by Kimbra Swain
I held Grace’s hand as Matthew spoke to us. Grace’s dress was long and blue like her eyes. The dream flickered, and Grace’s glamour switched back and forth. She smiled as though she didn’t notice. To my left, a tall, dark-haired young man stood. Her eyes drifted to him. She smiled, and he returned it. His eyes were dark blue like mine but had a touch of sadness in them. When Matthew finished speaking, I kissed Grace. She was my wife. We had two beautiful children.
I woke up in a cold sweat. It wasn’t possible. A Phoenix could only have one child. A male heir. But the little girl looked so much like Grace. I didn’t understand. In fact, the little girl looked like he could have been my best man’s child. I was confused.
Sending out a text to Grace, I took deep breaths waiting for a response.
Grace: I’m asleep, Dylan.
I smiled.
Dylan: Just checking on you.
Grace: Thank you officer, but I am at home where I am supposed to be. No need to arrest me this time.
Dylan: The last two days were hell, Grace. Please don’t do that anymore.
I always felt like I was on the verge of confessing everything to her again. Forcing myself to stop talking to her, I decided that the next response would be goodnight, no matter what she told me.
Grace: I really didn’t mean for that to happen.
She had lost some of her fire after the ordeal in Greece. I just hoped she would find it again. Part of me missed fighting with her. Watching her eyes flare when she got angry.
Dylan: Goodnight, Grace.
Grace: Goodnight.
I drifted off to sleep again but didn’t dream. The effects of the alcohol wore off, and I slept hard until Stephanie shook me awake the next morning.
“Dylan,” she said softly.
“Hey,” I muttered.
“I’m leaving for work. I just wanted to say goodbye,” she said. She leaned over and kissed me. I had learned not to flinch when she did it. My lips didn’t want hers on mine. My body no longer wanted her body. Working with Grace was going to be torture, but I couldn’t walk away.
“Have a good day,” I told her, as she gathered her purse and keys.
“You, too.”
Dragging myself out of the recliner, I went upstairs to the shower and stood beneath the cool water, letting it wash away the sweat from the dream, the grime from searching the forest, and the desire to run far away from this place.
Six months later, Troy and I were riding the backroads when he pulled over next to a newly cut field. I almost didn’t recognize the place. The last time I’d been here it was with Grace, and the fields were in full bloom.
“Would ya look at that?” he said.
I lived in a daze. Looking up, I noticed the abandoned house. The house with the absinthe fields. The fields were cut. I stepped out of the car looking at the cleared area. Someone was making the homebrew. When I showed Grace the field before, we watched it closely as the plants ran through their life cycle. They grew wild and when the first frost came, they died out.
“Let’s go check the house,” I suggested.
“Sure,” he said. Things had been really slow. I hadn’t consulted on a case with Grace in a month, and even then, it was to find a man’s service dog that ran away. Not a real fairy case in ages. Jeremiah was right. Her presence kept the bad things away.
Our relationship was strained. Not on her part. It was all me. She didn't argue with me as much, but it didn't stop her vulgar mouth. She cracked me up, but I kept my distance. It didn't seem to bother her. Occasionally, Jeremiah would suggest that I have lunch with her. He knew it was torture, but I had a friendship to fulfill. She even told me that it seemed like I had tamed Stephanie, and she hoped that we would have pretty babies.
Troy and I went up the drive to the house. It was quiet. The roof had caved in on the right side since we had been here last. The whole structure looked like it was about to implode on itself.
“I don’t smell anyone here,” Troy said.
“Doesn't look safe,” I replied.
Troy patted me on the back and said, “Come on, Riggs, live a little.”
He walked carefully up the rotted boards of the steps. It held him, so I took my chances. We entered the house and found no evidence of anyone being there in years.
“I'm not going upstairs,” I said.
“I don’t blame you,” he replied. “You go down the hallway to the bedrooms. I'll check the kitchen and dining room.”
