My disclaimer and warning: More immoral sex, lewd incest, disgusting killings, and even some cannibalism! Don't read anymore if you don't want to taste your Wheaties a second time. I tried to warn you ...
They moved through the darkness in silence. She led and he followed: a stealthy shadow and her faithful companion, her son. The smell of fresh paint filled the air and she breathed it in deeply. It was a smell she had come to love, a smell to savor. She shook the can and put the final touches on her artwork. The cops would know where to look for their latest victim now.
That's how they marked them, the victims. Once they were good and dead, Sereine would get out the spray paint and tag the body. Her tag was famous around town. Some called the shape an angel with devil horns. Others called it a devil with angel wings. Sereine knew it for what it was: the shape of a succubus. That's how she liked to think of herself anyhow.
Sereine and her son, Caliban, had been together for so long, they stopped keeping track of the decades, the centuries. They worked well as a team. Sereine would approach their mark and lure him in and, when she was finished, Caliban would take over. From their appearances, no one would ever guess the pair could be capable of the unspeakable things they did, the things they relished doing.
Sereine was a singer at the Hypnagogo, a trendy downtown cabaret known for its elaborate light shows and loud, pulsating sound. With her smoky voice and sultry good looks, she was a crowd favorite. She was also the headline act, which meant that she performed late in the evening. Caliban was always with her. The other performers thought it was strange but there was something disturbing about Caliban, something not quite right, so they kept their opinions to themselves.
Rosy cheeked and cherubic, his hair in golden ringlets, Caliban looked to be about seven years or so. In actuality, he was a few hundred years old. Only his eyes hinted at his true age. He used his sweet but phony innocence to his advantage. When the other performers weren't in the dressing rooms, Caliban would ransack closets and drawers for anything that struck his fancy, from candy to cash. Everyone suspected it was him but no one said a word - at least not to anyone important. They complained once when Caliban was found hiding in a closet, spying on the dancers, but since Sereine was the main attraction and because everyone was just a little bit afraid of her and Caliban, nothing was done about it.
Most nights, Sereine performed her set and dealt with her small following of fans before taking Caliban home. Other nights, though, on a schedule known only to Sereine, she and Caliban haunted the streets in search of prey, in search of men.
He secreted himself in the shadows of an alley while Sereine searched the bars for their victims. There was a time when she searched strictly for men with a certain surname but, over time, those men became fewer and fewer and they became more difficult to find. She had mixed feelings about that. She was glad they were dead but she also missed the pleasure of killing them.
The man she originally sought was responsible for the death of her beloved father, Johannes. Johannes was the burgomaster of their small town before he was accused of witchcraft. The year was 1628 and the witch trials were in full swing. Johannes' brother-in-law turned him in, in a mad grab at the family fortune. Johannes' brother-in-law was also, incidentally, the chief Inquisitor responsible for Johannes' torture, confession, and subsequent execution.
Initially, Johannes maintained his innocence and denied knowing anything about witches or the devil. After a week of his brother-in-law's attentions, however, Johannes agreed to confess and proceeded to deliver a most ridiculous account of flying dogs, demons, and a midnight meeting with Beelzebub. Nowadays, it would be recognized for the fiction it was. At the time, though, it was taken quite seriously.
Sereine watched from the edge of the crowd as Johannes was dragged through the center of town to the stake. His legs were broken in several places, testament to his brother-in-law's diligence. She watched as firewood was banked around his feet. She watched as her father was doused with pig grease. She watched as the wood was lit and her father was burned alive. She looked up and met her uncle's cold gaze. He licked his lips in satisfaction and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Sereine vowed then that she would avenge her father's death.
Eübel was the head of his family and, as such, took the newly orphaned Sereine into his home. The townspeople spoke of his generosity toward her, the daughter of a witch. They expressed concern that she would deliver evil to his house, just as her father had to the town. No one ever considered that Eübel himself might be the evil one.
The Eübel men, pious citizens within the community, were cruel within their households, especially to their women. They viewed them as possessions, akin to their cattle and land. Most treated their cattle better.
Eübel was possibly the worst, he and his two dim-witted sons. His wife had died years ago in a boating accident. She was generally silent, preferring to fade into the background. No one noticed she was missing until the boat returned to shore and Eübel's youngest son wanted her. Her body, or what was left of it, was found several weeks later by a fisherman and his son. Stones were found sewn into the hem of her skirts.
Sereine was called on to serve the men when they'd gather at Eübel's house on the weekends. They spent their days hunting and their evenings drinking by the fire in Eübel's sumptuous study. They enjoyed Sereine's growing beauty and vied with each other for her attentions. Eventually they tired of her rebuffs and, one night when they were especially drunk and rowdy, Eübel offered her up to the highest bidder. They offered all sorts of things for her: a prized filly won that bidder first place, two calves were also accepted, as were the assorted partridges, chickens, and goats that were offered up. Eübel became even wealthier at Sereine's expense.
