She heard laughter and looked up to see Halona Jacobs and Jenn Skyler lining up at the takeout counter. She waved. The women must be working late at Beachcombers getting things ready for the upcoming holiday week.
Tabby tried to relax like everyone around her. She was early. She’d been keyed up all day after seeing her dad’s leprechaun. Oryn. What a trip, and one she wasn’t sure she wanted to experience again. She’d thought and thought about the pickle she’d found herself in. Obviously, Rionach was not her own personal leprechaun. Unlike Oryn, Rionach had her own consciousness, her own way of traveling between realms. She didn’t belong to and wasn’t part of Tabby. So what did the leprechaun queen really want?
Eight more days before the change. Eight more days before the choice.
Tabby’s mind spun in so many directions, revolving and twirling like the golden coins on the table last night. Would she and Rionach become one? Would she be able to enter the other realm? If so, Tabby had no intention of entering any realm, permanently or temporarily. She just wanted to stay human and live her life here. She had a feeling that entering that mysterious realm wouldn’t be good for her health—or her sanity.
When her phone dinged, she was afraid it was Max cancelling, but the text had come from her friend Bannon Murphy, who ran Beachmoor Inn.
Bannon: OMG the best looking guy I’ve ever seen checked in this afternoon.
Tabby: Dateable?
Bannon: Not sure yet.
There was a long pause.
Bannon: He’s Tuatha Dé Danann.
Tabby could almost picture Bannon typing those three words with reference. Most people thought the Tuatha Dé Danann were myth. Of course, those in Blansett knew otherwise, but a sighting was still extremely rare.
Tabby: That’s a bit intimidating.
Bannon: Verrry. More later. Duty calls. TTYL.
Tabby’s thoughts went back to the little green queen. She glanced at her phone. Six fifty-five. Her foot began to bounce, her blue combat boot—her second favorite pair—tapping against the table leg. Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap. She pressed on her thigh, and the noise stopped.
“Hi.”
She lifted her face, up, up, and up to finally find Max standing above her, a tentative smile lifting the corners of his mouth.
Max slid into the booth. “Am I late? I hope not. I was sitting in my truck for like twenty minutes before I left the house.”
Tabby laughed. “No, you’re right on time. I got here early. The last twenty-four hours have been so weird I just had to keep moving forward before I lost my freaking mind. I’d tell you all about it, but I really don’t want you to think I’m crazy.” She shrugged. “I guess I should warn you though. I might actually be crazy. The jury is still out on that.” She took a deep breath. “Anyway, hi.”
“Hi,” Max said again.
Tabby stretched across the booth and smoothed a lock of hair away from his face. “You have such a great face. You shouldn’t hide it so much.”
“I…well, I usually like to—”
“Just say okay,” Tabby said.
Max nodded. “Okay.”
The server appeared like magic, and Max ordered a draft beer. They took a few minutes to look over the menu, and when their waitress returned, sliding the frothy, frosty mug in front of Max, they decided to order a medium pizza with everything and a small order of meatballs to share.
They chitchatted for a few minutes about their jobs and family until the server had placed the food on the table. They devoured everything in sight, both of them having hearty appetites. Of course the food was delicious, so that didn’t hurt. They sat back, both full and happy, while the server cleared the table. Tabby was glad for the reprieve from her manic, and slightly unbalanced, thoughts.
“So”—Max leaned forward—“why has the last day been so weird? I promise I won’t think you’re crazy.”
“I don’t even know where to start.” She ran her hands through her hair. “I guess at the beginning. The other night I woke up around…” She cocked her head. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
He wasn’t really staring at her. He was staring at her hair, his forehead scrunched, his mouth puckered a bit as though he were trying to solve a complicated puzzle.
“Did I get pizza sauce in my hair?”
Max’s fingers glided through her hair, and his index finger touched her ear.
“You are a pixie,” he said softly. “I wasn’t sure.”
