Just Believe

by Manning

  “Yes!”

  The crowd turned toward them as Gaelen's voice rumbled through the cavernous chamber. Gaelen began to push his way through the crowd, wings spread wide. Annabelle followed in his wake.

  “State your name and your business before this Council.”

  “I am Gaelen Riley. The defendant is my brother. I claim the right to speak on his behalf.”

  “Granted.”

  Gaelen and Annabelle went to Lucas's side. Annabelle took the bag from Gaelen's hand. He winked good luck in her general direction and turned back to Lucas. She slipped behind the tapestry covering the bare rock wall, swallowing a shriek at the cold against her bare backside. Not daring to breathe, lest she attract attention to herself, she hugged the frigid wall, wishing herself able to squoosh as Gaelen did.

  She waited for something to happen to distract the crowd from any movement she might make. She was so close to Erin, she couldn't make a mistake now.

  ~*~

  “What say you, Lucas Riley, to the charge of revealing your nature to a mortal woman?”

  “Guilty.” Gaelen spoke up for his client.

  A rumble of comment greeted this plea.

  “Thanks, big brother,” Lucas muttered.

  “I know what I'm doing.” Gaelen stood, watching the tapestry ripple as Annabelle made her way over to the side of the room where Finnvarra—the ancient lecher—had Erin seated at his feet like a poodle.

  “You see, he admits it!”

  Gaelen wasn't in the least surprised to see Lucas's accuser was none other than Linette Duncan.

  “Since when do we allow,” he threw her a dismissive glance, “pixies to speak in the Council?”

  Linette fairly bubbled with indignant rage, but kept her mouth shut.

  “This is true,” one of the minor councilors said. “Is there no fairy to speak on this matter?”

  Gaelen waited. No one spoke to accuse his brother. Maybe it would just pass, and they could party. Fairies love a good party. He could sure use a stiff drink.

  “I will.”

  The voice was the mercenary who'd been in Linette's pay. Gaelen turned to meet her self-satisfied smirk.

  “The lad did reveal himself to the lovely little girl.”

  “Are you a witness to this event?”

  “Yes, Councilor.”

  “He's a liar!” Lucas sprung from his seat, his hands, tied with seaweed, Gaelen noted with a grimace, still bound behind him.

  “Sit down, Lucas,” Gaelen said, setting his hand on Lucas's shoulder and pressing him down. “My Lord High Councilor, could we dispense with the rather smelly handcuffs? I believe the stuff is beginning to rot.”

  “Certainly.” The High Councilor motioned to the guards, who came behind Lucas with a large bone knife. They sawed through the seaweed and Lucas's arms fell to his sides.

  “Sweet Bridget,” he moaned, gingerly rolling his shoulders.

  Gaelen got up and stood behind Lucas, rubbing feeling back into his arms and leaning down to whisper in his brother's ear, “Now, keep your mouth shut.”

  Lucas threw Gaelen a blazing glare, which Gaelen ignored. He walked back in front of the bench where they'd been seated.

  “My Lord High Councilor, Councilors, Your Majesty,” he bowed to Finnvarra. “My brother has indeed broken the law against revealing our natures to mortal folk. But I believe I can convince you of two things tonight. First, that such an error was not intentional on Lucas's part. And second, that the law itself has not served Faerie as it should have, and it is time for its repeal.”

  “Indeed, Gaelen.” The High Councilor motioned for him to proceed.

  “My Lord,” Linette spoke up, “there can be no explanation—”

  “Pixie!” the High Councilor thundered, “you have been warned. Speak once more in this assembly and you will be punished.”

  Linette snapped her mouth shut.

  Gaelen grinned. He simply couldn't help it, but he did manage to hide it from the High Councilor, who was not in the best of moods at the best of times.

  “My Lord, my brother was indeed involved with this lovely young woman.” Gaelen strolled over to where Erin sat. She smiled up at him, clearly not recognizing him. Worse than he'd thought. “He had not told her of his nature, realizing the penalty of the law would fall most grievously on the woman he loved.”

  “Yet, he didn't break off with her.”

  “No, my Lord, he didn't. And what man among us can look upon this sweet woman and not understand his plight? How many times in our history has one of our number been taken by the beauty or sweetness or generosity of a mortal?”

