by Anne Manning
"I'll explain everything."
"You'd better. I'm getting a headache from all this."
Annabelle sped back to town and parked right in front of Mrs. O'Hara's house, driver's side closest to the door. She pulled Gaelen's jacket over her shoulders, hoping it was long enough to hide most of her from prying eyes and dashed to the door.
"Spread your dress out and walk close behind me," she instructed Erin.
"Right," Erin replied in a crisp voice, as though they were on a military mission.
The door was open, and she and Erin dashed up the stairs as Mrs. O'Hara watched them, open-mouthed, from the fireplace.
Annabelle heard the front door close as they ducked into the bedroom.
"Gaelen used salt to get rid of the ointment before. I hope it works this time," she muttered to herself, but loud enough for Erin to hear.
"What ointment?"
"The magic ointment Gaelen made from four-leaf clovers to make me invisible."
"Magic ointment? I think it's your turn to spend a week or two in the psycho ward, sis."
"Maybe I will. I could use the rest." Annabelle peeked out the door and crossed the narrow hallway to the bathroom and filled the tub with hot water. She poured in a liberal amount of the salt and stirred it with her hand. She couldn't tell, because she still had ointment in her eyes, but she thought her hand was becoming more visible by the second.
She turned the water off and stuck a toe in, then her leg, then her whole body.
"Ah, oh, ooh, yummy." She settled back, closing her eyes and letting her tired muscles warm up and loosen.
"Annabelle, may I come in?"
"Sure. I think there's room, as long as I stay in the tub."
Erin peeked around the doorway. She'd shed her pointy hat and the gown, and was wearing Annabelle's nightgown. Annabelle blushed at the thought of what she'd been doing the last time she'd had it on. Or off, actually.
"Can you explain all this?" Erin asked, her voice very small.
"Have a seat," Annabelle motioned to the toilet. Erin set the cover down and sat. Annabelle took a deep breath and said, "Well, it's like this, Erin, my dear sister--we've both fallen in love with fairies."
"Fairies?"
Annabelle nodded, splashing water over her face and into her eyes to clear her vision. The salt stung a little.
"Yep. Winged, magical, but definitely not bug-sized fairies. That place where you were is the palace of a fairy king called Finnvarra. He apparently likes mortal women. He fed you something, didn't he?"
"I don't remember," Erin said. "I guess so, though."
"Well, as Gaelen explained it to me, once you eat fairy food, you can't escape. Unless somebody unenchants you, like I did by pouring salt on your head."
"Fairies?" Erin asked, obviously still unconvinced.
"Is that worse than space aliens?"
"Yes! I could tell people that! How can I say I'm in love with a fairy?"
"Like this: I'm in love with a fairy."
Erin stared at her. "You really are, aren't you?"
Annabelle smiled.
"But you left him there."
"Not for long." Annabelle sank back into the tub, her mind racing.
Erin sat silent for a few moments. "Well? What are we going to do?"
"I have to find somebody who can tell me a story," Annabelle said.
"Now I know you've gone nuts."
Annabelle ignored her. "Go rest, Erin. You're going to need it."
Her soak lasted an hour. Plenty long enough for every bit of ointment to be rendered useless by the salt in the water. She dried off and wrapped the damp towel around her, then crossed the hallway to the bedroom. Erin lay on the bed, obediently resting, but she opened her eyes when Annabelle closed the door.
"Is m'lady finished with her bath?" Erin asked with a twinkle in her eye.
"Yes, sirrah. Oh, that's a guy, isn't it?" Annabelle quickly dressed and offered Erin second pickings from her suitcase. When her sister was more modernly attired, she said, "Let's go."
"Where are we going?"
"To the pub, of course."
Mrs. O'Hara was snoring away in the front bedroom, so the Tinker sisters crept out, gingerly latching the door behind them. They hurried to O'Looney's pub and sidled up to the bar.
"Hello, Jocko," Annabelle called to the bartender.
"Ah, missus. And where is your gentleman this evening?"
