5.25 The Pooka’s Wife
“The Queen said you are already a super,” Andrew responded to my question, although he was behind us, far enough away that he shouldn’t have heard our whispers, but, evidently, he had the ears of an owl. When first said that, I worried that his voice was loud enough to carry down to our guests, but then I realized that Andrew hadn’t spoken out loud. He’d sent those words mind to mind. Oh, my! That was a big surprise, but then I played back what he’d said (or mind sent, I guess you’d call it.) “The Queen? The Fae Queen, the one that left me this . . .” Timothy stopped me from explaining what I’d been about to say. I guess the necklace was a secret. Why was that? Or was it that I’d said my words out loud, when the others’ conversations had all been in silent mode, which I was just now realizing. Did I have the ability to send mental messages? Could I mind speak with other supers? “No discussions about such things now, my darling. Right now we go to share our happiness with our friends,” Timothy whispered into my ear. That time I knew he’d spoken using real words. His breath had tickled. “And, please cut the silly cake, please,” Simone added. “The whining of your friend is driving me crazy.” I couldn’t tell if Simone was truly bothered by Cara. Simone’s face rarely changed its expression, maybe only briefly when she laughed. I tried to remember if I’d seen any signs of humor in her countenance. Probably not. Once again I wondered about her supernatural condition. (Was that the way to put it? What else would you call it if not a condition . . . a specialty?) I’d once asked Timothy about Simone, and he’d told me to talk to her in person, but, although I really liked Simone, she wasn’t exactly approachable. There would probably never be any girlie chats with her while wearing fuzzy bunny slippers. Not ever. I couldn’t ever imagine a girlie night of sharing secrets, sitting around the living room with wine in hand (or a cold diet cola, which was my preference.) As we descended the majestic steps down to the lower level of Timothy’s mansion, I could hear that the quartet was playing a lively Irish dance tune. I’d thought they were stuck in Classical land. What a relief! I hoped people were enjoying themselves. Had they been bored while we were upstairs having our own party? Whoops.
5.24 The Pooka’s Wife
“You’re stuck with me now since my clothing has been moved in here,” I told Timothy, while watching him zip up his trousers. He was definitely ahead of me in the dressing game, because I’d just slipped on some undergarments and was still searching for the shoes that matched the dress Simone had selected for me. The moment I found the matching shoes, a pair of flats that were also in a creamy rose-color with a bit of Italian leather flare, I slipped them on. Of course they fit perfectly. Timothy, in spite of my speed of selection, crowded into the closet with me. The Walk-in wardrobe was big, but not that big, yet who could complain about a sexy man curling himself around their semi-naked flesh? And then there were all those kisses and sweet whisperings. Who knows what would have happened then, except Andrew knocked on the room’s outer door. “The guests are getting restless,” Timothy’s best friend said. “Cara, especially. She has been demanding wedding cake for some time now. When are you two coming out?” Like being hit by a cold shower, we followed up with one final kiss, then Timothy was helping me don my dress, an A-line, rose-colored short sleeve with a V-neck that was a bit skimpy on length but did marvelous things for my figure. It looked bridal, yet was comfortable to move in, something I mentally thanked Simone for. She really knew what I liked. Needless to say, the neckline perfectly accommodated the necklace, giving the dress just the right richness to soar me into elegance via the perfect simplicity of the dress plus the sophistication of what Timothy had called one Celtic flowered knot with a rhodonite center, and herringbone chain of sparkle. I guess I should have started on my hair earlier. It had fallen down from the stylish upsweep that the ladies had given me and was probably looking like a ratty pile of used mop. Timothy took the brush from me and began the process of hair taming. He was good with hair styling. Actually he was good at everything. I guess hundreds of years gave one adequate time to become proficient in a variety of areas. After my mop was deemed suitable, we headed out the door. “Normally I’d say it was about time, but under the circumstances . . .” Simone said, laughing, as she inserted her arm in mine. “Are you pookaed?” she whispered into my ear. I nodded rather shyly. In all our official consummation ceremony, Timothy and I hadn’t really had time to talk much about the pooka stuff. I guessed there’d be lots of time later for that. But it was evident that Simone knew all the intricacies. “Am I officially supernatural now?” I whispered to my husband who was walking on the other side of me.
