Changeling Read online

  Changeling

  Shelby Morgen

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright ©2005 by Shelby Morgen

  No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Changeling Press LLC.

  ISBN 1-59596-147-X

  Formats Available:

  HTML, Adobe PDF,

  MobiPocket, Microsoft Reader

  Publisher:

  Changeling Press LLC

  PO Box 1561

  Shepherdstown, WV 25443-1561

  www.ChangelingPress.com

  Editor: Pat Haley

  Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

  This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  Chapter One

  March 17th, 1999

  Carefully -- very carefully -- Arien circled the Human, staying just out of his reach. Human. Elf. Whatever he was, he was definitely male. He thrashed about, trying to break loose.

  Mine.

  He was hers. All hers. She’d caught him, fair and square, clamoring about in her woods on St. Patrick’s Day. Now all she had to do was keep him. Her wings flapped so fast she might have been mistaken for a hummingbird. Damn. That always happened when she was frightened.

  Or excited.

  In this case it might be a little of both. She wanted to get a bigger -- er, better -- look at him, but he was just not cooperating. Here he was, this perfectly fine specimen of male, laid out all naked before her, and he was fighting her! Didn’t he know anything? Most males would give their wolf teeth to be caught by her.

  Which was exactly why she didn’t want them.

  But he wasn’t most males. He was big, and powerful, and if he kept flailing about like that, he might actually hurt her.

  Well, she didn’t know if he was big in Human terms. That was hard to judge when you were only five inches tall. But he was much bigger than she was, that much was for sure.

  One arm thrashed about again, nearly breaking free this time. Quickly she aimed a bit of her magic at it. There. Just a little bit more Fairy dust -- well, Fairy silk, to be accurate -- and he was locked back in place.

  Now. What to do with him?

  No use to have caught him if she couldn’t mount him. She certainly couldn’t do anything with him this big. As long as he fought her, there was nothing she could do about their size ratio. Rules were rules. He had to give his consent before she could change him.

  He had to kiss her.

  She’d tried. But every time she got anywhere near his face he started flailing about again, despite the Fairy dust.

  Well, there were no rules that said she couldn’t make him wish he’d kissed her. A slightly malicious smile settled across her tiny face. She could feel it turning the corners of her mouth up in a wicked grin. All right, big guy. If I have to be frustrated and horny because you won’t cooperate, so do you.

  With no sense of remorse, Arien dug into her pot of Changeling magic.

  * * *

  “I don’t believe in magic.”

  Looking back, that was probably the stupidest thing he could have said, seeing as he was in a pub in Ireland on St. Patrick’s Day. But at the time, the simple statement seemed nothing more than the truth.

  It all started when he sat down at the bar in the local pub to order an Irish Stout. The bartender’s smile looked friendly enough as he pulled Mich’s beer, but Mich could tell the man was giving him the once-over.

  “You’d be the new tenant on Fairy Hill, I’m guessin’.”

  Mich nodded. That hadn’t taken very long. “Michael. Michael Matthews.” That would be the end of that discussion. Now they’d all clam up and treat him like he was some kind of evil corporate espionage guy. Or worse, try to sell him something he didn’t want.

  “So, what brings ya to Glencolmcille, Michael Matthews? Old family in these parts?”

  Mich took a deep draught of his beer, not sure whether to be pleased or offended. The name obviously meant nothing to the bartender. “I’m not chasing ghosts, if that’s what you mean. On vacation, you might say.” Which was the truth, in a manner of speaking. He needed one -- badly -- and this was as close to a vacation as he was likely to get.

  No reason he couldn’t combine the two. A working vacation. What more could a man ask for? All expenses paid, two months to travel across Ireland, at his own pace, evaluating local breweries and drinking beer. This beer was a prime example. A strong, peaty taste to it, with a deep, dark tint like liquid amber. “Good brew. Local?”

  “Oh, aye. From just down the road a piece.”

