Just Believe

by Anne Manning

  "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. She got the 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 flames. "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.

  "Ah, some porridge would be the thing for certain." 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.

  "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.

  She may as well accept her fate. "Thank you." She tried to smile.

  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 between 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 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 establishment. "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."

  As Gaelen pulled the cash from his wallet to pay, Annabelle took the items.

  "You don't have a shopping bag, Miss?" the shopkeeper asked.

  Annabelle shrugged. "No."

  "Here," he said, pulling a sack from behind the counter. "You Yanks never have a shopping bag." He packed their purchases in the bag and handed it to Annabelle. "Good luck, sir. It's been a long time since we've had such goings-on. 'Twill be good for the tourists."

  Gaelen grimaced and turned without another word. Annabelle
took her cue from him, but did give the helpful shopkeeper a small smile.

  Once on the street, Gaelen sighed.

  "Will you talk to me?" Annabelle said.

  "Didn't you hear him? He's hoping for a tourist attraction. Damn. Just what we don't need." He strode on, muttering under his breath. "I'll kill my little brother for bringin' this on."

  "Why?"

  "I already explained this to you. Disbelief is deadly to us." Gaelen glanced around, lowering his voice as they were approached by other shoppers this bright Irish morning. "Imagine how much damage could be done."

  "I still don't get this, Gaelen," Annabelle puffed, trying to keep up with him and talk at the same time. "How can you be disbelieved into nonexistence? You're real."

  He stopped, and Annabelle was several steps ahead of him before she stopped.

  "What is it now?" She was getting just a little bit irritated by his mood.

  "What did you say?"

  "I asked you--"

  "Not that, before."

  She had to think. "Oh, you mean about you're being real?"

  "Yes." He looked away, his eyes on some spot way beyond the scene before them. "I'm real," he said, as though trying to convince himself.

  "That's right," Annabelle whispered. "How can what anyone else thinks make you less than what you are? It just doesn't make any sense."

  Gaelen chuckled, but it wasn't a happy sound. "I told you what I am, and you're looking for sense?"

  "You're the one who's been trying to explain things scientifically, remember? Squooshing atoms and bending light around the molecules of that ointment to make things invisible? So how is this any different? Tell me, have you ever seen anyone disbelieved out of existence?"

  Gaelen frowned. "No."

  "Well, there you go."

  "That doesn't mean anything. We've been careful." He started walking again toward the rented Mercedes. "Besides, I don't want to test it."

  Annabelle thought that was exactly what was needed here. But she couldn't honestly say she didn't believe just so she could test Gaelen's theory. So she followed him, deciding to let him have his way. For now.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Gaelen slammed the trunk lid down. Their purchases would be much safer here than in Mrs. O'Hara's house, even if she weren't Linette. Of course, he'd lied to Annabelle about seeing the spiteful pixie in her old lady get-up, and he was more upset than he cared to admit that he hadn't seen through it. If he hadn't let himself get spooked last night, he wouldn't have shielded himself from her, and her from him. He'd played right into Linette's hands. She knew his sense of self-preservation. She'd known he'd shield himself and leave her deception undetected.

  He'd been taken in, and he'd put Annabelle in danger.

  "So, what do we do?" Annabelle stood by his side. He was grateful she hadn't pressed him for any more explanations.

  "We wait for dawn."

  "Why?" She grabbed his sleeve, her eyes frantic. "Erin's been in there for two days already. We can't waste any more time. We've got to get her out."

  Gaelen leaned against the car. "Annabelle, dearest, I understand your fear. But there isn't anything we can do until dawn." He needed to get her mind off their troubles. "Have you ever been to Ireland?"

  "No."

  "Come on, then," he said as he opened the door for her, "let's go for a ride."

  She didn't look ready to go on a joyride with the situation still unresolved, but finally settled on a huff to show her displeasure with the delay and got in. Gaelen walked around and opened the door, casting a quick glance toward the house where Linette hid. She was probably digging through their bags right now, looking for some idea of what he intended to do.

  She'd never find a clue. You couldn't leave clues to a plan that didn't exist.

  * * * *

  Even though she felt like a traitor, once she was actually in the car, Annabelle had to admit she was glad Gaelen decided they needed to get away.

  "Where are we going?"

  "I want to show you some of Ireland." He glanced behind them, as Killis grew smaller in the rearview mirror. "And we'll have some time to talk."

  "You mean you're finally going to tell me how we're going to get Erin and Lucas out of that place?"

  "Soon." He didn't look at her. "First, we ride and see the some of the most beautiful land God created."

  They drove for almost an hour, either in silence or with a few words as Gaelen pointed out some sight along the road. Annabelle noticed the mileage signs showed Dublin growing closer.

  She hadn't realized Ireland was so, well, compact.

  "Are we going to Dublin?"

  "No. Somewhere more important."

