THE WINTER PRINCESS
By
Stacey Jaine McIntosh
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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PUBLISHED BY:
Stacey Jaine McIntosh on Smashwords
The Winter Princess
Copyright © 2011 by Stacey Jaine McIntosh
Thank you for downloading this eBook.
Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
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Thanks go out to those who read through the very first drafts; the end was a while in coming. And also to my family, for so many things, including inspiration.
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AUTHOR’S NOTE
THE WINTER PRINCESS is essentially a first draft. I have proofread and tried to pick up as many of the spelling and grammatical errors that may exist within the novel. In saying that as an Australian, I write using Australian English and not American English.
As such ‘ou’ is shown in words such as ‘colour’ and ‘honour’ as well as other nuiances.
The spelling of Faerie vs. Fairy (or for that matter any other rendering of the word) is intentional, as is Zooey vs. Zoe.
Chapter 1 – Hidden Truth
I stared in complete disbelief at the test I help in my hands. I couldn’t be pregnant, it was impossible. Except, if I was to face up to the facts and let go of the denial I’d been hiding behind during the past four and a half months, there was absolutely no denying it.
Four and a half months ago I had been raped. I hadn’t even known the guy behind the rape, and all I could remember of him now was his long platinum blonde almost white hair that was tied back from his face. It was his voice and not his appearance that would go on to haunt me, long after all the other memories had begun to fade.
Frustrated I threw the used test stick into the small waste paper basket that sat next to the desk in my bedroom; before hurling myself down on my bed to cry.
I was seventeen and Irish Catholic. Rape, was supposedly a forgivable sin, although the idea of doing away with an unwanted child was not at all forgivable and that was part of the reason why I’d waited so long, and ignored what others may have noticed long before I was able to give up my stronghold on denial. Eventually I was going to have to tell my mother and it scared me more than the knowledge that undoubtedly when I succumbed to death I would be going to Hell, not Heaven like all the rest.
I wiped my eyes after a while, dragging myself from my bed, I went to stand before the free standing full length mirror, where I lifted my shirt up, shoving it out of the way so that I could look at my stomach. It was just beginning to swell and I already knew from the way my cleavage swelled that my breasts were bigger.
How much longer could I hide this pregnancy? I looked down at my stomach once again, and then studied my profile in the mirror rather intently. I wasn’t tall, at only 4 foot 9 inches I was the shortest member in my family, and even my mother was taller, although not by much.
Hiding my pregnancy wasn’t possible however and it seemed that no sooner had I stepped away from the denial then rumours were spread through the halls of my high school like wildfire. No longer than three weeks had passed before I was summoned before the principal.
In that office I came face to face with Sister Mary Laurence. She was considered tall for a woman – and impressive 5 feet 11 inches. She had a hook nose and small dark eyes reminding me of a bird. Her habit hid her hair but from her pencil thin eyebrows I could tell she was a dark haired woman. I had no way of knowing how her hair was cut and styled and suspected that it didn’t much matter, given that she was a nun and devoted to God and not a man.
“Yes,” I told Sister Mary Laurence. “I am pregnant.”
She sighed and crossed herself. “I’d thought much better of you.”
I looked down and mumbled. “It was rape.”
I didn’t say it in an attempt to elicit sympathy in any form from her; I said it simply because it was a fact. I was raped, and my child was to be a product of rape, something which was probably far worse than the crime itself.
She made arrangements then and there for me to see the school nurse, explaining that I would probably require a trip to the local hospital to have my condition checked more thoroughly.
Condition; what a funny word to describe my current state, as if pregnancy was a disease that should be treated and then removed from the vicinity.
In the nurse’s office, the nurse, another nun checked me over, determining that from feel alone that I was around 16 weeks.
At the hospital I was met by a Doctor Caine, who administered an ultrasound in a small cubical.
“The baby is measuring at around 24 weeks. Puts the due date at 4th June,” he said, looking at me. “Would you like to know the gender Zooey?”
I hesitated, and then shrugged.
“Tell you what, I’ll write it down. You can either choose to read it later or throw it away,” he said.
The Doctor didn’t say anything more, but then again he didn’t have to, it was written quite clearly across his face. Understanding – immense understanding and I instantly disliked it. I knew what he was thinking. I knew what most people thought simply because I was able to read people’s thoughts. I was a pregnant teenager and nothing good ever came from that.
I jumped down from the table and left the cubicle, bumping into the Doctor’s son, Eben on the way out. “Sorry.”
Poor kid. I heard.
Now Eben was nothing like his father. Eben had dark hair and a pale white face that made his hair stand out. He was 5ft 7 with honey brown eyes that made any girl melt. He was older too, which I knew was also appealing to some of my friends. I’d caught them staring almost as much as I heard their thoughts turn to him. The Doctor on the other hand was blonde with similarly coloured eyes and the same pale face. Maybe they were really related and Eben’s mother was the brunette, from which he got his dark hair from.
I sighed, families were frustrating and boys were worse.
Hate you Eben Caine!
“Excuse me, but don’t we go to the same school?” he asked me.
“Yeah, we don’t share any classes though,” I said.
“Right,” he said with a smile; his eyes sparkling.
Crap! Don’t smile. I’m only human and infallible. I don’t need to be crushing on you, adding more complications to my already complicated life. I thought.
His smile broadened.
§
Later that same day, having decided to skip the return to school opting for some time by myself instead, I arrived home to a familiar scene – my parents fighting.
“I wish I’d never married an Irishman. I wish I’d never left Arcadia and I bloody well wish I’d never met you!” I heard my mother tell my father.
“It’s too late for wishes, Annan. You can’t turn back the clock. I know what I’d have done if only it was that simple. Zooey would have been drowned before she’d been able to draw her first breath,” my father said.
