Fairy Circle (24 page)

“
Are you the Devil?” Jethin, having spent so much time listening to Catholic priests, knew a great deal about the Devil - all the townspeople did. Her laugh was soft and warm. She reached across the table for Jethin’s hand. Jethin flinched and snatched his hand away. “Ah…no. I don’t want to become like that chap who just left.”

“
I would never do that to you, Jethin, just as you would never treat me as that man did just now. True?”

“
Of course, it’s true. I would never do that to you. But, tell me, who are you?”

“
My name is Cecilia. I live my life as I wish. Will you join me?”

Jethin took in her graceful hands, her long throat, her high bosom and inviting mouth. “Of course.”

Saffron made a barking laugh. “You
are
kidding, right? I mean, she was the one, the one that made you a vampire?”

“
Yes.” His tone was flat. “What do you mean, ‘you’re
kidding’?”

“
My God, Jethin! Somebody asks you to give up your entire life and you just agree with them like they’re asking you to choose between regular or diet?”

Jethin displayed great patience. “Saffron, tell me, what life was I giving up? A life of poverty? Of starvation? Of pestilence? Of disease? Of loneliness? Of failure? Which one of these things was I was supposed to deny her for?”

“
And you
never
regretted your choice? Are you sure?”

He didn’t look her in the eye when he answered. He turned his head toward the sea, where he saw nothing but blackness, then tilted his eyes toward the moon. “Never.” It was only the faintest whisper. It was an odd sound filled with an unfathomable amount of sadness, which Saffron missed altogether.

She was wrapped in her own emotions; his subtleties blew by her like white noise. “I still can’t believe you changed your entire existence over some fluttering lashes and a nice set of wahoos.” She wondered if her own wahoos would one day hold such power. She ran her hand down the board and tennis balls that were her chest. She should Google when wahoo development stopped.

“
You have it all wrong. Maybe I was somewhat attracted to her in the beginning, but our relationship quickly developed into something more complex, something more powerful. She told me she was the lonely widow of a dead count. She used his fortune to travel the world and hopefully bring light to her sad, desperate life.”

Jethin continued to pick his way through his tale.

Countess Cecilia asked Jethin if he would be interested in being in her employ. She told him she would pay him well and reward his good work with ample prizes, money and jewels. Jethin agreed wholeheartedly. But, for once in his life, it was not the monetary reward that lured him, but the unearthly beauty of this woman.

She dipped her finger in her wine, which was cheap and soured. The barkeep told her she was lucky to get any such thing in his bar and not to complain. She ran her finger around and around in the liquid. It was as dark as blood. She tasted a drop by pressing it to her lips and darting her tongue to catch it, wincing at the bitter flavor. She pushed the glass away.

Jethin didn’t notice the wince. He was lost back where the tongue darted to grab the drop from the lips. Lost in lust, lost in love. From that point on, he couldn’t save himself. (He didn’t tell Saffron this part.) Countess Cecilia reached below the table, within the flow of her robes, and retrieved a black velvet bag heavy with gold and silver and foreign coins. She beckoned Jethin to give her his hand, which he did now without hesitation. As she placed the satchel in his ruddy palm, she stroked his wrist. Smiling prettily, she bid him adieu. She let him know that her servant, Claudia, would inform him on the morrow of some jobs he might perform for her.

He left the tavern in a haze of wonder and high spirits. His father had never accomplished such a feat without a drink! The hostile attitude Jethin had worn like a second skin seemed to have sloughed off and disappeared with the wind. He suddenly had an idea and giggled like a child as he stepped lightly along his way. He walked a mile further, into the heart of town, and banged on the carpenter’s door. Bleary-eyed and grumbling, the carpenter answered his door.

Before the man could utter a word, Jethin commanded him to make three beds (as no more could possibly be crammed into the small shack his mother called “home”) and the mattresses to match, and have them delivered to his home. Jethin grabbed the man’s arm, startling him further, and poured a number of coins into his worn hand. “I trust that will suffice.”

“
Most certainly, lad. Tha’ll do.” The man stared at the coins in his hand like a hungry dog.

Jethin turned on one heel to head for home. The carpenter hailed him. Jethin turned to see him hobbling over. He offered Jethin, for a small fee, of course, the sale of his horse, which the carpenter proclaimed was a fine mount and agreeable working steed. He’d ready the horse - bit, bridle, blanket, and saddle - then present the snorting beast to Jethin a short time later. More coins clinked into the carpenter’s outstretched hands and not long after, Jethin found himself riding home on a spirited, tall, black stallion.

In the morning, Jethin ordered his mother to hold out her apron. He dropped the remaining coins from the bag onto the worn cloth. His mother scowled. She cursed her son. She dropped the coins to the dirt floor and told Jethin she’d have none of it, this Devil’s gold, and went off to cry. For certain her prayers had failed to save her son. That day, Jethin did not attend mass. (He had been in many a church since then. Churches, in the off hours, are an easy place to pick up prey. In the off hours, churches were where the sinners slunk, hoping to get a quiet pardon.)

Jethin called on his eldest sister. He pressed the coins into her hands and commanded her to follow him to market this morning, where he planned to buy the family a pony and cart and some food for the week.

His mother screamed, “Let it be known to all that I denounce the Devil’s gold!”

The eldest sister, Patsy, glanced toward the corner of the room where her mother was huddled on a small stool rocking back and forth, and then turned back to Jethin with an imploring look.

“
Never mind that silly, superstitious woman,” Jethin barked. “We have lived in poverty for too long. We will not exist in this filth any longer; not if I have anything to say about it! I am the man of the family. You will obey me. Follow me to market this instant!”

