Xander's Folly

by Belinda M Gordon

  "Oh, no. By all means, don't put yourself out for me," she said. "It's broken, you idiot!"

  Alexander threw her a dark look.

  "Let's be nice," I admonished.

  Lady, growing impatient with the chatter, whined and pushed on my arm, moving my hand closer to Sloan. I pulled away from the dog but scratched her ear to comfort her.

  Alexander's concern was valid for two reasons: my uncle's warning and the fact that healing humans weakened me. Depending on how much of my essence I used, it could leave me vulnerable. The lass already saw past fae glamour, so I didn't think my uncle would care. Plus, I had my suspicions that Sloan wasn't human at all. I was curious what I might learn by laying hands on her.

  "Tressa, if you're going to do something, do it quickly. I want to get back downstairs. We're an exposed target up here."

  "Sloan, you decide—a trip to the emergency room or I fix it here and now. What are we doing?"

  Sloan's eyes blinked slowly, and I thought she might pass out from the pain. Her expression changed from that of a tough street thug to a wounded child. Big tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

  "Okay, you do it. But what are you going to do? Will it hurt?"

  That was a good question. What was I going to do? I didn't have any of my herbs, tonics, or ointments to use as the catalyst for my healing powers. It could be a mistake to try to heal her without them if it turned out that she was human. But if, as I suspected, she was fae, then just the smallest bit of essence would be enough if I combined it with an incantation.

  "I'm just going to touch you, very gently. It shouldn't hurt at all. It might tingle," I said, speaking with feigned confidence.

  I reached out and softly touched the bottom of her fingertips with mine. She hissed in a breath when I made contact. Then she breathed easier, as if my touch had already eased some of her pain. I lay my other hand above hers resting it on her forearm, the broken bone between my two hands.

  As a precaution, just in case the infusion of my essence would hurt the girl, I sang the invocation, easing her stress with my voice as I pushed my essence through my hands and into her arm.

  It took but an instant; a mere touch mended the bone. It couldn't have been faster or easier if I had been healing myself. Sloan sighed as the pain eased away.

  I watched her as I sang, interested to see what—if any—effect my healing had on her appearance. Her skin paled, making her tattoos stand out all the more. But I couldn't be sure whether the change came from the infusion of my essence or the stress of her ordeal.

  Alexander squinted down at us, surprised to see me heal someone with so little effort. I felt her wrist, checking that it had healed correctly, then nodded to him. He took another cursory glance at the night sky. Then, holding the sword with one hand, he reached down with the other to help Sloan to her feet.

  We hurried down the lighthouse stairs. Sloan, drained from the trauma and the rapid healing, put her hand on my shoulders to keep her balance as we descended the stairs. She made it to the cottage and collapsed onto the battered sofa.

  "What was that thing?" she mumbled.

  "You called him a Gray Man. Is that one of the dark fae you told me about earlier?" Alexander asked. I took a deep breath and nodded.

  "Aye, exactly. The Gray Man is particularly nasty. They feed on the essence of others—fae and humans alike. They need it to survive. When they're nearby they create confusion and fogginess, both literally and figuratively, especially for anyone they feed from."

  "So, that explains the people drowning in the bay?" Sloan asked, her voice groggy with the need to sleep.

  "It makes more sense than an outbreak of suicide," Alexander said. "I suppose that's why the gas station attendant acted so oddly this morning. Could it have been confusing my father, too?"

  I thought about this for a moment. John's behavior differed from the gas station attendant's. It had affected the other man's demeanor, the way he moved. His thoughts moved as slow as his body. John, on the other hand, appeared to be physically fit. His personality hadn't changed. He lived on the outside of town; did the fae affect him differently because of his proximity to it? For that matter, who was to say the Gray Man would affect everyone the same?

  "Aye, the Gray Man could have caused his confusion, or he may have simply aggravated the problem."

  Alexander nodded, satisfied with this explanation, but I had lingering doubts.