She shook her head, laughing. “No, not a pixie. I have my bad days, but I’m not as bad as all that. Not that I have anything against pixies, but I think we all know how they can…” She reached up and hooked his fingers with hers. “What are you looking at?”
“Your ear…it’s pointy. I didn’t notice it before. So I thought—”
“What?” She nearly screeched the word, and several patrons turned their way. She ignored them and dug frantically through her messenger bag. Finally, she just dumped everything onto the bench seat. Her fingers fumbled through old receipts, gum wrappers, tubes of makeup, and finally latched onto the little mirror, flipping it open.
Heart pounding, she peered at her reflection, tucking several short strands behind her ear. “Oh no.” Gingerly, she touched the tip of her ear, normal and small just an hour ago. Now it was pointy. And longer, so long that it had started to droop at the end. And…oh dear God. Was the skin on the point turning green?
She chugged some of her water. Her eyes lifted up to meet Max’s gaze. “Houston, we have a problem.” She downed the rest of her water in one gulp. Holding her breath, she checked the other ear to find it in a similar pointy state, the green shade covering both the point and her lobe. She hurriedly pulled what hair she could around her ears.
“Give me a second.” She dialed her dad’s cell phone with trembling fingers. “Come on, come on.” He’d barely gotten out a “hi, honey” when she said, “Dad, please tell me Grandpa had some answers.” She laid her phone on the table so Max could hear it. He might as well know what he was getting into. She continued to peer into the mirror as her dad talked.
“Grandpa says he doesn’t think there’s been a female born into the Whitlock clan for centuries. None since the family emigrated from Ireland to America, and he thinks possibly centuries before that. He’s searching for the old family Bible now, but once something is lost in his house, I’m afraid—”
“So what does that mean?” Tabby’s voice was nearing that glass-shattering decibel level again. Max took the mirror from her and enfolded her cold fingers in his warm hand.
“Honey, I’m afraid it means we have no idea what’s happening with you and Rionach. Grandpa says he’s heard the name. Rionach was an ancient Celtic queen, but very little is known about her. Why the panic, sweetie?”
“My freaking ears are pointy, Dad!” She drew in a shuddering breath and lowered her voice. “And green. Dad, my ears are pointy and green.” Her dad had suddenly grown quiet. “Can we talk to Oryn? Can we ask him what’s happening to me?”
“We can try, but talking to Oryn isn’t always very productive. It’s like he has ADD on steroids. He likes riddles, and he likes fibs, and you probably aren’t going to get a straight answer. Can you talk with Rionach?”
Max mouthed, “Who’s Rionach?”
Tabby held up a finger of her free hand, so cold compared to one Max held in his warm grip.
“I can if she comes back. I guess I’ll just sit in the closet all night and wait if I have to.”
Eight more days until the change. Eight more days until the choice.
“Oh dear God, Dad. I only have eight more days. I think after that I’m going to be a little green woman with pointy ears and black eyes.”
“That can’t be right,” Aiden said.
Max mouthed, “What?” Even silent, he sounded incredulous.
“And the hair, Dad! I’m going to have that horrible red hair.”
Now she just felt like crying. She blinked back tears. Max squeezed
her hand, surprising her. Wow. She had to give him credit for sticking it out with her this long. He must have thought she was bat-shit crazy, and yet he hadn’t run screaming into the night. At least he hadn’t yet.
* * * *
She was adorable. Even in a state of near panic, she was the cutest thing he’d ever seen. Her bright green eyes flashed every time she said the words eight more days. She said them a lot, a mantra that seemed to release more panic. At one point, though, he swore he saw ruby lightning flickering deep within her pupils. He told himself it was his imagination, a trick of the light, anything but what was running through his mind. That way led to more crazy than was safe. But for Tabby? Well, he guessed he was in this no matter how much crazy went down.
Max kept one of her hands confined, and she held on to it like a lifeline. The other hand flailed around like a disoriented hummingbird as she continued to talk with her father. Obviously something was happening to her, something that both scared and overwhelmed her, and though she seemed human, those pointy ears and that soft green, now also shadowing the fair skin at her temples, were enough to indicate she was far more than human. The longer he stared at her, the more green he noticed.
