“Is she a magical creature?” he whispered.
Wesley followed Alex’s gaze. “Not in the sense that we know. She’s not an Undergrounder, that is. But that doesn’t mean she’s not magical.”
6
Blarney and Bulmers
Azalea scanned every inch of the view, soaking it in, drinking down the beauty of it all. Then her eyes landed on a pair of guys who looked to be about her age. They were both looking up at her. When she frowned, the dark-headed one turned away, tugging at the shirt of the russet-haired one. But he just continued to stare with rounded eyes and a slightly agape mouth.
She sent him an annoyed glance and stepped away from the edge, turning to see what the others were doing.
“Azalea!” Zariah called. “Come kiss the Blarney Stone!”
Remembering what Ms. King had told her about the locals using the stone as a urinal, she shook her head. “Nah…I’m good.”
Azalea was the only one of their group who didn’t kiss the stone. She decided not to tell them why she wasn’t exactly keen on it. They didn’t need to know where their lips had been.
Zariah insisted on exploring the grounds after they climbed back down through the ancient castle. It was a large expanse of foliage and flowers. They took pictures hanging upside down in branches and sticking their faces out the door of a hut dug into the side of a rocky hill, labeled the ‘Witches’ Kitchen’.
“You think actual witches lived here?” Zariah said in wonder.
“Of course they did,” Shayn answered. “I completely believe in witches and magic and all that. Don’t you guys?”
“No,” Zariah said, laughing.
“As much as I wish it existed,” Joe said, “there is always a scientific explanation for what looks like magic. Take all the witches burned in Salem. It was a sham.”
“There’s not always a scientific explanation,” Shayn said. “Weird shit happens all the time, and we chalk it up to miracles. But, what if it’s more than that?”
“What do you think, Zay?” Zariah said.
It took Azalea a moment to realize she was talking to her. “Zay?”
Zariah giggled. “It’s a cute nickname, right?”
“Yeah, I guess.” Azalea shrugged. “My dad calls me ‘Lea’ sometimes.”
“So, do you believe in magic?” Shayn asked her, bringing the subject back around. “Witches and wizards and such?”
Azalea pulled a shoulder up to her ear. “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it. I don’t think I do, though. I think everything is as it seems. Like Joe said. Science can explain most things.”
Joe smiled and slung an arm around Azalea’s shoulder. “I knew I liked you.” Keeping his arm encircled around Azalea, he turned to the others. “I say we go to that pub now and eat. I’m starving. And I could really go for a Guinness.”
Shayn rolled his eyes. “Fine. Let’s go get you dream-killing, magic-hating scientists some sustenance.”
* * *
“Mum!” Wesley called as they entered the cottage in which he lived. (Sometimes). “Welcome back to the Emerald Isle. Also, I brought company. You won’t believe who either.”
Ms. King—as Wesley told him she liked to be called—popped her head out of the kitchen. It was evident she and Wesley were related as they both had heads full of dark brown curls. Though she was quite a bit rounder than he was.
“It’s the prince,” Wesley said before she could guess, pulling at Alex’s arm so she could see his Royal Mark.
“Janey Mack,” Ms. King exclaimed. “You’re not lying.”
“Prince of the elves in our cottage,” Wesley said with a chuckle as he led Alex into the kitchen, pulling out one of the wooden stools situated around the island. “And I thought nothing exciting would happen today.”
“Well, if it helps,” Alex said, “I’m a lousy prince. This is most excitement I’ve had in months.”
“Don’t say that,” Ms. King said as her hands moved quickly over the vegetables she was cutting and tossing in a pot on the stove. “I’m sure you’re a brilliant prince.”
“You should’ve heard my speech yesterday in front of the Underground Council. To say it was embarrassing would be an understatement.”
“His Power is Music,” Wesley cut in. “Right, let me get my guitar! See how you handle it.”
