Faeries Gone Wild
Page 23
“Maybe we should have the Talk after all.”
“You mean it?”
“Yes. I believe if I am to ever sleep again, we’ll have to finally face the music, among other things.”
Back downstairs in the kitchen nook, gossamer wings twitching, Tia shared a cup of tea with her mother at the old pine table.
“Now, Tia, tell me exactly what happens when you . . . mingle.”
“Things start out fine. Males attracted to my exotic looks often are eager to get to know me. Many of them speak directly to my larger breasts, but I know my eyes can be kind of piercing at first sight.”
“And then?”
“Things start to heat up with flirting, dancing, kissing.”
“And—and—”
“Abruptly, the spell is broken. There’s always a prior engagement remembered, or a headache, or a sickly parent in need of aid. The Isle of late seems teeming with throbbing noggins and ailing relatives.”
“Do you, by chance, try to carry a tune?”
“Sometimes. But that doesn’t seem the deal breaker. I’ve even tried to ask a male in mid-retreat with no success. No offense to the Luna species, but as I was fated to carry Father’s genes, I wish his bravery and cleverness had been a bigger part of the mix. I’m out of nerve and strategies.”
“As it stands, dear, I think you carry more than enough of your father.”
Tia reared in astonishment. Maeve rarely spoke of Gustave and always glowingly. “What do you mean?”
“Gustave isn’t quite who I made him out to be.”
“You mean he wasn’t a visiting faery lord?”
Maeve attempted a lilt. “The visiting part is true.”
Dread began to well in Tia’s stomach. “What are you saying?”
“Gustave wasn’t a faery. Not even a Gustave!”
Tia was not a full-blooded faery? This meant not only that she didn’t know who her father was, but that she didn’t know what he was. “You wouldn’t be this distressed over an elf or leprechaun,” she speculated.
“And you wouldn’t be a dazzling eleven hands tall!”
“Is Papa of the marine culture? A kraken?”
Maeve jerked her head.
“But he is an amphibian.”
“Oh, yes. The bits of him you carry will never dissolve in salt water.”
“A warlock, by chance?”
“Think lower. A lower species,” she articulated.
“Just tell me, please.”
Maeve sucked in a breath. “I’m afraid your father is human.”
Tia’s cry of denial was sharp and instant.
Maeve reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “It explains so much, doesn’t it? Your ability to work with iron while the rest of us are repelled. Your general physical handicaps . . .”
“How did this happen? How could you let it?”
“It wasn’t a well-thought-out decision, I admit. Your father was part of an American fishing party sailing the Irish Sea. They were drawn to the Isle by the sound of our musicians playing the ‘Londonderry Air.’ The large group debarked and followed the music to our glen. They joined our circular dance—”
“That old come-on.”
“The music and movement of the reel are mesmerizing to humans! Especially visiting ones without the good sense or willpower to resist.”
“They could not have joined in unless the clan allowed them to see.”
“My crowd used to do such things for selfish amusement,” Maeve confessed ashamedly. “Of all creatures, humans are so easy to manipulate, entrance.”
“It’s so unlike you to take advantage of a lesser creature.”
“Normally, such a lark only involved harmless fun. But things got out of hand that night. We all drank too much.”
“Well, you never could hold your nectar, could you?”
“It wasn’t the tame honeysuckle you enjoy, but a human beverage from the ship—rum—blended with my family’s strong elderberry wine. It surely packed a punch. Everyone at the party grabbed a partner. Unicorns mated with zebras. Manks with Siamese. Which explains some of the misshapen, misplaced horns and tails of your generation. Anyway, we made crazy love in the moonlit forest, in the dirt on a tangle of tree roots. Rough and earthy and uninhibited.”
Tia watched her mother’s eyes deepen to a wondrous emerald. Maeve an edgy lover? Giving herself to a limited human? Had the Isle of Man gone mad? “Maybe your head was so muddled, you remember the story wrong.”
“Not on your life,” Maeve purred. “The merger was incredible.” Closing her eyes, she gave a snaky quiver beneath her prim cotton nightgown.
“So this mortal had his way with you and went on his way.”
“Like most humans in his position, he likely woke up in the forest at dawn with a headache and, at most, a sketchy memory he mistook for a dream. He did have good intentions through the night, however. Even confided his address.”
“Which you never followed up on.”
“I was young and didn’t want to risk the humiliation of his benightedness. At the time a cover-up seemed best for us. I naively figured you’d blend in.”
“How strange, with all that revelry, I seem to be the only resulting human half-breed.”
“Naturally, it was my hope to find you some company. Prejudice being so strong, however, I was leery of asking friends what effect the humans had on them. Especially wise, as everyone went on to pretend the event never happened. But believe that Blot and I always kept a lookout for any potential offspring.”
“Blot knows?” Tia pictured the effusive leprechaun and cringed. “All these years, he’s listened to my blither about Father without a complaint.”
“He was essential from the start, hiding me until your birth, helping me concoct a Scandinavian faery lord to account for your fair hair and blue eyes.”
“Funny Blot never tried to look up my father. As a pot of gold regulator for the Rainbow Council, he spends endless days in the Mortal Realm.”
