Just Believe

by Manning

  “Wings?”

  “You do think I'm crazy. Poor silly Susan.”

  “I believe you, Mom.”

  “Sure you do,” Susan said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “Don't patronize me, Annabelle.”

  Annabelle had never heard her mother speak in such a tone.

  “I do. Really.” She sat on the bed and leaned forward.

  Susan studied her, then she went on. “He told me there was even more. He made me close my eyes, and then he put his arms around me and warned me not to look until he said to. I felt lighter than a feather, and then I felt a breeze on my face.” A light of wonder shone on Susan's face. “When I opened my eyes, we were in a large hall. There were rows of tables loaded with food and wine and so many beautiful people, dressed all in gold and silver sitting at the tables. And oh, the flavor of the food....”

  She sighed. “The people danced and laughed and sang. They welcomed me as though I was one of them. The musicians played the most beautiful music. I can't even describe it. It made me laugh and cry, and finally I fell into a wonderful easy sleep. When I woke up, we were back in the hotel in Dublin. It might have been a dream, because it seemed to me I had been there for a long time, but it was the same day when I woke up.”

  Another deep breath of longing seized her. “I guess it doesn't matter if you believe me, anyway. I'm not sure I believe me. But Vern did.”

  Somehow, Annabelle wasn't surprised he had. Dad was a favorite, after all.

  “You see, I had to tell him. I couldn't make up anything to explain how I'd changed.” Her eyes clouded and unutterable sadness lined her face. Annabelle felt a tug of dread. Her mother was getting old. Too soon, she, too, would be gone. “I didn't want to leave that splendid place. I begged Eochy to take me back to stay forever. But he refused.”

  Susan faced Annabelle. “From that time to this, I've been different. I can't put my mind to anything. I'm always, still, thinking of that place where I saw wonders and loveliness beyond imagining.” She turned away, gazing out the window. “I yearn to return there, to see and hear and taste like I did that day. And it will never be.”

  As though she'd forgotten Annabelle was there, Susan stared at nothing. Annabelle waited, seeing her flighty, unfocused mother in a totally different light. The reflection of a light from a totally different world.

  Susan began to hum, a light tune, but one carrying an undertone of sadness, loneliness, yearning. Annabelle's hand covered her own heart to press away a knot of sympathy.

  “So, so beautiful,” Susan murmured, still staring out the window.

  Then, her eyes widening, lips parting, Susan jerked around, grabbing for Annabelle's arm.

  “You're going to Ireland?” she asked, as though their conversation had never taken its unexpected turn.

  Annabelle nodded, unable to form words.

  “Yes.” Susan nodded wildly, her gaze locking with Annabelle's, her grasp on Annabelle's wrist tightening to a painful grip. “Yes. Go. Get Erin out of there before they do the same thing to her.” Annabelle barely had time to get her hand on her suitcase before Susan jumped from the bed and dragged her from the room and down the hall to the front door.

  “I will, Mom,” Annabelle promised.

  “Wait.” Susan left Annabelle standing by the open front door and disappeared into the kitchen. She returned in a flash digging in her purse. As she pulled out her hand, a wad of bills crumpled between her fingers, her face wrinkled in concentration. “Here, take this.”

  Annabelle looked between the money to her mother's face. “Mom, I have money.”

  “No. Take it.” Susan pushed the money into Annabelle's open shoulder bag. “You don't know if you might need it. Do you have a credit card? Oh, what about tickets?”

  “Gaelen took care of the tickets.” Until that moment, Annabelle hadn't even thought about how much it must have cost.

  “Gaelen?” Susan lost her fiery determination. Her eyes drifted from the frantic focus on the danger to Erin to the far-off place where—Annabelle now understood—she'd lived for so many years.

  Go. Get her out of there before they do the same thing to her.

  “I'll get her out, Mom. Will you be all right until I get back?”

  “What?” Susan asked. Just as Annabelle was about to panic at leaving her alone, Susan gritted her teeth and drew a deep breath. “Yes, I'll be fine. Go.” She wrapped Annabelle in her arms and hugged her tight, then released her abruptly.

