So Very Unfae Page 3

  He pulled off the wrapper and bit into the bar. ‘Yeah, but only one serving. Em … I noticed Pru didn’t come home for dinner. I know she had things to do earlier on, but I thought she wasn’t working until tomorrow night.’

  I concentrated very hard on fitting another chair around my very small table. ‘Really? From what she’s said to me, her schedule’s going to be pretty nuts between now and the twenty-fifth. She is a fortune teller, after all. Everyone wants her to assure them that this year they’ll have the perfect Christmas they’ve always dreamt of.’

  Greg heaved his shoulders and sighed. ‘I guess. I hope I do get to see her between now and then, because we’ll be pretty busy on the Winter Solstice, what with the whole rescuing your parents thing. And then I’m heading up to Dublin on Christmas Eve to see my family. It will not be a perfect Christmas. But it will be a wonderful one. Half of them are human, so there’s gonna be a lot of food, TV and lazing around. I’ll be just about ready for that after our little adventure on Winter Solstice.’

  I sat next to him, checking my watch. There were another few minutes before my magic teacher, Brent, was due to arrive. ‘Who knows?’ I said nervously. ‘Maybe it’ll all work out perfectly and you’ll still have time to get to that Masked Ball everyone seems to be talking about. The one in Riddler’s Cove?’

  Greg shook his head. ‘Masked balls are a recipe for disaster if you ask me. Someone inevitably kisses the wrong person. It happens year after year. Maybe that’s why people like the thing so much. They can pretend that they accidentally kissed that guy or girl they’ve secretly been crushing on. Hey em … on the off chance that things don’t go to plan with our whole save your parents from being trapped inside their wooden prisons thing – but they totally will go to plan – you know you’re welcome to join my family for the holidays, right?’

  I leaned in and gave him a little squeeze. ‘Thanks for the invite, but if I say yeah, it’s like I’m accepting that this might not work. And right now, I need to hope that it will. Hey, Dylan mentioned that he’s usually on duty at Christmas. Is that true?’

  Greg nodded. ‘Yeah, it’s true. He was a lot more easy-going before he became a dayturner, but his attitude to the holiday season’s always been the same. Even when he was going out with Darina Berry he insisted he had to work. Y’know – in case there’s another emergency chicken theft that only he can handle. Although no one really lets him be a Mister Lonely. On Winter Solstice Grace usually manages to drag him off to some parties, and on Christmas itself, Nollaig always invites him over for dinner. Although he hardly ever goes unless Nollaig drags him there kicking and screaming. And when he does go, he’s out of the Vander Inn as soon as they’ve eaten their pudding.’

  That sounded like my loveable curmudgeon, all right. I knew he had no living family, although he never complained about the fact. Maybe he really did like to be alone at the holidays. All I knew for sure was that, when I insisted time and again that I was perfectly fine alone, thank you very much, what I really meant was I wished I could work up the courage to accept an invitation to Christmas dinner.

  I’d had a few Christmas dinners at the orphanage, and two with foster families. As an adult, I’d sometimes gone abroad so I could lie on the beach and drink cocktails alone. Basically, none of my holidays had been anything like I’d seen in the movies. But Hollywood wouldn’t lie to me, surely. The perfect Christmas did exist. And this year … I took in a deep breath … this year, that perfect Christmas would be mine.

  There was a loud noise – the sound of a gong being hit – and Greg and I glanced at the computer screen. The sióga queen stood there, smiling softly at us, a bluebell in her hands. Why yes, a bluebell can make quite a loud sound when it’s used to strike a gong – if the striker happens to be an incredibly powerful faery. A banner on the screen said: ‘Welcome back to Level One Hundred and One.’

  ‘Game on,’ said Greg rubbing his hands together. ‘Now all we need is Brent.’

  ‘Ask,’ said Brent, appearing behind us, ‘and you shall receive.’

  I stood up and gave him a tight hug. He was dressed just as impeccably as usual, but I did notice some blazing Solstice bonfires on his tie.

  The chat box appeared on the screen: Hello, Aisling, Greg and Brent. Are you ready for our lesson?