5.23 The Pooka’s Wife
I ran back to the bed, jumped up on it, and wrapped my arms around my new husband. “Okay,” I said, “Let’s get this show on the road.” Okay, that wasn’t the most romantic thing I could have said, but Timothy accepted it. His lips were traveling my body practically before I’d completed the sentence. What happened after that was stupendous. One of the women at work had made a comment one day in the workroom that after you were married, the sex wasn’t as good. I guess it didn’t count if this was our first entanglement after marriage. Or perhaps it was because we were just starting our honeymoon, but, whichever the case, our bedding ceremony was quite enjoyable and just as fulfilling as the same events under that green bedspread in San Diego. Timothy said he did the pooka bite during our “ceremony.” If he did, I never felt it. I know where he put it. He licked the side of my neck forever and a day, but I wasn’t complaining at the time. It was outrageously delightful. He told me later, that he put enough saliva in my skin that I wouldn’t feel any pain for a week, and if it did hurt later, he said he’d redo the saliva boost. I kidded him about that. The words saliva boost had all the enticement of an IRA audit or a root canal at the dentist. He laughed, and I took note of the crinkle lines at the edges of his eyes. I don’t know if it was a pooka thing or a human thing, but when Timothy was fully satisfied and content with life, he always smiled them into being. I found his laugh lines incredibly sexy, so it was something I looked forward to seeing. We showered after a few more kisses. That’s when Timothy told me that he’d delivered the pooka bite. My hand sped to the site. I wanted to know if he’d left a wound, but I couldn’t feel anything. He removed my hand from my neck, kissed it, and said, “Let’s allow it to heal before you start your investigations.” I guess about an hour had passed between bed play and showering, but it hit me as we came out of the bathroom that I’d either have to put my wedding dress back on or go nude. Timothy said he liked the latter idea, but I could tell he didn’t mean it. Timothy was too much in the past to appreciate our guests viewing my body, not that it mattered anyway, because I’d never do the nude thing. I was even more of a prude than he was. Timothy walked over to the closet, opened it, and chortled. “They moved your clothes in here. You have a full selection. Simone left this one in front,” he said, showing me a rose-colored dress. The note on it said for the party after your private party. Bless Simone. She was always prepared … and funny. A second chest of drawers had been added to Timothy’s room. It contained the rest of my clothes.
5.22 The Pooka’s Wife
“Oh. Then you really need to get it off me, or else we . . .” She didn’t finish the thought, but I knew what she meant. Except, we couldn’t abstain, That wasn’t possible. We were married and . . . And it was obvious that the necklace was now a permanent addition. I’d explained before that once Penelope received the bite, she would be capable of bearing my child. She must be recalling that. Would she ask not to proceed with my making her officially mine? She moaned, a long whimper of a sound, that let me know that she was feeling as constrained by this whole snag as I was. “Can’t you Pooka up some birth control?” she gave me a small half smile. Even if Penelope could have removed the necklace, I doubt that it was possible to uninvite the elements of conception. The Queen had stated her intention for Penelope earlier. Moragana had probably enchanted Penelope during the wedding, as well as adding this necklace charm. It would do no good to argue with the Fae’s plans. The Unseelie were always inclined to put their desires ahead of others. Queen Moragana, even more so. I should have guessed about the necklace’s purpose at once. An old saying I’d heard somewhere came to mind: If a Fae renders you a gift, if its nature makes it seem valuable, it is not. But when a gift seems insignificant, you can count on it being the most important of all. Penelope I admit that I got up off the bed to rush to the mirror so I could check what the necklace really looked like. It wasn’t actually vanity that caused me to do so, but. . . well, something stuck on my body permanently, forever . . . one could only hope that the piece of jewelry was at least suitably attractive not to make my lip crinkle up with repulsion. Thankfully, Timothy was correct. As I looked into the mirror, I agreed that the necklace was beautiful. It shown in the room’s lights. Its herringbone chain looked as brilliant as if it were layered in diamonds, which it might be the case since among the Fae money was never an obstacle, at least not for the Queen. As I stared at the sight of the necklace, I had to do some quick refiguring. I hadn’t wanted to get pregnant right way. Timothy had talked about having children, if it were possible, but it had always seemed when we discussed it that the timeframe would be off in the future, when I was older and wiser. But today was our wedding day. Of course I couldn’t deny us our happy time. In fact, several of them. It wasn’t how I wanted it to be, but the Fates saw things differently, I suppose.