  Not quite reassured, Annabelle picked up her suitcase and stepped out the door.

  “Tell Gaelen I'm counting on him.”

  Before Annabelle could turn to acknowledge her mother's words, the door closed with a gentle click.

  ~*~

  She'd never considered Gaelen might have bought business class seats. Even on her occasional business trips, The Weekly Investigator never coughed up more than coach. They'd have had her fly in the baggage compartment if they could have.

  “Ah, Ireland,” Gaelen whispered. He leaned over her to look out the window. “What do you think, lass?”

  Annabelle wasn't thinking about Ireland at all. Gaelen's deep voice rumbled through her like a lover's caress.

  She turned away from him, pretending to look, then found herself staring out the window at the emerald shimmering in the ocean.

  “It's so beautiful,” she finally replied.

  “Aye, ‘tis that.”

  Unable to stop herself, Annabelle let her gaze meet his. His eyes traced her face, so closely she felt the heat.

  “Not so beautiful as you.” Gaelen leaned closer, his lips parted slightly, and Annabelle knew he was about to kiss her. She anticipated the contact of his lips with hers. Closer and closer.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has turned on the seat belt sign in preparation for our approach to Shannon Airport.”

  Gaelen sighed deeply. “Such timing.”

  “Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts. Return your trays to the upright and locked position. And welcome to Ireland.”

  As the flight attendant continued her speech, Gaelen fastened his seatbelt, his eyes avoiding Annabelle's.

  He didn't say anything more beyond pleasantries as they gathered their carry-on bags and prepared to deplane. Annabelle followed him off the plane and down the concourse. He appears to know the airport very well, she thought, as she followed him through the airport. He strode assuredly, not even looking at the signs. They stopped at the baggage pickup and waited long minutes before the buzzer and flashing red light signaled the long conveyer's movement. Still, Gaelen said nothing.

  When they'd gotten their bags, they approached customs.

  “Stay with me and don't look at anybody.” He turned to her. “But don't look like you aren't looking.”

  “How are we—”

  “Shhh!”

  They approached the line and quickly got to the front. At a signal from the customs agent, Gaelen stepped forward and pulled two blue tourist passports from his breast pocket, which he handed to the agent.

  Annabelle cut Gaelen a troubled glance. Gaelen reached for her hand, pulling her arm to link with his, stroking her fingers possessively.

  “Is this your and your wife's first visit to Ireland, Mr. Riley?”

  Annabelle's eyes widened. Gaelen's gentle stroking motion on her fingers suddenly tightened in a warning.

  “Ach, no,” he answered, a thick brogue mixing with his words. “I'm an Irishman born. My little wife here, though, is a poor benighted Yank. I'm for bringin’ her to meet me auld mother in Galway.”

  “Galway, is it?” the agent replied with a smile. He then spoke some words unintelligible to Annabelle. The man had an expectant expression, almost as though he was looking for something.

  It hit her the man was testing Gaelen. He saw through the faked passports and the phony story. He thought they were terrorists coming to blow up something for the IRA.

  She couldn't help it. Her eyes flew up to Gaelen's face. />
  He showed no dismay at all. “Hmmm. Connacht? North Mayo?”

  The agent's mouth dropped open. “Yes. That's right. How did you know?”

  Gaelen made a reply as unintelligible as the agent's original question.

  The agent stamped both passports and handed them to Gaelen. “Here you are, Dr. Riley. Welcome home.” He smiled at Annabelle. “And I hope you enjoy your visit to the auld sod, Mrs. Riley.”

  “Thank you,” she responded automatically, stunned by what had just happened.

  “Thank you, sir. Come, dearest,” Gaelen said, picking up their two bags and leading Annabelle away from the counter.

  She remained silent, hustling to keep up with him, until they got to the front door.

  “What did he say to you?”

  “'Do you have anything to declare?'” Gaelen replied with a smirk. “Thought to trap me, did he? My people were speaking Irish before his people crawled out of the caves in Europe.”

  “Why would he want to trap you?”

  “Who knows? Maybe he thought we were IRA gun runners with two suitcases full of plastic explosive.” He turned to the left and led her down a corridor. “We'll get our rental car and then we'll head toward Knockma.”

