5.10 The Pooka’s Wife
Mr. Crazy ignoring all that, just kept hobbling forward, his eyes glued to Timothy, not even noticing the lovely draped flowers and the beautifully gowned bridesmaids, (No, I hadn’t made my friends wear the traditionally ugly bride’s maid dresses. I’d asked them to wear whatever dress they wanted to wear, preferably in a shade of green, and they had all done so and looked lovely.) On Timothy’s side of the wedding party, all the men were wearing sharp-looking suits of black. I knew Andrew and Chef Ben, of course, but not the other two handsome males, whom Timothy had said were friends from his businesses. (I wondered if they were married. Cara and Sammy weren’t yet. Maybe I could introduce them. Whoops, of course, they’d already been introduced since the men had walked the ladies down the aisle.) Such strange thoughts were entering my mind when I should be focused on what was happening at the moment in the middle of my wedding, and who was the strange woman gathering eyes like some famous Hollywood movie star? Why was she interfering? Why was everyone bowing to her? Why did my almost husband, a magical pooka, seem humbled by her presence? Jack Peterson’s eyes lifted to the judge who was supposed to be pronouncing us man and wife. The officiate had paused. He wasn’t bowing to the woman in the audience, but he wasn’t frozen either like the people who weren’t giving her homage. “You cannot marry this couple. This man is a vampire,” Jack Peterson, Mr. Crazy, proclaimed. “This poor, innocent young woman has no idea of the danger she’s putting herself in. It would be a crime and a sin to go on with this marriage. I absolutely forbid it.” “You fool,” said the lady standing in the middle of all the seats, surrounded by kneeling people. I was still kneeling, too, because Timothy had jerked me down, but I could see the woman clearly. She could have been Helen of Troy, Aphrodite, or one of her goddess peers, for she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. No movie star, no beauty queen, no top model could ever compete with what the fates had given her. She was perfection. “Thank you,” the woman said, her eyes transferring from the fixed stare at Mr. Crazy to look directly into my eyes. “Penelope, Child, your thoughts are kind, and complements are always lovely.”
5.9 The Pooka’s Wife
“Taking advantage of the guards’ release of his arms, Mr. Peterson advanced into the room, hobbling. Terry handed him back his crutches, so that Peterson could hobble his way forward. The foot and leg injury was probably rating the guy some sympathy from our seated guests, but Timothy’s face was mottled with raging fury. He was stiff from the tension. His shoulders were hunched in, and his neck was tucked down like a prize fighter’s. Timothy gently tried to push me behind him in a protective manner, but I refused to allow that. I figured that Timothy might as well grasp the notion, if he hadn’t done so already, that I had no intention of becoming a passive partner in our relationship. I might be a coward on rollercoasters (and airplanes,) but I was a fighter when it mattered. Instead of being the quivering little woman in the background, I thrust out my chest and took up my karate position. (Yes, I’d been getting lessons most days. Timothy had insisted, and the karate lessons meant I didn’t have to go to the gym at 5:00 am, so all good.) Taking a step, which required me to duck away from Timothy’s second grab, I yelled, “How dare you enter this house and disrupt our wedding. You are nothing but a baboon who sees vampires and demons right and left.” “Let me handle this, my darling,” Timothy said firmly as he once more tried to make me stand behind him. “Handle it? No, this idiot thinks he can . . .” “Enough,” a woman said, with a voice like hard crystal — a clanging, super-charged, discordant demand that not only silenced me, but everyone else who might have decided to talk. She had stood up in the midst of the guests, having blended in as human, but I knew instantly that she wasn’t one of us. I had no idea who she was — or what she was, but she reeked of power. A witch? A vampire? A Fae? Timothy collapsed onto his knees and urged me down. Among the guests, many left their seats and bent to their knees with bowed heads, all showing their respect for the woman in their midst. And every one of the guests on their knees were strangers that I’d never seen before. I wondered if Timothy knew them. Obviously he knew this woman. Jack Peters remained unfazed by what was happening in the rows of chairs: the people kneeling, the tall woman standing, and Timothy and me bowing, while everyone sitting had gone absolutely still and silent.