  Well. That was vague enough. “Good flavor to it.”

  “Aye. There’s a bit o’ the Fairy magic in that one, there is.”

  Mich laughed. “I don’t believe in magic.”

  The room fell silent, even the constant clatter of glasses and bottles coming to a standstill. “You what?”

  “Fairies. Wizards. Banshees. Leprechauns. That’s all well and good for children’s tales. But we’re adults. We’re well past the ages of Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy. I don’t believe in magic.”

  “And ya’ rented the cabin on Fairy Hill?”

  The silence broke, the room erupting in laughter. A bit unnerving actually. As if everyone else knew the secret handshake and he didn’t. No one ever laughed at him. For the most part, people didn’t talk to him, unless it was to say “Yes, sir. Can I get you anything else?” But here, at this little pub in the back end of nowhere, the rules had changed.

  Fairy Hill? “Yeah, that’s the name of the place. So what? Everything around here’s got a Fairy name.”

  “Did ya no’ think there might be a reason for that?”

  How did one answer a question like that without getting assaulted? Tourist Trap popped into his head, but he held the words in check with more restraint than usual. Probably not the answer these locals were looking for. “Didn’t pay much attention to the name. It was the only cottage for rent in the area.”

  “Aye. Well there’s a reason for that, too.” The bartender laughed again. A friendly laugh, from a friendly face. Something Mich was not precisely used to. “Drink up, and I’ll tell ya a story.”

  So it was, Mich did something he almost never did, being a professional and all. He drank the rest of his mug of beer. And followed it with another.

  The bartender pulled another draft of Irish Stout. “Time was, long ago, Fairies ruled this land. But they were only interested in the bits with the strongest magic, ya see. Men knew where they could build their houses and till their fields, and they stayed away from the Fairies’ lands, sort of by mutual understanding. So the Fairies and the Humans lived together on the same island we call Eire, neighborly like.

  “ ’Tis no secret what happens when a man steps over the boundaries of Fairy. Fairies are a wee, small folk, but that doesn’t mean they’re harmless. Many a man’s wandered into Fairy and never been seen again.

  “Still, as the Human population of Eire multiplied, what with being fruitful and all that, the Fairies found their wee bits of land crowded up against, and hemmed in. The Fairies didn’t often take much notice of Humans, and when they did, ’twas not often a good thing. The King’s Court met, and they decided to leave Eire, for the magical island of Tir na nÓg, and have nothing more to do with Humans.”

  Somehow, Mich found a second mug of this local brew in his hands. Or maybe it was the third. He’d rather lost tra
ck. In any case, it was definitely a tasty draft. Well worth investigating further.

  “The Queen’s Court, however, disagreed. They thought without their influence, we Humans would become dangerous, threatening the balance and harmony of the lands. So they split, the King’s Court leaving for Tir na nÓg, and the Queen’s Court going into hiding here in Eire.

  “Now the Fairies from the Queen’s Court mostly did fine without the men, as women mostly do. But every so often, a Fairy Maiden gets lonely. With none of her kind about, she has naught to seek for company than a Human. Many a young man’s wandered into the forest and been caught in a Fairy’s web, never to be seen again. Those who come back have a different way about them.”

  Fairies. Riiiiight.

  Apparently the locals had downed a few too many Irish Stouts. Still, it was a mighty tasty brew. Worth another, in fact. Just to be neighborly. And -- just to be neighborly -- Mich nodded, and smiled. Damn. Needed to do that more often. His face didn’t quite remember how.

  “Séamas O’ Riley was one of those who wandered off. He was gone for some time, was Séamas. When he came back, he built the cottage up on Fairy Hill. By day he tilled the fields and tended his few head of cattle, like any man does. But by night he wandered the forest, lookin’ for something he’d lost, but would always remember. Touched, the local women folk named him. Touched in the head w’ the Fairy magic.

