Tainted Blood

by Kathy L Wheeler

Candace Cupardé was a ghost. Specifically, Cupid’s ghost. And being a ghost was no picnic. She longed to let loose her displeasure with a few choice words. But, unfortunately, as Cupid (ghost or not, withstanding) that was an impossibility. Choice words just would not form on her tongue. If she tried to say “damn” it came out as “dart.” “Bastard” formed as button on her disobedient tongue, and if she tried to say “hell”—you guessed it: the word “heart” spewed forth. And well, heart just lacked certain satisfactory elements. Like telling the devil to go to—heart? Most irritating.

Candace was almost certain her long-time friend Dracula (hereto referred as devil), also better known as creepy-scary-vampire-guy, had found some way to divest Candace of her one opportunity of transforming back into her former magical self. And she was furious.

“Honestly, Candi—” Drac started.

“Don’t call me that.”

“It’s your name. Besides, I like it. It makes me want chocolate.” Drac’s somewhat dramatic sigh was almost comical. “I wish chocolate sustained me like blood. It’s much more appetizing.”

“Some big bad vampire, you are,” she muttered.

“So what do you think of our party so far?”

“Our party?” Candace hovered in the cobwebs next to Drac and looked out over a menacing array of monsters. She spotted Frankenstein, the Mummy, several ghouls. Igor was seen escorting an attractive young man carrying Mya through the hall to an empty chamber. She was a selkie.  Candace looked back at Drac situated on a long black chandelier bar, between two flaming sconces.

“Certainly. You and I are a team,” he said with a pointed gaze in her direction. “That was some miracle you worked on Ren and Wendy.”

Candace was down to four arrows. She needed to unite five couples in love. True love. A tricky business, as there had to be the sustenance for the love to take hold and stick. “I had to do that. You were about to sink your teeth into her pretty little neck,” she said glumly. His eyes twinkled with mischief, his grin cheeky. “Oh, go to—” She stopped, shook her head, exasperated. It just wouldn’t have the same impact.

Drac wasn’t a bad vampire as far as vampires went. In fact, most of the time she really liked him, adored him in fact. Her heart (when she’d had a heart) fluttered like a flock of butterflies when he was near. He was so dart attractive. So much so, that sometimes she found herself wishing . . .

Candace pushed away the notion, frustrated. There wasn’t anything she could do about longings far beyond her control. She had no substance any longer.

Drac laid his hand over hers . . . or tried. It passed through her hand, all the way to the bar he sat on. He frowned.

“What?” She laughed, though it was strained and awkward. “Are you saying you’re tired of blood?”

“Among other things.” Something in his voice caught.

Curious at this odd turn, she floated in front of him and looked him in the eye. “What do you mean?”

Avoiding her gaze, he shrugged. “The whole lifestyle is tiresome, if you must know.”

“You mean like being a filmy ghost where nothing and no one can latch onto you?” she teased, shooting through the chandelier and back proving her point.

He scowled. “I suppose that’s what I mean, in a sense.” Drac hesitated, lips pursed as if biting back a confession. He inhaled deeply, then said, “It’s more along the lines of living in a tomb, never seeing the light of day, or being able to check my appearance in the mirror.”

“Well, that I can certainly relate to,” she muttered.

He didn’t seem to hear her. “It was never my plan to become a vampire, you know. The idea was my father’s. He was the true Dracula. I fail to do the family name justice.”

“I don’t understand.” Concern filled her. She’d never seen this side of her longtime friend. Drac was always the confident, dart dastardly, demon. Occasionally, a fetching demon. One might even suggest dreamy demon.

“Father was the one into everlasting life or some such drivel. I guess he just never figured on being stabbed in the heart with a wooden cross by—” He cleared his throat with a cough. “Er, uh, on a night similar to this.”

Hmmm, fascinating. “Similar to this?”

He threw out his hand. “A night of the harvest moon.”

“Ah,” she said. Her senses trembled. Someone was in desperate need of her.  “Hold on.” Candace dashed from the ballroom, slipping through the door where she'd seen Mya carried. She tugged an arrow from the quiver on her back and set her bow. With a careful aim, she let it fly, stabbing the young man in the heart. His hand landed over his heart. Satisfied, Candace whizzed back to Drac and studied him, frowning. She’d never seen him like this before.