Wesley disappeared for a brief moment and emerged with a wooden instrument that looked rather like an etherelle, except it had six strings rather than eight and only one hole in the center instead of three. The guitar was shoved in Alex’s arms, and Wesley moved back, grabbing a carrot off his mother’s cutting board and sinking his teeth into it as he waited for Alex to play.
Clearing his throat, Alex placed his left hand on the neck of the guitar and his right on the strings. He wasn’t sure how strong his Power would be in the Outside, but it was worth giving it a try.
He closed his eyes, letting the sensations of holding the guitar take over. Instruments had an energy about them that spoke to him somehow. He couldn’t explain it. The only thing he could compare it to was how an animal can sense changes in the weather and feel things in the atmosphere.
The next thing he knew, his fingers were moving as if of their own accord. A convoluted melody emerged from the instrument. Alex kept his eyes closed, afraid if he opened them, he’d become distracted and mess up. The thing about his Power was that he lost all sense of time passing while it took effect.
Opening his eyes and pulling his hand from the strings, he realized the sun had sunk just beneath the edge of the earth. It was twilight now.
“How long was I playing?” he asked.
Wesley, who had been leaning languidly forward with his chin perched upon his hand, sat up. “‘Bout an hour.”
“Oh.” Alex frowned. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Wesley said. “That was better than taking drugs.”
“I didn’t hear that!” Ms. King said from the kitchen. “Ready to eat?”
Wesley stood and turned to Alex with a wide grin. “You are so playing that at the open mic tonight.”
* * *
Azalea wasn’t a fan of beer, but she was apparently a fan of cider. Back in Texas, she never drank much. Mostly because she was underage and it made her nervous. Now she could legally drink in Ireland, she didn’t feel so bad about it. She and Zariah ordered two pints of Bulmers—Irish hard apple cider—and her head was now swimming in the most pleasant way possible.
She couldn’t stop smiling and letting out a giggle every few minutes.
“When does the open mic start?” Zariah asked the man behind the bar, her words slurring slightly.
“Seven. Want another Bulmers?”
"Sure!" Zariah shoved her empty glass forward, and it toppled onto its side. "Oops."
“Uh…maybe you should drink some water first.”
“Shhh. Zay. It’s fine.” Zariah pressed a finger to Azalea’s mouth and giggled.
“Get her some water, please,” Joe said to the bartender. “Hold off on the third pint.”
“You’re not my dad,” Zariah said indignantly. “Or my boyfriend. You can’t tell me what to do.”
Joe looked to Azalea for help. “Zariah,” Azalea said. “Drink a glass of water and I’ll sing when the open mic starts.”
“Shut up!” Zariah exclaimed with a laugh. “You can sing, Zay? Why didn’t you say you could sing?”
Azalea took the water from the bartender and placed it in front of Zariah. “Drink.”
“I’m not thirsty,” Zariah whined but took a gulp of water through her straw anyway.
A scream of sound echoed through the room as one of the pub workers turned on the microphone. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he said. “Welcome locals and tourists to the weekly Saturday Open Mic Night. If you’ve been here before, you know the drill. If not, I’ll tell you anyway.” He held up a clipboard with a blank sheet of paper on it. “Write your name here and what you’ll be doing and we’ll announce yeh.
All music and literature readings are accepted. No sermons. Save that for mass in the morning. All right? First up will be the lovely Layla O’Connell on bodhran.” The pub worker left the stage and hung the clipboard on a hook on the wall.
“Go write your name or I’m not drinking any more water,” Zariah threatened.
Azalea’s stomach flipped. She hadn’t thought this through. She didn’t have any music or anything. She’d just have to sing something acapella. Zariah pushed her off the bar stool. Azalea shot her a mild look of annoyance as she moved to write her name on the paper.
As she reached for the pen hanging from a string, another hand moved forward at the same time, crashing into hers. She looked sideways, immediately recognizing the auburn-haired guy with a staring problem from Blarney Castle.
