Kheelan went back to the book. He knew his real date of birth, he’d overheard a former guardian, Oonagh, discuss it with her Fae companions late one evening when they presumed him asleep.
There it was.
November 22, 1989, 7:59 P.M., Kyle Jeffries, born to Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Jeffries, Northport, Alabama. Swapped at three years of age by Spriggans, Unseelie Court, and replaced by similar-aged Fae child, for failure to shimmer and adapt to elemental forces. Human purchased from Spriggans. Transaction completed with no difficulties: human family, changeling and Fae child thriving and unsuspecting at last census report, January 2012.
Kheelan’s chest constricted and his heart hammered so loud he was sure Finvorra had to hear, although another quick glance showed he had not. Kheelan gripped the book as if to choke the life out of it. The lies. This lie was the one to end all lies. He shut his eyes and heard the voice of Annwynn, one of his earliest, and kindest, guardians when he asked her pointed questions.
“Why am I so different? Why do I have this ugly, large body?
All the other kids make fun of me.”
“Don’t ye worry about it poppet,” her voice was smooth as water over rock. “You were chosen to live with our glorious race and it is your duty and pleasure to serve us. If you had stayed with your human”—she shuddered delicately at the word— “parents, you would not even be alive. They died in a car accident mere days after we, in our kind mercy and foreknowledge, brought you here to live in our world.”
All these years. All these lonely, backbreaking, outcast years, his real parents were out there, alive, and they didn’t have a clue their biological child had been stolen.
“I’ll find you,” he whispered. “When all this is over, when I’m truly free, I’ll find you.”
But now was a time for planning escape. Kheelan located the Book of Fairy Lore he’d skimmed earlier. The myth of The One, the Halfling, was somewhere in the thick tome. He’d only started looking through this book a few weeks ago. When he first discovered it, the words would shimmer and disappear from the page when he tried to read it. On a hunch, he had produced one of his hagstones and discovered that by peering through the center hole, the words would float on the luminescent lavender pages, one line at a time, completely legible.
He cracked open the book, his muscles straining as it resisted his efforts. The scent of damp earth and bluebells floated up from the text. Even with the hagstone, reading was difficult. The ancient words were penned with ink from plant dyes, now so faded that some pages were entirely undecipherable. Not only that, the fairies used ornate calligraphy and covered every margin with paintings of curling vines and flowers. The manuscript’s pages were iridescent from flakes of crushed gemstones and abalone shell.
Pretty, but not user-friendly, at least for human eyes.
Kheelan scanned quickly, looking for any reference to the legend. Always and Future Lore and Legends of the Sidhe . . . beginnings, cast from heaven, breeds resulting: elemental sprites, air spirits, ocean fae . . .tribal formations . . . kings, queens and descendants . . . emergence of gremlins in the technological age . . . shape-shifting into human form . . . human encounters . . . Samhain wars… There! Legend of the Halfling Female at Samhain.
Procreation with humans, necessary for repopulation because of continuing war casualties between the Seelie and Unseelie Courts, has been met with often disappointing results. Most of the resulting progeny (with the notable exception of the MacLeods of Scotland) are not aware of their true birthright and power. The first of this mixed breed to be acknowledged as Fae-worthy was foretold by Nostriamela, in 1675. Her Talent of Future Predications is well documented.
In her words: “a descendent of a Fae and a human witch shall sprout her wings in the Samhain of her nineteenth year when her latent powers awaken. She is The One, the only one, able to touch the celestial crystal and bring it life. She will be brought into the sacred Faery Realm where she will place her hands upon it. An explosion of light shall burst forth and glow. By this, all will know the Seelie Court possesses the true relic of our former existence and all manner of the Unseelie (trolls, spriggans, phouka, etc.) shall quake before this relic from The Time Above. Knowing the Seelie Court has awakened its power, the Dark Fae will comprehend they cannot prevail against the Good Fae. Eventually, they will have to concede defeat in their race for dominion over
Humans.”