  Heads nodded. The crowd was with him.

  “Remember the story of Neve of the Golden Hair, who loved Oisin, the son of Finn? Or of Midir, seeking the reborn Etain, a mortal woman, and the battle he had to fight with her mortal husband to keep her?”

  Oops. Bad example. Better keep moving forward.

  “Lucas's only crime here is love. Love, my Lord, which we celebrate in song and poem. He loved greatly and with his whole heart, even to disaster.”

  Gaelen strode to the front of the hall. “And yet, is disaster a necessary end? Especially when the crime is,” he sighed, “love?”

  “My Lord.” It was Frank, Linette's pet mercenary. “This man is not a fit advocate for his brother. He is guilty of the same crime. He has revealed himself to a mortal woman. The sister of this woman, in fact.”

  “This is true, my Lord,” Gaelen was quick to cut in, “and so I am pleading not only for brother, but for myself, and for all of our kind who have made lives in the mortal realm, and who find our heart's mate there.”

  The women sighed. Back on track.

  “In fact, my Lord, let me speak of myself now.”

  “Why don't you, Gaelen?” the High Councilor suggested.

  “Sir, my brother can testify to this. I had forgotten my roots. I despised Faerie and the gifts of being a fairy. I buried myself in mundane work, not caring for beauty or nature.” He set one foot on the bottom step of the dais and leaned forward. “My Lord, I was dying. My soul was dust. Then a woman came into my life who showed me the beauties I'd separated myself from for the sake of leading my mundane life. She showed me wonder and reminded me of what I am. I love her. And I will be with her. Either in the mortal world or in the Land of Youth.” He turned back to the crowd. They were fairies all, hanging on his words, tears in their eyes. “What do we fairies do the best? We feel. We feel with a depth mortals cannot bear. Our greatest feat has been to grasp for love whatever the cost.”

  The crowd burst forth in applause. The Council of Elders rose with them. Linette looked fit to spit fire. Her pet mercenaries stood behind her, applauding and weeping with the rest until she skewered them with a glare.

  When he could be heard above the crowd, the High Councilor spoke.

  “Very well, Gaelen. You have made your case for your brother. Perhaps we should allow the girl to decide.” He turned to Finnvarra. “Your Majesty, please remove the enchantment on the girl.”

  Finnvarra did not appear pleased by this development. “Very well, my Lord.” He sprinkled magic dust on Erin's head and she shivered, then stretched as though just waking up.

  “My child,” the High Councilor asked her, “have you heard the testimony?”

  “No, sir.” Erin glanced around the hall and down at her clothes, appearing confused.

  “Would you like to leave here?”

  “Oh, no!”

  Finnvarra gave Gaelen a smirk.

  Just then, the tapestry rippled behind Finnvarra's head.

  “Oh, no,” Gaelen muttered.

  A box of salt appeared over Erin's head and a wild sprinkle had Finnvarra leaping over the arm of his throne to get out of the way. Gaelen could see the spell being broken, as Erin's eyes cleared and she jumped up, curious and stunned.

  He might have known Finnvarra would cheat.

  “Lucas! Where are we?” Erin looked around at the assembly a
nd the hall. “Wow.” But her whisper of admiration turned to a yelp as her arm jerked to the side and she was forced to follow it. Her eyes widened in shock. “Annabelle! You're naked!”

  “What?” Lucas stood, staring.

  “Time to go, little brother.” Gaelen grabbed Lucas's arm and plowed through the crowd, now on their feet watching Erin being dragged by an invisible force from the hall.

  That's my girl, Annabelle, he thought, approving her haste. Almost out the door, just a few more steps, and they'd be ahead of everybody and home free as long as the knife was still in the doorpost.

  In slow motion almost, he could see Linette dashing after Annabelle, a bucket in her hand.

  “No! Annabelle, look out!”

  Did his words of warning even leave his throat?

  Linette pitched the contents of her bucket at Annabelle's head. Gaelen watched in horror as the bucketful of spring dew washed away enough of the magic of the ointment that Annabelle's shadowy outline became clear.

  There was her head, her face, her sweet neck, her perfect shoulders....

