The Pooka’s Wife
Book 2 of the WonderLand Series
NOTE:
Please read Book 1: The Abyss of WonderLand first.
K.S. Riggin
Chapter One
Everyone is excited on their wedding day. It’s a magical day. I am no different in that respect. I’m one part scared out of my skin, nervous about everything to come, intimidated by the idea of being front and center before a horde of eyes, and . . . bridal shy.
There is no doubt that Timothy is my soul mate, and I can’t wait to marry him since we love each other wholeheartedly. Everyday together reinforces that belief. My only doubts are about his true identity. It is quite a leap for an ordinary female like me to jump into the supernatural world, to become one of them, and the fact that Timothy has a history he doesn’t want to talk about, hundreds of years of history, well that’s all a bit of a chiller!
You see, my fiancé, my husband to be, is a pooka. If you’re like I was, you’ve never heard of them. Pookas in Irish literature were known for being mischievous. They teased people, but never did any harm. A good example, I learned, was in the movie, Harvey, where the mysterious rabbit that only Harvey could see, popped in at out, basically entertaining his buddy, Harvey, but also, managing to solve some problems.
I’ve seen the movie several times now, becoming better acquainted with how pookas supposedly acted. I’ve also read books that included stories about pookas. Most commonly, pookas become wild black stallions who offer rides to folks. But once on the pooka, the passenger can’t get off until the pooka allows it. According to such tales, it’s a rough ride for some, but no one ever gets hurt. That’s s the nature of the pooka, at least, according to what few stories I can find.
I guess, the most important detail, is that a pooka can change its shape. It can be a wild horse, a giant rabbit, or whatever animal it chooses. Shape changing is cool, but impossible to understand, especially since the act of transforming his body doesn’t hurt the pooka. No pain like with Hollywood werewolves. That’s because it’s magic, Timothy tells me.
Secondly, a pooka lives a long, long time. How many years or centuries is unknown. Timothy and his friend, Andrew, who voluntarily received a pooka’s bit back in his childhood, have lived through medieval times, have spent years in palaces with kings and knights, and have witnessed the birth of our American nation. They even saw fought in the Napoleonic wars, met Queen Elizabeth, and participated in California’s Gold Rush. (Sadly, they never met Shakespeare, Benjamin Franklin, or any of the famous people I asked about since their failure to age forced the two men to hide out, away from any public figures or any kind of residential stability.)
The third detail that’s important is that when a pooka gives you his bite, he can turn that person into a supernatural. That’s where I come into the picture. Timothy will bite me on our wedding night, and then I’ll live the same long life he does.
Oh, and as if that’s not enough, I’m learning that there are other super naturals among us: like vampires, werewolves, and the Fae. My eyes are opening to many vistas, as Timothy puts it.
That’s a lot to take in for a shy twenty-three-year old, straight out of college and still a bit lost in even the human world.