Near dawn, all the men had had a turn with Sereine and they were all snoring loudly from their various resting places around Eübel's study. All except for Eübel; while the other men were having their fun, he sat at his desk and tallied his newest acquisitions in a leather-bound ledger. "Well done, my niece," he said to her. "But I'm not sure what use you are to me. It's not as if anyone will be interested in your hand, especially now."
Sereine ran from the house wearing nothing but a cloak. Her body ached from all the ill-use but she wanted to put as much distance between herself and those men as she could. She finally collapsed in an exhausted heap in a clearing. Still sobbing, she curled herself into a ball and wrapped up in the cloak. She was almost asleep when she became aware of a presence. A beautiful woman in a flowing white gown stood before her. She had white wings and small horns protruded from her forehead. She was surrounded by a softly glowing aura and exuded peace and serenity.
"Why are you crying, my child?" the woman asked. Sereine began sobbing again and, as the woman comforted her, she told of all the terrible things that had befallen her. She finished by telling the woman about her desire for vengeance. The woman looked deeply into Sereine's eyes and told her that she could help but the help would come with a price. Sereine promised everything the woman asked of her.
The woman in white told Sereine to lie on her back and to pretend she was a man. The woman said, "I am you now and this is what you will do" as she pressed Sereine's knees open. The woman's ministrations felt good at first and Sereine's eyes closed as she gave herself over to the sensations. Soon, though, the woman's touch became painful. Sereine tried to push her away but the woman caught her hands and held them fast. Sereine bucked in an attempt to throw the woman off but the woman pressed into her even more. When Sereine thought she couldn't bear anymore, the woman touched an oil to her temples and her body tingled and felt weak. "Use the oil first, at the temple and eye. Do as I have shown you this night and you will succeed."
Sereine awoke alone the next day, stiff and sore from the previous night, but found a small ampoule of herbed oil beside her.
The next night, the night of his death, Sereine slipped into Eübel's bedchamber. She was mildly repelled by the smell emanating from the chamber pot under the bed, but was determined to finish him off. Silently, her shift dropped to the floor. She slipped into bed beside her uncle, shoving to the back of her mind the sick feeling his closeness evoked. She softly touched his eyelids and temples. He groaned slightly in his sleep.
When she was satisfied that he was sleeping deeply, Sereine slid down to his waist. She'd done this to so many other Eübel men that she didn't think her uncle would be a problem but the thought of touching him filled her with disgust. But she would have her revenge on this man, the man who killed her father, so she continued.
She took him into her mouth and began to suck. She worked on him until he was hard and then she mounted him. He never woke until, just before he climaxed, Sereine slapped his face. His eyes flew open and, as he spewed inside her, he tried to throw her off but he was too weakened. She shoved more of the oil into his eyes and, as his body went painfully rigid from the effects of the herbed oil, she whispered into his ear, "You are wrong, uncle. It is you who are of no use to me now!" He died as she left his room. She left his house shortly after that, having helped herself to his purse and all the jewels she could find.
Sereine traveled from town to town in search of Eübel's relatives, no matter how distantly they were related, she wanted them all. She took to traveling at night, keeping hidden in the shadows. Several months passed and Sereine began to notice changes in her body. There was a thickening around her waist that hadn't previously been there and she had strange cravings at odd hours. Worried, she sought the advice of a local wise-woman. The woman took one look at her and burst out laughing. "Why, you're with child!" she crowed. "And the wee babe will be coming soon, from the looks of you. If you can pay your keep, you can stay here with me until the baby comes. I'll help you with the birthing." And so Sereine stayed with the wise-woman for several weeks.
It was a cold, clear October night when the baby came. Sereine had been restless all day and spent most of the day walking in the woods, gathering herbs and medicinals with the wise-woman. That evening, as her labor progressed, the wise-woman busied herself getting supplies ready. Sereine's labor was intense but blessedly brief and when the baby finally came, the wise-woman screamed in horror. The baby's eyes were strange - with slitted pupils like a serpent's - and he had little bumps on his forehead. He also had a full set of sharp teeth which he immediately set to use on the wise-woman.
She was screaming in pain and didn't stop until Sereine hit her on the head with the fireplace tongs. The wise-woman fell to the floor and the baby fell to eating her. When he had eaten his fill, Sereine bathed him and clothed him. He no longer looked strange; now he looked like a sweet, innocent infant. She gathered up a bundle of things and then tipped an oil lamp onto the bed just before they left the house. She stood and watched the cottage burn from the edge of town. A single tear crept down her cheek. She wasn't sure if she was crying for the wise-woman who had been so kind to her, for her beloved father who was no longer living, or for herself for what she had become.
The baby was a cambion, the result of Sereine's union with her uncle, half human and half demon. She decided to call him Caliban, which is a bastardization of the word "cannibal". The double play on words amused her; a bastard with a bastardized name. Caliban grew quickly from infant to small boy, but he inexplicably never aged past that. Wherever they went, people were charmed by the beautiful woman and her angel-faced child. They never wanted for money; Sereine took what they needed from their victims. She thought it best if they had an excuse for traveling from town to town as they did, so she took to singing. At first she sang in the town square. As her popularity grew, she sang in taverns and inns.