I sank to the floor, my knees no longer able to support me and silently cried. My life meant nothing – my life was nothing when it came to my father. I shouldn’t have cared, I knew that, but I did all the same and it hurt knowing his true feelings. I wasn’t sure if it was that knowledge or the pregnancy, but I stumbled back outside to retch.
As I stood up I came face to face with my mother. “So there’s no mistaking it then? You really are pregnant?”
I nodded.
“Goddess help us,” my mother whispered. She crossed herself, which I found strange given that I knew she hadn’t been raised in the Catholic faith.
I looked at my mother then, she was the same as she’d always been – had the same jet black hair that curled unruly into soft ringlets that reached her hips. Had the same brown eyes I’d always known, but at the same time, it was like looking at a stranger, she seemed older instantly, or maybe it was me that was older. Maybe the pregnancy had done something to me, matured me in ways that I wasn’t aware of until the reality of it had been thrust at me. I looked like her – at least that’s what the mirror told me every morning when I tried to tame my unruly curls into something more manageable. It never worked and every day I fought a battle within myself as to whether or not I should cut my hair to just above my shoulders and be done with it. And every day I found myself unable to make the first cut with the scissors that I held poised in my right hand.
“I can’t go back in there,” I told her. “I won’t be home late... promise.”
I didn’t look back as I walked down the street and several streets over again came to the only decent hangout that seemed to exist in this small town. A bar run by a guy named Luke Grayson. The place hadn’t always been a bar, up until quite recently it had been a nightclub open to all ages.
Luke was one of the few guys I’d met, outside of my brothers, who I found easy to get along with and he made me laugh, which I liked immensely. He didn’t judge and he almost seemed like more of a teenager than I was at times, despite knowing he couldn’t be and had to be closer to twenty-five, it didn’t bother me, I loved him just the same.
I figured out early, that he liked to have fun and that was the reason he took to running the bar. He could have fun, while earning money. He didn’t own the bar but the regulars almost treated him as if he did, the owner didn’t seem to come around anymore.
It seemed like a slow day, I thought idly as I took in the small crowd of regulars and took a seat on a stool up at the bar.
“Hey Salinger,” he said, using the all too familiar nickname he’d coined after learning I was named after a character in a JD Salinger novel. I’d never read any of the authors work personally, despite being given the book Zooey as a gift years ago. I still had it, gathering dust on my bookshelf in my bedroom. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
I smiled slightly, thankful for the fact that some things just didn’t change, no matter what happened. Luke was like a rock – never changing and reminded me of my older brother.
“Just needed some distance,” I said.
“And you decided here was the best place,” as his black eyes swept over the very crowded bar. He poured me a Coke, put a coaster down and placed the drink on top of it. I watched him, his bronzed forearms rippling out of the shirt making it seem as though it was too small for him. And perhaps it was a little, because his muscles were far too well defined under the shirt, it was practically like he was shirtless.
“As good of a place as any other,” I said.
“Can’t argue with that,” he said, just as Eben Caine walked towards the bar
“Didn’t know you enjoyed slumming it with the likes of the less fortunate,” I said to him.
“It’s hardly slumming when this is the only bar in town, Zooey,” he said.
“Should I congratulate you on learning my name?” I asked.
“Ease up Zooey,” Luke said.
“I think I’m going to go, the company just got a little uninviting,” I said.
“You know where I am if you want to talk,” he said. I nodded and walked out.
I didn’t go home straight away, opting instead to take a walk knowing that when I did get home I’d have to face one or both of my parents. However, instead of being met by either one of them I was met by silence. Nobody was about, not even my brother, who I suspected was still out with friends.
I helped myself to the left over Pizza that was in the refrigerator; obviously my mother had failed in her attempt to cook again. I wished she’d just give up and permanently admit defeat when it came to her culinary skills but she was stubborn and refused. I threw the pizza into the microwave, zapped it before carrying it to my room where by then hopefully it would have cooled off enough to eat without me burning the roof of my mouth.
§
By the end of the week it was all around school that the rumours kids had been hearing about me were true; Zooey Donovan was indeed pregnant. The kids of course made speculations as to who the father could have been, but in truth it could have been any one of the guys that attended Sacred Heart. I didn’t really mind, it wasn’t as if I was friendly with any of the boys in my year anyway, if it wasn’t so far from what had actually happened I would have laughed at the possibilities that they were putting forward as to who the father of my bastard child was.
And when my friends, one by one drifted away from me due to my condition I found that I didn’t mind so much. I got through my days of solitude in school and spent the afternoons at the bar where Luke worked, where every other day I saw Eben hanging out with his two siblings; Jarvis and Claire. We, that is, my now ex-friends knew that all three of them were unattainable, but it didn’t stop any of the girls, including me, having a crush on Eben.
§
One night in March as Luke was closing up he turned to me and said something I never thought I’d hear from his lips. “Marry me,” he’d said.
“You know I can’t. It’s... it’s not that simple.” I said.
“It is if you make it that simple,” he said.
I sighed, and then I did the unimaginable I broke his heart.
“My parents have already decided. When I’m eighteen – after the baby is born – I’m to marry a man of their choosing.”
I hated hurting him – especially after I’d confided in him not so long ago. Luke’s gesture was sweet I couldn’t deny him that, and if things had been different. Oh how I’d wanted to say yes. To know I couldn’t tore me apart.
His lips turned down slightly, his eyes showed a different kind of pain as he moved around the side of the bar, swivelling the base of the barstool so I was facing him. He leaned in, his lips coming down on mine, as my arms went to wrap around his neck, while his arms went to my waist to lift me from the stool before setting me down so that I stood in front of him.
“Just... think about it,” he said.
“Okay I will,” I promised it was an empty promise though; because I knew there’d be no changing my parents’ minds.
