Just Believe

by Anne Manning

  Annabelle instinctively recoiled. "What is it?"

  He smiled wryly. "I'll tell you after you see what it does." He cocked his head at a questioning angle. "Remember, you promised..." Leaving his reminder hanging, he raised one hand, index finger extended and on the tip, a tiny drop of an ointment.

  She nodded and turned toward him, sitting very still. Gaelen bent over and gently laid his finger on the inside of her right eye, next to her nose, letting the ointment flow in.

  "Blink," he ordered.

  She did, and a soothing, cool film crossed her eye, from inside to outside.

  Gaelen set his hands on the sides of her head, blocking her view of the bed and her sister.

  "Now. You don't strike me as a flighty-headed girl. But what you're about to see will frighten you. You must not scream or cry out. Do you understand?"

  "Gaelen, this is getting very scary."

  "I know, dearest, but this is the worst part, I promise. After this, you'll have the adventure of your life." He smiled and caressed her cheek, running his fingers through her hair. "Ready?"

  "No," she said with a little laugh, reassured by his smile. "You're sure this is the worst?"

  He seemed to think about it before answering. "I hope so, dearest."

  "You promised."

  "Aye, that I did. Then I promise again. This is the worst part."

  "All right. I'm ready."

  "Look at the bed again."

  He'd made such a production of the whole thing that she was truly terrified. Then she chided herself for her fear. What could be so awful? It was Erin.

  Wasn't it?

  Gaelen said it wasn't.

  Annabelle gathered her courage and turned her gaze leftward, back to the bed.

  Her left eye saw first. Erin lying still and quiet as death.

  Then she turned her head all the way around. With her right eye--the one Gaelen had put the ointment in--where she expected to see Erin, just like she did with the left...

  A gasp escaped her. She jumped up, shoving the chair backward to fall over with a scrape of plastic and metal. A scream blossomed in the back of her throat, and she clamped her hands over her mouth to hold it in.

  The door opened. A nurse stuck her head in.

  "Ms. Tinker? Is there anything wrong?"

  Gaelen ducked behind the bathroom door, his gaze telling Annabelle to say something clever.

  She couldn't even think for the terror crowding out everything else in her head. She looked to Gaelen for help.

  He rested his head on his joined hands, closing his eyes. Sleep.

  An embarrassed giggle escaped her. "I'm so sorry. I must have drifted off to sleep and had a nightmare. I hope I didn't disturb anyone else?"

  "No. That's fine. Visiting hours are over, you know. I'll have to ask you to leave."

  "Certainly. I'll just get my things."

  The nurse smiled in understanding. "We'll call you if there's a change."

  "Thank you," Annabelle said, making a big show of gathering her jacket and purse.

  Gaelen waited until the door closed behind the nurse to come out of the bathroom.

  Avoiding the thing in Erin's bed, Annabelle stared hard into his eyes. "What's going on here, Gaelen?"

  "Come on, we'll go where we can talk." He took her by the hand and dragged her from the room.

  Neither of them looked back at the bed.

  Chapter Fourteen

  He drove her to his small house on the outskirts of town. It sat in a pricey neighborhood lined on both sides with modern, space-efficient, identical houses, sided in gray timber to give them a weathered look that fooled no one.

  Her first thought was Gaelen didn't belong here.

  He escorted her into his home with a warm grip on her elbow. Without a word, he put a kettle to boil on the countertop electric stove in the immaculate kitchen. She pulled out a stool from the table height kitchen bar and watched him take a ceramic teapot and a tin of loose tea from the cupboard.

  Gaelen's eyes didn't meet hers all the while he moved around the kitchen, his large frame dwarfing the small appliances. When the water boiled, he poured a little into the pot, swirled it around, then dropped in four spoons of tea. After filling the pot with boiling water, he stirred four times--she watched him count--counterclockwise.

  "Quite a ritual," she said softly, to break the silence more than anything else.

  He smiled, finally looking into her eyes. "Aye. If it's worth doing..." His grin spread wider, taking in his whole face.

