Faerie Tale (43 page)

“But—,” Aggie began.

“No buts, then, if you please, Miss Agatha Grant,” interrupted Barney, his eyes distant as he stared out the dirty window of his shack. “You’ve heard the tales told by the old folks. You’ve written them down, counting them quaint and colorful. You’ve not for a moment asked one person you’ve interviewed if they believed. Have you?”

Aggie shook her head. Where she had thought lived a simple Irishman she discovered resided a man with a deep appreciation of his cultural heritage and more than just passing knowledge of simple folktales. He remembered all he had heard and he had been a good listener. And he passed that lore along. In his own way, Barney Doyle was a bard, keeping ancient tradition alive. “I simply assumed …,” she said weakly.

“Yes, and that’s the word, then, isn’t it? Assumed. You think the old stories nothing but myth and legend. We know they are true,” he whispered. He never took his eyes from the darkening sky outside. “We’ll get some rain soon, I’m thinking.” His voice softened. “What, then,
would you say should I tell you I myself once saw the Daonie Sidhe, dancing upon a knoll in the moonlight? A boy I was, not much older than Sean. But I’ll never forget the sight. Both beautiful and terrifying, joyous and sad, all at once, it was. The music so faint it’s a breath on the wind, and the smell of flowers … flowers from another place. Longings and desires I felt, with fear in no small measure.” He crossed himself. “And danger to my immortal soul.

“They are often gone from sight, the Old People, the Good People.” He looked hard at Aggie. “But they are still here, with us. They live in the same world, and it’s foolishness itself to deny the truth because it’s not convenient to believe.”

Aggie felt helpless before the certainty of Barney’s words.

Sean said, “Please, Barney, we’ve got to get Patrick back. Where can I find him?”

Barney stared out the window as the afternoon sun turned the sky the color of yellow roses between the growing black clouds. “He’s with the Fool, lad, and for all of that, he’s as good as lost.”

“Who’s the Fool?” asked the boy, seemingly unwilling to accept Patrick as being irretrievable.

Barney looked out from under bushy brows, his eyes unreadable. But it was Aggie who spoke. “Your Shining Man, Sean. The Amadán-na-Briona, leader of the Dark Folk. He’s the head of what the Scots call the Unseely Court, the evil ones among the Sidhe.”

Sean, who’d been squirming, said, “But why’d he take Patrick?”

Aggie watched Barney’s face as he looked at Sean, then her again. “Because they’re a wicked and perverse fellowship, Sean. ’Tis certain, the boy’s been a-changelinged.”

“A changeling?” said Aggie. “But he’s in the hospital.”

“That’s not Patrick in that room,” said Barney firmly. Sean looked up at Barney and tears formed in the boy’s eyes. Relief flooded through him. At last he had
found somebody who understood. Barney knew that the thing in the hospital that looked like Patrick wasn’t Sean’s brother.

Aggie stood up. “This is all too much for me to take, Barney Doyle. I’ll not sit and listen to this as if we were talking of a kidnapping.” She was obviously disturbed by Barney’s words, and she fought to regain her composure. “Come on, Sean, I think you should be at home. The weather’s turning, so I’ll drive you.”

Sean stood up as if making to bolt to the door, but Barney put a restraining hand upon his shoulder. “Nay, lad, you’d do well to go.” Barney’s eyes seemed to shine, as if on the verge of tears. “There’s nothing for it. Nothing you can do. There is no way to go after Patrick.” He waited until Aggie had retrieved her purse and notebook, and opened the door for them. After they had gone through, Barney closed it softly. Then he said quietly, “We’re past the age of heroes, Sean. ’Tis a sad thing to be admitting, but it is the truth.”

Sean thought to run away, but Aggie had a lifetime of dealing with boys of all sizes and temperaments, and a light touch upon his shoulder stilled the impulse to rebel in the usually obedient boy. He quietly got into her car and allowed himself to be taken home.

Sean brooded in his room as the setting sun passed behind the old tree outside, throwing twisted shadows across the wall. He had been quietly desperate since coming back from Barney’s the day before. Luckily his mother had still been napping when Aggie brought him home. Aggie had been quiet the entire way back. She had not said a word to Gabbie about what had taken place at Barney’s, as if to speak of the conversation would give weight to Barney’s words. But it was obvious even to someone as young as Sean that she was deeply disturbed
by what Barney had said, and she did urge Gabbie to keep Sean home until he’d fully recovered. After she had left, Sean begged his sister not to tell on him. Gabbie agreed not to say anything in exchange for his promise not to leave the house until Gloria said it was all right.

