Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience. Please be advised.
She paced the small kitchen...nine steps from back wall to hallway...about face...and then nine steps back, careful not to make any noise that would draw attention. The medical tape she'd used to flatten her boobs stuck to her skin, making her scratch at her chest like a flea ridden monkey, and she felt strangely naked without the weight of her hair bobbing on her back.
The hair had been the hardest part, the dark locks falling onto the towel like ribboned confetti at a private bon voyage party. It had seemed ridiculous to cry over hair when she was poised to risk both her life and immortal soul. Yet, she had sniffled her way through the entire event, leaving just enough length to gather it back in the small queue her research had dictated. Lacking the indifference to toss the whole mess in the trash, she had rolled the towel up, hair pressed inside, and tucked it in the bottom drawer of the high boy dresser. Something to deal with when...or if...she returned.
A loud thump, hard enough to rattle the plates in the dish drain, brought her back to the present. It sounded exactly like what it probably was, Kevin's 6' 4" frame hitting the parlor floor. Beckett had been upfront with her about what he intended to do, making no insincere promises that it wouldn't hurt, only that the priest wouldn't suffer any long term effects. She felt guilty, but convinced herself it was all for the best. This all could have all been avoided if only Kevin hadn't been so damned pig-headed. So intent on being the big hero that he couldn't see the idea had disaster written all over it.
She and Beckett and gone round and round over the best way to handle Kevin's lack of reason, though they both had agreed that there was no way the priest should mix himself up in fairy magic. Neither she nor the Sheriff put much stock in any platitudes about the afterlife, and the thought of losing something you didn't believed existed wasn't much of a sacrifice. But Kevin did. He truly and completely did, and though he might be commended for risking it all for the safety of his sister, the consequences of self doubt would eventually destroy all he held dear.
It was Kevin's belief, and the fact he was still clumping around in that casted foot, that had brought them to this point. She had kept entirely to herself these past few hours, worried something in her face would give the plan away. As per Beckett's instructions, she had put together an outfit similar to the ones they'd created for the men. He had insisted that for her own safety she travel as an adolescent male, and though her features were on the soft side, she discovered she made a passable boy. The plan called for her to sneak into the rectory through the kitchen door, and stay put until Beckett signaled for her to show herself. The sound of Kevin hitting the floor meant she didn't have long to wait.
She Who Was All fluttered off the mantle, positioning herself on Beckett's left shoulder. "Tell me, Ridire Dubh. Who will travel with you? You have a different plan?"
"Aye, Your Majesty. The Churchman is not suitable for the task at hand. I plead to take another in his place. Under the same terms, of course."
She gave his earlobe a pinch, her tiny rosebud mouth turned down in a pout. "The terms be whatever I say they be, Mortal. I will decide what shall be, and what shall not. Explain yourself, Ridire Dubh."
He sure as hell hoped that Roxie had not gotten cold feet, and that she was in the kitchen as they had planned. As much as he liked to work alone, a successful conclusion required exact knowledge of the spot that was Maureen's ticket home, and it made no sense to waste time experimenting when someone with that information could close the deal. He hadn't been surprised when his newest deputy had volunteered to take Kevin's place. Her affection for his brother-in-law was obvious to anyone with a half a brain, and in her, he saw the same need for adventure, for risk, that he saw in himself. Granted she was untrained, but she had that that in bred sense that allowed her to simply follow orders, and for a mission like this, that's all that mattered.
Beckett put two fingers in his mouth, and gave a low whistle. Deputy Spinelli made her way from the kitchen into the parlor, and even he gave her a double look. Gone was the attractive, shapely brunette, who once made her living as an exotic dancer. In its place was an awkward teenage boy, dressed in clothing from the Revolutionary period, a short queue peeking out from under his tricorn hat, and a rusty old knife strapped to his waist.
She glanced around the room, catching sight of Kevin, out cold, propped against the sofa "Is he all right?"
"He'll be fine. Probably have a nasty headache for a few hours, but nothing permanent."
She nodded, and then added, "Are 'They' here? The Fey?"
"They are. Your Majesty...may I present Miss Roxanne Spinelli. It is she I wish to take along."
Not knowing where to look, or how to act, Roxanne bowed low at the waist, hoping she wasn't breaking any Fey protocol.
She Who Was All left Beckett's shoulder, circling Roxanne, and giving her tiny pony tail a tug. "A female, Ridire Dubh? Dressed as a boy? Quite silly I say, Black Knight. But clever." She flew back to the mantle, and once again took her favorite spot among the Apostles. "I will do as you ask. But again I warn you...the spell will last only until the rising of a full Lady Moon. You both will return, and things will be as we have discussed. I make no promises to your success. That be up to you. " She stood and came to the edge of the mantle, spreading her luminous wings behind her. "Let us begin then, before the Churchman awakens. I do not relish being a witness to his discontent. Come stand together and join left hands, the amulet between your palms. Then lash them together tightly."
They did as she asked, and feeling the shake in Roxie's hands, Beckett added, "No worries, Deputy. We'll be fine. I promise."
Seeing they were secured, She Who Was All closed her eyes, and began her incantation, heard only by Brian, who cowered under the sofa next to Kevin, and Beckett, whose blues eyes, intense and focused, locked those of Roxanne. Roxanne held onto the gaze, praying for a soul she was pretty sure she didn't posses, and placing her life in the hands of a man she really didn't know.
"Chi fey sonne bace. Indula tres bosha. Impagio furetna. Shema condonna. Alve alve!"
The lighting in the room dimmed, despite the fact that the sun poured through the parlor windows, and the amulet between their palms grow warm. Roxanne tried not to tremble, but the shake seemed involuntary, as Beckett's own arm began to move as witness. A dense fog began to gather at their feet, and as the Fairy Queen repeated the words, it grew thicker and taller until it completely engulfed them. "Chi fey sonne bace. Indula tres bosha. Impagio furetna. Shema condonna. Alve alve!"
At the third repetition, there was a crack of thunder, seemingly from somewhere inside the fog, and when the air cleared, the space where the two mortals stood was empty. She Who Was All clapped her hands in delight. "See Clurichaun...I still have the power. You'd be wise to remember that, old one." And with a snap of her wings she was gone, leaving him alone with the unconscious priest.
It was an overwhelming need to throw up that woke him. His eyes snapped open, and he could feel the burning bile rise up in his throat. He started to try and lift from the floor, but instead found himself unable to get his feet under him. It was Brian who encouraged him to remain seated, standing as he was next to him, a kitchen dish pan dropped in his lap.
"Best you stay put, laddie. Me thinks you might be needin' to make a deposit in the dish."
There was no time to answer, as the little bit of food he'd managed to get down earlier in the day made a repeat appearance. His focus was trained on the gagging and choking, and it was a few minutes before his brain registered the awful facts. Head pounding, he leaned against he sofa and looked around the parlor. It was empty. No Beckett. No Fairy Queen. The grandfather clock behind him chimed 6:00 PM, and the realization that he had been found unworthy and left behind hit him like a wooden mallet straight to the heart.
Copyright Victoria T. Rocus 2015
All Rights Reserved