They continued on like this for years, decades even. Sereine located and killed Eübel's kinsmen and always the same way. Sometimes she toyed with them first. Sometimes for a few days, sometimes even for weeks, but they all met the same end. She had sex with them, stunned them with her special herbed oil, and Caliban would eat them as they died. They especially enjoyed it when the men partially woke up. Caliban loved seeing the look of horror on their eyes and hearing their terrified screams as they watched him take bites out of their bodies.
After centuries of tracking down Eübel's relatives and, thus, fulfilling her bargain with the woman in white, Sereine learned that some of them had emigrated to America, no doubt to escape the hideous fate of the less fortunate others. Sereine and Caliban moved to America at the beginning of the 20th century and began to systematically track Eübels living in the states.
With advancements in record-keeping and technology, Sereine found it easier to find them, even the ones that changed surnames and moved frequently. She and Caliban kept up with the times and were quite proud of the ease with which they transitioned into each new era. They worked well together, except Sereine couldn't stomach the rap music that Caliban had taken a fancy to. She found she liked graffiti - "urban art" as it was sometimes called - so she let Cal have his music.
She finally found the last of the Eübels. He lived in Detroit, a city she despised for its filth and squalor. She and Caliban moved there anyhow and she took the singing job in the Hypnagogo. It was the nicest club she'd worked in but they were all pretty much the same. Sereine carefully followed the Last Eübel, as she thought of him, and finally managed to "accidentally" meet him at a bar one evening.
She sat beside him and casually struck up conversation. Before he knew it, he was spilling his life story to her. She feigned interest, laughed at his lame jokes, and frequently touched his arm. By the end of the evening, she knew he was hooked. She told him where she worked and asked him to come see her perform sometime. "It'll be a night you'll never forget," she promised. He stammered something about "the wife and kids" but she knew he'd show up eventually. They always did.
Like clockwork, the Last Eübel showed up close to midnight. He sent flowers backstage to her which she, in turn, gave to one of the dancers who had just been jilted by her boyfriend. He watched Sereine eagerly from his seat near the back. He'd been thinking about her for the past week and remembered the promise she'd made. He was looking forward to getting together with her after the show.
Sereine took her time after her performance. She carefully cleaned the make-up from her face and changed from her sequined gown to jeans and a comfortable but low-cut shirt. She found him waiting for her at the employee's entrance. He was unsteady on his feet from all the "liquid courage" he'd consumed while he waited for her. They stood by the door discussing where they could go as the other nightclub workers filed out. It didn't matter if they saw Sereine with the Last Eübel. Once he was dead, her revenge would be complete and she would die too. Finally, she would die too.
She waited impatiently for the parking lot to empty out. As the last car was leaving, she reached over and brushed his hair back from his face. She wiped her special oil on his temple. His vision blurred and he dropped to his knees. She didn't even bother giving this one sex, she just motioned for Caliban and he went to work.
She wasn't sure what would happen once the Last Eübel was dead. She didn't know how long it would take for her own death to come. She pulled a can of neon pink paint from her bag and tagged the side of the nightclub with her succubus mark. "There's still one left," whispered a voice in her head. Aloud, she said, "No. This is the last one and he's very dead. See?" She kicked at what was left of his lifeless body.
The voice repeated, "There's still one left." Sereine said, "That can't be. This one is the Last Eübel."
The woman in white appeared behind Sereine, her wings haloed by the streetlights. "No," she said. "He is the last one." She pointed at Caliban.
What she was saying sank into Sereine's brain. "No!" she cried. "He's my son! He is not a Eübel!"
"Oh, but he is," the woman in white calmly replied. "He is your uncle's son and, therefore, the true last Eübel. You must kill him and fulfill your part of our agreement."
"No no no ..." Sereine chanted. She pushed Caliban behind her.
"Come," said the woman impatiently. "You really have no choice. We made a deal."
"But I didn't know what I was giving up," Sereine protested.
"That is none of my concern!" The woman in white was becoming angry. Her eyes flashed and Sereine had the briefest glimpse of her true form. It made her shudder with dread. "Finish him off! I showed you how to have your revenge. I gave you the skills to complete your task. My only requirement was that you finish the task completely and then you would be released."
Sobbing softly, Sereine turned to Caliban. She hugged him one last time and whispered in his ear, "I loved you so" and then she snapped his neck. As she sank to the ground with her son's lifeless body cradled in her arms, her vision dimmed. Her breathing became shallow and then stilled.
The woman in white looked down at their lifeless bodies. She poked at them with her toe. "Will they never learn?" She shook her head sadly. And then she was gone into the night.
Mary and Annie had dinner waiting for us when we returned home. The Phouka was strangely silent but, once in awhile, I'd catch him staring at me. The ladies were washing the dishes by hand afterward - something they recently discovered and actually liked doing - and chatting about nothing. The Phouka was restless, sifting through my CDs, and discarding one after another.
