7.4 The Pooka’s Wife
The building that we entered at the port was full of large windows and looked extremely modern in appearance. There were masses of people once we entered. I guess everyone was getting on the same ship we were. Ben had mentioned that a ship like ours could contain between two thousand and six thousand passengers. It looked like they were all present! Timothy wasn’t very good-natured about the multitudes. His scowl broke out, the corners of his mouth moving downward. On most people that look would have either scared people away or been thought ill-mannered, but Timothy merely looked younger and cuter somehow. Terry set off, heading deeper into the building, with Daniel trailing behind after Timothy head-directed. I asked where they were going, but Timothy just said, “Preparing the way,” like he was a rock music star who needed the red carpet spread out in front of us. ( I teased him about it until Timothy broke out into that devastating smile of his that not only melted me, but caught the eyes of a couple of preteen girls standing with their parents. I thought one of them might swoon over Timothy’s grin.) They were twins by the way, cute little blond ponytailed future cheerleaders, I would bet, and one of them placed her hand over her forehead and managed to sink into her chair in the most graceful and dramatic pseudo faint I’ve ever seen. The parents mostly ignored her, but the twin fanned her sister’s face, glancing back at Timothy as if she were observing a movie star. Timothy probably didn’t even notice. His eyes were still scanning the mob of people, probably wondering if it was safe enough for us to weave our way through. I waited beside him, but I assumed that in the end, we’d just have to join the crowds smooshed between the long curving lines of yellow flagged poles that indicated where people needed to stand for their turn to board. Not so. Daniel returned first, motioning us to step over to the right. Then Terry appeared with a dark blue uniformed official whose eyes were already pinpointing us inside the crush of people. The officer came directly towards us, put out his hand, and shook Timothy’s. “Please follow me,” the man said. “We have a lounge you can wait in for your priority boarding.” “We haven’t gone through check in,” Timothy said. “Don’t we need to do that first?” “We’ll take care of you, Sir,” the officer said, then he glanced over at me. “Is this your lovely wife?” Timothy apologized for not introducing me, but I was sure the officer already knew who I was. It was on the tickets Timothy had handed him, wasn’t it? Terry, Daniel, Ben, Bob and the three of us . . . (including the very handsome older officer. I think someone like him is called a gray fox? Cara would have known. She was up on such designations.) Anyway, our whole group followed the officer who led us a distance to the right into an elegant room with a table full of pastries, juices, coffee, water, and assorted teas. It was nice inside with only about twenty people scattered about. None of us had any appetite with all our anticipation over embarkation. Whoops, I spoke too soon. Bob lumbered over and stacked some bear claws on a plate, then grabbed a couple of orange juices. (Yes, totally impossible for most people to hold all that, but Bob’s hands were massive, and I watched as he gripped three plastic OJ’s plus a paper plate without spilling anything as he moved himself over to a small table beside a stiff plastic chair.)
7.3 The Pooka’s Wife
A cruise! I was about to go on a cruise! Me, who had never journeyed anywhere outside of Northern California and was now in Florida, the Golden State, the Orange State, the Alligator State . . . Florida was also one of the chief homes of the manatees, the famous sea cows of the ocean coast. To get to see them in their natural habitat was a promise Timothy had made me in San Diego. He’d earlier apologized for not having time to take me to see them before we left for France, so that wasn’t about to happen anytime soon, but did I mention how we were just about to board a giant ship and take a honeymoon cruise? To France! If excitement truly leaked out through one’s skin pores, mine would be dripping or floating off in gallons. (Sorry, if that’s gross, I mean, I was jumping about like a baby bunny, too thrilled to eat the wonderful breakfast selections offered by the hotel.) The four guards: Ben (Fae), Daniel (Thunderbird or Thunder god depending on who you talked to), and Bob and Terry (both Werewolves) were sitting at the two tables on each side of ours. The men, including my brand new husband, Timothy (a Pooka), were shoveling in scrambled eggs, sausages, bacon, and all the other offerings the huge elongated restaurant’s buffet provided. But me . . . as I’d said, I’d pretty much lost my appetite. I’d requested a toasted English muffin with honey and just kept sipping coffee, which the waiter continued to refill before I’d even downed half a cup. I was probably guzzling down my third Java when I realized that the guys were finally finished eating. “Ready?” my gorgeous husband asked. I practically leaped out of my chair I was so eager to depart. I had to slow myself down so we didn’t attract the wrong kind of attention. (Not that with five gorgeous guys surrounding me, we didn’t already have every eye on our exit from the dining room.) All of us had earlier packed up our suitcases, so they were ready to go. In fact, one of the hotel staff had carted them downstairs so they’d be ready for the chauffeur to load them in the limo’s trunk. Did I forget to mention that my new hubby was rich? Fancy hotels, cruises, limos — that was the world I’d married into, which was kind of embarrassing, but also rather nice because it included all the luxuries that an abundance of money brings. (The money thing was due to Timothy’s having lived hundreds of years while making good investments. His success made me feel less ashamed that I only had $736 in my savings account.)
