Xander's Folly

by Belinda M Gordon

  Brenna was my Pixie. We were bonded together and served each other as friends. Kerry had been my grandmother's, along with her sister, Megan. Megan passed away soon after my grandmother. It was typical for Pixies to follow their Sidhe. Kerry's presence suggested that she bonded with someone else here on the ridge before my grandmother had passed, though I hadn't yet figured out to whom.

  Generally, Pixies bond with a Sidhe, but nothing said this must be the only way. I hadn't met the third Pixie yet. He was a dark-haired boy whom I suspected was the new arrival Holly had mentioned.

  "That's Peter. Trayce's Pixie," Brenna said.

  "You beautiful," Peter said in a tiny, barely audible voice.

  "Thank you, Peter," I said.

  I held out my hand, palm up. He fumbled his approach and landed there, butt first. The other Pixies giggled as he rolled onto his hands and feet and then stood on shaky legs.

  "I'm glad you've come to stay with us."

  "Thank you," the wee lad said solemnly. His serious demeanor was adorable, and I suppressed a smile.

  I bade them go play. Kerry and Peter did just that, fluttering away from me hand-in-hand until I couldn't see them anymore. Brenna, always attuned to my mood, stayed behind.

  She flew to a branch near the glider and sat on it, swinging her dangling feet. I went back to gazing out over the icy lake. Despite the Pixies' interruption, my mind still ruminated on the impression the photographs had made on me.

  "No one normal," she said, without preamble. I laughed. She had gotten straight to the root of my discontent.

  "The family in those photographs looked very normal to me." She scoffed. Her disapproving manner would have done Shamus proud.

  "Aye, everyone normal from afar."

  "Deaglan Mór still hunts me," I reminded her.

  "He hunted his mother. He hunts him now."

  "What?" I looked at her in alarm. My chest ached from the sudden shot of terror burning through it. "Because of me?"

  "No, silly," she sighed deeply. "Because of him. Whispers on wind. Mannus… sword… treasure. Everyone knows. He killed Gray Man."

  I hadn't thought it through. Surely Mór had sent the Gray Man to the Human World, or at least knew he had been here. The Unseelie always had their ears to the wind. Between what had happened in the Otherworld and what had happened here, everyone would have heard that Alexander had one of the treasures.

  "Pretty-boy coming."

  "Aye, I hear him. He doesn't like it when you call him that," I scolder her, though my mind still raced from this new revelation.

  "Know that," she said before she flew off after her siblings.

  A minute later Alexander handed me a mug of steaming hot chocolate. "I made hot milk for Sophia to help her sleep and decided to add chocolate to ours," he said.

  I opened my blanket and scooched over to make room for him. He put his arm around my shoulders and together we gathered the blanket around us.

  "This is nice," he said, sipping from his own mug and looking out at the moon's reflection on the lake. "Is everything okay?"

  "I guess it shouldn't be a surprise, but evidently our encounter with the Gray Man has traveled on the wind to our enemies."

  "'Our encounter?' That's one way to put it," he said, a tinge of amusement in his voice. "But that's not why you came here."

  He knew me so well. I snuggled closer to him, resting my head on his shoulder. He tightened his embrace.

  "Sophia looks so much like you. You can really see that in the photos of you at her age." I wrapped my fingers around the mug to warm them.

  "Yeah, she's a real mini-me," he said. He kissed the top of my head. "Don't read too much into the photographs. A week later, our entire lives fell apart."

  "Tell me about that time," I encouraged.

  "It was mid-July. We were on summer break from school. Dad was a teacher, so he wasn't working, but he was always crazy about cars. If he wasn't helping friends with their car problems, he was usually in the garage restoring cars and reselling them.

  "I came home from the baseball field down the street for dinner. Dad was in the garage as usual. He said Mom had gone to visit friends and would be back soon. We waited for hours.

  "There were no cell phones then, no email—or at least, we didn't have those things yet. We had no way to contact someone away from home. Dad called around the next day. He went through their entire list of friends and family until he ran out of people to call. Then he contacted the police."

