Shane had taken time off from college and flown to Ireland to care for his ailing grandfather. They called it a case of fulminant hepatic failure, a fancy term for liver failure. What most common Irish people called, drinking yourself to death.
Poppop, as he had called the man since he could recall, had worked as a bus driver most of his life. Mostly for tourists, spouting tales and myths of the Emerald Isle as he drove. Because what Poppop had really been at heart was a storyteller. Until they "retired" him from his job with a stipend for his ailing health, and by the litter on the floor he seemed to be drinking it away. He stood there, key still in the lock, suitcase in hand looking at the fallout of a man who had given up on a world that had given up on him. He had many fond memories of his grandfather, it was why when the rest of his family in Boston argued over a responsibility they didn't want, Shane volunteered. His classes had been slumping anyway, and he could use a break. The counselor at the university told him he could take off for family emergencies for three months before it affected his grades or tuition.
He checked in on his grandfather, his bedroom was similarly littered, except for a shelf with books and albums, and a strange little birdhouse on top of the rickety shelves with a cork in the hole where the bird would access it. The cork was held in with one of those plastic zip-straps around the circumference of the house, and a vine of some sort was attempting to grow out of the cork and encircle the thing. Shane wasn't sure why someone would keep something like that.
Shane and Poppop talked and caught up with their lives for a few hours, basic things of who's doing what, who's doing whom, before Poppop drifted back off to sleep.
Shane walked out the back and stood on the screen-enclosed porch. There was basically a single person walk-path to the door as the remainder was filled with his Meema Ellie's gardening supplies. He looked out over the garden. The majority of the back yard was lost to the wild growth of plants and flowers. He remembered helping her tend to her garden on visits when he was young. They would sit on the porch when the sun was setting and she would tell him, “if you keep the garden healthy, and if you can sit still enough, you can look out and see the fairies dance.” Poppop and Meema were two of a kind. And losing her, his anchor to this world, ten years ago surely did not help his decline. He sighed as the sun set and headed back in to see about some food
The icebox contained five cans of Guinness and a bottle of mustard. Shane took a can and popped the top as he sat on the couch. The whole of Poppop's home was a bedroom, a bath and a larger room with the kitchen along the back wall. Shane would be, it appeared, spending up to three months on a sofa.
He ordered food for them later. The pub down the road made meals, and a girl about his age even delivered them. Cute, friendly and of course red headed. She turned and smiled, wiggling her fingers to him in goodbye as she reached the front gate.
He unpacked the bags looking over the fare. No worse than American fast food, or so he hoped. Poppop complained about having to drink soda instead, and Shane told him booze would just make his liver worse. Then Poppop's demeanor turned more serious, "I kin just wish myself better." He said breaking into a huge grin, “or would that be a waste o’ a wish? I have ta think about it, ya know, what would really be best, and how ta word it. They're tricky, ya know, very tricky. But I caught one Shane. I got one." He nodded at the birdhouse on the shelf. "I filled it with honey and seeds. And I caught it when it took the bait." He broke into a laugh that degenerated into a fitful cough. Shane laid him down to ease the fit and he eventually passed out.
Shane cleaned up from dinner and spent the rest of the evening finishing the cans from the fridge by watching bad british TV. His thoughts kept coming back to his grandfather's claims. So, just before bed and after the last can of beer, he stumbled into his Poppop's room and took the birdhouse from the bookcase while the old man snored.
Shane sat on the sofa and listened to the bird house. Inside he could hear the flutter of what could be wings. 'Foolish old man,' he thought. 'Trapped some poor bird or bug in this thing.' He took some scissors from the coffee table and snipped the tie.
Instantly the cork blew out and something buzzed around the room before disappearing. It was not more than a few seconds later before the Guinness in his system put him out for the night.
Shane awoke the next morning, bird house still in his lap, to the kitchen sink full of bubbles and water overflowing onto the floor. He hadn't remembered even starting dishes, but apparently he had. He rushed to turn the knobs and cleaned the mess up. As the water drained Shane noted that at least the dishes were clean. In fact they sparkled. What he had of his engineering education so far suggested dishes did not get clean just soaking in the sink. But then again, they were probably not as dirty as he thought.
Shane spent the rest of the morning changing Poppop's sheets and putting him in new pajamas. As he helped him put the other arm in the pajama top Poppop noticed the empty shelf. He became irate, screaming, "you let it go? You let it go! You wasted my wish, you foolish boy!"
“It was just a bird, Poppop. A stupid bird, there was no wish in there.” he argued back at the old man, obviously lost in one of his many stories.
His grandfather eventually tired himself out from ranting, and was asleep again. Shane gathered what he needed to shop and left for the walk to town. When he returned trash was spewing out the front door. Shane pushed through the blast of air and found the living room a literal cyclone, swirling the trash and blowing out into the front yerrd. He managed to close the door and the wind stopped.
