Aye, I am a Fairy (The Fairies Saga Book 2)

by Dani Haviland

  Leah ordered a Baileys on the rocks, and as discretely as she could, dumped the works into the white and brown striped Cuppa Joe coffee cup. The bartender hadn’t missed her custom brew and smiled at her. She grinned weakly in return, sipped her drink, and looked down, twirling her cocktail napkin in circles with her index finger. She wasn’t ready to engage in conversation, nor did she care to watch the TV above her with the latest in Hollywood scandals.

  Sniff, sniff, gulp, sniff.

  Leah turned around to see if someone behind her really was crying, or if someone had changed the channel to a noontime soap opera. Over in the corner, half-hidden by a silk and plastic dieffenbachia, was an attractive gray-haired lady sitting at a table littered with dirty dishes. She had pushed the empty glasses aside, and was using one of the used cocktail napkins as a dust broom to move the tortilla chip crumbs away from her. Evidently the small noises caught the bartender’s attention, too, because he was on his way to the table with a bar towel and a fresh bowl of chips for her.

  The woman turned around and said sincerely, “Thanks, how sweet of you.” She set three photographs on the table in front of her and sighed.

  Leah wasn’t a snoop, but she couldn’t help but look over Ms. Sniffle’s shoulder to see her display. The first picture was a black and white studio photo of a dark-haired toddler with a big smile, maybe two-years-old. The second was a class picture of a pre-adolescent scholar, complete with sash across his shoulders, almost like an honors vestment. The last one was familiar to her—the stock photo she had seen in her Google search: Lord James Melbourne.

  It was obvious by the way the woman smiled at and touched her photos that she was fond of the men, or rather, man. They looked like shots of Lord James at different times in his life. And, it appeared as if he and she might be related. There was a definite family resemblance with their high cheekbones, full mouths, and beautiful brown eyes. It was possible that this woman was either his mother or his very young grandmother.

  Leah realized she was staring, and turned back to face the bottles beneath the mirror at the back of the bar. The friendly bartender came over to her, holding a carafe of coffee. “Would you like me to freshen that up for you?” he asked.

  She pulled off the lid and let him pour in some fresh coffee. “Not too much now; you need to leave room for the crème,” she said.

  He smiled and dumped in a scoop of ice. He had anticipated her drink, and already had a shot of Bailey’s ready. He poured it right from the shot glass into the coffee cup. She went for her purse to pay for the drink, but he put up his hand in a ‘stop’ gesture. He wiped an imaginary spill off the counter with his bar rag, leaned over and asked, “Are you waiting for someone special?”

  “Uh, yes, sort of,” she replied lamely. She really wasn’t in the mood to engage in a conversation with a stranger, even if he did seem like a decent sort.

  “Oh, sorry,” he apologized, and then noticed the lady with the tabletop montage had come up to the bar and was standing a few feet away. He excused himself to Leah with a nod, and walked over to the older woman. “What can I get for you, ma’am?”

  “An iced tea, please,” she replied politely. “And do you have a blank piece of paper? I need to make a sign.”

  He looked under the counter, shoved a few items aside, “Let me see…” then pulled out a football schedule. The backside was blank, a perfect canvas for a small poster. “Will this do?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She took the sheet to her table, gathered up her photos, placed a soft kiss on the top of the pack, and put it back into the side pocket of her beige designer bag. She unzipped the middle part of her purse and pawed through it. By her scowl of frustration, she didn’t find what she was searching for. She looked back to the bartender and asked, “Do you happen to have a black felt-tipped marker?”

  He rummaged under the counter again and replied, “Sorry.”

  Leah took pity on the frustrated woman. “Here, I have a marker. It’s dark purple, but wide, and should make letters that are easy to read.”

  “Oh, thank you so much.” The older lady accepted the marker, then moved her basket of chips to the next table and spread out the repurposed poster. She started with a large ‘L’ then changed it into a triangle. She continued on with ‘James’ on the first line and ‘Melbourne’ on the second line, ending with a mirror image of the first accidental triangle at the end, effectively making a decorative panel around his name.