Wistful. Regretful.

And that was saying something. They’d known one another for years, hundreds of them. “If you weren’t a blood-sucking vampire, what do you suppose you would see yourself doing? You know? For a living.”

The question seemed to surprise him. She kept one eye out over the rambunctious monsters below. She still had three love connections to perform to fulfill her duty in gaining back her substance. Then she’d be able to vacate this cold, haunted manor.

“The blood is just for survival.”

Candace bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at his haughty defense and murmured some placating nonsense.

His gaze turned distant, his voice grew soft. “Two hundred years ago, I yearned to serve under Wellington, help take down Napoleon. Instead, all I managed was a bite out of him.” Drac shuddered. “His blood was tainted. I was sick for months.”

 “Yeah, but—”

“A little over a hundred years later, I had an inkling that decorated veteran of World War I was trouble.” He scowled, furrowed his brows. “1923, I believe. His attempted coup in Munich failed with a little help from moi, and he went to prison. But as we learned later, that wasn’t near enough to deter him.”

Candace frowned. “Decorated veteran. Who?”

“Adolf Hitler.”

Candace colored at Drac’s appalled glance. “Oh.” He must think her a complete dunce. Hitler was a true devil.

Drac’s gaze shifted below. “I should have killed the bastard when I had the chance. But after that bout of illness with Napoleon . . . Well—”

Of course, words like button formed easily enough for Drac! Candace floated about, considering his words. “Yes, but what about now?” she insisted.

“Rid the world of terrorism.” His response was quick and succinct.

She swallowed a hard lump in her throat. A wave of intense longing, settled over her, and she turned quickly lest he read her emotions on her face.

Drac would have made a dart dashing hero. Heart! If she had the magic to fix that for him . . . well, it broke her (actual) heart. She turned back to him, fanning her face (to no avail). “Oh, Drac,” she said gently. “You want  . . . you want . . . world peace.”

***

Candi’s insight startled, and burned, through him. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Drac said harshly. The emotions roiling through his cold veins made him feel hot enough to fear his father’s ashes reassembled in nothing flat, and dog him to the gates of hell.

“Ha!” Candi Cupardé fluttered about like a firefly, but with more spunk and guile than he’d ever witnessed in his six hundred and fifty-five years (give or take) life. In spite of her wispy presence, he admired her long, blond waves and startling, blue eyes that rarely missed a thing.

She thrust down through the air and pulled another arrow from her pouch and aimed. Smack! Right into the heart of Simza Nuri. Only two left.

Pouting was not a masculine trait, but Drac couldn’t help it. For a man doomed to the cellars during daylight, Candi was the one bright spot he counted on. Wasn’t it bad enough he was condemned to lie in a sarcophagus, day after day after day? Whoever said immortality was the end all had not had to live by that creed.

Although, Madame Mirela assured him the possibility of five couples attending this shindig and finding love together was impossible, he didn’t trust the fortune teller an inch. The woman had an agenda of her own. And if Candi did manage to do to join five couples to true love, Drac would be forever alone. She was his destiny. Air squeezed from his lungs like the vice of an iron bar.

Guilt swallowed him. Why couldn’t he just suck it up like a pint of blood, and tell her how he felt? Let her know how much he loved her company. How much he loved her. What kind of selfish bastard kept Cupid to himself?

Just the thought of letting her go nauseated him. He felt ill. More ill than after he’d sunk his fangs into Ivan the Terrible in 1547.

Drac couldn’t lose her. And with only one more pair to unite, she’d be gone from him. Forever.

 “Did you see that, Drac?” Her vivacious laugh pricked this heart like a thousand needles. “Sebastian refused to let me help him, but he didn’t say anything about my poking Natalie. The man is saved despite his protestations!”

Drac blinked, and she bobbed in front of him. Taunting him.

She giggled. “I’m going to make it. I have only one arrow left. Then I’ll be free of this cold, dank life.”

Red colored his vision in the depth of his fear. He covered it with rage. “You might as well give it up, Candace,” he growled. “You aren’t going to win this little battle. And there won’t be another Harvest Moon for two hundred years.” Two more centuries with her.