  Greg moved aside so that Brent could type: Ready and waiting, Your Majesty. What would you like me to (try to) teach your granddaughter today?

  There was a pause, and the Queen’s eyes flicked to mine. Finally, some words appeared on the screen: Today, Aisling needs to learn to handle an OAP. Has Greg the Gallant brought his wonderful wand?

  ≈

  When the Queen suggested I learn how to handle an OAP, she did not want me to boss about some old people in the Shady Enclaves retirement home. Instead, she wanted me to use an object of awesome power, and Greg’s purple sparkly wand just happened to be one. Sure, it was well-disguised as something a little girl might play with, but it was incredibly magical, even so.

  During our last lesson, she’d asked him to bring it along today, and because I’m ever so good at picking up on the obvious, I knew what that would mean. What I didn’t know was whether I was actually ready.

  Even beginning these lessons had been difficult for me. It meant speaking to the Queen, who I’d been harbouring some misplaced resentment towards ever since I found out she was my grandmother. I’d wondered for so long why she didn’t just come and see me, and why she left me to struggle with no other fae to teach me.

  When I learned that the reason she didn’t do any of that was because she couldn’t – due to being trapped in her enclave by Arnold Albright – well, I’d been just a little bit sheepish about the whole thing.

  The secret level she’d added to Greg’s favourite online game – War of the Enclaves – was the only safe way she had of contacting me, so I’d finally set aside my stubborn pride and used the game to ask for her help. Since then, my lessons with Brent had been coming along by clumsy leaps and ungainly bounds.

  I knew that the Queen had an end in mind – the spell I would need to perform in order to free my parents (and hopefully her, too). We’d been working towards that end by concentrating on my control. I could now direct magic through the orange stick of torture (otherwise known as my training wand) quite easily. After that, controlling my power without a wand got a little easier too.

  Sure, there had been some accidents (my bedspread had turned a violent shade of pink when I’d been trying to turn it blue one day, and a spell to increase the size of my claw-foot bath had almost caused some minor structural damage in the Vander Inn) but I was getting there.

  Now all I needed to do was spend the next few days learning how to wield Greg’s wand. Not a bother. Criminy! Who was I trying to kid? It was a very big bother, and I was afraid I might not be up to the job. But if I was ever going to do what needed to be done on the Solstice, then I needed to believe in myself. With that in mind, I made my way through the lesson, only mildly charring the curtains in the process. Nothing that a little remedial magic couldn’t fix.

  She smiled kindly, and in the chat box she wrote: You’re doing better than I could have hoped. I think we’re almost ready for the final plan.

  I typed back: Great. But maybe you could tell me what the final plan is?

  There was a moment’s hesitation before the box was filled with typing once more: We’ll have a chance to discuss that in person. Once the broom disappears, you’ll know that the cane is gone too. Without it, Arnold’s magic will weaken. When that time arrives, go immediately to the Glittering Garden, where my friend Wendy will be waiting to take you to me. You’ll need to bring something with you – something that will help with the final plan. It’s called the Lightning Ball.

  Brent gasped as he read along with me. ‘But that’s not real,’ he said. ‘Is it?’

  I typed in his question, and the Queen wrote back: It’s very real. My Púca spies tell me it’s with a woman called the Great Gwendol
ine. You’ll find her at the market in Riddler’s Cove, tomorrow night.

  She typed some more instructions, and I pulled out a notebook and wrote it all down.

  5. Some Formal Flirting

  As I said goodbye to Greg and Brent by the front door, I heard an unexpected voice upstairs. Dylan Quinn was in the Vander Inn. Oh my!

  I wiped my forehead, fanned myself a bit – until I remembered that I was not the sort of woman for such nonsense – and then I went upstairs, following the sound of his voice. I found him on the second landing, outside room number six. There was an empty box in his hands, and he was chatting to Nollaig.

  ‘His wife says she can’t face it, and I don’t blame her,’ Dylan said. ‘So I’m just going to pack everything up and send it to her.’

  Nollaig gave him an understanding nod. ‘I know how she must feel, the poor woman. But at least for once it really is an allergic reaction. Dracula knows, we’ve had far too much of the bad magic in this town of late.’