What could have caused an indoor tornado? He was sure he closed the door before he left. But the weather did not behave like this. Shane began to wonder if some little creature from Poppop's stories really was in the little birdhouse. A quick leafing through of some of Poppop's books led Shane to the idea of placing a bowl of cream, sugar and whiskey from his grandfather's ample supply on the counter before bed.
Shane was awakened to a tinkling, like a bell. Next to the, now empty, bowl was a tiny person the size of his thumb sitting on the edge of the bowl. She was naked, tattooed in various blue markings on her pale skin and tiny blueish dragonfly-like wings. Her hair was red and blond in a way that made her look like a lit match. The tinkle was her giggling, drunkenly.
"Who are you? And why are you plaguing us?" He asked, trying not to look directly at the tiny nude girl. He kept one hand at his face to block the full view of her.
"Ma name be Tia, an A’m nae a plague." She said in a very thick celtic accent. "Enny way, Ay canna go home till Ay repay yer for free'n me. A’m onor boun."
"So Poppop was right? You do grant wishes." Gasped Shane, "you can make him better."
"What!" She squeaked in her tiny voice, "A’m nae a genie, Ay kin only do what Ay kin do. Ay tried to fix and clean tings round here, but yer never satisfied."
"That was you, all this destruction was you trying to help?" Shane shook his head. "Then please stop, I don't need your gratitude, I was only doing the right thing, just go home."
“Da ya nae unnerstan, Ay kint. A'm onnor boun.” She considered him curiously, noticing he kept his hand up, blocking his eyes, "why do ya nae look at me?" She smiled impishly. "ya never seen a girl have ya?"
"Yes, I have," he replied looking away, "they are just not usually naked when I do."
"Oh, ya be a shy boy are ya?" Her bell-like giggle escaped again, "den dis inna gonna be easy. A'm a need ta ask fir ‘elp." With that, the fae flew away out the window, leaving Shane confused.
When the sun peeked in the window the next morning Shane was aware of something sitting on him. His eyes opened slowly to the vision of Tia again, looking down at him, her blue/gray eyes like a storm on the horizon. She was bigger, at just under five feet tall but definitely larger than she was, and minus the wings. And still very naked.
"Mornin' Shaney." She smiled, causing him to try and sit up and pull himself out from under her, to no avail with her kneeling on his chest.
"What?" He asked, "what happened to you? Why are you back?"
"Ay took our lil predicament to ta elders and dae said ta solution was obvious. Dae betrothed us." Her smile nearly reached both ears.
Shane groaned, wondering how this was supposed to repay his kindness. “Betrothed? As in engaged to be wed?”
“Well, sure. Init dat what betrothed means ta ya mortals?” she asked as Shane managed to finally wiggle out from under her warm, and a little too soft, body. She stood and followed him around and around the sofa as he tried to put more distance between them, all while attempting not to look directly at her.
“Ya still canna look et me?” She asked, genuinely confused, “we are betrothed, A'm ta be yer wife. ya do unerstan ya kin look et me all ya want, an den some,” she punctuated this with a bright smile and a faux shy little pose.
“No, because I didn't ask for a wife. I've never even had a girlfriend. And you don't marry someone you just met!” He nearly tripped over his suitcase, and immediately threw it open, digging through what he brought with him for the summer.
But, she had grown bored of chasing him and was now ambling about picking up what knickknacks Poppop had and examining them before haphazardly placing them back down. “So ya be a virgin do ya?” she looked over her shoulder at him with half lidded eyes.
“Yes. And? So?” He found a long gray t-shirt he had planned to use as pajamas, and walked over to Tia, “I have other concerns. College is rough, MIT even more so. No time for romance.” He slipped the collar over her head.
When her head popped through the neckhole, her face was one of pity, “if ya ain't livin yer life, den what is da point a bein alive?”
As he stood over her he could smell a sweet, flowery smell. Sugary and soft, like the flower bushes behind his mother’s house in Boston.
She smiled when she noticed him sniffing intently, trying to decipher the smell, “ya smell me honey pot do ya?” She giggled with that bell like laugh, “s'all wet fer ya, Shaney.”
“What…no! I'm,” he stammered.
She laughed again, “A'm kiddin ya,” she smiled, “dats jus how Ay smell. A'm a pixie. We all be flower children. Ay em O’ da Honeysuckle clan so ya be able ta smell dat for ya whole life Shaney boy. It mean ya got yer self a wife who'll never stink.”
“No, Tia. I don't need a wife or a pixie, or a pixie wife. I need to finish building my life before I can live it.” He replied as he slipped one of her arms into a sleeve hole.
She placed the hand of the arm softly on his jaw and looked deeply into his eyes as he stood over her, “din dae were right, A'm perently xactly what ya need.” She pushed herself onto her toes in an attempt to bring their lips closer. But Shane leaned back to keep her at a distance.