  She returned the marker to Leah. “Thanks again,” she said, then went back to her table to watch the next onslaught of passengers coming through.

  Looks like we’re waiting for the same man. Maybe he really hadn’t meant to send me that email, after all. Oh, well, it’s cool in here, the drink is just right, and I might have a first-class drama developing right in front of me. It beats the heck out of staying at home and doing laundry.

  And, there he was. ‘Wow! What a stud,’ was all Leah could think. She bowed her head down and made the snap decision to play invisible. She glanced over at the lady in coral, clutching her bag nervously as she stood up to walk out into the corridor with her little handmade sign.

  I guess I was wrong about them being related. A man would surely know his own mother. She wouldn’t—shouldn’t—have needed a sign with his name on it for him to recognize her. But then again, she didn’t have an English accent, and he’s an English lord. But why was she so passionate about his pictures? Leah realized that either she had an overactive imagination from reading too many romance novels or she had stumbled onto a long-kept international secret.

  *5 Bibb

  Well, one thing was obvious: the two of them had never met. James was stunned, but still composed. Elbows close at his side, shallow breathing—his body language practically screamed, ‘Oh, so that’s who you are?’ The older lady was almost comical—giddy and schoolgirlish—as if she was finally meeting the movie star she had had a crush on for years. She was positively gaga over the good-looking man, hands up, barely holding in check the urge to paw him to make sure he was real.

  He certainly didn’t look the way Leah had imagined an English lord would look. The facial features were definitely the man from the photographs and internet stories, but that’s where the similarity to ‘Lord James Melbourne’ ended. He sported a two-day-old beard, had a casual, ‘I haven’t a care in the world and I’m on vacation’ attitude, and was wearing clothes that looked as if they belonged on a male model hawking macho colognes in a glamour magazine. He was also able to pull off the ‘happy hunk’ aura without seeming proud or vain—he was simply a man meeting a long lost relative in an airport. And his mother, or grandmother, had eyes only for him. Leah couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he seemed surprised about something. The older lady was glowing with delight, but was managing to contain her earlier excitement.

  And then the two of them walked into the bar. Ho boy! The lady looked over at Leah, smiled, and said proudly, “I got him!”

  “Glad I could help,” Leah said, and saluted her with her cup of joe.

  Lord James’s eyes widened at her gesture. “Ms. Madigan?” he asked, and looked right at her.

  Good Grief. Where’s a Harry Potter cloak of invisibility when you need it? So much for taking a low profile. Leah smiled weakly, “Yes, that’s me. James Melbourne, I presume.”

  “Do you two know each other?” the lady asked. She was genuinely confused, but regained her composure quickly. “Come sit down,” she continued, not waiting for an answer, moving chairs around in order to make a place for Leah to join them at their little round table. “I’m Bibb Stephens, his m…, er, the mill owner who…well, just call me Bibb.”

  The Freudian slip of nearly saying ‘mother’ was missed by James, but Leah heard it and filed it away, deciding that it was best to try and forget it. That was Bibb’s secret to share or keep hidden away.

  “Would you like more tea, ma’am?” the barkeeper asked, a pitcher of tea in one hand, a fresh basket of tortilla chi
ps in the other.

  “Yes, please.” She changed her focus from the waiter to the object of her adoration. “James, would you like to try one of these, or maybe you’d rather have a cold beer?”

  “Thank you. I’ll try the tea on ice. And you, Ms. Madigan?”

  “I’m good, I still have my Irish coffee.” Leah lifted her cup and took a long drink, trying to hide her discomfort at being the third person in a two-person reunion.

  The waiter brought the glass of iced tea to the table. Bibb put down a $20 bill, and momentarily glanced away from James to be sure the server saw the money. Leah looked over at Bibb, saw her new acquaintance’s head pull back in shock, and followed her gaze. Bibb was staring at the bartender. Leah could see that the man who had moments earlier given her a free spike to her iced coffee, was watching her anxiously. As soon as he saw Leah return his stare, he looked guilty, grabbed the cash, and went back behind the bar. He popped open the till, took out some ones, rushed back to the table, put down the change, and was back behind the bar in seconds. Head bent towards his belly, he fumbled with the knot in his little bar towel apron, mumbling curses until he got it off, and then threw it into the mini laundry basket. He dashed out of the establishment awkwardly, all elbows and feet, bumping into a young man who was evidently his shift relief.

