Aye, I am a Fairy (The Fairies Saga Book 2) Read online

  Leah sat cross-legged in front of her treasure trove of history, thumbing through the salvaged documents, pausing briefly to share a photo of herself and her mother on her first birthday. Leah had been a bald-headed baby, but already had big, beautiful, hazel eyes. Both mother and daughter’s faces were covered with chocolate icing and smiles.

  James gasped, shocked at how much Leah looked like her mother, Dani, as she was known in the 20th and 21st centuries. A sudden wonderful thought caused his mouth to curl up into a full smile. If all went as planned, he and Leah would make beautiful babies, too.

  While his fiancée was blissfully reminiscing with her pictorial history, James made his phone call to England. The solicitor’s secretary was working late, congratulated him on the outcome of the divorce, and said she was more than happy to help him, assuring him that the copies would be faxed immediately.

  James stepped out into the hot afternoon sun and strolled through the parking lot toward the lobby, pausing to examine the dried up blossoms on the gardenia bush outside the entryway, allowing an extra minute or two for the documents to be sent. He’d have to get used to the intense heat. August in Greensboro was certainly nothing like summers in London, or even in the country. He had found the last two days tolerable with air conditioning, but they wouldn’t have that comfort where they were going—or rather ‘when’ they were going.

  The clerk was still behind the counter when he walked in, but the examiner was gone. So was the lad’s bad attitude. “Sorry about being such a dick the past two days,” he said, eyes cast down in shame. “You wouldn’t believe the crap that’s been going on. My brother got busted and is in jail on assault charges. He’s such an idiot! It’s not your problem, and I shouldn’t have been so rude. And this morning, well, I could have lost my job if you’d complained. I’m trying to get back on track, and it hasn’t been easy. Pax?” he asked with a slight grimace, eyes wide in hope.

  “Pax,” James replied, and shook his hand, giving him total forgiveness. “Life’s too short for grudges. Now, did I just receive a facsimile?” He nodded to the machine in the back that was making the screeches and flat tones of one fax machine talking to another.

  The clerk went back and grabbed the short pile of papers. “Are you Lord James Melbourne?” he asked sheepishly.

  James nodded and said, “That I am,” and accepted the documents. “Thank you, and I hope everything works out for you and your brother.”

  The clerk gave him a nod from the shoulders, as if he was deciding whether he was supposed to bow to royalty or not. James put up his hand to stop him and shook his head, turned around, and then pushed open the glass door, back into the hot muggy summer air.

  James had the copies of his divorce papers in hand as he walked into the room. “Oh, aren’t I doing a good enough job as secretary?” he asked when he saw what she was doing.

  Leah had another piece of paper on the table. This one was a reclaimed sheet of yellow legal pad paper, probably from the safe. “I was thinking about all the stuff we should take back and what my mother would want. I mean, if she had known she was going back, what would she have wanted to take with her? Well, she loves two things, not counting me because I’m not a thing. Anyway, she loves gardening and sewing. I can’t bring her back bolts of fabric because of the weight, but from what I can see of this dress, the thread is irregular. I can throw in some spools of thread or maybe just one of those jumbo ones. And gardening; there are so many food plants she could grow. Seeds would be easy to take back and would give the biggest return. I’ve got my debit card and, shoot, I might as well spend my money.

  “I—we—can go to the library and use the computers there,” she continued. “I can order online and get everything rushed here to the motel. I know of one company that packs their seeds in hermetically sealed foil envelopes. Even if I fell in a creek carrying them, they’d be fine. And before you scold me, I’ll make sure I only get heirloom varieties. I wouldn’t want to upset the natural timeline. However, I would like to throw in some seedless watermelon seeds. Spontaneous mutations happen all the time, and I believe something like that would be okay, don’t you?”

  “How do you get seeds for a seedless watermelon? No, never mind; I don’t need to know. Just make sure you fabricate a little bag of some kind to stash them in. I know it’s important that they be sealed, and foil packets are lighter weight and safer than putting the seeds in glass bottles, but I still feel funny about taking back current technology. We need to make sure we’re discreet.”