“Tia,” he said in a tone that to her was dripped in sorrow, as he continued with putting her other arm in the shirt, “you can't be happy that they are making you marry me, can you?”
“Why kin Ay?” She replied as he began to pull the rest of the shirt down. “Hey, watch ta wings!” She blurted.
Shane stopped and examined her, very, bare back. “What wings? I thought you were human now.”
Tia playfully jiggled her upper body and the wings reappeared in a shower of glitter. Both sets connected just above her hips, the smaller set laying against the small of her back and the longer laying over top the smaller, reaching up to her shoulder blades. “A'm jus hide'n em. Dae dina make me human, silly boy. Jus bigger.” She looked back into his eyes as he maneuvered the t-shirt over the delicate wings. “An why ar ya so agin hav’n a wife? Don ya want a pretty girl cook’n an clean'n an doing… other… wifely duties?” She punctuated this with a wink that Shane tried to ignore. She took his hands as he finished unrolling the shirt over her. It reached about an inch past her little round bottom, looking almost like a little dress. “Fine, now A’m covered. Will ya look et me now, or am Ay nae enoff?” Tia pulled his arms behind her and wrapped hers around his waist, placing her head on his chest, “em Ay not pretty enoff fer ya, Shaney?”
“No,” he replied, giving into the hug and gently squeezing the fae girl back. Trying not to crush her beautiful wings, “no Tia, I do think you are pretty, very pretty, that's why I can't look at you. Because that kind of makes it hard to not just keep looking at you. The thing is, it's just I don't want to force you to marry me. I've read Poppop's books, I can't take away your freedom.”
She now looked up and smiled at him. “yer not takin et away, Shaney. A'm givin me ta ya. Ma choice, outa ma free will.” She released the embrace and skipped back over to the couch and flopped onto her bottom on it. “B'sides, ya mortals dina live long. Ay be free again soon enough.”
“So I'm just one of those blink of an eye and their gone pets to you?” He said sitting down next to her.
“Well, Ay ain't plannin on gettin ya a collar or nothin.” She said with a mocking smile as she hopped up on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Sounds a lot like a servant, or a slave.” He said, thinking it over. “I… I don't want to do that to you.”
“Init what a human wife is fer?” She asked, genuinely perplexed. “All the human wifeys Ay seen are always wait’n on dair man hand ‘n foot. Lic der babbys dat canna take ker of demselves”
“No!” He practically yelped. “I mean it's like that sometimes, I suppose. But it shouldn't be. It isn't what I would want anyway. I want a girl who makes me more than I am alone, not one that just props up what I already am.”
She was looking at him with an expression that seemed like she was about to cry, “oh Shaney, ya a romantic. Yer down right noble. Too noble really, if ya won even look at me.”
“Sorry, I don't feel I should. You're not mine, not really. This is just some debt for you. Just a debt to be repaid, it isn't love, Tia.”
“It kin be.” She said softly, “Ay kin be. You wona gimme ta chance.” He looked into her eyes and he could swear he could see her thinking, “Tell ya what, accept ma offer, an if ya find dis amaz’n girl afor we wed, Ay will step aside an ya can marry her instead, and ar deal will be done.”
Shane found this the best offer she had given yet, “ok, fine. It's a deal.” Now he just had to meet the girl of his dreams before Tia demanded a wedding.
“Now, kinna we please seal de betrothal at last, and get dis arrangement unner way?”
“How exactly are we supposed…” he began as she took advantage of being on his lap to press her lips to his. He wasn't sure how long the kiss lasted, time itself seemed to fall away. The longer it went on the less he seemed to care about how long it went on. Was it magic or did he just enjoy it so much it seemed timeless?
The kiss broke finally, her eyes barely open as she breathed in and out heavily in his face, with her breath smelling like cotton candy to him. “Now ma luv, we be bound, ma heart ta yers, yer heart ta mine. yer happiness be ma happiness. Ma body be yers.” She finished with another tender but shorter kiss to his lips. In a rush of what he thought was just young hormones, he found himself wondering for a moment if this was such a bad deal after all.
She sighed and sat back again, “now luv, when we wed is upta yer standards and customs o’ yer people.”
Before he could reply, the rattle of bottles on the floor of the bedroom told Shane his grandfather was trying to make it to the water closet. Shane stood up quickly forgetting his new fiancée was still on his lap and she tumbled toward the floor.
With reflexes he didn't realize he possessed; he caught her under her armpits and knees, and realized how little she weighed. He could have sworn she was heavier when she was sitting on him, but that could have been because she was sitting directly on his chest, with both knees. He sat her down on her little bare feet and dashed to the other room. Poppop was holding on to the bookshelf as Shane ran up to pull his arm over Shane's shoulders.
