Just Believe

by Manning

  “Come in, good sir. My home is honored to welcome you.”

  Gaelen stepped over the threshold, wondering who would know the old welcome, but more importantly, who would know his true nature and welcome him in this way.

  An old woman sat by the fire. “Come, sir, come. I pray you take no offense that an old woman sits in yer presence.”

  “Of course not, mother. Take your ease.” He came nearer the fire, studying the woman as he did. “I was told this is a house of hospitality. May my wife and I find shelter here?”

  “One of the Good Folk may always find hospitality in my house.” The woman dipped her head. “You and your lady wife are welcome, sir.”

  Gaelen was taken aback somewhat. Few mortals had the discernment to recognize fairies anymore.

  “You know what I am?”

  The woman cackled. “Sir, the sight of the truth is free to any who dare grasp it. Only the fearful hide from it. Your people have only been kind to me. Bring your wife, sir. I will make your chamber ready.” The old woman grunted as she tried to rise. Gaelen jumped to offer her assistance. She looked up at him and smiled a toothless grin. “I thank ye, sir. A right gentleman you are.”

  “It is my pleasure to serve a kind lady.”

  “Ach, get on wi’ ya. Go get your wife and bring her in from the cold and damp. Does a body no good to be out on such a raw night.” She toddled off toward the stairs, taking one at a time, but making fine time of it nonetheless.

  Gaelen found Annabelle still sleeping soundly. He opened the door and took her into his arms. “This is getting to be a habit, isn't it, dearling?” he whispered into her ear as he kicked the door shut.

  He carried her in, careful of both their heads as he eased through the short, narrow doorway.

  “This way, sir.” The old woman waved gnarly knuckles at him, summoning him up the stairs.

  “I've stirred the fire for you. ‘Twill take off the chill.”

  The old woman stood aside as Gaelen carried Annabelle into the room and settled her on the inviting double bed.

  “A lovely lady.” The old woman studied Annabelle's face. “One can see her goodness on her face.”

  “Yes,” Gaelen agreed. He turned to the woman. “Thank you, mother, for your kindness. I'll not forget it.”

  The old woman smiled and waved a dismissal. “'Tis I who am grateful, sir. My late husband and I, we've been treated well by your people. ‘Tis an old debt.”

  “Then we continue the circle,” he replied with a smile.

  She nodded. “Indeed. Good night, sir, and to your lady wife, as well.” Shuffling into the hallway, she pulled the door closed behind her.

  He shook his shoulders, relaxing the tension he hadn't realized had settled there. Not really knowing why, he went to the door and pressed his ear to the wood, listening. Setting his hand around the old-fashioned, cut-glass doorknob, he turned it slowly and opened the door a crack. He peeked out into the hallway. Was his so helpful benefactress waiting outside?

  He stuck his head outside and looked both up and down the hallway.

  Empty. Gaelen silently shut the door and leaned on it. Only then did he release the breath he'd been holding.

  Why did he have such an uneasy feeling? Maybe because he had to rely on his senses. He hadn't realized he'd been using his powers so unconsciously. Once he'd closed off his mind from her, hers was also unavailable to him. So, he had to take her at face value.

  It was an uncomfortable feeling. How did humans stand it?

  Gaelen turned to the bed where Annabelle lay. She'd rolled onto her side and tucked her hands underneath her cheek on the snowy white, eyelet-lace pillowcase. He watched her eyelids flutter, the cool blue of her aura soothing his own troubled mind.

  Knowing he was taking a huge chance, Gaelen lay down beside her, breathing in her scent. Clean and fresh like a spring rain, it swirled around his head, seeking out those places he'd shut behind a steel door, places where he couldn't ignore what he was, where he belonged.

  He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, letting his own life force mingle with hers, and taking solace from her. Annabelle snuggled against him, spoon-fashion, causing him a wonderful, tormenting ache.

  Shutting his eyes, he tried not to examine his feelings, even as he knew what it was he felt, lying there holding her close.

  Alive.

  ~*~

  “Wake up, dearling.”

  The soft voice, touched ever so softly by an accent warm and alluring, stirred her hair and tickled her ear. Annabelle swiped at the irritant and snuggled against the warm comfortable body behind her.