The word leprechaun kept intruding in his thoughts, and he kept pushing it away. It couldn’t be that. Everything Max knew about the paranormal and extra-normal worlds told him that couldn’t be the case.
You don’t know everything.
No, he didn’t, but this cute little bundle of energy could not be a leprechaun. Everyone knew female leprechauns didn’t exist. In fact, male leprechauns were supposedly cast-out fairies who hadn’t passed muster, the dregs of the fairy world. No one had ever accused a fairy of being compassionate or nonjudgmental.
Still, her ears were pointy, and a soft shadow of green now blanketed an area of her throat. He didn’t plan to tell her that.
She gave her father a very dismal, almost heartbreaking, goodbye. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking several deep breaths, and then she stared at him. He should have felt uncomfortable, but he didn’t. Everything about this woman both calmed and energized him.
“This was nice.” She glanced around the restaurant, as though looking at it for the last time.
“It was.”
What could he say to make her eyes brighten, to make her heart sing? He just knew Tabby wasn’t a girl to wallow in self-pity or find fault with the universe, no matter what it dished out.
“You’re nice,” she said softly.
He squeezed her hand. “I think you’re nice too. And cute.”
Her fingers skimmed over the shell of her ear. “Bet you say that to all of the leprechaun girls.”
“I don’t say it to any girls.” He reached for the check folder and tucked his credit card inside. “Is that what you are?” When she tilted her head, he said, “A leprechaun?”
She laughed, one of those little cackles that bordered on insanity. “I wish I knew. Bet a pixie looks pretty good about now, huh?”
“I think you look pretty good,” he said.
“I won’t for long.”
The server nabbed the folder and scurried away, and he and Tabby sat quietly for a few minutes. He’d never been good with words. He wasn’t good with much of anything except plants. He could barely navigate the swirling emotional waters of his own family, let alone the floodgates that could open at times with strangers.
But Tabby didn’t feel like a stranger. She felt like security, like happiness, like home. Pixie, human, or leprechaun, this was the girl he wanted.
After he scrawled a tip and his signature on the bill, he realized Tabby was already standing, her coat on, saying goodbye.
“No ice cream?” he asked.
She shouldered her messenger bag and shook her head. “I had a great time, Max.”
“The great time is over then?” He slid out of the booth and stood staring down at her upturned face, a small face filled with so much trouble. He cupped her cheek and then tickled her ear. “You’re going to let a little problem like pointy ears get in the way of ice cream?”
“I don’t think—”
“As far as I’m concerned, this date isn’t over. I know you heart ice cream.”
She offered him a tremulous smile. “I think what I actually heart is you.”
“Ditto. So what do you say we stop for a double cone at the Ice Cream Shoppe and then head over to your house.”
“My house?”
He wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her closer. She smelled like summer flowers, like a spring rain, so earthy, so perfect.
“I’d like to see this closet you were talking about.”
That trouble he’d seen on her face melted away when she gave him a real smile.
* * * *
Her parents stood when Tabby led Max into the living room where they were watching Survivor. Her dad turned down the volume on the TV and came across the room to examine her face. He turned it this way and that and ran his finger from her temple down her cheek to her neck.
“I thought you said just your ear.”
“It was.” Tabby sprinted toward the hall mirror and clicked on the overhead light. “I cannot believe this.” She lifted her face and yelled toward the ceiling. “Eight days, Rionach. You said eight days!”
She pulled down the neckline of her shirt. So far the skin was still clear, but apparently that meant nothing in Tabby’s new world. For all she knew, she’d be polka-dotted come morning.
Her dad’s reflection appeared behind her. He moved some hair from her ear and shook his head.
“Did you talk with Oryn?” she asked his woebegone visage.
“I did.” Aiden nodded sadly. “He was very happy to hear you’re turning green. I got no answers, but on the plus side, I did get enough money for the boys’ senior trip.”