I walked home; it was dark and the streetlights gave off soft yellow pools of light, some flickered, signalling that the light bulbs were on their way out. The street where I lived was quiet, a neighbour’s dog barked as I passed; I hoped I hadn’t woken its owners. As I stood out the front of the three storey house I called home, I paused for a moment, before letting myself in. There was a car in the driveway, a silver sedan that I didn’t recognise. Why would my parents be entertaining so late tonight when they never usually bothered to entertain at all?
Inside, ignoring my parents and their guests, I made my way to the stairs only to have my mother stop me; my parents along with two other people I didn’t recognise were seated at the kitchen table.
“Zooey, I’ve taught you better than that,” my mother said.
I paused, looking from her to the two strangers and waited.
“Takes after you,” the older woman said.
“Your grandparents,” my mother stated as if that explained why I’d never seen them before.
I waited for her to elaborate only she didn’t.
“Hi,” I said dryly. “I’m going to my room; I have a test to study for.”
“So you went out gallivanting with your friends...” my father said.
“If I had any friends left I’d say that’s exactly what I was doing, but I don’t so you’ll just have to keep on guessing,” I said. “I’m going to my room.”
“Zooey, I don’t appreciate your attitude,” my father said.
I turned from my position on the stairs to look at him. “I really don’t care what you think,” my voice had an icy edge to it. I turned back and continued up the stairs to my bedroom.
Chapter 2 – First Impressions
Saint Patrick’s Day – it was one of those holidays that you couldn’t escape if you were Irish. I can’t say I thought much of wearing green; however in keeping with the spirit of the holiday, I decided to plait dark green ribbons into my hair. My clothes were no different to how I dressed on any day that wasn’t a school day, dark blue jeans topped off with a t-shirt. Today I opted for a long sleeve black one. Over that I wore a coat, which was enough to hide my growing stomach, something which I didn’t want to draw any more attention to.
Despite being the middle of March and the seasons having already turned from Winter to Spring it was still cold and wet. I liked Winter, its bleakness didn’t bother me and all the white contrasted with everything else making it look rather pretty in a stark kind of way. And the early days of Spring always seemed just like Winter, all imposing and bleak.
I stepped into the bar; pulling off my gloves I stuffed them into the pocket of my coat. I caught sight of those who I had once called my friends and looked away. I didn’t need to see them to be able to hear their thoughts. The crowd was overwhelming, not only on account of the normal bar atmosphere and the noise from the patrons and music playing on the jukebox over in the far corner but because on account of the overflowing alcohol most of them had consumed.
Their thoughts were unpleasant, crude and more disgusting than normal.
I wished sometimes that I hadn’t been saddled with such a gift as mind reading. There was no manner in which I could completely switch it off. It remained in the background of my head, like a bee buzzing in my ear.
“Hey Salinger, a little surprised to see you here,” Luke said.
I shrugged and climbed up to sit on a barstool. “I had nothing better to do.”
Seems they let any riff raff in here. It was a man’s thoughts. Somebody should warn her that werewolves aren’t good company. Isn’t going to be me though. His thoughts continued on.
Werewolves? Was this guy drunk out of his skull? Those things weren’t real surely. My thoughts were confused as I looked around in search of where it came from and after a moment discovered whose thoughts I’d been hearing. There was a guy with pale blonde, almost white hair that flowed down past his shoulders, he was dressed in grey suit with a white shirt open at the collar and no tie. Casual and completely at ease as if he owned the place.
A shiver ran through me on account of his hair colour. That kind of hair was unusual and it terrified me to think that I could be sitting in such close proximity to the person who had raped me.
“Luke, who’s that?” I asked nodding to the guy in the grey suit.
“That’s Tristan Montgomery; he’s the oldest son and heir of Marshall Montgomery, owner of the hotel a few blocks over,” I heard the disdain in Luke’s voice.
At least that’s who they pretend to be. Like Faeries are any better than Werewolves. I recognised Luke’s thoughts, but I wasn’t sure if I was hearing correctly. Luke – the guy standing in front of me was a Werewolf?
I hid my shock and glanced back over my shoulder at Tristan. If I was to follow Luke’s train of thought that made him a Faerie.
“Back again I see,” it was Eben the Doctor’s son. He stood right next to me, his hand held the back of my stool lazily.
“Do you always spend your time watching who passes through the door? Or are you just here to amuse yourself and annoy me?” I wasn’t angry or annoyed at all really. But it felt good getting under his skin.
“How positively charming,” he said.
“Just see to it that you stay civil, Zooey. I’ve been breaking up fights all day because of this godforsaken holiday,” Luke said.
“That’s all right Grayson, Zooey was just leaving,” Tristan said. He appeared out of nowhere referring to Luke by his surname. “Weren’t you?”
I heard the lilt of Tristan Montgomery’s voice, reassured, albeit only slightly, that it wasn’t his voice.
“Nowhere near it,” I told him, still perched on the stool.
“We’re leaving now!” he said, gripping me by the arm.
“Take your hands off me!” I screamed.
“I think Tristan that Zooey asked you to let her go,” Luke said coming around to my side of the bar. All three of them – Eben, Tristan and Luke regarded one another, like fighters in a ring. Something was wrong here, I could feel it. Even without pushing their thoughts to the front of my mind so I could see more clearly, something nagged at me. Were they enemies? I shook my head, clearing it of such ridiculous thoughts and told myself they couldn’t be. Things like that were solely reserved for movies and books – works of fiction.
“Suit yourself, although you might want to watch the company you keep in future,” Tristan said as he loosed his grip on me and he started away.
“What’s wrong with my present company?” I called after him. Only he didn’t answer, so I jumped down from the stool and went after him.
“Hey! I’m talking to you,” I shouted.
He stopped in the middle of the street and turned around.