  “Hey, Harry, what’s your hurry? You’re supposed to wait until I clock in before you take off. Is there anything going on that I should know about? Harry? Harry!”

  But Harry the bartender was now sprinting down the concourse, getting distance between himself and the bar as quickly as possible. He took one last nervous glance back over his shoulder at Leah, and then was gone.

  Leah lifted her cup to take another sip, then realized her lips were tingling. “Oh, shit,” she mumbled, “I think I’ve been drugged. Shit, shit, shit.” She lay her head down on the table, turned it sideways, and saw James bend forward to look into her eyes.

  “Do you need to go to the hospital?” he asked. “Bibb, where’s the nearest hospital, and how close is your car? Would an ambulance be faster?”

  Leah managed to lift one finger to indicate ‘wait.’ She knew what she had to do. She opened her mouth and poked her index finger down her throat as far as she could. Her gag reflex made her cough, but she continued jabbing.

  Bibb picked up on what was happening. She rushed behind the bar, grabbed first a trashcan and then the laundry basket, and passed them over the counter to the new barkeeper, who handed them to James. Leah hacked and choked, then started vomiting, bringing up the drug-laced coffee and whiskey blend. James handed her a fistful of napkins to wipe her mouth. The replacement bartender came over with a glass of water and handed it to Bibb, the obvious mother in the little sick-child scenario.

  Leah put her head back onto the table and turned to look at her small audience one by one. “Why?” she asked the new bartender.

  “Did he ask you if you were waiting for someone?”

  Leah managed a slight nod in reply. “I think he wanted to take you home with him. He was getting off shift, and well, there’s a new date rape drug out there, and he just broke up with his girlfriend. I think he wanted you to, um, be with him. Don’t think I’m condoning his action—he’s going to get canned for sure. If you want his name and contact information, I’ll help you fill out the police report. He’s been in trouble before, but nothing like this; just some petty theft.”

  Bibb still had the glass of water in her hand. “Do you think you can handle this now?” she asked, offering it to her.

  “Thanks,” Leah said. She gulped a mouthful, performed a quick swish swish, and spit into the trash can. “Do you have any sugar and saltine crackers?” she asked the bartender.

  The bartender answered, “Sure,” looked at Bibb and James like, ‘Is she nuts?’ then went behind the bar and brought out the sugar dispenser and a basket of cellophane-wrapped saltine crackers.

  Leah poured a few hearty shakes of salt and a stream of sugar into the water. “May I?” she asked as she reached for the spoon at the side of James’s glass of iced tea. He nodded and watched as she stirred her little concoction. She cautiously sipped, and then without setting the glass down, finished drinking her brew. “More water, please,” she asked the bartender. She turned her attention to a packet of saltines. She tugged at the easy-tear strip, first from one side, and then the other, but only managed to crush the still-wrapped crackers.

  “Here, allow me,” said James. He picked up another package and used his teeth to start the tear needed to open it.

  “Thanks,” Leah said, smiling as she accepted the crackers. He certainly isn’t a stuffy Brit; too bad he’s gay.

  She noticed her new acquaintances’ stares and explained. “You see, the salt and sugar in the water make a saline and dextrose solution to help rehydrate my body and balance my electrolytes, just in case I lost too much fluid—which I doubt I did—but better to err on the side of caution. It’s the same principle as drinking Gatorade or Pedi-a-lyte when you or a child has the stomach flu. And the soda crackers will help absorb any residual poison.” Leah saw the shocked looks of her two new friends. “Oh, I’m a nurse, and no, I do not want to go to the hospital on my day off, thank you very much! I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  The bartender approached the table with trepidation, a glass of water in one hand and a napkin with scribbling on it in the other. “Here you are. This is all the information he gave when he was hired last week. Normally we would have done a thorough background check, but he admitted to the petty theft, and we were shorthanded. Of course, we’re really going to be short now. I doubt he’ll be back.”