The fury in her expression would have made him laugh if it hadn’t been so frightening. In a flash, she jerked out the last arrow, set her bow and let go.

Tingles filled Drac’s vision, the red fading to spots of black and white. He wavered on his perch. “You shot me? Me?” This was okay, he thought. Dead is okay. “I won’t have to live without you now, love,” he whispered.

His grip loosened and he fell. Free at last.

***

Love? Drac said love?

“Igor!” Candace yelled. “Igor, catch him.” And me, but the words to save herself caught in her throat. Candace struggled to fly, but her usual light reflexes were hampered by weight she hadn’t needed to account for since the last harvest moon as she tumbled through the air like a lead ball.

An eternity later, she landed on legs that refused to support her unexpected weight. She fell to her knees.

Igor lowered Drac’s unconscious form to the floor. Her throat burned as she tried to swallow. It hurt.

Everyone’s attention focused on Drac. He’d hate that. And now she’d killed him. Candace laid her hand on his warm face. Warm?—yes. To the touch. T.O.U.C.H!

How could that be? She gaped at a hand that should have gone through his cheek . . . completely to other side.

Slowly she raised her eyes to the surrounding crowd. Their united gazes moved from Drac to her. She swallowed again. But none of that mattered. She dropped her eyes back to Drac, clasped his hand in hers and held it to her chest. “Drac, Drac, I’m sorry. Please don’t die. I love you.”

An eerily silence filled the room. Candace raised her head to a parting crowd for the imposing figure of Madame Mirela. She sashayed through the makeshift isle, her full-hooped, Victorian, solid black dress sweeping the floor with each step. Venom dripped from her sooty lashes.

She tipped her elegantly coiffed head in Candace’s direction. “Mademoiselle Cupardé.”

“What are you doing here?” Candace demanded. An urge to protect Drac enveloped her. She scooted closer, tempted to throw her body over hims.

Lips tightened and disgust marring her brow, the woman seethed fury. “Your flimsy arrows are only good for striking at the heart of lovers already destined for one another or  . . . or building furniture.”

“What do you mean?” Candace prayed she understood Madame Mirela correctly. But one glance at Drac’s pale countenance. . .

“Only the hardest of wood can take out a vampire such as  Dracula. Tis how his father met his fate.” Hate shimmered in her gaze and Candace flinched.

Hope filled her despite the fortune teller’s censure. “I don’t understand.” Of course, Candace's arrows were for striking love into hearts not for killing vampires.

“His father drove me to madness and now I have lost his son.” Skirts rustled and bodies shifted at Madame Mirela’s shocking confession.

Horrified, Candace spoke without thinking. “You killed Drac’s father two hundred years ago?” A wisp of memory curdled her insides. “The last Harvest Moon. . .” her voice trailed. Candace had whisked through the ballroom, determined to help Drac’s unappreciative father. He’d been hell-bent on wreaking havoc throughout the region. Drac had been miserable, embarrassed by his father’s antics. The bloodthirsty bastard had shown no mercy to anyone in his path. Candace would have suffered as well, if Sebastian hadn’t already choked the life from her. She owed Sebastian for that at least.

Candace looked down at Drac. “He’s so pale,” she whispered.

But a night of the harvest moon promised miracles and to her relief Drac’s lashes fluttered then opened. He pinned her with a direct, unrelenting fix. “You love me?”

“Yes, of course. I’ve loved you for centuries.” She frowned, confusion filling her. “Why aren’t you dead?”

With Igor’s help, Drac rose to sitting. “I-I don’t know.”

“Bonjour, Dracula.” Madame Mirela turned her viperous demeanor on Drac. “Much to your regret, you fool, your sweet Candi has fulfilled her bargain.” She laughed, but it resembled nothing like humor. “She is no longer just your ghost.”

“Oh.” Despite the throng of individuals (monsters and such) standing about, Drac’s desolation in that one tiny syllable reverberated throughout the ballroom. A thrill of excitement shot up Candace's spine. From the corner of her eye she spotted Wendy in her bright red gown, her lips moving with some incantation. Candace prayed it didn't backfire on them all.