There was a knock at the door and, when I answered, there stood Elvis! I swear, he looked and sounded just like the real Elvis Presley. You know, the pre-bloat Elvis, when he was still good-looking. He was sporting his famous white jumpsuit. "Well, hello there, little lady," he said, curling his lip and swiveling his hips. "Mind if I come in and ... set a spell?"
I was incredulous. "Elvis!?!" I said. "What the ..."
"Shut the door!" screamed the Phouka. "Shut the damned door!"
I slammed the door shut in Elvis's face. He pounded on the door. "Come on, little lady. Open up. Let old Elvis in."
The Phouka called to Mary and Annie. "The fir darrigs are here. We need to get out of here now."
Mary came to the kitchen door wiping her hands on a towel. "You two go on ahead. Annie and I will hold them off for a bit." She glanced out the front window. "I don't think you'll be taking the car, though."
We looked out too and saw that my car was lying in parts all over the yard and driveway. My poor car! All that was left was the frame and the fir darrigs were busily dismantling that too. Elvis angrily barked directions and swiveled his hips some more, as if he couldn't really control them. I was shocked and all I could think to say was, "I'm going to go down in history as the only woman who slammed the door on Elvis."
Annie giggled but the Phouka looked at me with mild disgust. "You'll have to change clothes. Put on some jeans and a warm shirt. You're riding tonight," he said.
"Riding?" I said stupidly. "You mean like on a motorcycle?"
Now he looked at me like I was a complete idiot. "No, you'll be riding a horse. We took the fir darrigs by surprise yesterday and now they're here for revenge. I've got to get you out of here."
I stood there stupidly, until Mary gently took my hand and led me upstairs. She clucked softly and talked to me in a soothing tone. "There, there," she said. "I know Elvis surprised you but it wasn't really Elvis. You do know that, don't you, dear?"
"Of course, I know that wasn't Elvis. He's been dead for years," I scoffed. "It's just that ... I'm terrified of horses."
She laughed heartily at that. "Oh, child, but you do make me laugh. You can't be afraid of horses. It's just not possible. Haven't you got the figment?"
"Figment? What are you talking about?" I asked.
She sighed. "Have you forgotten, child? Your sister gave it to you for your sixteenth birthday - the horse pin with the furry mane and tail. That was from the Phouka. He chose you years ago, when you were a mere lass. When you accepted the figment, you accepted him. It's all very simple really, my dear." As if that explained everything!
"Mary, I'm scared to ride horses. I love them but I'm afraid to ride them."
She laughed again. "Have you forgotten the dream then, too, child?"
I remembered the dream all right. I should; I'd dreamed it enough times. In the dream, I was riding on the back of a huge black horse. We were galloping at full speed and there was no saddle or reins but I wasn't worried about falling off. We were on a long moonlit beach, so long that I couldn't see either end. The moon was reflected across the water and the sound of waves crashing on the beach was deafening. Something was chasing us, so the horse, with me clinging to its mane, went racing across the water. What I mostly remembered from the dream was the fear of whatever was chasing us.
"That was the Phouka?" I asked weakly.
"Yes, dearie," she replied kindly. "Now go on downstairs. He's waiting for you."
I walked slowly down the stairs and felt suddenly awkward with the Phouka. I got almost to the bottom, when I stopped and ran back up to my room. "I'll be back in a minute!" I called. "I just need to get something." When I returned, I had the figment pinned to my hat. I smiled shyly at the Phouka and he grinned in return.
Annie stood with Mary and shook her head, sighing. "I do believe our Phouka is the perfect man. He's handsome, hung like a horse, and loyal as a dog." Mary snorted with laughter as I blushed and looked away. The Phouka pretended he didn't hear her, but his ears turned pink.
"Very good," he said. "But we must go now." We left through the back door and once we were hidden behind the garage, he turned into his horse shape. I didn't actually see the transformation; there was just a soft popping sound, the air around him shimmered slightly, and then he was a horse.
"I think I like you better as a man," I said weakly. If horses could smile, I think this one was smiling. I stood on an old tree stump that was quickly rotting back into the earth. It crumbled as I pushed off of it and I didn't quite get my leg all the way over the Phouka's back. He sidestepped impatiently, or maybe with pain, as I grabbed a handful of mane and hauled myself upright.
I was barely situated when he took off. I really think he enjoyed being a horse. We raced down the alley behind my house and headed for the main road out of town. Once I got used to his gait, I relaxed a little and looked around. I realized with a jolt that I was seeing my dream! Instead of a beach, though, it was a road we were traveling. The moon reflected off the pavement and made the street look like water. The "soosh soosh" sound of traffic resembled waves breaking on the beach.
I leaned forward and spoke into the Phouka's ear. "It's my dream!" He just nodded his head, as if he already knew, and continued running. I was really starting to get the hang of the whole riding thing, when he turned toward the highway. "Phouka!" I screamed. "No! Not the highway!"