  Gaelen grimaced as he waited for the rest. He'd promised her she wouldn't be seen. He dashed for her and grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the safety of the outside.

  Two spots of light dashed ahead of them, materializing as Frank and Sean, those traitorous mercenaries from Cork. Gaelen pushed Annabelle behind him and faced the two.

  “Good speech back there, laddie. But you see we have our orders.”

  “Come ahead, then, lads,” Gaelen said.

  Lucas stood beside him and they faced the two mercs.

  The crowd from the hall pressed behind them. Linette hung back, and made Gaelen more nervous than these two brawny lads, with all their rippling muscles.

  “This is going to be brutal,” Lucas whispered.

  “Nonsense, there's only two of them. And they're from Cork. How bad can it be?”

  “See my eye?” Lucas asked.

  Annabelle's shadowy head and shoulders dashed around him, her saltbox held high in an invisible hand. The mercs stood back, giving her a wide berth, Erin followed her.

  Good girl, he thought. Run. Get out of here.

  “Let's go, Gaelen,” she called to him.

  “Come on, Lucas!” Erin echoed her.

  Gaelen made a move to get around the mercs.

  “Oh, no, laddie. You've insulted Cork. We've got to have it out now.”

  “Annabelle, get the hell out of here!” Gaelen roared at her.

  “I'm not leaving you.”

  “Ach, ain't it beautiful, Sean?”

  “Sure and ‘tis, Frank.”

  The mercs closed on Gaelen and Lucas, herding them back into the tunnel.

  “Annabelle, go. We'll be fine.”

  “No!” Erin shouted.

  “Annabelle, remember the knife. The rath will stay open until you pull it out.”

  “Come on, Erin,” she said, to Gaelen's great relief.

  “No! I won't leave Lucas.”

  “Erin, you must go,” Lucas told her, his good eye on the mercs. “We can get ourselves out, but you have to go while you have the chance.”

  Annabelle pulled her on out of the tunnel toward the light of the opening.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  It was dark.

  How long had they been in there? Annabelle ran to the car, dragging poor, screaming Erin after her.

  It didn't look much different than it had when they'd left it. Maybe it hadn't been centuries, then.

  “Erin, shut up!” she screeched, reaching the very end of her rope. “Please shut up and let me think.”

  Erin shut up, but she didn't look happy about it. Annabelle looked around the car for the keys, terrified Gaelen had kept them on him.

  They were in the damned bag. She just knew it. And the bag was still lying on the damned floor beside the damned throne where the damned king had sat with Erin at his feet like a damned lap dog.

  “Damn!”

  “May I speak now?” Erin asked, a frown wrinkling her brow.

  “Yes, you may, if you can manage to keep from becoming hysterical.”

  She fixed Annabelle with a glare, which gladdened Annabelle's heart significantly. The old Erin was back.

  “Where are we? What are you doing here?” Her eyes traveled in a disapproving study up and down Annabelle's body. “Naked? How did I get into this ridiculous dress?”

  “We're in Ireland. Gaelen and I came here to save you from an eternity of joy and peace. I'm assuming King Finnvarra either dressed you like a Barbie doll or had someone else do it. Anything else?”

  “Why are you running around the countryside stark naked?”

  “Please don't remind me.” Annabelle glanced in the car. There was Gaelen's jacket.

  “I still don't understand any of this,” Erin wailed.

  “Aha!” Annabelle pulled the keys out of Gaelen's jacket pocket. “Get in. We've got stuff to do.”

  “What?” Erin asked as she folded her gown into the car.

  “Research.” She threw the car into reverse and backed out to the main road. “But first, I've got to get some clothes and take a bath.”

  “What? Lucas and Gaelen are being pulverized by those thugs and you need a bath?”

  “I'll explain everything.”

  “You'd better. I'm getting a headache from all this.”

  Annabelle drove back to town and parked right in front of Mrs. O'Hara's house, driver's side closest to the door. She pulled Gaelen's jacket over her shoulders, hoping it was long enough to hide most of her from prying eyes and dashed to the door.

  “Spread your dress out and walk close behind me,” she instructed Erin.

  “Right,” Erin replied in a crisp voice, as though they were on a military mission.

