With the thought that he had just stumbled into his own Deliverance nightmare, Bruce swallowed. “Sure thing…”
“Good. Then, Altongorn, you put your pack over in that corner and help me set to dishing up supper. The boys and Flora will be mighty hungry.”
Slipping his pack off his shoulders, Bruce contemplated making a run for it, but at that moment, Rupert bent down to whisper, “You’re the best thing to happen to my Ma. If you so much as even think of running off, I’ll bend you like an iron bar, and then take you apart, one limb at a time. Get the picture?”
Shuddering, Bruce nodded. He got the picture all right. He was stuck in a cabin full of backwoods folk who thought he was a brownie. And, for the moment, he was their prisoner.
AN HOUR LATER, the family was still eating, with Bruce relegated to a small table off to one side, a bowl of stew in front of him. Thank the gods it was venison and not something like possum. While he was sure possum was quite edible, and possibly tasty, he wasn’t feeling much like taking any more chances.
The ‘family’ turned out to be four big boys, Flora—the daughter, and Ma—who told Bruce during the ‘serving up’ to call her Ellie Mae. She had been named after a TV character in an old TV comedy, although he wasn’t sure which one and decided to refrain from asking. The boys were Rupert, Clive, Charles, and Hunker. Hunker’s real name was Hank, but Hunker fit him. He skulked around with a hangdog look and Bruce had the feeling that he was the biggest brawn of the muscle boys.
After dinner, Ellie motioned for Bruce to follow her. He darted a longing look at the door, but the table, complete with the boys, stood between him and that lovely exit to freedom. With a long sigh, he entered the kitchen, staring at the pile of pans that were on the counter.
“You’ll need this, Altongorn.” Ellie held out a frilly white apron.
Bruce shook his head. “No thanks. I’m fine without it.”
“Nonsense. You don’t want to get those fancy clothes dirty while you’re scrubbing pots. Take off your jacket and hold out your arms.” She gave him a look that threatened violence if he refused so he slid out of his suit jacket—which had been beneath the Windbreaker—and held out his arms. She tied the apron around his waist. The bib was too long, as was the hem, but it would protect his clothes, that much she was right about.
As he stood there, he realized the kitchen had a door leading out to the back porch, and the back porch led to the woods. As he contemplated the likelihood of making it to the Meet without a flashlight, his map, or jacket, Ellie pulled a footstool over to the sink. Apparently, they had running cold water, but the hot water was steaming on the stove.
“I’ll have Flora start bringing in the dishes.” Ellie paused, then a sly grin stole over her face. “Mr. Brownie…I saw you checking out the door. Don’t even think about making a run for the backside of the house. Wilson and Argo are out there. They’re our guard dogs. They keep away the riffraff. And bears. And they haven’t been fed tonight, if you get my drift.” And with that, the older woman headed out of the room.
Bruce thought again about taking his chances but then a racket rose from behind the house—barking dogs who sounded like they were going batshit crazy—and he decided maybe it was better to lie low for the moment. He climbed on the footstool and, with a heavy heart, set to washing dishes.
Flora brought in all the bowls and the bread plate, handing them to him one by one as he dipped them in the hot soapy water and scrubbed them clean. Then, he rinsed them under cool running water and sat them in the drainer by the side of the sink. The soup pot was the hardest—it was huge and heavy, and by the time he was done, he was getting tired. Close to nine hours of hiking in the woods, then being hijacked by Hillbilly Central had left him irritated, worn out, and ready to bag this whole mess if he could figure out a way to sneak out of here.
When they were done, Flora motioned for him to follow her and they joined the others in the living room. Bruce was surprised to see Hunker reading, but as he looked closer, he realized that it was a survivalist’s guide to making it through the coming apocalypse. Clive and Charles were playing a card game, and Rupert was in the rocking chair, staring at the woodstove, off in whatever La-La land he had concocted for himself. Ellie Mae was mending a dress. She glanced up as he followed Flora into the room.
“You get them dishes done, Altongorn?”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Then have a seat by the fire and warm your toes.”
