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A Fairy Special Gift

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.

Heart of the Sea

It was cold! Meriel hated being cold and it was always fricking freezing in the North Atlantic, even in late April. She longed for home down in Tennessee and tried to remember what a summer’s night felt like. It was no use. Even under layers of blubber and fur, she was still human and still cold.

Seven years had passed since she’d gone to the Burbank company party and fallen into the waters of Block Island Sound in Rhode Island. She should have died. There had even been days early on when she wished she had. But nope. Not her. She was cursed.

No, seriously.

Cursed.

Meriel Byrne had turned into a Selkie.

Seven years ago, she’d thought impressing her boss was important. Since then, she’d learned otherwise. Now, finding fish was important. Staying away from seal-eating killer whales was important. Fending off the damn real seals who wanted to mate with her was important!

“Back off, fur face!” she barked at an importunate male. “I am not your girlfriend du jour. A) We’re in open water, not the rookery, B) it’s not mating season, and C) just yuck. Call me politically incorrect, but I don’t think I can go for the whole interspecies thing.”

She grumbled to herself as she dove away from him. If she’d known how attractive she was as a Selkie, she wouldn’t have worried so much about shaving her legs when she was human.

A lone halibut, separated from its school, swam past her. Lunch time. In a burst of speed, she chomped down on it and swallowed.

If she ever regained her human form, Meriel swore she would never, ever eat sushi again.

But she had no time to waste, even for lunch. Nose pointed south, she swam for the small, historic village of Misquapaug.

Twisted it might be, but she couldn’t help herself. Every year, she had this urge to return to the place where the curse had changed her. And why not? It wasn’t as if she had anything pressing on her calendar. Just a lot of fishing.

At the edge of the sound, she made her way around the inlet to an immense, turn of the century mansion. The house was even more impressive for perching at the top of a lone cliff. She’d been there once. It belonged to Ronan Burbank, heir to Burbank Industries, where she’d been low man on the totem pole in the finance department.

Meriel sighed gustily. She’d had a massive crush on the man. At the company party, she’d been trying so hard to impress him, she stabbed her stiletto heel into the soft, sandy earth, then tripped and fell off the cliff.

It was such an idiotic way to die. Except she hadn’t died. When Meriel hit the water, a curse she hadn’t even known existed kicked into action and she turned into a Selkie. It had taken her months to learn to make her new body work for her, but after such a long time, she was as agile in the water as any born seal.

She bobbed in the surf, wondering if Ronan lived up in that big house now with a perfect wife and perfect children. Someday, she’d stop coming here and hurting for things she couldn’t have. But someday wasn’t today.

A lone sailboat floating in the active waters caught her eye. The choppy sea frothed at the tip of every wave and a particularly vigorous gust of wind sent the blue and silver sail jibing wildly around the mast. That was wrong. Whatever lackbrain was crewing that craft needed to get his rear in gear or he’d sink it.

The boat tipped hard and she realized why no one was at the helm. The solitary sailor was lying at the bottom in a haphazard array of limbs, either unconscious or dead. Meriel dove under the waves and shot toward the sleek little racing yacht, praying she’d be in time.

She was almost there when the boat heeled over in the wake of a high wave and dumped its human cargo into the unforgiving sea. The cold must have revived the man enough for him to panic. Meriel darted over to him and grabbed his collar in her teeth, pulling until they broke the surface. The buoyancy of the water didn’t do nearly enough to counter the effect of the wind and tide. She struggled landward.

“Idiot,” she said between clenched teeth. There was blood in the water from his head wound and the taint of it washed into her mouth. She wanted to gag, but then she’d lose her hold on him.

“If you can’t sail, you shouldn’t be on the water.” She growled at him as she lugged his weight. The boathouse at the end of the Burbank dock became visible through the spray.

“Finally. Hey, moron. I know you’re passed out, but if you can hear me, you need to get up to the house. This is the Burbank place and they’ll take care of you.”

The man burbled, but it might have been the water rushing by. They reached the beach and Meriel nudged the man onto the sand, but he didn’t move away from the rising waves.