  "What did they do?" I asked.

  "Not much. There wasn't any evidence of anything untoward. She had packed a few things, and that was all the evidence they needed."

  "You must have been heartbroken." I had lost my parents a few years earlier, and that had been incredibly difficult as an adult. I could only imagine what a tragedy it was for a child.

  "My dad got lost in the garage for about a year. I stumbled through life like a zombie. I withdrew from my friends and started to hate school. The teachers whispered around me and constantly asked me how I was doing. I hated that question. What was I supposed to say? I was miserable—that's how I was doing," he said, bitterly.

  We were quiet for a while, cuddled together and wrapped up tight, drinking our hot chocolate and watching the moon rise in the sky.

  "What turned things around?"

  "Eddie pestered me constantly. He refused to let me cut him out of my life. Then that dog showed up and we spent days conspiring on how to get his parents to let him keep her. Eddie and his dog refused to let me fade away."

  He drank the last of his hot chocolate. "Tressa, do you believe that I'm Nuada's Heir and meant to carry the sword?"

  The abrupt change in conversation startled me. I sputtered to answer him. "Well… we shouldn't talk about this out here…"

  "You said it's already on the wind. It really doesn't matter if we add more, does it?"

  "Okay. Well, aye. Of course I'm certain."

  "Would you call it predestined? Was I born to be the sword bearer? My mother knew I would find the sword when I was seven years old," he said, turning to look for my reaction. "Do you really think this is something you did to me?"

  I'd never thought about it that way; his questions took me aback. My mind raced as I considered the possibilities.

  "No, I guess I didn't do this to you," I conceded.

  "Then please, stop feeling guilty about it."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ALEXANDER

  I left the house early the next morning, negatives in hand, determined to find a place to print the pictures before my first class. I stopped at a national pharmacy chain first, remembering they had a photo center near the checkout counter. It seemed likely that they'd be able to do the job, but the clerk explained they could only develop and print film at the same time. They no longer had the equipment to print straight from negatives.

  I jumped onto the highway and traveled two towns over to try the big discount store there. They told me the same story, although they did offer to send the negatives away to get them printed. I wasn't about to risk them getting lost in the mail, so I declined and went back to my truck to contemplate my next move. Since nothing sprang to mind, I took out my phone and searched for camera stores in the area. By chance I found one a few miles away.

  I pulled up in front of an old brick building with a faded sign that read Happy Day Camera Shop. A red and white 'closed' sign leaned against the big plate-glass window in the front of the store. The white lettering on the door window told me they opened at 10 AM — only fifteen minutes from now.

  I called my father while I waited. I had made it a habit to phone him every morning, but I had forgotten earlier in my rush to get out of the house. His phone rang three or four times before it went to voicemail. At least it's charged, I thought. I hung up without leaving a message—he never checked them anyway.

  Ten minutes later I tried him again with the same results. As I disconnected the call this time, the lights flicked on inside the
camera shop. I got out of the truck and watched an older man with graying blonde hair flip the sign in the window to 'open'. He unlocked the door and held it open to welcome me in.

  The interior looked to be part antique store, part modern photography shop. A tall glass case next to the entry displayed various antique cameras, on display but not for sale. Sepia photographs hung on the surrounding walls. The older gear gave me hope that I might get lucky here.

  The old man leaned against the counter by the register, a few feet in from the door. "Can I help you find something?" he asked.

  "Yeah, can you print photos from these negatives?" I asked, holding up the envelope in my hand.

  "Sure, no problem."

  I glanced around the rest of the showroom. The opposite side had modern camera equipment ready for purchase. Photographs of weddings and high school seniors hung on the walls with a sign listing studio prices. Equipment to print photographs was nowhere to be seen.

  "Do you send them away to be printed?"

  "No sir. All printing done here on the premises."

