Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble

  I laughed. “I think we have more to fear from the rain than we do from animals out here, Chris.”

  The key jumped in Rand’s palm, as if annoyed we weren’t paying attention to it, and then aimed itself slightly right.

  “I think it wants us to go right,” I said.

  “A right would take us directly into that tree,” Christa said and pointed at the tall pine in question.

  “Perhaps it wants us to walk to the tree,” Rand answered with a shrug.

  The pine was bigger circumference-wise than any other trees near it, about as wide as the width of Rand’s Range Rover from driver’s seat to passenger’s. That was its only defining characteristic, otherwise it was just another tall pine tree.

  Rand walked directly toward the tree until he stood before it. The key continued to point forward and hopped up and down as if it had to go to the bathroom. He took another step until he could touch the bark. The key lurched from his palm and thrust itself into the bark of the tree, then it cranked to the left and the inside of the tree suddenly became transparent.

  “Whoa,” Christa said and stepped forward, peering through the tree. I stepped beside her and could see everything behind the tree as if I were looking right through it.

  “Who wants to go first?” Rand asked.

  Neither of us volunteered.

  “Why don’t you go first, Rand?” I said sheepishly.

  Rand smiled and with a salute, walked into the tree and disappeared. Christa and I faced each other and I took her hand. My heart was pounding like a son of a bitch.

  “Ready?”

  “Yeah,” she said with a nod. The tree was wide enough for us to walk through together, so that’s exactly what we did. I closed my eyes and took a step. It was like I was walking through warm water, balmy waves washing over me.

  Upon coming out on the other side, I’m not sure what I noticed first: the blooming and enormous flowers growing as tall as my hips; the glowing pixies numbering in the hundreds as they flew from flower to flower; the thatched-roofed houses; Rand in a kilt or Christa and me in long dresses. I think Rand in a kilt won out.

  “What the?” Christa started, looking down at herself. As soon as she saw Rand, she started giggling.

  I, myself, couldn’t giggle. He looked like a wet dream come to life. His kilt was plaid green and blue and his chest was bare. He was wearing what looked like sandals with leather straps criss-crossing up his calves like what you’d see on a Roman soldier. I had to wonder if there was anything under the kilt. I mean, come on, how could I not?

  Forcing my attention from Rand, I glanced down at myself and found the top of my dress was in the peasant fashion—blousy and puckered around my breasts. It had an empire waist and cap sleeves. The material was muslin, white with small yellow flowers. It was so long, I had to lift it in order to see my feet, which were ensconced in what looked like white leather ballet flats. When I leaned forward, my hair fell over my shoulder in a great mass of curls, tied back with a single white ribbon.

  Christa’s ss was blue and looked much the same as mine, as did her hairstyle. Then my attention fell to my surroundings. It wasn’t a large village—maybe twelve thatched roof houses—well, as far as I could see. Circular globe lights as big as large dinner plates hung from the trees and aside from the glow of the pixies, provided the only light.

  Flowers of a type I’d never seen before climbed up the trees, only to drop their heads back toward the ground, acting like a canopy of blooms above our heads. Their faces were broad—think sunflowers—and their colors spanned the rainbow: ocean blue, violet, fire engine red, lemon yellow. Some even seemed to reflect the dull light, almost glowing. A pixie landed on one such bloom directly above us; she was maybe the size of my thumb. As soon as she did, the flower wavered back and forth under her added weight and spilled an array of glitter-like prisms against my hair. The smell was like having a perpetual gardenia in your nose.

  “Wow, your hair is glowing, Jules,” Christa whispered and dabbed at my head with her fingertip. When she pulled it back, the end was covered in glittery dust.

  “Oh, neat,” I said.

  Rand cleared his throat, apparently not as impressed with having glittery hair as we were. Christa and I smiled at one another and took a few steps toward Rand before a family of foxes trotted across the grass before us. I felt like I needed to pinch myself. Disneyland had nothing on this place.

  “Have you ever been here before?” I asked Rand.

