Eire of Hostility

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  Big, wet snowflakes began to fall just beyond the overhang that sheltered Simon, but left him vulnerable to the cold wind. He stood with his back against a cement wall, next to large access doors that led to the easternmost tarmac of St. John's International airport in Newfoundland. He shivered into his lined denim coat with a quirley pressed between his lips as he looked out into a midnight sky, away from the illumination of building lights and distant runway strobes.

  'Just one more bumpy flight, and that's finally it', Simon thought to himself. The commercially-owned Airbus CN235, the plane Brody had hired to bring him and his heavy personal cargo to Ireland, took off from Denver that morning after everything was loaded and secured. Simon had no reservations or apprehension; he didn't think to look back. There was no one and nothing worthwhile to say goodbye to. The first stop for refueling was in Pittsburgh, and then out to the eastern edge of North American civilization, St. John's.

  Simon remained in the cold and lit another hand-rolled cigarette as thoughts of the last few chaotic weeks played out like vignettes in his mind. The frequent contact with Brody and Kate was welcomed, but that whole visa issue was a pain in the ass. He couldn't remember much of one particular call with his cousin, other than both of them finding side-splitting humor of some described scenario; something to do with Irish prostitutes. Simon literally couldn't remember the last time he laughed that hard.

  The sale of his house went through quickly enough, but not surprising since he set the list price well below market value. Simon wanted a quick sale and cash in his hand. When it came to packing, he was surprised with the amount of items that he'd made or acquired in six years. Over two dozen heavy-duty totes of various sizes had to be used, as well as constructed wooden crates for some of the bigger shop equipment.

  After Simon mentioned the state of some of his furniture, Brody said that new ones would be waiting at the ranch instead of having to go shopping once he arrived. Simon's faith in Kate's taste was rewarded when she sent him a link to a local Irish furniture maker; the living room and bedroom sets were perfect for him.

  Remembering the conversations about the Other Crowd, Simon didn't waste his time trying to figure out how he might have pissed one of them off. Rather, he began some special projects with them in mind, pieces that would take time and study since he hadn't dealt with that genre of blacksmithing in quite a while.

  Simon thought that someday he might have some answers, but wasn't plagued with the mystery. He didn't let the fire of his hatred for the fae burn him; he just let it simmer in the back of his mind. He simply got back to work, but eagerly awaited a new life in a new land - a life finally free of pain and fear and despair.

  Simon grinned to himself, thinking that his new home was also the place where a certain filly lived; the sassy firecracker with wild hair, a devilish grin, and a heavenly caboose. He actually was looking forward to seeing Alana again, something that couldn't be said of almost anyone else he'd ever met. She couldn't cook worth a shit and she drove like a madwoman, but Alana's zest for life sometimes made Simon forget his past; a trait that she and Brody shared, but in their own ways.

  Feeling light of heart as he braced himself against cold winter winds, Simon realized that there was nothing he wasn't looking forward to.