“Didn’t your mother teach you any manners Zooey?” he asked.
“Didn’t yours?” I fired back.
“Touché,” he said with a smile. “And I was referring to Grayson and Caine. They aren’t who you think they are.”
“I’m not easily scared,” I said.
“You should be,” he said. “Be seeing you Donovan. Try to stay out of trouble, won’t you?”
“Yeah... trouble,” I muttered to myself. I don’t know why I bothered to say it aloud as nobody else was about I watched him walk in one direction as I took the other. It was only afterwards that it occurred to me that Tristan Montgomery was aware of my surname when it hadn’t been spoken aloud or otherwise. How curious.
When I got home, I found my mother in the kitchen trying to work the oven.
“You never cook,” I said taking over and turning the knob on the oven to 180 degrees.
“What’s going on?”
“Your grandparents are coming over and they are bringing a guest with them,” she said with an edge to her voice. “Apparently your grandmother has decided that now is the time to divulge everything.”
The guests from the other night, I thought idly. What could my grandmother have to tell that could reduce my mother to such a frantic mess?
I didn’t respond, leaving my mother to the dinner preparation, hoping at least this time that she didn’t burn what she tried to cook. Not that I minded take away pizza but if she was trying to impress her parents, I didn’t think that kind of meal would go over well.
“Zooey, shower and change your clothes I’d like you to be presentable,” she called still in the kitchen, as if what I was wearing wasn’t good enough.
I headed for the stairs, where once in my room; I switched the stereo on, twisting the volume knob up another notch or two. I knew my choice in music would irritate my mother. Having older brothers I had acquired somewhat of an eclectic taste in music. My recent choice was Dishwalla. And old band, most likely disbanded now, but I liked their style all the same.
In the shower I washed my hair and when I was out, braided it while still wet. I slipped on my bra and knickers and pulled a grey and black striped three quarter sleeved shirt dress over my head, before pulling on black leggings. The dress showed off my growing stomach which only added to my apprehension, it was too warm inside for a coat and I had little else that hid my condition. At 4ft 9 I rarely went anywhere without slipping my feet into something with a heel. The boots I pulled on laced to mid way up my thigh and gave me a few extra inches of added height.
I turned and walked from my bedroom, and was only half way down the stairs before I caught his thoughts. Tristan!? Here in my house?
I exhaled hoping my annoyance at the prospect didn’t show on my face.
“Zooey is it possible, that you could turn that racket off?” my mother asked.
“It’s not racket, its Dishwalla,” I said, turning to address Tristan. “What are you doing here?”
“Be nice,” she warned. “And I don’t care what it is, just turn it off.”
“Fine,” I groaned and headed back up the stairs with the music on my stereo switched off I headed back down the stairs only to come face to face with my grandparents, who I’d only met briefly once month before. Obviously, the three of them had arrived together, but what did my grandparents and Tristan have in common?
“Hello Zooey,” my grandmother said.
“Hi,” I said, a little warily.
She looked at me then, her eyes coming to rest on my stomach before she turned to my mother. “Annan, why does it appear that your daughter’s pregnant?” my grandmother asked.
I stared at my mother, who was at that moment speechless. Her hands fluttered nervously.
“You mean there’s actually somebody in this town that doesn’t know?” I asked her. “Kudos for being able to keep a secret.”
“Zooey, just for once can you stop trying to cause trouble?” my mother asked me. She wore a pained expression.
“You always think I’m causing trouble,” I said perching on a chair.
“And feet off the furniture,” she said.
I sighed and let my legs slip out from under me so my bottom sank into the padded seat of the chair. “Is this some kind of intervention?” I asked. “Cause honestly your concern although noted comes just a little bit late. Not sure I can actually get into any more trouble than I am already.”
“While completely amusing, no Zooey, it’s not an intervention,” Tristan said.
I turned to look at him, noticing how he was still dressed the same way he’d been at the bar, in a grey suit and white shirt. “Why are you here?” I asked, recalling at the same time how my father had told me that I would be married on my eighteenth birthday.
Aww! Disappointed Zooey? Exactly who did you expect, huh? Tristan’s thoughts spoke.
I groaned, and turned to my mother. “Tell me you’re kidding?”
“I don’t kid Zooey,” she said.
“Disappointed?” he asked.
“I don’t know. You seem to be,” I said recalling his manner in the bar earlier.
“You two have met previously then?” my grandmother asked.
“If you call an altercation in a bar, meeting, then yeah, I guess we have,” I said.
“All right Zooey, enough,” my mother broke in. “There’s something I haven’t told you.”
I’d heard that tone before it was the same tone she’d used on my father when she’d told him she wished she had never married him. But why was she so frustrated now? Unless she was being forced to tell me. It made sense, in a strange way; why else would my grandparents show up twice in just under a month, when they hadn’t visited before – not that I could recall anyway.
I waited, nobody spoke for a moment.
How in the world do I even begin to tell her she’s half Faerie? I picked up my mother’s agitated thoughts.
Faerie? Me? I glanced sideways at Tristan for only a second. Oh hell no!
“You seem like a bright girl. So I won’t try and sugar-coat it. Your mother – in fact everybody here is Faerie. Werewolves and Vampires are real, and,” she said continuing. “On your eighteenth birthday you and Tristan will be wed.”
Inwardly I groaned and here was my grandmother telling me to believe in faerie stories. Oh, how audacious, it actually made me want to cry and laugh at the same time. “Faeries aren’t real and Vampires and Werewolves are just stupid superstition,” I said.
“I suspect if you told either Grayson or Caine that the existence of their kind are merely the product of the fanciful imaginations of humans they’d laugh at you,” Tristan said. “As for Faeries... you might want to start getting used to the fact that you are one.”