“Sorry Poppop,” he whispered, “let's get you to the toilet.” he got the old man prepared and when he sat down to do his business, Shane apologized again, “I am sorry Poppop…”
“What fer?” The old man coughed out, “I'm just not used ta having people here ta help.” He continued with a wave of his hand, “I just forgot to say somthin. I coulda let you know I needed help.”
“No, Poppop.” He continued, “the birdhouse.” He helped the man stand and pulled his bottoms back up. “There was something in the birdhouse after all.”
“What?” He asked as they entered the bedroom. The man immediately locked eyes with the small girl sitting on the corner of the bed. Pale with blue tattoos of spirals and celtic knots all over what showed of her creamy white skin, and hair like fire.
“Feker!” She said scowling, “ya be the Arse who stuck me inna birdhouse!”
“And apparently I'm now betrothed.” Sighed Shane, setting his grandfather back on the bed.
“My wish,” he gasped.
“No, Poppop,” he said, grabbing the old man's hand before he could reach out and touch his ‘bride to be’, “she can't grant wishes. She can't make you better.” Shane looked at the magical girl with a smile that managed to, somewhat, soften her scowl, “she can just do what she can do.” He covered the old man back up as he lay down, “so I guess, count yourself lucky. Cause, if you'd freed her it would be you getting married.”
“Hey,” Tia pouted, her scowl redoubling its efforts, “ya mek me sound like sum kina a punishment. ya agreed, ya sealed ta betrothal.”
“Yes, I did.” He said, taking her hand and dropping to one knee in front of her, “and as my wife you will please forgive him for what he did. After all, when we are wed he will be your Poppop too.”
She held on tight to her ire, but Shane watched her pout slowly soften and turn into a smile. “Ay never had a Poppop.”
“It's great, you'll love it.” He replied, kissing her forehead as he stood.
She gave him a look with the biggest doe eyes, “if ya say so ma luv.”
“Already at, my love,” Poppop responded in surprise, “sounds like ya captured her easier than I did.”
“He dina capture me!” She protested.
He put a hand on her head which seemed to calm her immediately, “it's true, she is not captured, she gave herself to me.”
His grandfather raised his hands in surrender. “Ok, ok. So what is your name, little lady?”
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
“Tia,” she replied nervously, names were a big deal in fae culture.
“Well, Tia,” Poppop smiled, “I guess, welcome to the family.”
“And I need to get more food if we will be having three people in this tiny house.” He stood and without even thinking about it, kissed Tia on her forehead, “you stay here. I guess I need to pick you up some more clothes for you as well. Don't let him drink any alcohol. In fact if you find any, get rid of it.”
“A course,” she replied.
When Shane left the room Tia turned back to a severe look from his grandfather. “What is ta hold up?” He asked.
“E's not keen on get'n a wife. A'm aven ta kenvince em.” She confessed.
“Ellie's dying wish was ta unite our peoples. He is our best bet. Ta rest of my brood ain't worth a damn.” He cried, bringing on a coughing fit. “We have 43 days ta the equnox. ya need ta step it up girlie.”
“A'm pracally trow'n it at em.” She squealed, “wat else am Ay ta do?”
“Just make it happen,” he replied, “or do ya forget what Ellie did for ya all?”
“Ellie did us a great deed we kin n’ver repay. But Miles, ya don know wat else is inna play ere. There be oddur forces at work we canna let know. We have ta tred lightly.”
“Lightly but quickly,” he replied.
Shane was returning several hours later, bags of groceries in hand and a few things from a thrift store he found that Tia could wear besides his shirt. What he didn't expect was the woman standing on the walk outside the gate to his grandfather's house.
“Are you Mr. O'Connor?” She asked, in a posh British accent. She was dressed in a blazer and skirt, conservatively styled and charcoal in colour.
“Um, I am Shane O'Connor.” He stammered, the way she spoke, the way she stood even, spoke of British bureaucracy.
“You are the caretaker for Miles O'Connor, are you not?” She reiterated, her tone and the adjusting her glasses spoke of her annoyernce.
“Yes, I am caring for my grandfather.” He answered noncommittally. With everything going on in his life right now he didn't want to interact with her anymore than he had to.
“I am Sierra Langston, I represent the TfL. I am in charge of making sure Miles receives everything he requires for the time being.” Her smile was practiced, hollow, basically phony. She didn't care about Poppop, she was there to see the money they were paying wasn't being spent on anything they deemed unnecessary. Because if it was they could cut it off and save the expense.
“Well as I said, I am his grandson Shane, I am in charge of trying to make sure my grandfather actually recovers.” He took her offered hand and briefly shook it. “I just arrived yesterday, I haven't had the opportunity to go through his finances yet. Mostly still settling in. So if you will excuse me, I have to check on him.” Shane turned and walked through the gate.
“You left him alone, in his condition?” She gasped, overdramatically if you were to ask Shane.