“Alas, her final arrow was not for decimating vampires—the one through your heart—was not of the correct type of wood.” Madame Mirela hissed. “Ash, oak, alder, holly.”

Candace wrinkled her nose as her words penetrated. “Are you telling me that the arrow I shot through Drac did not make him call me ‘love’?”

“Bah.” Disdain pinched her haughty features, and she sniffed. “A ridiculous notion. You have no power over love.”

Drac leaped to his feet, seemingly fully recovered, anger radiating. Candace glanced quickly at Wendy now sporting a satisfied quirk on her face. “Don’t you speak to her like that, old woman,” he hissed. “She’s Cupid! She’s helped millions find their life’s mate. Perhaps millions more, if I hadn’t been so selfish keeping her for my own the last two centuries.”

Candace sat back on her heels, mesmerized by Drac’s dramatic display. He opened his mouth to expose his fangs. The crowd gasped, stepped back. But Candace didn’t see his fangs. Where were his fangs? Gone. Drac’s fangs were gone.

“Drac,” she whispered. “What have I done?”

Madame Mirela bristled. “You are nothing,” she said to Drac. Her shrill voice screeched through the ballroom, threatening the fragility of the champagne glasses. The old woman turned to Candace, piercing her with such loathing, she flinched. “This is all your fault. You’ve robbed him of his immortality. He belonged to me. And, now—I have nothing. You’ve ruined me, Mademoiselle Cupardé. But take heed. I shall have my revenge, two hundred years hence.” Madam Mirela morphed into a crow and soared across the ballroom through the opened French doors at the far end of the hall.

Drac straightened his shoulders and held out his hand to Candace. Candace was touched by the slight tremble he failed to hide. “Come, my love.”

Candace put her hand in his and rose to her feet on shaky legs.

“Please, resume your good time,” he announced to a stunned audience. He peered at Candace, eyes glittering with something undefined. “We’ve plans to make, a sunrise to witness. Our first of many, together.” The clock struck the witching hour as he touched his lips to hers. Warm. Delicious.

“Are you truly okay, Drac?” She glanced over her shoulder to the French doors.

“I am,” he said, tugging her to the balcony doors. Drac tucked her hand into his arm and said, “She’s gone, darling, for at least two hundred more years. Tell me. What sort of wooden arrows are those of yours?”

“Willow, I believe. A soft wood. They wouldn’t hurt a flea,” she promised. “Or a man no longer wishing to be a vampire.”

Thank you for spending Halloween with the OKRWA Wildokie Writers. For information on OKRWA even joining, visit: our website.

You can follow Kathy L Wheeler at Twitter, Facebook, Google+, YouTube, LinkedIn

Rainbow's End

RAINBOW'S END 

By 

Christy Gronlund

 

Aiden passed a pint to the old man sitting at the bar. Gnarled fingers latched onto the mug. Aidan barely heard the muttered thank you. His focus was on the six gold coins laying on the bar. It had taken over two hundred years to figure out the key to retrieving his gold. The answer was so simple he should have reasoned it out long ago. He snapped a rag from the rack and wiped down the counter with more force than necessary.

“Careful there, fella.” The man at the counter took another sip from his pint. “Don’t wanna worry a hole in this fine piece of wood, do ye?”

Aidan glared at the shriveled up troll. His grey eyes were too big for his face. His nose crooked down in a severe angle while his thin lips spread into a large toothy grin. An unfortunate combination of features, yet the face was kind. Aidan bit down a nasty retort and swung the towel over his shoulder. “No, ye’re right. I’m a bit preoccupied.”

“Of course I’m right, Aidan.” The old man chortled.

“Do I know ye?” Aidan peered closer, trying to detect a bit of glamour but found no haze around the old man. There was nothing familiar about his patron, but his magic had been stretched beyond the point of usefulness during his matchmaking activities.

“Yer the bartender, aren’t ye? Everyone knows your name. You can call me Odin.”

