Lacing Shadows

by Tina Smith

  It didn’t sound hard. The snark wanted to pour out from my lips. I reined it back. Despite her rigid posture and steady voice, frustration peered back at me from her eyes. This woman wasn’t mad at me. She was suffering over her brother’s attack and from everything else going on. Plus, when else would I be able to babysit a royal? “Sure.”

  “Wonderful. As you may have guessed, the attempt on his life happened near the portal in my realm. For some unknown reason, he made your woods his destination. I learned he has been coming here for the past week. I need to find out why. Oh, I have a question.” Picking up a frame from under some papers, she held it up. “Who is this?”

  I stepped closer to examine the picture and smiled. Nana, nine months pregnant in a floral sundress glowed with her first child, my mom. Her long blond hair looked silver from too much summer sun. “That’s my grandmother, Helle Hiems Conroy.”

  Lila regarded it quizzically. “Helle?”

  “It’s short for Helleborus.” I always thought Nana’s full name was odd.

  “Cold flowers,” she murmured, tapping a finger against her top lip. “Tell Milla she is to return home. Thank you, Holly Berry.” With a flip of her head, she left. The swiftness with which these fae got around reminded me of vampires, but those were fictional creatures, weren’t they?

  I glanced around. The papers and picture were gone, so were the various mugs and glasses. Magic?

  After grabbing two water bottles and a health bar from an empty but sparkling clean kitchen, I headed up the back stairs. There were five bedrooms on this level—mine, Brad’s, two guest rooms, and a study/office Dad used. Late morning sunlight poured into the hall from the windows at either side. One guest room sat at the end across from mine. Both doors were closed.

  Once my hand was raised to knock, I decided against it. What if he was sleeping and I woke him up? Slowly, I turned the knob, pushed the door open, and entered. A small, plump woman sat knitting in Nana’s rocking chair beside the antique, iron-post bed. The yarn jutting from her bag looked like Spanish moss. The prince slept under a quilt.

  “Are you Milla?”

  Her needles stilled. A panicked face peered up. “Yes, Miss Berry. I am the Court healer.”

  “Berry? No, my name is Barclay.” She stared, confused. “Princess Lila left. I wanted to let you know I’ll be around if you need me.”

  Her look told me she wouldn’t need help from a human. I shrugged and turned to leave.

  The piercing shriek of a crow filled the room. Covering my ears, I dropped to my knees. Flashbacks momentarily transported me back to those nights when I heard the flock of birds cawing outside my bedroom. Terror rose inside me.

  Milla ran across the room to the fireplace and kneeled.

  I uncovered my ears as silence returned.

  “Court healer, you are summoned back to Court immediately! Prince Liat has been injured along with two of his guards. One of Prince Hallacon’s attackers was found and arrested but he assaulted those questioning him and escaped.”

  A crow the size of a beach ball emerged from the frames, a green patch around one eye. It shook its feathers as it dropped onto the hearth beside her.

  Milla nodded. “Yes. Oh….” She turned toward me. “One moment, please, Lumin.”

  The bird nodded and stood still.

  The Healer hurried to me as I stood up. “Miss Berry. Please, take my place,” she said, wringing her hands on the long orange apron tied to her waist. Unlike the cooks, her long green tunic and pants were embroidered with circles, leaves, rocks and other unidentifiable shapes. “All you need to do is wipe the prince’s forehead, feed him droplets of nectar from the vial, and calm his disturbances.”

  Wipe, feed, calm. “Okay. Um, disturbances?”

  Her eyes closed briefly. When they reopened, they were incensed. “Whoever attacked the prince used a poisoned blade. I cannot administer a full healing potion until the poison has exited his body. My nectar will temporarily help with the discomfort and allow him to rest. Meanwhile, he will sweat profusely, lash out, speak incoherently, and could suffer from delusions or sleep disturbances. Make sure he doesn’t leave the house. You can do this, yes?” Her dark braided hair bounced as she nodded repeatedly.

  I eyed the sleeping prince. “I hope I don’t regret this. Yeah, okay.”