7.2 The Pooka’s Wife
Going to your hotel room when you are completely and utterly exhausted is pure luxury. I rushed into the shower, ignored the goodies set up for us to nibble, failed to do my usual tour of the room, and simply scrambled into bed. I must have been asleep when Timothy crawled into bed. I guess I would have felt guilty about that; it was our honeymoon and all, but I never heard him, never realized he was there. We made up for it in the morning. Then we got to practice being married. It was great fun. It is going to be unbelievable having him always close. I was just about to ask him if he wanted to give me a Pooka ride, which I hadn’t done in ages, when a nasty knock on our hotel door jarred us from further activities. We couldn’t be upset, however. Our dinner had arrived. Yes, we’d slept through lunch. We’d spent most of the day in bed, but wasn’t that part of what a honeymoon was supposed to be like — or was it more due to jetlag? Anyway, we had salmon fillets, sweet potato fries, a selection of fruits, and a tossed salad of greens. It was perfect. We were both hungry, having had nothing but the early morning airplane breakfast. “What are we going to do after dinner?” I asked, while nibbling on a sesame bread stick. “Our embarkation appointment isn’t until eleven o’clock tomorrow. A walk on the beach? A sandcastle? A midnight swim?” I laughed. “Yes to all of that!” We met the guys out in the hall. Timothy had called them to let them know our plans. I wondered again why we had to have constant guards, but then I remembered the vampire hunter who had haunted our San Diego trip, and there was a Faery Queen who seemed to pop in and out of our days. But hadn’t we seen the last of both of them? It was still light out. We were able to do all the things Timothy had suggested, and then after all that, we showered and went down to the hotel’s nightclub. People were dancing in the center of the room. Timothy and I got up and “did some moves,” as Ben called it. I noticed that the guys each got up and danced at least once. There were lots of single women in the room who practically assaulted them with requests for a turn. Mostly, Timothy and I just sat and sipped our fruity drinks while watching the band. I guess we were acting like an old married couple, but . . . That would change on the cruise, I promised myself, just as soon as I felt energized again. How could one plane trip wipe a person out so completely? Of course, the females tried to flock about our table and drool over Timothy, but he let it be known that we were on our honeymoon and wanted to be left alone. That worked, mostly. Although we’d talked about staying up all night, we didn’t make it. The yawns attacked, and we made our way upstairs. The bed felt soft as mashed potatoes or is it clouds?
7.1 The Pooka’s Wife
The reception room/hall was every bit as luxurious as the hotel in San Diego had been. The sitting areas were comfy-cozy, also, but no one was sitting in any of them. Perhaps the lovely white sand and the sparkling waters of the ocean had called to all the hotel guests. Maybe they were all out digging sandcastles and swimming in the what Bob had assured me was warm water. I hoped I’d at least get the chance to test that. A warm ocean??? We all piled into the elevator, heading up to the top floor. And yes, it was labeled Top Floor, not thirteenth. That cracked me up. Would all the bad luck of thirteen leech out when it was called something different? Couldn’t the king of bad luck count the number of floors? Timothy smiled down at me, catching the thought. “We could still change our room,” he said. I shook my head and started reading elevator notices. One advertised a restaurant, another posted the hours of the gym, and a third showed a map to find the business room where it said that computers, printers, and copy machines were available. “Penelope’s afraid of being on the thirteenth floor?” Bob asked. “We get to add that to the long list: airplanes, dancing, necklaces . . .” A Terry elbow in the ribs followed that particular Bob aside, along with a shake of the head from Ben, and a ferocious scowl from Timothy. “If you’d rather not go on a luxury cruise with us and stay in top tiers hotels, say the word, but there will be no verbal assaults of my wife. Understand?” Timothy thundered. “Sorry, Boss. I was just . . .” Another rib shove and Bob cut off whatever he’d been about to say. I loved Bob. I loved his quirkiness. It was really okay with me if he wanted to do some mocking, but I didn’t say anything. Defending Bob had gotten me in trouble before. It is Bob’s job to guard you, not to babble a series of unwelcome remarks, Timothy had said in San Diego. I glanced over at Daniel. He was the quiet one, never adding his thoughts to any conversation. I wondered if he, too, thought I was afraid of everything. Would he send me back to the circle of young men doing their chants around the smoky, wood-stacked campfire in the middle of the sweet-smelling forest so they could chase away my numerous doubts and fears? Perhaps the thundergod felt my eyes on him. His soft voice soothed my worry. “To be aware of danger is to be alert and ready for challenge,” Daniel assured me. The elevator door opened before I had time to filter that through my fatigued and jetlagged brain.