“Wait,” I said trying to get it straight in my head. “Eben’s a Vampire? The one guy in the whole entire school that all the girls... huh? Definitely didn’t see that one coming ahead of time.”
My mother looked at me more than a little perplexed. “It’s somewhat amusing that you’re more shocked by the fact that a... person at your school is a Vampire, masquerading as a human, than the fact that the bartender is a Werewolf.”
I shrugged. “I have my reasons.”
“Zooey, you don’t...” she broke off.
“I don’t what?” I asked, and then broke into laughter. “I think that might be the worst attempt at mother-daughter bonding to date. No, given my current situation I’ve given up on guys completely. Luke’s just a friend. Turns out when you chosen denomination is Catholicism not many people want to be seen associating with the one girl who finds herself knocked up at just seventeen.”
I rolled my eyes for added effect.
“Come for a walk with me?” Tristan asked.
I didn’t move. I’m pretty sure I remembered something that said never to trust a Faerie.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
Heat rose to my face and I blushed, turning away my gaze fell to the clock on the wall. Dinner would be at least another hour, I knew that much. I wanted to make an excuse not to but had nothing with which to bargain.
I pushed my chair back and got up from my seat at the table, moving away I headed for the front door and once outside I waited for Tristan to catch me up.
We walked in silence for a while before he stopped and faced me. “Is it too much to ask that you talk to me?”
“Why would I engage in conversation with somebody I don’t like?” I asked.
“You think I want this – You when you’re human and everything I detest?”
“So why are you here then? You are free to leave whenever it suits you. I’m not keeping you here.” Anger welled up within me and for a mere second I saw red. Raw emotions swirled inside me and it took all of my control to keep my rage at bay.
Now there’s a spark of fire that I’m willing to work with Halfling.
I sighed, my body trembled and I jumped up to sit on a red brick wall that was behind us. He moved with me, so that he was standing in front of me. I found myself staring up into his pale blue eyes, he was tall, around 6 foot 4 and the wind was playing with some strands that had come loose and he brushed them away from his face in an impatient motion.
“I am here because of duty, I don’t pretend to understand the motives of the Queen of the Winter Court, but whatever her reasons, your line must continue, and I’m the one she’s chosen.”
I heard the words he’d spoken but it was like I was trapped. His eyes drew me in with such intensity that I found it hard to turn away.
“Princess,” he practically whispered as he took my hand in his and put it to his lips.
“No!” I said my skin prickling. “No fucking way.”
Tristan was visibly puzzled.
“This knowledge displeases you?”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“Perhaps if your mother had sought to tell you of your heritage it wouldn’t have come as such a shock.”
I was swinging my legs idly now, back and forth. Tristan was staring at me.
Still such a child.
“Don’t judge a book by its cover Tristan. I’m hardly a child.”
Tristan stared at me taken aback. “If you promise not to tell, I’ll settle your confusion.” I added.
“If that’s what it takes,” he chuckled, grinning at me, white teeth showing.
“I can hear people’s thoughts,” the words come out in a rush.
“I find it interesting that you should be a telepath.”
I jumped down from the wall annoyed and more than a little hurt. “You’re the first person I’ve ever told that to and you make me wish I didn’t.” I started away and he had to run a few paces to catch up to me. Tugging at my arm he brought me to standstill.
“I’m sorry,” his voice thick with sincerity. I wanted to believe him, I wanted ever so much to believe that not all guys were any better than animals seeking pleasure and enjoyment in whatever fashion they could secure it.
And yet when I concentrated on his thoughts all they spoke of was lust. I looked into his eyes and he appeared as if drunk. And then the most basic of instincts told me what I should have already known. Tristan was dangerous and shouldn’t be trusted.
He took my silence as an invitation, crushing me to him; he brought his lips to mine and kissed me, his tongue daring to dart in between my teeth. I pulled back reminded all too sharply that it was what he had done.
“I... I’m sorry, I can’t,” I turned and ran heading back towards the house. Outside up against a tree I paused to catch my breath, and this was where Tristan found me.
“You are fast for somebody so little, I’ll give you that,” he said breathless.
“You get yourself pregnant and yet turn me away when all I wanted was to kiss you,” he added. “Seems a little hypercritical to me.”
“You wanted more than just a simple kiss,” I stated.
“Leave it to the pregnant Halfling to get all pious on me,” Tristan spat.
“Pious? Is that what you really think? Maybe once, but not now – I’m going to Hell – if there is such a place. And if I’m such an abomination in your eyes why don’t you just walk away now and save us...”
“Because I cannot,” he said.
Pushing the door open, I headed down the hall and at the stairs I barely paused as I ran to the top, where upon entering my room I slammed the door.
Chapter 3 – Gifts
“What exactly did you do Tristan?”
“Me? I didn’t do anything,” I said. “She’s the one being difficult. Although given her gift I suppose she would think that she doesn’t actually have to talk.”
“Gift?”
Annan asked.
“Your daughter’s a telepath. Don’t tell me you didn’t know?”
“No.”
“You look worried. Have you been painting her in less than a favourable light in your head?” I chuckled.
“She won’t like that you’ve told us Tristan,” she said after a moment of silence. “Zooey’s a rather private person. If she chose to reach out it was for reasons unbeknown to me. I’m afraid I don’t know my daughter quite as well as I should.”
“That hardly surprises me. Exactly how long have you known and have you any idea who the father of the child is?” Mab asked.
“I found out when her high school Principal called me in February. Apparently there’d been rumours going around for weeks prior to that. As to the father, she refuses to tell me and the more I push the more she closes down,” Annan said. “Seventeen year olds are highly fickle.”
“All teenagers are fickle Mam... Zooey’s just a 4ft 9 inch bundle of hormones,” a kid with jet black hair that reached his shoulders said.
