In the House of the Fae

Chapter Three: Growing Fear

All night I felt a sense of foreboding and unease; it wasn’t until just before dawn that I finally slept.

The next morning found me groggy and exhausted. I stumbled downstairs to make myself a cup of tea, noting that the storm had blown several large branches onto our tiny lawn. I’d have to go out later and collect them.

As the water heated, I read the note that my mother had left: Got a ride to doctor’s appointment with Joanna. Back before noon. Love, Mom.

Joanna, my mother’s friend, had been driving Erika back and forth to all her various errands for the past couple of weeks. I’d volunteered to do it instead, but Joanna insisted, citing the fact that Erika had helped her get around after knee surgery. I couldn’t argue with that and besides, it had saved me a lot of time waiting in the car.

Setting my cup in the sink, I decided today would be a good day to get some cleaning done. The kitchen floor needed to be scrubbed and it had been eons since my mother’s studio had been straightened.

Running upstairs, I threw on a tee-shirt and a pair of ragged old jeans. I grabbed the mop from its closet on my way back downstairs and flipped on the radio, humming as I went. I really didn’t mind cleaning the way most people did. In fact, I found it comforting somehow, probably because I felt I was accomplishing something.

I was just getting started when I heard the doorbell ring. Mom probably locked herself out, I thought, dropping the scrub brush back into the bucket and getting to my feet.

“I’m coming, Mom!” I called as I hurried down the hall, drying my hands on my jeans. “Did you forget your…key…?” I faltered, staring at the man standing on the other side of the door.

“Hi, sorry to bother you, but I’m a little lost,” he said, smiling genially. “Is there a James Burbank living around here?”

“Um, no, I’m sorry; I don’t know anybody by that name, and this is a pretty small town. Are you sure he lives here?”

“He said he lives on Rockledge Island. Do you think maybe I could use your phone? I have his number; I can just give him a call…”

Hesitating, I glanced over the man’s shoulder, and that was when I spotted another man sitting in the black pickup truck that was idling in my driveway. The very same guy who had trailed me in the bookstore the day before.

Horrified, I took a step back, and my eyes snapped back to the face of the man in my doorway. His smile vanished as he registered my expression and his eyes hardened. I moved to slam the door shut, but he was quicker, jamming his shoulder between the door and its frame. Thrown off balance, I tumbled to the floor with a cry.

It was at that moment that I finally consciously registered the humming in my head, which must have been growing louder and louder from the time I opened the door. Scrambling to my feet, I faced the man, who stepped over the threshold with a smirk on his face.

In that instant, the drone in my head turned to a screech and my vision dimmed. I was only distantly conscious of my lips forming the words ar shiúl, tú; it could have been a command, or merely gibberish. There was a sharp report, like that of a gun, followed by a hoarse shout and a crash.

When my vision returned, I was standing still as a statue, one arm raised towards the dark man in the entry. Next to him lay the shattered remains of what had been a large stone flowerpot. His eyes traveled from the shards to my face as he slowly took a step back. He studied my face appraisingly for a moment more before turning on his heel and striding back to the truck.

I stood frozen there for several minutes after the black pick-up had driven off, the front door swinging gently back and forth in the breeze. When I finally remembered how to move, I walked stiffly to the door and locked it securely. Then I made my way shakily down the hall and collapsed into a kitchen chair, my head in my hands.

My last, lingering hopes that yesterday’s encounter had been harmless were finally crushed; I was, beyond a doubt, being stalked. And now, not only had my pursuers somehow discovered where I (and my mother) lived, they also knew about my condition.

Though that probably just saved your life, I reflected, shuddering to think what would have happened had I not lost control. Yet it was too much to hope that I had scared them off for good; the calculating look the intruder had given me left no doubt in my mind that he was only more interested now that I had revealed myself.

Scrubbing my eyes angrily with my palms, I tried to understand why I was being pursued in the first place. It made no sense; nothing about me was the least bit different from any other person… with the exception of my “skills”, if they could even be called that. It must have something to do with them, I thought. There’s nothing else it could possibly be.

Just then, I heard the sound of the front door rattling. Stomach lurching, I leaped to my feet, gripping the back of the chair for support. As I gazed at the door in fright, Erika maneuvered her way in.

“Thanks so much, Joanna; I’ll talk to you later!” she called over her shoulder. As she started to close the door behind her, her eyes lit on the shattered flowerpot.

“What happened to my stone planter?” she exclaimed. Then, Erika noticed my face. “Evie! What’s wrong? Honey, you’re white as a sheet!” She hobbled quickly into the kitchen, looking worried.

I sank back into my chair, holding my head with hands that shook. I debated lying to her, making up some story, anything to keep her from getting scared, but I knew that this wasn’t something I could hide for long.

“Mom…” I said, taking a deep breath. “Something’s happened.”