once we were living with Grandma and Grandpa, I had her telling me the stories over and over again. She said she was seventeen and met this great-looking guy and he kidnapped her to the Fae world. Said she was there for a long time, but when she came back home she’d been gone only overnight.”
“And she was pregnant.”
“Yep. Gran told me that we were special. That we’re part Faery, and that’s why I’m so small and you’re so artistic.”
“Uh-huh.” Maggie’s chin hit her chest, and a sinking feeling opened up in the pit of her stomach. True, true, all true, a voice was singsonging in her mind. Oh, God.
“Of course, Gran’s folks looked all over for this guy,” Nora was saying, and Maggie tuned back in. “But they never found him. Then Grandpa fell in love with her, they got married, he adopted Mom, end of story.”
“Right. And so our mom was supposedly—”
“Half Fae. Yeah. She never believed it, of course, but I like thinking about it. And as much as Gran loved Grandpa, I don’t think she ever really got over her Faery lover.”
“Fabulous. That’s just fabulous.” Was that a cold ocean wind rippling along her spine, or the twisted finger of fate making her feel a chill right down to her bones?
“What’s this about, anyway? You’ve never wanted to talk about this stuff before.”
“Oh,” Maggie hedged, “Eileen was on the Internet and she found—”
“You let her on the Internet? Were you there? Were you watching? Predators are online, you know. You have to—”
“Wow, look at the time.” Maggie pulled the phone away from her ear to dilute her sister’s screech, then slapped it back long enough to say, “Thanks for calling. I’ll tell Eileen you love her. Have a good time with Crying Cow.”
“Weeping Buffalo.”
“Whatever!” She snapped her phone shut and, just in case, turned it off. No way did she need Nora calling back at the moment, since her mind was racing and her heart was frantically pounding in her chest.
Culhane hadn’t been lying. She was descended from Fae. So . . . that led to another ugly question: Was Culhane right about the rest of it? Was she a destined queen?
The hardware store window was moving.
“Damn!” She was moving.
Through the window she watched as Sam’s eyes got as big as dinner plates. Then she grabbed hold of the side of the building, waved at him and shoved herself over to the ladder.
She was not getting her day off to a good start.
Chapter Four
“ G otta get my eyes checked.”
“Jeez!” She wobbled on the ladder and grabbed at the top rung.
Sam was standing just below her, alternately rubbing his eyes and examining the spread of snowmen sliding downhill on shiny red sleds; Christmas trees; and the foot-high letters spelling out HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
He shook his head and muttered, “People don’t float, for chrissakes. Gotta go to the eye doctor. Probably having a stroke. Damn customers.”
Maggie felt a twinge of guilt that was immediately drowned in a sigh of relief that Sam figured he was the one with the problem.
“Good painting. This oughta convince everybody I got the Christmas spirit.”
“Sure, Sam.” Hey, he wanted to believe that holiday decorations made him less of a grumbling jerk? Who was she to tell him different?
“You’re gonna put in more snow, though, right?” He waved one hand at the windows, touched a tree dotted with white paint before Maggie could tell him not to, and left fingerprints behind. “I mean, I want it to look really Christmassy,” he added, rubbing the tips of his fingers together to get rid of the paint. “Nothing says Christmas like snow.”
“Sure, Sam.” Maggie was used to the critique. Every year Sam wanted more and more holiday for his buck. But let her try to raise her price and all thoughts of happy holidays and caroling children went out the window. “More white on the trees. You want wreaths on the door glass, too?”
His dark eyes narrowed on her. “Is
“And she was pregnant.”
“Yep. Gran told me that we were special. That we’re part Faery, and that’s why I’m so small and you’re so artistic.”
“Uh-huh.” Maggie’s chin hit her chest, and a sinking feeling opened up in the pit of her stomach. True, true, all true, a voice was singsonging in her mind. Oh, God.
“Of course, Gran’s folks looked all over for this guy,” Nora was saying, and Maggie tuned back in. “But they never found him. Then Grandpa fell in love with her, they got married, he adopted Mom, end of story.”
“Right. And so our mom was supposedly—”
“Half Fae. Yeah. She never believed it, of course, but I like thinking about it. And as much as Gran loved Grandpa, I don’t think she ever really got over her Faery lover.”
“Fabulous. That’s just fabulous.” Was that a cold ocean wind rippling along her spine, or the twisted finger of fate making her feel a chill right down to her bones?
“What’s this about, anyway? You’ve never wanted to talk about this stuff before.”
“Oh,” Maggie hedged, “Eileen was on the Internet and she found—”
“You let her on the Internet? Were you there? Were you watching? Predators are online, you know. You have to—”
“Wow, look at the time.” Maggie pulled the phone away from her ear to dilute her sister’s screech, then slapped it back long enough to say, “Thanks for calling. I’ll tell Eileen you love her. Have a good time with Crying Cow.”
“Weeping Buffalo.”
“Whatever!” She snapped her phone shut and, just in case, turned it off. No way did she need Nora calling back at the moment, since her mind was racing and her heart was frantically pounding in her chest.
Culhane hadn’t been lying. She was descended from Fae. So . . . that led to another ugly question: Was Culhane right about the rest of it? Was she a destined queen?
The hardware store window was moving.
“Damn!” She was moving.
Through the window she watched as Sam’s eyes got as big as dinner plates. Then she grabbed hold of the side of the building, waved at him and shoved herself over to the ladder.
She was not getting her day off to a good start.
Chapter Four
“ G otta get my eyes checked.”
“Jeez!” She wobbled on the ladder and grabbed at the top rung.
Sam was standing just below her, alternately rubbing his eyes and examining the spread of snowmen sliding downhill on shiny red sleds; Christmas trees; and the foot-high letters spelling out HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
He shook his head and muttered, “People don’t float, for chrissakes. Gotta go to the eye doctor. Probably having a stroke. Damn customers.”
Maggie felt a twinge of guilt that was immediately drowned in a sigh of relief that Sam figured he was the one with the problem.
“Good painting. This oughta convince everybody I got the Christmas spirit.”
“Sure, Sam.” Hey, he wanted to believe that holiday decorations made him less of a grumbling jerk? Who was she to tell him different?
“You’re gonna put in more snow, though, right?” He waved one hand at the windows, touched a tree dotted with white paint before Maggie could tell him not to, and left fingerprints behind. “I mean, I want it to look really Christmassy,” he added, rubbing the tips of his fingers together to get rid of the paint. “Nothing says Christmas like snow.”
“Sure, Sam.” Maggie was used to the critique. Every year Sam wanted more and more holiday for his buck. But let her try to raise her price and all thoughts of happy holidays and caroling children went out the window. “More white on the trees. You want wreaths on the door glass, too?”
His dark eyes narrowed on her. “Is
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