“No,” he turned to reply, “in fact I did not. He is with…” Shane pondered a moment, trying to best figure out how to describe Tia. In the end, he went with the most limited but completely honest answer, “with my fiancée.”
“So he has two… live in caretakers?” She put it in a way that suggested she had caught the scent of impropriety.
“Well it helps to have someone to watch over him when someone has to do the shopping.” He held up the bags for emphasis, and turned again to walk to the house.
“If you don't mind, I'd like to see his living situation first hand.” To which the woman squeezed past him and toward the door.
Before he could object, she turned the knob, and had entered the house of her own accord. The sight of Tia, on the couch in her T-shirt dress, a half empty bottle of whiskey in her hand, stopped Ms. Langston in her tracks.
“Shaney!” She slurred, hopping up and leaping over the coffee table to stumble up to Shane and wrap her arms around his neck, whispering in his ear, “Ay know we ain't wed yet, but Ay really wana consummate us right now,” she finished with her tinkling giggle.
“Is this the fiancée?” She looked over the very child-like, human sized pixie with undiluted disgust. “Is she a minor Mr. O'Connor?”
“No,” Shane sighed, “I promise you she just has a... very youthful beauty.”
“Really?” She replied skeptically. “Just how old are you, young lady?” She demanded.
Tia giggled in her face, “a hunder n sity-seven, fer ya information. Jus ‘ow old are ya, lady?” she waved the bottle at Shane giggleing, “Ay foun some O’ his Stash, by da way.”
“Yes sweetie,” he took the bottle from the fae girl, “but when I said get rid of it, I did not mean drink it.”
“You left your drunk fiancée to care for your ailing grandfather?” She jabbed at Shane.
“No,” Tia replied instantly, “Ay foun ta stash afer he lef.”
Sierra listened to the two speaking and asked, “where are you two from by the way.”
Shane could tell what she was prying at, “I arrived from Boston, yesterday.” As soon as Sierra opened her mouth, Shane cut her off. “Tia is, however, as Irish as you can get. She is from the Isle.”
“And how long have you been engaged?” She probed further, she was obviously looking for reasons to brand them charlatans and cut off Poppop's money.
“It was an arranged marriage, if you must know, between our families. We first met yesterday. So you understand if my betrothed is happy and celebrating.” He looked at the woman for signs of her argument, but pressed on when she faltered, “if not for Poppop, we would have never met. So I can't think of any reason she shouldn't help care for the man who brought us together. She is happy, we hit it off instantly, and yes, she may have overdone it when she found the booze we were trying to get rid of, but she's a bride to be. Surely you can understand her excitement.” He turned to look into Tia's face, “and it won't happen again. Right Sweetheart?”
The pixie wrapped her arms around him and began to whine, “A'm so happy, Ay cunna asked fer a bedder husband. Inna he the best?” She looked up into his eyes with enough love that even Sierra Langston couldn't deny it, “Ay promise, my luv, Ay will be good.”
By this point Ms. Langston was thoroughly uncomfortable, “yes, I can see. Weddings do strange things to people. Around my own wedding I was absolutely crazy.” Confessed the apparent Mrs. Langston. “I suppose this will do for now, but I'll be by at a later date to see that things do settle.” She turned to leave but turned back at the door, “oh, what is your name sweety?”
“Tia,” Intercepted Shane, “as we said.”
“Yes,” The woman said with a smile, “Tia what? What is her family name darling?”
“S'gonna be O'Connor soon a'nuff. Dun dat work?” Slurred Tia.
“Honeysuckle,” interjected Shane, brought to the forefront of his mind by her scent wafting up to his nose, “Tia Honeysuckle.”
After the woman left, Shane took the bottle to the sink and dumped it out. Tia came bouncing up behind him accentuated by the tinkle of glass on glass of the bag she carried.
“Ay put ta uders in da sack, cus Ay know ya be try'n ta clean up.” She slurred, giggling.
He took the sack and before putting his in counted the ones already there. “You drank six and a half bottles of whiskey?” Frankly he was astounded she was still standing.
She nodded like it was a point of pride. “A’m a pixie, a fae. Ay culd'n ‘elp et.” She then began pulling off the shirt. “An A'm so fekin hot. Ay dona like clothes. De’re too hot.”
Shane quickly grabbed the bag from the thrift store and dumped it out on the sofa, “here Tia, look through these and see if you like any of these better.”
She dug through the pile and eventually, by the time Shane had the groceries put away she was playing with a gauzy yellow sundress. The top part was cotton but the rest, below the bust, was so sheer it was practically see through. He thankfully convinced her to slip on a pair of panties that muted the view through the dress.
Shoes however were an absolute no. She cried in pain trying to wear them. He was able to get her to wear little socklets that looked like pink ballet slippers. She spent the next twenty minutes running and sliding across the wood floors in the socks. But she was smiling and giggling as she did, so it made him smile too.