5.21 The Pooka’s Wife
“It’s alright,” I soothed my wife. “It’s a very beautiful necklace, my darling. The Queen must really have been impressed with you.” While I was babbling such insipidness, I was more thoroughly examining the necklace. I twisted the chain until I could see the place where the necklace’s closure should be. There was none. Truthfully, I wasn’t surprised. Whatever reason for the Queen’s placement of this necklace, the Queen most definitely intended it to be a permanent fixture on my bride. “Since it was magicked on you, my darling, it looks as if the only one who can take if off is the one who put it there. I, even with my Pooka powers, can’t remove it,” I said as gently as I could, while the irritation, and dare I say it, outrage inside me, smoldered. As Penelope’s eyes filled with the panic of desperation, I continued. “But how about if I describe it for you? It has a pink stone heart of rhodonite, with a Celtic flowered knot entwining it. There is symbolism in that, which is all positive. The Fae believe that the rhodonite stone provides healing when needed, strengthens love, gives you strength, and . . .” I stopped, unsure how to continue. She would not like its fourth purpose. “Tell me, Timothy. What is it you’re holding back?” Penelope had bolted up, no longer prone on her back in the position that she’d been a moment before — for good cause, darn it. She must have caught some kind of message from my eyes. She had become more intuitive — ever since I’d first bedded her. A true mate always bonded intensely like that. The knowing worked more than one way. It demanded the binding of souls. “Tell me, Timothy. Don’t stop there,” she urged in a voice that told me she was feeling intimidated by having a necklace appear so abruptly, a necklace, beautiful or not, that couldn’t be removed. I sighed, halted my fingers’ exploration of the necklace, and answered her in the gentlest manner that I could. “It is only a rumor, my dear. A stone can’t really do anything unless you believe in it.” “Unless a Fae gives it to you, right? What is its other purpose, Timothy?” she demanded with a firmness that said she’d keep questioning until I leveled with her. I sighed, wondering, at that moment, if tonight would be the time of the Pooka’s bite after all. I almost sighed again, my body aching to complete my claiming of her, but this was my beloved wife sitting beside me, locked in worry, already biting her lower lip from tension. I couldn’t be anything but honest with her. She deserved the truth. “It is rumored to give a woman fertility,” I said in a calm, steady voice.
5.20 The Pooka’s Wife
Penelope’s expression had taken on the big eyes of fear. She knew there was something wrong but hadn’t yet figured out what. I stopped her from exploring the necklace with her fingers as I reached out to touch it first myself. Moragana’ s magic was all over the piece. Would something be activated if Penelope’s fingers explored the necklace? Although the Queen of the Autumn Court was known for her healing touch, she was equally as famous for her destructive enchantments, but the Pooka part of me would know if something had the potential to harm my mate, and I could tell that there was nothing actually evil in the necklace. It was full of Power, but not of the hazardous kind. Perhaps the necklace was no more than a gift, a small bit of whimsy from a powerful Queen. But even if that were true, gifts among the Fae must always be dealt with. One of equal measure would need to be given to the Queen. To be beholden to a Fae was dangerous. “What’s wrong, Timothy?” Penelope cried out, the pupils of her eyes now darkening with increasing fear. Her hands struggled against my hold, wanting to touch the necklace herself, wondering why I wouldn’t let her. I brushed back Penelope’s thick hair and bent to kiss her neck. “It’s nothing bad, my love. Only that you’ve been given a gift, and since I didn’t know to expect it, the necklace startled me. Were you not aware when it was being placed around your neck?” “No. I never felt a thing,” she said, now wiggling to be allowed up since she was still flat on her back, my body atop hers. “When did she do this? Was it the Queen who put the necklace on my neck?” I freed my hold on Penelope’s hands, removed my body from hers, and watched as she bolted up into a sitting position. Her fingers immediately moved to touch the necklace. She fingered it a moment then tried to find the back closure. “Can you take it off me, Timothy? I want to see it,” she entreated. Was the necklace really only a wedding present? Had the Queen intended it as no more than a mark of her favor for my new bride? Penelope had not yet received any instruction concerning the Fae. I’d thought I’d have ample time to teach her. But then, I’d never expected to see the Queen at my wedding. Penelope had no reason to be afraid of the Fae, yet, she was, instinctively. Her eyes showed more than uncertainty. They were displayed terror, and her body was trembling. I didn’t want to lie to Penelope, but I knew I needed to give her some reassurance. One must be cautious among the Fae, but terror would cause more interest than indifference. It was like a red flag waved before a bull or the target in the center of a dart. Penelope would quickly attract even more problems if I didn’t very quickly soothe her worry.