  A large hand gently shook her shoulder. “Come now, sleepyhead. Time to get to work. We have a lot to do today.”

  Annabelle blinked sleepily, her bleary eyes taking in her strange surroundings. The warmth behind her invited her to snuggle closer and remain in bed. So, she did.

  “Annabelle.” The grating voice sounded pained. “Please, darlin', don't do that.”

  The warm body moved away.

  “No,” she moaned, rolling over.

  “We must prepare to get Erin and Lucas, sweetheart.”

  Erin. That woke her up. She opened her eyes, glancing around to get her bearings. Gaelen leaned over her.

  She wondered if she'd dreamed the warmth of a big masculine body behind her on the bed. Had Gaelen slept with her?

  Their eyes met. Annabelle looked away first, heat filling her cheeks.

  “Where is this?” she whispered, her voice still wakeup scratchy.

  “Killis, in County Roscommon. Not very far from Finnvarra's court.”

  “Finnvarra,” she repeated, the whole sorry story coming back to her. “So, we're here.”

  “Your turn in the bathroom. It's across the hallway.” He stepped away from the bed. “We have some shopping to do after breakfast.”

  Annabelle got out of bed, only then realizing she was still in the clothes she'd traveled in. At least he hadn't undressed her, she thought. She crossed the room to her suitcase sitting on a rack. As she neared, Gaelen stepped back as though she were on fire and he was afraid of getting singed.

  “What's the matter?” She thought it was a reasonable question.

  “Nothing. Why would you ask that? Nothing's the matter.” He took another step backward, giving her more room to pass.

  Annabelle stared at him, wondering why he was acting so squirrelly. Suddenly the memory of a big, warm body pressed against her—or had she pressed against him? —flashed across her brain.

  Their eyes met for an instant before he looked away.

  Annabelle grabbed her overnight bag and a set of clean bath linens neatly folded on the oak dresser. Without a word or a glance at Gaelen, she dashed out of the room to the bathroom across the dark, narrow hallway.

  She brushed her teeth and tried to wash away the fatigue of the long flight and her worry about Erin.

  Leaning against the sink, Annabelle thought about where she'd been—had it only been yesterday? —with her sister in a hospital being treated for a mental problem. Now she was in Ireland with a man who claimed to be a fairy. She stared into the mirror at herself, disbelief suddenly crowding her mind.

  Why the heck had she bought that ridiculous story? A fairy, for Pete's sake.

  “Pete. Peter.”

  Peter Pan. Where all this nonsense had started. Fairies and pixies and Irish tales. That's all this was. And she'd fallen for it.

  She straightened up from the sink to march back across the room, preparing her copy, what she'd say to Doctor Riley for making a fool of her ... and froze with her fingers wrapped around the doorknob.

  What stopped her was the memory of the horror of looking at the hospital bed where Erin lay. No, not Erin, but some thing pretending to be Erin. And Gaelen's urgency that she had to believe him and his story. And the way he'd made her hand disappear. And how she'd screamed.

  Annabelle tried to ignore the memory of the kiss he'd used to effectively shut he
r up. It hadn't meant anything to him, she told herself. Not a thing at all.

  But, and she was sure of this, Gaelen had been lying in that bed with her this morning, molded along her back and legs as closely as her shadow. She was also sure she could trust him. He'd told her the truth and he'd save Erin.

  He promised.

  Hanging onto his promise like mountain climber hanging onto the last strand of a fraying rope, Annabelle gathered her things and crossed the hallway.

  She hadn't seen where they'd stopped last night, and expecting a hotel, she was surprised by the homey feel. Then she realized it was a house, somebody's private home.

  A woman's voice trilled a mournful, wordless tune, seeming to call out to her. A need drew her to see the person who owned the voice. She descended the stairs halfway and peeked around the wall.

  Her gasp escaped before she could stop it. The small pixyish figure jerked and turned from the fireplace.

  Annabelle ducked around the corner, catching her breath, not daring to even whisper the words on her lips.

  Linette Duncan. What was she doing here? Why would Gaelen bring her to the woman who'd taken Erin? Annabelle shook away the vision of the hunk of wood in her sister's place. It still unsettled her that she hadn't seen the truth for herself.