"He's detained." She pulled Erin beside her. "Erin, this is Jocko O'Looney, the proprietor of this fine establishment. My sister, Erin Tinker."
"Ach, and a fine Irish lass she is. My pleasure, Miss Tinker."
"Mine, too."
"What'll you have tonight, missus?"
"Whatever you have in the kitchen and two pints."
"Comin' right up. Here, you laggard, give the lady her table," he shoved a patron off the chair at the table Annabelle and Gaelen had used the night before--or had it been the night before?--and as smoothly as the maître d' at the Ritz, settled the two women in their seats.
"Why are we here instead of rescuing Lucas and Gaelen?" Erin asked in an irritated whisper.
"Because we don't know how. If Gaelen had just told me what to do in a situation like this!"
"Here you are, ladies," Jocko said, setting two bowls of a thick soup and some fresh crusty bread in front of them. He reached over to the bar where the maid had just set two frothy pints of ale. "And your ale. Will there be anything else?"
"As a matter of fact, Jocko, there is." Annabelle pulled a chair out for him and patted the seat. Jocko, obviously intrigued, took it. "I need some information of a rather, ah, unusual nature."
Jocko raised his eyebrows. "Indeed?"
"Well, my husband--" She waved down Erin's expression of astonishment. "He was telling me about a rath just outside of town. Do you know it?"
"Ah, you mean, Knockma?"
"Yes," she rewarded him with a smile. "Tell me, is there a way of, well, do you know any stories about it?"
"Ach, sure'n every Irishman knows stories about Knockma. Lady Wilde, Oscar's ma you know, she writ many a story about the good folk and their doin's."
Annabelle took a taste of the soup. "Ah, Jocko, this is so good!" She took a big spoonful, making yummy sounds to win him over. "So, is there one, say, where a mortal has to get someone out?"
"Sure. Let's see, there's the one about the abducted bride. That's for sure a favorite."
Jocko was on autopilot from there. No need to even prompt him.
"You see, Finnvarra had stolen a mortal woman from her husband, a prince of these parts. The prince tracked her to Finnvarra's palace and set about digging the whole rath apart to retrieve his love. But every morning, no matter how hard his men worked, no matter how much earth had been moved, when they came back, it was as though the ground had never been touched.
"The young prince was ready to die out of grief and rage, but then he heard a voice saying, 'Sprinkle the earth with salt and your work will be safe.' Another voice added, 'Finnvarra is anxious because he knows if a mortal man strikes his rath with a spade, the rath will crumble to dust and fade away like the mist.'"
The two sisters gazes locked.
"Thanks, Jocko." Annabelle jumped up, digging through her pockets for some money. "Where can I get a spade?"
"A spade? I have one."
"May I borrow it? Or buy it?"
Jocko narrowed his eyes at her. "Is it after auld Finnvarra you're bound?"
Annabelle nodded.
"You'll not be goin' there alone, just the two of you." Jocko jumped on the bar. "Listen up, lads. These two ladies here are having trouble with auld Finnvarra. Time for us to make a trip to the rath."
Annabelle exchanged a startled glance with Erin. "Jocko," she started.
Jocko held up his hand. "Don't you be worried, missus. We been dealing with the good folk for longer than, well, longer than anything. Who is it bein' held there?"
Annabelle hesitated, "My husband and
brother-in-law."
"Aha. Finnvarra's tastes must be changing, lads."
A roar of laughter, lubricated by many pints of ale, rocked the pub.
Annabelle wasn't sure she wanted this whole semi-drunken mob following her to the rath.
"Jocko, I'm sure with the information you've given me, I can handle this myself."
"Not at all, Missus. I'm here to help. Can't have our fairies troublin' the tourists, now can we?"
He was absolutely serious.
"Come along, lads." He reached behind the bar and pulled out a spade. With a wink at the Tinkers, he said in a whisper, "Always be prepared, eh?"
With that, he led the whole population of his pub out into the street and through the town toward the rath.
Annabelle and Erin ran to keep up with the crowd of men. When they arrived at the rath, Jocko waved them up.