5.8 The Pooka’s Wife
I somehow heard the scattered “ahs” from the people seated, but their responses weren’t the important ones, not at that moment. It was only Timothy that I wanted to hear from. He was the one who needed to know that I was 100% committed to him. I accepted his being a pooka, his being rich, and everything else that had stood between us. He needed to know that I would do whatever was required to stay together no matter what . . . and no matter where we had to go when our time in San Jose was over. My soon-to-be-husband nodded that he understood my meanings, and I knew that he was reading my emotions as well, because besides the words, I was also sending him all my love with the full force of my thoughts. Timothy squeezed my hand and leaned forward to meet his lips to mine. Then, as if it were practiced, the two of us simultaneously turned to face the wedding officiate, our individual promises now given. The yellow-clothed Santa took his cue from that, cleared his voice, and went on with the ceremony. “I have to ask this question. Sorry, Penelope and Timothy. But does anyone have a reason why these two should not be legally wed? If so, you must step forward and speak now or henceforth hold your peace.” Silence throughout the room assured us that no one would dispute our wedding. The officiate took in a breath, and said, “As there are no objections . . .” “Wait!” came a voice from the back of the room. “I object.” The disruption came from even further than that . . . from the outer door, the one where Terry and Bob were standing guard. And from the sound of that voice, Timothy and I both knew who had caused the commotion: Jack Peterson had somehow found us again and had come to halt the proceedings. The officiate stopped. Timothy and I turned to face the door, as did every seated guest. Heads were spinning. Whispers were rampant. Several people stood up and allowed their heads to swing back and forth. Bob and Terry latched onto the man. In seconds they were trying to bolt Peterson’s hands behind his back, only it wasn’t easy because the man was hurt and could barely stand. We could see that Peterson’s right foot and leg were covered in a big white cast, and his crutches, once knocked from his arms, were dropping to the floor. It was too late to stop the man’s interference. The wedding had been paused as efficiently as Peterson had desired. Timothy waved the guards to bring the jerk of a vampire hunter into the house. I guessed that it was wisest to get the man’s objections over as quickly as possible. But what could Peterson say? Would he call Timothy a vampire again?
5.7 The Pooka’s Wife
The living room full of guests were all laughing, apparently, thoroughly enjoying the story. That surprised me. I’d never captured an audience before. I’d never been a public speaker. For a moment I panicked, wanting to shut down the story, to retreat back into silence, but this was important. I couldn’t leave the speech where I’d left it. There was more to explain, and I had to lead the Timothy/Penelope drama to its conclusion, so I took in a deep breath of air and continued. “But by the end of that evening, Timothy had wormed himself into my heart. Five hours, that was all it took to fall in love. Who could have predicted that? It took no more than a week before I realized that I couldn’t live without Timothy. I didn’t want to live without him. He had become my everything.” I know I cheated a little, stealing Timothy’s line, but the wording felt right, describing what had happened perfectly. A truth laid out in its own shiny reflection. I turned to face Timothy. His lips were curved in a gentle smile. His eyes cast golden highlights. Somehow, I could read them in that moment. Read them enough to know that he loved hearing my confession, this public broadcast of my inner thoughts and memories. Yet, I worried that he might not have appreciated my telling everyone about how rude he’d been that day. “Sorry about revealing that moment when we first met.” I said, squeezing his hand. “I guess I shouldn’t have mentioned how you acted then, but, Timothy, since then, I’ve grown to trust you and to see you through the eyes of deep affection, friendship, and love. You have given me the confidence to laugh, to try new things, like riding a horse, and that awful airplane ride . . .” I chuckled and shook my head, wondering if I should have confessed my cowardice about plane rides. But it was a day for acknowledgements, a day for truth-letting. “Timothy, you’ve transformed me into someone I wanted to be but never was, and I thank you for that.” I’d become long-winded. It was time to stop, yet, I still wasn’t finished, couldn’t stop yet. Another big breath, a scan of the audience, then a slight posture movement so that I was facing Timothy. “You are my inspiration and my guiding light to happiness. I want us to be together always, and no matter what life brings us. I promise to remain at your side, faithful, adoring, and supportive, because I love you, Timothy, with all my heart.”
