The band was already playing, the music a glorious and enchanting mixture of sound and melody. We wasted no time, as if dancing were more natural than walking, we instantly fell into step with the lovely waltz that flitted through the festive air. Dozens of couples spun and dipped on the dance floor, but I saw none of them. I only had eyes for my Domingo, and he only had eyes for me.
As the Waltz of the Flowers ended and the first notes of Blue Danube began, I purred, “Domingo?”
Cocking his eyebrow upward in his signature query look, he murmured, “M’yes.” The deep tenor of his voice resonated through me along with the rising vibrations of the small orchestra’s string section, and by the gleam in his eyes, I was sure he knew it.
“My surprise, Domingo, what is it?” I tried to sound sexy, a seductress inviting trouble, but I sounded exactly the same as I did any other time—breathless and awed to be near him.
He looked distractedly over my shoulder. “Soon, Fiona. You will have your surprise very soon.”
The music rose, crested, and fell, a crescendo of lovely sound as we melted into each other. I no longer noticed when one song changed into another. Domingo and I swayed to our own rhythm, completely separate from the rest. Lost in a curtain of sheer joy, I was astounded by the chime of the clock. Five loud gongs echoed through the ball room, signaling the intermission. My heart fell and tears threatened my eyes as the thought of leaving him crushed me. I wasn’t the least bit concerned about being ill, that nasty little voice in my head was surprisingly silent on the subject. I was only focused on how it would shatter my soul to be apart from him once again.
He took my hand and started to lead me from the dance floor, but I tugged him back. “I want to stay! Why must you always make me leave?” The other revelers, all gorgeous and well-groomed men and women, were milling around large tables laden with sweets and punch bowls of frothing pink liquid. There was even a fountain made from crystal glasses that was lined with daffodils and bubbled with something that smelled of sweet honey and wine.
I gestured in the general direction of the other partygoers as I continued, “Why do they not all scurry for the door at the strike of five?”
A smile full of wickedness crossed his face. “Fiona, my love, calm down. That is your surprise. You don’t have to leave.” His expression softened as he placed his hand over his heart, “You can dance forever, if you like.”
I was elated. “Really? I can stay?” I did a slow turn, trying to decide upon which sticky sweet treat that I would indulge myself with until we could return to the polished sprung wood floor.
Taking the tips of my fingers, Domingo spun me in a graceful twirl as he chuckled. “I have something extra special for you, pretty Fiona. Something that is almost as sweet as your lips when we kiss.”
My interest was instantly caught, and I followed him to a small table near the beginning of the banquet. The adornments that set on the onyx table cloth were much different than the almost gaudy show of wealth found throughout the splendid ball room. The small, but deep, punch bowl was simple crystal without design or etching. No fine glasses sat nearby, only tiny yellow tea-cups that were oddly shaped like Easter lilies—resembling something a child would play with. A single strand of golden ivy, wound into an intricate Celtic knot, was the only decorative piece among the utensils.
My eyes kept returning to the flower shaped cups, something familiar about them teased my mind. Flower shaped cups? How peculiar, I thought.
Domingo, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his fine suit, dipped the small ladle into the amber colored liquid, and poured no more than a mouthful into the tiny goblet. I watched, fascinated, as the petals shivered under the slight weight of the refreshment, surprised to realize that the teacup had been fashioned from a real flower. Again, something tickled the back of my thoughts, I could almost remember.
Clapping, I exclaimed, “Oh how quaint.”
Domingo nodded and carefully placed the drink into my awaiting fingers. “A tradition, my sweet. When one has been invited to dance with us on a…less temporary basis, they are asked to indulge us our little ritual.”
“It’s my honor, Domingo.” I truly meant the words until I made to lift the yellow petals to my lips. Suddenly, I remember.
She forced him to drink a magic brew made of sweet honey and wine from a cup fashioned from the bloom of an Easter lily. My mother’s voice echoed in my head, and I grew afraid.