7
Making Music
Alex jerked his hand back a bit too quickly. Partly because when his skin brushed against the hand of the girl with the electric blue eyes, a shocking jolt ran up the length of his arm. But mostly, he pulled his hand away because she was glaring at him pretty hard.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “You go ahead.”
She didn’t speak but pursed her lips to the side as she took the plastic writing utensil and wrote in swirling script across the top of the paper.
Azalea Carrol - Singing "Can't Help Falling in Love."
“You sing?” he blurted.
Her annoyed gaze cut to him again. “No, I don’t. But I thought I’d give it a try for the first time in front of a bunch of Irish strangers.”
“Really?”
She rolled her eyes. “You aren’t fluent in sarcasm, I see.”
Rather than handing the writing utensil to him, Azalea let it drop. It slapped slightly against the hanging clipboard as she stepped away and walked back to her friends. Alex swallowed his embarrassment and scribbled his name and the word ‘guitar’ on the paper, moving to the opposite end of the pub from the beautiful girl in blue.
“She’s here,” he muttered to Wesley.
Wesley looked around in confusion. “Who?”
“That girl from the top of the castle. The beautiful one with the blue eyes and blue dress.”
“The one that looked at you like you were an annoying bug she’d like to squish?”
“Yeah, that one. Not sure what I did to make her loathe me without even speaking. That’s talent.”
“Well, just wait ’til she hears you play. Bet you her expression changes.”
Alex sent him a doubtful look and settled into the booth at which they sat, nursing the Guinness in his hands. He wasn’t much of a drinker. Undergrounders didn’t exactly partake in such frivolous activities.
The bodhran player, Layla O’Connell, finished up her set with a round of polite applause from the onlookers. It seemed as though most of the acts and patrons were locals. Alex was trying not to look too interested in every little Outsider oddment. Like the napkin dispenser and the lamp on their table lit with actual electricity instead of magic. Even the microphone was powered by the stuff. It was incredible. Alex began rifling through the container filled with white, pink, and blue packets of granular and powdered substances.
“It’s just a sugar packet, Alex,” Wesley muttered, taking the small paper square filled with sugar out of his hand and replacing it in the container. “Look. It’s your girl.”
Forgetting about all of the impressive Outsider technology and inventions, Alex’s eyes zoned in on Azalea.
* * *
Azalea had been in a singing group in high school, so she wasn’t completely unused to performing in front of strangers. But there was something about the way the Irish tuned in and paid complete attention to the performer that made her hands shake ever so slightly.
Plus, that red-haired guy was still watching her. Maybe it was just a cultural thing she didn’t understand. Either way, it made her nervous.
“Hello,” she said into the microphone. “I’m Azalea Carrol, and I’m from Texas.”
A few whoops came from the crowd, making her giggle breathlessly. “I’ll be singing an acapella version of ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’,” she said, then added, “Unless anyone knows how to play it?”
“He does!” a voice from the other side of the pub called out.
Azalea squinted, shielding her eyes with her hand to see the auburn-haired boy being pushed out of a booth by his friend who was shoving a beat-up guitar in his hands. She immediately regretted her offer, but didn’t want to come off as an American jerk, so she smiled tightly and moved over on the stage so the guy who stared too much could join her.
“Hi,” he said to her, bounding up the stairs. “I’m Alex.”
“Azalea.” They took hands in a brief introduction. Azalea ignored the strange sensation that coursed up her arm as if she’d been shocked by static. “You know this song?”
Alex pulled up a stool and situated the guitar in his lap. “Not yet, but I will.”
Quirking an eyebrow at him, Azalea said, “What?”
“Just start singing and I’ll play.” Alex grinned crookedly up at her. “Trust me.”
She wasn’t sure why, but she did trust him, this stranger who up until this point had annoyed the hell out of her. Turning back to the microphone, Azalea took a steadying breath and began to sing.
