Timothy:
The Queen herself did not reappear, but the grouchy guard, the one who’d leveled his weapon at me, popped back into the suite’s main salon. The man still looked surly and immediately addressed Ben, not me, as if I weren’t substantial (or Fae) enough to be worthy.
“Queen Moragana has been informed of the whereabouts of the human,” he said. “The Queen is marshalling forces as I speak in order to revenge the deviant’s intrusion and this show of contempt to the rights of our Queen,” the guard continued, his voice gruff and as emotionless as if he were merely giving us a weather report, noting it was to be another full day of sunshine for the tenth time in a row.
I stiffened my spine, forcing my body to grow several inches in height, a sometimes useful tool when dealing with bullies who thought themselves better than those they were addressing. “I will not permit my wife to be harmed because your Queen desires payback for an insult to her reign,” I thundered, my anger firing up at the robotic delivery of the man and his failure to address the information to me instead of Ben. And then there was the concept of a bloody battle being waged around my sweet lady. Weren’t the Queen and her Court aware that my wife wouldn’t survive an injury that would merely inconvenience a Fae?
With my words, the guard turned to eye me, as if he’d just noticed a fly that needed swatting. “Pooka, mind your tongue or I will cut it off.”
My crew all leapt into combat mode with that affront. I waved them back. Any retaliation for the guard’s rudeness should come directly from me. Being a Pooka, there were ways that I could provide an ample reckoning, but this was the Queen’s officer. Should I seek justice?
Yet, the man had just threatened to cut off my tongue, not to mention dishing out insults that even a lesser man would be unable to ignore. Let the deed equal the threat, I vowed to myself.
Avoiding the eyes of Daniel, my spiritual advisor, who would have counseled differently, I tapped into my magic and conjured the illusion of a tongue expanding wider — like a blowfish manipulating its body to frighten an adversary.
The result was obviously effective. The guard gagged, choked back a snarl, and then started puffing up his cheeks as if that would give his mouth adequate space for the growth of a tongue too large to fit inside his mouth.
Daniel, as I had known he would, stepped forward to caution me. Then Ben did so, also, a worried look on his face. No problems with the werewolves. They were both chuckling as the guard grunted and groaned, clutching at his jaw and opening and closing his mouth like a man deprived of oxygen.
Oxygen? Was I cutting off the man’s air? Suddenly alarmed, I undid the magic, freeing the guard once again.
As he gasped and drew in air with sharp, rapid breaths, the Fae flashed a look at me, neither angry nor retaliatory, but more respectful, as if he’d indeed learned his lesson about dealing with Pookas.
Then as suddenly as he’d arrived, he flashed out, disappearing, I supposed, back to Faeryland and to his Queen where he would probably complain about my nasty behavior. Frankly I hoped he did, as long as he included my concerns about bringing war down on the shoulders of my dear, sweet wife.