“Right.” That made sense, but a quiver of anticipation sparked through him. He looked back at the coins carelessly strewn across the counter. Naked. Vulnerable. With a flick his fingers, Aidan cast a charm of protection. Magic fled his body, leaving fatigue in its wake. His magic was almost gone. He didn’t have enough to unite the next couple. That meant he wouldn’t get the seventh coin. Without it, he couldn’t summon the rainbow. He placed his hands against the edge of the counter. He was close. So close. To wait another year would kill him. Now that he knew his way back home, one more year would pass longer than the hundreds he had already endured as a banished leprechaun.

“Don’t look so down, lad.” Odin patted his arm. “Nothing is as bad as you imagine.”

“I don’t know. I can imagine terrible things.” A hard edge tinged his words. It was bad enough he had been sent to this arid desolate place when he lost his pot of gold. To never see his homeland again was unthinkable.

Odin lifted his eyebrows. “You need to find yerself a girl.”

In spite of the dismal future looming before him, a laugh escaped Aidan’s lips. “Thanks for the advice, but a mere girl won’t solve me problems. Can I get you anything else?” He pulled the towel from his shoulder and wiped the counter more vigorously than before. Bent fingers grasped his arm. He regarded the man’s earnest expression and stopped scrubbing.

“Let me give one small piece of wisdom. A girl is always the answer. Love will show you the way.” With that strange sentiment, Odin plopped a single coin onto the bar. “Remember that, my friend.”

Aidan slipped the money into his hand, letting the weight settle in the center of his palm. A tingle of recognition bolted up his arm. “How did you. . .”

But Odin had vanished. Aidan stared at the recently vacated spot puzzling over his good fortune, then back at the coin. He held the last and final piece. Now his gold would call to him. He closed his eyes and waited for the airy pan pipe music to filter back into his awareness. But all he heard was the faint tingle of the bell over the pub door

Aidan opened his eyes. A petite woman stepped into his bar, her dark green skirt blown backward by a breeze that didn’t exist. Long curls of red dropped passed her waist. A slender finger gracefully hooked a loose tress behind her ear. Her eyes were the color of a deep ocean filled with depths he longed to lose himself in. She sauntered up to the counter, her eyes never wavering.

You need to find yerself a girl.

“I believe I found meself one.” His hand flew to his chin, verifying his jaw hadn’t dropped to the floor.

She placed those delicate hands on the counter never uttering a word. She smelled like heather and sunshine. Like home. A wave of vertigo came over him forcing him to steady himself against the bar. As he did, his fingers grazed the gold coins. The sensation sent a jolt of panic through him. He quickly slid the coins from the surface into his pants pocket. Her gaze followed his movements resting on his pocket before she locked eyes with him.

 "Can I get ye something?" His strained voice barely audible.

Her lips curved into a broad smile. "Aye, surprise me."

She sat upon a stool with an amused air. He sized her up a moment. She was a woman who liked a deep rich brew. A stout. He filled a stein with the dark foaming liquid and set it before her. And waited. She was here for a reason. He could sense it like clouds gathering for a spring thunderstorm. She sipped the beer regarding him steadily over the rim of the mug. But, alas, said nothing more.

Annoyed, Aidan turned back to the task of wiping the counter surface. At this rate, he really would wear it down to nothing. He was half way along the counter when he felt a tug at his pants. He grasped his pocket. The gold pulsed beneath his palm. With a slither, one of the coins emerged and floated toward the woman's waiting hand. He pulled it out of the air shoving it back into his pocket with the others.

"Are ye after my gold, then?" He swallowed. A sour burn snaked its trail down into his gullet. He bit back the bitter taste as his heart constricted to the size of a pea. She wanted his gold. Not him. He compressed his lips. Why that should bother him so much, he couldn't fathom.

"Nay, ’tis my gold." She said with too much certainty,

"It was you?" Aidan tossed the towel away and covered the space between them in two short strides. He leaned in so close their noses almost touched. Ignoring the dizzying effect her scent inundated him with, he said. "I want me pot of gold back, wench."

***

"You were stripped of the right to claim that gold the minute you let a human defile its contents." Jenna O'hare scrutinized her adversary. He was thin with just enough muscles to fill out shoulders at a huggable breadth. Wiry brown hair that refused to be tamed crowned his head. Deep emerald eyes glinted with a sharpness that sent a strange thrill through her. Here was a man who knew how to satisfy his needs. Compelling every female he encountered to submit to his desires. La, apparently, she was no exception. Her eyes traveled to the hidden coins. She noticed the slight bulge just to the right of them. If only he wasn’t her enemy.