  She smiled briefly, placing her hand across mine. “We fae are practically immortal. Do not fear. The prince will not die. He will be in pain a few days. Soothe him. Protect him.”

  Without so much as a goodbye, the woman gathered her supplies, shoved them into a brown bag like something from Mary Poppins, and held out an arm.

  The bird landed on her forearm. Extending its wings, it flapped twice. The flames roared out from the fireplace and scooped them up. As they neared the frame, I was sure her head would hit the mantel. Everything began to shimmer like a mirage.

  I blinked. When I looked back both were gone. Normal-sized flames danced within the inner hearth.

  The fae like quick, dramatic exits. I sighed, taking in the space.

  Since when did having fae in my life become normal?

  I was completely alone with a fae prince. What would my friends think of that?

  Hallacon’s borrowed clothes were folded on the desk. What was he wearing? Polished boots stood by the bed. Vines, cloths, and a bowl filled with water cluttered the night stand. A test tube filled with a golden liquid was suspended from a metal stand in a corner.

  I sat on the rocker and deposited my snack beside me on the seat. Immediately, that familiar feeling of love and safety cocooned me—memories of Nana reading to me for hours on this very chair. The sound of the wood squeaking from our weight, her animated voice acting out Pooh, fairy tale classics, and even stories she made up. Nana had quite the imagination. I credited her for my love of reading. Keep healing, Nana. Come back home, and I’ll stay.

  Whoa, where had that come from?

  Rubbing the back of my head, these peculiar events were beginning to catch up with me. I rested my tired eyes for a few minutes. I had no idea what would happen but hoped for the best. What did the Summer Court look like? How did the Summer Prince travel here?

  Did he have a girlfriend?

  When I finally looked around, Hallacon was staring at me.

  “Hey,” I whispered, shifting over to his bedside. “How are you?” I felt his forehead like Mom had countless times when I was ill. His skin seemed hotter than before. Was that normal for fae? Probably not. I should’ve asked.

  Picking up a cloth, I dabbed at the beads of sweat.

  His eyes had lightened to a warm, inviting, deep almond. Fortunately, he didn’t tell me not to touch him. I grinned.

  “You’re quite lovely when you do that,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  A compliment?

  Well, his sister said he wouldn’t be himself. I wiped the sides of his face, grateful to have a reason to touch his skin. A layer of stubble tickled my skin wherever I pressed down.

  I’d never taken care of a man before. This was…kinda nice.

  “The spots on your face? Are you part hedge witch?” he inquired, visually appraising me.

  Hedge witch? That was a new term. I’d have to look it up. “I’m just a human girl with freckles. Do I have to worry about witches showing up too?”

  I’d missed a spot on the right side of his forehead. As I swept the material upwards, he intervened by grabbing my hand and covering it with his. Dragging both down to his mouth, he brushed chapped lips across my skin.

  The skeptic in me wanted to pull away. The romantic in me said wait.

  “No witches. Not here. Lila warded the house against them and anything else.” Releasing me, he ran curled knuckles across my cheek. “To keep us safe.”

  The contact ignited something inside my body. Warmth weaved around my gut. “What’s a ward?”

  “A protective spell. I like an inquisitive woman. You’re ethereal.”

  Where was the arrogant, insulting man
? I leaned forward to return the cloth to the nightstand. His fingertips glided through my strands. A shiver raced along my back.

  A smile spread across his lips. “You’ve the hair of the sun as she rises above the Court gardens, marking everything in its path as hers—the goddess of light—our beloved Crimsona.” He took on a faraway, reverential look.

  “How much of this nectar stuff did that healing lady give you?” I sat far back. Perhaps if I kept out of his line of touch, he’d stop with the bad attempts at poetry.

  “I don’t need nectar. I need you. Lie with me. Let me gaze at your face, taste your lips, smell your locks…” His voice trailed off as he turned and closed his eyes.

  He was high all right. I exhaled a note of thanks, twisting open a water bottle to chug. Here’s to his sleeping the rest of the afternoon. I took my phone out of my skirt pocket and opened the book reader. Settling against the seat cushion, I found the last title I’d been reading and jumped in.

