Faeries Gone Wild

by MaryJanice Davidson

  Halloween, two years ago. Ireland hadn’t yet met Micah, so she, Owen, and Ezra used to go clubbing now and again. They’d been coming back from the Mall of America, soused to the gills (one advantage of having a friend who was a car: there was always a designated driver). They’d been burbling about what zany costume they’d wear or some such crap, and then Owen had shut up and, after a few seconds, deliberately changed the subject. Almost as though he’d realized that for her, every damn day was Halloween.

  Yup, every day was Halloween; for her November 1 would never come. She’d be stuck in her costume forever.

  Or until she broke the curse, which amounted to the same damned thing.

  Owen had even talked to her about it. That very night, in fact. And when she saw he was serious, that he really cared about her answer, he was—jeez—what was the word? Concerned? Was that it?

  Yeah. When she saw it wasn’t a trick, or a joke, or something to talk about until a more interesting topic came along . . .

  She told him.

  “Sure, Ezra’s a vampire, but he doesn’t have to drink blood every minute he’s awake. He’s got time to go to the movies, to read one of those stupid celebritoid rags he’s always yakking about. He’s got time to be a regular guy. And you—you’re a wolf, at night, for . . . what? Two, three nights a month, tops? The rest of the time, you’re Owen; you’re a guy who goes to the gym or bakes brownies or runs choir practice.”

  Owen had politely pointed out that he didn’t do any of those things, which was so beside the point Judith ignored him.

  “And Ireland, shit, her parents left her all this money, she doesn’t even have to work. And even if she wasn’t rich, she wouldn’t have to worry about hiding her true nature part of the time. And Lent, he can fool people so they don’t even know he’s a fairy. But me, I’m a car all day and all night. Every day. And every night. I can never get away from it. I can never take a break and have a muffin and a cup of coffee. This—this metal shell is my costume, and I can’t ever take it off.” And I deserve it, she’d thought but hadn’t said. All this and more.

  After that, he’d come out and talked to her for hours every day. Sometimes at night, too. Even when he was in wolf form, he’d come out after gobbling down a couple of rabbits and just lie down in the gravel beside her. More than once he’d woken up naked in the driveway (and boy, did Ireland bitch about that!).

  Unlike the others, he didn’t see her as a mode of transportation first and Judith second. To him, she was always Judith.

  But she would never tell him how she adored him for that, how she spent part of every single day wondering when he would come out and talk to her.

  “So what’s going on up there?” she demanded, forcing herself back to the here and now. “What’s that winged freak want, anyway? What took you so long?”

  “Sorry, sorry, calm down.” He eyed her tires, making sure she wasn’t going to “accidentally” run over his toes.

  “You bums didn’t come out to tell me about that weirdo with the wings . . . and here it is, the next damned afternoon! Kee-rist!”

  Owen yawned. “Yeah, well, some of us were up pretty late last night. Don’t blare your horn like that; it’s like a lightning bolt through my brain.”

  “What brain?”

  “I’ve got enough on my mind what with to night being the full moon.”

  “Say, that’s right. D’you think she’ll come around again?”

  Last month Owen had run across the scent of a female werewolf. He had no idea if she was in town for him or if it was just a coincidence. Judith knew he had left the Pack under murky circumstances, but didn’t pry.

  Owen shrugged. “If she does, she does.”

  “You should run her off. This is your territory. Haven’t you peed on all the trees by now?”

  Before he could reply, here was Ireland, that redheaded dolt, hopping down the steps like she was on meth or something. Ah, and there was the ubiquitous box of Ritz crackers. Good. Anything to keep the wench from barfing on my upholstery.

  “Hi, Judith.”

  “You can cram your ‘hi.’ ”

  Ireland laughed at her, one of the few beings on the planet who could get away with it. Actually, the only beings who could get away with it all lived on this farm for weirdos.

  “Always a plea sure, Judith. I can’t imagine why someone disliked you enough to slam your soul into an SUV.”