“I couldn’t trust him with John’s identity—John Winter is his full name. Blot felt my honor had been compromised, wanted satisfaction.”
“So in essence, you’re saying my human condition somehow repels males.”
“Put bluntly, you smell. Only during moments of arousal,” Maeve insisted above Tia’s shriek. “As Luna faeries have for centuries found mating with humans repulsive, I believe the faeries have an innate reaction to their scent. They get a whiff of something off and you’re done.”
Tia clutched her chest. “I am doomed to virgindom because I stink?”
“Not necessarily. There is a big Mortal Realm out there full of men who must find a woman’s earthy scent appealing.”
“You’re suggesting I switch realms! Live among the primitives?”
“You are undeniable proof there is more to humanity than our realm allows. Rise above Enchanted ignorance; give mortals a chance. If nothing else, you’re bound to get to know yourself better.”
“Even perhaps get to know Father,” Tia realized.
Maeve tensed. “Odds are he won’t remember, Tia.”
“My facial features are similar to yours at that age, though. I might jog something inexplicable inside him, make him believe an old dream.”
“You would be obligated to approach with caution. It’s the only fair way.”
Tia rose the following morning to find Blot seated at her mother’s kitchen table. The squat leprechaun, dressed in his favorite green velvet suit jacket, hat, and britches, did not at all look his usual jolly self.
Maeve, swathed in her woven vine robe, hovered with a pan of her special butter brittle. “I’ve given Blot the particulars. He’ll drop you off.”
“To think your father has been under my nose all these years,” Blot grumbled. “I headquarter in Central Park, you know.”
“He’ll also get you the best exchange rate on your money,” Maeve added.
“All under extreme protest. You have a fine life right here, Tia.”
/>
Tia nipped some brittle from the pan. “From the Fey who spends most of his time in the Mortal Realm!”
“For every rainbow path on my gold route I cross ten thousand mired in moral bankruptcy. It’s no place—” Blot paused to survey Tia’s best pink iridescent minidress with flared skirt. “You’re even dressed for him, aren’t you?”
“Blot,” Maeve chided, “nothing can threaten your place with us.”
“Of course not.” Tia kissed his green cheek. “Now, can we hurry along?”
Blot rose and followed Tia to the living room, where her unpacked suitcases sat. He begrudgingly grasped the largest two.
Maeve hugged Tia. “Be well. Keep in touch.”
“Thank you for finally telling me.”
Maeve turned then to Blot. “Haven’t you forgotten something?”
Blot dropped the cases to sweep Maeve into his arms for a kiss.
Maeve giggled. “I mean John’s address.”
Chapter
2
Isle of Manhattan
Alec Simon was seeing things.
A regular occurrence after a night of clubbing, especially under the influence of Libation Station’s specialty rum drink, Stalking Zombie.
Normally, it turned out to be nothing more than a fat pigeon on his fire escape. But this was a bird of an altogether different feather. Flowing platinum hair, hourglass body in shiny pink party dress. Heavenly. Especially the gossamer wings keeping her in a holding pattern two stories in the air.
“Something the matter, baby? Thought I heard you groan.”
Alec self-consciously twisted on the sofa to eye the redhead standing near his galley kitchen. “Guess the leg is twinging a bit.”
“It shouldn’t be. You lost the cast last week.”
Alec shrugged. He’d been blaming everything lately on the broken leg, the last of his injuries to heal. And it was proving a hard habit to break. Like his recent affection for tequila. “How’s the nightcap coming?”
“After serving you all night at the Libation, I’m pretty sure you’ve had enough. How about some juice?”
“Forget it, Mindy.”
“The name is Lindsay.”
“C’mere then,” he asked impulsively. “Quick.”
Lindsay sashayed over, her tight black uniform swishing against her nylon hose. She dropped on the sofa beside him and leaned in. “What’s up?”
“Not that.” Alec pried her hand off his crotch. “I want your opinion on something. At the window.”
She squinted at the dark glass glazed by streetlight. “Like what?”
“Something wild,” he confided excitedly.
“Like what?”
“Well,” he admitted more slowly, “a flying girl.” Lindsay bounced huffily on the cushions. “Sounds like you’ve had way too many. But never mind, I’ll do the heavy lifting.” Moving her hands to his shirt, she began to unbutton it.
He stopped her lunge for his belt buckle. “Check outside for me, will ya?”
“Okay.” She stomped across the room to the windows.
“Open it wide. Have a good look.”
“Gotcha.” She turned back coyly, then raised the sash and dipped out. Tipping her bottom high enough to show some thong ’n’ cheek, she made a show of looking out over West 60th Street.
“See anything special?”
She wiggled her bottom. “Do you?”
“How can I? You’re blocking the view!”
Lindsay wiggled back inside. “If you don’t want me, just say so.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Sure it is.” She stalked to the sofa with a tug to her uniform. “You’ve been screwing anything that moves over at the Libation for weeks.”
“It’s not you, honestly.”
“Oh, so you’ve suddenly had your fill of hero sex? I’m supposed to buy that? I knew the boobs turned out too small. Or is the nose still too big?”
“It’s all nice,” he assured. “They’re really calling it hero sex?”