I nodded as I turned to walk down the hallway. Sunlight filtered in through the open doors. Dust particles danced in the light. The rooms were bare. One back room had a broken wooden chair. Not even the slightest evidence that anyone ever lived in the house.
“Dylan, come check this out,” Troy called back to me. His voice was steady, so I felt no cause for alarm.
I found him inside the pantry with a flashlight. He held the beam on a lock which seemingly hung in the corner for no reason. He leaned on the wall, exposing a small crack with concealed hooks which held the door shut thanks to the lock. The lock flashed silver like a dime.
“New lock,” I muttered.
“Yep,” he said. He wrapped his hand around the lock as I pulled my pistol to the ready position. I nodded as he grunted, snapping the shackle with a loud pop.
The door swung into the room behind it. A wooden staircase which looked newer than the rest of the house descended into a dark basement.
He pulled his weapon positioning his flashlight beside it to lead the way. We took the steps slowly. When we reached the bottom, the first room was empty, but a faint light glowed from the back room.
He paced toward the room, sweeping the light all around us looking for danger. I watched behind and above. A cold feeling rooted over me.
“You feel that?” he asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “Ward.”
He nodded then entered the room. With a quick sweep of the flashlight, we determined there was nothing alive in the room. However, the room was jammed with shelves of green liquid in Mason jars.
“Homebrew,” Troy said.
“Yeah, but this is different,” I said picking up the jar swirling the liquid around in it.
In the center of the room, four large pots sat across a wooden table. The last pot was actually a ceramic jug. On a side table, what looked like tea bags were filled with herbs. The strong scent of anise floated in the room.
Troy opened one of the jars and took a whiff. “Smells like licorice,” he said.
“It’s absinthe and not the legal kind. I'd advise you not to drink it,” I said.
“Mind if I take home a jar?” he asked.
“Troy,” I scolded.
“I had to try,” he laughed. “Why don't you bring Grace out here to look at it?”
Immediately I said, “No.”
He shook his head. “Ever since they took her, you've been different. I don't know what happened over there, but I guarantee you that she's noticed that you’ve changed.”
I sighed. I knew she had, but there was nothing I could do about it right now.
“I'll let her look at the ward. Maybe it will give us an idea who is brewing the alcohol,” I said. “I'll bring her out tomorrow. We need to drive by periodically to keep an eye on the place.”
We carefully left the house. I used my power to fuse the broken lock back together in hope that leaving it untouched for whoever was making the potent liquid would continue without knowing we were there.
As I drove home, Stephanie called.
“Hello,” I said.
“Hey. Please don’t be mad, but I've got to stay in Tuscaloosa tonight. Sergio is raising hell about this case, and I'm behind on the research he needed,” she said.
At this point, I really didn't care. “It's okay. I'll be there if you decide to come home.”
“Thank you, Dylan. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.
“Tomorrow,” I replied.
When I got home, I went out to the barn to feed t
he few animals I kept and raked out the stalls. It felt good to have the house to myself. I took a long hot shower. When I got out, I had several messages from Jeremiah.
I dialed his number, putting him on speaker phone.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“At home. I just got out of the shower. What's going on? Is Grace okay?” I asked.
“She’s fine. Where is Stephanie?” he asked. I wasn’t sure how Jeremiah seemed to know everything but selectively admitted it.
“In town working,” I replied as I slipped on a pair of comfortable shorts.
“Did it occur to you that she might be up to something?” he asked.
“I don't care. I have the house to myself. I'm going to drink beer and eat frozen pizza,” I said.
“Get dressed. I'll be there in ten minutes,” he said.
“Fuckin’ hell, Jeremiah. Can't I have a night off?” I pleaded.
“Sure. Just not tonight,” he said. “10 minutes.”
The line went dead. I grumbled as I searched for jeans and a shirt to wear. I supposed we were going to Tuscaloosa to spy on my not-girlfriend.