"Whose knife is that?" He pointed at the blade buried in the doorpost.
"Mine," Annabelle said.
"Well, done, lass." He stepped back, and gave her a wave, as though handing the show over to her.
"Call out to the old sod, missus. Tell him what you want and what you're going to do if he don't answer right proper."
Erin echoed this with a go-ahead motion of her own.
Annabelle approached the open doorway. She glanced back at Erin and Jocko. They both gave her a thumb's up.
Go get 'em, Tiger.
She took a deep breath, both for sustenance and for time.
"Finnvarra, I want Gaelen and Lucas Riley released to me immediately."
Her words hung in the air, mocked by the laughing breeze.
"Finnvarra, I've got a lot of good lads here, all with shovels and plenty of salt. We're ready to dig you out."
The laughter grew louder in the trees.
"Then we'll sink a spade in your rath."
The laughter grew softer, then died. A whisper took its place. Annabelle could hear a man's voice in it.
Damn. I thought they'd have forgotten about that by now.
Cheered by those words, Annabelle plunged on. "And when we've wrecked your palace, Finnvarra, I'll bring my buddies in the press. Let's see, The National Enquirer? The Sun? Geraldo Rivera could lead a live tour of your palace."
The whisper in the breeze grew to the urgent vibrations of many voices. She heard accusation and anger in them.
Release them! We'll be ruined.
They'll destroy us. We should strike first.
No! We could not.
Release them! Release them!
Annabelle turned back to the crowd who'd followed her to give them a smile of encouragement. Then her mouth fell open in horror.
They were all frozen in place, as though in suspended animation.
Annabelle was suddenly alone facing all of Faerie. And Jocko had the spade.
Chapter Twenty Six
Annabelle turned back to the yawning doorway. It was still open, held by the iron knife. A light glimmered far down the tunnel, coming toward her. She ran back to Erin and grabbed the saltbox from her sister's frozen fingers.
"Erin!" She waved her hand in front of Erin's face.
Not even a blink.
"Okay. Be calm." She waited for the light to arrive, and whatever was coming with it.
The High Councilor emerged from the tunnel, his wings retracted.
"What have you done to them?" Annabelle asked, a wave of her hand indicating the gathered crowd behind her.
"Nothing." He raised his hand at her expression of disgust. "Really. We've done nothing to them. We've just expanded our circle a bit so we can have time to talk."
"I'm speeded up, too?" she asked, her spine tingling with the realization of the risk she was taking.
He nodded. "How much older you get with respect to them," he motioned toward the crowd, "depends on how quickly we can conclude this business." He planted his feet and stared at her. "What do you want?"
"I already told you. Gaelen and Lucas."
"That's all?" He didn't look convinced.
"What else could I want?"
"Riches, fame, glory."
"You could give me that?"
He smiled a knowing smile. "So, you can be bought?"
"Asking a question isn't the same as offering a price."
"Quite so. What do you want?"
"Gaelen and Lucas."
"Why?"
She frowned in confusion. Why?
The High Councilor became impatient. "Come, girl, if you don't know why you want them, why bother?"
"If I understand your question, I want Lucas for my sister, who loves him."
"And Gaelen?"
"I want Gaelen for myself." He stared at her, his face expectant. "I want Gaelen because I love him."
"What about our law?"
"What about it?"
"They have broken the law, and we must protect ourselves."
"Phooey! I've heard all about your law, and it's hokum."
His expression looked like she'd insulted his mother.
"Haven't you people ever heard of Descartes?"
"I went to grade school with him," the High Councilor intoned.
Annabelle grabbed her quickly escaping courage. "Then you know your existence is no more provable than ours. 'I think, therefore I am.' It's that simple. Your existence is not dependent on a mortal believing."
"Easy for you to say, mortal woman."
"I didn't say it. Your school chum Descartes did." Seizing her advantage, she continued, "As far as not revealing yourselves, you do it all the time. You have mortals you call favorites."
"Yes."