Nostriamela’s details are sketchy, as is the nature of all future seeings, and the future shifts and changes with every path chosen in the astral and earthly plane. But she was firm that this opportunity stands for one night, the night of Samhain when all is possible and the veil is thinnest between humans and Fae. Once the sun comes over the horizon of the Halfling’s eighteenth Samhain, the power will disappear with her. The celestial crystal may never have another opportunity to be activated and the Dark Fae will slowly increase in number and strength. It may only take a few centuries thereafter for them to reign over the Seelie Court. Once that happens, humans will be the next race they target for dominion, beginning with witches who have a small measure of effect on matter and energy.
The One will be recognizable by her flaming red hair and unique rainbow aura. As rare as the rainbow aura occurs, there is also a true test to determine The One. She will be able to interpret the ancient pixie fairy language, a feat no other can perform.
Kheelan closed the book. With cunning borne from years of necessity, he carefully returned all the books to the desk drawer and turned the key, making no sound. He stood to put the key back in Finvorra’s pants pockets and ran into a solid mass.
“Give me the key,” Finvorra demanded in a hard voice.
6
Fairy Dancing
“The Tower. The Devil. The Two of Swords reversed.” Glenna’s voice held a note of ominous weariness.
“Is your life one great big tragedy after another?” Skye asked. “Just once, I’d like to see you draw The Sun or The Star in that tarot deck.”
“So would I.” Glenna sighed theatrically, enjoying her dark misfortune. Her long, black hair hung down the left side of her face like a curtain. She tapped the cards spread on the counter, an angry tableau of future troubles. “The first card shows a major catastrophe. The Devil foretells entrapment and temptation and the Two of Swords means I have a disloyal friend or ally.” Glenna raised her head and regarded Skye suspiciously.
“Don’t look at me. We’re co-workers, not friends or allies.” Skye’s temples throbbed from lack of sleep and she was in no mood for Glenna’s annoying morning prophecy of doom.
Last night she had replayed over and over her meeting with Kheelan and seeing the fairies. Exciting, but scary too. Even though this wasn’t her first brush with other worlds, it was unsettling. Strange beings and alternate universes? No thank you. All she wanted was a normal life and to be Tanner’s girlfriend. In spite of everything else swirling around her, Skye cringed remembering his brush-off kiss. Even her job was no longer a fun, safe haven, but a place where ominous things happened one floor beneath.
Glenna gathered the cards in a huff; her silver charm bracelet banged the counter.
“Is this new?” Skye asked, fingering the dangling heart charm.
It had a garnet chip at the top and an inscription, G & M.
Glenna snatched her hand away. “A gift from Mickey.” She put the tarot cards in the box, the sharp snap of the closing lid showed her annoyance. That ping of wood-on-wood reverberated through the fog in Skye’s brain. Most days, she took secret amusement in Glenna’s self-pity, but today she couldn’t stand it.
“Look, you’ve got a boyfriend, you’ve got a job and you’re in college. Is your life so horrible you have to go reading the cards everyday looking for trouble?” Skye walked over and snatched the box away.
Glenna glared with the one eye not covered with hanging hair.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking this deck. I think you took out all the good ones.” Skye r
ifled through the seventy-eight cards.
“I can’t help the cards I draw,” Glenna huffed, getting up from her chair and heading to the coffeehouse area.
A card slipped through Skye’s fingers and fell. She picked it up and an unexpected warmth from its thin, flat surface seeped into her fingertips. The warmth grew to heat and it slipped from her grasp and landed face up on the floor.
The Knight of Pentacles. A man with dark brown hair and brown eyes, usually unmarried. Skye recalled its symbolism: a strategizer seeking solutions through action for practical results. He looks for things that can be used in the material realm.
Kheelan. He matched the physical description and appeared to be the kind of person to take bold, decisive action. She shuddered. He probably had no compunction about using things, or people, to get what he wanted. Was the card a warning?