While I waited on Jeremiah, I called Grace.
“Good evening, Dylan,” she purred through the phone. My dick jumped.
Clearing my throat, I responded, “Evening, Grace.”
“How may I help you?” she asked. Her voice sounded sweeter than honey. Warning bells went off in my head, but I didn't listen.
“I found a clue to the moonshiners,” I said.
“Oh, really? You wanna meet up? Tonight? In the dark?” she asked.
Fuck. “I've got plans,” I said. The lights from Jeremiah’s car steadily approached down the lane.
“Oh,” she said. She sounded so disappointed.
“With Jeremiah,” I added, hoping that would help.
“Okay. When would you like to meet?” she asked.
“How about tomorrow for lunch?” I said.
“Sure. Do you have instructions about my attire?” she poked fun at the time we went out to a farm.
“Yeah. Wear a short skirt and heels,” I joked.
“As you wish,” she said.
I walked out to Jeremiah who was patiently waiting. “I was kidding, Grace,” I clarified.
She giggled. I groaned, and she giggled at that too. “Sure, you were. See you tomorrow,” she said. Then hung up. I tilted my head back and laughed. She would show up in heels just to mess with me. I could already see it.
As I ducked into the car, Jeremiah knew I was talking to her. “How’s our fairy queen?” he asked.
“Let's get one thing straight, Jerry. She’s not our fairy queen. She’s mine.”
He laughed but didn't deny it. Perhaps he could be convinced that I was still the one that needed to tame her. “Did Stephanie say why she was staying in Tuscaloosa?” he asked, changing the subject.
“She said her boss was in a tizzy, and she had research to complete,” I said.
“You didn't think that might be important? Hasn't she been home every night? What changed?” he asked.
“I just needed a night to myself in the house. In a bed!” I grumbled.
“Why aren’t you sleeping in your own bed?” he asked.
I rubbed my forehead. I didn’t want to have this conversation. “Because she is sleeping in it.”
“Dylan, you are supposed to be playing a part. She’s doing what you asked. Give her some credit,” Jeremiah said.
“Really? You either threatened her or forced her to act like this. She isn’t Stephanie anymore,” I said. “I almost feel sorry for her.”
He drove in silence until we could see the lights of the city on the horizon. He took his time driving through the larger city with a thousand traffic lights. Even though it was late in the evening, the streets still bustled. Tuscaloosa was a college town, and there were parts of it that never slept. I supposed that was true for any town, but for this place, large areas were populated with twenty-somethings. Constant parties. Endless orgies. I didn’t know from experience. Just from stories.
“I didn’t force her. I did threaten her on behalf of her mother,” he said.
“I thought her mother was in bad health,” I said.
“You’ve never met her mother?” he asked.
I shook my head. It never crossed my mind.
“I have reason to believe, that she’s broken the edict I put on her,” he said.
“Because she didn’t come home?” I asked.
“No, because she wasn’t supposed to be working with Sergio Krykos anymore,” he said.
“Oh,” I said.
“She has always been his personal assistant. When she promised to do my bidding, I ordered her to work for the other partner in the firm, Ambrose Rossi. She was giving me regular reports on Rossi’s dealings. It seems that most of his cases dealt with a local businessman, Tennyson Schuyler. Mr. Schuyler is a new southern mafia king,” he said.
“Wait. What?” I said.
“It’s organized crime-southern style. The man owns half of the real estate in this town, plus every politician is in his back pocket. He reinvents himself ever sixty or so years,” Jeremiah said.
“What is he?” I asked.
“Dullahan,” he muttered.
“Holy fucking shit. Are you serious? I didn’t think any of them existed anymore,” I said. A dullahan was your typical sleepy hollow horseman. No head. Which I supposed made it easy enough for him to take a new one every 60 years to stay in control. “Why Alabama?”