  “Where did you get those passports?”

  “Shhh!” he hissed, frowning. “Not here.”

  “Okay! Don't be so touchy.”

  He glared at her and approached the counter. Feeling a little bit put out by his short temper, Annabelle stood at his side while he signed for the car he'd already reserved.

  “You're a lot more organized than I would have been,” she said, trying to get some friendly conversation started again. “How did you get so much done in such a short time?”

  He finally gave her a smile, changing his serious expression in an instant. “Organization isn't a particular gift of my people. We have to work on it.”

  The rental car agent held out a key. “Go through that door at the end of the corridor, sir, then to the left. The valet should have brought your car up by now. It's a red Mercedes.”

  Annabelle jerked around, staring in disbelief. “A Mercedes?”

  “No need to suffer, is there, lass?” He winked at her and picked up her suitcase again. He was through the automatic doors before she could catch up. She glanced toward the left as the woman at the rental car desk had instructed.

  No Gaelen.

  “Gaelen?”

  “Pardon me, miss.” Annabelle landed a foot away from where she'd been standing. The man who'd appeared at her side smiled kindly, partly relieving her fear. “I apologize for givin’ you a fright,” he said, his pearly teeth flashing in the twilight. “I'm lookin’ for a friend of mine, and I wonder if you might have seen him.”

  Annabelle breathed a sigh of relief and returned his smile. “I'm sorry. I'm a tourist. I'm afraid I can't help you.”

  The man's charming smile thinned. “But you can, Miss Tinker.”

  Her surprise at his knowing her name was drowned in terror as he wrapped his arms around her. “Don't fight, lassie. We won't hurt you.”

  “Let me go, you gorilla!” Annabelle kicked and screamed, “Gaelen!”

  Where are all the people? she wondered frantically, looking around for help. This was an international airport after all. And where was Gaelen?

  “Hold still, girl. You're only raising a ruckus for nothin'. Quiet now.”

  She twisted herself around. “Take your hands off me!” The man lifted her off the ground and started walking off with her.

  “Come on, Frank. The doc's waitin’ in the car. Hurry along with the colleen.”

  “I'm trying to, but she's fightin’ like a wild thing. Here, give me a hand.”

  As the one called Frank set her on her feet to get a better hold, Annabelle took her chance. Opening her mouth wide, she sank her teeth into Frank's hand, biting like a pit bull. She shook her head, tearing his flesh.

  “Holy Bridget!” he howled.

  In an instant, she was free and falling. She landed on all fours on the sidewalk just as a familiar voice called her name.

  “Annabelle! Here, run!”

  Raising her gaze from the concrete beneath her hands, she saw Gaelen behind the wheel of a red Mercedes convertible with the top down.

  Like a sprinter out of the blocks, she darted across the road toward the open car and jumped over the door into the car. A shot of pain speared through her shoulder as she whacked the gearshift.

  Her head landed in Gaelen's lap. Hard.

  “Owww!” Their howls ripped out in unison. The car shot forward with Frank and his friend grabbing at her arms, her heels, her hair, anything to get hold of her.

  “Holy Sod, woman!” Gaelen squirmed in his seat, letting up on the gas and reaching over with one hand to help her drag the rest of her into the car. “Have a care, will you?”

  Uncharitable words remained unspoken on her tongue as Annabelle scrambled to twist herself around. She raised her hand to her stinging shoulder.

  “Will you just get us out of here?”

  Obligingly, Gaelen hit the gas. The airport buildings faded to a blur. Annabelle gasped a breath before turning to Gaelen. Pulling back her hand, she slammed him in the shoulder.

  “Where the hell were you? Did you see those men? They tried to kidnap me!”

  “I saw them. Why do you think I ran for the car?”

  “And left me alone?” Her anger masked the hurt. “They could have kidnapped me and taken me, God knows where.”

  “Oh, I know where. Straight to Finnvarra in Connacht.” He stopped at an intersection and looked both ways. “Which way?” he mused, too quietly to be asking for her opinion. “Direct is best, I suppose.” With that he turned right out of the airport.