  Sloan had drifted off to sleep while we were talking. I went to her bedroom to grab a blanket off the mattress. She stirred when I laid it on top of her, pulling it closer and wrapping it around herself. Then she settled, her breathing becoming slow and rhythmic.

  "Okay, so what is she?" Alexander asked when he was convinced she was truly asleep. "She can see you and the Morgans, so her eyes are open. Is she a Sidhe Seer?" He shook his head as if answering his own question. "She has pointed ears. Is she some other type of fae?"

  "I'm not sure. My best guess is that she's a Sidhe."

  "But she only resembles you in the ears. Where's the metallic hair? Trayce's eyes are more Sidhe than hers. Although her skin does have a slight sheen to it that I didn't notice before." He thought for a second. "Is it because she's an Unseelie?"

  "No, that's not it. The Morgans look like me, and they're Unseelie. To be honest, she reminds me of how people said I looked before we went into the Otherworld. Matt said that I had lost my sparkle. Maybe she hasn't been to Faery in a long time. Maybe she's never been there at all."

  CHAPTER TEN

  We left the lighthouse with so many things unresolved that we decided to spend the night at John's house. The next morning at breakfast, Alexander tried to convince his father to return with us to Pennsylvania. We both felt uncomfortable leaving him on his own. Plus, we wanted to observe his behavior for a while to determine if the Gray Man had triggered his confusion or if he had a greater problem.

  Finally, tired of the argument, John left us and went to the garage. Alexander crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head as he watched him go.

  "What should we do?" he asked. "We can't leave him here like this."

  "We'll just have to stay a little longer. While we're here we can get him to a doctor," I said. "If it's dementia, perhaps they can do something."

  Alexander carried his plate over to the sink and gazed out the window toward the garage. "He seems so normal most of the time. Maybe it was the Gray Man." He turned around, leaning back against the edge of the counter. The muscle in his cheek worked as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. "I don't want to lose him. Is there anything you can do?"

  It hurt me to see him in such turmoil. I wished I could simply heal his father and take this pain away from him, but I had no experience with dementia. Experimenting on John definitely wasn't a good idea. Opening the eyes of any human I laid hands on to heal was an unavoidable side effect—something my uncle had prohibited. And anyway, wouldn't opening John's eyes to the fae around him simply make him more confused?

  "Let's see what the doctors say. I'll have to do some research before I could try anything."

  Decision made, we washed the breakfast dishes before heading out to speak to John. My cell phone buzzed as we walked out the door. Matt had sent me a text message saying, 'LP from New York spotted again.' I sighed and showed Alexander the phone. I had nearly forgotten about the unidentified fae at home.

  "Great," Alexander said. "Now what?"

  I had been reasonably sure that the fae was a Leprechaun, but after the Gray Man it seemed foolish to assume. Matt's description of the fae's appearance left room for doubt.

  "I guess we'll have to divide and conquer. You stay here and I'll flit home."

  Flitting in the daylight was a delicate affair. I had to be careful not to be seen. After a few texts back and forth, Matt and I agreed to meet on a winding back road to one of the local resorts.

  Matt was waiting in his car when I arrived. He reached over and opened the passenger side door for me. />
  "Everything okay in Jersey?"

  "Not exactly, but I'll tell you that story later. What's going on here?" I asked as I buckled my seatbelt and he started down the road.

  "My sister, Kendra, works at the Pocono Peak Resort. She heard that a little person has been selling jewelry to people coming off the ski slopes. From what she says, the jewelry seems high-end, but the guy looks homeless."

  "Have you looked at any of the pieces yourself?"

  "Not yet, but we're going to do that now. A friend of Kendra's bought something from him."

  Three miles down the road, Matt turned into the driveway next to a large sign announcing our arrival at the Pocono Peak Resort. Snow-covered ski slopes rose behind the trees to the left of the driveway. The resort hotel's roof peeked out on the opposite side. When we came to a V in the road, Matt turned right toward the hotel.

  Once inside, Matt walked up to the front desk. "I'd like to speak to Allison McKinney, please."

  I perused the lobby while we waited. The dark wood and roaring fireplace perfectly embodied a mountain lodge.