  The story featured a woman who’d returned to her hometown after running away, only to discover she wasn’t who she thought she was.

  Considering the supernatural guy recovering from an attack beside me, maybe I should start reading non-fiction.

  Chapter Six

  The princess had worried for no reason. Hallacon slept like the dead. No visitors popped up. The afternoon passed by while I did laundry, baked brownies to replace the cookies I’d devoured, and left Mom’s chicken noodle soup simmering on the stove. I was glad she made comfy meals at the beginning of each month and froze them. In between activities, I finished that e-book.

  Chewie scratched at the door. I let him in and filled his water bowl. The temperature was beginning to drop. Whatever snow had melted would refreeze.

  I loved winter.

  After putting away my laundry, I sat on my bed and texted my local friends, telling them we needed to hang out soon. I wanted to catch up and hear what had happened while I was away. While scanning my messages, I discovered Mom had returned to her motel room to sleep, and Brad and Dad had sent the details of their return flights. There was also a cryptic text message from Dad about an upcoming surprise.

  Oh goody, I hadn’t had enough of those.

  As I was about to launch a game app, Hallacon yelled. Clutching my phone, I ran across the hall.

  He flailed about, the bedding tossed on the floor, a sheet wrapped around his naked legs.

  Oh, caramel stripes, he had nothing on. Not a thing.

  I shouldn’t have, but I took in the sights. Everything. Compared to a human guy he was quite impressive, not that I had much to base my opinion on besides some online images. Even some of his bruises looked already healed. I dropped my phone on the dresser.

  “Don’t send me away! Let me stay!” His anguished cries threatened to tear my heartstrings. Hair matted to his skin, hands curling and opening, breathing labored.

  I pulled the sheet up to his waist, but he continued to fight and kick, repeating his plea.

  Something horrible scared him.

  Living on a farm, as a kid I found many things spooky. Some frightened me. One winter, when I was nine, crows roosted in the trees behind the house. My bedroom windows overlooked the yard. I swore those birds were watching me, and they’d break the glass to kill me. Usually our local crows were not nocturnal. That season they were. When I stayed awake with the lights on huddled under the covers, Mom used to sit and hold me.

  Could I try her way?

  Without further hesitation, I climbed in back of him, propping a pillow behind my back, and positioned myself smack dab in the middle. Hallacon twitched a bunch of times as though convulsing. When the fit subsided, I took my cue. Leaning forward, I slipped my arms under his. On the count of three I hoisted his body up, sliding him between my legs and against my chest. My heart hammered, from exertion and our intimate pose.

  He fought, aimlessly smacking the air with open hands. “Be gone, witch! I will not leave her! You cannot make me! I will not go!” His last words issued more like a command roared by Gandalf. Was this an actual memory? What I’d give to be a fly on the wall for that.

  I had to soothe him somehow. Dealing with this all night would burn me out. Taking in deep breaths, I began to hum my favorite Death Cab for Cutie song.

  Clasping his arms, I laced my fingers with his, while trying to restrain him by cradling his lower half against my legs. My fingers would slip occasionally on his slick skin as I tried to establish a firm grip.

  Wet spots from his drenched hair dotted my tee-shirt and skin. My own hair began to stick to my neck. Part of me wanted to take a selfie to see how foolish we looked. Would my friends appreciate that Facebook status?

  With his frame trapped by mine, I sat back, arms wrapped around his bent limbs, my knees curved like rails against his jerky movements. Hallacon still lurched and moaned. I soon switched tactics. Placing my lips beside his ear, I began to sing “I Will Follow You into the Dark.” Slow, steady, and in a low register.

  By the time I repeated the chorus about Heaven and Hell, he’d quieted. Death Cab songs tattooed their melodies on my soul. My eyes slid closed as I reached the high note about black rooms. My chin rested on his shoulder.

  At the song’s conclusion, I glanced down. We held hands like lovers, his chest rising in a stable pattern. His restful state called for an encore. I broke into a softer version of “You Will Be Loved,” reaching for a cloth to once again dry his skin.

  This was going to be a long night.