"I have suffered through years of exile for that error." He pounded his fist against the oak, disturbing glassware in the process. "But ye couldn't ’ave failed to notice that the coins returned to me not you."

"Is that right?" She wrapped her fingers around her mug. Within the depths of his green eyes burned a passion that went far beyond his anger at having his gold filched from beneath his very nose. "Then how do you explain my presence at the exact time you had collected them all."

"I puzzled out how to retrieve them. Ye aren't here to take them back." With a flick of his wrist he busied himself resetting the toppled glasses, but she knew his attention remained on her. That knowledge wasn't unpleasant. As her eyes drifted back to the gold, she wondered what would happen if she reached deep into his pockets for the coins. Her skin tingled at the thought.

"So sure of yerself are ye?" She jumped off her stool and swung underneath the staff entrance.

"Get out of here." Aidan tried to shoo her away but she stood her ground, inching closer to him until his back was against the cash register. She placed her arms on either side of him pressing against his chest. Her pulse quickened as his breath rose and fell in ragged gasps, uncaring that his presence distracted her from her purpose. She would enjoy his proximity a moment longer. She trailed a finger up his arm allowing the warmth to spread through her entire being. She gazed up at him through hooded lids. "This is nice," she whispered. She hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

He shook his head slowly, gently pushing her aside, cooling the heat between them. "Quit muddling the issue."

She sighed accepting the inevitable. She crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. "I'm Jenna the leprechaun. That's what I do."

***

"Sure ye are." Aidan headed into the open area clearing off vacated tables as he went. It wasn't his job but he needed to clear his head. Jenna's nearness made it difficult to solve the problem of getting his property back. After over two hundred years, reuniting with his pot of gold was long overdue. He had all seven coins so he didn't need Jenna. Or did he?

He glanced in her direction. She stood poised shamelessly behind the bar watching him without bothering to hide it. Her grin broadened at his attention. What was it about her he found so captivating? To be sure, she was the first leprechaun he had seen in a long time. But it was more than that. Her inner essence glowed sending out an aura full of red, orange, green, yellow, blue, indigo and violet. All the colors of the rainbow. All the colors of home.

He narrowed his eyes on her. If she had his gold then why was she here? Mayhap she needed him. He dropped the plates he carried on a nearby table and turned in her direction.

"Miss me?" She quirked an eyebrow.

"Tell me lass." He descended upon her with more confidence than when she’d first arrived—strange —he was no longer sure his fortune was more important than her. "How are ye enjoying my pot of gold?"

"Immensely, thank you." She blew an errant strand of hair off her face. He resisted the urge to wrap it around his finger.

"Then I’m supposin’ yer need for these seven is nil."

Her eyes grew wide. "Oh, but I do need them."

A low chuckle burst from his chest. "I'd wager, ye haven't even seen my gold."

She bowed her head, drawing clover leafs with her fingers on polished wood. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He lifted her chin until deep blue eyes gazed into his. "I think ye do."

She didn't move. He reveled in the sudden stillness, closing the distance between his lips to hers. The surge of electricity that followed energized every nerve ending in his body. How he longed to stay in that pose for eternity. But he had to be sure of her. Had to know she felt the same. His pulse quickened as he thought of the risk he was taking but he had to know. He forced himself away from her and pulled the coins from his pocket. They plopped on the counter with a clank.

"Let love light the way." He walked away hoping he was right. The worst that could happen was being exiled right where he was. He shrugged. If that was the absolute worst when he desired so much more, then what did it matter?

***

Jenna watched Aidan walk away. A mixture of relief and disappointment filled her. Her lips still tingled from their kiss. Her breathing still ragged, obstinately refusing to return to normal. She almost shouted after him until the lure of the gold took over. This was the moment she would gain access to the elusive pot of gold. Ownership didn't guarantee the ability to summon the rainbow. She needed all the coins to do that. With one last glance over her shoulder, she grabbed the coins and ran out the door.