His father was due home for dinner in a short while, after visiting the thing they thought was Patrick and checking some stuff with the doctors. Sean fumed as he rolled over. He had one last shot at getting out, and he knew that tonight was the night he had to act. He just wished for a chance to talk to Barney again, rather than having to wait until everyone was asleep. That would give him too little time, he was certain. He didn’t understand it all, but he had figured out enough to know he had to act tonight, and the later he got started, the less time he had left to do something about Patrick.

The door downstairs shut and Sean jumped up. He hurried down the hall and the stairs to where his father stood. Phil looked at his son and smiled. “Hi, sport. How’re things?”

Sean steeled himself against looking too anxious. He gave his dad a quick hug, then made his pitch. “Mom won’t let me go to the Halloween party tonight.” His tone made it seem the most unreasonable sort of confinement, and was just short of whiny.

Phil moved slowly toward the kitchen. “Look, there’ll be other parties and … well, your mom’s pretty upset these days.” He stopped and studied the face of his son. With all Phil’s worry about Patrick, he had all but ignored Sean. After a moment he said, “But then, it’s been no picnic for you, has it?”

An odd expression crossed Phil’s face and he pushed open the door to the kitchen. Gloria and Gabbie were both readying dinner. Greetings were exchanged, and Gabbie said, “Jack called. He’s on his way down, hangover and all. He’ll be here in an hour.” Jack had passed his orals Friday afternoon, advancing him to candidacy for a doctorate. He had called to tell her and had wanted to come back at once, but Gabbie had overruled him, insisting he let some of his grad student friends take him
out to celebrate, a party that had lasted until late. As a result, Jack didn’t get started until Saturday afternoon on some paperwork that needed to be on his adviser’s desk first thing Monday morning. That had made driving down to Pittsville on Saturday out of the question. Gabbie had wished she had been with him, but had refused to leave, with Gloria in such rugged shape.

Phil said, “Honey, I think it’s all right if we let Sean go to the party tonight.”

Gloria’s head jerked up, a panic-stricken look in her eyes. Before she could object, he said, “He’s been fine for a couple of days now, and it would do him good to get out.” Sean threw Gabbie a pleading look, silently begging her not to speak of his encounter with Aggie the day before. Gabbie shook her head slightly and winked, then turned her attention back to the salad.

Gloria seemed on the verge of saying something, but instead turned back to the cooking, saying, “Well … he doesn’t have a costume.”

Sean jumped in. “I can go as a pirate! I can put a bandanna around my head and tuck my pants in my rain boots, and wear one of Dad’s belts like this”—he made an over-the-shoulder motion—“and Gabbie can make me a scar with lipstick. Please, Mom.”

Gloria seemed close to tears, and Phil calmly said, “It’s at the school. They’ll be supervised and he’ll be home by nine. How about it?”

Gloria struggled within herself. Something was building around her and she couldn’t understand what it was. Her intellect said there would be no real harm in letting Sean attend a supervised school function, but her gut, her instinct, said there was a terrible risk. Yet she couldn’t articulate those terrible fears, so at the last she simply nodded, her face drawn and ashen. Sean leaped from the chair, yelling, “Thanks, Mom!” and dashed through the door.

Phil went to his wife and hugged her. “We’ll drop him off on our way to the hospital.”

Gabbie said, “And Jack and I can pick him up.” Gloria put her head on Phil’s shoulder a moment. She
almost understood, recognition hung just beyond her grasp: Something of awesome power moved in the night, something that had entrapped her family. They were overwhelmed by ancient mysteries, dark magics and lost gold, and creatures not of this earth. Those creatures had taken one of her sons. And with dread certainty she knew that tonight she would lose the other. But she also knew she was powerless to do anything, and those around her, those she loved most, could never understand. All this knowledge was tantalizingly close to being articulated, but something kept that knowledge from coalescing, from becoming concrete enough to be shared. She simply closed her eyes a moment, then with a sigh of resignation said, “Gabbie, will you take the chicken out when it’s done? I think I’m going to lie down for a little while before dinner.” She turned away from her husband, opened the door to the hall, and left.