  The door was open, and she and Erin dashed up the stairs as Mrs. O'Hara watched them, open-mouthed from the fireplace.

  Annabelle heard the front door close as they ducked into the bedroom.

  “Maybe if salt breaks magic, it'll weaken the ointment,” she muttered to herself, but loud enough for Erin to hear.

  “Magic? I think it's your turn to spend a week or two in the psycho ward, sis.”

  “Maybe I will. I could use the rest.” Annabelle peeked out the door and crossed the narrow hallway to the bathroom and filled the tub with hot water. She poured in a liberal amount of the salt and stirred it with her hand. She couldn't tell, because she still had ointment in her eyes, but she thought her hand was becoming more visible by the second.

  She turned the water off and stuck a toe in, then her leg, then her whole body.

  “Ah, oh, ooh, yummy.” She settled back, closing her eyes and letting her tired muscles warm up and loosen.

  “Annabelle, may I come in?”

  “Sure. I think there's room, as long as I stay in the tub.”

  Erin peeked around the doorway. She'd shed her pointy hat and the gown, and was wearing Annabelle's nightgown. Annabelle blushed at the thought of what she'd been doing the last time she'd had it on.

  “Can you explain all this?” Erin asked, her voice very small.

  “Have a seat,” Annabelle motioned to the toilet. Erin set the cover down and sat. Annabelle took a deep breath and said, “Well, it's like this, Erin, my dear sister—we've both fallen in love with fairies.”

  “Fairies?”

  Annabelle nodded, splashing water over her face and into her eyes to clear her vision. “Yep. Winged, magical, however, definitely not bug-sized, fairies. That place where you were is a palace of a fairy king called Finnvarra. He apparently likes mortal women. He fed you something, didn't he?”

  “I don't remember,” Erin said. “I guess so, though.”

  “Well, as Gaelen explained it to me, once you eat fairy food, you can't escape. Unless somebody unenchants you, like I did by pouring salt on your head.”

  “Fairies?” Erin asked, obviously unconvinced.

  “Is that worse than space aliens?”


  “Yes! I could tell people that! How can I say I'm in love with a fairy.”

  “Like this: I'm in love with a fairy.”

  Erin stared at her. “You really are, aren't you?”

  Annabelle smiled.

  “But you left him there.”

  “Not for long.” Annabelle sank back into the tub, her mind racing.

  Erin sat silent for a few moments. “Well? What are we going to do?”

  “I have to find somebody who can tell me a story,” Annabelle said.

  “Now I know you've gone nuts.”

  Annabelle ignored her. “Go rest, Erin. You're going to need it.”

  Her soak lasted an hour. Plenty long enough for every bit of ointment to be rendered useless by the salt in the water. She dried off and wrapped the damp towel around her, then crossed the hallway to the bedroom. Erin lay on the bed, obediently resting, but she opened her eyes when Annabelle closed the door.

  “Is my lady finished with her bath?” Erin asked with a twinkle in her eye.

  “Yes, sirrah. Oh, that's a guy, isn't it?” Annabelle quickly dressed and offered Erin second pickings from her suitcase. When her sister was more modernly attired, she said, “Let's go.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the pub, of course.”

  Mrs. O'Hara was snoring away in the front bedroom, so the Tinker sisters crept out, gingerly latching the door behind them. They hurried to O'Looney's pub and sidled up to the bar.

  “Hello, Jocko,” Annabelle called to the bartender.

  “Ah, missus. And where is your gentleman this evening?”

  “He's detained.” She pulled Erin beside her. “Erin, this is Jocko O'Looney, the proprietor of this fine establishment. My sister, Erin Tinker.”

  “Ach, and a fine Irish lass she is. My pleasure, Miss Tinker.”

  “Mine, too.”

  “What'll you have tonight, missus?”

  “Whatever you have in the kitchen and two pints.”

  “Comin’ right up. Here, you laggard, give the lady her table,” he shoved a patron off the chair at the table Annabelle and Gaelen had used the night before—or had it been the night before? —and as smoothly as the maître d' at the Ritz, settled the two women in their seats.

  “Why are we here instead of rescuing Lucas and Gaelen?” Erin asked in an irritated whisper.