  He pulled a white, orange and green knitted cozy over the pot, then took a seat across the kitchen bar from her. While the tea steeped, they sat in renewed silence. The tea filled the air with a scent of comfort, warm and soothing.

  "It's a long story, you know," he began. "Long, long."

  "Tell me."

  He glanced at her with a twinkle in his eye. "Aye, lass, I will. Tea first, though." Turning away from her, he got cups and saucers and spoons and an unopened package of Girl Scout shortbread cookies. "My neighbor sells them for his daughter," he explained. "I feel obliged."

  "You don't have to explain. I love them," Annabelle replied, happy for any conversation, even banal conversation. She took one of the trademarked shapes and bit off the top leaf of the stylized three-leaf clover.

  Gaelen held one up in front of his face, almost like a blessing, and he laughed.

  "What's so funny?"

  Shaking his head, he poured milk into the cups then strained the tea in. He set the cup and saucer before her.

  "Why are you stalling?" she asked.

  After placing the sugar bowl within her reach, he sighed.

  "Because I'm frightened." He stirred his tea and she waited. She wasn't sure she wanted to push him to go on.

  "There's nothing for it, though," he finally said. "We don't have much time and here I am wastin' it." He set the spoon down, then lifted up his cup, downing the whole cup at once.

  Annabelle did the same, in spite of the fact it was still scalding and even though she loathed tea.

  Gaelen drew in a large breath and poured them both another cup. Then he began.

  "What is in Erin's bed at the hospital is a fairy changeling." He snorted in derision. "And not a very good one at that."

  Remembering his warning that she had to believe, Annabelle squashed an urge to giggle at the idea. Instead she asked, "A changeling? What's that?"

  "It's a very old, very effective trick. For centuries, when fairies needed a mortal for some reason, say, as a wet-nurse for a fairy infant, or maybe just because a child was particularly lovely, a substitute would be placed in the mortal's crib or bed, and the real mortal would be taken to Faerie."

  "What kind of substitute? What I saw was a piece of wood."

  He nodded. "Yes, beech, I believe. Beech makes the very best stock for a changeling. In the old days, sometimes a sick fairy child or a grumpy old one was put in the mortal's place."

  Annabelle knew she was staring, her mouth hanging open, disbelief painted across her face, but she didn't dare express it. Something in Gaelen's fervent demand that she had to promise to believe made her stay quiet, pushing the questions away.

  Gaelen glanced at her. She saw lines appear at the corners of his eyes and his lips tighten.

  "Do you believe?"

  "Yes," she answered.

  He drew a breath. It seemed to her to be shaky.

  "Here goes," he whispered. Annabelle was certain his words weren't meant for her. Then he turned to her. "Annabelle, Lucas and I...we're not...like you. We're not mortal."

  He watched her, seeking a reaction. She could almost hear him asking her again.

  Do you believe?

  She nodded, in answer to his silent question.

  "I'm a fairy."

  * * * *

  Annabelle didn't say anything at first. She stared with warm brown eyes probing deep, seeking for truth. At least she didn't laugh, he thought. He was already feeling weak. His worst fear wa
s realized. Her belief wasn't strong enough.

  "Annabelle," he pleaded.

  "I believe you," she said, too quickly. "Lucas is a fairy, too."

  It wasn't a question. He began to feel stronger. She was getting over her initial reaction. She wasn't going to let him down.

  "Yes. Lucas, too. Linette Duncan--"

  "The doctor, too?"

  "No! No way. She's a pixie."

  Annabelle smiled.

  Gaelen braced for another bout of weakness. When it didn't happen, he knew her smile had a source other than skepticism.

  "What?" he asked.

  She actually chuckled. "She looks like a pixie, doesn't she?"

  Gaelen found himself smiling with her.

  "Yes, she does. Though she's a tad taller than most pixies are." He brought himself back to the point. "Lucas broke a law of our people when he fell in love with Erin. It's forbidden to have such doings with mortal folk."

  "Why?" she asked, an expression of concern. "How could anybody be against love?"

  Gaelen fell deep into Annabelle's comforting eyes. "To love a mortal is to invite discovery. Whenever we reveal our nature, the first reaction of too many rational mortals is to discount us. And as you've seen, disbelief and skepticism weakens us. The stronger the disbelief, the greater the danger, until we're gone."

