Just Believe (35 page)

Good girl, he thought. Run. Get out of
here.

"Let's go, Gaelen," she called to
him.

"Come on, Lucas!" Erin echoed
her.

Gaelen made a move to get around the
mercs.

"Oh, no, laddie. You've insulted Cork.
We've got to have it out now."

"Annabelle, get the hell out of here!"
Gaelen roared at her.

"I'm not leaving you."

"Ach, ain't it beautiful,
Sean?"

"Sure and 'tis, Frank."

The mercs closed on Gaelen and Lucas,
herding them back into the tunnel.

"Annabelle, go. We'll be
fine."

"No!" Erin shouted.

"Annabelle, remember the knife. The
rath will stay open until you pull it out."

"Come on, Erin," she said, to Gaelen's
great relief.

"No! I won't leave Lucas."

"Erin, you must go," Lucas told her,
his good eye on the mercs. "We can get ourselves out, but you have
to go while you have the chance."

Chapter Twenty Five

Annabelle pulled Erin down the tunnel
toward the light of the opening.

It was dark.

How long had they been in there?
Annabelle ran to the car, dragging poor, screaming Erin after
her.

It didn't look much different than when
they'd left it. Maybe it hadn't been centuries, then.

"Erin, shut up!" she screeched,
reaching the very end of her rope. "Please shut up and let me
think."

Erin shut up, but she didn't look happy
about it. Annabelle looked around the car for the keys, terrified
Gaelen had kept them on him.

They were in the damned bag. She just
knew it. And the bag was still lying on the damned floor beside the
damned throne where the damned king had sat with Erin at his feet
like a damned lap dog.

"Damn!"

"May I speak now?" Erin asked, a frown
wrinkling her brow.

"Yes, you may, if you can manage to
keep from becoming hysterical."

She fixed Annabelle with a glare, which
gladdened Annabelle's heart significantly. The old Erin was
back.

"Where are we? What are you doing
here?" Her eyes traveled in a disapproving study up and down
Annabelle's body. "Naked? How did I get into this ridiculous
dress?"

"We're in Ireland. Gaelen and I came
here to save you from an eternity of joy and peace. I'm assuming
King Finnvarra either dressed you like a Barbie doll or had someone
else do it. Anything else?"

"Why are you running around the
countryside stark naked?"

"Please don't remind me." Annabelle
glanced in the car. There was Gaelen's jacket.

"I still don't understand any of this,"
Erin wailed.

"Aha!" Annabelle pulled the keys out of
Gaelen's jacket pocket. "Get in. We've got stuff to do."

"What?" Erin asked as she swept up her
gown to get into the car.

"Research." She threw the car into
reverse and backed out to the main road. "But first I've got to get
some clothes and take a bath."

"What? Lucas and Gaelen are being
pulverized by those thugs and you need a bath?"

"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."