  Seeing me, Dylan nodded. ‘Unless Miss Smith here has other ideas,’ he said with a playful glint in his dark eyes.

  I neared the door, looking into Stanley’s vacated room. ‘Not me,’ I said. ‘I want this to be over and done with. Tell me it is. Over and done with, I mean.’

  ‘Seems to be,’ Dylan confirmed. ‘A search of the Fisherman’s Friend turned up the culprit – some oil had come from the suppliers mislabelled, it seems. Lola found it in their kitchen. According to the label it’s supposed to be sunflower oil, but she knew the second she opened the bottle and smelled it that it was actually sesame seed. With an allergy as bad as Stanley’s, even a small amount of that would have been enough to kill him.’ He gave me a sceptical look. ‘You’re sure you’ve nothing to say on the matter?’

  I let out an ever so innocent cough. Nothing like coughing and ahem-ing to draw attention away from oneself. Wait … it’s the opposite, isn’t it? Crap. ‘Of course not. You act like I want to see devious shenanigans behind everything. Well I don’t. It just so happens that this is a town full of that sort of thing. Shenanigans, high jinks, carry-on and tomfoolery. You name it, this town is up to its neck in it. But not this time. This time my witchy-fae eyes and Greg’s technology are in total agreement. No magic. So we can all relax and enjoy the holidays. Well … first we have to do our whole heroic thing for my parents, but then we can relax.’

  ‘Thank goodness,’ said Nollaig. ‘I do not want anything strange going on this close to Christmas.’

  He gave her a reassuring smile. ‘No criminal would be stupid enough to ruin your birthday, Nollaig. You want to help me clear out the room, Miss Smith?’

  I gave him a sardonic smile, and followed him in. ‘Why yes, Detective Quinn. Anything you say, Detective Quinn.’

  You might be wondering why we’d returned to the whole Detective Quinn and Miss Smith scenario. I mean, we were mature adults, weren’t we? Adults who had long since realised that such formalities were purely serving as a mask for our romantic feelings?

  Well yes, we were adults, and we had realised all of the above. But these days … these days we were doing it just for the kicks. Surnames and formality and all of that might not seem incredibly intimate to most, but to us they were a strange and wonderful reminder of when we’d first met.

  Nollaig skipped down the stairs, humming Christmas songs and muttering about mulled wine. Once we couldn’t hear her anymore, Dylan stared at me. It was one of those longing stares. The kind we’d been doing an awful lot of lately. I wasn’t much of a fan of this behaviour, I must admit. I didn’t want to long for anyone. I wanted a simple, straightforward relationship with no obstacles in its way. And I would have it, right now, if Dylan would just get over his aversions and bite me.

  Perhaps, I thought, it was time to nip this silliness in the bud.

  ‘You know, you could just …’ I let my words flutter away. I could tell by the flaring of his nostrils and the blazing of his eyes that he was not ready for any bud-nipping.

  ‘No. I couldn’t. Florence and Ronnie said they’ll have the final results ready by tomorrow. Until it’s one hundred percent certain that it’s your blood which cured Miriam of her vampirism, I’m not risking drinking from you. I mean, I could infect you, for goodness sake.’ Now that he’d gotten his righteousness out of the way, the blaze in his eyes was growing evermore lusty. He cleared his throat (it seemed to be the fashionable thing to do tonight) and moved an inch closer. ‘They’re still keeping your involvement in the cure top secret, aren’t they? They haven’t got a large team involved? You know this can not be known to have come from fae blood. It’ll cause another war.’

  I nodded, feeling a slight dent begin to form in my holiday spirit. Darn you, reality! Dylan was right. We might not have the final word on the subject just yet, but we were fairly certain: fae blood cured vampirism, full stop. Not just the dayturner virus. Not just the negative aspects of vampirism. It got rid of the whole thing.

  Oh, things were just peachy between witches and vampires at the moment. But there were some factions where the old enmities sometimes reared their ugly head. And if this came out, there’d be a whole lot of rearing. Vampires who weren’t affected with the dayturner virus would see the fae as a risk. And as for witches – those canny old cacklers – well, there were one or two of them who would soon leap to a horrible conclusion: fae blood could be used as a weapon against vampires.