  “Some time after Séamas built his cabin, a son appeared at his side. He’d no wife, mind you, or any other women folk who might have gifted him with such. He made no explanation of the boy. But as the boy grew, everyone could see he was a Changeling. A boy born of Fairy magic, with a touch of the Fey in his blood.

  “Mostly the Changeling children wither and pass on once they’re separated from the Fairy magic, but Séamas had been touched, you see, and his Changeling son grew to a man, and in time the Fairy son married, and his wife bore him a son, as is the way of things. But always those of that line had a touch of the Fairy magic. The last of the line moved to America a long, long time ago, so now the cabin sits empty, waiting. Many a man’s rented that cabin and walked the forest at night, hoping to find what Séamas found. Whether he does or not, a man’s not likely to say.”

  Three -- or was it four? -- mugs of this fine local brew was enough to loosen Mich up a good bit, but not enough to turn him into a fool. He swallowed the scoffing laughter that threatened and grinned broadly instead. “Well, that’s a fine story. Almost makes a man want to take a walk in the woods.”

  The locals laughed first, so it was all right to laugh with them, though not, perhaps, for the same reasons.

  So it was, Michael Matthews, acquisitions manager for Fulson Microbreweries, found himself wandering about on Fairy Hill in Ireland on a balmy moonlit St. Patrick’s Day evening. A tad tipsy, Mich was, with more beer in his blood than he’d consumed all at once in many a year.

  Perhaps blundering about might have been a better description. He seemed to have blundered directly into a patch of spider webs. He stumbled, trying to break free. More of the wispy, sticky stuff appeared, clinging to him, until he couldn’t raise his legs off the ground. The harder he tried to break free, the worse things got. Now one arm stuck as well. Next the other.

  Mich struggled against the bonds, but all he did was wear himself out. His left arm broke free, but whatever had him stuck it down again before he could free anything else.

  Think, Mich. Think.

  It was awfully hard to think with bugs flying around his face, damn it.

  Bugs.

  That was the clue.

  The bug didn’t exist that could trap a man in its web. Maybe in the Congo, but not in Ireland. A dream. That’s what it was. A dream brought on by too much beer and a bartender’s story. Mich tried to sort out the pieces of the evening. He’d left the pub and that delicious golden brown beer and wandered up the hill to his little cottage on Fairy Hill. Decided to go for a swim in the lovely little pond in the woods. Then when he got out of the water he couldn’t find his clothes. He must have fallen asleep. That was it. Yeah. If he just lay still for a few minutes, the world would settle back in place again. He let himself relax, flowing with the dream.

  Chapter Two

  “Wake up! Ya must kiss me.”

  Ummm. Some dream.

  “Just kiss me. Is that so hard?”

  Well, it was his dream, after all. Maybe in his dream strangers -- female strangers with a wee bit of an Irish brogue -- flew up to his lips and buzzed those words against his skin.

  Right.

  “Kiss me, damn it!”

  The tiny voice sounded annoyed. That, at least, was familiar.

  Mich was a cautious man by nature. He wouldn’t normally have complied with such a request had it come from a woman of his acquaintance, let alone someone he didn’t know and couldn’t even see. It wasn’t that he was opposed to kissing. But kissing led to other things, like sex, which, though he rather liked sex, led to other things.

  Like alimony, and child support. Something three out of five of his business partners were now saddled with, along with new sources for kissing and sex. Along with college tuition payments that would last well past their plans for early retirement, which had now gone out the window.

  Beer was easy to understand. Beer rarely needed much more than a taste or two to fully comprehend. Beer…

  Had probably gotten him wherever he was now, and in whatever condition he was in, where an invisible woman with a fuzzy, aggravated voice wanted him to kiss her. So much for cautious.

  “Damn, I must’ve used too much. Ya were no’ supposed to pass out on me, just quit flailin’ about like an Ogre.” Something small and soft bounced off his eyelid. “Wake up! Ya must kiss me. It will no’ work unless ya kiss me.”