6.30 The Pooka’s Wife
After we walked out of the Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood Airport, we saw our limo waiting for us at the curb. I heard Terry inform Bob that Juan and Diego, whoever they were, had collected our baggage, which was already in the trunk waiting for us. I slid into the limo’s butter-leather seats and sat back ready to see the sights. The chauffeur told us that it was only about five miles to our destination, Port Everglades. I found that name rather chilling since it reminded me of snakes and alligators, but I kept quiet. I’d already created enough drama for the trip. It was time to take a back seat and let others fight off the dangerous beasts. At first the road we traveled was a string of cars, tall buildings over to the side, lines of palm trees like a decorative fence, and then, an intracoastal waterway with lots of boats. Even through the closed windows and with the air conditioning chugging away, I could smell the ocean. With eyes wide and awake, I searched the horizon and saw exactly what I expected. The blue was a gem of sparkle, and the beaches were plump with white sand that called for us to come out and play. I remembered my times at Santa Cruz Beach where I made sand castles with my mom. My grandmother hated sand, so we never went back to the beach after my parents were gone, but I had wonderful memories of those earlier times. As the driver had told us, the Hilton wasn’t far. It practically welcomed us with its airy and inviting front. The sight of the towering, magical hotel was exciting, but my eyes were drawn to the water, to the beach, and to all the excitement I felt around us. At the welcome counter, we were told that the hotel had thirteen floors. I’d thought that was an unlucky number and had heard that elevators didn’t list thirteen. The woman, very stylish in her burgundy uniform, with a tag on her breast pocket that called her a Welcome Attendant, seemed uneasy about my question. She glanced over at the manager, as if needing assistance with how to respond, but the manager couldn’t bail her out since he was talking to someone else. “I don’t think people worry about that anymore,” the receptionist said, “But if you and your husband don’t want that floor, I can assign another room to you.” “Is it a problem?” Timothy asked me, ready to change rooms if I said so. I loved that about him. He actually listened to my concerns. But being on the thirteenth floor didn’t make me apprehensive, as long as they had elevators. I’d only been curious about it. (There was that mouth of mine, shooting off when it had no business doing so. At least that’s what my grandmother would have said.)
6.29 The Pooka’s Wife
Timothy didn’t say anything. I guess what we’d just experienced was self-explanatory. Doesn’t everyone have a Faery Queen drop in on them in mid-flight, or rather at the point of landing? No, all joking aside. Things were good. I was rid of both the nausea and the horrible necklace that had been glued/cemented/welded to my neck. My hand reached up to touch bare skin. It was a really, really good thing. I felt like me again. Around us, passengers were unhooking their safety belts. A couple had already stood up and were reaching for something in the overhead bins even though the captain or steward had urged everyone to stay seated until the plane reached its gate. That was actually a funny line. Gate? Like there was a fence we needed to get inside? The plane was driving down a long strip of asphalt, just like it was a car traveling back to its garage. Timothy reached over and unbuckled my belt, although I’d have preferred it to remain on. Safety first, right? I heard Bob and Terry discussing the Faery Queen. Bob thought she was knock-out gorgeous. Terry was telling him that it wasn’t wise to discuss her in such terms. Terry was always the caution in their relationship. Bob was the puppy, pouncing around in pure joy. Not that such an analogy applied when we discussing werewolves. I suspected they were both long-toothed and clawfully dangerous. Ben shot a glance my way. He was smiling at me, like he didn’t have a care in the world. He’d actually stood up to his Queen. Didn’t that concern him? Would there be repercussions for him? The man in front of Timothy had stood up too and was unfortunately airing his under pits. Nasty. I hoped he applied deodorant when he made his way home or to his hotel. “You alright now?” Timothy asked, giving my hand a quick squeeze. I’d let go of my husband’s hand a couple of minutes after the wheels touched the pavement and we were slowing down. I felt guilty for causing him pain. “Are you okay?” I asked. “Did I tourniquet your hand?” Timothy laughed and kissed my forehead. “I’m tougher than that, my darling.” We both stood then, feeling that it was our turn to exit the metal monster. Daniel, in front of us, moved back slightly. Ben moved to his right side. “Welcome to Florida,” Bob shouted from behind me, getting a hush from Terry, but I was glad for the reminder. I’d never been outside the state of California, and here I was clear across the continental US. Wow! Florida, land of alligators and sea cows. I wondered if we’d have time to go see a manatee. Timothy had once promised to take me to Florida, but I’d thought he was joking, yet here were.