“Alabama is new. Well, new to him. He’s from the Boston Irish Mob. They were busted up after John Connolly was convicted. Tennyson changed his name from Dennis McLaughlin. He was a member of the Winter Hill Gang but escaped prosecution by trading his look,” he explained.
“Still, why here?”
“I’ve been talking to an associate of mine who has been digging into that for me, but the best thing we can come up with is that he’s here because we are here. We are here because Grace is here. I also know that he’s a businessman. He’s ordered plenty of deaths in his lifetime, but they were all related to business. He’s not out to just outright kill fairies, but he will kill those who cross him,” Jeremiah said. “I suggest we steer clear of him.”
“Agreed. So, Stephanie is supposed to be working for Schuyler's attorney, but instead, she is working for Krykos again,” I said leading us back to where we started. Jeremiah pulled up down the block from the building that housed the law firm. He grabbed a drawstring bag, then stepped out into the cool night. It was uncharacteristically cool for July. It should have been hot as blue blazes, and the mosquitos should be sucking you dry like tiny vampires. However, a light breeze blew. “Winter.”
“Yes. Come with me. Quickly,” he said crossing the street away from the firm. We rounded the back of a brick building, then climbed a flight of metal stairs to a heavy door with multiple locks. Jeremiah produced a huge ring of keys, sliding each one in a lock in a methodical rhythm. It was a combination to unlock them correctly in order to open the door and release the heavy ward. We ducked into the building, and I heard all the locks click back into place as we entered. The large studio spanned the entire floor of the building. Large arched windows overlooked the street. Our feet echoed through the empty space. A large conjuring circle sat in the center of the room. It hadn’t been used for a while, but there was a box of implements next to it. Candles. Herbs. Chalk.
Jeremiah stalked to one of the windows but stood next to the brick to avoid exposing himself to anyone that might look up.
“Keep an eye on the street. If you see anything unusual alert me. I’ve got to set up this circle,” he said.
“What’s the circle for?” I asked.
“Seeing eye circle,” he replied.
“Heh. Okay,” I said allowing my mind to wonder what exactly he meant. I watched the street and the building while Jeremiah worked on the circle. About 30 minutes later, the circle was complete.
“N
ow, let’s spy on Krykos and Rossi, Attorneys at Law,” he smiled.
Grace
Rufus tried to talk me out of it, but I explained to him that I needed to know the truth. The only way I would get it out of Dylan would be to trick it out of him. Or use a spell. Or both. Rufus said it was a bad idea, but he was a dachshund. How would he know?
I paced the room, drinking sips of whiskey out of the teacup that Dylan gave me. I loved the teacup. While on the outside it seemed corny, but for all the years I’ve lived very few people really understood me. Dylan Riggs knew me. The core of me. And it scared the shit out of me.
A perfectly-timed text buzzed my phone as Rufus and I had the discussion about Dylan. It was him. I lied and told him I was in bed. He was lying to me, so I took every opportunity to lie to him. My cold heart thawed as he was concerned about my well-being. I couldn’t put together the events that caused me to sleep for so long in the middle of the woods. If I was in the danger that Jeremiah claimed, then how was it that no one tried to take me. The circle in the woods only has power if I feed the power or if the power feeds me. That had to be it. Nothing could touch me there. It was something good to know for future reference.
My plan to ensnare Dylan Riggs would require almost six months to complete, but I was sure that I could get him right where I wanted. Rufus barked his disapproval, and I called him a traitor locking him out of the room while I went to bed.
Looking up at my ceiling, I felt sorry for the little mutt. I got up and let him in the bed with me. He nuzzled my legs, and I fell asleep with a wiener. Just not the wiener I wanted.
Dylan
Jeremiah chanted as the circle flared to life. I couldn’t believe my eyes. We were looking through someone who was inside the building. The eyes looked down at her hands. A ring with Celtic knots and an emerald stone rested on her right ring finger.
“Stephanie is your spy?” I asked.