It can’t be true! Domingo cannot be a fairy! That is crazy, those stories are only fairytales meant to teach young children to obey. My thoughts warred. Oh, but can’t he. He only comes at night to whisk you away in a mysterious carriage to a place you do not know its location, his life is one of frivolity and fun with no mention of what he does during the day, and here he stands offering a tea cup fashioned from a flower.
I smiled prettily through the confusion erupting inside of me, trying to find a way to excuse my hesitation. A brilliant idea, I decided to accidentally spill the drink while expressing my gratitude with a polite curtsy, and then feign such embarrassment that I needed to leave.
My voice shook as I raised the cup, “Thank you all for welcoming me.” Bending at the waist, I made my move, but cool fingers reached out to steady mine—thwarting my plan.
The room of people all turned, beautiful faces with large, bright eyes stared in expectation. A hush fell over the room, even the musicians watched. The only sound was the ticking of the ornate clock as it trudged forward in a never ending procession toward the hour of dawn.
The traitor in my head shrieked, Look at them. All too perfect, all too shiny and perfect. With a hiss it declared, Fairies! All of them!
The truth of the moment hit me and I thought of my mother’s fairytale once more. I had thought that if I was in the mortal man’s shoes, I would gladly choose a life with Domingo because we were in love. Yet, he had lied to me and tried to entrap me. He had never given me the chance to refuse or come willingly as the fairy had the story. His betrayal made him a monster in my eyes, and a pain like no other I’d ever felt shot through my heart as if it were literally breaking in two.
My inner turmoil seemed to me as if it took an hour of contemplation, but apparently, I had only stood dumbstruck for a moment or two.
Not realizing that I had recognized him for what he was, Domingo gently encouraged me. “Go ahead, Fiona, drink.”
“No!” I hadn’t meant to scream the word, or jerk my hand free of where he steadied it with his own. However, as I did, the contents of the cup spilled.
The room darkened, gone were the dazzling lights and golden trimmings. As the pain in my heart grew sharper, I reached out, begging the others for help. Forcing myself to look into their faces as I pleaded for salvation, I watched as their beautiful masks of joy melted away. Faces twisted and contorted into cold and heartless expressions as they laughed at my agony.
My hand gripped Domingo’s jacket as the room began to spin. Faster and faster, it whirled as if I were a top spinning out of control. I stumbled and teetered. His hands came up to roughly grip my arms and he turned me until both of my hands gripped his collar and my eyes locked on his. With those startling blue eyes as my focal point, the pain began to ease and the dizziness slightly subsided. In that moment, I saw the man I loved as his true self for the first time.
His eyes were dark sapphire, his skin a cool wash of ivory, and his hair was the same soft ebony; the only difference seemed to be that he seemed steeped in shadow rather than light. Still handsome, still strong, he was Domingo—my Domingo. I could’ve become lost in him and begged for another chance, I could’ve forgave his slights against me, if not for one thing.
A slight movement over his shoulder caught my eye, and I shifted my gaze to the mysterious crimson fabric that seemed to flutter at his back. With a gasp, recognition set in, and I struggled to free myself. Clawing at his face and neck, I screamed and twisted, desperate for release. For somehow, the sight of his blood red wings unfolding f
rom their hiding place drove me to fully accept what the secret voice had been telling me all along. Domingo was not just a fairy; he was a dark fae, the kind of evil that one never wants to meet.
Luckily, the others did not care enough to intervene, and only wanted to enjoy the humiliation of one of their own. Though he was stronger, my terror gave me agility and force beyond my size, and Domingo had not expected a fight. With a twist of my wrist, I managed to free my right hand from his, and I landed a solid punch to his beautifully upturned nose. The bone shattered, unable to with stand the fury behind my fist. Grabbing his face, Domingo released my other arm, and I fled.