I don't know if he was ignoring me or if he was just so intent on running that he didn't hear, but we entered the highway to find a moderate amount of evening traffic. The blare of a semi's horn seemed to spook him and he lurched left, toward the median. I hung on for dear life, all the while screaming, "You're gonna get us killed! Get off the freeway, Phouka!"
He ignored me and continued running down the median. Up ahead, I could see a turn-around - the kind like the cops use - and a largish drainage tunnel under it. We were headed straight for it! I was sure I was going to get my head knocked off so I started yelling incoherently just as we reached the entrance.
I was still yelling when I hit the ground and rolled. The Phouka, in his man-shape again, came to a stop just beside me. We had landed in a soft patch of turf, not the usual stiff, rank highway grass. "That is exactly why I don't ride horses," I cried angrily.
I woke the next morning to soft snoring in my ear. Sometime during the night I had snuggled up to the Phouka and now my head was resting on his shoulder. I tried to sit up without waking him, but he pulled me closer. I did a quick, silent "ha ha sniff" into my hand to check for morning breath, and then looked up at him. My eyes didn't quite want to stay open but I found him gazing steadily at me. He had the darkest brown eyes, almost black, and I felt myself falling into them.
He was just moving in closer when there was a knock at the window. It was Digby! Of all the rotten timing! I was still ticked off at him for not showing up at Jack's yesterday but I let him in anyhow. He perched on the window sill and grinned slyly from me to the Phouka. He looked so pleased with himself, I wondered just how long he'd been outside the window.
"Where were you yesterday?" I asked. "You said you'd meet us at Jack's."
"Oh, I were there all right, miss," he grumbled sourly. "Gerome whacked me head from behind, he did, and I jus' now woke up in the bushes. Jack weren't happy, from the sound of it. That were on account of you, yes?"
"Yes," replied the Phouka. "We held our own against the fir darrigs yesterday. I would even say we bested them. Did you find out anything more? Did Jack talk about his plans at all?"
Digby shook his head. "But you should knows, Gerome's back across the street, he is."
The Phouka thought for a moment. "Hmm. I think we should talk to Gibbons. Maybe he knows something."
"Gibbons?" I asked.
"Gibbons Moon," answered the Phouka. "Is there somewhere nearby with lots of animals? Not cows and such. Exotic animals."
"You mean a zoo?" For once I knew something he didn't. "Yes. It's not far." I smiled. "We're going to the zoo today, aren't we?"
Mary and Annie declined our invitation to join us at the zoo. Annie wrinkled her nose and Mary wouldn't make eye contact, so we left without them. When we arrived at the zoo, the Phouka scanned the crowd like he knew what he was looking for. It turned out, he did.
Standing on a cart near the gorilla exhibit was an organ grinder's monkey. I hadn't seen one of those since I was a kid! He was wearing a tiny yellow silk coat, pouffy red pants, and a purple sash. On his head was a small vaguely Asian-looking hat with a gold tassel. With his crazy get-up and his wispy beard, he looked like a tiny, wizened gypsy. He watched us walk toward him. "That," whispered the Phouka. "Is Gibbons Moon. He's somewhat of a seer." To Gibbons, he said, "Hello! I was hoping we'd find you here today. Will you answer some questions for us?"
Gibbons gave him a quizzical look, as if he didn't understand what the Phouka had said. Right when I thought he wasn't going to answer, he stroked his beard and said, "The beggar cares little as to who fills his bag." He held one hand out by his hip and hummed a little tune while he looked the other direction.
The Phouka handed him a peanut. The monkey rolled it around in his hand and then looked at it. He threw the peanut to the ground in disgust and said angrily, "He who doesn't sow in the spring won't reap in the autumn." Again, he held out his hand and looked away. This time he tapped his small foot impatiently.
Chuckling quietly, the Phouka handed him a small gold coin. Faster than my eyes could follow, Gibbons popped the coin into his pocket and closed his eyes. He scratched at himself and, without opening his eyes, asked, "What is it you seek?"
The Phouka quickly explained what had happened and asked the monkey if he knew where we could find the necklace. The monkey drew himself up, inhaling deeply, and intoned, "It is a poor hen that won't scratch for herself."
"I'm asking you. Isn't that scratch enough?"
Gibbons responded with, "A blind man can find his mouth."
"Please, Gibbons. We don't have much time! Where can we find the necklace?," cried the Phouka. "The queen must have her necklace!"
Gibbons opened one eye and glared at the Phouka. "A hint is sufficient for the wise."
"Gibbons!" he said frantically. "Speak plainly. Tell us what you know!"
The monkey let out his breath in a big whoosh and said, "Cripes! Do ya gotta take all the drama outta my act? Sheesh, lemme have a little bitta dignity, will ya? Ok, I can't tell ya specifically where it is - my thingy just don't work that way - but I can tell ya that it ain't in Jack's possession. He knows where it is but it ain't on him, if ya follow. It's hidden where hard work pays off. And you are very, very close to it. Very close. That's all I can tell ya."
