are you really?”

  “I . . . ,” she began, but suddenly she pointed excitedly to their right. The glistening width of Lake Washington sparkled like diamonds beyond Baker Beach.

  “I know. Life,” Will said, and, feeling the dark burn of cynicism, followed the accelerating line of cars, but a scratch of noise distracted him. He snapped his gaze to the side just in time to see the girl scramble out the window and onto the street.

  “Fern!” he gasped, but she was already on her feet. The pickup in the right lane honked its horn and screeched to a halt. She skittered around its bumper and disappeared. “Fern!” he yelled again, but a dozen horns were blaring now. He slammed on the accelerator, careened into the first left turn, and jerked into the nearest parking space he could find.

  In a minute he was streaking down the sidewalk, lurching past trucks with ear-shattering horns and galloping toward the beach. By the time he found her he felt queasy. His hands shook and his voice was raspy.

  “Fern.”

  She glanced up at the sound of his voice, her expression far away. Her feet were bare, he noticed, her mother-of-pearl toes drinking in the lapping waves.

  “Why does she call you William?” she asked.

  “Fern . . .” His joints felt stiff with residual terror. “You could have been killed.”

  She canted her head. A silky wisp of hair brushed with tantalizing softness against his wrist.

  “You do not feel like a William.”

  He stared at her for a moment, trying to remember who he was, who he had been, who he should be. But it was too immense. Too convoluted. “I just . . . You scared the—”

  “Not here,” she said, and touched her palm to her own chest. “Here you feel caring.”

  The world dropped away. There was only her. Her in her sparkling glory. “Who are you?”

  “Here life is all.”

  “Where are you from?”

  She scowled, looking inward, searching. “Somewhere you would like, I believe.”

  “I like it here,” he said.

  She shook her hand once, then slipped her hand into his, and suddenly his old life seemed strangely distant. Yet the world was remarkably clear. They walked along the beach while she pointed out shells and seabirds and trailing pieces of herbage that washed up on the sand. And every tiny bit of life seemed immeasurably fascinating.

  “Emily . . . ,” she began finally, and he glanced down at her. He had no idea what time it was. The sun was spent, no more than a golden memory, but he failed to care. His cell phone had rung several times, but eventually it had ceased. It was entirely possible that he had left it on the park bench where he had abandoned his shoes. “She does not cause you to smile.”

  He didn’t argue. There was little point.

  “I wish for your smile,” she said. Pulling him to a halt, she stretched up on her toes, and cupped her palm against his cheek.

  Light streamed into his soul. Her fingers felt like sun-warmed satin against his skin. She pulled her hand away, and suddenly her shirt was gone.

  He growled something inarticulate. It may have been a protest against public nudity, though he doubted if even he was that foolish, for she was a dream. Her hair blew about her in adoring waves, caressing her shoulders, her breasts, her sharp-curved waist.

  Her skin seemed to glow like moonlight, and when she kissed him his mind soared, conjuring up a thousand erotic thoughts until he was mad with longing, but he tore away.

  “I can’t! Really. I just . . .” He was breathing hard. Possibly having a heart attack. He glanced along the shore. “People will—”

  “No people,” she said, and he realized she was right. The long stretch of beach was irrationally empty but for a leftover castle and a sandpiper stalking the silver-capped waves.

  He turned back toward her and was immediately caught in her eyes, in her thoughts, in her boundless allure. “How old are you?” he whispered.

  “I am old,” she said, and touched his face. His erection jumped with desire.

  “How old?” he asked, and forced a chuckle. He sounded certifiable. “Sixteen? Seventeen?” Good God, he should be in prison.

  “Far older than you,” she said, and skimmed her hand down his chest. He’d left his suit coat in the car, and somehow his shirt had fallen open.

  “Right. Of course.” He shuddered at the hot rush of potent feelings. “You can remember that you’re aged, but you can’t remember—”

  But in that instant she touched his erection.

  His head jerked back. Reality ceased to be.

  “I feel it,” she said, and, dropping to her knees, stretched out on the sand. “I am old like the oak.”

  The oversized pajama bottoms had disappeared and she was entirely naked. Moonlight gleamed on her skin, casting her in gold, the dip of her belly, the swell of her hips. Her hair framed her face, flowed over her moon-shadowed breasts. Desire shone hot and avid in her deep purple eyes.

  And suddenly he was beside her, on his knees, so close he could feel her thoughts. “I’d like to believe,” he breathed.

  “You do believe. Come. It is time,” she whispered, and suddenly, miraculously, he was as naked as she. Her hair wove about his back, tugging him closer. One sensuous leg draped over his, so they were hip-to-hip, heart-to-heart, and suddenly there were no choices.

  He rolled onto his back, bearing her with him. The sand felt sugar-soft against his skin. He kissed her, slow and reverent, feeling the deep beat of her heart against his. She whispered something he failed to understand, but he shuddered at the hot feelings her words evoked. Her hands were velvet joy against his chest, against his belly. She arched into him like a frolicking dolphin, and when she slipped around him he closed his eyes. The world went still for an endless heartbeat, and then she stroked him, moving against him like a dream. Her body was limned by moonlight, her belly shadowed, the long, smooth length of her thighs like polished gold beneath his hands. Feelings swelled euphorically inside him, hope and need and yearning so great it felt like he would burst. She squeezed around him, gripping him harder, riding him toward the sky. Her hair wafted behind her in an unseen breeze, lapping him boldly. He
sucked in a breath, and she smiled, riding faster, breath coming hard now, lips slightly parted. He tensed, pulsed, thrust until the moon tilted and exploded in the sky. The world went momentarily black. He dropped through the sand. She gasped a moan and fell with him, soft and sated against his chest.

  It took a lifetime for him to come to his senses, longer still to realize she was asleep, nestled beside him like a long-legged kitten in the sand. Rising unsteadily, he slipped into his pants, then wrapped her in his shirt and lifted her into his arms. She seemed almost weightless, almost unreal, and as he trod across the sand toward the parking lot, he realized they had never left Baker Beach.

  Chapter

  8

  Will carried her to his house and laid her gently on his bed. She slept like a toddler, like an angel. He watched her, scrubbed his face with his hand, then wandered into the kitchen.

  What had he done? A lot of things. Possibly a lot of felonious things. A lot of felonious things he longed to do again. He fisted his hand and paced a circle around the table. She was probably a minor. Probably a foreigner. Probably some dignitary’s cherished daughter who had fallen off a boat or . . .

  Holy shit! He had had sex on a public beach. What the hell was wrong with him? He had to call it off. Get rid of her. Tell her immediately. He stormed into his bedroom to do just that, and stopped, staring, speechless, breathless.

  “Rantinn,” she breathed, and suddenly he was in her arms. They made love. Slowly this time, savoring every minute, filling, yearning, aching until they fell together into the satiny folds of sleep.

  He awoke to broad daylight and she was there, watching him, amethyst eyes lit like a flame.

  He reached up, touched her face, felt the jolt of desire diffused by something strangely akin to love. “Who are you?” he whispered.

  Her lips twitched merrily. Dimples winked past her kitten-soft waves of hair. “Who are you?”