They noticed his grandfather was up again and both went in to talk for a bit. He got a laugh at the story of Mrs Langston, “sounds like ya almost bit her girl.”
“She threatened Shaney, Ay mite’a.” She smiled, followed by that tinkle of a laugh that Shane was beginning to enjoy.
“Alright,” he said with a groan and a stretch, as he stood, “I should get started on some food.”
“Ay kin cook!” Tia said, as she hopped off the bed. “Ay mean, as yer wife, ita be ma job ta cook fer ya, enni way.” She pushed herself on her pink socked little toes and gave Shane a pec on his cheek.
“You don't have to Tia.” He said, taking her hand as she tried to walk away, “your job as my wife will be to be my wife. Anything else we will tackle or divide together.”
She gave him a pouty little smile before giving his lips a peck, “A'm a still gona try.” Her hand slipped from his as she walked to the kitchen area. “Wat yer think A'm ta do, jus sit aroun an look pretty?” She called back.
“She at least does that well.” He said quietly to his grandfather.
“Ay herd dat!” She shrieked from the kitchen amongst the clatters.
Miles had a canary eating grin, “so you think she's pretty do ya?” His eyebrows wiggled up and down.
“How could I not, Poppop? She is literally a manic pixie dream girl.” he replied, surprised at his grandfather's insinuations. “but that is the problem. Am I going to have to hide what she is for the rest of my life? What about when I go back to Boston? Do I take her with me? Can I take her from the Isle? Her home? I wasn't looking for a wife. I can barely take care of myself.” he sighed, burying his face in his hands, “she did give me an out, I'd have to find a human girl to marry but then I'd still have similar problems.”
“Shane, son. Why?” his grandfather started. “why on Earth would…”
From the kitchenette came a scream and the clatter of dishes crashing to the floor. Shane ran out to find all of his grandfather's pots and pans spilled out from a lower cabinet across the floor. Tia was backed against the sofa, hand in her armpit, crying. Shane slid to his knees on the floor and gently pulled her hand out. On the back of her hand was a big red mark swelling out from her skin like a bad burn.
“Tia, what happened?” he asked, to only get weeping sobs in reply and for her to point across the floor to an old cast iron skillet, lying there. He was confused at first but Poppop's books quickly came back to mind. Iron, the fae couldn't touch iron. Raw pig iron burned fairies, it could be fatal. Tia had apparently bumped the pan while in the cabinet and it burned her this bad.
Shane ran out to the back porch, snapped off a piece of a plant and quickly returned. He rubbed the piece of aloe in Tia's hand, just like his Meema had always done. And when she had stopped crying he rushed to the bathroom and returned with gauze to wrap her hand. Then he picked her up and placed her on the couch. Her skin felt much warmer than he was used to and he worried she would get sick from the burn.
“Do I need to do anything?” He asked her, worriedly.
But the human sized pixie shook her head, “A'll be alright. Jus need ta…” as she drifted off quickly into a deep sleep.
Shane spent the next thirty minutes scouring the house for anything made of iron. When he found everything he could he moved on to the garden shed. He isolated everything in there to an old world war two ammo crate and put a padlock on it.
Tia was still sleeping when he returned to the house. He quietly made food, setting some aside for her and made sure his grandfather ate.
He was picking up the empty plates when Poppop put his hand on Shane's arm, “you care for her. It's obvious, boy.”
“That's not the point.” he replied, “how do we get married if I hardly know her?”
“Then get to know her.” He said, looking Shane in the eye. “You will never find another like her in your life, I guarantee it. She is unique, don't waste it. Give this a chance.”
“Why are you so insistent on me doing this?” questioned Shane, “you caught her in a birdhouse to enslave her and make her grant you wishes.”
“I'm a die'n old man. I was desperate, but because I was a fool you have the chance of a lifetime. It is your choice boy, your life. Just don't just chuck it away without really look'n at what's in front of you?”
Shane looked out at the angelic face of the pixie on the sofa. A magical creature that looked like a pretty girl that, for some reason that still seemed beyond him, wanted to be his wife.
After tucking Poppop into bed and doing the dishes, he went and sat with her. He sat on the floor and just watched her as she slept. He pondered what he might be in for. A lifetime of keeping what she really was a secret from the rest of the world. Of weird happenings he couldn't begin to imagine that he may have to deal with just because she was what she was. Was it worth having her in his life? Everyday seeing that face, a face that will never age and grow old. Of kissing her, would it feel as timeless and all encompassing as their promissory kiss did? Of her having his children. What would they be like? Would they be like him, dull and human? Would they be like her, magical and amazing? Amazing… is that how he saw her? Looking at her he knew it was. Was it too late? Was he already falling for her? And most importantly, if he refused, if he didn't spend his life with her, would he regret it?