  “My dear?” The voice wasn't Dr. Duncan's, but the scratchy squawk of an old woman.

  She heard the shuffle of feet in soft slippers coming closer and in a panic dashed back up the stairs to the bedroom. Ducking in, she slammed the door and leaned up against it as though to hold demons at bay.

  “What is it?” Gaelen asked, his brow furrowed.

  “It's her,” Annabelle whispered.

  “Who?”

  “Dr. Duncan.”

  “What?” Gaelen took two steps and was standing before her. He grabbed her shoulders and shook, not gently. “Where is she?”

  “Downstairs, by the fire.”

  He pushed her aside and jerked the door open, stomping across the threshold and out into the hallway.

  “Gaelen, stop,” she called after him.

  He headed down the stairs. Annabelle became frantic, thinking of the two large orderlies who'd followed Dr. Duncan around like Rottweilers. How could they get Erin freed if they were taken prisoner?

  She dashed out behind him, grabbing her shoes on the way.

  Gaelen had already reached the foot of the stairs and was talking to an old lady. He glared up at Annabelle.

  “Come down, dearest, and meet our hostess.” He reached for her hand and jerked her down the stairs. “Annabelle,” he said with a pointed look, “this is Mrs. O'Hara.”

  “A pleasure, my dear.” The old woman offered her gnarled hand to Annabelle.

  Gaelen squeezed Annabelle's hand in warning.

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. O'Hara.” Annabelle took the gnarled hand in hers.

  It was warm, alive, and it felt real enough.

  “You gave me quite a fright, my dear. I was thinkin’ there be spirits hauntin’ my attic.”

  The woman's eyes glittered as she spoke, and Annabelle didn't trust her at all. This old crone was Linette Duncan in disguise, she was certain of it.

  “I apologize for giving you a start, Mrs. O'Hara. I think I must be more tired than I thought.”

  Mrs. O'Hara waved away the apology. “Dinna give it another thought, dear.” She tottered back to the fire and reached for a huge wooden spoon in a kettle hanging over the fire. “Now, some breakfast is what you'll be wantin'.”

  Annabelle was about to declare her lack of appetite when Gaelen grabbed her elbow and nearly dragged her to the trestle table and plunked her down on the bench. She favored him with a glare, only to have hers rendered useless by his glower.

  So a glower trumps a glare, she thought.

  “Ah, some porridge would be the thing for sure.” Gaelen cheerfully plopped down beside Annabelle, his arm easily going around her waist. He pulled her closer and leaned to her ear. “Be nice.”

  She turned to him, only the warning in his eyes making her keep her resentment to herself.

  “Here you be, sir.” Mrs. O'Hara placed a wooden bowl full of steaming gray paste in front of Gaelen. “And for you, Missus.” She set a similar bowl in front of Annabelle.

  “Thank you,” Annabelle said, trying to smile.

  “Ah, this smells wonderful,” Gaelen said, taking a big spoonful of the stuff and shoving it into his mouth.

  Annabelle thought he was a bit too effusive. Besides, she never under any circumstances ate oatmeal. Especially oatmeal that reminded her of school paste gone bad.

  “Annabelle, dear, try the oatmeal.” Gaelen took another spoonful, unbelievably smiling around the mess.

  She opened her mouth to explain how much she detested oatmeal in any form when he glared at her again.

  “Thank you,” she said, accepting her fate.

  Raising a spoonful of the stuff, Annabelle touched it to her lips, wondering why Gaelen thought it so important for her to eat the damned oatmeal. Was he just humoring their hostess? So why make Annabelle suffer in the meanwhile?

  The pasty goop sat on her tongue, refusing to be swallowed. She glanced aside at Gaelen shoving in another huge mouthful and sending it down with apparent gusto.

  Refusing to be defeated by a grain, Annabelle raised her teacup and drank some full-bodied, Irish breakfast tea. It softened the oatmeal grapeshot and allowed her to squash it enough to send it down her gullet.

  Gaelen's bowl was nearly empty, giving Annabelle a wonderful idea. While Mrs. O'Hara's back was turned, she upended her bowl over Gaelen's.

