Just Believe (22 page)

While he talked, he pressed the clover
into a paste. He touched the paste, smeared a small dab between his
fingers.

"Ah, perfect." He met her gaze and gave
her a wink. "Now, the oil." He unscrewed the cap and let the thick
liquid glub into the bowl.

She watched him closely. "How do you
know when you have enough?"

Gaelen shrugged, but kept adding oil.
"Waxing-moon clover is powerful enough to stand some dilution. For
where we're goin', we'll need plenty."

She frowned. That sounded slightly
ominous. "Is it really dangerous? I mean, fairies don't hurt
people, do they?"

He didn't answer right away. He even
stopped stirring.

Her unease grew. "Gaelen? Do fairies
hurt people?"

He sighed and resumed stirring the
paste. "Sometimes."

She jumped to her feet, heart stomping
in fear. "What do you mean, sometimes? You said Erin would be all
right. I thought we just had to go and get her back."

Gaelen leaned heavily on the counter.
He grimaced before he finally spoke. "Sometimes, not often, a fairy
will go rogue, hurt people. Most of the time, though, any damage is
done out of carelessness. We fairies are a careless
bunch."

"What kind of damage?" She wasn't sure
she really wanted to know.

"Nothing physical. Usually not
permanent."

She waited for him to explain that but
he didn't say anything else as he spooned the ointment into the
crystal bottle he'd had in the hospital.

"Here, look at this," he said, applying
a tiny drop to her eyes. When she'd blinked, he spread a thin layer
on her hand.

* * * *

Gaelen watched her eyes widen. The
ointment was especially good. Her hand disappeared in a
twinkle.

Annabelle's scream pierced the
air.

"Shhh!" His hissed injunction was
ridiculous. She couldn't hear anything except herself.

Gaelen placed his hand behind her head
and pulled her to him, covering her shrieking mouth with
his.

Her scream died, replaced by a sigh.
Her arms went his waist, holding on. His arms slid down, molding
her to him. Her lips were soft and tender, dewy and
sweet.

He knew he'd never tasted anything more
delicious. A million years of such kissing wouldn't be too
much.

Maybe two million years...

The shock of the thought made him break
away. He stepped back, letting his arms drop and forcing hers to
release him. He'd never had to do anything harder.

Brown eyes flickered with
uncertainty.

"What did you do that for?" she
asked.

He really didn't know. His initial
reaction was he wanted to and that was that. Fairies had no great
use for delayed gratification. But Gaelen had thought himself
beyond that. Clearly you could take the boy out of
Faerie...

Annabelle's question required an
answer.

"To shut you up. I don't want my
neighbors thinking I'm running a white slavery ring in
here."

Hurt flickered across her eyes. Had she
wanted to know why he'd stopped? If he'd answered the wrong
question, her recovery was quick. She covered up her unease with a
laugh.

"What a story. College professor by
day, sadistic abuser of innocent young women by night." She glanced
at him with a sly smile. "What do you think? It's a good filler for
page ten."

"At least it's not about
fairies."

Annabelle held up her invisible
hand.

"So what happened to my hand?" She
touched her unseen fingers.

"It's the ointment," Gaelen replied,
glad to have something else to talk about. "The ointment works a
couple of ways. It allows mortals to see things of Faerie. It makes
mortal things invisible to those with the Sight, like fairies and
mortals who've gotten hold of the ointment. So, now," he touched
her treated eye, "from this side, you see like a fairy
does."

"You can't see it either?"

He shook his head.

"How long does it last?"

Gaelen shrugged. "Depends on the
ointment, the clover used to make it, the amount of dilution, the
phase of the moon." In spite of himself, he raised his gaze to
hers. "The person it's used on."

Leaning against the counter, Annabelle
asked, "How does it work?"

Gaelen was grateful for her attempt at
safe conversation.

"A physicist friend of mine tried to
explain it to me. Something to do with the way the molecules bend
light and the wavelengths..."

Gentle, invisible fingers pressed
against his lips. Her eyes twinkled.

"Gaelen, maybe it's
just...magic?"

Magic, indeed. His nature urged him to
take what he wanted from her. Now. Even as he struggled with his
desire, she made the choice for him. She leaned toward him, her
tender lips just a kiss away from his. He waited for her to come
nearer, sweet anticipation making delay bearable. Her lips parted a
bit, luring him closer. Her breath brushed against his mouth, souls
touching before lips.

She stopped, her eyes opened, flashing
sudden uncertainty. She started to back away, but he leaned toward
her, sweeping his lips across hers, a taste promising much more to
come. Her uncertainty disappeared and her brown eyes smiled,
shining pure sunshine into an unused, dusty part of his
heart.

For his soul, Gaelen couldn't remember
why kissing her had been a bad idea. He leaned forward, eager for
another taste. Annabelle met him halfway. Almost.

A flicker of light flashed between
them, tingling their lips in its wake.

Annabelle jumped, her invisible fingers
flying to her mouth. Both their heads followed the twinkle of light
as it flew into the small bathroom at the end of the
hallway.

"What was that?" she asked.

Gaelen huffed with indignation.
"Impeccable timing," he muttered. He ignored her question and
stalked down the hallway to the bathroom.

"What is it?" Annabelle asked again,
following closely behind.

"E-mail." Gaelen stood before the sink
and leaned forward, breathing onto the mirror, making a fog. The
words, fuzzy and indistinct at first, grew clearer in the misty
surface.

"Wow," Annabelle whispered. "That's so
cool."

With a chuckle, Gaelen studied the
message. His humor turned to outrage.

"The damned treacherous pixie! The
deceitful, nasty, ill-tempered..."

"What?" Annabelle asked, her voice
filled with concern. "What is it?"