6.28 The Pooka’s Wife
There are times, especially when dreadfully nauseated, when it would be a big plus just to keep my eyes closed and to pass into the cavern of queasiness, but Ben had just said words that could have gotten his head chopped off, if Faery Queens did that sort of thing, and this was me that folks were discussing, so I wedged open my eyes, pulled my nose out of the airplane bag, and looked up. The Queen, hearing Ben’s words, had reared up her head either with an air of royalty or of great rage, but seeing me looking at her, she blinked once, then moved closer. “Timothy, pull the necklace off your wife. I command it.” The fact that Timothy and I had both tried to remove the necklace back at the house/mansion didn’t seem to have any bearing on the Queen’s demands. Timothy didn’t even pause to argue. He reached out to touch my neck, then scooped the blasted thing off me like it had never been attached. Then, not knowing what to do with it, he tossed it to Ben, who started squeaking with the sound of fingernails on chalkboard. The plane was decelerating, its little wing flaps tugging on the air around us, howling and growling as if it were an injured puppy. I wanted to clamp my hands over my ears, but that was only a moment of whimsy. I was too fascinated by the spectacle going on around me to fall back into my relief bag. The Queen, still robed in a gown that sparkled blindingly, was clinging with all her strength, one hand on Timothy’s seat and the other on Ben’s, trying desperately to keep her balance. Poor Ben stood beside her, also hanging onto the plane’s heavy seat framework with one hand, while the other held the necklace with such distaste, it was like it was a snake that might suddenly bite him. All the people about us continued frozen in their stasis. I have no idea what they were thinking. Were they even aware of the golden-gowned woman standing in the aisle? Had they heard anything, or were their bodies and minds just turned off as if they were anaesthetized to the scene? Ben handed the necklace to the Queen, then practically jumped back into his seat and had the safety belt about him only seconds later. When my eyes returned to the Queen, she had suddenly disappeared. The plane’s wheels were breaking, laying skid marks across the runway, I supposed. Gravity thrust me backwards. I was holding Timothy’s hand with such intensity, he’d probably have finger imprints in his skin when the plane stopped. My vomit bag had been lost, possibly on the floor, maybe even pushed backward to share space with the two werewolf guards behind us. I was glad that not only was it empty, but luckily, I didn’t need it anymore. My stomach had given up its protests. My eyes saw only one reality, the inside of a skidding, noisy, vibrating metal contraption, that might possibly be falling apart at any moment it was rattling so hard. I was still a panicked mess, but not nauseated anymore. And the plane was slowing down. We’d made landfall. Could the worst be over?
6.27 The Pooka’s Wife
Daniel, without a word, returned to his seat, and I heard his seatbelt buckle click a moment later. Ben continued to hover, while Timothy moved me back to my seat and strapped me in. The forest scene on top the mountain with the braves all in breechclouts which covered their privates, but gapped open a bit if I cared to look — they were gone. Their soft singsong voices were silent. Their exquisite face paintings were only a memory. I supposed they had departed with Daniel’s departure. The Queen’s court was still solidly planted on my right. A slow blink could recall the colorful dancers who’d been parading about in their costumes, like sparkling jewels ripe to admire. And the Queen still floated behind Ben, one of her ringed hands, stroking his shoulder. She was robed in Queenly attire, a golden gown that glittered even in the absence of any light inside the plane. The Queen’s eyes were studying me again, but the sharpness of a moment before, seen in her eyes and heard in her voice had quieted. I think she sympathized with my illness, but then there were no lines on her face to give me such meaning, so I have no idea why that thought had filtered in through my dizziness and nausea. The plane was nose diving, preparing to land, I hoped. The engine sounds had changed in preparation. Or maybe that was the wings doing their fluttering reverse, reducing our speed so the impossibly huge metal plane could land on what seemed a smallish landing strip. I reached out to grab at my water bottle, suddenly thirsty. I don’t know where my airplane bag had gone. Did Timothy have it? The bag was still empty, but it had become my security blanket. I missed it. “You, Penelope, wife of my Pooka, you are recovering now. Your human body was frail, but you are no longer that weak capsule of humanity. You are now one of the Enlightened ones.” For a moment, I felt that the Queen might be right, but then the same desperation hit me, and I knew that despite the Queen’s words and her magic, I was about to erupt. “What is this?” the Queen roared when I grabbed the bag from Timothy and thrust my nose back inside. It was Ben who ventured a response that might have brought the Queen’s wrath with it, except the plane’s wheels were suddenly touching down, and she must have known that this stasis period would have to end. She turned to face him and asked him to repeat the words and so he did. “It is not the rejection of the Pooka, that is causing this, but the necklace you secured to Penelope’s neck. Her body cannot endure its magic at this time.”
