Samhain Publishing Ltd, Ebooks and Books in Print

Meara hated fairies. She tried her best to ignore them as they pressed against her window—talons tapping and snouted noses squashed tight against the glass. The slightest encouragement from her would have them swarming into her house in a rush of feathers and fur, destroying anything and everything that happened to stand in their path.

The creatures had plagued her since she was a child, tormenting her with their childish pranks, their pleasure made all the greater because no one else could see them. She had suffered untold embarrassments at their hands and now detested them with a fierce and unmatched enmity.

She reached beneath her chair for her fairy-swatter. Well, it was actually an ordinary flyswatter, but she bought the biggest ones she could find, and kept several hidden away in her house. They found them and stole them whenever they could, so Meara always made damned certain she had plenty of extras on hand.

Their fairy-agitation grew worse the more she continued to ignore them, but she wasn’t the least bit fooled. She kept her gaze glued solidly to the television, hoping against hope she could finish her favorite show.

Fat chance. Suddenly the window burst open and a swarm of bodies rushed inside, twirling and swirling through the air. Shimmering wings knocked over pictures, and frantic claws tore up the curtains. Her cat, Duchess, hissed and arched her back, fluffing her fur until she was nearly twice her normal size as she jumped to the back of the couch, her shrieks of outrage adding to the din.

One lovely sprite dove at the cat, biting her tail as Duchess twisted in fury. Meara swung her swatter in futile rage, swearing she would kill them all if she ever found a way. Although they were too blasted fast for her to squash, she occasionally managed to damage one or two.

“Get the hell out,” she ordered, pointing to the window. “Now.”

They rushed to the ceiling like a flock of birds and smirked down at her from above.

“Gift,” one trilled, raking a claw down Meara’s wallpaper. She swatted at it, barely missing one iridescent wing.

“I have no gifts for any of you miserable little horrors,” Meara shouted, pointing to the window again. “Out.”

“Nooooo,” purred a second “Giffftt for you.”

Meara had to laugh. The last time they’d brought her anything, they left a stolen horse at her doorstep, the poor beast so winded from the wild night ride she thought it might drop dead by morning. It took her several days to find the horse’s owners and have it settled safely back home. Anything they gave her was certain to be tainted.

“I don’t want it. Whatever it is, take it back.” Meara managed to grab Duchess by the scruff of the neck and tossed her into the bedroom, pulling the door shut tight. The cat yowled in protest, sharpening her claws on the wood. Meara shook her head; that was another repair she’d have to add to her list. Too bad they didn’t make fairy catastrophe insurance.

One of the more misshapen monsters dove down to pull her hair. Meara managed to land a good swat and it tumbled to the floor. She smiled in satisfaction.

It gave her a toothy grin. “Man,” it muttered.

Man? Meara felt her hackles rise. Had they actually gone out and stolen a man? Or had they found one walking alone in the dark and driven him loony with their wicked games?

“You found a man and brought him here?”

A hundred heads nodded in unison.

“Is he injured?” Or worse, she added to herself.

“Yesss.” The beautiful butterfly wings surrounded the ugliest fae Meara had ever seen. It looked like a tiny pig, with a broad snout and beady eyes.

“Did you do it?”

They all shook their heads at once.

“Nots hurts mans. Finds mans,” came the answer. Several flew to point out her window.

“Come, come, come,” one urged.

Meara didn’t have a choice. If there really was an injured man out there in the night, she had an obligation to find him. “I’ll put on my sweater, but out you go, the lot of you.” She breathed a heavy sigh of relief as they finally obeyed. When the last one had gone, she pulled down the window and locked it tight, wishing she knew some banishing spell to keep them away forever.

After grabbing a flashlight and turning off the television, Meara stepped out into the night. It was magical. A crescent moon hung low on the horizon, the rest of it barely visible behind the earth’s shadow. A breeze blew the smell of salt from the sea and she could hear the crash of waves on the rocky coast below the cliffs. She really didn’t need her flashlight. The glow of the fairies lit the twisting path, sparks of color that shone like jewels. She wished they were either as beautifully magical up close or that they would always stay this far away and let her admire them from a distance.

They were in rare form tonight. Several darted back to hover at her side, whirling up and down and round about until Meara grew dizzy watching their dance—like she was having some bad flashback or epileptic seizure.

“Fasterrrrr,” ordered a bright pink light drifting close to her ear. She batted it away before it could fasten its teeth on her skin.

She didn’t bother to fight them as they urged her toward the coast. “What did you do, push him down the cliffs?” How she wished she had thought to bring the swatter.

“Bad, Mearee girl,” scolded a ghoulish golden blob buzzing across her nose.

Dogs howled in the distance, the lonely sound haunting in the dark. The path grew precarious as she climbed down to the sea, and Meara had to turn on the light to pick her way along the rock strewn trail. She loved this part of her world, the stark beauty of the New England coast. Her family had lived here for generations. Legend had it that an ancestor brought a band of fairies with her from Ireland, and they so loved this wild and open land they decided to stay forever.

Too bad, she thought with a grimace, trying not to curse her long dead relative.

“Are we there yet?” Meara was beginning to think they were playing some huge and elaborate joke, planning to leave her alone in the dark while they giggled and moved on to newer sport.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,” they answered.

As Meara watched, they gathered in a circle on the beach, their light combining to illuminate the dark form of a man. “Is he dead?” A shiver crawled along her spine. She jogged the last few paces and knelt on the sand, reaching out a hand to feel for a pulse. Her breath blew out in a sigh when he groaned and tried to roll over.