“Why do you insist on sneaking up on people Connor?” Annan asked.
Connor ignored her question. “Where is Zoh at anyway? The little brat took ten bucks off me and I want it back.”
“Zooey’s in her room, maybe you could try and talk her into coming back out?”
“What you really mean is one of you has offended her and she's gone to her room because she doesn't want to be in your company,” Connor offered. “Sure I'll talk to her, but I'm not going to convince her to come down if she doesn't want to. Don't like getting caught in the middle, beside's that girl's got a left hook better than anyone I've seen.”
“All right Connor you’ve made your point. Stubborn every last one of you... just like your father,” Annan said.
“Not so much like him,” Connor replied. “I had some trouble convincing him to leave the bar... don’t do anything to set him off once he does make it home.”
Concern crossed Connor’s face and Annan flinched as if recalling something painful.
“Don’t worry about me Conn, I know how to handle your father,” she said. “Go see to your sister.”
§
“Go away!” I said. Whoever it was that came to knock on my door could just turn around and leave.
“Zoh, open up,” Connor called.
“Conn!” I whined as I opened the door to my bedroom.
Not going to force her. Don’t care if Mam did plead.
“It’s okay Connor. I’m going back down, it just got a little crowded, you know?” Connor sat down next to me, my head finding the space just below his shoulder and rested there.
“Mam doesn’t need to be worrying about you,” he said. “She’s got enough with Da.”
“Mam doesn’t worry about me,” I flared, no longer leaning against him. We had this fight so many times it felt like déjà vue.
“Yes she does. I know she does. She loves you – everybody loves you,” he stopped, his words rushed. Embarrassment made his face flush so much he blushed. I sighed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Tristan kissed me,” I admitted.
“That guy downstairs?” Connor asked, slightly amazed. “You’re up here – hiding – just because some guy thought to make the first move and kiss you?”
“I’m being stupid aren’t I?”
“Incredibly,” he said. “You know if you spoke to people a little more...”
“I don’t even know if I like him,” I admitted and
“You don’t need to like him in order to talk to him,” Connor said.
“Sure.”
“I told Mam I wasn’t about to force you into coming down, and I mean it. I won’t.”
“Thanks Connor,” I said.
“No problem and Zoh? I want the $10 back you pinched,” serious again.
“Okay.”
He left me then, having imparted what passed as brotherly wisdom. He was the youngest of my three brothers, Evan and Jacob at 29 and 26 had married and moved out years ago and now had families of their own. Between the two of them I had three nieces and three nephews. Anxiously I continued to sit on my bed. I didn’t want to go back down there. I didn’t want to sit with people who until recently had been mere strangers to me. People that I wouldn’t have recognised if I passed them in the street. The baby kicked, giving me the sign I needed.
“All right,” I said out loud. “Let’s get this over with.”
I descended the stairs slowly and because they didn’t expect me their thoughts were easier to catch and more unguarded. “Leave the roast in any longer and it’ll burn,” I said to my mother.
She smiled at me hesitantly, grateful that I’d come back down, as it eased her conscience and I watched her walk from the table to the kitchen.
“Interesting gift,” my grandmother commented.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“Your ability to hear people’s thoughts,” she continued.
I nodded slowly and turned to Tristan. “Don’t you know the meaning of a promise?” My hands gripped the back of an empty chair so tightly that my knuckles went white.
“Guess not.” He wasn’t even sorry. Couldn’t even begin to see how much it bothered me.
I sighed, discontented. “You’re doing it deliberately aren’t you?”
“Doing what deliberately? Your mind runs at a million miles it’s amazing how you manage to keep up with yourself.”
“Ugh! You really do think you’re better than everybody else don’t you?”
He smiled. “If you’re trying to insult me Halfling you’re doing a poor job.”
“I prefer to throw stones actually. They’re more fun and my aim’s better.”
All right hot shot you’ve won this round, but don’t think you’ll be so lucky next time. Tristan thought.
I was quiet throughout dinner and although my mother made an effort to include me in the conversation her attempts were futile.
“Why do you insist on being rude?” she asked me.
“Since when is choosing not to talk considered rude?” I asked.
“Zooey,” there was hurt in her voice.
“No Mother,” I spat. “I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to talk. If it unnerves you so much to see me sit and not contribute perhaps you should have let Da drown me before I’d even drawn a proper breath. Heaven, I think would be better than this,” I said rising from the table.
“You...?”
“Overheard? Uh huh... the guy you married is a right prick. Of course you didn’t really ask me, so I don’t really have to tell you. If I were you though, I’d keep better tabs on him.”
“If that’s your way of trying to tell me that the father of your baby is...” Mam said.
“Eww! And no, I don’t know who the father of my baby is,” I said. “Except...”
“Just tell me,” she whispered.
I pulled the ultrasound photo and the piece of paper out from the inside of my left boot that the Doctor had written the gender down on and passed it to her.
“It’s a boy,” she said. “But why all the drama?”
“I wanted to find out what it was and couldn’t bring myself to look at it. Figured that you could do the honours considering this was kind of a family affair I thought I’d let you all in on the surprise,” I said. “Are we done? Because if we are I’d really like to leave.”
She nodded.
Chapter 4 – Meetings
I was almost at the top of the stairs when I distinctly heard the click of the front door. I crouched down – hiding – so my father wouldn’t see me.
I watched as the ultrasound photo slipped from my mother’s fingers to the floor. Watched as my father bent to pick it up.
“What’s this?” he asked
“Zooey’s pregnant. Has been for months,” she said, her voice strained; like she’d been crying. “Something you might have been aware of had you been paying attention.”
“Yeah, that would be right, shift the blame back on me. It’s not my fault that your daughter turned out to be no better than a common whore,” he said, eyeing the grandparents. “So what’s that witch you call mother been whispering in your ear Annan, huh?”