  “You know how long I’ve been waiting out here?”

  “No,” Ireland said, and Judith laughed in spite of herself, which sounded a bit like gears grinding. Sometimes she couldn’t resist Ireland Shea, even when—especially when—she was barfing all over the rear bumper.

  My God, I’m getting so soft in my old age. “So what’s going on?”

  Ireland climbed up on Judith’s hood and sat cross-legged, munching. “Check this: the big gal with the wings? The Violent Fairy’s sister! And the V.F. is a prince!”

  Judith snorted. “That lumbering hulk?”

  “Yup.”

  She gave it a minute to gel, and it made sense. She’d met her share of princes of the blood, and on one level or another, they were essentially the same man. “That would explain his innate, oddly jarring sense of superiority.”

  “And here comes the best part: he was supposed to be the king of the fairies, only he abdicated to, I dunno, wander the world, and that’s how he eventually settled down here.”

  “Jeez,” Judith said, impressed. Who would have thought the big hulk had it in him? She knew too well how difficult it could be to turn your back on family, never mind the trappings of royalty. Shit, it was one of the reasons she was a damned Escape hybrid.

  “So this gal, his sister Scarlett, is here to—”

  “Whoa, whoa. Scarlett?”

  “I know, I know. Anyway, she’s here to take a census.”

  “Yeah, she counted me last night.”

  Ireland shook her head. “I gotta say, real fairies are as far from the Tinkerbell mythology as they can get. Instead of being teeny and delicate, they’re—”

  “Huge hulking things with big feet and wide shoulders, not to mention afflicted with some weird kind of OCD.”

  “Yeah, and instead of sprinkling fairy dust on things and flitting around all delicate and stuff—”

  “They’re accountants who write down numbers and freak out if they can’t count shit.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Weird,” they said in unison.

  “So what happens once she counts everything?”

  “She’ll move on, I guess.”

  “Huh.”

  “I know that tone,” Ireland said suspiciously. “What are you up to?”

  “Moi? As usual, Ireland, you’re way off.”

  “Sure. That’s why I live in a house stuffed with paranormal creatures.”

  “Oh, yeah, blame us, Ms. All-powerful Magicka.”

  Ireland grimaced and Judith chortled inwardly. This whole Magicka thing had come up last year, when Micah showed up out of the blue (funny how often that happened around here) and told Ireland she was her generation’s Magicka, charged with the protection of supernatural creatures.

  Apparently she, Owen, Micah, et al., hadn’t come here of their own free will at all. . . . They were drawn to the Magicka, a sort of supernatural guardian. Micah was her Tutor, charged with teaching her all a Magicka’s responsibilities.

  Yawn.

  Besides, Judith was the mistress of her own damned destiny. She was on Shea Farm on her terms, not because she was—it was laughable—drawn to Ireland because she was some sort of supernatural guardian of all things weird.

  “Don’t start with that Magicka crap,” Ireland grumbled.

  “Oh, boo-hoo. You think you’ve got problems? Anybody ensorcelled you into any machinery lately?”

  “No,” Ireland admitted, finishing the box. She upended the box and sprinkled the last crumbs into her mouth. Yes indeed, it was a miracle she’d been single when Micah had happened
along. “Other than puking every half hour, I’ve got it made.”

  “You think Lent’s sister is going to hang around?”

  “Doubt it. She has to get back to the king and give her report.”

  Judith didn’t care for that one damned bit. This was her family, dammit, and she didn’t approve of bewinged spies flitting around—not that the big gal exactly flitted—writing stuff down and then reporting everything to some king she’d never heard of.

  Screw that.

  So . . . how to keep her here, at least for a little while?

  “I need an oil change,” she said abruptly.

  “What? You just had one last—”

  “Are you gonna take me to Coffee Ray’s, or do I have to park on your foot again?”

  “All right, all right. Let me get something to eat and then we’ll go into town.”

  “Take your time,” Judith said cheerfully. She didn’t want to get to the shop until just before closing, anyway.