  He shook his head. “It’s very rare to get an invitation to a fairy village. I’ve been to Mathilda’s but never to the King’s. This is a definite honor.”

  “What should we do?” Christa asked, her gaze scanning our surroundings.

  “I suppose we should walk into the village,” Rand answered, looking as much at a loss as we were.

  “I like my dress,” Christa said.

  I didn’t get a chance to respond before a small man, maybe five feet tall, approached us. He was about thirty yards away, but it took him only seconds to reach us. Hmm, maybe fairies could materialize just like vampires.

  He looked sprightly—thin and even though he didn’t have wings, he bounced along as if he did. His hair was short and brown and his face was one you’d never remember—a certain blandness in his features. He, too, was dressed only in a kilt but his chest wasn’t one you’d admire. It looked more like a ten-year-old’s.

  Suddenly I realized the rain had stopped. Come to think of it, I hadn’t gotten wet since we’d crossed over into fairy territory. The weather was remarkably temperate.

  “C’mon, we’re jist aboot tae start supper,” the strange little man said in the thickest Scottish accent I’d ever heard. Not that I really knew any Scottish people but anyway… He grabbed my hand and tugged on it and I was left with no choice but to follow him. He was mighty strong for such a little thing and seemed to be in the biggest of hurries.

  “They’re already blootered, aye, we been waitin’ for yht="0">st ah them are blootered anyway.”

  I stopped walking and turned to face Rand, at a total loss. “Blootered?” I asked.

  “Drunk,” Rand said with a smile.

  “Aye,” The little man said and tapped his foot against the ground. He tugged on my hand again and led us into the center of the small village.

  An enormous wooden table piled with breads, meats, fruits and vegetables stood before us. It was lit with maybe twenty candelabras. The candles were halfway melted, the wax falling from the metal and forming white pyramids on the table. Forty people or so sat around it and all faced us expectantly. At the head of the table, an exquisite gold chair with the face of a roaring lion stood unattended. It was the most incredible chair, or throne, I’d ever seen. The arms of the chair ended in great golden paws, and the lion’s tail wrapped around the legs of the chair, glistening in the candlelight. A red velvet pillow leaning against the seat was the only interruption in the solid gold.

  “We’re ta ‘ave a clootie dumplin’, yer in luck,” the little man said, pulling my attention from the chair.

  Of course, I had no idea what a clootie dumpling was, but hopefully it was tasty. I was a little peckish, as Sinjin would say. The little man didn’t let go of my hand but directed me to a vacant seat next to the gold chair and motioned for me to sit down. I did so as he took Christa’s hand and seated her across from me. He then took Rand’s arm and led him to the far end of the table. I smiled and gave him a little wave. He just frowned, apparently ill at ease with being relegated to the end of the table. The little man returned and took a seat next to Christa. On my other side was a child with red hair and freckles. He smiled shyly.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Ello,” he responded and then giggled, dropping his gaze to his lap.

  Still, the gold chair remained empty.

  “Can you understand me?” Christa leaned forward and asked the boy. I couldn’t keep the smile from my face.

  “Aye,” the boy said, his eyebrows fu
rrowed.

  “Chris, they’re speaking English,” I whispered.

  “Oh,” she said and settled back into her seat.

  The boy nudged me. “He’s a right diddie, so he is,” he said and nodded his head in the direction of the little man. By the expression on his face, I didn’t imagine he liked the man. “Aye, a clipe that one is.”

  The man frowned at the young boy, his face growing red. Then his gaze found mine. “Doona bother aboot him, he’s jist a wee bugger.”

  The boy turned angry eyes on the man. “Blow it out yer arse!”

  Christa and I couldn’t help our giggles as the man stood up and looked like he was going to come around the table to reprimand the boy, but his attention fell beyond the boy and he dropped ino a low bow. As soon as he did so, everyone at the table inclined their heads and stared into their laps. I immediately followed suit and glanced at Christa to make sure she was doing the same. She was. Phew.

  “Ye can raise yer heads.” The voice was deep and everyone immediately obeyed, their gazes resting on the person directly across from them. I faced Christa, but out of the corner of my eye, I watched a man tower over the golden chair.