  “Revolutionary War era clothing reproductions would be easier to find online, too,” Leah said. “Well, maybe. There are a lot of re-enactors in this area, but I don’t know if they’d give up or sell the shirts off their backs. The library will be a great place for us to work. First off, it’s cool and bright. There’s lots of desk space, too, so I can do the copying of the ‘Works’ codex, and you can create your maps. There’s only so much research you can do on the internet, too. So much is still only in books. I don’t think the written word will ever disappear. At least, I hope not.”

  Leah bent over the yellow paper on the table, focused on her work, her eyes and mouth moving along with her thoughts and penned lines. James stood by the doorway, holding the fax papers he had just received. He looked them over, not comprehending what he was reading. “Hey,” he asked suddenly, “you said your mother liked to sew. Can you sew?”

  “Sure, simple stuff—like bags or pillow cases.” Leah looked over at James, grinned, and shook her head slowly. ”I don’t think I’ll be making my own wedding dress, though,” she added, and watched for his reaction.

  Shocked and befuddled, James tossed the papers in the air, as if he’d just been goosed. Leah laughed as he grabbed and slapped wildly, trying to retrieve the flying documents before they hit the floor. He bent over, red-faced in embarrassment, and gathered the rest of them from the carpet. He bit his bottom lip as he brought the slippery mess to the table, and concentrated on arranging the papers, trying to compose himself, shifting them around so they all faced the same direction, not worrying if they were in order or not. He wasn’t ready to read them—that was obvious. Maybe he’d just hand them to the clerk as they were.

  Leah stopped giggling; he had suffered enough humiliation. “Why did you want to know if I could sew?” she asked, still smirking.

  “I was just wondering if you needed help in that area. I’ve done a little stitching in my time. I might be able to help with that task.”

  Leah’s urge to giggle returned at the thought of this hunky man sitting on a settee with an embroidery sampler in his lap, a wicker basket full of colored flosses, a pair of stork-shaped scissors at his side.

  “I guess I’d better make a note for us to go to the fabric store.” James said, ignoring her tittering. He picked up the green calico fabric from the beige tub. “So this is the dress your mother wore?” he asked, although he knew that it was.

  Leah nodded. “I guess I’d better try it on in case it needs altering. She used to be big…what am I saying? You met her last year. But she looked to be my size now. Here, let me go change.”

  James took the dress out of the bin and held it up for inspection. “Uh, I think this will need a little work,” he said, sticking his finger through the hole in the bodice over the heart area.

  “Eww! I’ll have to make a little patch. I didn’t notice it the other night.” She started to recall that first night, when she had sung ‘Some Enchanted Evening’ while dancing around her cluttered living room with her mother’s dress as her partner. “Not now,” she mumbled softly, then continued aloud, “It looks like someone at the hospital went ahead and washed the blood out of it. I’m not squeamish, but that would have really sent me over the edge. But that hole—the dress would be perfect except for that. Damn! This calico print is over 200 years old. What are the chances I’ll be able to find fabric just like it for a patch?”

  “I’d say pretty good,” James answered, even though he knew i
t was a rhetorical question, that she had just been rambling, and hadn’t expected an answer.

  “Huh—what the…?” Leah bit off the words of chastisement that were trying to break past her lips. Who was he, trying to tell her that finding 200-year-old fabric was a breeze?

  “Look at the hem. See, there’s about a three-inch hem in the dress. Just cut out a matching swatch, make your patch with some of that iron-on sticky stuff, and no one but you and your laundress will know that a musket ball went through.”

  Leah winced when she heard the word ‘musket ball.’ “Sorry,” James said. “We know she’s okay, though, right?”

  “Yeah, Mom’s a tough old broad. Whether she’s in the body of a sixty year old or a seventeen year old, she can handle just about anything that comes her way, whether it be musket balls or strange little men with magic potions that knock you—rather me—on my butt.”