5.19 The Pooka’s Wife
And now, I was back in the kettle, simmering in overly hot water. There could be no escape, it seemed. When Moragana addressed Ben Stevens, my chef and a friend of several hundred years I realized that he was well known by her. Had he always been a spy for Moragana? Was his friendship a mere deception? The bitterness of deceit hit me. I shut it away, realizing there were more important things to deal with now. After the Queen’s overtures to Penelope and myself, did I dare trust Moragana? Absolutely not. If I had a choice, I would never voluntarily return to Faerie, but a direct order from the Queen left me as much a captive as I’d been before. And now that Penelope was my wife, my poor darling had fallen into the Faerie drama with me. That sent tendrils of fear up and down my spine. I would need to explain everything to her before the web thickened, before the dangers were flung like arrows in the night, seemingly random but with Faerie purpose. Penelope would need to learn all about that kingdom: the politics, strange customs, manipulations, power plays, and specifics found in the Gloaming Court. Penelope would also have to be told that Andrew and I were taken there against our will and had fled from Moragana, herself. But for now, I would shut away such fears. I had a far more pleasant focus in this moment, the pleasure of our private ceremony. Sex with Penelope was always a joy, but what Simone and Andrew had not revealed was that consummation of our marriage was not all that this bedding ceremony entailed. There was also the Pooka bond, the bite that would officially bring my beloved Penelope into the Supernatural World. I was just about to delightfully gratify our desires when I suddenly froze. I exhaled abruptly, struggling for adequate breath from the shock of what I was seeing. “Where did you get that necklace?” I demanded. My eyes remained frozen on the startling piece of jewelry Penelope was currently wearing around her neck. I could feel the Power of Faerie it emitted. Penelope giggled. “I’m not wearing a necklace. I did have on the bracelet you took off and placed on top of the cabinet. It’s my something blue, something borrowed — wedding tradition stuff — which means, don’t let that bracelet out of your sight. We have to return it to Judy. But do we have to talk about jewelry right this moment. I was really enjoying . . .” I stared down at my bride, her body a delight beneath mine. But for the moment I couldn’t concentrate on that. My eyes were still frozen on the necklace. I recognized that this necklace wasn’t something Penelope would have chosen. I’d noticed that she normally was jewelry-free. This piece was actually beautiful, formed in the white gold that was a favorite of those in Faerie. At the end of its chain lay a thick rose quartz with Celtic flower knots wrapped about it. Yet, how had it come to be around Penelope’s neck? Could she truly be oblivious to its presence?
5.18 The Pooka’s Wife
Chapter Two Timothy My wife is an amazing woman. Shock after shock bombarded her. True the Queen’s arrival with her court had been as much a head’s up for me as it had been to Penelope. Except that’s not really fair. I knew about the Faery Queen. I should have predicted her interference, even though, in the end, she’d done us a favor in taking Peterson. It was irksome that Moragana had informed my bride of certain things, like the fact that she, herself, had once wanted me in her bed. If I have the history right, it seems that my grandmother had a sister, who became the Queen of Faerie, and then her daughter ruled, followed by Moragana, which made me at least a cousin, if not a closer relation. I get lost in such things. But even if Moragana hadn’t been a relative, I’d never had any interest in her, although she flaunted her gorgeous body and had managed to crawl into my bed one night. When she’d done so, and I discovered her presence, I’d bolted up and out of that room faster than an arrow released from its bow. It was that event that proved my breaking point. Andrew and I fled that very night. In Faerie, Andrew had been treated well. He had not been eager to leave. There had been no rejection over his being of human stock, and his black-hued skin had attracted, not repelled the ladies. I’d had to plead and threaten him that night. It was the warning that I would leave him there alone, which finally brought his grudging agreement to depart. Only a true friend accompanies you when the benefits of hundreds of adoring and beautiful ladies are so plentiful. We’d needed to hide ourselves in the raunchiest settlements for a while, but after a century, Andrew convinced me that the Queen was no longer angry at my rejection of her advances. Apparently that was correct because we hadn’t heard from her or her court since that moment in my bedroom. That was a good thing. Those who deal in power often do not take denial lightly. It was true that Moragana had publicly accepted me as family, declaring me a prince of the realm. Perhaps my death or imprisonment would be viewed in a negative light. Since she was childless, I suppose her court might even consider me a possible heir. Yet, uncertain of the repercussions from our midnight departure, I had never been eager to attempt amends. Andrew thought we should run to one of the other courts, but I feared that being proclaimed a prince in the Autumn Court might sentence me to being hurled into even hotter water. Although one could theoretically swear allegiance to one of the other courts, that might not be allowed due to my rank, and it could possibly be viewed as treasonous. Politics and rivalries were cornerstones of the world of the Fae. I had not fled to the Summer Court either, as perhaps, I would have liked. Nor had I broken away, claiming myself to be disconnected from all courts, which probably in my case, wouldn’t even have been allowed. Moragana had proclaimed me the last Pooka. For that, itself, I was treasured. Two fat albatrosses around my neck. The human world seemed the better place for our safety.