5.6 The Pooka’s Wife
The yellow Santa Claus guy began his speech. “We are here today to celebrate the joining of Timothy Caldwell and Penelope Casey. I’ve been told that their love has the depth of ancient soul mates. I can see the wisdom in their eyes as they look at each other with devotion, and I can feel the warmth of their emotion. It is a positive force that binds them fast. “Do either of you, Penelope or Timothy, wish to share words with the group assembled here to witness your wedding?” Timothy glanced at me, then nodded. “Yes.” Keeping my hand in his, he turned us to face the guests. “I have waited a lifetime for the wondrous gift of Penelope. She wears a pure heart, a loving nature, and an intellect that is keen and bursting with enthusiasm for the joy of learning. She is my everything, and I am delighted that she has agreed to join her life with mine.” He looked away then from the crowd and stared deeply into my eyes. “I will never betray you, Penelope, in any way. I will stand by your side no matter what hardships we face. I will love you more each day, each month, each year, and into forever.” He let go of my hand and bent down to his knee. Then taking both of my hands in his, he said. “I pledge my troth to you, my darling and beloved Penelope. Will you accept me?” I think my heart melted a new into some kind of ecstatic splender. I nodded and then cried out, “YES!” As I’d said, we had not discussed the ceremony, nor practiced it. I guess I’d thought the officiant would just say some silly words, and we’d be married. But Timothy’s tribute was so unexpected, I felt tongue-tied, yet I knew I had to reciprocate. I couldn’t leave him with only my half-way yelled Yes. “Timothy,” I said, then tried to pull him up, but he shook his head. “I kneel before you my gentle bride. I want you to know that. I am yours,” he said, “Good, then stand up,” I ordered, pulling a chuckle from the crowd. “I can’t say that it was love at first sight,” I told the guests, most of whom I’d never seen before, but they were there, so I figured they must care and were thus worthy of hearing how I felt. “Timothy was really quite rude the first time we met. It was at one of those dinners that Judy plans so well. She and her husband, Ed, had invited me to what I thought would be a big group event. Not so. It was only Timothy who’d been invited, discourteous, Timothy.
5.5 The Pooka’s Wife
The man who had caused all this stress was waiting for me, and I suddenly remembered that I wanted to do this, go through with this ceremony so he and I could be merged, the way marriage ceremonies were supposed to do that subtle magic. I took a step forward, aware of Mr. Simons holding out his arm and me clinging to his fancy silk jacket sleeve. He looked down and gave me an encouraging smile. Behind me I felt the presence of the four ladies following, each escorted by a handsome groomsman. There were no flower girls. As I’d wished, the wedding was supposed to be simple. I was unconsciously doing the sedate slow-step march. Had such a pattern once been utilized to give the bride lots of time to question this grandiose decision? Did brides often reach the altar and then cry out “no” just before they ran off into the night? Or was the slowness of the movement only for drama, allowing all those seated in the aisle time to analyze the bride’s dress and hair? Timothy was smiling broadly, his smile so big, his mouth must be stretched to breaking. When I’d almost reached him, I turned to hand my bouquet of red roses and baby’s breath to Simone, who was indicating that I should pass them to her. Then I turned back to accept Timothy’s outstretched hand. His was warm and only slightly sweaty. Did that mean that he, too, felt intimidated by all this? “It’s not too late to back out, Penelope, if . . .” he whispered into my ear. I lifted the fingers of my other hand and placed them over his mouth to stop his words. “I love you, Timothy. No second thoughts.” I was pretty sure that my words were firm and honest. I wanted Timothy, there was no question about that. Hand and hand, the two of us turned to face the officiant. The man, a complete stranger to me, nodded at us, then gave a kindly smile. Looking into the man’s face, I almost burst out laughing. He was like Santa Claus without the red suit and bag of toys: a whitish beard and hair, blue eyes as clear as the sky on a sunny day, ears the slightest bit flappy, and a rotund belly only partially covered by a yellow three piece silk suit. His tie was vibrant in shades of green and yellow. He seemed like a caricature, a buffoon of a marriage officiant, but since Simone had chosen him, I was sure he was authentic.
5.4 The Pooka’s Wife
The quartet downstairs was starting up. Pachelbel’s Canon would be the piece that drove us down the stairs. This selection sounded more like Debussy. “Okay. You’ve all cheered me up,” I said, turning to face the four ladies. “You’re right, Judy. I’m among friends and about to marry the most incredible man in the world. And, thanks to you all, this wedding is absolutely perfect! So, should we get this show on the road?” The four of them laughed. Then Sammy got all serious. “Do you have something blue and something new . . . “And something borrowed?” Cara added. I nodded. Judy had lent me a blue sapphire bracelet that I was wearing over the long sleeves of my satin gown. It was both borrowed and blue. The something new was, of course, my wedding gown. I refused to put a six pence in my shoes, even if I had one. Cara giggled. “And what about the garter?” I shook my head. “There’s no way I’d participate in that. Timothy knows it, too.” “Here. The final touch,” Simone said, attaching the veil, then draping it down over my face. “I’m not crazy about this part. I guess it improves the way I look if I cover my face,” I joked, but Simone wagged her finger at me. “You make a beautiful bride. None of that, Penelope, even in jest.” And then we heard the Pachelbel start to play. That was our signal. Judy handed me my bouquet, and the others gathered up theirs. We opened the door where Mr. Simons was waiting. I placed my hand on his arm, and we descended down Timothy’s fancy staircase. We were saving the formal two-step wedding march for the flat ground in the fancy living room, the largest of Timothy’s chamber, which had been cleared especially to embrace folding chairs on each side of the required aisle. All too soon, I was standing in the entryway, where I was to begin the slow-step rhythm that would march me up to the place where Timothy awaited me. Earlier, we’d figured that this room would be sufficiently roomy for the small number of people we’d invited, but as I reached the threshold and scanned the room, I let out a small gasp: one part amazement and one part dismay. Each row of chairs was filled with people. Every seat had somebody in it, and some guests had even been forced to stand on the sides. Where had all these guests come from? I didn’t know this many people. Had Timothy invited them all? I had a flash of timidity and a stray thought brushed my mind: Turn around, leave, and return to my bedroom. Of course, I didn’t. I couldn’t do that, not to my friends, our guests, or to Timothy. Down at the end of the aisle, I saw his face. He was reading my thoughts. A flash of worry streaked across his face. He opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but he closed his lips and smiled warmly. Then he lifted his right arm, turned his hand with the palm-side up, and beckoned me.