I ran, no more than twenty feet, my brain screaming at me to put as much distance between Domingo and I as humanly possible. However, even as my thoughts focused on freedom, my heart betrayed me. The pain came again, a knife sticking between my ribs and into the organ that pounded out his name in an uneven rhythm. I stumbled, fighting to stay upright as I trudged toward the double doors that lead away from the ballroom.
“Fiona!” He screamed my name in a liquid snarl of blood and rage, the power within it slamming me forward.
I fell, sliding several feet on my knees before I toppled forward and my head slammed into the hardwood floor. The pain of the blow was nothing compared to the one that was ripping the ventricles of my heart into shreds. The battle between physical pain and self-preservation grew as my consciousness waned.
I love him.
He’s a liar!
I can’t leave him. He is only hurting me because he loves me and doesn’t want me to go.
He is a liar! A dark fairy! An evil being!
He called my name again, this time softer and sweeter, a siren’s song. He was near enough to touch me, and if I had been able to form words, I would have begged for his embrace. I would have done anything to ease that burning, tearing, horrible agony that was quickly eating my insides.
*****
I awakened in my room at home, my mother, the doctor, and my father hovering nearby. Their voices were hushed and urgent, and I strained my ears to hear what they said overtop the sound of my laboring heart thrumming in my ears.
“Landry’s Disease,” the elderly physician said as he nodded. “It’s a mysterious thing.”
My mother’s voice sounded as if she had been crying heavily, “Is there nothing we can do.”
“If it’s a matter of money, I will sell everything. Just give us some hope, Doc,” my father, strong and fearsome, sounded as if he had been crying as well.
Their soft murmurs turned into a backdrop to the pain, and I heard no more.
When next my eyes opened, the sun had gone down and the pain was gone. I knew Domingo was near. I could smell him—absinthe, sandalwood, and something like rain on hot asphalt. His presence filled the room, thick and spicy, enticing me to reach out to him, but I fought the urge.
I scanned the shadows and was shocked to find my mother asleep in the chair by my bed, a cherry blossom laid upon each of her eyes. Fairy trickery, she would not wake until they were removed. The idea of screaming for help died with the sight of the tiny pink petals because I was sure Domingo had disabled my father as well.
In a whispered tone, I called out, “Come out, Domingo. I know you are here.”
He appeared as his handsome, wingless self, except for the bruises beneath his eyes and slightly swollen nose. “Fiona, my love.” He held out a gift wrapped in bright yellow paper. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to scare you or hurt you. I love you, and I’m sorry. Please, put on your new dress and slippers, pin up your gorgeous curls, and come dance with me.”
His pleading eyes made my heart beat faster and the desire to rest my head over his heart grew too much to withstand. Tears slipped from my eyes as I shook my head, unable to speak the words.
“Darling, beloved, my angel.” He showered me with endearments as he moved closer. “I would never hurt you. Please, please come with me. Don’t you want to dance and laugh? You promised me, Fiona. You said you’d always come.”
I turned from him, burying my face in the pillow to prevent from speaking the words he begged to hear. Fighting him made the pain return, not the crippling agony, but a smart reminder of what was waiting for me once he had gone away. Folding the thick down filled cushion tight against my head, I felt my hand brush something cold and hard. Slipping the object into my palm, I knew the trinket had been a gift from my mother, no one else would have thought to do such a thing as slip a tiny cross beneath my pillow.
I wanted to wake her, to tell her goodbye, because I loved her and she had done such a great thing with her small gesture. However, Domingo had her under the cherry blossom spell, and she would not have awakened if I tried. Instead, I secretly whispered my words of love and appreciation from a daughter’s heart to a mother’s, hoping my parents would understand and know how much they had meant to me. With nothing left to keep me in the mortal world, I uncovered my face and looked up into blue eyes.
My arms extended, beckoning him into my loving embrace, and Domingo came willingly. Sliding onto the side of the bed, he wrapped me in his powerful arms and drew me to him, his hand gently urging me to rest my head just below the curve of his collar bone. I almost lost my nerve as the flood of emotions threatened to drown me beneath its crest.