Hesitantly, she again touched it. It didn’t burn this time. She put it in the box with the rest of the cards, determined to count them all later, and rummaged on the shelves behind the counter for a bandage.
She didn’t have much choice except to see Kheelan again, to find out how he was connected to the fairies. Skye’s face softened, remembering the winged pixies playing in last night’s storm. They were the one bright spot in this whole mess. She couldn’t wait for nighttime to see them again.
“Skye, did you cut yourself?” Claribel’s voice from behind made Skye jump.
“No, it’s a small blister.”
The older woman nodded absently and patted Skye’s shoulder. She inhaled Claribel’s scent of violets, so sweet and subtle. It suited her. “Where’s Glenna?”
Sudden inspiration struck. Why not tell Claribel about the hagstone? If there was anybody in the world who wouldn’t think she was insane if she described the fairies, it would be Claribel. Her boss believed in the Fae all along, even when she couldn’t physically see them. She ought to be thrilled at the opportunity.
“Miss Claribel, do you have any special plans for tonight?”
“Why . . . no.” Her silver-gray eyes widened. She lifted a bejeweled hand to a gray curl falling across her forehead, setting off a melodic tinkling from dozens of charm bracelets sliding on her plump arm.
Skye was unexpectedly seized with doubt. Claribel might think she was nuts after all. She forced herself to speak. “I thought maybe you could come by my place and I could fix dinner.
Spaghetti or something.” And a glass or two of wine for courage.
Claribel blinked and the gray eyes filled with moisture. “That is so sweet of you. Let me check my schedule.” She wobbled a few steps to her appointment calendar.
“Is your arthritis kicking in with all the bad weather?” Skye asked sympathetically.
“The rain is no friend to the old. Are you sure about cooking dinner? We could just get some take-out.”
“No, I like to cook.” Not to mention I have no money for meals out. “I get off early tonight, so come by when you close and I’ll have it ready.”
“You’re a dear.” Claribel patted her cheek and shuffled to the office, her purple broomstick skirt, an 80’s fashion relic, swished from the generous padding of her hips and fanny.
There’s eccentric and then there’s just plain weird.
Skye loaded salad on the paper plate. The aroma from the impromptu dinner of spaghetti and garlic rolls spiced the tiny kitchen. Claribel perched her short, round body on the folding chair, legs not quite reaching the floor. At her insistence, they were using paper plates, cups and plastic utensils she’d purchased on her way over. Probably thought college students were slobs, not to be trusted in matters of cleanliness. Or perhaps she was a germaphobe. Claribel wore cotton gloves a lot at work, claiming her hands were cold all the time.
“This is delicious, Skye. So kind of you to invite me over.”
“Beats eating alone.”
“A pretty, sweet girl like you, I would think you’d have a boyfriend, or maybe several boyfriends.”
“Yeah, sure. I have to beat ‘em off me. Never a moment to myself.” Skye bit into a hot, buttered roll. She’d settle for just one guy, name of Tanner.
Claribel laughed. “You need to put off more encouraging vibes, dear. Let them know you’re available.”
“Been there, done that.” Skye winced. Since that disaster of a confession, Tanner’s calls had been short and awkward. For the love of Aphrodite, please don’t let him tell Michael what a fool I made of myself.
“Keep trying, there’s someone out there perfect for you.” Claribel laid down her fork and clapped her plump hands together as inspiration struck. “Would you like a tarot reading? Mr. Wonderful might be right around the corner.”
“Um, maybe later.” Skye wasn’t so sure about a reading. If she pulled the same cards Glenna habitually drew, it would freak her out.
“Oh, let’s!” Claribel clapped her tiny hands together before resuming eating. “Tell me about your family, Skye. I’ve met your brother Michael at the store. Your parents live in Piedmont, right?”
“Mom does. Dad lives in Birmingham. They divorced when I was a year old.”
Claribel shook her head. “So common these days. But maybe in some ways it’s easier that you were so young.”
