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!”
5.15 The Pooka’s Wife
The officiate was still talking. I snapped my mind back to his questions about the exchange of rings. Rings? It had never occurred to me that Timothy might want a ring. How could a pooka change into a horse while wearing one? Beside me, Timothy chuckled. “This is great fun,” he whispered. “Your thoughts are an absolute maze of ponderings. Of course I will wear your ring on me finger.” I half-ignored him as I watched his pal, Andrew, hand over two gold rings, giving one to Timothy and one to me. I thanked Timothy’s best friend and gave him a big smile, then waited to see what would come next in this extremely strange ceremony we were participating in. I remembered what other nuptials were like. I’d seen lots of them in movies: the beautiful dress, the brides maids spatting with each other, the grooms in spiffy suits, looking handsome. I’d even been to a college friend’s wedding not that many years ago, too. The bride, Jessica, and I hadn’t been close, but I think she wanted huge numbers of guests so she’d get lots of wedding gifts. I hoped she liked the #15 chafing dish with tiny blue flowers around the edges I’d purchased. It had been on her list. Charles Piermont Montgomery III had invited me to his wedding, too. The chump! But no longer curious about wedding ceremonies, I’d sent him a curt rejection. He and his dear bride didn’t get a wedding present from me, either. I almost wrote the woman to inform her that she was making a big mistake, that she’d find herself divorcing Charles in a year (or sooner,) but it really wasn’t proper to send such a letter to a prospective bride, and she wouldn’t have believed me anyway. Sometimes I wondered if the two of them were still married or if the love-dust sprinkled in her eyes had faded away shortly after the honeymoon ended. The officiate had started speaking again. “Repeat after me: “With this ring, I, Penelope Casey, pledge you my love for now and forever.” I said the words with a slightly shaky voice, but I think I was clear and loud. I was supposed to slip the ring on Timothy’s finger next, but that wasn’t as easy as it sounds. I suppose that was because my hands were trembling worse than California’s San Andreas fault. My wedding had been very stressful so far. In the last half hour Jack Peters had tried to forbid our ceremony, a woman from Faerie had more or less commanded that I come see her, then she’d told me that I was going to have a bunch of sons, and, finally, the realization, after hearing someone cough, that a whole room full of people were waiting to see if I was going to accidentally drop Timothy’s ring instead of slipping it onto his finger.
5.14 The Pooka’s Wife
I’d love to say that the woman disappeared in a puff of smoke or a sparkly shimmer, but there was none of that. She, her court of followers who’d been disguised among my human friends, plus Jack Peterson, just winked out with no disturbance of air, no clap of sound, no smell of greenery, or any other announcement of magic. They were just present and then not present. At the same moment that the faery queen left us, the people around us began to stir. Timothy and I scooted back to our place in front of the officiate, and after a quick view backwards at the seated guests, followed by quiet blinks and the clearing of the officiant’s voice, the judge began again, repeating those troublesome words of: if anyone had a reason for this marriage not to take place . . . The room was silent this time. No disturbance. No voice calling out an objection. No Jack Peterson. Before that point, I’d noticed that the living room had been on overflow, but those still standing quickly realized that there were plenty of vacant seats and scurried to find themselves one. The folks who had already been sitting, were still looking dazed and slightly disoriented. (Several had been frozen with an arm up to soothe back a hair, to scratch a nose, or possibly to pat the hand of the person beside them. Would that arm be sore, fatigued, or weighty now that they had their freedom of movement again?) When no one called out to deny us the right to be married (luckily,) the officiate continued with his words. Timothy and I swore to cherish and honor each other in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth. I cracked up at that one, and Timothy, knowing exactly what I thought about all his riches, just smiled and squeezed my hand. Money was rather the big abyss between us. I wanted to abstain from accessing his bank accounts and his piles of green bills, and he was ardent in his insistence that whatever he owned was mine. (Yes, I know, my viewpoint was slightly particular — Timothy called it my moral stubbornness, but my grandmother had taught me to stand on my own feet, not be a sponge of someone else’s wealth. So sue me for my oddness.) The truth of the matter is that we’d met with a lawyer a few days before our wedding. He’d made us sign a bunch of documents. A summary of that session, which lapsed into arguments several times as I rebelled against Timothy’s dictatorial attitude concerning the whole process, is that Timothy’s wealth was mine and mine was his. (Like I had any.) The lawyer wanted me to sign another form in case of divorce, but Timothy negated that, his face looking so dire, that if I’d been the attorney, I would have crawled under his desk. “That cannot happen,” Timothy said. Yeah, there was that. This Pooka thing was a forever. Andrew had explained that, making sure that I understood the nature of it.