5.3 The Pooka’s Wife
I had no parents or grandmother to joyfully watch such an affair, so, even the idea of having a marriage ceremony made me sad. Wasn’t a wedding ceremony supposed to be more than a celebration of love, but also the joining of families? Timothy was more or less family-less, as was I, so . . . “You have us here,” Sammy quickly said when I wiped a tear over such thoughts. She threw her arms around me, and Cara also participated our impromptu love fest of hugs. Simone didn’t join in, nor did Judy. They’d both just walked back into my bedroom for last minute bridal preparations that they felt might be needed. Apparently, they heard my words. “Shame on you, Penelope,” Judy lectured me. “You are the luckiest girl in the world. You’re marrying Timothy who is absolutely made for you. You have your friends here to cheer you on, and Ed is going to walk you down the aisle. This is a day for celebration, not for sadness.” “She feels too much,” Simone said, giving her input in the matter. “That’s what Timothy told me once.” She frowned, then shook her head at me. “But I agree with Judy and your two charming roommates. You are starting your future today here, Penelope. Everything will change now — for the better. You must believe that, Penelope. And looking into the future, I see a family, a baby. No two, and maybe more. That part is hazy and unformed. But I can see happiness clearly.” I gasped. “Really?” There was something in Simone’s eyes that told me she knew things that couldn’t be shared. She wasn’t making this up. She was serious. Judy beamed from ear to ear. “Yes, I see it, too,” she said, giggling like a young girl. My two best friends began to giggle, too, but they let go of me, not wishing to crinkle my dress. I was pretty sure that wedding dress wrinkles wouldn’t be possible. Simone knew how to prevent such things. Perhaps, it was in the material she chose. Or maybe it was like with Chef Stevens — Ben, he’d told me to call him. Ben could touch a cup and heat it up. Maybe Simone could uncrinkle material with her touch? I knew she was magical in some way. Was she Fae . . . or something else? I didn’t really think that being Fae was her route into the supernatural world. I was leaning toward believing that Simone might be a vampire. That would explain why Timothy suggested our wedding ceremony take place after dark so Simone could attend. But, she had none of the characteristics that I’d read about: no cold hands, no super pale skin, no fangs, I couldn’t be sure. Whatever Simone was, I knew that both she and Judy were super naturals of some kind. That was one thing I was certain about. Thank goodness that Jack Peterson hadn’t been around lately with his inaccurate knowledge of vampires and with all those dark and ominous predictions. I’d heard that the drug dealers he’d investigated before had finally caught up with him. Jack wasn’t dead, but the mobsters had sent him to the hospital. At least, that’s what Andrew had told me when I’d tapped him for information about Peterson, the plague of San Diego.