  I left the negatives with him, leaving with his promise to have the photographs ready in the next few days. Before leaving my parking space in front of the store I tried my father again. This time the call went straight to voicemail. "Damn," I said under my breath. I dropped my phone into the cup holder and pulled out to head to work.

  I was on the highway again, close to the exit for the university, when my stomach began to feel queasy. It started as a twinge and grew until I felt distinctly uncomfortable. My premonitions usually hit me instantly—a thought followed by an absolute conviction that the thought was correct, so I ignored the stomach upset at first.

  A general sense of unease eventually engulfed me. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as I exited the highway. After some introspection, I concluded the unease had something to do with my father.

  My phone rang. I answered it without taking my eyes off the road. "Dad, I've been trying to reach you."

  "Xander, we have a situation," Matt said. Tension reverberated in his voice. "Someone tried to breach the wards around the estate. An Unseelie."

  I made a U turn and sped back to the highway to get home. "A middle-aged couple?"

  "I didn't see who it was. The motion detector triggered the camera, but the intruder was too fast. He disappeared before we caught a picture. Shamus checked out the spot—he said it was definitely Unseelie."

  "Turn off the motion detectors and let the cameras run continuously. I'm heading to Tressa. Call me with any news," I barked the orders at him.

  "Will do."

  I hung up and immediately called Tressa. When she didn't answer I tried my father again. Straight to voicemail. I tried Tressa again. She still didn't answer. I dropped the phone on the seat next to me, yelling and pounding the truck steering wheel in frustration.

  It was another agonizing ten minutes before I exited the highway for Findale.

  A group of people in red T-shirts swarmed Tressa's Treasures. I had never seen it so crowded. I scanned the place, looking for Tressa, my heart thumping when I didn't see her. Holly stood by the jewelry display talking to customers while Linda rang up purchases at the cash register. As my gaze went around the room again, a hand waved from the middle of the crowd. Tressa's blue-green eyes sparkled as she grinned and beckoned me over.

  We met at the door to her workroom. She wore a broad smile. "I did a demonstration for this group. It went really well." I took her hand and pulled her into the back storage room.

  "You weren't answering your phone," I said tersely. "Nobody's answering their frickin' phone today."

  "Xander, what's wrong?"

  "Someone tried to get past the wards and onto the estate. Shamus says it was an Unseelie. I've been uneasy about my father all morning who, of course, hasn't charged his phone. It's going straight to voicemail again. And then I couldn't get ahold of you." My voice rose as I itemized my concerns, mirroring the rise of my frustration.

  Tressa took my hand, calming my frayed nerves with her touch.

  "Is there any chance Shamus is wrong?" I asked, my voice lower now.

  She shook her head. "Shamus wouldn't make that kind of mistake. I wonder if it was the Morgans."

  "That was my first thought too. Whoever triggered the sensor moved too fast for the camera. We're hoping to catch a picture of them by the time I get home."

  Tressa's eyes grew wide as the possibilities ran through her mind. She took a step closer and leaned in, resting her body against mine. I wrapped my arms around her, hugging her and kissing the top of her head.

  "Sweetheart, we need to bring my father here," I said. "I don't want to fight this battle on two fronts. We'll have to find a way to convince him this time."

  "If it wasn't the Morgans trying to get onto the estate, we could be bringing him into a more dangerous situation."

  "You're right," I said. "But I still think—"

  A loud bang, as if something large had fallen against the wall outside, stopped me mid-sentence. We ran for the backdoor. I got there first and motioned to Tressa to stay behind me. I drew the sword from its scabbard and opened the door a crack.

  When nothing came into view I slowly opened it another few inches until I saw the cause of the disruption. I re-sheathed the sword with a sigh before beckoning to Tressa to follow me outside. Sloan sat slumped on the ground; her eyes looked dazed as she touched the back of her head.

  Now what? I thought, certain that the young woman's presence would add more problems to our current situation. I grabbed her forearm and pulled her to her feet.

  "What are you doing here?" I hissed as I shuffled her into the storage room.

