Chapter Four

After questioning her neighbors, Thyme discovered that Old Willie was in the hall.  She should have known, she supposed.  Old Willie seemed to live his entire life in the hall these days, slouched over a bottle of ale or snoring away in one of the old chairs drawn before the large fireplace.  That morning he was at the latter, nodding off over a beaten old book of some obscure title; Thyme was surprised the old man even knew how to read.  He’d never seemed much like the scholarly type.  She headed toward him determinedly…only to find her path blocked by none other than Bronson and his friends.  “Get out of my way,” she snapped.  She was in no mood to deal with the surly lot of them at the moment.

“Or you’ll do what?” Bronson sneered in response, and his friends chuckled and muttered around him.

“I’ll give you a good beating, is what,” she growled, fisting her hands at her side.  “I’m busy so go find somebody else to annoy.”

“So, did the big bad Ghost Owl scare you last night?” Bronson taunted, ignoring her threat.

“I’m still here, ain’t I?” she snapped.  “That says enough.”

“The Ghost Owl only carries off pretty girls, not ugly dogs like you,” he jeered, earning a few more chuckles from the other boys.

Thyme stared him straight in the eye.  “Well, that explains why it never took you, I guess,” she retorted sweetly, and shoved past him hard enough to make him stumble back into his friends.  He shouted in anger and started after her, but a sharp look from Old Willie, who was now awake and very much alert, gave him pause and sent him skulking in the other direction, instead.  He may have been an old drunk most times, but he could hold his own in a brawl and still possessed enough strength to whip Bronson into shape if the situation called for it.  “One of these days that pup’s gonna go too far,” Willie snorted as he waved Thyme into a chair.  “Now, what’s a pretty little thing like you want with a washed-up old pirate like me?” he asked in his hoarse and gravely voice.

Thyme smiled at the old man, then became serious and leaned toward him.  “I saw the Ghost Owl last night,” she told him in a whisper.

The effect those words had on Old Willie was astounding.  He straightened up, sucking air through his teeth, and then, after a glance around the large room, abruptly struggled to his feet and gestured for her to follow him.  More than a little curious at the old man’s sudden change in demeanor, Thyme hurried to do so.

He led her outside and down toward his hut, a somewhat run-down old shanty sitting beside the river.  It wasn’t very big, and looked like it had seen better days, but it was private, which was what Willie seemed to be looking for.  “Here, sit down,” he commanded, seating himself at a rickety table.  “Tell Old Willie about it.”  He lit his pipe and puffed at it as he waited for Thyme to start talking.  The scent of the sweet pipe tobacco he favored soon permeated the air.

Thyme bit her lip as she sought to explain what had happened to her.  “It’s kind of unbelievable,” she finally admitted.

Willie snorted.  “At my age, you can afford to believe in the unbelievable,” he replied.  “Go on, now.  Start talkin’.”

So talk she did, telling him about the bet and how she had gone into the forest and had been attacked and how she had escaped.  Old Willie’s eyes lit with admiration at that part.  Then she told him about the man that had been found in the woods that morning, naked, bleeding, the wound in just the place where she had stabbed the Owl.

“Am I crazy?” she finished up.  “I mean…the fae are just stories, aren’t they?  They can’t be real.  But…this man sure seemed real to me.”

Willie sniffed and blew a bit of ash from his pipe.  “The fae are real right enough,” he replied.  “My granddaddy was took by one, did ya know?  Some wood elf witched him inta followin’ ‘er through the gate into their world, an’ that was that.  Never seen my granddaddy since.  They’re sly, them fae folk.  They make a person believe that they can touch their dreams, an’ then they close in fer the kill.”

“What about those stories that the Ghost Owl eats the people it catches?” Thyme asked uneasily.

He snorted.  “Just stories.  Th’ fae can be nasty, but they ain’t cannibals.  Sometimes they can even be friendly.  Just cain’t be trusted, is all.  Most likely the Owl done carried off them kids to the Under-realms to live.  See, thing with the fae is that they like children.  Kids is precious rare to ‘em, so they take those kids what don’t have good homes and give ‘em better ones in their lands with new parents.  Might be wrong to us, but to them, anyone what abuses their kids don’t deserve ‘em, so they take ‘em away.  All those kids the Owl stole, they was from poor homes.”

“I never thought of that,” Thyme said slowly.  “Not that it makes what the Ghost Owl does any better or anything.”

“Course not, but them tricksters go on their own set of rules, see.  We’re more like pets or playthings than people to ‘em.”

Thyme sighed.  “But I’m from a good home, and he tried to steal me,” she said.  “Or maybe he was trying to kill me.  I don’t know…”

“Might’ve been trying to knock ya out so’s that he could take away yer memories and escape,” Willie suggested.

“Why not use magic on me?” Thyme asked.  “Wouldn’t that have been easier?”