As he sat down on a footstool near the welcoming flames, it occurred to him that his best bet would be to make an escape attempt after they were all in bed. But Ellie squashed that idea.
“We’ll let you sleep in the utility closet. It’s got space enough for a pallet and a warm quilt will set you up right nice. I gather your kind don’t need as much in the way of space as we do?”
He could see it now, the lock on the outside of the door with only the darkness and spiders around him to keep him company. He had to put a stop to this before it got any worse.
“As I tried to tell you before, I’m not a brownie.”
Rupert opened one eye. “But you’re short, and you showed up on the doorstep right after Ma made a wish that she could get herself some help in the kitchen.”
“Don’t you people believe in coincidences?” Bruce let out a long sigh. “And a lot of people are short. I’m not a brownie, I’m a leprechaun. I have business to attend to, and I don’t appreciate being locked up like a servant. I’m a professor at the University of Washington State.”
Ellie squinted at him. “You live in the capital?”
“The other Washington—the state. I live in Seattle. I have a wife and twins. I have a job. I teach Irish studies at the university.”
“Irish studies? You’re Irish?” Flora cocked her head, a winsome smile crossing her face. Bruce was surprised they hadn’t married her off yet.
He was feeling downright churlish now. “Hello…leprechaun? Irish? We kind of go together.”
Clive decided to join the conversation. “If you’re a leprechaun, where’s that funny little hat you guys wear? The kind on the cereal commercial?”
“Yeah, and why aren’t you dressed in green?” Rupert added.
“Where’s your pot of gold? Say, if he is a leprechaun, he’ll have a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. We’ll be rich! He has to give us wishes if he’s really a leprechaun!” Charles was beaming. “Then, we can hire somebody to help out Ma.”
“I still think he’s a brownie. He’s just lazy and trying to get out of an honest day’s work. Just our luck, get stuck with a lazy brownie.” Ellie Mae said. But, after a moment’s deliberation, she squinted at Bruce. “If you’re a leprechaun, then it’s simple. We wait till the next rainy day—which’ll likely be tomorrow—and then you find your rainbow and you give us your gold and we’ll let you go back to wherever you came from.” She gave a satisfied nod.
“No! It doesn’t work that way. You’re mixing up your mythologies with the actual facts—” Bruce tried to protest but they just began talking over him as if he weren’t there, debating on what to do with his pot of gold once they took possession. He hunched closer to the stove. Could this get any worse?
“Then it’s settled. Tomorrow, you give us your gold, we give you your freedom. Meanwhile, it’s getting late. Time to turn in. Rupert, take Altongorn to the closet and make certain he has a blanket and something to cushion himself. We always take care of our guests.” Ellie cleared her throat, indicating the conversation was over.
Rupert stood, staring down at Bruce. As Bruce reached for his pack, Rupert shook his head. “You can just leave that right there, Altongorn.”
Following the behemoth of a man, Bruce swallowed a rising panic and let himself be shunted into a dark, cramped closet. He managed to catch sight of a few cobwebs before Rupert tossed in a cushion just big enough to stretch out on, and then a quilt. The door slammed shut and he heard a lock turn.
Crap. Locked in. No doubt the place was crawling with spiders and maybe snakes. Probably brown recluses, too. Maybe cottonmouths? While poison affected the Fae differently than humans, Bruce freely admitted he wasn’t as brave as his wife when it came to enemies. He’d happily face down hellhounds and demons if it meant protecting Iris or the twins, but for himself? Maybe not so much.
Crouching on the cushion, he listened to the voices outside the door. The utility closet had been one of the rooms off the living room and within ten minutes, the voices had faded to silence and he realized everybody had gone to bed for the night.
The first order of business was to get some light on the subject. He could conjure up light, and as long as he maintained his control, it shouldn’t be so bright as to capture their attention. He coaxed the flame to his hand—a green, pale flicker that burned cool. Morio could charm the same type—only the youkai-kitsune called it foxfire. Leprechauns called the flames bog-lights.