When it got late and he was still no closer to figuring out what he wanted, he put a pillow and blanket on the floor and slept in front of the sofa. He didn't want to disturb her. Besides he had nowhere else for her to sleep yet. He lay there, listening to her breathing, worried about her not getting better.
Shane again awoke with Tia on top of him. This time he barely felt her, she was stretched out and not digging her full weight into him with her knees. She was also warm and soft and fast asleep. Her hand was on his chest along with her head, so he took the opportunity to gingerly unwrap it. The hand was pale with no sign of the red burn mark. He sighed in relief, only now realizing how tense with worry he had been.
His sigh did however stir his pixie girl from her sleep. One eye cracked open then both fluttered wide and she smiled.
“Good morning,” Shane whispered.
She then mouthed “morning,” back in return.
“You know, you could have kept sleeping on the sofa. Might have been more comfortable.” he whispered.
She shook her head while sitting up, cleaning the sand from her eye corners, “Ay nay be sleep'n no wer dan wit me husband-ta-be.”
“You ok now?” He asked as he held her hand and ran his thumb along the spot.
“Ye,” she said with a sleepy smile, “ya did good wit ta aloe.” She held her hand in front of her face and wiggled her fingers.
“I'm so sorry, I didn't know that iron was there.” He said, sitting up and propping himself up on his arms. “I gathered up anything else made of iron and locked it in the shed outside. The house should be safe now.”
She looked at him, bottom lip pulled in and looking like she may cry at any moment, wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. “Tank ye. It nay be yer fault. Ay was jus clumsy s'all.”
“No,” he said, sitting up straighter so he could return the hug, “this house should be safe for you. After all, you are my betrothed.”
She sat back and looked into his eyes, before giving him a long kiss. It gave a definitive answer to at least one question Shane had from last night. This kiss felt just as magical as their promissory kiss.
When they broke apart he smiled and asked, “are you hungry?”
She nodded her head vigorously, with wide eyes.
He set her tiny rump up on the sofa before going to the kitchen. She giggled and kicked her feet as they dangled for a few minutes before the smell of pancakes drew her into the kitchen to snuggle into Shane's back as he cooked.
“Can you set up the trays in Poppop's room?” He asked, looking down at her through the pit of his arm.
The pixie nodded and skipped off to grab one of the folding trays by the back door. She skittered into the bedroom as Miles opened his eyes. She saw he was awake and gave the older man a peck on his forehead, “morning Poppop.”
He struggled a moment but managed to sit up in the bed. He watched as the energetic fae girl bounced into the room with the second tray. “How is my favorite granddaughter-in-law-to-be this morning?”
She smiled at him and reached behind him to adjust the pillow at his back. “E's warm'n up ta me fer his wife, Ay tink. We even kissed ag'n dis morn'n.” She whispered.
The old man saw the Cheshire scale smile on her face and had to smile in return.
“Good to see you two happy with each other.” Said Shane as he carried in a serving tray with breakfast on it.
“A corse,” she peeped, “Ay luv ma Poppop.” she huged his grandfather's head against her small but plump bosom.
“Even after what he did?” He asked probingly as he set the tray on the sideboard.
“If e did'n Ay nev'r ad met ma Shaney.” She dashed over and squeezed Shane next. “So sit'n inna box fer a week wad'n sa bad.”
Shane's eyes were wide as he looked at his grandfather in shock, “a week!”
“There was food in there.” Miles mumbled.
Shane paused in setting up breakfast to crouch down and hug his fiancée, “I'm so sorry, Tia. At least you are too big to trap like that again.”
Shane divided up the cakes and bangers. He buttered his grandfather's cakes and handed Miles the bottle with the syrup. He poured out his and was about to hand his grandson the bottle back when he paused and pulled back. With a sidelong glance to the pixie he said, “better do yers first son.”
Shand drizzled some of the thick sugary liquid over his plate and handed her the bottle. Miles sat there watching for what he knew was about to transpire. Tia tipped the bottle up over her plate and Shane had to grab it away from her before the second half of the bottle ended up on her food.
His grandfather was red with laughter, as Tia pouted over the repossessed bottle. “Ya can't hand a fae sugar boy. Yer hand'n a drug to an addict. They won't stop till it's gone. Same with booze and anything made from cream. He looked over at his bride-to-be who was doing her best to scoop mostly syrup into her mouth with her fork. When that proved too difficult, she began licking it from the plate.
Shane sighed, “so now I have to keep you and her away from booze and limit her sugar? Great.”
After breakfast, Shane reorganized the kitchen cabinets, moving everything sugary into one cabinet, putting a latch and padlock on it. Tia stood next to him as he locked it. Having watched all he had put behind its doors with her tongue practically hanging out she now proceeded to give him the world's biggest pout.
“Shane!” She cried, reaching up for the doors.
“I'm not cutting you off Tia, but I am controlling how much you get at a time.” He could practically feel how disappointed she was. Apparently she had thought marrying a mortal had meant unlimited sugar.