5.2 The Pooka’s Wife
I have a beautiful white dress, thanks to Simone’s excellent assistance. My hair and make-up are model/movie star perfect, and my two best friends, Sammy and Cara, are all dressed up in gorgeous light green dresses, mint green that reflects light like the leaves of an elm or sycamore tree — exactly the same hue as the bedspread back at the fancy hotel where Timothy and I stayed in San Diego. That was kind of a joke of ours, but no one seemed to object to the color I’d chosen. Simone is wearing the maid of honor dress, also mint green, and somewhere among all the confusion downstairs, my matron of honor, Judy, my boss’s wife, wears one that is almost identical. I’d decided to have the wedding in Timothy’s house. No place could be more suitable in my opinion, and Timothy was willing to do whatever it was that pleased me. I guess one of the reasons for choosing his house instead of the chapel, was that I really didn’t want a lot of people at our ceremony. My parents were dead, as was the grandmother who’d raised me from age twelve. So, all I had to support me were the people in our wedding party. Timothy’s best man was, Andrew, of course, and he’s in attendance, probably with his girlfriend, who I’ve yet to meet. Timothy recruited Chef Stevens, at my request, since I was really fond of the guy, plus two business associates that are strangers to me. Mr. Simons, my boss (and Judy’s husband) agreed to walk me down the aisle. So, the setting, choreography, music (Timothy hired a quartet that played classical music,) flowers (Judy and Ed Simons’ gift to me,) and the dainty deliciousnesses of hors d’oeuvres, strawberries and melon slices, plus a variety of tiny finger foods (all prepared by Chef Stevens, including a three-tier cake,) are assembled and ready for their moment to shine. Oh, and the official wedding officiate, who was a friend of Simone’s will marry us. I haven’t met him yet, but Simone said he will provide us with a wonderful ceremony, leaning on the Celtic Irish side, whatever that means. I’d told both Timothy and Simone that I didn’t want any religious stuff and neither of them thought that was awful. “Oh, and no obeying,” I’d added when we were discussing such things. Timothy had appeared puzzled over that and glanced at Simone as if she’d know what I was talking about. But then he let out a voluminous laugh and teased me. “That was an option?” he asked. And now the day is here. Timothy hadn’t wanted a bachelor’s party, I’d negated any offerings of a bridal shower, to Judy’s disappointment, and there was no bride’s night out. Simplicity was my mantra. Low key. Just get the show on the road and let me get back to normality, well, as much normality as there would be married to a pooka. No, it wasn’t that I lacked romance, as Cara had accused, but this show of a wedding was a kind of beside the point. Timothy and I had been sleeping together for months. No bride and groom on their honeymoon could be cleaved any tighter than we were.
5.1 The Pooka’s Wife: The Beginning
The Pooka’s Wife Book 2 of the WonderLand Series NOTE: Please read Book 1: The Abyss of WonderLand first. K.S. Riggin Chapter One Everyone is excited on their wedding day. It’s a magical day. I am no different in that respect. I’m one part scared out of my skin, nervous about everything to come, intimidated by the idea of being front and center before a horde of eyes, and . . . bridal shy. There is no doubt that Timothy is my soul mate, and I can’t wait to marry him since we love each other wholeheartedly. Everyday together reinforces that belief. My only doubts are about his true identity. It is quite a leap for an ordinary female like me to jump into the supernatural world, to become one of them, and the fact that Timothy has a history he doesn’t want to talk about, hundreds of years of history, well that’s all a bit of a chiller! You see, my fiancé, my husband to be, is a pooka. If you’re like I was, you’ve never heard of them. Pookas in Irish literature were known for being mischievous. They teased people, but never did any harm. A good example, I learned, was in the movie, Harvey, where the mysterious rabbit that only Harvey could see, popped in at out, basically entertaining his buddy, Harvey, but also, managing to solve some problems. I’ve seen the movie several times now, becoming better acquainted with how pookas supposedly acted. I’ve also read books that included stories about pookas. Most commonly, pookas become wild black stallions who offer rides to folks. But once on the pooka, the passenger can’t get off until the pooka allows it. According to such tales, it’s a rough ride for some, but no one ever gets hurt. That’s s the nature of the pooka, at least, according to what few stories I can find. I guess, the most important detail, is that a pooka can change its shape. It can be a wild horse, a giant rabbit, or whatever animal it chooses. Shape changing is cool, but impossible to understand, especially since the act of transforming his body doesn’t hurt the pooka. No pain like with Hollywood werewolves. That’s because it’s magic, Timothy tells me. Secondly, a pooka lives a long, long time. How many years or centuries is unknown. Timothy and his friend, Andrew, who voluntarily received a pooka’s bit back in his childhood, have lived through medieval times, have spent years in palaces with kings and knights, and have witnessed the birth of our American nation. They even saw fought in the Napoleonic wars, met Queen Elizabeth, and participated in California’s Gold Rush. (Sadly, they never met Shakespeare, Benjamin Franklin, or any of the famous people I asked about since their failure to age forced the two men to hide out, away from any public figures or any kind of residential stability.) The third detail that’s important is that when a pooka gives you his bite, he can turn that person into a supernatural. That’s where I come into the picture. Timothy will bite me on our wedding night, and then I’ll live the same long life he does. Oh, and as if that’s not enough, I’m learning that there are other super naturals among us: like vampires, werewolves, and the Fae. My eyes are opening to many vistas, as Timothy puts it. That’s a lot to take in for a shy twenty-three-year old, straight out of college and still a bit lost in even the human world.