“Come on, mister. Get out of the water.” She smacked him with a flipper, but he didn’t move.

“Great. Just great.” Meriel hated going on land. All the grace granted her by the sea fled when she touched the sand, but she didn’t have a choice. She hauled herself up on her flippers, then snagged the guy’s collar again and yanked him higher onto the beach. He didn’t move.

“You’d better not be dead. I better not have just dragged my two hundred fifty pounds of blubbery ass onto land for no reason.” Panic crept into her voice and belied her words. He couldn’t be dead. Meriel didn’t do death. Even being a Selkie was better than being dead.

She flipped him over and finally saw the face of the man she’d saved.

“Ronan?”

Wildish Things

Kellan was within minutes of pulling this caper off.

Beith Molloy bore little resemblance to the fuzzy faxed photo he’d glimpsed in Declan’s office last night. The same one Declan had snatched out of his hand and into a concealing file. As if his big brother didn’t trust him around a beautiful woman.

He’d known if he wanted to meet her, he’d have to take matters into his own hands. Luckily he’d gotten enough of a look at her flight schedule to know when she would arrive in Dublin. The hard part had been acting completely uninterested while his mind had churned with plans to whisk her out from under Declan’s very nose.

The woman before him now had a carry-on almost bigger than she was. Her hair was darker, her skin still creamy but with a translucent quality, as if she’d been cooped up indoors too long.

His first prickle of conscience had come when she’d looked up at him, fearlessly displaying her scarred mouth.

As if she knew it would scare him off.

But something in those chocolate-brown eyes… The challenge in them had softened to complete trust as she’d accepted his story without question. He’d completely forgotten about her mouth once the eyes had softened. Where had she been living that she’d willingly walk off with a stranger without demanding so much as an ID card? In a cave?

Outside on the sidewalk, he stopped and pretended to adjust his load of baggage, using those few precious seconds to scan the area. Good. No sign of Declan.

Fionna had slipped him Beith’s itinerary; the first thing he’d noticed was that it wouldn’t take Beith anywhere near the prime nesting grounds of the endangered bird she was seeking in order to fulfill a commissioned art work. He’d take her to the places she needed to be in order to complete her contract.

Along the way, he planned to enjoy her company, tease her, make her laugh and smile, and, if things went as he planned, she’d be inviting him into her bed before the trip was over. Preferably long before it was over.

A little summer fling would be good for both of them. He was certain of it.

He detected a slight shiver in the arm he’d tucked into his, but she continued to follow him willingly down the row of compact cars. He let a smile widen his lips.

She was going to love this. He was sure of it.

“Have you a jacket?” He kept his tone casual as he tipped her suitcase to stand on its end and let her carry-on slide to the ground.

“In my suitcase. Why?”

He watched her face as her eyes centered on his vehicle, and waited for it to break into a smile.

Instead, it went curiously blank. She swallowed audibly.

“Is this…is this your, um, vehicle?”

Kel gazed fondly at his pride and joy. A midnight-blue-and-silver Harley-Davidson Softtail.

“Indeed it is. She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

He thought he heard Beith make a noise, but he was busy glancing at his watch, and caught a shiny red flash out of the corner of his eye.

Right on time. Don’t squeal the tires, Fionna.

The boxy Honda van pulled up strategically between them and anyone who might be in the terminal looking for them.

Fionna unfolded out of the car, all six feet of her, vivid red hair tucked up under a battered baseball cap. She slid open the side door, then turned to smile warmly at Beith. Like all people exposed to Fionna’s smile, Beith smiled back, partially if not thoroughly disarmed. Kel had always thought Fionna possessed more than a bit of Fae blood in her veins.

“Offloading?” said Fionna cheerfully.

“A bit,” he replied, swinging Beith’s suitcase into the opening and unceremoniously unzipping it.

“What are you doing?” Beith squeaked.

Fionna and Kel stood staring into her suitcase, momentarily stunned.

“She has no clothes,” murmured Fionna.

“Yes, I do,” protested Beith. “Everything’s in there. Lots of thin layers. I know the drill. There’s just a few other things on top.”