  “At ease,” the man said and conversation ignited along the table like fire. When I met his eyes, he was staring directly at me.

  He was beautiful. His long blond hair fell about him in a mass of waves, paling against the bronze of his body. And his eyes were the color of amber. His face was angular and his lips full. He, too, was wearing a kilt. I couldn’t help my eyes as they traversed his broad build and intimidating stature. His chest was completely hairless.

  I had no idea what was proper protocol for meeting the King of the fairies and immediately stood, breaking into a deep curtsey. Christa, watching me, did the same. There was a round of giggles and chuckles, and I was embarrassed to realize I’d done the wrong thing. Crap, well I was a foreigner, what did they expect?

  “I am Odran,” he said with a deep smile and offered me his hand. That was when I realized I was still stuck in my curtsey. My thighs were already straining in the squat. I took his hand and stood, my legs wobbly. I really needed to get to the gym.

  “I’m Jolie,” I said. “And this is Christa.”

  Odran continued to hold my hand as he faced Christa and offered her his other hand.

  “And, our boss, Rand is at the end of the table,” I added.

  “Aye,” Odran said and seemed completely uninterested in anything having to do with Rand. I couldn’t help my smile. Rand was so far down the table, I couldn’t see his reaction, but I would’ve bet he was frowning.

  Odran held both our hands out before him like we’d won a contest or something. “Welcome.”

  Then he dropped our hands and took a seat.

  “Thank you for your hospitality,” I said and nervousness twittered within me.

  “Aye,” Odran said and picked up a goblet in front of me. The table fell silent again. Grasping a pitcher next to him, he filled the goblet with a thick reddish liquid that I guessed was wine.

  “Mead fer ya, Lass.”

  I smiled and accepted the goblet. I’d heard of mead. I think it was made from honey—definitely alcoholic. I was a fan of anything sweet so it sounded good to me. “Thank you.”

  He filled Christa’s goblet and handed it to her. After filling his own, he lifted it and faced the table. “God save the King,” he said and downed the drink. Unable to keep the smile from my lips, I drank to the King and his health.

  As soon as Odran made his toast, if that was considered a toast, the table erupted into conversation again, and everyone started passing food this way and that. Odran simply watched them as the first plate went around. The boy handed it to me.

  “Fer the King,” he whispered.

  I nodded and handed it to Odran. He accepted it but set the plate between the two of us. He handed me what appeared to be a wooden spoon. “We shall share, ye an I,” he said.

  Okay, that was sort of weird, but when in Rome, I guess. He took a bite of what looked like meat stewed with vegetables and then motioned for me to do the same. I chased a piece of stew meat around the bowl, but the damn thing was near impossible to catch. As far as I was concerned, the fork was a much better invention.

  Odran watched me, amusement in his raised eyebrows. He took the spoon from me and rested it against the table. Using his own, he spooned some of the meat and brought it to my lips. Okay, if I was surprised to be sharing a meal with him, I was even more surprised to have him feeding me. But, like the good little guest I was, I opened my mouth and accepted the spoonful.

  I glanced at Rand, nervous he might be watching me, but the entirety of his attention pivoted on a raven-haired fairy woman. The fairy in question sat so close to him, she appeared to be his Siamese twin. Her giggling combined with his chuckles annoyed the hell out of me.

  I stopped chewing and swallowed, the lump feeling like an enormous and reluctant snail as it went down my throat.

  “Ye must chew it, Lass,” Odran said with a great chuckle.

  I reached for my mead and downed it, dislodging the lump in my throat. Odran took the goblet from my hand and refilled it. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought he was trying to get me drunk.

  “How long have you lived in this village?” I asked, trying to fill the awkward silence.

  Odran shrugged. “This isna ma village, Lass.”

  “We thought we were in the King’s village,” Christa said, sounding pissed off.

  Odran just shook his head. “I couldna invite ye to ma village, it’s forbidden.”

  I nodded, I guessed that made sense. We were just strangers, after all. It was amazing in and of itself that we were even here now. I guessed there was no such thing as terrorists in the fairy community.