Skye shrugged. “I guess. Dad and I have never been close.” That was an understatement. Dad was all over Michael, but as for herself . . . sometimes it felt as if he didn’t even like her, let alone love her. He paid his child support but shirked seeing her as much as possible, was barely civil to her. She never forgot her first and only dance recital at age five. He had come to pick up his son and take him out for the weekend. Skye had come bounding down the stairs in her pink tutu, feathered angel wings, and a crown of flowers atop her carefully curled red hair, all eager excitement.
Wait until he sees me in this magnificent get-up. For once, he’d see how beautiful she was, how talented.
He’d stared at her in shock. His eyes took in the costume, went to the wings on her back . . . but instead of pride, she read revulsion. She ran toward him anyway, flung herself at him, practically jumping off the bottom step. His body had been stiff, unresponsive. He’d carefully pulled her away and turned to Michael. “Let’s go, son.”
She’d been devastated, had cried so hard that when she went on stage that night, all the joy of the dance fled. Looking into a sea of faces frightened her so bad she froze. The music washed over her and she stood immobile while the rest of the girls did their clumsy arabesques to the uncritical applause of their families.
Why doesn’t daddy love me, Mommy? She’d asked her mother later.
Why does he love Michael and not me?
Rowena Watters, for one of the few times in Skye’s life, had held her and cried. “It’s not your fault, baby. It’s not your fault. Mommy and Michael love you just the way you are.”
“Honey, are you okay?” Claribel waved a hand in front of Skye’s face. “I’m sorry I brought up your parents. I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
Skye blinked back tears. That memory always got to her. “I’m fine. Ancient history.” She began eating with determination. Forget it. Best to steer the conversation to the real reason she invited Claribel here. “Have you always believed in fairies?”
Claribel’s face lit up as it always did at talk of the Fae. “Ever since I was a little girl. I know most people outgrow that stage by kindergarten, but I never could. I always felt like they were my invisible friends and guardians, just out of my reach but there.”
“And you’ve never seen them?”
“No, but they’re around.” She waved her hand vaguely. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re here with us as we speak.”
Now for the hard part. “Have you ever had any strange experiences in the shop?”
“Darling, we work in a shop full of magic, that’s the whole point of a metaphysical store.”
Actually, the point was to make a profit. “I’ve had some weird things happen lately, down in the storeroom. Like . . . he
aring voices.”
Claribel dropped her plastic spoon. “What do they tell you?” Her voice was intense and her eyes sharpened, losing their dreamy quality.
Skye took a huge gulp of Diet Coke. What the hell, this was Claribel. “The voices are like tiny buzzings, they seem to say . . . this sounds crazy I know, but I think they’re saying, ‘help me.’”
Claribel gasped and rose suddenly. “Promise me you won’t ever go downstairs alone again.”
“But why? Have you heard them too?”
“No, but sometimes I feel like there’s dark energy in that room.” She took a deep breath and sat back down. “Delia’s felt it too and she refuses to go down there.”
“We could do a cleansing. You know, burn some sage, place hematite stones and salt in the corners, that kind of thing.” Skye’s face burned. She generally avoided witchy stuff since she totally sucked at the whole thing. She looked down at the napkin in her lap. “At least, that’s what my mother would advise.”
“I’m sure Rowena would.”
Skye’s head jerked up. There was an unusual sharpness to Claribel’s words. “How do you know my mother’s name? I don’t think I’ve mentioned it to you before.”
Claribel blinked. “It was on your job application. You listed her address as your permanent place of residence.”
“Oh, right.”
“How do you get along with Ro—with your mom?” Claribel became absorbed in twirling the spaghetti noodles around her plate.
“All right, I guess. She’s a bit . . . remote.” This conversation had turned in an unexpected direction. She thought Claribel would want to talk of nothing but fairies after telling her of the voices. And Skye was certain that the voices and the fairies were connected.
“Is she alone now that you and your brother are at school?”
Changeling: An Appalachian Magic Novel Book 2 (Appalachian Magic Series) Page 6