  Leah took the dress from him with a sincere smile—Mom was still alive and she was going to go see her very soon. Rather than try on the garment in the cramped little bathroom, though, she pulled her sundress off over her head right where she stood. At least now she had panties and a bra. Besides, he was gay—it wouldn’t bother him.

  James picked up the yellow note sheet of seeds to buy and checked to see if she had included muskmelons. Whether they were called cantaloupes, casabas, or muskmelons, he wanted to make sure they brought back seeds for them. He glanced over at the movement behind him. He quickly turned back to the paper. She was practically naked, wearing nothing but her underclothes! Why didn’t she change in the bathroom?

  Because she thinks you’re a gay man, Melbourne! At least she’s partially clothed. Her underthings aren’t much more revealing than her bathing suit. Count backwards, man; from a thousand—and in Latin. Don’t let her know…

  “See, perfect fit,” Leah declared, as she walked over to the table, sashaying the skirts back and forth, ending with a dip reminiscent of a curtsey.

  “Very nice, the green brings out the color in your eyes,” James said, then quickly changed the subject, unsure if he could conceal his awe at how beautiful she was. ”Now, do you want to finish up here before we go shopping again?” Cool, shopping was such an unpleasant task, he didn’t need any mind-masking thoughts; it was its own. “And what are you doing here?” he asked, pointing to her diagram.

  Leah contained her chuckle. She knew she had embarrassed him, and he was just changing the subject. “Let’s make it later for the shopping, if that’s okay with you. I was just designing my little stash bags. I want to have hidden compartments in them. I can hide the packs of seeds—or whatever else needs to be discreet—between the lining and the bag itself. But I don’t know how well I can put together a backpack. I still might try, though. Your leather bag there looks plain and simple enough for you to use. Maybe I’ll just make a duffle bag, sew some straps on the sides, and whip together a bunch of smaller cloth bags for the medical supplies. I can keep them and the secret-liner-stash-bag inside of it. I want to keep the plastic down to a minimum,” she remarked, then returned to her sketches.

  James took the pile of divorce papers, tapped them into alignment again, and got up to put them in his satchel. He looked back over at Leah, bent over her scrap of paper, drawing designs on one side, flipping it over to continue the list of seeds she wanted to bring on the reverse, and then back again to her bag pattern. All of a sudden, she would mutter, ‘Oh, yeah,’ or sit up straight with a new idea, then bend forward and jot it down. He realized that he was supposed to be doing something—anything—rather than leaning against the bathroom doorway enjoying the view of the woman who was to become his wife. He remembered the papers in his hand. Later, he thought, and stuffed them into the leather bag.

  James came back to the table and sat across from her. He watched her face as she muttered to herself, noticed the way her eyebrows arched in excitement, and how she rolled her eyes whenever she mumbled, ‘Well, maybe.’ He recalled how her whole attitude had slowed to near disappointment with the thought that books might go away forever. Damn! He was falling in love with her. He smiled at that comforting thought. It was a first for him. It couldn’t be that he was falling in ‘lust’ with her, because as he was admiring her, her sexuality never crossed his mind.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, as she leaned into his face, her nose practically touching his.

  “Oh, more than okay—I’m just admiring my future. Did you find your birth certificate?” he asked, hoping she would remember that they still needed to go to wherever it was you went—the courthouse maybe?—to get a marriage license.

  “Oh, yeah. I stuffed it in my purse already. Do you have yours?”

  “Uh, no, I have my passport, though. Will that do?”

  He blanched at the thought of the birth certificate. He had never seen his, and now he knew why. He had most likely been born in America. Because of his family’s status, the official document was never required. A member of the House of Lord’s word was good enough for the schools, and even for getting a passport, although that was probably a gray area. He seemed to remember a little bit of discussion when he went in with his father to get his when he was 14. Or that would be when he went with big brother Bruce to get the passport. Bruce and the clerk took their conference into the supervisor’s office behind closed doors. It was the supervisor who came out to finish the paperwork, the clerk standing in the corner—mute, glaring at the men.