“Happy for them,” Tabby muttered. She spun around. “But what about me? My senior trip, apparently my final trip, might be to some realm I’d really rather not visit, let alone be stuck in.” She waved toward Max. “Oh by the way, this is Max. Max, my parents. Emily and Aiden Whitlock.”
Max nodded and shook hands.
Tabby explained they were off to Alex’s room to hopefully visit with a little queen. As they headed for the staircase, she heard her mother whisper, “He’s a good-looking Irish boy.”
Aiden, though, had more to say, something a little more helpful. “He knows about the ears, and he’s still here.”
There was, at least, that.
Max took her hand as they plodded up the stairs. “I am you know. Here.”
“I know, Max. Thanks. I really can use the support.”
She pushed open the door to Alex’s room. No candlelight. No unusual sounds. She turned on the desk lamp to allow just a puddle of light into the room, pulled the closet door open, and sat on the bed. Max sat on the floor and leaned up against it.
“Why do you think she comes in here?” he asked.
“I guess because it’s empty. She doesn’t really seem to want to invade anyone’s privacy. She could have come into my room, but she hasn’t. She just waits for me to show up. So here I am. Waiting for her for a change.”
Nine o’clock rolled into ten, and ten rolled into eleven. Max came and sat on the bed, and soon they were both lying down, spooning a bit, staring at the closet door. They made some easy small-talk, Max talking about his plans for Sydney’s beach house garden and Tabby talking about working on her master’s degree. When Tabby heard her name being called, she blinked and focused on the bedside clock. Seven minutes after five. A glow came from the closet.
Tabby nudged Max and whispered, “She’s here.”
He came awake instantly. “Then let’s go greet her.” Max unfolded his body and stood, holding out his hand for Tabby. They moved slowly across the room to the closet.
“Greetings, me wee princess. I see thee have brought a guest.” Rionach gave them a toothy grin and hopped off the plastic storage bin, smoothing her mauve-colored gown
and adjusting her amulet. She wobbled toward Max with her hand out. “Greetings, me fine Irish lad.”
Max knelt down, took the little hand, and dropped a kiss on it. “Your Majesty. Might I say you look lovely tonight?”
Rionach giggled. “Thou may, kind sir.”
Tabby stared in awe. Max didn’t recoil. He didn’t seem stunned. He certainly didn’t run screaming from the room because he’d encountered an honest-to-goodness leprechaun. He was charmed and charming.
“Is she not a fair and glorious creature?” Rionach asked, smiling in Tabby’s direction.
“She is,” Max agreed.
Rionach lifted her hand, and Tabby bent lower so Rionach could touch her ears and then skim her fingers across Tabby’s skin. “Beautiful. The change begins.”
“Yes, about that”—Tabby went to her knees—“I wanted to ask you some questions.”
“Thou can ask, certainly thou can ask,” Rionach said, “though I cannot give thee the answers.”
Tabby’s lip pushed out. “Why not?”
“’Tis the circle of power, me princess. The circle cannot be broken. The answers will not change fate.” She smiled. “Only thou can change fate. Only thou has the power.”
“I can’t be green,” Tabby said. “Green sticks out, and though I’m not adverse to a little attention, this is just a bit too much. What can I do?”
Rionach shook her head. “Thou can do nothing but be thyself.”
“Tabby Whitlock isn’t a green princess. Tabby Whitlock is just a girl.”
Rionach rocked her head from side to side. “So thou says. So thou says. I say otherwise. Oryn says otherwise.”
“He’s talked about me?”
“The whole realm talks about thee, fair princess. As it should be. We eagerly await the change. We eagerly await the choice.”
When Tabby opened her mouth to speak, Rionach put her fingers over Tabby’s lips. “No more. Seven more days until the change. Seven more days until the choice.” She lifted a lock of Tabby’s hair. “Thy hair grows redder.”
Mystic Luck (Mystic Tides Book 2) Page 8