"Thank you, Gibbons. I'm not sure how much help that was but it is good to know that Jack isn't wearing the necklace," said the Phouka. "Oh, and tell Wane I said hello and that he still owes me from poker night last month." To me he said, "Wane is Gibbon's brother. Nice guy, terrible poker player."
"Yes, Phouka," called Gibbons. "A debt is still unpaid, even if forgotten. I will remind him." As we walked way, Gibbons was still spouting off his pseudo-fortunes. "Every man is brave until he reaches the battle!" he screamed. "The most deserving isn't always the best rewarded!" We reached the exit and he was still at it. "It is often a small thorn draws blood!"
The Phouka grimaced with distaste as we left the zoo. "Such a sad, desolate place," he muttered to himself.
"The zoo is sad?" I asked. "Didn't you see all the people there? They love the zoo!"
"Didn't you see all the animals there?" he threw back at me, eyes blazing. "Do you think they love the zoo? I understand that zoos are necessary from a conservation point of view but, if we took better care of the planet and the animals' natural habitats, they wouldn't be necessary."
Annie cackled with delight. "Ooh, Mary! I haven't seen anything like that since our Firene torched the spice rack in Home Ec class. Do you remember? What a spectacle! Like grenades, every bottle just blew up! Kapow! Kablooey!"
"But so useful on camp-outs!" Annie chortled. "Remember when she set poor Krampus's horns in fire? The smoke! Ach, what a stench! He hasn't forgiven her to this day ..."
I tuned their reminiscing out and focused on my driving. The Phouka slumped in his seat, his pale face pressed to the window. I couldn't tell if he was sleeping or passed out, so I touched his knee. His eyes flew open and his hand snatched mine, gripping it tightly. "You startled me. Never sneak up on a sleeping fairy. It could be dangerous," he angrily snapped . And then almost sheepishly, "Did I hurt you?"
"Not really. You're so pale and still, I wasn't sure if you were sleeping or passed out," I replied. I noticed he was still holding my hand. I let him.
"Not passed out. Just sore and really, really tired," he sighed. "I didn't want to say anything in front of Mary and Annie but these fir darrig bites have me worried. They sting and feel ... not right."
I was even more worried now. "I'm not sure how to treat a fairy bite. I have some Bactine in the medicine cabinet."
"I'm afraid these will need stronger magic than your antiseptic medicines," he said. "I'll have Mary call for the nurse when we get home."
I helped the Phouka get out of the car, while Mary and Annie scurried ahead to open the door and turn on the lights. Mary bustled around in the kitchen, setting the kettle on to boil and banging pots and pans. The Phouka sent Annie to fetch the nurse.
By now, I felt like I'd seen it all, so I wasn't the least bit surprised when, a few minutes later, Annie announced, "Nurse is here!" and led a tiny woman into the living room. Nurse was the cutest, spryest little person. She had bright beady black eyes and a beakish nose. The tilt of her head and the way she looked about the room reminded me of a bird. The cloak she wore had the look of feathers about it, although it was made of navy blue cloth, like an old fashioned nurse's cape.
Mary stood and gave the nurse a hug. "I'd like you to meet Nurse Gale. She'll fix the Phouka right up!"
Nurse Gale took a look at the Phouka's wounds and began issuing commands. She ordered Mary to fetch the water and she sent Annie back into the closet for her bag. She asked me to help the Phouka into bed. I was at a loss. Aside from Mary's, mine was the only bed in the house, and Mary's bed was much too small for the Phouka. I sighed and helped the Phouka up the stairs.
Once the Phouka was comfortably in bed, Nurse Gale clucked around him like a bird around its nest. She pulled several items from her bag including a beaker of spring water, a garland of small onions, a packet of brownish pellets, and a bottle of thick, green liquid, which she spread on the Phouka's wounds. He never said a word but his sharp intake of breath let me know the potion stung.
"What's in that, Gale?" he asked.
"Well, let me see," Gale looked at the bottle closely. "There's arnica for bruising. Um... yes ... calendula and yarrow to ward off infection ..." She tasted the cork. "Right. Nettle and bogbean for inflammation and a little something extra, all my own. You'll be right as rain in no time, Phouka. Big strapping lad such as yourself, I wouldn't be surprised if you aren't feeling better by tomorrow!"
She stoppered the medicine bottle and uncorked the beaker of water. She shook a few of the pellets into the Phouka's hand and helped him drink. "Take these, dearie. They'll help you sleep."
I had been watching her work with interest. "What are the onions for? Are you going to make a compress of them for his chest?" I asked.
"Ach, no, love! That's me lunch!" she trilled, and bit into one of them like it was an apple.
Gale sang softly to herself as she gathered up her supplies. Her voice was so sweet, she sounded just like a songbird. I looked at her and glanced at the Phouka. He was looking at me expectantly with a half smile on his face. Suddenly, it all made sense. I sat on the edge of the bed and whispered into his ear. "She's a nightingale, isn't she?"
