Tressa's Treasures (The King's Jewel Book 1) (18 page)

"What did I do?" I asked once the Pixies had backed away.

"You must be very careful what you say outside," Tressa said.

I would have thought it was a joke if she hadn’t looked so serious.

"Or even inside near an open window. Words—sounds—travel on the wind. We don't say things outside that could help our enemies locate us."

I thought about this for a minute.

"So what about talking about... your kind?"

"Many humans talk about faeries, so that isn't as unusual. But even that we keep to a minimum," Tressa explained. "To answer your question, Shamus can tell you what you want to know. But give me a little time to bring him up to speed on... our situation." She grinned at me.

"Okay, but I need to know if it's safe to bring Sophia back before the end of the week."

"Sure and it's perfectly safe for the wee one. No fae—no matter who they are—would hurt a child. Children are prized above all else."

Brenna, who sat on Tressa's shoulder with her sisters, unabashedly listening in on our conversation, tugged on a strand of Tressa's hair.

"Yes dear, what is it?" Tressa asked with a patience that amazed me.

"The child's eyes are open. She sees," Brenna said, the raucous playfulness gone.

Tressa turned thoughtful as all the Pixies began to talk over one another.

"Oh aye."

"It's true."

"She spoke to me."

"Are they talking about Sophia?" I asked.

Tressa nodded.

"Aye, I forgot about that. I noticed something strange when she woke me here a few weeks back."

"Tressa, what does this mean? What are they saying?"

"They’re saying Sophia can see the fae, like you do."

I didn't like the sound of that. Tressa kept talking about the danger in knowing of the fae; I didn't want that for Sophia.

"How can that be possible?"

"I'm not sure. Many years ago there were people who were Sidhe Seers from birth, but that hasn’t happened for centuries," she answered me distractedly, lost in her own thoughts. She bit her lip. "Your mother..." She hesitated, but found her resolve and started again. "Xander, I believe your mother was a Sidhe."

"What? No." Even as I denied it, the details clicked in my mind. My mother had been under Órlaith's care. Órlaith said she had visions of the future. She had come here when she was in trouble.

"She was gone long before Sophia was born," I said.

Brenna tugged on Tressa's hair again.

"You forgot. More bad news."

"Oh yes, Brenna, you're right. What else have you heard?" Tressa turned and told me, "She heard Fred call me a witch yesterday."

"Shhh, don't say again," Brenna scolded.

"Sorry. Tell me, what else is worrying you?"

"Weird things. Hard to understand. Bad fae who aren't bad fae. Faery tricks not funny. Can't explain."

"Kerry? Megan? Did you get anything more?" Tressa asked.

They both shook their heads.

"Mixed up."

"Nonsense."

Tressa sighed.

"Well, thank you for trying. You girls go get your rest now."

We walked quietly back to Tressa's home, our fingers intertwined, each of us lost in thought.

"Tressa, what do you think Órlaith is having me look for on the mountains?" I asked when we were close to her door.

"I really don't know. Honestly, I don't. However, I can tell you that the stone in your ring is River Rock. It comes from the Otherworld. It isn't found naturally here."

"But we found some."

"Yes, I know. I don't understand it." She was thoughtful for a minute before she went on. "You should know that your mother probably left the stone with you as a bit of protection."

"How so?"

"It muffles your voice, and the voices of those around you, so that your words can't be heard on the wind. I've been wondering whether she had a special reason to think you needed protection, or if it was just motherly instinct to protect you in any way possible."

"I guess we'll never know," I said bitterly. She had touched an old wound that still festered.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

TRESSA

When I arrived to open the shop, I was surprised and pleased to find Holly was already there. I had worried that Fred wouldn't let her return to work.

She absentmindedly passed a dust rag over the jewelry case. She was dressed in her typical high-fashion style, every hair in place, but her eyes were still lifeless.

Matt was there, leaning across the case, speaking to her in a low, fervent tone. I caught the phrases 'listen to reason' and 'it isn't safe' before my entrance stopped the conversation.

I went to her and pulled her into my embrace.

"Oh, Holly. Finally, I get to give you a hug. You had so many supporters I couldn't get near you yesterday."

"I'm trying to tell her she can't move back in with that animal," Matt reported tersely.

I agreed with Matt that living with Fred would inevitably lead Holly to heartache, though I doubted she was ready to hear it.

"The baby deserves a whole family. It wouldn't be right to not give him another chance," Holly said.

"That's your parents speaking, not you. He hasn't changed. Don't let him hurt you again."

"It's done. I've already moved back, so stop harping on it, will you?" she snapped. She brushed past him, storming into the back room.

Matt looked defeated. He glanced at me and shook his head.

"Give her time," I encouraged him. "She's been through a lot these past couple of days."

"So help me—if he hurts her again..." Matt looked as though he could barely control his fury.

"We'll just do the best we can between us to keep her safe until she's strong enough to go against her parents and break away from him again." It was an empty sentiment and I knew it. I prayed that she would let us help her before catastrophe hit.

Matt nodded, resigned.

While Sophia was still at her grandfather’s, Alexander and I spent our evenings at my house, enjoying getting to know each other.

We fell into a quaint domestic routine, Alexander making our dinner and me cleaning up afterward. I had wasted weeks avoiding him, and we used this time without Sophia to make up for lost opportunities.