5.17 The Pooka’s Wife
Timothy and I laughed, as did the guests. Breaking apart from our body to body contact, we walked, hands entwined down the aisle, and then everyone stood up. Among their good hearted laughter, we heard lots of congratulations and well wishes. I thought with the big ceremony over, that it would be time to party, but I guess this celebration contained another mysterious loop. Andrew drew in close behind me and whispered in my ear. “Simone and I plan to walk you upstairs and witness,” he said. Witness? I twisted my head to look back at him. His face showed a firmness I hardly recognized, not since he’d come to know me and had become my friend. Then there was the strangeness of Andrew’s hand firmly clasped on my arm with Timothy not protesting it. I stopped and backed up, suspicion flashing a caution. Except then I ran smack into Simone. “Not so quickly, Penelope,” she said. “You have duties to perform.” Timothy was laughing. I thought that meant that he’d kid the two out of whatever custom this was, but he did the opposite. He swooped me up in his arms, kissed my forehead, then carried me the whole way up the stairs! All around us, the guests were clapping, like this was part of a traditional wedding ceremony. There was no question about which bedroom we were heading for. Andrew opened the door, and Simone almost pushed Timothy inside. “To bed,” Andrew shouted. The two busybodies turned about, shut the door, and left us, thankfully, alone. “What was that all about? We have guests downstairs,” I said, more curious than scared at that point since Andrew and Simone weren’t in the room with us. “First we have the bedding ceremony,” Timothy said. “I must prove to all that our marriage is consummated.” Prove? Was this a custom from the dark ages? How did one prove such a thing anyway? Timothy placed my feet on the ground and began to unfasten the back of my dress. “This is silly. We’ve already done the consummating about forty times,” I said. “Is that all?” he kidded, continuing the unbuttoning. “But since you’re now my bride, and we haven’t had our bed ceremony yet, that is unacceptable. Just be glad that this part of our wedding will not be witnessed by all our friends.” “What!” “I have been to many weddings where such was done,” Timothy said, bending to kiss my shoulder. “Not in this century,” I retorted, slightly alarmed by his seriousness. My gown was soon over my head and tossed onto a chair. Then my undergarments came under attack. But by then, since Timothy was so insistent, and so deliciously adorable, I gave into the plan. Actually, as his kisses stroked my skin in various place, I agreed that a marriage consummation seemed a fine convention.
5.16 The Pooka’s Wife
I managed to secure the ring most of the way onto Timothy’s finger without dropping it. His ring was a plain gold band, which is the one he had chosen — no sparkly jewels for him. My soon to be husband smiled at me and pushed the ring on the rest of the way. The band looked nice on his hand. I liked the idea that all the hordes of women who fluttered around him would see proof that he was married, although in today’s world that would probably still not keep them away, but it was a statement that he was committed, married. Timothy kissed me then, even though that was not the place in the wedding where we were supposed to do so. “I would not notice a horde of women, even if they were fawning and naked,” he whispered in my ear. “A Pooka cleaves only to one.” What could I say to that? It sounded too good to be believed, but I kissed Timothy’s cheek and gave him a huge grin. Meanwhile, the officiate waited for us to conclude our brief kiss/conversation. The guests also seemed patient. None of them lapsed into conversation or started an audience’s normal cough and body shifting during such pauses. I was glad our ceremony wasn’t strict and formal. Timothy and I were writing a new path, our own path, I presumed. Next, it was Timothy’s turn to say the magic words that were supposed to imprint the ring permanently on my finger, not that I’d ever want to take it off. Timothy had bought me a gorgeous diamond ring with emeralds cloistered around it as my engagement ring. As he placed the new addition, the wedding ring, on my finger, I saw that it fit together perfectly with my engagement ring. The shine of this new double row of rings was probably visible clear to the guests sitting in the farthest of the living room chairs. Wow! The ring set was super beautiful! I wanted to stand there admiring the way it looked on my left hand. The officiate once more cleared his voice, and then he slammed the whole ceremony into a homerun: “By the power vested in me by the State of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife. NOW, you may kiss your bride, Sir.” That was a given. We joined more closely than before and took a moment to really do the kiss properly. As always happened with Timothy, when he kissed me deeply, there was no awareness in me of anything else, only Timothy and the rightness of his body pressed to mine, his lips meeting mine, his arms pulling me closer until we were one body, one mind. “All right, you guys,” my friend, Cara, said. “You can do that all you want later. But now, let’s go get some wedding cake!”