Sean walked out of the house between his parents. He was pleased with the makeshift costume. One of Gabbie’s old white blouses gave just the right effect, had the right collar and everything, and with the puffy sleeves rolled up looked just like a pirate shirt. His jeans were tucked into his rain boots and an old belt of his dad’s hung over one shoulder in a fair imitation of a baldric. A red bandanna was tied around his head in pirate fashion. Gloria opened the car door, saying nothing as they got in the car, her eyes red-rimmed. She had slept through dinner, but had risen to join her husband and son. She said little, just repeatedly cautioning Sean to be careful. Sean didn’t notice, as he was busy praying no one remarked on his funny walk, for concealed in his right boot was his father’s silver letter opener.

Phil kept up a light banter, as if forcing normalcy on his family. Sean answered his father’s questions as they
drove to the school, making small talk. Phil attempted to reestablish some sense of normalcy with his son—his surviving son, he thought grimly. Rain began to fall again, and Phil said, “You should have brought a jacket, son.”

“I’ll be okay,” Sean insisted. “It’s only a little way from the street to the auditorium, and I’ll wait inside till Jack an’ Gabbie get me.”

“Okay, buccaneer,” said Phil, with forced joviality. He pulled up to the curbside before the elementary school and watched as Gloria got out, allowing Sean to leave. As he started past his mother, she reached out and grabbed him, and for one panic-stricken moment Sean was afraid she’d drag him back into the car. Instead all she did was hug him fiercely, all the while silent, then without a word she let him go and stood in the misting drizzle watching as Sean walked to the auditorium. With a sudden sense of melancholia, Phil felt a tear run down his cheek, and he was visited with the feeling that he was seeing Sean for the last time. He shrugged off the feeling as being due to too much stress and fatigue over the last week, and after Gloria was again in the car, he drove off.

Sean approached the auditorium. The other kids had already begun to gather. There would be some organized activities, a lot of booths set up with games of chance—pitch a dime to win a goldfish, darts and balloons, a wheel of fortune, beanbag toss, and other stuff—and free treats for everyone. They’d also have organized games and records, so kids could dance, though Sean thought that was something the girls would like more than the boys.

Sean heard his parents’ car pull away and glanced back to watch as they drove off. The high clouds hid the last rays of the setting sun, reducing the landscape to black and grey as the mist turned to a more honest drizzle. Sean considered: The party was scheduled to run from six to nine, so he had to time everything perfectly. Sean looked about, joined a knot of kids by the door, and waited.

Aggie negotiated the turns in Highway 117, the main artery down to Pittsville from Interstate 90 out of Buffalo. She squinted against the dazzling lights of oncoming cars, reflected off the slick roadway. The rain had halted, for which she was thankful, for her old full-size Ford handled like a battleship on these slick roads. She made the transition from the state highway to the local road heading toward the Hastingses’ place.

As she passed under the overpass, the classical music station faded and the rain resumed with a vengeance. Sheets of water poured down, obscuring everything but the yellow broken line that ran down the road. Aggie flipped the wipers to high speed and slowed the car. There were two bad turns before she reached the cutoff to the Hastings farm, and she wasn’t exactly sure where she was. Familiar landmarks were nonexistent. With no roadside lamps, all she could see was the area covered by the glare of her car’s high beams. She rode through a tunnel of night. Distant lightning flashes caused the radio to issue raucous noises, so Aggie turned it off.

She drove for a while until she began to wonder if she’d somehow taken a wrong turn. She was tired from lack of sleep—she had spent long hours at the Hastings home the last week. And she had also lived with a bone-deep weariness born of worry for Patrick. The conversation with Barney and Sean the day before had put her on edge, visiting her with an unfocused pensive anxiety. She had been troubled by a feeling with no name. Since Mark had called she had a name for the feeling: fear.

Aggie glanced at her passenger, who sat stoically with eyes forward, saying nothing. Less than six hours before, she had received a call from Mark Blackman. He had tried to call Gary, but the younger man was off someplace for a day with his girlfriend. Mark had tried the
Hastings house, but the phone had been busy. In desperation, he had called Aggie and, with that strange and cryptic long-distance conversation, had plunged her into a frightening world, a world she had glimpsed for the first time when Sean had come to Barney Doyle’s shack the day before.