5.30 The Pooka’s Wife
I wanted to probe Simone’s comment, but I got a gentle nudge from Timothy. Leave it, my sweet. It is better if you not snoop in such things. Andrew knows what he’s doing. He is enjoying the challenge. Challenge? That was almost as weird a remark as Simone’s oddly unsettling comment. But, I let it go. Besides Sammy was asking me something about the upcoming honeymoon, Since I had no idea where we were going, I shrugged. “Ask Timothy. He won’t tell me our destination.” My husband had said . . . Oh, my. My Husband. What a delightful word. I said it several times to myself, just to hear the rhythm of it. I like the sound of that, too, almost as much as the word wife and your new name: Penelope Caldwell. Was that my new name? Should it be? I knew several women who had kept their maiden names, saying that it displayed male dominance to demand a name change, as if a wife were the man’s new property. But, it had been my father who gave me my maiden name, not my mother, so what difference did it make in choosing one or the other? Besides, I liked the name Caldwell, but it would change soon, the moment we were forced to leave San Jose. Then I’d be called something else. What would my name be then? I think Penelope Caldwell has a pleasant flow, Timothy assured me. Was it my imagination or was Timothy reading more of my thoughts now? Yes,” he said, giving me a wide grin, it was the bite. You may begin to feel my thoughts, too, as the saliva of the bite creates its subtle changes. Will that offend you? Will you resist that invasion? “Too late to worry about it now, isn’t it?” I said. “To worry about what? The honeymoon? Why would you worry about . . .” Sammy blushed then reached for her glass of wine. I could see that communicating with Timothy in mind speech was going to cause problems, at least when I was among humans. And that was a startling thought. Will I still be human? I mind sent. You will be an enhanced human, he said, giving me a quick kiss on my forehead. A supernatural with human characteristics, one accepted by all species or subsets: Fae, human, vampire, werewolf . . . “Werewolf?”
5.29 The Pooka’s Wife
Next, Chris Shafer moseyed over. He wanted to know when we’d be back from our honeymoon for more dancing lessons. I shrugged, and Timothy promised we’d call. Tai Taketo came over when Chris left. He pretty much wanted to know the same thing, except for him, it concerned my private karate lessons. The most interesting visitor to our table was Lillea Torn. She was Andrew’s mysterious girlfriend who had been too busy to meet us before. She had straight black hair that fell down to her hips. Her eyes were smoky hot – deep, dark brown, and, well, she was absolutely gorgeous. Andrew seemed to think so, too. I could tell by the way his tongue dropped down to the ground when she came over. (No, not really, but he was obviously deep in infatuation.) Simone and Lillea seemed to know each other. That wasn’t a good thing, if Lillea was of the same sexual preference as Simone, but I guess that was Andrew’s problem. And Lillea did do some heavy flirting with Timothy’s best friend, which led me to the belief that she was truly interested in Andrew, and maybe even wanted to be the girlfriend Andrew claimed her to be. Lillea seemed nice, if a little strange. She went through all the polite expression of congratulation, then asked if I’d ever gone scuba diving. I told her that I was partial to ping pong, and she merely blinked as if she had no idea what that was. But a moment later she was telling me about her favorite sport and how a great white shark had come up behind her one time. “I shook my Cressi Cherokee fast rubber gun at the shark, ” she informed me, “and it backed right away. Smart animal. It sure wouldn’t have wanted to tackle me in a hand to hand.” I was speechless after that. Tackle a Great White and laugh about it? But Andrew picked up the conversation, asking Lillea if he could go out on the boat with her. “I’d dive into the water, too, but I’m afraid my shark-fighting days are over,” he said, laughing a bit. Lillea gave Andrew a funny look. “What are you, ninety? Whatever your true age, it hardly matters. I’m much older than that!” I think Andrew realized then what he’d almost revealed, or at least hinted at, but he recovered smoothly. “No, I’m not an old man, but I started early,” he said with a tweaky smile. “By age thirteen I’d moved on to arm wrestling with gophers.” I thought Lillea had no sense of fun, but Andrew’s grin and ridiculous line made her throw her head back and roar with laughter. Sammy and I glanced at each other, and then at Cara. “You’ve met your match, girlfriend,” Sammy told Cara in an aside. And it was true, this woman’s cackle of a laugh was every bit as loud as Cara’s casual exuberances. Andrew congratulated Timothy and me once again, as did Lillea, and then they departed, Lillea with her head leaning against Andrew’s neck, as if she were sniffing his skin. It was an odd posture that went with the odd girlfriend, but what did I know? If Andrew liked Lillea, that was enough for me. Simone stared after them. “I hope Lillea maintains her faithfulness,” Simone said, which was an even stranger remark. Was Lillea flighty? Did she have a score of young men circling her?