6.26 The Pooka’s Wife
It was a strange sensation, this being in two places at one time: the middle of a forest on a mountain top with a cluster of men circling me while actually sitting onboard an airplane descending into a Floridian city I’d never heard of. In fact, as I blinked, I felt transported to another spot, a royal chamber: a great hall with spectacular male peacocks in full array painted on the walls and the same Queen I’d met earlier sitting atop her throne. She was watching some people dancing, the women clothed in ballroom style gowns, while the men were wearing Indian-style Sherwani with Nehru collars and exotic embroidery designs on their colorful silk tunics. I spent a moment studying the dancers as they wove about, their hands raised in the air, the women’s dresses swirling about with the women’s movements. But then the eyes of the queen turned to regard me. I wasn’t there. How could she see me? But I could feel her interest. I felt her eyes staring into mine. She took note of Timothy swathing my neck with his tongue and then Daniel, the Thunderbird, mouthing his chants as his hand cooled my brow. “Enough,” the Queen ordered. Daniel must have heard her because he took two steps backwards, and Ben shot up from his seat across the aisle from us. Had Ben’s faery Queen spoken to him? Had she commanded him to do something we hadn’t heard? Strangely, he, too, suddenly had no seat belt securing him to his place in the airplane’s lake-water blue seats. He was simply there beside me almost immediately replacing Daniel. “In trouble,” I said, loosing half my sentence. “I’d meant to scold them for getting up. At least, I think that’s what I meant to do, but even that seemed more than my poor brain could deal with, and my voice came out a harsh echo in the void of a hall once full of dancers but now empty of all but the Queen. “You will not reject the Pooka. You will grow stronger for it,” the Queen commanded, and I knew that demand was for me. But what control did I have over this hollowness inside me, this ricocheting from mountain realm to Queen’s Court that I suspected must be inside the Faery World? Timothy stopped attacking my neck to look up. Was he seeing the Queen, too?
6.25 The Pooka’s Wife
The plane was starting to descend. I think we were all supposed to be locked in our seats, prepared for landing, but Daniel stood up and made his way back to us. When a steward came rushing over, Daniel did something with his hand, and the man turned about and retreated. “She is ill?” Daniel asked. “I think her body is resisting the change. I have no experience with this. I don’t know what to do,” Timothy whispered hoarsely. I had never heard my husband’s voice so ragged. I opened my eyes to look at him, then, as the seat in front of me started whirling, I clamped down on sight. “Are we about to crash?” I asked. Yes, that was the no-no, the never say, the never even whisper phrase that we were forbidden to say on board airplanes, but I was rather out of it at that point. My world was a galloping tea cup, whirling about in some kind of Disneyland Alice in Wonderland fantasy. At least I wished that was where I was at, but the reality was that I was cognizant enough to know that I was still onboard a plane and that things weren’t right with ME, only ME. All of the other passengers sounded fine. No coffee throwing up due to bad hot water. No pastry breakfast bars that had gone bad. No blueberry yogurt rebelling against a lack of refrigeration time. The rest of the passengers were supremely quiet. No mobs in the aisles, no screaming or crying out from panic. It was just me having major spasms and dizzy spells. It was just me who was treating a plastic-coated discard sack like my best friend. Daniel reached over and placed his hand on my brow. He mumbled a series of sounds: words maybe, a song, a lecture about dogs, for all I know. Whatever he was saying, it came out as a chant, the mystical kind that needed a rock circle with a campfire in the middle, eight naked-chested Native American braves smoking peace pipes, and a wild wolf howling up at the moon. I tried to open my eyes to see if I’d somehow been magically transferred off the flight onto a mountain peak in the middle of a forest, but I couldn’t seem to unglue my eyes. I could feel that Timothy had shifted me into his lap. (How could he do so with his safety belt on? Where was the irked stewardess, raging about protocols and necessity?) Daniel still had his hand on my brow, cooling it down somehow. And Timothy was suddenly licking at my neck. What was up with that?