* * *
“Wise men say…”
Whatever magic was wrapped up in Alex’s Power took hold and immediately pulled him into the melody of Azalea’s voice. He had to concentrate, closing his eyes, because if he watched her, he’d probably stop playing. As his hands started up on the strings, he heard her voice stutter, and he couldn't help but open his eyes to see her staring at him with a flabbergasted expression.
Both of them hiccuped in their music, and Alex closed his eyes again so he could focus. Azalea took a moment to readjust and picked back up on the next line. The buttery smooth sound of her voice and the complex notes of his guitar soared over the watching audience. Alex didn’t even have to look to know every single person in the pub was watching, transfixed.
The corner of his mouth tugged up, and he basked in the feeling of the moment until it was over too soon. He opened his eyes to a room full of agape mouths and wide eyes. A beat of silence and then a wave of applause crashed over them. Alex beamed and chanced a glance at Azalea, who was looking at him in mystified awe.
He tried not to grin too wide as he said, “Didn’t I say you could trust me?”
The color of roses filled her cheeks, and her bottom lip sucked in as her teeth bit down. She was adorable. It took everything Alex had not to grab her and kiss her right there.
She looked towards her group of friends and turned back to face Alex. “You, uh…want to join us for a drink?”
8
Electric
Alex and Wesley joined Azalea and her friends at the bar. After receiving several claps on the back and exclamations of awe, Alex settled into the seat beside Azalea. Wesley entertained the rest of her group, who were all apparently from another country called America, telling them stories of Ireland and giving them detailed travel plans of where they had to visit.
But Alex had eyes only for Azalea. She nursed a glass of cider in her hands and kept biting her bottom lip, which was about to drive Alex crazy in the absolute best way.
“So, I guess you don’t hate me anymore?” he said, running a finger across the rim of his slowly warming pint of Guinness.
Azalea’s head tilted slightly further toward him, dimples forming in her cheeks as she pushed back a smile. “Hate you?”
“Don’t lie. You were sending me burning death glares of hate from the top of that castle, and earlier tonight.”
She laughed, taking a sip of her cider. “I wouldn’t say they were burning.”
“Do I need to show you the blisters?”
“Okay, so I may have been glaring a little bit. You were just staring a lot.”
Alex’s gaze moved from his beer back to her. “I’d just never
seen anyone as beautiful as you before.”
The perimeter of her eyes widened fractionally, her bottom lip parting from the top. Color filled her cheeks. “Oh…”
“That was blunt. Sorry.” He took a reluctant drink of his beer to fill the awkward moment. “So, where did you say you were from?” he asked after clearing his throat.
“Texas.”
“Where’s that?”
Her chin raised and head bobbed back. “You don’t know where Texas is?”
Damn, he thought. He was probably supposed to know this sort of thing. An Outsider would definitely know. “Of course I know where it is.” He laughed nervously. “I was kidding.”
Good save, idiot.
“Are you from here?” Azalea asked.
“Here?”
“Ireland, I mean.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, I’m from Ireland.”
“What part?”
He mentally scolded himself for not having read more Irish literature. He didn’t know where anything was. He didn’t even know where he was right now.
“Er…just here. Right here. All my life. In fact, I live in the cottage next door.”
“Oh, really? Are you two related?” She tilted her head towards Wesley. “I actually know his mom. Well, kind of. I met her on a plane. She's the one that told me about the open mic.”
“Yeah, we are related. He’s my…brother.”
Azalea glanced over her shoulder at Wesley, who was still regaling the other three with tales of the country. They listened with unblinking interest. She turned back with the shadow of surprise lying over her features. “You look nothing alike.”
“Do you look like your siblings?” he countered.
“Don’t have any,” she said. “Only child.”
“Me too.” Alex quickly realized his stupid mistake and added, “I mean, except for Wesley, of course.”
Alex and Azalea_Prequel to the Underground Series Page 3