5.28 The Pooka’s Wife
Chef Ben moved in with his aide. Carlo Espinosa, and in a minute the two of them were like an assembly-line: cut, shovel, plate, cut, shovel, plate. The forks and napkins were already lying on the table and so everyone could easily grab them and were able to reach out for their plate of cake. Timothy and I backed away, but then he suddenly called out. “There’s coffee, tea, waters, and sodas over there,” Timothy yelled, gesturing. “And for those who feel the urge: wines and alcoholic beverages.” The bartenders were already in position, wearing cute little penguin type suits with narrow black ties that were horizontal not vertical. People were lining up for drinks, some with cake, many without. Seeing that things were progressing nicely, Timothy and I sat down at one of the tables. Simone, apparently not caring for cake or beverages, rushed over to us and handed Timothy and me plates full of food. “Here,” she said. “I figure you two probably worked up an appetite.” “Careful what you say to my bride,” Timothy mock growled. “She’s practically a blushing virgin.” Simone snorted at that, turned, and walked away. “Stop that,” I said. “We don’t have to make an announcement about what we were doing upstairs.” “Like everyone doesn’t know?” Andrew said, coming up behind us with his own heaping plate. “Are we heading back outside to eat this?” The three of us weaved our way through standing bodies, and sat at a table near the sparkling of the pool water. My two ex-roommate buddies followed shortly. Both were carrying a second slice of cake. “Whoops, sorry, Andrew. We didn’t know you’d be out here with the lovie-dovies. You’ll have to get your own cake.” That was Cara, of course. Sammy just handed me a plate of cake and shrugged. Then, seeing that Cara was trying to find chairs, Sammy took the two plates of cake from her hands and handed one to Timothy. Our table, meant for four, soon expanded to Judy and Ed, then Simone and the two men who’d been in the bridal party that I’d never met. They were quickly introduced as Steven Jorse and Bill Mahoney. Both of them shook my hand, congratulated me, and then polished off their cake without saying much more of anything. Then they thanked us for inviting them, and shoved off, after shaking Timothy’s hand and saying goodbye.
5.27 The Pooka’s Wife
Hearing our brazenly bad Elizabethan chatter, Timothy let out a snort, his stoppered laugh of amusement. Cara shot him a quick glance of scorn. “Scorn not, kind sir, that which harnesses the passions of Nature.” It was obvious that as much as Timothy wanted to cling to my side, this side of Cara was about to drive him off. I swooped up his arm and pulled him close. “Come, my love,” I told him. “Away must we venture to far cake where we hither shall pierce the delightfully frosted gooey exterior.” That did it. Timothy lost his stern hold on composure, pulled me a centimeter closer, then turned to Cara. “The gooey exterior of cake doth call. We must away.” Then both ladies lost their cool and sank down into unbridled laughter. That attracted the eyes of everyone. All the guests started gravitating in our direction, mini comets pulled by the sun. Perhaps we weren’t up to star quality, but the mood in the whole room changed. The musicians suddenly stopped, then cried out, “It’s cake time, folks.” The cake was a huge white wonder, five tiers of cake structure with sugary arches, green ivy and pink roses. Ben had outdone himself in its elegance. Knowing Timothy’s Fae chef, I would guess that the cake would taste every bit as wonderful as it looked. Andrew handed the knife to Timothy, and I laid my hand atop his, and we did it, the best cake piercing of the year, or something like that. I’d already nixed the smear cake all over your mate’s face part. I’d seen that done, and the mess that followed was not cute. I was okay with the groom giving me a bite and my delivering a small chunk to him. It was just that smear thing all over someone’s face that I refused to do. That should be considered cake sacrilege!
5.26 The Pooka’s Wife
The living room was empty. The four of us made our way outside, toward the music and the voices of slightly tipsy party attendees. The guests had moved into the pool and deck area. Some of guests were dancing to the current rowdy Irish jig being played. Others were standing about the banquet table, loading up on Chef Ben’s wide selection of buffet items. Although my stomach wasn’t rumbling yet, I knew it would be soon, since my appetite was stoked just surveying the long table of delectables. I was actually ready to grab a plate and start piling it with food when someone screamed: “Penelope!” I turned to see, but, of course, I knew who it was that had pierced the air with her voice. I’m surprised the musicians didn’t drop their violins, the guests their plates stacked full of food, and anyone not doing either of those, fainting from alarm at the loudness of the call. Cara had the kind of voice that sent shivers, shattered glass, and unraveled the nerves of both the edgy and the calm. I saw that Sammy was trying to get Cara to be quieter, but Cara was too high-strung for that. Persistence was her motto in life, and it usually worked for her. I’d seen her wear down many casually interested people whose checkbooks weren’t eager to buy a neophyte artist’s work. The prospective buyers always left with a canvas under their arm, and usually they were suddenly smiling broadly about their purchase. Cara came running up to me and grabbed me in a bear hug that squeezed me like a tube of toothpaste. Simone had already retreated. Timothy stood there, uncertain how to help or if I needed any. Sammy just shrugged, her smile lighting up her face, in spite of her wish to be quieter about our reunion. “Hold on,” I said. “Calm thy lips and heed the song of robin and of dove.” It wasn’t Shakespeare, but it was one of those tropes that we girls had come up with to ease the river rapids, when Cara’s excitement rocketed into deafening. “My lips closeth as I note the utterances of wind and swaying willow branches,” Cara responded, right on cue.
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.