“She...” my mother whimpered and my father sent a water glass crashing to the floor. The sound of glass breaking sent Connor out of his room and running down the stairs.
“Connor... don’t,” my mother pleaded. My father had caught her by the arm. Any moment now the same fight that replayed itself over and over would begin again. I didn’t think it would matter to Da if he had an audience or not.
I squeezed my eyes shut. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop! I repeated over and over. I opened them, unable to draw myself away and just as my father’s fist came to crash down on my mother’s face I screamed.
Tearing from my hiding spot on the stairs I stumbled and gripped the railing to keep from falling. I was jerked backwards as my arm extended in the effort of keeping myself upright and my heart beat furiously, as I took the rest of the stairs at a slower pace.
“I hate you!” I said. It took everything I had not to bring him to his knees and grab him by his hair and slam his head into a wall. It took everything I had to keep walking and not look back.
My feet sank into the cold damp grass as I crossed the front yard to the largest tree we had. With my back up against the tree’s broad trunk I sat with my legs crossed, one hand resting on my stomach. Did unborn babies possess the ability to think? And if so... when? It would have been nice to believe that I wasn’t completely alone and across the road the streetlight flickered and went out.
“Who says anything about having to be?” Tristan asked coming to sit next to me. “Alone, that is,” he added.
I scrunched my nose up. “Can you hear my thoughts or something?”
“Lucky guess,” he offered. “You seem to hate quite a few people.”
“Yeah, how does it feel to be one such hated person on my list of hated people?” I asked him.
His breath hitched. “I can’t say I’ve given it much thought,” he said. “But I can if you like.”
“No... Don’t,” I said quickly, knowing he was teasing me.
“Okay.”
“I...” Confusion filled my voice. It was so dark I couldn’t see anything, including him.
I felt his breath on my neck, followed by a hand on my cheek and then his lips touched mine briefly.
Well at least not everything is a disaster.
“I think we have an audience,” I said glancing in my grandmother’s direction, as she and my grandfather stood a few paces away.
Tristan groaned. “Trust Mab to ruin my fun,” he muttered.
“Mab?” I asked. “As in...?”
“Queen Mab, yes child, Shakespeare did a poor job at capturing my likeness in prose,” she said, studying me rather intently. “Although, you’re not really that much of a child now are you? Almost eighteen by human measurement aren’t you?”
I groaned and rolled my eyes, not liking the way she was speaking about me – as if I were cattle; almost.
“I think your mother will want you. That fool of a husband of hers damn near gave her a black eye,” she said.
“Yeah, that happens when he gets drunk,” I muttered. I heard the chime of keys and looked up to see Connor crossing the front yard to his car, with a duffel bag in hand.
“Connor!?” I asked jumping up.
“Take my advice Zoh and don’t go in there,” he said.
Oh God!
“Why? Because you got involved and made it ten times worse and now you’re leaving me to pick up the pieces of a mess you created? Gee, thanks. Some big brother you are.”
“I’m doing you a favour,” he said, angry as he opened the driver’s side door.
“How? By running off? Yeah some favour,” I sighed. “Go ahead! Leave. Say ‘hi’ to your girlfriend for me.”
“Oh come on!” he said leaning on the open door, “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t be doing exactly what I’m doing if you could.”
He didn’t wait for my answer instead climbed into the car and closed the door. The engine turned over and revved and he peeled out of the driveway. The smell of burnt rubber lingered and frustrated I could only watch resenting him as he drove away.
I groaned and closed my eyes, fighting back the urge to throw something.
“If you genuinely need somewhere to stay, you can come back with us,” my grandfather said.
I shifted my gaze, he was as tall as Tristan, had the same colour hair although his was more silver and his face was leaner.
“Curious,” I said. “Think I’ll decline though. Rather not get caught up in Wonderland like Alice down the rabbit hole.”
Tristan laughed.
“Hey, I’m young but I’m not stupid,” I said. “The Irish are a heavily superstitious bunch.”
“Just how many books have you read on the subject of Faeries?” he asked me.
“Is that your way of telling me that we got it right?” I asked grinning.
“We?” he questioned.
“You know,” I paused. “Us humans. I still don’t believe that Faeries are half as real as you’d have me believe they are.”
“Reconsider Oberon’s offer and you’ll have all the proof you need.”
“Yeah, because that’s just about as safe as walking back inside right now,” I said.
“What other options do you have? Unless you’re actually are planning on walking back into that.” Tristan nodded in the direction of the house I wanted to laugh, but held my tongue. Maybe I really was stupid. I thought. Then again everything I knew about Faeries told me that under no circumstances should I go with them.
“At least I know what to expect,” I said.
“Stubborn aren’t you?” Oberon asked me.
“I can lie, if you like.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
I rolled my eyes. “Ugh! Fine, but I’m holding you personally responsible, Tristan, if something happens to either me or my unborn child. I might be going to Hell but it doesn’t mean he has to.”
“Arcadia isn’t Hell Zooey,” Tristan told me.
“And yet my mother left it in favour of spending life here in this hole of a town in Maine. You’ve really just have to wonder sometimes,” I said.
Chapter 5 – Arcadia
I looked back at the house one last time. I should just walk back inside. I thought. It wasn’t as if I owed Tristan or my grandparents any explanation. This – my father’s drunken rages – weren’t part of their life, they were part of mine. I groaned, on one hand I wanted to help my mother and on the other hand I wanted to do exactly what my brother had done – it shouldn’t have been hard, but it was. Right now, if I stretched my gift far enough, I’d be able to know exactly what kind of trouble my mother was in. I shuddered, hating my gift all the more. Life was simpler before the birthday gift that wasn’t returnable.
“So we’re decided then?” Oberon asked as he brought a set of keys out from within his pants pocket. The car beeped and the doors automatically unlocked.