  I turned my back so I wouldn't have to look at the flames just in time to see the curvy black woman walking toward us.

  "Hi Matt, I'm so happy to see you," she said, beaming up at him. Her cheery disposition faded when she noticed me. "Who's this?"

  "Allison, this is my friend Tressa. She's also an expert on gemstones. I thought it would be good to have a second opinion."

  The young lady grudgingly accepted his explanation of my presence. She led us to the furniture in the corner of the lobby, sitting next to Matt on the loveseat and leaving me to sit in the adjacent chair.

  She held her wrist in front of him, gracefully rolling her hand to show off a ruby tennis bracelet.

  "Can you take it off for me?" she asked.

  Matt ignored her flirtatious manner and unhooked the clasp. He squinted as he held the bracelet up to the light. Then he pulled an eye loupe from his pocket and examined the stones through the magnifying lens. He shook his head and handed it to me.

  "It's definitely sterling silver, not platinum, but I can't be sure about the stones. I would need better equipment."

  The minute the bracelet touched my hand I knew the rubies weren't real. Rubies exude a strong energy that stimulates circulation and revitalizes the wearers whole system. These stones had no essence at all. I frowned and shook my head.

  "These aren't natural rubies. They're lab created, but the diamond chips between the rubies are real." Allison frowned.

  "I paid $250 for that bracelet!" She thrust her hand out to me and I dropped her bracelet into her palm. She deftly re-clasped the bracelet around her wrist.

  "You gave $250 to a homeless person?" Matt asked, incredulous.

  "The guy looked old and frail, but I don't think he's homeless. He wore a suit and had a business card for a jewelry store in Manhattan. He said he needed the money for medicine, or else he never would have sold it. He said I was doing him a favor." Allison blushed as she rushed to defend herself.

  This young woman probably didn't know anything about the healing properties of gemstones, yet I became enraged that anyone would rob her of the gift that real stones would have given her.

  "Come to my shop on Fifth Avenue in Findale. I'll give you a bracelet. Not rubies-they're too expensive— but real gemstones worth what you paid," I said in a fit of indignation.

  "Oh—" Allison stuttered, at a loss for how to respond. "That's very nice of you. Thanks."

  "Not at all. Now, can you tell us where find this man?"

  "What's the plan?" Matt asked as he watched Allison leave.

  "We'll go find this guy, but first let's make a stop at the gift shop."

  If this fae was a Leprechaun, I had a theory to explain his current situation. Matt followed me to the store on the opposite side of the hotel lobby. His brow wrinkled with confusion, but he didn't question me.

  In the shop I bought a polyester drawstring backpack with the resorts logo stamped on the front. I also purchased a bottle of orange juice, a package of cookies, a coffee mug and a blue t-shirt, all of which I put inside the backpack.

  "What are you doing?" Matt asked, unable to restrain himself any longer, when I threw several quarters into the bag.

  "It's a kind of care package for the Leprechaun."

  "He's going to want that stuff?"

  "The symbolism is more important than the actual objects. If I'm right, he'll want this very badly."

  We discussed our plan as we walked toward the spot by the ski slopes where Allison said she had encountered the fae. I didn't think we'd have to worry about the Leprechaun running from us at the high speed with which they normally fled from humans.

  I spotted him when we were still a hundred yards away from the slopes. Even from this distance I could see his enormous hooked nose and the long, straggly white hair that ringed his bald head. He sat on a fallen tree speaking to a couple holding skis, a shiny black shillelagh propped next to him.

  "I see him," I said. "Over by the edge of the woods." Matt squinted and stared into the distance.

  "I don't see him."

  "Do you see the entrance to the ski slope? Go straight back from there to the end of the parking lot. He's right there."

  "Okay, I believe you," Matt said with a grin.

  "You walk over to him. Approach him from the front. When I see you getting close I'll flit in behind him."

  I flitted in silently behind the fae just as Matt reached him. The couple was still with him, examining a sapphire ring.