Once the light caught hold, he was able to look around. The utility closet was about six by eight feet, and it was filled with everything from a mop and bucket, to a chainsaw and an axe. A hatchet rested near the axe and as Bruce hefted it, he realized it was just the right size for him. Well, at least he had a weapon. Apparently Ellie Mae and her family thought brownies—and leprechauns—didn’t use weapons, which was good for him. Either that or they had forgotten about the blades being in here, a much more likely scenario.
Second order of business was quick and disappointing. He pulled out his cell phone to discover that—just as he thought—no bars. Shoving the phone back in his pocket, he considered his other options. Leprechaun magic was more geared toward magnetizing wealth, gold, money, and luck rather than toward defense or offense. And, unfortunately, he had no ability to contact anybody via any sort of telepathic powers.
For the first time in his life, Bruce wished he was something else. Even a human might be more capable of escaping than he was.
But…wait…He crouched by the door, aiming the light at the lock. A simple key lock. One thing he had learned was how to pick locks. Delilah had shown him one night when she was helping him watch the twins and Astrid—Chase’s daughter. Iris and Camille were at the spa for some pampering, and Delilah had gotten bored. So she taught Bruce a couple judo moves and then they moved on to lock-picking.
While he didn’t have a set of lock picks on him, he noticed that there were all sorts of tools lying around in the closet. He found a screwdriver, several pieces of metal wire, and a roll of electrical tape, among other things. He tucked the electrical tape in his pocket, then hunkered down. He’d wait another hour or so to give the Deliverance family plenty of time to get to sleep.
An hour passed, and he gave it twenty more minutes past that. Then, he quietly went to work at the lock, manipulating the tools cautiously. First, though, he positioned the quilt over beneath the door so that if he accidentally dropped anything, the sound of it would be cushioned by the material. But a couple hours later, when it was nearly midnight, his eyes started to close and he was nowhere near freeing himself. He was about to give it up for the night and go to sleep when he heard a sound outside the door. Quickly, he stuffed the tools beneath the blanket and curled up on the cushion, pretending to be asleep.
The door opened with a soft swish and the glow of a candle illuminated the room.
“Altongorn…Altongorn? Are you awake?” The voice was soft and feminine—it was Flora.
Bruce sat up, rubbing his eyes for effect. “Yes? What do you want?” He kept his voice low, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention if she had sneaked down on her own.
Flora motioned for him to come over to the door. “I was thinking…it’s not right for you to be locked up like this. Ma needs the help but…they abolished slavery in the civil war, and even though you’re a demon spawn, it’s just not right.”
Bruce blinked. Demon spawn? Well, whatever the case, she seemed sympathetic. “I have a family…they’ll be missing me soon.”
Flora nodded, then giggled softly and reached out to run her hand over his face. “You’re a cute one, you know?”
Suddenly, Bruce wasn’t feeling quite so chipper. The suggestive tone in her voice was a little too friendly. He cleared his throat. “Did I mention I’m married?”
“That don’t bother me none. Half my boyfriends have been married too.” The candle flame reflected in the gleam in her eye. “I can let you go, if you’ll be nice to me.”
Restraining a groan, Bruce tried to figure out what the hell to do. In the first place, he was married and he took his vows seriously. Secondly, he just wasn’t interested in canoodling Flora. But if he could somehow manage to get out of here…
A thought struck him. “Listen, you’re a very pretty girl. I’m sure I could be very nice to you, but if your brothers found us, my life would be on the line. They seem really protective of you.”
She bit her lip. “Rupert busted Jimmy’s arm two weeks ago when he caught us behind the barn. The bone broke right through the skin.”
Repressing a shudder, Bruce nodded. “See? Maybe you could sneak us outside—make sure the dogs can’t hear us and start up a racket. We could…have some fun in the barn?” He forced himself to push every hint of interest he could into his voice, then winked for good measure. He knew he was cute and he used it to his best effect here. Leprechauns didn’t have quite the glamour that most of the Fae did, but they could wield a bit of charm, that was for certain.