  “No loss there,” said Bibb. James nodded in agreement. Leah took the slip of paper, stuffed it into her shirt pocket, and then returned her head to the tabletop. Bibb saw the bartender was still standing by, making sure that Leah was okay. “Next time, try the union hall,” she advised. “They’ll do the screening for you. Ready everyone?”

  “Yes, Mom,” Leah said, reaching down to pick up her purse. James bent over at the same time.

  The two of them shared one of those moments frozen in time. They were linked eye-to-eye, simple spirits, naked souls in a world where no one else existed. They shared a stare, a blink, another stare, then they both returned to the world that contained other people.

  “I mean, Bibb,” Leah corrected absently.

  “Yes, let’s get out of here. Do you want to go to the constable’s station first?” James asked Leah.

  James turned and looked across the table at Bibb, trying to visualize her in another light. ‘Mom?’ he thought. Blink, blink. I have to get this done in the right order. First, alert the authorities, then talk to Leah about her mother, and then confer with Bibb about the mill purchase.

  “No, I don’t.” Leah’s reply brought him back from his introspection. “I doubt they’d be able to catch him anyway. He’s probably on his way to…to…oh, crap.” Leah snorted with disgust and returned to her slumped-over position on the table, her head on her forearms.

  “I think she needs to go home,” James said to Bibb. He turned his attention to his newfound lady in distress, “Do you think you can drive?”

  “I’ll make it,” she answered, bringing her head up. “I certainly didn’t want this to be your first impression of me.” She grunted and corrected herself. “Anyone’s first impression of me. Maybe we ought to do this another day? The last twenty-four hours have been pretty rough for me.”

  “I know,” James said.

  Leah glared at James. How do you know how my day has been?

  “I have to talk to you right away about your mother,” he said, his tone letting her know that delay was not an option for him.

  At the mention of her mother, Leah’s spine tensed. She slowly pulled herself together—physically and emotionally—into a straight-backed, Mother Superior bearing, complete with scowl. She didn’t like anyone telling her what to do, especially on her day off.

  “It is very
important,” he stressed, ignoring her glare. He turned to Bibb. “I think our business will have to wait until later.”

  Bibb looked disappointed, but nodded and stood up, apparently getting ready to leave the two young people to their serious discussion about Leah’s mother. James arose in response, his English gentlemanly behavior showing his appreciation of her gracious parting after their confused and awkward initial meeting.

  As he reached out to shake Bibb’s hand, his arm brushed up against the outside pocket of the valise next to him, dislodging his secreted bundle of ancient letters. Bibb’s eyes went to the source of the crinkly noise. James saw her flash of recognition of the blue ribbon-wrapped package. She looked up at him—wide-eyed, but mute. He could tell by her stare that she knew what was in the letters. She might even know more than he did if she had read beyond the first one, the only letter he had opened.

  Time stopped for the two of them as they sized each other up, neither one of them wanting to speak first.

  It was Leah, though, who broke the uncomfortable silence. “Are you sure that you two don’t need a moment, or a few hours, before we talk, James?” She didn’t know what was going on with these two, but did remember how Bibb had looked over the pictures of him. Maybe the truth would be revealed, which might not be what she wanted.

  Something quickly passed between James and Bibb—a spark of recognition? James shook it off, and Bibb changed her focus to Leah, “Is this meeting about your mother, Evie?”

  Leah answered slowly, moving her head side to side in confusion. “No, my mother’s name is Dani,” she said, almost as a question. “James met her last year before she…uh…left.”

  Leah looked at Bibb, then James, and then back to Bibb again. She could tell that they both knew something about her mother’s disappearance. Why else would the two of them pale at the word left? “Okay, I think all three of us need to talk. But not here,” Leah said with a shudder of disgust at the fresh memory of being drugged.