  “Finnvarra.” Annabelle remembered the name. “You mean the old lecher who kidnaps young girls?”

  “The very same,” Gaelen replied. “We—the fairies, the Tuatha de Danan—divided Ireland into five kingdoms. We're in Munster right now; Connacht is a little bit north of here. Each one had its own king, both above, that's the Irish, and below, that would be us.”

  “Below? Below what?”

  “Below the ground. When the Irish came, their chief druid, a huckster named Amergin, made a deal with my folk. We'd split the land right down the middle.” He chuckled. “After we agreed, Amergin revealed that he meant dividing it this way....” He took one hand off the steering wheel and made a horizontal slice through the air. “They got what was on top of the ground. We got what was underneath.”

  “Your people agreed to that?”

  “Indeed. Of course, they were also doin’ us in on the battlefield at the time. We didn't have so much bargaining room as we'd have liked.”

  To Annabelle, it seemed the kind of underhanded dealing that would have its victims demanding reparations, even centuries later. Gaelen's apparent humor struck her as odd.

  “You think it's funny?”

  “Don't you?”

  In spite of her indignation at his people being taken, a smile spread across her face. She then made the mistake of glancing at Gaelen, whose smirk spread wider, and then they were both laughing.

  “I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh....”

  “Why not? It's funny. Of course, it won't do to laugh about it in public. Some of my folk take this way too seriously.” He chuckled as they both calmed down. “You have a wonderful laugh, you know. Makes a man want to join in.”

  Suddenly self-conscious, she didn't even know what to say. Did you thank someone for complimenting something you had absolutely no control over? Trying to get their conversation to a more comfortable place, she asked, “Do you know the men who grabbed me at the airport?”

  Gaelen gave her a suspicious glance. Annabelle smiled to herself. He heard her subtle reprimand for letting her fall into danger. Satisfied with getting her dig in, she added, “They looked familiar.”

  “Yes, you've seen them before for certain. They work for Linette Duncan. They're the
brawny laddies who hoisted me off the roof of the hospital.”

  “What?” She turned in her seat.

  “Aye. You saw me falling by Erin's window. You ran out with a security guard...?”

  “Oh. Right. That was you. How did you manage...?”

  “To survive?” he finished for her. “I can fly. Remember?”

  “Oh, that's right.” Annabelle's chuckle drew out, extended into a jaw-cracking yawn. A heavy blanket of exhaustion settled over her.

  “Sleep, darlin'. We'll soon be in Connacht, and we can find a place to light for the evening.” He took her hand as he spoke, squeezing gently.

  With his reassuring words, Annabelle stopped fighting and drifted to sleep.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  'Tis welcome you are to Killis, County Roscommon. Seat of the fairy king of Connacht, Finnvarra.

  The bright green, clover-shaped sign brought a smile to Gaelen's lips.

  “Here we are,” Gaelen whispered to Annabelle, who snored softly, her head resting on his shoulder. “And here's a B&B. Convenient, isn't it? Just a little while longer,” he promised and dropped a kiss on her hair.

  He pulled off the street and onto the shoulder of the road in front of a narrow two-story house. A coat of whitewashed mud daub gleamed in the moonlight. Windows reflected the light, shining Irish eyes in the skeletal white face the house appeared to be. Even the thatched roof added to the impression, neatly trimmed as a fresh haircut.

  Gaelen chuckled at his fancies and gently moved Annabelle so he could get out. “Be right back, darlin'.”

  “Okay.” Her muttered reply was almost inaudible, and she snuggled against the leather of her seat.

  Gaelen approached the front door. As his knuckles rapped against the wood, his fairy soul recognized it as rowan. He frowned. That was odd. People normally didn't use sacred wood for doors.

  The door swung open. Expecting to see a welcoming face on the other side, Gaelen was surprised to see no one. The heavy door rocked fully open, cracking against the wall behind it.

  Feeling the presence of magic, Gaelen stepped back and instinctively closed his mind, shielding himself. Unfortunately, his protection also protected whoever—or whatever—was on the other side of the door.