  The passport was needed for a trip to Nepal. Bruce wanted to see how James would do at mountain climbing, his passion. That was a joke. It was like putting an adolescent in a Ferrari in the Grand Prix to see if he would like driving.

  Bruce had him outfitted with state of the art climbing gear. James felt both ridiculous and humiliated. The outfitter kept making comments about how petite and cute he was. He also took too much time adjusting the fit around his crotch. The whole episode was one he didn’t want to recall. He didn’t make it past base camp, and Bruce never let him live it down.

  “You went and spoiled the whole trip for me and my mates. And embarrassed me, too! Who ever heard of getting altitude sickness at base camp? I should have left you there with the Sherpa women, but your grandfather would have killed me if I had.”

  He had been a disappointment to Bruce his whole life, but now it didn’t matter. He had been his grandfather’s pride and joy, and now that he knew who the real parent was, he was aglow with recollection.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Leah repeated, breaking his reverie. “You look like you’re daydreaming again. Save that for this evening. We have places to go, people to see, and a wedding license to buy!”

  James grinned with satisfaction and picked up his bag. Leah grabbed her purse and a bottle of water, then they went outside, al fresco, to the Guilford County Grille, also known as daytime in a Greensboro summer.

  James did the tap and grab of the car door handle to open it, certain he’d receive second-degree burns if he touched it for more than a full second. At this time of year, and this time of day, it was an unwelcome challenge to get car doors opened without blistering fingers. The internal temperature of the car was at least 134 degrees—or at least that’s what the little digital thermometer read as Leah turned on the ignition.

  Out of habit, she turned on the air conditioning. James reached over and shut it off. “What the…” she protested. “It’s hot in here!”

  “Yes, it is, and we both have to get used to the heat. Now, roll down the windows and tough it out. And if you think you feel miserable, remember, I’m from England where it seldom reaches 80 degrees, much less this 99 degrees with 99 per cent humidity nonsense.”

  “Okay, but when we get back, I’m going to take a long, cold shower,” she said between clenched teeth.

  James had a quick visual of how nice it would be to climb into the shower with her, but choked it off. Shoes, I need to get shoes. Where can I get shoes?

  “And no, you don’t get to come in the shower with me. Yo
u’ll have to wait your turn. Oh, remind me to look in the phonebook for a shoe repair shop. They might have a line on someone in the area who does cobbler work for the re-enactors. It’ll take a while to get two pairs of shoes made. I don’t want to wait until the last minute, and then have to go barefooted.” Leah paused, then asked, “Is it hot enough for you?”

  “Yes, it is,” he sighed in resignation, “I’ll have to remember to grab a water bottle every time we go out. People really lived here without air conditioning 200 years ago?”

  “People still live here without air conditioning. Put that on your list: find alternative ways to stay cool in hot climates. I think some of Frank Lloyd Wright’s architectural designs used prevailing air currents and shade to facilitate cooling for his school in Tucson. At least, that’s what I remember from high school. Hey, did you know that I went to school in Arizona? I actually saw it, or rather felt it, get to 123 degrees! But it was a dry heat. I swear this heat here, right now, is worse. And are you sure you don’t want to work into this gradually?” Leah grabbed the water bottle, set it between her legs, and twisted off the cap.

  James watched her drink half the bottle in one long gulp. She was radiant with sweat, provocative without trying, but also uncomfortable. He realized they would be wise to make use of what they had while they had it.

  “I’m sure,” he said, and turned the air conditioning to full power with his left hand, powering up his window with his right. “I’m sure I want to do this gradually. Can I have some of that water? I promise not to drink it all.”

  Leah took the water bottle from between her thighs and handed it to him, grabbed the steering wheel, and rolled up her window. “I was pretty sure you were a smart man, even beyond those fancy honors sashes. Smart in school doesn’t mean smart in life. Good living skills will get you further than knowing the value of pi to the tenth decimal point.”