He grabbed my hand again and winked. Gale slipped out of the room as the Phouka and I talked quietly on the bed. His eyelids grew heavy as Gale's pellets worked their magic. I started to leave him to sleep, but he pulled me closer. "No. Stay," he murmured. "I want to talk more."
"Tomorrow is May first. Beltaine. Do you know what that is?" he asked. I shook my head no, so he continued. "Beltaine is a cross-quarter holiday, midway between the Spring equinox and the Summer solstice, and it marks the beginning of the summer season. The flocks are driven into the pastures at this time. Great bonfires are built on top of hills and can be seen for miles. It is believed that the fire lends its strength to the returning sun.
"The hearth fire is started from this balefire and cattle and sheep are driven between the balefires to ensure their fertility. People pass between the fires to purify themselves and couples jump over the fire for good luck and to ensure their own fertility. I'm sure you've heard of Maypoles, right?" I nodded. "Great poles of ash or hawthorn are erected and ribbons and flowers are attached. Dancers weave intricate patterns with the ribbons around the pole, symbolizing the ritual of mating. One of the best things about Beltaine for me, aside from the fertility aspect, is the Morris dancers. They wear colorful clothing with bells sewn to them, not unlike your gypsies, and greet the sun on Beltaine morning with drums, pipes, and dance.
"Beltaine is particularly special to me, especially now, because it is one of the two times of the year that our worlds are closest. Samhain is the other, when the veil between our worlds is thinnest. Also ..." He blushed. "Beltaine being a fertility celebration ... well ... we're a lusty lot ... It's my favorite time of year," he stammered and looked shyly at me. I understood him perfectly and I drifted off to sleep with thoughts of Maypoles and Phoukas dancing through my head.
The last thing I heard was him softly murmuring a poem:
"The month of May was come, when every lusty heart beginneth to blossom, and to bring forth fruit; for like as herbs and trees bring forth fruit and flourish in May, in likewise every lusty heart that is in any manner a lover, springeth and flourisheth in lusty deeds. For it giveth unto all lovers courage, that lusty month of May."*
We couldn't really do anything until the Phouka returned, so while Mary and Annie spent the morning knitting and gossiping, I spent the morning wandering from window to window and checking and rechecking the hall closet. Annie shyly presented me with the socks she had just finished knitting and turned pink with pleasure when I hugged her and put them on. I don't know what kind of yarn she used but they are the softest socks I've ever worn.
I was dozing with a book on the couch when the Phouka arrived. He was dirty, looked tired, and his shirt was torn but he said he had found out some things from the dwarves. Digby, happily, is working for us! It turns out, Estri had made a deal with Digby to try to reduce his sentence. Digby's main job was to spy on us and report back to Estri. I guess he didn't know which side we were on. Estri wasn't happy when the Phouka informed him that Digby had disappeared.
"The other gnome - the dowsing gnome - is named Gerome. Estri didn't know he was involved and was none too happy to learn of it," said the Phouka. "Gerome isn't talking to any of the other gnomes either, so it's safe to assume he's up to no good and, most likely, working for Jack."
Just then there was a tapping at the front door. I opened it and, at first, didn't see anyone. I was just closing the door, when I hear a small "ahem" and looked down. It was Digby! He was filthy and his clothes were in tatters. He was panting as he pushed past me.
"'Scuse me, miss," he wheezed. "But I has a urgent message for the Phouka." He stood for a moment or two, leaning against the door jamb and gasping for breath. Once he had regained himself, he said, "There be big trouble over at the Spriggans's place. You needs to come right quick."
Once again, we all piled into my car. I bent to help Digby into the car but he backed away. "Oh, no!" he cried, holding his hands out as if to ward off a blow. "You'll no get this gnome into tha' contraption again. I still remembers the last ride. I'll meets you there." And with that he sped off and disappeared down the alley.
When we pulled up to Jack's house, everything looked normal. The front door was closed and there was no sign of Jack, Dean, or any of the other fir darrigs. Everything was quiet. Too quiet. The sun had been shining and birds were singing when we left my house. Here at Jack's, there was no sun and no bird song. It was like his house was in a giant bubble that sound couldn't penetrate.
The Phouka put his finger to his lips and motioned for us to follow him. He went around to the back of Jack's house and opened the gate. We all filed in, with me in the front, not knowing what to expect. The yard was deserted as well. We checked the bushes and looked inside the shed, which was full of boxes, but didn't find anyone. I had just breathed a sigh of relief when Dean came around the side of the house. He seemed just as surprised to see us as we were to see him.
"Dean!" I said, in what I hoped was a friendly manner. "How've you been? I just came over to see how Jack was getting along in his new house."
Dean growled at me, ran into the house, and slammed the door. We all looked at each other in confusion. We heard the garage door close and out came another Dean!
I tried again. "Dean!" I said brightly. "Is Jack home? I just stopped by to say hello."
This Dean seemed to know me. "Oh, it's you," he sneered. "I told Jack we needed to do something about you. I told him you'd be trouble for us but would he listen? No! I'm just a fir darrig, after all. What do I know? Well, let me tell you something, little missy, you are in for it. You and all your do-gooder friends here. You're all going to get it and get it good."