Although it was well into evening, the sun blinded her as she stepped onto the rocky terrain the natives called western landscaping. No matter, soon she would be home to the velvet green pastures of Ireland. She ignored the hollow ache in her heart and the niggling voice telling her it wasn't enough. She entered a clearing and raised her fist clasping the gold in the air. She closed her eyes waiting for the gold to call. Her arm went numb and still she waited until it felt like lead weighing her down. She massaged her arm attempting to find the reason she couldn't hear the music of the gold.

"Can't do it, can ye?" Aidan stood in front of her his arm crossed, his smirk mocked her impotence.

"What did you do to them?"

"Nothing. For a leprechaun, ye don't appear to know much about me pot of gold."

"What do you mean?" A fog descended on her mind. He stepped so close she could feel his breath. She leaned in catching the scent of spices and mint. "You're the one who lost it. I doubt you know much more."

His grin was so maddening she wanted to wipe off—or kiss it away. The thought caught her by surprise. "Aye, it took me some time to figure it out. Then I realized seven coins were taken on the heels of love."

"I don't understand."

He cocked his head to one side, those emerald eyes regarding her with amusement and something else. Hope? "Love bound the coins when Finn and his lass, Lady Allison, declared their affection. With every couple that has found love these past few days, I’ve retrieved one coin. I’ve one left, the seventh."

"But, I have them all." She opened her hand. "If they're all here the curse has to be broken."

He shook his head. She steeled herself. How could this man be so daft?

"There's one last couple to unite."

"Who?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he stared at her with a huge grin on his handsome mug.

"Am I missing something?"

He took hold of both her arms squaring her before him. "I was given the seventh coin when Finn and Lady Allison found them. The seventh coin belonged to me."

She froze processing this bit of information. If she followed his logic accurately, that would mean...a heady giggle bubbled up inside her. "You mean?"

"I love ye Jenna. What I need to know is if ye love me, as well."

She flung herself into his arms. "Yes. I do." A surge of joy rushed through her veins followed by a grand sense of relief

He kissed her raising his hand to the sky. The rainbow of colors engulfed them in a splash that melded at the ground shooting buttery golden light back up in response. Amidst the center their pot of gold gleamed. Together Aidan and Jenna stepped into the fold.

"Let's go home."

A small wrinkle furrowed her forehead. "What about your bar?"

"Don't worry, ’tis left it in Ciara's capable hands."
 

~ The End ~

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

From
 

The Wildokie Writers

Thank you, everyone for stopping by to read our St. Patrick's Day stories. We hope you enjoyed.

Stay tuned for our Inspirational series coming soon.

A Matter of Luck

A Matter of Luck

By

Heidi Vanlandingham

         Work was the last place Gavin Reid wanted to be at that moment. Where had the fun in life gone? Maybe his mom was right. He needed to take some time off—let her run the store and get out of Sedona, maybe even leave Arizona altogether. Frowning, he realized his last vacation had been just after college when he took his parents to Ireland. It had been the first and last vacation with his parents. Two months later, his father had died from a heart attack. 

         The small, antique, mantle clock on his desk chimed noon. As if on cue, his stomach growled, reminding him he’d skipped breakfast. Pushing away from the desk, he decided a beer and the daily special from the pub across the street was exactly what he needed.

         Slipping out of his office, he waited for his mother to finish with a customer. “Mom, I’m running across the street to Finnagan’s for lunch. Would you like me to bring you back something?”

         She offered a small smile but shook her head. “I’m not really hungry right now.”

         Gavin frowned. “We’ve talked about this--you’ve lost too much weight, Mom. One good, stiff breeze and you’ll be blowin’ in the wind.” His face scrunched up in a pained grimace at his mother’s snicker.

         She reached up and patted his cheek then shooed him from behind the display counter. “I love your terrible puns—now go get something to eat.”

         He loved the old Irish bar. Hearing the trilling flute and lively dance tunes always made him feel a bit lighter when he walked. As if his luck was about to take a turn for the better.

         He made his way across the wavy floor, the old wood scarred and worn from thousands of dancing feet over the years. Pulling himself up onto the tall bar stool, he waited for Aidan, the crotchety bartender, to make his way down the bar as he filled orders. In moments, Gavin’s Black and Tan ale appeared. Aidan knew him well. He sipped the brew, appreciating the rich foam as he swallowed. As he finished off the glass, a second one appeared, accompanied by his lunch.