5.13 The Pooka’s Wife
“As for the one who calls himself Ben at the moment, “ the woman with the queen’s bearing said, glancing over at the chef, “You are to accompany the couple. I wish you to remain with them wherever they go, even in Faerie. You must protect them against all others.” Whoa, this had gotten even stranger. A strange lady in a ball gown, who was wearing a crown and getting everyone – at least those awake and not in some kind of stasis – to go down on their knees in obeisance, now had started issuing orders to Timothy’s chief chef? And the woman knew about pookas and was discussing Faerie, although Timothy had said to never to do so? My brain was wheeling. I felt dizzy. I wondered if I’d actually fainted and was dreaming all this. The woman drew near us, her elegant gown rustling like a nest of serpents. How she transported herself, I had no idea. I never saw her legs move, yet, she was instantly beside me, touching my head, her face soft and almost motherly. “Be fertile, youngling. There is a need. And know that I will stand by you when you call. Henceforth, you belong to me. Even before the bite of the pooka, I have enclosed you in the blessing of the Fae.” She stepped back then and was once more was standing in the middle of the people bowing and all the seated guests. “As to this barbarian Human, I shall take him with me. Too bad that means a shortened stay for me at your ceremony, but it is better that way. The currents of magic, although not acknowledged by Humans, may give them a sensation of unease. Sometimes, it even makes them feel dizzy,” she said, looking directly at me again. “Pardon the intrusion, Cadarone,” she said, glancing at Timothy. “Although you have kept separate from me, and I have permitted it, I was too eager to meet your choice of brides to wait any longer. Congratulations, Penelope and Timothy Caldwell. I bid you long life, great happiness, and exuberant prolificacy.” Timothy, still head bowed, pulled me up so we were standing together side by side. “Forgive me for my past weaknesses, Your Majesty. It was cowardly for me to have run. I am grateful for your grace,” he said, bowing his head once more. Following suit, I did the same thing, although I was barely functioning, my brain such a whirl of disbelief and amazed awe (and worry over the last word the queen had used, a word which I was pretty sure meant fertility.)
5.12 The Pooka’s Wife
The officiate was a statue. A glance to the left, said that Cara and Sammy had gone into the twilight zone of zombiehood, too. But not Judy and Simone. The latter even winked at me, although they were both in a kneeling position, showing homage to the queen or whatever she was. I felt Timothy breathing heartily. He was awake and aware, but why was I? I wasn’t supernatural. I should be one of the seated frozen. Why wasn’t I a zombie? The woman smiled at me as she turned her head to glance at me again. “You, Penelope, sweetest of human children, are in the becoming,” she said. “You will soon be as Andrew is — and more.” I glanced in Andrew’s direction. Both he and Chef Ben were looking at me. Neither seemed overly alarmed by all this craziness. I guess Andrew had seen a lot of odd stuff in his time. And Chef Ben. Oh, yes, he was Fae. No wonder he was taking it in so calmly. “Yes, Penelope Sweetness. I will make sure of that. The prince deserves a partner fitting to his worth and position, and I am quite pleased with you. Your verbal attack on the Human, and the way you stood up to the prince in spite of his strength and his manly cunning shows me that you not only have a brain, but courage. Yes, you are pleasingly well rounded and suitable.” It was nice to receive compliments, but I still had no idea what was happening and why this strange woman was standing in the middle of the room, delivering her speech. It was supposed to be a wedding event. How had everything gone bonkers? “Cadarone,” she continued, apparently ignoring my thoughts this time, “you will bring your bride to us so we can become better acquainted. I command it. I give you my bond that there will be no attempted seduction on my part or punishment for past offences. So, do not flee from me again. I give you my word now that you and she will be free to come and go. And no, I will not harm a lovely hair on this darling one’s head. I mean her to restore the pooka race. She will bear you many sons. “Meanwhile, you two will prosper in your happiness for three months. Then you will return to us at Beltane. I shall rename her, of course, Cadarone, although I rather like the name Penelope Sweetness.” The woman chuckled to herself, then twirled about, casting sparkles of diamond twinkles and changing the hue of her dress. It darkened from yellow into a lovely shade of pastel green, as if she had noted the colors of my brides maids and wanted to join in. She nodded her head, then continued speaking. “Cadarone, you have waited too long. I can feel your imbalance. Your magic needs recharging. Oh, and bring this one, Andrew Sturns. I have a mate for him, I believe. His loneliness is sending out an atmosphere of disquiet that disturbs my peace. Several of the maidens have begun weeping at random times. I believe that may be his fault.
5.11 The Pooka’s Wife
The woman focused her eyes then on Timothy. “Well met, my young prince. You have chosen well with this young girl for she is sweetness and light. She will be good for you. Mores the pity, because I’d always hoped you’d come around to sharing my bed.” Of course, I gasped at that, but for once I kept my mouth shut. There was something about the woman that told me she was not a person one should argue with. But to say something like that at a wedding! Or, publicly. Or, at all! “Well thought,” the woman said, once more scanning me with her eyes. I supposed she meant the part about my choosing not to argue with her. It certainly couldn’t be my opinion of her statement. (Thankfully, she didn’t react to my view of her openly expressed lust for Timothy. Could she have been joking?) The woman suddenly spun about in a ballerina’s pirouette, which opened up her yellow taffeta dress like an unfurled cape. Silk and fluff enlarged to take twice the space of a moment before, and the dress lengthened and acquired a ballroom appearance. A myriad of diamonds brilliantly sprang into sparkle in a cascade of jewels that practically saturated her whole body. And on her head sat a crown so bespeckled with gems that it almost hurt to look at it. The room where we had gathered was quite without any sunshine, and the lights were dim. What had livened the gown and the crown to star shine? But my thoughts were pummeled by the queenlike figure as she whirled to verbally pounce on Mr. Peterson. “You,” she said, her left arm, outstretched, the fingers level and pointed at Mr. Peterson. “I cannot decide if you have enhanced the entertainment or disordered it. You have surely taken the tedium out of what might have been a dry ritual, yet your accusations are entirely unfounded and ludicrous. The prince is no vampire. Of that you can be assured, but that is neither here nor there. The truth of it is that you have greatly displeased me, Human. My court will tell you that such an attitude always carries retribution.” Jack Peters looked frozen at that point. His eyes stared forward, his limbs appeared rigid and inflexible in their positioning. I think the woman had put him into some kind of stasis. Mr. Vampire Hunter blinked, which showed me that at least he was conscious, although I didn’t think any of the seated guests were. They were closed eyes, slumped over, and frozen in whatever position they’d been at the point of the woman’s bolting upward.