“You probably startled him much as he startled you.  Natural instinct’s to fight when ya cain’t run.”

Well, that was true enough.  She remembered how she’d felt like a cornered fox, bristling for a fight.  “I used an iron dagger to stab him with,” she said slowly.  “If he’s fae, I probably poisoned him, didn’t I?”

Old Willie looked grave.  “Most likely,” he agreed.

“I feel awful,” Thyme groaned.  “I didn’t want to kill him!  I just wanted to get away!  Which is why I’m here.  I don’t suppose you know anything about healing a poisoned faerie, do you?  I could use some help.”

Old Willie thought a moment, then gave a nod of his shaggy gray head and stood up, going over to an old chest…probably the one that was supposed to have the pixie trapped inside, Thyme thought with amusement…and opened it carefully.  No little pixie flew out, but there was a faint glimmer along the lid, like a magical glow, and Thyme’s eyebrows shot up.  Well, he sure had something in that box!

“This’s it,” Willie exclaimed, pulling out a leather pouch and opening it.  He dumped a large brooch into his palm.  A beautiful thing finely crafted of the purest gold, with a large garnet set into the center and cut into the shape of a blood-red rose.  “This was given me by my granddaddy afore he vanished.  Told me it might come in handy someday.  Never knew what it was for, but he said it was given him in exchange fer a service rendered.  That’s another thing about the fae.  You manage to help one of ‘em, they always repay their debts to ya.  This little talisman bears the mark of Queen Mabb on it, so it’s mighty powerful.”

“The Faerie Queen?” Thyme squeaked, mouth gaping in astonishment.

“The same,” Willie replied proudly.  “My granddaddy must’ve done her some service long ago.  Here.  Take it and see if it’ll help.”

“I can’t take this!” Thyme gasped.  “It belongs to you!  You’re the one who should give it to him.”

“Nope.  I done had my share of fae magic.  If you help him, he’ll be bound by honor to return the favor.  I’m sure you’ll know what to wish for,” Willie replied practically.

“But…”

“No point in arguing about it, girlie.  I done made up my mind.  I have everything I need, an’ I never did trust that magic stuff.  But yer young an’ pretty, an’ there’s nothin’ a fae appreciates more’n a pretty face.  Sure an’ he’ll keep his bargain with you.  Go on, take it.”

“I…thank you, Willie.  I appreciate it,” Thyme replied seriously.

“Ah, git on out o’ here and help yer faerie man,” Willie said with an embarrassed chuckle.  “An’ don’t go tellin’ about this t’ anyone, hear me?  Them village folk ain’t so understandin’ as I am.  They find out what your faerie man done, an’ most likely, they’ll come after ‘im with a lynchin’ mob.”

Thyme nodded seriously, then smiled at him and turned and hurried back to the healing cottage, the brooch held securely in her hands.

The faerie was asleep when she came into the cottage, but as soon as Thyme approached him, holding the brooch, his eyes flew open and his gaze fixed upon it with astonishment.  “Where did you get that?” he demanded harshly.

It was the first time he had spoken, and his voice flowed musically over Thyme’s senses like water over a rock, magical and elemental and wild all at once.  She closed her eyes for a brief moment as the feeling faded, then opened them again, feeling silly at her reaction.  “Doesn’t matter where I got it.  This belonged to Queen Mabb.  It can help you,” she told him, trying to make her voice come out normally.  Then she hesitated.  “I-I’ve never used a faerie talisman before.  What do I do with it?”

His expression seemed to soften.  “Place it near my heart,” he replied.  “The magic will heal me, and hopefully remove the poison.”

Thyme nodded as she took the few final steps toward the table.  She held out the brooch, noting that the gold seemed to glow more brightly than any earthly metal.  Then she placed it against his chest between his heart and the wound, hoping that it would be strong enough to heal him.  As she moved to lift her hand, his own suddenly came up to cover it, holding it there.  Startled, her gaze rose to meet his.  He was smiling slightly, and his eyes held a gleam in them that she didn’t know how to interpret.

“Um…now what?” she asked nervously.

“Now, wish for me to be well,” he replied.

She nodded and closed her eyes, silently willing the dormant magic to awaken, to flow into the fae and drive out the poison that sickened him.  Her brow furrowed in concentration, but she felt no change.  “I-it’s not working,” she said.

“You try too hard, Thyme.  You’re trying to force the magic out.  It will come on its own,” he replied.

Thyme was startled at the use of her name.  She didn’t remember telling him what it was.  It occurred to her, suddenly, that she had no idea what his name was.  Well, now wasn’t the time to ask.  She sighed deeply and concentrated again.  This time, however, rather than force the magic out, she tried to sort of…coax it out.