“But… but…” she attempted in protest, trying to seem as pitiable to her betrothed as possible in order to procure what she craved.
Shane simply looked down at the pleading pixie, “Tia, what would you like more, some sugar or some more kisses?”
The pouting fit seemed to quickly evaporate as her cute but mischievous smile returned. She shifted her hands from reaching for the cabinet to reaching for him. She pushed herself up on her tiptoes and whispered, “kisses.”
He wrapped his arms around her, picking her up in his hands by her little behind and put his lips to hers.
Fluorescent lights seemed designed to suck the life out of anyone under them. Sierra attempted to fill her cubicle with bright pictures and knickknacks, but the lighting dulled and suppressed even the brightest of colours. She took the position in Ireland because she and Brad wanted more color and life. Her job seemed determined to rob her of it, even here. London had an excuse to be gray, this was the Emerald Isle. Ricky walked by and dropped a file on her desk before attempting to do a dramatic turn to prop a hip up on it. He missed by two feet and ended up flopping on the floor. She sighed as he scrambled back to his feet and stood there.
“What's this?” She asked her data analysis intern.
“Yes,” he replied nervously, “no one with the surname ‘Honeysuckle’ has ever lived on the Isle.” He closed with a smile.
“Great Ricky,” she said dripping sarcasm, “again then, what is this?” She held up the file folder.
Ricky raised his eyebrows and jerked his head at the file. Sierra however was in no mood for games and just stared at him. Finally he just asked, “please open it.”
She slapped the folder on her desk and leafed it open. Inside was a printing of old news articles. Most dates on the clipping were from before the turn of the twentieth century. They detailed encounters and strange events in the area surrounding the town Miles O'Connor lived in. Problems and events blamed on fairies referred to in the articles as the Honeysuckle Clan.
“I still don't get what this is Ricky.” She said frustrated.
“Look at the last page.” He said, with a satisfied smile.
Sierra looked at the last entry in the folder, a page that the print code identified as coming from a book titled “Unlocking the Secrets of the Emerald Isle by Wilkes O'Connor”, published in eighteen eighty-three. The page had some snippets of paragraph to one side, but what caught Sierra's attention was the black and white drawing of a flower. Standing beside it was a winged man, naked and covered in tattoos. Tattoos identical to those she personally saw on young Mr. O'Connor's fiancée.
“What are you saying Ricky,” she asked, her face still confused but her attention now iron locked on the puzzle now opening before her, “you think the girl is some kind of fairy?”
“No,” he laughed, “but over a hundred years ago people might have.” He sat now, more confidently on the corner of her desk, “you've heard the tales of people living in the American Appalachian mountains, people who have never been recorded on any census, never been a part of modern society, just living off the land generation after generation. No records, no government ties, no money, like savages.” What he was implying was becoming clear now, “what if in the hills and forests of Ireland, there were families like that? The girl is a paper trail and credit vacuum. No actual citizenship, no legal standing, nothing. And Mr. O'Connor is spending government funds earmarked for his grandfather on this girl who by all accounts doesn't exist. Why, Sierra,” she scowled at his over familiar use of her first name, leading to a quick back track, “um, Mrs Langston, is that not the very definition of fraud?”
“And Mr O'Connor is misappropriating government funds.” She smiled.
The sun was setting behind the bushes and trees of Meema's garden and the woods beyond in brilliant reds and oranges. Shane sat on the steps of the back porch, Tia in his lap with her arms around his neck and her head on his chest, the sweet smell of honeysuckle filling his head.
“I'm not going to develop hay fever, I hope,” he whispered, “am I?”
“Ya nae like ma smell?” She asked quietly. “Or ar ya jus mak'n fun O me?”
“No,” he replied with a kiss to the top of her head, “I think it's beautiful. I could breathe it in forever.” He looked out over the garden and absently muttered, “if you keep the garden healthy, and if you can sit still enough, you can look out and see the fairies dance.”
“Kin ya see em?” She asked.
“Are they out there now?” He replied, to which his enlarged pixie bride nodded. “No Tia, I'm sorry I can't see them.”
“Ellie could.” She said softly, kissing his neck. “A rare human kin see us ev'n wen we be hide'n inna glamor. Ay jus thought ya might be able ta too.”
“Meema could see you?” He asked, again the tiny girl just nodded.
She sat up straighter in his lap and called out across the yard. “E's gonna be me husband, ya nae have ta hide from em!”
Just as she finished, Shane watched lights across the garden fade into view. Flitting between flowers and chasing each other through the bushes. Pollinating buds and shaping new branches. They were tending his grandmother's garden, keeping her most treasured thing alive long after she was gone. All this time when he sat with her, she could see them, she knew they were there. Tis was adjacent to his life all this time, and he surprisingly found that he wished he had known sooner.