  “Um-umm.” Annabelle pushed her empty bowl away with great drama. “That was the best oatmeal I ever ate, Mrs. O'Hara.” She turned to Gaelen, eyes wide. “Darling, I thought you loved oatmeal. Why aren't you eating yours?” She placed her palm against Gaelen's forehead. “Aren't you feeling well, sweetums?”

  “I'm fine,” he replied. She fancied she could actually see his words, marching out of his mouth dark and menacing. “Thank you for your concern, lamb-cakes.”

  “I'm so glad, snookie-bear. I'd hate for you to miss all this beautiful Irish countryside. Are you sure you feel well enough to go sightseeing, poopsie?”

  “Yes, angel smacks, I'm sure.” He dabbed a linen napkin at his mouth and rose from the trestle table. “Mrs. O'Hara, thank you for your hospitality.”

  “It's my pleasure, sir. Will you be back for supper, then?”

  “I don't know.”

  “No,” Annabelle answered at the same time. She smiled to take the edge off her refusal. “That is, we wouldn't want you to wait supper for us.”

  “'Twould be no trouble a'tall.”

  “In fact, Gaelen, dear, why don't we check out now?” She nudged his arm. “Just in case we find ourselves in another town tonight?”

  “Our business is right here in Killis, Annabelle.” He turned back to Mrs. O'Hara. “We'll be back tonight, ma'am, but we probably won't be here for supper.”

  “As you will, sir. Good luck with your business.” Mrs. O'Hara tottered around the table picking up dishes and paid no mind to Gaelen dragging Annabelle out the door.

  “Will you tell me what the hell's the matter with you?” he yelled in a whisper.

  “What's wrong with me?” Annabelle yanked her arm from his grip and stopped, forcing him to stop as well. “That woman is Linette Duncan and you didn't see through her disguise!”

  “Who said I didn't see?” he replied, as he resumed walking away from the house.

  Annabelle trotted to catch up, nearly running to keep up with his long-legged stride.

  “You mean you saw her?”

  “Of course.”

  “When did you see her?”

  “Well, I didn't actually see her, but I knew there was something up as soon as I set foot inside the house. She was sitting there like Sarah Bernhardt, thinking to fool me with her lame-brained attempt at putting glamour over on me.” He spit a sound that was halfway bet
ween a laugh and a curse. “Of course she had some help. No pixie is going to be able to do anything like that by herself. No sir. That was fairy work, that was.” He stopped and grabbed her arm again.

  Annabelle yelped. “Let me go! That hurts.” She wrenched her arm free.

  Gaelen ignored her complaint. He stared at her. “When did you see her?”

  “This morning. When I came out of the bathroom, I heard a woman humming and I wanted to see who it was.”

  “Did she talk to you?”

  “No. I ducked back when she looked up.” Annabelle got uncomfortable under his steady gaze. “What are you looking at?”

  He ignored the question and started down the street again. Annabelle dashed after him and followed him as he cut into a shop.

  “Good mornin’ t'ya, sir.” The shopkeeper stepped from behind the counter, obviously drawn to the rich tourists who'd just entered his store. “What can I help you find?” He glanced around Gaelen's bulk and smiled at Annabelle.

  “I need a box of salt and an iron knife.”

  The shopkeeper tilted his head, studying Gaelen closely. “Iron, is it? Well, sir, the most reasonable priced knives I have are stainless steel.”

  “Price isn't a problem. Iron, please.”

  The shopkeeper returned behind his counter and opened a case. Annabelle watched as the man reached into the display case from the back and set his fingers around dagger that had the appearance of age. The six-inch blade was of a dull metal, rusted around the edges.

  “Will this do, sir?” The shopkeeper held it toward Gaelen, who stepped back from it.

  “Yes. Wrap it, please.”

  The shopkeeper turned away without a word and wrapped the dagger in butcher paper. When he brought it to them, he handed the dagger to Annabelle.

  “Salt,” the shopkeeper muttered as he pulled down a box from an upper shelf. He turned back to Gaelen. “Anything else, sir?”

  “No, that'll be all.”

  “Who you be huntin', sir?”

  “I'm not huntin’ anyone. I know where they are.”

  The shopkeeper grinned. “Aye. I thought so.” He totaled their purchases and set them on top of the counter. “Seven pound, fifty.”