“A few other things?” Kel began lifting bubble-wrapped parcels out of the suitcase. Through the wrap he recognized thick sketch pads, colored pencils, and…heaven help them…an easel?

“I’m an artist,” said Beith, apparently reading his expression. “These are the tools of my trade.”

“Well,” said Kell cheerfully. “There’s nothing for it—they’ll have to go.”

“What?”

“They won’t fit in the bike’s panniers. Besides, if you’re going home tomorrow, you don’t need all this, now, do you? Fionna will keep it all for you until you’re ready to go. And,” he shrugged offhandedly, “if you decide to stay, there’s nothing here we can’t purchase on the road. If you need it.”

Beith looked up into his eyes, and Kel met her gaze squarely, hoping not a trace of urgency showed. He could see in the dark circles under her eyes that all she wanted was to find a bed and sleep. He felt a prickle of remorse when she shifted her gaze to the car.

“I’d almost rather leave my clothes behind than my art supplies,” she said absently.

The word “Brilliant!” was on the edge of his tongue, but he managed to hold onto it.

“Why don’t we just trade vehicles?” suggested Beith. “If you don’t mind, of course, Fionna. Then, if I end up staying, I’ll have everything I need.”

Um…

Fionna didn’t miss a beat. “I’d be happy to, but me cousin needs it for his pizza delivery route.” She reached out and touched Beith’s arm, and that Fae magic did its work.

Kel watched in growing fascination as Beith took another long look at his Harley, lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “All right. I’ll just need my camera, and…” She reached between Fionna and Kel, grabbed a sketchpad and a package of pencils, then turned away to unzip her carry-on. If possible, she looked even paler.

Kel didn’t miss the look of interest Fionna gave Beith. He mentally rolled his eyes. Here it comes.

Fionna lapsed casually into Irish, keeping her voice cheerful as she pulled what little clothing there was out of the suitcase and handed it to Beith to tuck into one of the panniers.

“I dreamed of the Hag last night, Kellan.”

“Did you now?”

“You’re taking her to the Burren?”

“Of course. She’s to go to the prime little tern nesting sites.” He snorted. “Whoever set up her itinerary hadn’t any idea what they were on about. I know where the best ones are.”

“Just be careful. The Hag is restless, which doesn’t bode well for a man like you. Whatever you think this woman needs…” She hitched her chin toward Beith.

“Oh, I fully intend to give her what she needs, have no fear about that,” he said, smiling wolfishly.

Fionna regarded him briefly, not a trace of amusement in her blue eyes.

“Her needs have nothing—and everything—to do with what you intend to ‘give’ her, you fool. Stop for a minute and think what you’re doing. If the only reason you’re carrying on with this is to pull something over on Declan, back out now.”

Kellan reached out and tapped the end of her nose. “Been scrying the bottom of a whiskey glass, have you?”

She gave him a look that brought him up short.

“Whiskey doesn’t touch my cauldron, and that scrying once saved your life, if you recall. Last night I saw the Cailleach, and she is no one to be trifled with. You know that. The Hag will have what she requires, and if you deny her, she will twist off your wee balls and have them with her tea.”

The Cailleach. Kellan zipped Beith’s suitcase shut and shoved it deeper into the car, then slid the door shut with more force than was quite necessary. Trust Fionna to ruin his day with talk of the Hag. Yet he knew Fionna had never been wrong about things unseen. And she was also right—her timely warning had once saved his life. He owed her at least a moment’s attention.

Even if he planned to ignore her advice. Hag or no Hag.

“Then why did you agree to help me with this?”

Fionna tilted her head as if it should have been obvious. “Because I dreamed of Beith Molloy, too. The Cailleach wants something from her. And it’s the only reason I’m letting you do this.”

“And what would the Old One want this time?”

“What she wants for every woman, Kellan. To be whole.”

To his surprise, Kel’s heart did a funny little flip in his chest. He turned his head and looked at Beith, and whatever expression was on his face, Fionna laughed at it.

“You’re a chancer, Kel. Just do me a favor and be careful. With luck, all three of you will get what you need.”