  “Oh,” Christa said with a nod then finished her mead. Odran was quick to refill it.

  “Mathilda an’ Gor told me ‘bout yer abilities, Lass.”

  “They’ve been tutoring me in magic. I’ve been very lucky.”

  He nodded. “Aye. I only agreed ta meet ye an yer friends because Ah’ve heard ah yer incredible abilities. I had ta see fer maself.”

  I wasn’t sure what he was expecting to see. It wasn’t like I walked around with a big sign that said: I notonly see dead people, but I bring them back to life. But, whatever he was seeing now, he seemed to like. His constant stare and unbroken attention was proof enough. Just a few inches from me, he downed his mead just as quickly as I had. It was like an unspoken drinking contest and even though I’m not a drinker, I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

  “More, Lass?” His breath smelled of honey, and I was overcome with the need to taste his lips. He dropped his hand to my thigh and rubbed it up and down and I closed my eyes, trying to keep the sigh of pleasure from my lips.

  Jolie. It was Rand’s voice and my eyes flashed open. He was like a chastity belt personified.

  What? I asked and my voice or my thought was none too friendly.

  Don’t drink any more mead. It’s tainted with a love charm. Odran wants you in his bed, so unless you plan on being there tonight, I suggest you take it easy.

  Okay, that explained it. Usually I wasn’t so ready to jump a hot guy’s bones. I immediately pulled away from Odran and searched the table for water.

  “Whit are ye lookin’ fer, Lass?” Odran whispered into my ear.

  “Water,” I managed, trying to fight the power of the mead within me. Suddenly, I was pissed off. Who did this guy think he was? Okay, he was the King but seriously, WTF?

  Christa handed me a jug of water and I eagerly poured myself a glass, downing it in one swallow. “Christa, have some water,” I said, not wanting Odran to get any ideas about her either.

  Christa nodded and poured herself a glass. “So, what can fairies do?” she asked.

  Odran chuckled deeply. “Whatever ye like, Lass. Shall we put oan ah show fer ye?”

  Christa didn’t answer right away but leaned forward. “What?”


  I shook my head and faced Odran. “Yes, we would love to see a show, wouldn’t we, Christa?”

  She nodded encouragingly. “Yeah, that would be really cool.”

  Odran reclined into his chair. The lion face was just above his now and in the lion’s features, I saw Odran’s—broad and strong. I suddenly was overcome again with the need to kiss him.

  That goddamned mead was killing me. Odran, as if sensing my lusty thoughts, topped off my goblet.

  “Drink, Lass.”

  I shook my head. “Thanks, but I’ve had enough.”

  He clapped his large hands and the table fell silent. “Magnus, we shall ‘ave some entertainment,” he said.

  Magnus stood and nodded. He was maybe five-ten and lean, also clothed only in a kilt. His dark hair was long and reached his lower butt. He wasn’t quite as broad as Odran but broad enough.

  He walked around the table until he was before us and took a great breath. Then he glanced at Christa and spun so quickly, he looked like the Tasmanian devil or something. As soon as he stopped spinning, Christa stood in his place—well, that is, he took the form of Christa.

  “Wow,” she said with a huge smile. “God, I really love my dress.”

  I clapped. Even though I knew the spell—Mathilda had taught me how to change my outward appearance, it was still entertaining. “Very good!”

  Magnus smiled and spun again, this time taking my form. Talk about weird to see yourself out of yourself—like an out of body experience, not that I’d ever had one. Magnus, still looking like me, walked toward Odran and trailed his hand against the King’s chest.

  Odran chuckled deeply and leaned into me. “I would much prefer it ta be the original, Lass.”

  I just laughed, finding fairy magic extremely amusing. Magnus walked back around the table and spun again, this time taking Rand’s form.

  “Rand!” Christa yelled out with a giggle.

  Magnus imitated Rand to a T—holding his chest out high and looking every inch the self-impressed warlock. Then he dropped his arms forward and pretended to be a gorilla, hopping around and grunting.