"You reveal yourselves to them. Is every fairy who reveals himself to a favorite breaking your law?"
The High Councilor frowned. "What do you know of favorites?"
"My father, Vern Tinker, was a favorite."
The High Councilor stepped closer to her, his eyes studying her face. "You're Jumbo Tinker's girl?"
Annabelle replied with a nod.
"And that is your sister?"
"Yes, sir," she replied regaining her voice.
He nodded and became even more serious. "He was a great friend to our people. A great favorite. Seems only right his daughters should also be favorites."
She didn't have a chance to ask him what he meant because the High Councilor continued.
"You have spoken truly." He motioned to the doorway. "You won't bring Geraldo Rivera, will you?"
Stifling a giggle, she answered, "No, not if I get what I came for."
"And after they come out, you'll remove the knife?"
Annabelle nodded agreement.
"All right." He swirled in a flash of robes and disappeared. Only a flicker of light showed where he'd stood. It flew through the doorway. In a moment, two flashes of light emerged, one hovered over Annabelle, while the other went on to Erin.
Suddenly, Gaelen stood before her, weaving and holding one palm to his forehead.
"Whew! I need a vacation," he said, wrapping his free arm around Annabelle's shoulders. Smiling down at her, he kissed her forehead and whispered, "Hello, my heroine."
She was speechless, so overcome with joy and relief at seeing him again. She threw her arms around his neck and held on for dear life.
* * * *
Inside King Finnvarra's palace, his queen, Onagh, slipped into her chambers and dumped the sack on her bed. The naked mortal woman had left it behind, and Onagh was eaten by curiosity.
Carefully she pawed through it, but found only clothing. A tunic, some long faded blue trousers, and some linens.
They were very colorful. She held up a…?
"What is this?" Onagh positioned the tiny piece of cloth over every part of her body, but it only seemed made for one. She blushed as she glanced to make certain none of her ladies were coming in. They were obviously still watching the debate going on between the mortal woman and the High Councilor.
Onagh shucked off her gown and stepped into the strange garment. The triangul
ar scrap of cloth in the front covered her femininity, almost. She stood before the mirror and turned.
Scandalized and thrilled at the same time, she saw her buttocks were bare.
How naughty!
Smiling a secret smile, Onagh reached for the other garment. A matching wine red color, it was a band with two cups attached. Well, no mystery what they were for. She fitted the cups over her breasts and struggled to attach the band behind her. After many fruitless attempts, she reversed things and attached the band in front, then turned the band around until the cups were in the right place. Then she slid her arms through the shoulder straps.
"Wow!" she whispered, gazing at herself in the mirror. Her breasts seemed much larger.
She heard the angry footfall of her husband. Onagh had long suffered through Finnvarra's interest in mortal women. Well, this day, he would be interested in her.
"Damn!" Finnvarra came into their chamber and threw himself on the bed. He flopped onto his back and his gaze fell upon his wife. "Damn," he whispered, his meaning totally different. "What happened to you?"
"Don't you like it?"
Mouth hanging open like a starving man, Finnvarra nodded. "Very much, my queen."
"Too bad about the mortal girl," she offered.
"What mortal girl?" Finnvarra asked, his eyes for Onagh alone as he reached for her.
Epilogue
The earthy breeze blew off the river. The golden sun warmed the ground. A perfect day for a flying lesson.
Gaelen glanced back at the big white house where his mother-in-law now lived with her new husband. There had been some big-time payback, but Eochy had survived. And if his expanding gut was any indication, he was thriving.
Lucas and Erin sat on a blanket under a willow tree, their newborn son, Michael Vernon, lying between them. There was a marriage that didn't happen a day too soon.
He swept the area, looking for Annabelle. She'd been begging for this for months, ever since she'd had a chance to settle down and remember everything her mother had told her about her own voyage to the Land of Youth. And she hadn't stopped nagging until he'd agreed to find out from Eochy how he'd done it. He'd been surprised at how easy it was.
Of course, she was a favorite, so Gaelen had to honor her request.