  What the fuck? What wouldn’t work? Who was she? Where was she?

  “ ’Twas you who came looking for me, are ya rememberin’ that? Why did ya bother if ya did no’ want to change? Ya wanted an interview for the local rag mayhap? Are ya going to kiss me or no’?”

  Came looking for her? Damn, he didn’t remember looking for anyone. He’d only had -- how many beers had he had, anyway? Two? Three? at the most. So why was he lying here on the -- ground? He checked. Yes. Definitely dirt, and plantlike things. Not grass. Leafy things. The ground, in any case. This could not be good.

  She bounced off his eyelid again. That was it! He flung it open.

  “OUCH!”

  Mich turned his head to see where the voice was coming from. Then he shut his eyes again. No. Not good. When he opened them, she was still there. All five inches or so of her, nursing what was apparently an injured wing.

  No, definitely not good. “Look, I’m really sorry. But you were bouncing on my eyelid. Are you okay? Please tell me you’re all right.”

  “All right? No, I’m no’ all right. Ya broke me wing!”

  Oh, God. He was an Ogre… “Is there anything I can do? Help set it or something? If you’ll just let me loose…”

  “No! I do no’ want your help. Look where that’s gotten me. You broke me wing! Get yourself free, why don’t ya? I hope ya lie there and rot.”

  Unbidden, the bartender’s words came back. Fairies are a wee, small folk, but that doesn’t mean they’re harmless. Many a man’s wandered into Fairy and never been seen again.

  No. He didn’t believe in magic.

  Now she was crying. He often had that effect on women. “I’m really sorry. There must be something I can do to help.”

  “Oh, aye. Like I’m to trust you to help me.” She spread her wings experimentally, then winced in pain, curling into a pitiful little huddle. “I canna’ even fly!”

  “I can’t fly, but I rented a car. There must be others of your kind who could help you. I can take you to them.”

  “No!” she shrieked. “I’ll no’ be lettin’ ya touch me. I do no’ want ya anywhere near me. You hurt me!”

  “I can’t touch you. I’m all tied up, remember? Look at you.
You’re shivering. You’re probably going into shock or something. At least come over here and curl up against my shoulder where you’ll be warm.”

  She looked down at her decidedly blue skin -- maybe part of that was her natural coloring? He couldn’t be sure -- and sniffed loudly. Another shiver wracked her small body. Yup. No doubt about it. She was cold.

  Creeping closer, that angry, petulant look still on her face, she pressed herself against the curve of his shoulder. At least she’d quit crying.

  “Is there someone who will miss you? Come looking for you if you don’t show up by a certain time?”

  Her tiny body convulsed, and the tears came back like a waterfall. “No. They’ll all just be figurin’ I got lucky, and found a Human who wished to mate with me.”

  Oh, good grief. This was why he was single. He had a rare talent with women. If there was a wrong thing to say, he could always find it. It wasn’t as if he’d rejected her. He simply hadn’t been able to see her.

  “Don’t cry,” he pleaded. A woman’s tears always made him feel big, and clumsy, and awkward, like an oaf, and now he really was an oaf. He’d broken her wing, for God’s sake.

  She turned around and kicked his shoulder. Hard. Well, as hard as a five inch tall whatever she was could. “Oh, aye. And what’ll ya do if I cry? Break the other wing?”

  “I’d feel really, really bad. I already feel pretty bad. I never wanted to hurt you. I wish there was some way I could fix this.”

  “Well, you can no’ undo what you’ve already done,” she sobbed, turning to huddle against the warmth of his skin. “Nothing can fix it. It’s broken. I’m broken.”

  A fresh flood of tears assaulted his senses.

  Kiss it and make it better.

  Now where the hell had that thought come from? A half-smile quirked his lips. He hadn’t heard that expression since his mother had passed on.

  Kiss it and make it better.

  Sometimes he thought he could still hear her, whispering advice to him. Surely she’d have had a thing or two to say about this situation.