  ‘As the expression goes, this secret is safer than the Sword of Sylvia.’

  ‘That sword was stolen from its vault a while back,’ Dylan pointed out. ‘And then it turned out it was never even in the vault. It was just hanging above some fireplace somewhere. And now … now Wanda Wayfair is apparently keeping it in her garden shed next to a rusty old lawnmower. So …’

  ‘Oh. Yeah, I heard about that, come to think of it. Well … knowledge of the cure is still super-secret and safe. And from what I know of Wanda Wayfair, the sword is better off with her than anywhere else. Which means that my analogy still stands. Our secret is as safe as the Sword of Sylvia.’

  Dylan’s right eyebrow arched. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t add a “so there” at the end of that.’

  ‘Well, I guess I’m just a bigger person than that.’ So there. ‘I mean, it’s only us lot who know about it, plus Florence and Ronnie Wayfair. She’s Arthur Albright’s girlfriend, but I trust her not to say a word even to him.’

  Dylan nodded slowly. ‘Yeah. I know Ronnie. As Grace would put it, she’s a good egg. And … do you really think this is it? That after tomorrow they’ll be able to go ahead with a treatment plan?’

  I bit my lip. ‘Well, I don’t want to jinx it or anything, but yeah. Yeah, I think so. You em … you could come too. I’m heading to Healer’s Hollow first thing in the morning. To Night and Gale.’

  ‘I … I have some things to do here.’

  ‘That’s a big fat lie and you know it. You’re just nervous and afraid to get your hopes up, so you’re burying your fangs in the sand.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ he insisted. ‘I’ve never done anything with my fangs, and I’m not about to start. I need to do the staff rota for the holidays and … and some other things.’ He steeled his jaw and looked at me. ‘Are you sure about not seeing any magic today?’

  I sat down onto Stanley’s bed, sighing. ‘I knew it. I knew you recognised that guy. I just didn’t want to ask you because I was burying my fangs in the sand. Not that I have fangs, but … you know what I’m saying.’

  ‘Thousands wouldn’t.’ He gave me a small smile. ‘But I do. And I get it. You don’t want to have an investigation going on right now. You want to concentrate on getting your parents back and having the perfect Christmas. I did think I recognised him, though. No idea from where, but … I definitely met that guy before.’

  ‘Whilst all that might be true, Dylan, that doesn’t make his death a murder. I might want to have the perfect Christmas. But you … you seem to want to avoid it altogether.’

 
His eyes widened. ‘Avoid Christmas? You think that’s why I suspect there’s more to Stanley’s death?’

  ‘I dunno. I mean, I might have heard from one or two little birds that you’re more of a Krampus than a Santa Claus, this time of year.’

  He let out a sigh. ‘Fine. You have me bang to rights on that score. I am usually the last person who wants to deck the halls with boughs of holly. But this year …’ He ran a hand through his dark hair. ‘You should come and visit the lighthouse, that’s all I’m saying.’

  I stared at him. ‘You’ve not actually gone and decorated, have you? Everyone says you never decorate.’

  ‘Well then, everyone’s in for a bit of a shock. I’ve put up garlands and wreaths and lights. I even got a tree, because I figured you’d like it, having grown up in the human world.’

  My mouth hung open. Thankfully, he kept on talking, because I was truly lost for words. ‘Aisling … sorry, Miss Smith …’ He took hold of my hand, his voice husky. ‘You have been the most irritating intrusion into my life. And honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way. You’ve forced me to stop feeling sorry for myself. You’ve forced me to see things from other people’s point of view. You’ve forced me to overlook the fact that you say criminy more than any person ever should. Basically, you’ve forced me to be a less grumpy version of myself. This is the first time I’ve ever looked forward to the holidays, and it’s all because of you.’

  There was a moment or two of gulping, and some more of that pesky gazing into one another’s eyes. But seeing as gazing wasn’t going to get us anywhere, I made a great show of clearing my throat again, and then I stood up and said, ‘Well, let’s get this stuff packed up for Mrs Martin then, shall we?’