  A gasp of dismay escaped Annabelle's lips. "Gone?"

  He nodded. "We'd disappear into nothing. Oblivion."

  Horror exploded in her eyes. "No! That's not possible. Why would your existence depend on what anybody else believes?"

  He shrugged. "I don't know why. I only know the truth. Whenever skepticism touches us, we begin to weaken. Like just now."

  "Now?" Wrinkles of confusion creased her brow. "What skepticism is there here now?"

  "When I told you I was a fairy. You didn't believe."

  "Of course I did. After all, Gaelen, I saw your wings."

  "You don't have to pretend. I felt--"

  "Whatever you felt is your problem, Dr. Riley. I know what I believe. And I believe you are a fairy." She leaned forward. "Now where did that quack pixie and her two thugs take my sister?"

  Rather than explore the rather dangerous topic of belief, Gaelen made his best guesses.

  "There are two possibilities. Ireland to the Elders, or she may have taken them to New Jersey."

  "New Jersey?"

  "To the North American Council headquarters. It's in Teaneck."

  "You're kidding. New Jersey?"

  "No. What's wrong with New Jersey?"

  "Never mind. We'll start with New Jersey, and if she's not there, we'll go to Ireland." Annabelle stood and held out her hand and closed her eyes. "I'm ready."

  Gaelen stared at her for a moment, not at all sure what she meant.

  "Ready for what?"

  "Let's go. Let's fly. I'm ready." Again she assumed the close-eyed stance, chest thrust out at a most appealing angle, hand extended.

  "You can't fly."

  Peeking from underneath her eyelids, Annabelle frowned. "What?"

  "Dearling, you can't fly."

  "Wait just a minute, now. You're telling me you're a fairy. Spread your wings and let's go."

  "Annabelle, my wings are not how I fly. They're only decorative. Like a peacock's plumage."

  "Oh, please."

  "No, I'm serious. It really isn't very scientific of you either." A smile spread over his face and he chuckled. "Wings."

  "Scientific? After what you've just demanded I believe on blind faith, and you have the gall to call me unscientific?"

  "Of course. You don't think we can simply flout the laws of physics, do you?"

  Jaw open, Annabelle stared at him in utter disbelief. Not the killing kind, fortunately.

  "What?" she finally choked out.

  "Can we discuss this later? We don't have a lot of time."

  "How are we getting to New Jersey, then?"

  "We'll fly, of course."

  Annabelle narrowed her eyes.

  "On a plane, Annabelle."

  Her eyes widened comically. "Oh, a plane. Right. Of course."

  He smiled in spite of himself.

  "I'll make the reservations. Then, we've got to go huntin'." Gaelen turned toward the kitchen junk drawer where he kept his phone book.

  "Hunting? We have to go--"

  He placed a finger over her lips. "Hush, darlin'. We can't go unarmed. Trust me on this." He poured her another cup of tea and made two very expensive reservations for the next morning. Then, he grabbed a plastic grocery bag and motioned to her. "Let's go, sweet."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Gaelen hustled her into his car and drove them back to the campus, pulling off South Road into the Bell Tower parking lot.

  "Here we are." He peered out the windshield toward the sky. "A waxing moon. Very nice. Bring the bag, will you, love? And let's hope they haven't cut the grass lately."

  They got out and Annabelle followed Gaelen as he marched into the middle of the grassy field bordering Kenan Stadium. Annabelle had spent many hours here with her dad on Saturdays watching his beloved Tar Heels play football. A good memory. One that reminded her that there had been many more happy times than not.

  Gaelen knelt, raking his fingers through the grass.

  "What are you looking for?" she asked in a loud whisper.

  "Four-leaf clovers. We need that bag full to make enough ointment."

  Annabelle held up the grocery bag in front of her face.

  "You're kidding, right?"

  "Nope." He bent back to his search.

  "A bag full of four-leaf clovers?"