The effect was immediate.  The brooch flared, so brightly that even with her eyes closed she had to turn her head.  Her hand would have let go if not for his own holding it there.  She opened her eyes a crack and saw that the area around their joined hands was glowing brightly, the light emanating from the brooch.  It traveled slowly, spreading all across his body.  He closed his eyes and let out a rapturous sigh as the magic flowed into him, healing him and easing his pain.

Thyme was not unaffected by it.  She saw the glow was spreading up her own arm, and she gasped and tried to yank her hand away in fear, but he didn’t let go. 

Don’t be afraid.  The magic will not harm you.

It took a moment for her to realize that his voice was inside her head, and her eyes flew to his in astonishment.  He met her gaze squarely.  The magic allows us to speak in this way.  It will fade when the healing is finished, he explained.

Who are you? she asked silently.  What’s your name, and where did you come from?

My name is Shael, he replied, and you know who I am and where I come from.

Thyme’s brow furrowed as she studied him, and he gazed back at her quietly, letting her examine him to her heart’s content.  The magical glow that covered them began to fade, and then vanished altogether, and Thyme blinked at the sudden absence of warmth.  “Is it done now?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yes,” he replied, releasing her hand.  She reluctantly withdrew it, leaving the brooch where it rested on his chest.  Her hand felt funny.  She frowned and turned it over, and then she leaped to her feet with a gasp.

“What in Hades did you do to me?!” she yelled, thrusting her hand under his nose.  There, seared into the center of her palm, was the image of the rose on the brooch, Queen Mabb’s symbol.  She hadn’t even realized…there was no pain at all, and yet her palm was burned and red around the brand.  “You tricked me!” she accused angrily.  “What’s this supposed to mean?!”

He took her hand and regarded the wound calmly, lightly tracing its outline with a slender finger.  “Fae magic brands all mortals who come into contact with it,” he told her calmly.  “It is merely a sign that you have been touched by one of my kind.  Some of your people would call it faerie-blessed.”

“Don’t you mean faerie-cursed?” she asked scathingly. 

His golden eyes sparked as he raised them to meet hers.  “You should feel honored,” he told her coldly.  “You bear the mark of Queen Mabb.  Should you meet any more of my people who would cause you trouble, merely show this sign to them.  They will not cause you harm and risk the wrath of our queen.”

“Oh, I feel so much better now,” she snapped, jerking her hand away from him and rubbing the mark as though to make it vanish by will alone.  “I’d rather not meet any of your kind, if they’re anything like you, baby-snatcher!”

His expression grew dark as a storm cloud.  “You are brave to speak to me in this manner, little one.  I hold no love of mortals, either.  Be careful, or I may be forced to punish you for your insolence.”

Thyme’s eyes narrowed and she snatched up an iron poker from the fireplace, brandishing it like a sword.  “Go ahead and try it, Silverhair,” she snapped.  “Maybe I saved your life once, but I swear on my father’s grave that I won’t hesitate to knock you clear into the next world if you even think of trying to hurt me again!  I don’t take kindly to being attacked for no good reason!”

“You startled me,” he replied calmly.  “In my other form, instinct rules, and I merely did what I must to survive.”

“So do you want a pat on the back, or what?”

A slight smile crossed his beautiful features.  “I have never met a mortal quite like you,” he mused, cocking his head to one side.  The movement caused his hair to ripple like a sun-lit stream.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” she retorted, trying to ignore the annoying flutters in her stomach.  His smile widened and he tried to sit up further, swinging long legs over the side of the table.  He paused when the poker came up threateningly, holding out a hand to ward off any possible blows. 

“I’m not going to harm you, wildcat,” he told her, his musical voice showing a hint of annoyance.  “I’ve had enough dealings with mortal fear for one night.”

She sniffed and let the tip of the poker touch the floor, although she didn’t relinquish her grip on it.  No way was she that stupid!

And then, Shael stood, and as he did so, the sheet covering him dropped to the floor, and Thyme’s eyes widened at the sight of the fae standing there in all his natural glory.  She yelped and quickly whirled around until she was facing the fireplace, as much to hide her burning cheeks (and eyes) as to give him privacy.

“Whatever is the matter?” Shael asked, sounding genuinely confused.  “You’re embarrassed!  Whatever for?”

“Well, now, let me think.  Could it possibly be because you’re not wearing any clothes?” Thyme nearly yelled, refusing the urge to turn back around for a better look at him.  Seeing a man bare-chested was one thing.  Seeing a man without any clothes at all was something else entirely.  She heard him chuckle mockingly and gritted her teeth against another urge…this time to turn around and belt him one in that perfect face of his.  She refused to be made a fool of in her own home.  Especially by an arrogant faerie! 

And then she felt slender hands grip her shoulders, kneading her flesh gently, and warm breath ghosting across her cheek as he pressed up close behind her.  “You saved my life, dear child,” he breathed into her ear, causing a violent shiver to run down her spine.  “Please allow me to thank you in the best way I know how.”