The message was written in Irish, so he
gave her the gist.

"It's from Eochy, the chairman of the
North American Council. He's heard from the Elders that Erin and
Lucas are being delivered to Ireland. I've been ordered to stay out
of it now."

"Tell me what that means."

"It means I have no authority in the
matter. Linette went over my head." He turned and leaned on the
sink, struggling against the sense of utter doom. "In New Jersey, I
would have had a chance to do something. Now, facing the
Elders...damn."

"We'll just go to Ireland,
then."

"Just like that?" he asked, admiring
her ferocity.

"Yes. You know where they've
gone?"

"Sure. They'll have gone to Knockma.
Finnvarra loves spectacles." In answer to her questioning gaze, he
explained. "Finnvarra is the king of the fairies of Connacht, the
most powerful of the fairy kings. He has a...fondness for mortal
women, especially pretty, young ones like Erin," he added, more to
himself, than to her.

"But you said it was against the
law."

"Finnvarra is king," Gaelen said,
cutting her off. "He does what pleases him."

Annabelle frowned, her precious
twinkling eyes flashing. "That's ridiculous. Is he above the
law?"

"Yes, but the lasses he seduces aren't
similarly favored. They end up paying the price for his
weakness."

Her indignation turned to apprehension.
Clearly she understood the price might well apply to her own
sister.

"What price?" she asked after a long
pause.

Gaelen hesitated telling her. To him,
it was a hellish thing, yet a mortal might not think eternal life
with no responsibility such a horrible punishment.

She grabbed his sleeve with her still
invisible hand, silently demanding an answer.

"There is only one penalty fairy folk
impose for breaking the law against seducing mortal folk.
Banishment to Tir-Nan-Og, the Land of Perpetual Youth."

As he'd expected, she muttered,
"Doesn't sound bad."

Gaelen turned away from her,
disappointed in her reaction, and walked slowly back to the
kitchen. He felt her following, her feet making no sound on the
polished wood floor. She didn't say anything, but he felt her
watching him, waiting for his explanation.

Back in the kitchen, he picked up a
damp cloth, sprinkled salt on it and reached for her invisible
hand. He held her hand while he wiped off the ointment, making her
hand visible again to him. He held on as he told her what she
wanted to know.

"Imagine taking a week, or two, or
three, for a vacation. You've handed over your work to a colleague,
your cat to a neighbor, and put your mail and newspaper on hold.
You travel to a place where the weather is always perfect. You want
sun; you get sun. You want a gentle shower, or a wild thunderstorm,
that's what you get. In this place, every wish is granted, every
desire satisfied, every hunger fed. You play, run, walk, fight, and
never get tired. This place reaches deep down inside you and pulls
out by the roots all your ideas of what beauty is. Sunsets and
flowers and music. Ah, Annabelle, music that makes you laugh with
joy, or cry tears from a place so deep you never even knew it was
there. It gives you sleep of such peace you may as well be dead,
but you're not."

Annabelle said, "Isn't that what
Heaven's supposed to be like?"

"Heaven is for eternity. We have no
idea what it's really like. But Tir-Nan-Og is here now. Any mortal
who experiences these things is trapped there forever, dearling.
Even if he gets away, there is no escape, for Tir-Nan-Og lives in
his memory, enticing, seducing, forever. A mortal who has been
taken prisoner in Tir-Nan-Og, even if it's in his mind only, can no
longer focus on anything outside it. Every thought is of the Land
of Perpetual Youth, and the joys to be lived there." He frowned.
"It's one of the most irresponsible things my kind does, you see,
bringing a mortal to our place, then making them leave. But it's
worse than that, for if a mortal becomes enchanted, he can no
longer survive out here in your world."

"You said Erin would be kept there
forever."

He shrugged. "Maybe. Fairies are known
for being unreliable in their promises."

"So, you're saying she might be taken
there, but she'd be released someday?"

He nodded, "Yes, but she'd not be the
Erin you know now. She'd be," he paused, seeking exactly the right
word, "unfocused, unable to cope."

An expression of sublime horror settled
on Annabelle's face.

"You mean she'd be like Mom." She dug
her fingers into his arm. Her fear made her voice tremble. "Gaelen,
we have to get her out of there." It wasn't a question. The
question lived in her eyes, pleading with him. "You promised me
Erin would be all right." Doubt clouded her eyes. "But you said a
fairy's promises were unreliable."

Gaelen set his hands on her shoulders.
"Perhaps I should have said some fairies's promises. Just like some
mortal's. You have my word." He pressed his lips to her forehead,
lingering, inhaling her sweetness for a moment. Unfortunately, a
moment was all he had to spare. "Come, now, let me take you home so
you can pack a few things. You won't need much. Do you have a
passport?"

"No," she replied, panicked.

He squeezed her shoulders and rubbed up
and down her arms. "Don't fret about it. I'll take care of
it."

"How are you going to take care of a
passport?"

"My sweet Annabelle, I'm bruised to the
bone. Have you forgotten to whom you speak?" With a wink, he turned
her toward the front door.

She let herself be led to the car,
clearly exhausted. Almost as soon as he'd backed out of the drive,
she was asleep. He let her sleep. For sure the poor girl needed
what rest she could get.

"Annabelle," he whispered, when he
stopped the car in the Tinker driveway.

Her breathing was still steady and
deep. He got out and walked around, opening the door gently and
scooping her into his arms. He kicked the door shut and carried her
up the walk to the front door.

He realized she didn't have her purse
and grumbled for forgetting it.

"Well, man, how are you going to get
inside?" He was digging through his memory for magic to open a lock
when Annabelle mumbled, "Key's in the pot."