“As if you didn’t know, you fickle shit. At first the girls just wanted a shot at the brave fireman from the newspaper. Then word got around about how good you are.”
“I am?”
She tossed her arms in the air. “How should I know!”
His brows jumped in interest, then crashed down again. “Sorry.”
“Time to say good night, Alec.”
Alec patted the sofa, filling his eyes with puppy dog appeal. “We could just sit here awhile, see what develops.”
“On hallucination watch? How stupid do you think I am?”
“I don’t know—”
“You jerk!”
“C’mon, Mindy, be a sport. I have to know if I’m losing my mind.”
“I vote yes!”
“I’ve got details. Pink dress, shiny white hair, shimmery pearl wings.”
“Sounds like a faery.”
He snapped his fingers. “Right!”
She snapped a tight smile. “Right. You’re on your own.” He twisted round to track her moves as she grabbed her purse and jacket from a chair. “Would it be so wrong to see a faery?”
“You’re on medical leave! Physical and emotional stress. Do you really think it smart?”
“Hey, my problem is totally physical. Feel free to pass that around the club.”
“Fine.”
“And on the subject, can you bring my cane before you go?”
She glared at the hinged black stick leaning against the entry closet door. “Funny thing about that crutch.”
“Cane.”
“You don’t need it the way you used to.”
“Of course I do!”
“You forget all about it at the Libation once you’re smashed. That makes the cane a crutch, Alec Simon. That makes your head more messed up than your leg.” On that she slammed the door.
Alec twisted to look out the window again—to find the faery was back! Peering curiously at him—as if eavesdropping. “Hey, you!” He pulled himself up and stumbled to the window. No sign of her. Dammit!
Naturally, she couldn’t possibly exist. He was bored, that’s all. Trying to escape the clutches of Lindsay. But Lindsay was right about one thing: he couldn’t afford to see a faery, on top of his other troubles. Even if she was the most captivating creature ever!
Early afternoon the following day, Tia stood on the sidewalk outside the brownstone building on West 60th Street belonging to John Winter. Her first bit of luck stared back at her in the form of a For Rent sign out front. What better place to study mortal behavior than right under her father’s roof?
Last night’s eavesdropping had left her shaken. After Alec Simon’s apartment had gone dark, she’d curled up on his length of fire escape to ponder developments. Apparently, faery spotting was not a common practice, not necessarily a good thing when it happened.
Could humans possibly deprecate faeries much in the way faeries deprecated them? Raised with faery pride, dissimilarities notwithstanding, she hadn’t counted on a reverse prejudice here. Now it seemed wisest to tuck in her wings for the time being until she got a better reading on the realm.
Where to start had been the first nagging question.
By dawn there was only one thing for it. Shop till she dropped at Manhattan’s famed stores. Judging by the joyful human females poring over the latest mortal fashions, she’d found a salve common to both cultures! Hopefully, the first of many.
Entering the brownstone’s lobby, she found the inner door locked. Full names were proudly listed at her Enchanted Realm co-op, but this one merely had apartment numbers—six in all, beside call buttons. Apartment 2B, however, was listed as Manager. She pressed that button.
“What?” a male growled through the intercom.
“John Winter?”
“No.”
“Hello, hello?”
“What?”
“Doesn’t John Winter own this building?”
“You taking a survey?”
“Not a geo graph i cal surveyor—Oh, never mind. John hasn’t lived here in years. Anything else?”
“Yes!” she said quickly. “I’d like to see your vacancy.”
The front door buzzed. Juggling her bags, she made a mad grab for it.
Skipping up the stairs, she found 2B at the top to the right. She raised her fist to the door, only to have it swung open in her face.
There stood the man she’d eavesdropped on some twelve hours ago, Alec Simon, dripping wet and nearly naked. His moist black brows crunched warily but not altogether unpleasantly. “Do we know each other?”
How tempting to pour out her heart. He had liked her at first sight after all. But in the end he had rejected the possibility of her existence. As uncharacteristic as it was, she decided to err on the side of caution.
“You look so familiar,” he pressed.
“Impossible. I’m new in town.”
“Still . . .”
“What a nice towel,” she noted sincerely as her eyes slid to the white swath at his hips. “Looks remarkably soft and fluffy.”
Amusement touched his mouth as he tightened the length of terry. “So you want to see the place.”
“Please.”
“Come in a minute.” Still holding his towel, he managed to pull in a few of her bags labeled Bergdorf, Saks, and Bloomingdale’s, then shut the door behind her with his bare foot. “I’ll get dressed.”
“Suit yourself.”
He grinned and marched off.
“Nice furniture,” she called after him.
“All the units come furnished,” he called back.
“Including towels?”
He appeared moments later in blue jeans, T-shirt, and tattered moccasins, his damp jet hair combed neatly. “Well, no.”
“Maybe I can borrow one of yours.”
He snagged a ring of keys off a hook above his stove. “We’ll see.”
Alec easily grabbed up all her shopping bags this time and led the way down the hall. Pausing at the door marked 2D, he inserted the key, then ushered her inside. Tia looked around the bright, cheery space identical to his.
“Interested?”