“I...” If you run now, you can be inside the house with the doors locked before they so much as blink. I sighed. Could I? It was definitely wishful thinking on my behalf. So in the end, I agreed.
“After you,” Tristan said opening the car’s back passenger door for me.
“Chivalry’s dead,” I told him.
“As are your manners, it would seem.”
I ignored him and climbed into the back seat. I slid over to sit on the right hand side, and as
I buckled my seat belt I turned my head away. A single tear escaped and I brushed it away; the inside of the car was nowhere near dark enough to hide my rather obvious display of emotion, I just hoped no one would bring attention to it.
When I caught Oberon’s gaze on me in the review mirror, I realised how futile my attempts had been. “Rule number one, Princess, Faeries cannot die,” he remarked. “Annan will be fine.”
You don’t know that! I wanted to scream but instead I said nothing. Frowning I turned my attention back to the window, it had just started to rain, heavy enough that the droplets of water made hap hazard trails down the car window. I put my hand to the cold glass, absent-mindedly tracing the lines of raindrops. I dropped my head, so that my forehead touched the smooth surface of the window; only then did I really cry, the tears spilling out over my cheeks and down my neck.
A sound, something like a growl, escaped from low in my throat. My eyes hurt as did my head. And from within his cosy world the baby kicked, lodging a tiny foot right underneath my ribcage.
“Ow!”
Tristan chuckled.
“So glad my pain is amusing to you,” I replied.
“No, just your innumerable mood swings,” he said.
“The joys of being seventeen and pregnant. I tried claiming it was an immaculate conception but the Sisters wouldn’t believe me. So now I just torment them by picking holes in various bible passages.”
“You are a horrible girl aren’t you?” Mab asked, her voice carrying high and loud.
I shrugged, “Yeah, but it makes my day more interesting,” I said as I felt the car slip onto a gravel track. “Where are we?”
We’d lost the streetlights to the main road and the car was subsequently darker. I couldn’t see much of anything even with the headlights on.
The car slowly came to a stop as I unbelted my seat belt and climbed out. And smiling down in a grin like that of the Cheshire cat, the moon did little to light up the darkness. As I went to take a step forward my boot snagged on a tree root, I stumbled but managed to stay upright.
Tristan grabbed a hold of my hand. “I don’t think we need to be meeting the next generation of the Winter Court quite so soon, do you?” Tristan asked, as my other hand flew to my stomach.
“No I guess not,” I said, touched by his concern over the welfare of my unborn child.
His fingers felt warm against mine, which seemed unusually cold, although I had just spent the entire car ride with my palm pressed to the car window, so it made sense.
Suddenly I felt his eyes on me, and if it had been lighter, I could have sworn the look he was giving me was a pensive one. Even his thoughts were calm, almost caring. And if it hadn’t been staring me right in the face, masked by what I could only reason was my own fear, I would have realised sooner that he was actually concerned about me. This in itself was a curious notion, given his open dislike of me earlier.
“You didn’t answer my question?” I continued. “Where the hell are we?” I stopped realising that I sounded like an ungrateful whiny brat but I couldn’t help it. Up until now I had thought I knew all the woods in the area. I guess I was wrong.
“All in good time, Zooey,” Oberon laughed.
“That may be my name, but it doesn’t give you the right to say it like that,” I said.
Oberon chuckled from the front seat. “So very much like your mother.”
“Come on Alice, it’s down the rabbit-hole for you,” Tristan said as he pulled me along.
“It was funnier the first time around,” I admitted sullenly.
“I imagine it was.”
We continued walking, the darkness like a shroud around us, until it began to grow lighter. I looked around amazed; Tristan released me from his grip and I almost turned in a circle, but managed to stop myself from looking quite so awe struck by a simple change from night to what appeared to be Twilight. But of course. How else was one to cross into Arcadia from the human world if it wasn’t during Twilight? Perpetual Twilight though? It almost seemed a little absurd to me.
“Coming or not?” Tristan called after me. He was several paces ahead. Ever so slightly hesitant I stepped forward. I felt nothing even though it was clear I’d stepped through some kind of invisible barrier from one world to the other. Quite subtly the shrubbery had changed and there was actually a small hedge framing the border of Arcadia. This clearly wasn’t Wonderland, I thought to myself. Not even close.
Arcadia was as different as any depiction of Wonderland that even the best of writers could have dreamt up, it was much more subtle. All around us huge trees stood there canopies reaching for the sky and I suspected that if I hadn’t just walked through a hedge that had been illuminated in Twilight I would not have been aware I was even in Arcadia.
“That’s the entire point isn’t it?” I asked.
Still ahead of me, Tristan turned. “The Halfling’s catching on at long last.” A peel of laughter followed.
I sighed and shot him a look of annoyance. I hated it when people sought to tease me.
“Tristan, you were invited along on good faith, not because either I or Mab wanted you here,” Oberon reminded him. “The exile that Gloriana set down is still in effect.”
“Faerie in exile huh?” I asked incredulously.
“Do shut up,” he said flatly.
“Well sorry,” I sang sarcastically.
He pulled me aside out of earshot of Mab or Oberon.
“Somebody had to come along and make sure you didn’t come to any harm,” he said.
“Oh, how positively noble of you,” I sneered. “But I would have been all right without your help.”
“Really?” He was laughing again, amused at my stubbornness.
“Yes!” I flared angrily.
He shook his head and stepped forward. I trailed behind him, taking in the surrounding woods only to realise we weren’t exactly in the woods anymore. The trees that had been around moments ago had vanished. Instead the area was flat and bare, the ground was grassed and wildflowers of every colour could be seen. I blinked, trying to clear my vision, certain that only moments ago we had been surrounded by dense woodland.
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