  "Excuse me, but I wouldn't buy that if I were you," Matt said. "Not if he's telling you it's a natural stone. I can guarantee you, it isn't."

  They sheepishly handed the ring back to the Leprechaun and scurried away. The fae made no attempt to run from Matt. Instead, he acted as if he'd been expecting him. Since he didn't attempt leave, I stayed quietly behind him.

  "Ah, the young lapidary has found me at last," he said.

  "So you did follow me here," Matt said, surprised to learn he had been right. "Why? What do you want from me?"

  "You can break glamour—you might try to be more careful not to make that so obvious."

  Matt grimaced. "Yeah well, you took me by surprise."

  "The fae will always surprise you."

  "Why did you come here? What do you want?"

  "If your eyes are open, you must be connected with a fae. Another fae will know what I need."

  Matt raised an eyebrow as he looked at me over the Leprechaun's head. The fae, realizing someone stood behind him, slowly lifted his feet over the log—using his stick for support—and turned to he faced me. His legs dangled from his perch, not long enough to reach the ground.

  The Leprechaun was in worse shape than I expected. His cheeks were hollow and his skin had the pallor of someone gravely ill. His stooped shoulders diminished his already short stature. His emerald green eyes looked up at me with instant recognition. Then he sighed and dropped his chin to his chest.

  "Dagnabbit! Anyone but you," he said, his voice sounding defeated and tired.

  I didn't understand his reaction, but as I was overcome with pity, I chose to ignore it and do my best to help him. A particular protocol must be followed before he would accept my help.

  "Clearly you know who I am. May I know your name?"

  "I am Gobban, My Lady."

  "Please call me Tressa here in the Human World, Gobban." His name sparked a memory. "Could you be Gobban the Gr—"

  "Don't be ridiculous!" he cut me off grumpily. "If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me that question. There are many Gobbans in the world." I held up my hands to stave off his angry outburst.

  "My apologies. Well, Gobban, it seems you have lost your cauldron. I have a substitute here that I would like to give you, which I promise to replace with an actual cauldron as soon as I'm able."

  A Leprechaun would never lose his cauldron. He had to have given it away. However, it would be an ins
ult to suggest he had done something so damaging to himself. He eyed the backpack I held out, licking his lips.

  "A gift. How kind; however, I can't accept it."

  "It's not a gift. I have a fair trade in mind. In exchange for this cauldron you will stop selling fake jewels to the unsuspecting. It interferes with my trade of selling jewelry with real stones."

  "They have a value," he said indignantly. "Would you stop me from making my own trade?"

  "No, but charge a reasonable price and tell them what they are really buying. If you have a cauldron in which to store your wellbeing, your wealth will come back to you and you won't need to stoop to these measures. Agree to my terms, or I will keep the cauldron."

  I pulled the backpack away to show that I was serious. His gaze flicked from the bag to my face and back again several times, his eyes wide with panic. His hesitation confused me. My demand paled compared to what he would gain from the cauldron. Perhaps I had insulted him by asking too small a price?

  "Dagnabbit! Why does it have to be you?" He shook his head in resignation. "I agree to your terms."

  The minute he took the backpack, his sickly pallor lessened. The change in his skin tone accentuated its texture, making me notice the smooth shiny skin on the left side of his face. It now stood out stark against the leathery texture normal for Leprechauns.

  I sat next to him, straddling the fallen tree trunk, to get a better look at it. When I leaned toward him he grabbed the carved knob top of his shillelagh and scrambled away from me to sit further down the log, holding the stick between us.

  "Don't touch me," he barked.

  I shook my head to assure him that I hadn't intended to. I had seen enough to know that the shiny skin was a burn scar. It looked wet, as if it would be tacky to the touch—a fresh wound that had to be excruciatingly painful. The scar ran down his neck and into his shirt. His threadbare suit made it impossible to judge how much of his body it covered, but I noticed another scar on his hand.

  "Does this burn have something to do with how you lost your cauldron?" I asked in horror, beginning to understand what could make a Leprechaun give away everything he owned.