The Phouka stepped in front of me. "What are we going to get, fir darrig? Tell me. I'm interested to know what one puny fir darrig can possibly do to us?"
Dean scuffed his feet in the grass like a bull, opened his mouth, and bellowed. I don't think it was words but it was most definitely a battle cry. There was a split second of complete and utter silence and then all hell broke loose.
Fir darrigs began pouring out of everything. Windows, doors, bushes, even the shed which appeared empty before. It was a tidal wave of fir darrigs, all with Dean's face. I looked around at my companions, unsure what to do. The Phouka had turned into a dog and was growling, hunched down and ready to pounce on the first wave of fir darrigs.
I watched in horror as a dozen or so of them, each brandishing a weapon, advanced on Annie. Poor, sweet little Annie! There was no way she could defend herself against them. Just as they reached her, she crouched as if she was afraid. And then she sprang straight up into the air! She must have jumped at least ten feet. She landed on the lowest branch of a tree and held on tight. The fir darrigs didn't expect it and they all stood slack-jawed, looking up at her. Annie calmly looked down at them and licked her lips. Then her tongue darted out and took a club from one of them!
The fir darrig looked dumbly at his now empty hands and then grabbed at the knife another fir darrig was holding. They started fighting amongst themselves and while they were distracted, Annie took their various knives, clubs, and cudgels away from them, one by one. She caught my eye and winked. Annie was having fun!
Across the lawn, I saw that another group of fir darrigs had Mary trapped in a corner. They weren't attacking her because, as one would get close to her, she'd wave her spoon at it and it would explode with a wet popping sound. Splork! Splork! Splork! She wasn't making any progress, though, because each time one exploded, there would be another one to take its place.
I remembered the set of wooden spoons we'd gotten at the mall the other day. I ran to the car to fetch them. Outside the fence was complete silence. There was no indication at all of the pandemonium taking place in the yard. Once I found the spoons, I tossed them to Mary and called out, "Catch the spoons!" I didn't even know if she could use more than one at a time. She caught them deftly and, with three spoons in each hand, went back to her task. This time, the fir darrigs couldn't replace themselves so quickly.
As I turned away to look for the Phouka, I heard Mary yell, "Woo hoo! I'm a six-shooter now, boys. Who wants a piece of me?" I think she was having a good time too.
The Phouka wasn't having as much fun as the ladies. The fir darrigs were swarming all over him. They hadn't even bothered with weapons; they were using their teeth! The Phouka wasn't moving but the pile of fir darrigs was writhing and tossing clumps of black fur into the air. They elbowed each other out of the way and climbed over one another to get at him.
"Mary!" I cried. "They're killing the Phouka!" I ran for the pile of fir darrigs, kicking the strays out of my path. When I kicked them, the smaller ones made small popping sounds, like balloons bursting, and collapsed to the ground, just like a deflated balloon. The bigger ones didn't pop but Mary was right behind me. If I didn't pop it with a kick, Mary would zap it with her spoon while it was airborne.
We did the same with the pile of fir darrigs on the Phouka and we soon had him free. He wasn't dead but he looked terrible. Patches of his beautiful black fur were missing all over and one eye was swollen shut. There was blood everywhere. He lay on the ground panting but looked up as Annie joined us.
"Well done, ladies," he said weakly. He looked at me with his good eye. "Especially you. I don't know how Jack managed to get so many fir darrigs here. I wasn't expecting it and I'm afraid I made a huge error by bringing you here today."
"I was never in danger," I said. "They ignored me completely. Dean threatened me but the others attacked you. Why do you think they did that?"
"Well," said the Phouka, wincing as he sat up. "It could be that they didn't consider you a threat, since you're not magic. I would say, though, that after today, their estimation of you will be somewhat different. It could also be that Jack, for some reason, instructed them to leave you alone. In any case, thank you for saving me."
A snarky comment was on the tip of my tongue but I could see how much it took the Phouka to thank me, so I just mumbled, "It was nothing."
There was an awkward moment of silence as Annie and Mary looked from me to the Phouka, while the Phouka and I looked anywhere but at each other. "I think ..." stammered Annie. "I think we should get the Phouka home and tend to his wounds. Fir darrigs are nasty creatures and who knows where their mouths have been?" She suppressed a shudder.
The Phouka had difficulty standing up, so I let him lean on me as we walked to the car. I noticed the birds were singing again. Shock from what just happened hadn't quite set in yet, so my hands were steady on the wheel as I drove us home. I could hear Mary and Annie in the back seat recounting the battle.
Mary crowed, "Oh, Annie, you outdid yourself back there! I didn't know you could still jump like that, you spry old thing!"
Annie responded with, "You are poetry in motion with a spoon, Mary. Who knew you could shoot six of them at a time? I think that might be a record!"
Mary pulled the spoons from her apron pocket and held them up. Every single one of them was burnt to a crisp. One was even smoking a little. She shook her head sadly and said, "They just don't make 'em like they used to."