  Then we’ll see, she thought, starting her engine and popping into drive. Yes, we will.

  Chapter

  11

  Coffee Ray was talking to his boss, a very nice woman named Sue Dalton (who, for the own er of a garage, had the cleanest hands he’d ever seen . . . and beautiful nails!), who was trying her best to follow his comments.

  “—because then I figured it was probably the carburetor, and it turned out I was right! Only we didn’t have one in stock for—for—that reminds me, we need to run another inventory because the last one was way back in February and—and—my dad sent me a valentine; how weird was that? Did I tell you that? I haven’t even seen him since I moved north. That reminds me, I still have some boxes in storage from my move—the moving guys were really nice, I—”

  “Coffee Ray!” Sue shouted, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “How many times do I have to tell you? Say it with me: Rit. Uh. Lin. Ritalin! Possibly intravenously.”

  “I hate needles and I don’t take pills. And speaking of pills—”

  “Coffee Ray, I’ve got to go. Do you mind waiting around for Ireland Shea? Her hybrid needs an oil change.”

  He perked up. “Sure, be glad to.”

  “You don’t have to actually do it till tomorrow—”

  “That’s okay. I’ll stay late.”

  “If you do, I’ll be glad to cough up time and a half.”

  “That’s okay; I don’t mind. Besides, I got time and a half yesterday when I helped that gal from Saint Paul out of the ditch. And speaking of the state capital—”

  “Coffee Ray, I love you, but I’ve had enough of trying to follow your tangents for one day. I’ll catch you tomorrow, all right?”

  “Sure, boss.”

  “Nice teardown on Mr. Wolper’s Mercury.”

  “Thanks. It was pretty easy once I—say, that reminds me, I—”

  “Night, Coffee Ray.”

  “Night, boss.”

  He watched her go, a petite blonde comfortably padded in all the right places. She ran the best shop in town, and didn’t seem to mind that he was almost three feet taller.

  He began to pace, hoping Ireland would drop off Judith very soon.

  He had a secret, a wonderful secret.

  Ireland Shea’s SUV talked to him.

  Chapter

  12

  Ireland hopped out of Judith and waved at Coffee Ray, who came toward her wiping his hands on a ball of paper towels.

  “Hello, Coffee Ray.” As far as she knew, nobody ever called him just Coffee. “I need another oil change . . . my husband’s outside in his car, so is it okay if I leave Judith overnight?”

  “Sure,” Coffee Ray said, smiling. Ireland was struck, as she always was, both by the man’s size (over seven feet tall, easily the tallest man she’d ever seen . . . and she had thought Lent was huge!) and his good looks.

  Coffee Ray had eyes the color of his first name, shoulder-length jet-black hair with a thick shock of bangs that constantly fell into his eyes, and the long, slender fingers of a surgeon. He was wearing denim shorts—Ireland couldn’t imagine how much trouble he had getting jeans that actually fit—and a flannel work shirt. He was famous in town for both his height and the fact that he wore shorts all year round, even during snowstorms. He was, Ireland had long ago guessed, impervious to cold.

  “I’ll come pick her up sometime tomorrow, is that all right?”

  “Sure. How are you feeling?”

  Ireland grimaced. “Don’t ask. Are you going to finish that candy bar?”

  He handed her the other half of his Twix. “Knock yourself out.”

  “Bye, Coffee Ray.”

  “Bye, Ireland.”

  He watched her head out, climb into the passenger side of her husband’s Volkswagen, and wave. He liked Ireland a lot. . . . She was one of the few women in town who weren’t afraid of him. She either honestly didn’t notice his great size or didn’t care. Word around town was, being raised by a crazy mother (literally crazy; schizophrenic, he thought) had made her impervious to weirdness in others.

  “She’s gone,” he said, seemingly to the air.

  “About damned time,” Judith grumped, and he grinned.

  Chapter

  13

  “You don’t really need an oil change,” Coffee Ray told her, as if she didn’t know.