  "Xander stop! Can't you see she's hurt herself?" Tressa eased Sloan onto a crate and looked into her eyes to judge if she had a concussion. "Sloan, how did you get here?"

  "I'm not sure," she said. I rolled my eyes. Seeing my skepticism, she turned her full attention to Tressa. "I wanted to get ahold of you guys. I lost my old phone and had to get a new one, so I didn't have your number anymore. Last time I got it off of Mr. M's phone, but that thing's so old—I think it died."

  "So you stole a phone, is what you're saying," I said, unable to contain my contentious mood. Tressa glared at me and I pressed my lips together, determined to keep quiet.

  "Why did you want to call us?" Tressa asked.

  "Mr. M is acting weird," Sloan said. She shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "I thought you guys might give a shit."

  I moved closer, suddenly more interested in what she had to say. Sloan sneered at me before turning to speak to Tressa.

  "His memory is getting worse. He forgets what we've done on the Mustang and tries to redo things that we just finished. Sometimes he seems normal, but then the next minute he calls me Cindy."

  Tressa looked at me for an explanation.

  "Cindy is my cousin, my Uncle Steve's daughter."

  "Yeah, well I'm not her," Sloan said sarcastically.

  "That's for sure," I shot back, recalling my polite, perky cousin. Then the description she gave of my father's behavior sunk in and the muscles in my neck constricted. "Have the Morgans been hanging around?"

  "Those idiots? What does that matter?"

  "Have you seen them or not?" I asked, not at all convinced I could trust her answer. "We need to figure out what's going on. Just answer the question."

  "I haven't seen either of them in at least a week, your royal highness."

  "So how did you get here?" Tressa asked, cutting off our bickering.

  "I told you, I don't know. I was walking along the bay with Lady when a wind picked up and I swear I heard voices in the wind—" she spun to me, "—and no, I'm not crazy!"

  "Of course you're not crazy," Tressa said. She touched her arm, refocusing Sloan's attention on her. "What did you hear on the wind?"

  "Just a few words, and I only made out one or two of them. One may have been 'treasure,' but I'm not sure. But the other was definitely 'swor
d.' That made me think of that badass sword you have." She nodded her head toward me.

  "Okay, what happened next?"

  "Well—like I said—I was walking, the wind picked up, and I was wondering how I could get in touch with you. And I swear this is what happened—Lady stopped in front of me and I tripped over her. Then I had this weird sensation like the wind had picked me up!" She looked back at me narrowing her eyes and repeated, emphasizing each word, "I am NOT crazy."

  "Sloan, we know you're not crazy," Tressa said. "You flitted on the wind. However, what I can't understand is how you figured out where to go."

  Sloan shrugged and didn't respond. Tressa gently brushed the girl's cheek with the back of her fingers by way of comfort. She blushed and looked up at Tressa.

  "Mr. M told me a million times that his son lived in the Poconos. So I concentrated on going there and after a while I focused on finding him." She jerked her head at me but kept her eyes trained on Tressa.

  "I ran into something. Hard. I kind of bounced around, which made me think of you." Her head dipped shyly. "It hurt, and you helped me before so I hoped you might help me again."

  "You hit something before you hit the wall outside?"

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  TRESSA

  Riding the wind to an unfamiliar destination could be dangerous, especially for a novice. I asked Sloan to take off her leather jacket and I discreetly lifted the bottom of her t-shirt to examine her closer. Darkening bruises covered her entire right side. However, it could have been much worse. She could have dropped off the edge of a cliff in the mountains around Pine Ridge or stopped in front of a moving truck.

  I went to a box I kept stored in my workstation and pulled out tea bags of honeysuckle root from my grandmother's garden and pinkberry leaves from Faery. I heated a mug of water in the breakroom microwave and let the tea bags steep as I carried the mug to the storage room.

  After squeezing out the excessive liquid, I broke the tea bags open and spread the wet leaves over her bruises. The bruises disappeared when I infused a mere hint of my essence into the leaves. It was messy, but it did the trick.