He turned from his gawking brothers and sisters, the pitying look from his mother. He slammed the door of the cottage, causing it to fall from its frail hinges. Patsy hurried around the fallen door and struggled to keep at Jethin’s heels. With his strong, farmer’s body, he swung himself onto his stallion and reached to pull Patsy up behind him.

“
Do you see how frustrating it is trying to save people, Saffron? They were too dumb to recognize how I was delivering us all.”

Saffron frowned, was about to speak, then waved him on instead.

Patsy and Jethin rode to the market in silence. Patsy wondered how Jethin had come across the stallion and the gold and the silver but she knew better than to question him. They rode over hill and dale and along the edge of the sea and finally arrived to market.

At dawn, the carpenter had spread word in town of Jethin and his new riches.

Brother and sister were received in the marketplace like a king and queen. They had no need to dismount, for peddlers swarmed below them, holding on high their foodstuffs and wares. Everything they could possibly need, and many things that they wanted were offered up on platters and rough-hewn table tops. There were sweet meats and smoked sausages, fresh fowl strung up by their legs, exotic fruits just in off a ship from the Caribbean, vegetables, toys and wooden games, tools, hair ribbons and jewelry, great blocks of cheese, parsley, sage, rosemary, and yes, thyme, handy household devices… Jethin spied a cart and pony.

Claudia watched them from the shadows of an alley, the corner of her mouth hooked up on one side. It was always the same. Her mistress could lure anyone with her beauty and her little golden coins. Claudia often mused how she was caught in the spider’s web the very same way! She looked down at her fingers – each adorned in rings of silver or gold - some with garishly big jewels. She mindlessly brought a sparkling ruby to her parted lips and licked the dust off it with her tongue.

“
Jethin, how do you know she was making out with her rings at that moment?”

“
She was always making out with her rings; it’s a likely filler in my tale. Let me tell my story my way, will you?”

Saffron laughed and nodded.

When Jethin had filled the cart (almost over-filled it) with goods, he ordered his sister to go home. He stood in the middle of the market, searching for Claudia. His mistress had not instructed him how to find Claudia so he stood dumbly, his stallion snorting by his side, in the middle of the teeming throngs of market day. The hot, oily scent of sausages filled his nose and his stomach responded with a growl. He relished the fact that he could actually feed himself today! He could buy any food that his heart desired and stuff himself like a pig! He could buy a pig and stuff it for dinner!

Claudia watched him eat. She was crouched down now - he was closer to her alley and, if he turned just a little to the right, he would catch her spying on him. She winced each time he shoved the sausage in his mouth and ripped into the meat like a slobbering beast.

Her mistress had peculiar tastes. He was beautiful, true, but his manner was low-country. She did not look forward to coming out and presenting herself to him. At last, he finished breaking his fast. She could stall no longer. She walked up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.

When he spun around, he silently appraised her. He was not exactly sure what had changed, whether it was he or Claudia, but she did not appear today as she did the day before. Where there used to be a flowing of dark hair, today he noticed her hair hung in greasy lengths on her shoulders. The soft skin of her face was not the shine of youth, but the oil of a long overdue washing. Even her bosom, which had played such a promising role last night in his long hours of fantasizing, was not so much “full” today but “fatty,” and painfully pinched by her broad corset.

As moments became a whole minute, Claudia’s eyes burned with a growing hate for Jethin. She saw him. She knew what he was doing. He looked at her with disgust! Well, she thought, pity him. He has no idea what hell awaits him. But this did not calm her as she stood before him, he the sacrificial cow, ridiculing
her
with his eyes as if she were a dirty commoner. But she couldn’t let it go. “Aye, Jethin. You think me ugly today. No doubt twas the beauty of my mistress which hath blinded you to all else. Just you remember - I was good enough yesterday, and one day soon you will realize that I am quite a prize compared to some.”

Ridiculous
, he thought,
what is she bleating about
?

“
Indeed,” Claudia continued with a fiery conviction, “the fruit which is already rotted on the inside may still happen to wear the most beautiful, ripe skin.”

Jethin didn’t appear impressed by her prophecy. He stood erect, his face the essence of disdain. His eyes flitted from her head, down the length of her body, to her toes and back up again.
Jealous wench
. “As fascinating as I am sure you find yourself to be, I do not wish to stand about this rank market all day listening to your incoherencies.”

“
You great snob, I am learned, and I do not believe “incoherencies” is a word! Listen to yourself. You are an embarrassment. Look at you, the dirty potato boy trying to crawl from beneath the plow and into society. You
Sir,
are a mockery!”

He would have liked to slap her then.

She would have liked to slap him then. “I have nothing more to say to you.”

He scoffed. “Nor do I, you. However, we do have work to do; do we not? Please, let us try to get it done so we can be away from each other!” Jethin made sure he had the final word.

Claudia spun about on her heel and shoved her way through the congested crowd. She halted once, Jethin ramming into her back, and impatiently they waited for a mother to move her three mewling children out of the way.

Claudia was relieved Jethin did not stalk off. This had happened before, several times. Her mistress’s “boys” were all smiles and hungry eyes for Claudia until they met her, The Countess Cecilia. Then they turned on Claudia so quickly she could hardly believe what was happening. What did her Mistress do to them? One perfect specimen had walked off after a tussle with Claudia and her Mistress had let her know, in no subtle terms, that it would mean Claudia’s death were she to run off another. But sometimes, even in light of death, it was so hard for Claudia to control her temper in the face of these arrogant, hell-bound boys.

Now, she and Jethin began the ritual that started over every several months, ever since The Countess had met Claudia in that rat-ridden brothel so many years before. The boys - in this case, Jethin - would help Claudia with odd tasks too difficult or impossible for a woman to do; whether the barriers be brute strength or the dictates of society. Then, when all was completed, the Countess would take the boy for dessert, and she and Claudia would move onto a different town, a different country.