  “Duh, Coffee Ray. I just wanted to get off the farm for a bit.” A lie, but he wouldn’t figure that out till later. “Too much weird shit going on out there. Don’t get me started.”

  “Oh, I’d never dare.”

  “Wipe that smirk off your face before I spit oil all over you next time you’re messing around under there. You remember the rules, right?”

  “I haven’t told anybody you talk to me. Why would I? They’d lock me up somewhere.”

  “That’d be a good trick, since you could probably knock down just about any door they tried to shut on you,” she muttered, and Coffee Ray threw back his head and laughed, a booming sound that filled the garage. “Be sure to add ‘fee fie foe fum’ to that.”

  He stopped laughing at once. “Quit it, Judith.”

  She quit it, because she didn’t want to scare him, or make him mad. But she knew his secret, as he knew hers. And had kept it to herself, as she had promised.

  That didn’t mean she couldn’t use the information, however.

  “So, check it, Ireland’s got another houseguest.”

  “That woman collects more strays than the Humane Society,” he agreed, settling his long frame on a custom-made cart and scooting beneath Judith. “Hmm, looking good under here.”

  “Stop peeking, perv. You know damned well there’s nothing wrong with me. I keep myself in perfect—Ack! Quit, that tickles.”

  “So how’s everybody out on Shea Farm? Did Willow have the baby yet?”

  “Two days ago.”

  “Boy or girl?”

  “Boy. Which is interesting, because he might be in line for the fairy throne.”

  “Willow must have had the baby at the house. She could hardly go to a hospital. . . .”

  “Yeah, but she was in labor for, what was it, a whole half an hour? She was all ‘infant arrives’ and pop! There was the baby, yowling like a cat on fire. I got the whole scoop from Owen.”

  “Speaking of Shea Farm and their odd inhabitants, I was out in your neck of the woods last night.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, this out-of-towner swerved to miss a deer and ended up in the ditch.”

  “Moron.”

  “Quit it,” he said absently. “So, I gave her car a yank and off she went.”

  “Without so much as a fucking thank-you, I bet.”

  He shrugged.

  “Coffee Ray, you’re the dumbest nice guy I’ve ever met.”

  “Why, thank you, Judith. You’re the angriest SUV I’ve ever met.”

  “I keep telling you, I’m not an SUV, I’m just stuck in one. Why do you keep doing favors for these ungrateful idiots?”

&n
bsp; “Because it’s my job?”

  “I bet you didn’t even charge her, you gigantic soft dumb ass.”

  “It took a whole two minutes of my night,” he said mildly.

  “Yeah, and she probably broke her leg getting the hell away from you.”

  “No, but she did turn her ankle.” He scooted out from beneath Judith. “You can’t really blame them, Judith. I look like a scary guy.”

  “And I look like an Escape hybrid, except I’m not. I’m just stuck in one. You don’t see me getting walked on, right, dumb shit?”

  He laughed. “Who’d ever dare?”

  “Hey, get in here. There’s something I want you to take a look at.”

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, circling the car and opening the driver-side door. “You have a bulb burned out or something?”

  “Something,” Judith agreed as he climbed in. She locked all the doors.

  “Uh. Judith?”

  She put herself into reverse, relieved Coffee Ray hadn’t shut the main garage door, and scooted out of the garage.

  “Judith?”

  “Hold on tight,” she chortled, and left a few feet of rubber in Coffee Ray’s parking lot.

  Chapter

  14

  Scarlett peered at the infant, which was the smallest baby she had ever seen. That made sense, given that his mother wasn’t a fairy, but it was startling all the same.

  “Counting,” Scarlett said, making a note on her clipboard. “Counting one infant, hybrid; father: fairy; mother: dryad.”

  “That, ah, seems to relax you, I’ve noticed.” The vampire had been leaning in the doorway, watching her with cool curiosity, his arms folded across his chest.

  “It is our purpose,” she said simply. “It is why we are here. How do you feel when you don’t drink blood for a day or so?”