We spent the nights in my bed, getting to know each other in another way. There was an intensity to our relationship that both scared and thrilled me.

Each morning I would reluctantly leave him to go to work. While at the shop, I did little else but worry about Holly. My apprehension over her situation contrasted sharply with the happiness I felt at home.

Holly came into work sullen most days. Between Matt—still a steady morning visitor—the customers, and me, we could usually get her into a better place over the course of the day. However, she still refused to listen to anything negative about Fred.

A week after Eileen's death, Tom Lynch came into the shop. I sat at my workstation putting together a simple string of rose quartz. He held up his hand toward me by way of a greeting before heading over to Holly.

"Is there somewhere we can talk privately?" he asked.

Holly sighed and then nodded.

"Tressa, I'm taking a break, okay?"

She led the police officer into the storage room in the back, out of earshot for most people. I, of course, could hear the entire conversation.

"Holly, did Eileen ever mention someone named Chuck Sullivan?" Tom asked in a clipped, to-the-point tone.

"Yeah, he was her supervisor at work. Why?" Holly's voice sounded tired, as if she had already answered too many questions.

"Did she ever mention having a problem with him?"

"Well she didn't like him, that's for sure. Are you saying he's the one who—" her voice broke, she had trouble saying the words. "That he's the one?"

"I don't know yet, but I heard he made her life miserable. He has something against women driving trucks. Her coworkers say she always stood up to him, usually with a smart remark." Tom’s voice held a tinge of pride and amusement.

"You said it was Alexander," Holly said blandly.

I sucked in a breath, shocked to hear the accusation stated so bluntly. I nearly jumped up to defend him before I remembered that I wasn’t supposed to be listening.

"No. The detective on the case told me his story checks out about how his wife died, and several witnesses say he never left the bar that night."

I huffed again, indignant. They had investigated Alexander as a murder suspect.

"I'm glad it wasn't him," Holly said, "for Tressa's sake."

"Holly," Tom said hesitantly. "We have to face the possibility that it could have been—"

"No," Holly interrupted him. "Don't say it. It can't have been him. He's my husband, and he knows how much Eileen meant to me. It wasn't him."

"I don't want to believe it either."

Thinking back to the time Fred almost ran me down with his pickup, I had no problem believing he could have tampered with Eileen's brakes.

The bells chimed as new customers came in; I set down the quartz necklace and went to wait on them. If there had been more to the conversation, I missed it.

Alexander planned to pick Sophia up at his father's house after work, so I didn't expect to see him until the next morning. A pounding noise woke me from a deep sleep. It took a confused moment to understand that someone was knocking on my door.

Uncertain what to expect, I tossed off my nightgown, pulled on a pair of yoga pants and grabbed a t-shirt, pulling it over my head as I made my way downstairs.

At the door, Alexander held up a beaten and bloody Matt. He dragged Matt over the threshold and towards the living room.

"No, not there. Put him on the dining room table."

Alexander changed direction and set him gingerly on the table. I helped lift his legs as Alexander slowly lowered his head. Though we did our best, Matt groaned in pain.

"What happened?" I asked.

"I'm not sure. He called and asked me to get him from the alley behind Saint Francis Church. I didn't get much more from him, except that he refused to go to the hospital. I thought maybe you could help him."

Bruising and swelling disfigured Matt's face. I removed his glasses, their frame bent and a lens cracked, to get a better look at him.

His nose was clearly broken, and perhaps his jaw as well. He bled from several cuts and scrapes. Every inch of his face looked painful, and I winced in sympathy.

I continued my assessment, going down his body. He had at least one, but more likely three, broken ribs. Thankfully, his steady breathing made me think he hadn't punctured a lung. His hands, swollen and bloody, probably had some broken bones as well.

I looked up and saw that Alexander watched me intently, evidently waiting for me to say something.

"He's badly hurt. Whoever did this was serious. He should go to the hospital."

"Can you help him?" he asked, worried.

"Aye, but you know the consequences if I do. His eyes will be opened to every fae he meets. Many fae won't be happy with that. It doesn't seem like much to you now, but he may regret it later."

The words were a waste; in my heart I knew I couldn't say no. My friend needed my help.

I asked Alexander to boil a pot of water while I went to the pantry, which also served as an apothecary, and grabbed supplies.

"How can I help?" Alexander asked.

"Why don't you clean the cuts on his face while I deal with his hands?"

We worked silently, concentrating on our tasks. Through touch and temperature, I located two small fractures in his right hand. The superficial cuts clotted nearly as soon as they were clean. I dabbed them with aloe, infusing it with a bit of my essence as I worked. The skin knit together into thin pink lines.

I didn't know how much energy the rest of his ministrations would take, so I left the cuts to heal the rest of the way on their own. Then I splinted his hand.

Matt remained stoic as we worked, although an occasional gasp or groan slipped out. I pried open his grotesque, swollen eyes as gently as possible to see if there was any damage or signs of a concussion.

"Mattie, did you lose consciousness at all?"

His answer was barely recognizable, but I got that he said no.

I had to pace myself. My talent for healing had a price: each discharge of my essence or energy made me weaker. I didn't have an endless supply though it would replenish as long as I didn't drain too much of it. Since none of his injuries seemed life threatening, I prioritized easing his pain.

"You're doing great, Mattie. Can you tell me where it hurts the most?"

I listened closely, but I couldn't understand his answer. I looked over at Alexander, who shook his head.