  His reply surprised her. "Dublin's the capitol, isn't it?"

  "It is now, but not always."

  She half-turned in her seat. "I thought the Irish loved to talk. How come I have to pull words out of you?"

  Gaelen laughed. "Indeed the Irish love to talk. I'm a fairy, though."

  "Aren't you Irish?"

  He thought about that. "I suppose in a way. Maybe in the same way I'm an American. By naturalization."

  "A naturalized Irishman. What were you before?"

  "I'm a fairy."

  "So what's that got to do with you not being Irish and a talker?"

  "Oh, we talk, only the Irish have always been better talkers." He glanced at her, a smile in his eyes. "That's why we live underground now."

  "Oh," she said, remembering what Gaelen had told her about the bad land deal.

  "There," he said, pointing ahead of them. He slowed the car and turned into a gravel lot, parking and turning off the ignition. "We'll have to walk. You have comfortable shoes?"

  "Sure." Annabelle got out and followed him. There wasn't much to see, and she wondered why they'd stopped. She almost asked when she glanced at Gaelen and her words froze on the tip of her tongue.

  He stood in front of the car, just looking, the expression on his face one of longing.

  "Gaelen," she whispered, afraid of breaking this spell. "Where are we?"

  "Tara," he replied, his answer as low as her question.

  He started walking quickly toward the low hill covered with green. Annabelle dashed after him, her eyes on him.

  "Gaelen, what is Tara? I mean besides Scarlett O'Hara's plantation?"

  That did stop him.

  "What? What is Tara?" he asked, his voice heavy with disbelief. Then he circled her as though she were a strange new form of life brought back from Mars. Annabelle shrank away from the examination.

  "I'm sorry I don't know, Gaelen. Pretend I'm a product of the American public school system and tell me."

  He sighed. "Tara is the hall of the kings. It's where my people ruled the land."

  "Before the Irish."

  "Yes. And when we went underground…"

  Annabelle wondered at that phrase. He never said, "When they beat us…"

  "They took it over and used it until Patrick converted them."

  "Then what happened to it?"

  "They forgot about it. Just like they forgot about us."

  Sadness colored his voice, shadowed his face. Annabelle's heart became heavy with sympathy.

  He started walking again, his long stride taking him closer to the grassy mound, all that was left of Tara.

  Annabelle quickened her pace to keep up with him. "Gaelen, this looks like a national monument or something. Won't we get in trouble being up here?"

  He didn't answer. She followed him.

  They scrambled up the hillside. Once there, Annabelle could see they were on top of an outer ring. Inside was a second ring surrounding a field. Further over were another two rings, these larger than those on which she was standing. The inside ring enclosed yet another mound.

  "Look out that way," Gaelen said, pointing.

  She raised her eyes and gazed out. And was struck speechless.

  "A fine, fair sight, is it not?"

  "It's beautiful." Even as she s
poke the words, Annabelle was struck with their inadequacy.

  Near noon, the sun hung high, giving a golden glow to the verdant land. Far off she could see the shadowy outlines of low mountains.

  "Those mountains, there," Gaelen pointed, standing by her shoulder. "They're in Galway and Clare. All the way on the other side of Ireland."

  "We can see that far?" She threw him a glare. "You're not doing anything are you? To fool me?"

  He laughed. "Aren't you the suspicious one? No, dearling, I'm not doing anything. It's only about a hundred miles after all, with not much betwixt us."

  Turning, he walked away. Again she followed.

  "Gaelen, why are we here?" She caught up and took hold of his sleeve, stopping him. "Are we just killing time?"

  "No. I needed to come here."

  He took her hand and they walked along the top of the ancient ring. Their silence was taken up by nature. No birds sang. No breeze ruffled the grass. There was no sign of any life but theirs, as far as Annabelle could see. It was as though they were alone in all of Ireland.

  Gaelen appeared to be staring off toward the middle of the rings, even as they circled them.

  What was he looking for?

  She didn't ask, afraid of shattering the crystalline silence they shared.

  Finally, after they had walked the circumference of the rings three times, Gaelen stopped, his eyes still fixed on the center of the rings.

  He nodded as though agreeing with words Annabelle couldn't hear.

  "It's time to be getting back." His words caught her by surprise, and she found herself standing on top of the rise while Gaelen was halfway to the car.

  "Well," he called back to her, "let's go. It'll be gettin' dark soon."

  She dashed after him, growing more confused by the second.

  Gaelen practically shoved her in the car and slammed the door after her, then he ran around the red Mercedes and jumped into the driver's seat. The engine purred and seconds later they were on the main highway back to Killis.

  "Are you going to explain?" she finally asked. "What was all that about? Were you communing with the spirits?"

  He grinned. "Sort of."

  "Did they tell you what to do?"

  "Yep."

  "Well?" She was starting to get really irritated.