  "Yes." Gaelen glanced up, a frown furrowing his brow. "Well? Are you going to help me? Or are you going to just stand there with the bag up in front of your face?" Again he returned his attention to the ground.

  This mess is finally taking its toll. He's cracked.

  "Gaelen," she said softly, approaching to kneel down beside him and laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. "There aren't enough to fill a bag in the whole world. I've been looking my whole life and never found one."

  "Never? Then you didn't look long enough. There's at least one per square yard of clover." He raked through another group. "That's in a normal field. This isn't a normal field, however. Aha!" With a sweep, he grabbed a handful of tiny green plants and held them up for Annabelle's inspection.

  "I don't believe it," she whispered, gazing in stupefaction at the mass of four-leaf clovers in Gaelen's hand. "Look at them all!"

  "Don't be tellin' me my business, my dear," he crowed with a smug smile and dropped to his knees, plucking and pulling. "This field is smack dab in the middle of the campus. To the north are the chemistry and physics departments. Right there is the medical school and the hospital complex." He paused from his hunt to point at the squat brick building. "You know what that means, don't you? Radiation galore. I've always found more four-leafers here than anywhere, even in Ireland."

  Annabelle glanced around.

  "Shouldn't we be, I don't know, protected?"

  "From what?" He chuckled at her nervousness. "Oh, no. It's not near dangerous levels. Only just enough to enhance the magic." Gaelen bent back to searching for his prizes.

  He was so unconcerned that Annabelle had to believe it was all right. Besides, this was a college town, full of environmentally aware professional people.

  Annabelle joined him and, once she was caught up in the excitement, she cheered with every four-leaf version she found. But the thrill grew old as her knees started to ache and her legs to wobble. And she could see by the fat, bright moon that her fingers were beginning to turn green.

  "Gaelen," she asked, "I thought three-leaf clovers were lucky."

  "No. They're too common to be lucky. You know about the story of Patrick don't you? How he used the three-leaf clover to explain about the Trinity?" Picking a clover, he held it up, frowned and tossed it away.

  Suddenly, the truth struck her. Gaelen wasn't human, not mort
al. Where did he fit in the universe?

  "Do you believe in God, Gaelen?"

  "Of course. You don't take me for a right heathen, do ye?" Another handful went into the bag. "We're God's creatures, as well as you are."

  Something else, though nothing as profound as eternity, was bothering her. "Why can't you make me fly? You know, like Peter Pan helped Wendy?"

  "That was just a story, Annabelle," Gaelen said, laughter covering his words.

  "But--"

  "And Sir James, for all his talent, had no more idea about fairies than any normal mortal."

  She had to chortle at that. "Still, you are like Tink."

  "Oh, please!" He rose on his knees and pinned her with an expression of supreme indignation. "At least get your terminology correct. Tinkerbell is a pixie. I am a fairy." He glanced at the plastic bag lying by her knee. "How are we doing?"

  "Almost full," she said, a little amazed.

  He walked over on his knees and took the bag and peered inside.

  "You're sure you've only put four-leafers in there? Three-leafers will weaken the mix."

  Annabelle nodded. "What are you going to do with them?"

  "I need more of the ointment I put on your eyes. I used the last drop when I showed you the changeling." He shivered a little as he said the word. "This should be enough."

  Once again Annabelle followed him to his car. After a quick stop at a drug store for mineral oil and a burger joint for a quick and very late dinner, they were back at his house by ten. Fifteen minutes later, Gaelen had a pot full of four-leaf clovers simmering on the stove, lid tightly clamped down.

  Exhausted from the long day, Annabelle was content to sit at the counter and rest her chin in her hand and watch. She didn't know she'd fallen asleep until the clanking of crockery jerked her awake.

  "Sorry." Gaelen grinned at her as he poured the boiled clover into the bowl. "Why don't you go lie down? Take my bed, and I'll sack out on the sofa when I'm done here."

  Annabelle rubbed at her eyes. "No. I'm okay. I want to help."

  "You're sure?" At her nod, he smiled and said, "Okay. Hand me that spoon," he asked her, pointing.

  Annabelle handed him a spoon, but not the wooden one he'd indicated.

  "No. That one."