Flora seemed to like the idea. She clapped her hands—then quickly stopped when Bruce held his finger to his lips. “Come with me. I can get us to the barn without the dogs noticing.”
“I need my pack…there’s…I have protection in there—and some…magical booze that will make it all that much more fun.” He struggled with the lie. Iris always laughed at him when he tried to lie because he just wasn’t good at it. But he wanted to make certain he had everything he’d need when he hightailed it out of here.
Flora squinted. “You sure it will make it even better? It usually feels pretty good without any help.” She giggled and he had to stop himself from backing away.
“I know, but trust me. Magic, you know. Magic makes everything better.”
She thought for a moment, then nodded. “Sure, Altongorn Bobbigee. What a funny name.” As she let him out of the room and he tiptoed over to slip his pack over his shoulder, Flora motioned for him to follow her out the front door. There was a slight whimper from the back of the house but apparently the hounds were trained to focus on the kitchen door.
“The dogs are quiet,” he said.
“Ma trained ‘em to shut up except for what they’re guarding. When they’re tied out back, they guard the door there. Nobody ever would think of trying to come through our front door. My brothers have a reputation around these parts you know. One man tried to break in a couple years ago. He’s buried over yonder, under that apple tree.” She nodded to the side.
Bruce instantly brought his focus to bear. These folk didn’t take kindly to anybody crossing their path, that was for certain. And he doubted that Flora would be all that happy when rejected her. He steeled himself, thinking he was going to have to do something he really didn’t want to.
They reached the barn in a few minutes and she led him to an empty stall. It stunk to high heaven, a mixture of pig manure and dust and hay, but Bruce ignored the overwhelming odor as he planned out just how he was going to manage this.
Flora was arranging the straw, giggling a little more now. “I ain’t never been with a brownie before.” She turned to him. “But I’m willing to give anything a try at least once.”
Bruce nodded, spying a sturdy chunk of wood near the entrance to the stall. Just what he needed. He pointed to the back corner. “You missed a spot there…might as well make the whole thing comfortable. We…brownies…can get pretty wild.”
She brightened and handed him the candle. He set it down on the floor, a
way from the straw, and as she turned to spread more hay in the back, he grabbed the wood. He’d have one chance and one chance only. As he brought the wood down, praying he hadn’t hit her too hard, she let out a little “O” and toppled forward.
Bruce quickly knelt beside her and felt for a pulse. She was still breathing, and her pulse felt rapid but safe. He quickly pulled the electrical tape out of his pocket and bound her hands behind her back. He then found a tie in his pack and gagged her. After that, he located a rope in the stall and fixed it so that she couldn’t get out of the enclosure.
There. That would keep her till morning and since there were animals in the barn, he figured the boys would have to come feed them. They would find her then. In fact, he dragged her so she was near the opening. That way she could roll out enough to be seen by the time she woke up.
As soon as he made sure she was secured and firmly gagged, he blew out the candle, making certain the sparks were out. He frowned as he glanced down at Flora. Even though he felt bad for hitting her, he knew that she wouldn’t have let him go. He also knew that her brothers would have ripped him to shreds if they even so much as suspected he touched her.
Quietly, he slipped out the barn. Thank heavens the clouds had broken and the moon was rising high over the forest. He glanced around, trying to pinpoint which way he had first approached the house. Within a few minutes, the moon cast her light on the path along which he had arrived. He had left his Windbreaker in the house, but there was no way in hell he was going back for it. Leaving the jacket, and his suit coat, behind, he slid the pack on his shoulders and took off into the night, with one last, nervous glance over his back.
AN HOUR LATER, he came to the Meet. The guards were patrolling the borders. As soon as they had identified him as Lord Bruce Golden Eagle O’Shea, the son of the Duke and Duchess O’Shea, he was in and safe.
When they asked him why he was late, he gave them a few choice words and ordered up some dinner. As he stretched out within the protection of the tent reserved for nobility, he thought about Ellie Mae and her family.
Otherworld Tales Volume 1 Page 14