  *

  I learned through his ramblings that he’d lost someone very important as a child. I’d also sung my brain off, going through all my favorites until he finally calmed down and slept. Each time he drowsed, I too tried to get some shut-eye.

  The prince began again—his fifth episode of the “terrors.” My back was already sore from pressing against the bars of the bed. He’d elbowed me in the face and chest numerous times as I tried to control him.

  I pressed the heel of my palm against his cheek. The fever had returned.

  If he has a kingdom, why am I here playing nursemaid?

  Our skin disgustingly sticky with sweat, I picked up the test tube from his bedside and cupped his chin. With my thumb prying his lips open, I tipped the vial and let the remainder of the honey-golden liquid glide down out of the glass.

  I removed my thumb, letting it brush against his mouth. The tip of his tongue flicked out, licking his lips. I reined in my dirty thoughts. My role tonight was babysitter. Nothing more.

  After I wiped his face some more, his fever subsided. That stuff worked fast.

  I poked his cheek. When there was no response, I breathed a bit easier. He must have been in a deep sleep. I had to go to the bathroom. Slipping out, I went to my room and grabbed fresh clothes.

  After a quick shower, I towel dried my hair. I no longer resembled one of the sweaty washcloths I used on the prince. Clad in yoga pants and an oversized tee, I returned to clean up his room. Refilling the bowl and grabbing the last cloths, I washed him again, removing soiled bandages. His chest seemed to be healing quicker than the back of his leg. I applied more gauze and changed the drenched top sheet.

  Morning sun peeked through the blinds. I dimmed the bedside lamp and sat down on the rocker. The night had fled while my guest chased his traumatic memories.

  Even fae kids had their own childhood crows to worry about.

  Running my hands up and down the rocking chair arms, I stretched out my cramped legs, yearning to get some sleep soon.

  “You’re not Milla. Who are you?”

  The clearness of his voice startled me.

  Hallacon propped himself up on his elbows. His penetrating eyes searching for an answer.

  “Hey, is the mean Hallacon back?” I touched his temple. His temperature had dipped.

  “Why am I here? Why do you not call me Prince?”

  I toyed with a piece of my damp hair. “I’m Holly. Human. Saved you in the woods. Milla left. Your sister asked me t
o watch you. She said something about poison in your wounds. You’ve been here, in the human realm, for two days.” I drew in a needed breath.

  He ran trembling fingers through his moist hair, messing it up more. His was almost as long as mine which fell past my bra straps. “Oh, the attack. Liat’s men.” Glancing down, he took in the bandages on his chest. “You did this?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

  “Yes. You had a lot of cuts and bruises. Your leg is the worst.”

  “Thank you.” He shifted back down, pulling the sheet up to his chest.

  “Can I get you something? All you’ve had is nectar and some ice chips.”

  “Actually, I would love a glass of ice water.”

  “Okay. I’ll get that for you.” I jumped up, aware of his stare as I walked out. My heart fluttered when I glanced back and he still watched.

  I brewed a pot of coffee, put the kettle on for tea, and toasted bread. Soon I trekked up the back staircase with a tray that carried my coffee mug, Earl Grey tea, buttered toast, and a glass of water. I pushed open the door to the guest room with my sock-covered foot and placed the tray on the closest dresser.

  The bed was empty.

  Oh, peppermint chocolate bark. Where’d he go? I tensed. Was he grabbed? Taken away?

  The sound of the toilet flushing echoed from the hallway.

  I picked up my mug and took a long drink to control my shaking fingers. Knife-wielding assailants, witches, a Fairy Court. I only wanted to have a laid-back, relaxing winter break, not get thrust into an episode of Supernatural meets Doctor Who, directed by Peter Jackson.

  Hallacon returned, leaning against the door for support. His hair was damp like mine, and he wore Brad’s clothing again. “Is that tea?” he asked, glancing at the tray.

  “Yes.” I helped him over to the bed, resisting the urge to breathe him in. He smelled like the woods in summer. He sat down, pulling the sheet to his waist.

  I handed him the tea and placed the glass of ice water beside him on the night stand. “It’s Earl Gray. Your staff didn’t leave any jasmine behind.” He refused any food.