Just Believe (21 page)

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 was 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 mortal. 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."

She did as he asked. "What's the
difference?"

"That spoon is stainless steel. It's
got iron in it."

"Oh. So?"

"Iron breaks magic." He turned to her.
"Didn't your dad teach you anything?"

"About what?"

"About Faerie. About us."

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you saying, my
dad...?"

"No, he wasn't a fairy. If he had been
you would be."

"And he wouldn't be dead." The loss hit
her, cutting sharp as new. "He would live forever."

Gaelen tipped her face up to his. "No,
sweet. Fairies die, too, only we live a lot longer." He thought for
a moment. "Maybe we just live more leisurely than mortal folk. But,
anyway, your dad was what we call a favorite. In the old country,
after we went into hiding, favorites were people who could see us.
They'd leave some milk in the jug, fresh water by the door, a loaf
of bread, the coals warm on the hearth. We favored such a house by
making sure the crops weren't destroyed by weather, or keeping
watch over the animals, or giving gifts to the
children."

Annabelle remembered her father doing
all these things at one time or another. "And all this time I
thought he was leaving out milk for the cats." She leaned her chin
on her hand. "So, my dad was a favorite?"

Gaelen nodded. "He was."

"Why didn't I know? Why wouldn't he say
anything about something so wondrous?"

His smile brightened until she thought
she could feel the warmth flowing from him. "Wondrous?" He appeared
unaccountably pleased. "As to why he never said anything--" He cut
her a glance, then turned his attention back to his mixing. "Did
you ever ask him?"

Regret filled her. "No. I never
did."

He nodded. "So many mortals don't know
until it's too late how important it is to simply ask a question
now and again."