“Say you will go.” No longer a pleading question, Domingo’s voice held the confidence of a man who knew he’d won the fight.
Gripping my mother’s small cross in my hand, I felt the tips of the iron nails it had been fashioned from poke into my skin. I whispered, “Say you will burn in hell.”
He pulled back, but not fast enough. Using the last of my strength, I shoved the cross against his skin with my palm. I collapsed back onto my pillows, knowing I would die either way, but hoping I had driven the beast from my bedroom for the last time.
Screeching, he flailed, the back of his knuckles grazing my cheek in what would have been a terrible blow had I not weaved to the side at the last minute. Domingo tumbled backward, his hands pawing at his face. His cries of agony shattered the peaceful night as if a thousand souls were screaming in hell. At last, he managed to claw the small pendant from where it had seared into his flesh, leaving a bubbled and red copy of itself in the blistered skin.
He stood, shaking with rage and pain, as he stared down at me. His fists clenched in a white-knuckled grip as he sneered, “You’re going to die, Fiona. You are mine, and unless you come with me, you are going to waste away in pain and agony until you are nothing left but paper-thin skin and fragile bone. You’re insides will rot, and the last thing you will ever know in this world is that you chose death instead of me.”
“Be gone from here, Domingo. Even death is better than being your plaything. You betrayed my heart, this is my punishment, and I accept it.” He growled and turned his back as I laughed.
The strange cackle exploded from my lips in a burst of rasping, coughing sound and continued until I was out of breath.
As he slipped through the window and disappeared into the dark shadows of the night, I lifted my hand to my lips to wipe away the wetness that had formed during my fit. In the light of the moon, I saw the dark, sticky substance smeared across my pale knuckles. The hilarity of the moment faded, and I knew that I was not long for the mortal world.
My only consolation was that I had marked him, my lover and tormentor. No other young girl would be able to look upon a flawless face and believe him to be good and true. There would always be the cross burned into his flesh from the harsh iron to warn them that he was not what he seemed.
Forcing myself to reach for my mother’s face as she slept undisturbed at my side, I gritted my teeth through the rupturing of blood vessels and the bruising of my skin. My fingers carefully brushed away the cherry blossoms, and as I fell back into my pillows, she stirred.
“Momma?” my voice sounded so distant, so small. The pain seemed to be swallowing me whole. “Momma, please wake up.”
She bolted upright, h
er hand instantly coming to rest on my forehead, her timid touch causing the pain to spread and my head to throb. “Fiona, my child, what do you need?” Love and concern burned like a torch in her big brown eyes.
“Momma, will you tell me a story?”
“Yes, honey, I will tell you a story.” I could have asked for the moon in that moment and she would have done everything in her power to give it to me. Though she knew nothing of my predicament, she was wise, and I knew she could tell that I would not live much longer.
“Please, wake Daddy. I want him near; he’s so strong and so brave. Please?” I was a child pleading for the comfort and protection of those I loved.
My mother scurried from the room, and when she returned with my groggy father in tow, she held two cherry blossoms in her hand and tears in her eyes. Maybe she knew, perhaps the blossoms had been the final proof she needed to see that a fairy lover had poisoned her daughter with false promises of love and pretty things. Regardless, she did not speak of the odd flowers and neither did my father.
Instead, they both settled at the side of my bed, each holding one of my hands. My mother gave me the medicine that would ease my pain, something to keep me comfortable as the doctor had gently explained. Satisfied that I was not thirsty or need of more blankets, she nestled herself back into the chair and began to tell her story of a young girl who had made the right decision and was greatly rewarded in the end.
As she murmured the final words, “Because the young woman had chosen to do the right thing, her rewards were as great as her sacrifice,” tears slid down her weathered cheeks.
I smiled, a weak and fading gesture, and through the drugged haze of floating pain, I whispered, “I love you.” My final words, in the last moment of a short life, faded into darkness.
Tales of the Fairy Anthology Page 17