         Standing in the dim interior of the noisy pub, Ryanne McDonnell pulled in as deep a breath as she could, drawing every scent she could into her lungs. The smell of good Irish cooking and Guinness reminded her of home. She climbed onto the tall wooden bar stool and gave the bartender her order. Glancing around the room, she noticed the authenticity of the pub and tapped her feet in rhythm with the lively music playing through hidden speakers.

         Gently dropping her heavy bag to the floor, she raised her head just in time to grab her plate as it flew toward her on the bar’s smooth wooden surface. Before she could react, the snarling man grabbed her arm. His long fingers wrapped around her wrist like a vice as he pulled her forward. The gold coin in her bracelet glittered in its silver filigreed setting. She forced her gaze to his, swallowing the frisson of fear when an evil smile curled his lips.

         “Let me go!” she hissed, wondering if he even heard her in the noisy pub, and jerked her arm back. Neither the man nor her arm budged. Heart pounding, she struggled to reclaim her arm. She only succeeded in bumping her neighbor’s broad back.

         “Wha—Aidan!” The stranger yelled. “What the hell are you doing? Let the lady go!” The man’s voice sounded familiar, but before she could look up, another tug from Aidan pulled her against the bar’s edge and knocked the breath from her lungs. The stranger leaned across the bar and pried her arm from the bartender’s grip.

         “Aidan, what’s gotten in to you?”

         The bartender muttered a response, but his accent was too heavy for her to understand a word. Rubbing her wrist, more for comfort than from pain, she jumped when she felt the stranger’s gentle touch as his hand cupped her elbow.

         “Are you all right? Did Aidan hurt you?”

         The man’s familiar baritone voice washed over her. “Gavin?” She raised her head, her eyes wide and bright. The worried face staring back at her had aged but he was still magnificent. He wore his rich chocolate brown hair longer than she remembered, the ends curling at the base of his neck and over his ears. His eyes were as clear and blue as the Arizona sky. He was so much more than she could ever have dreamed. “It is you.” Her hesitant smile quickly spread as his expression shifted from worry to recognition.   

         Gavin couldn’t believe Ryanne McDonnell was actually sitting next to him. Long-buried emotions slammed him like a tidal wave. His mouth opened and closed like a codfish. Mentally giving himself a shake, he shut his mouth and forced his hand drop away from her elbow to rest against his thigh.

         “Ryanne?” He’d always known she would be the beauty of the family but the woman sitting next to him looked gorgeous. Streaked with golden blonde highlights, her red hair draped around her heart-shaped face to perfection, the ends kissing the top of her shoulders. Long lashes framed brilliant kelly green eyes. From what he could see of her figure, it was full in all the right places, making certain parts of his body jump to attention.

         He ignored the sharp twinge in his chest. He clenched his hands into tight fists, swallowing a couple of times as his just-devoured sandwich threatened to make a very nasty reappearance. Too many memories hurdled over one another, trying to escape the barrier he’d imprisoned them in. Screeching tires. Metal thudding flesh. Flashing lights. Sirens. Silence. His high school girlfriend in her casket. Regan. Ryanne’s older sister.

         He stumbled to his feet and turned to leave. Ryanne’s small hand grabbed his arm. He pressed his toes against the hard soles of his shoes like tree roots holding him in place as he waited for her anger and grief—waited for the tongue-lashing he’d run away from all these years ago.

         “Gavin.” Her voice, so much like Regan’s, cut him in two. “Please stay. I know you don’t want to hear what I need to tell you, but I’m begging you—stay. If not for me, then for Regan. She wouldn’t have wanted things to end the way they did. None of us wanted that.”

         He scrubbed a hand over his face, exhausted physically and emotionally. He’d known for a long time now that he had to let go of his past, but how was he supposed do so? He was the reason Regan died. But he couldn’t walk away from Ryanne. He closed his eyes, dropping his head in acquiescence. He walked to an empty table, pulled a chair out for her, and helped her scoot up to the table. Just as he’d done her entire life. Sitting across from her, he met her green eyes. They sat in silence while the barmaid placed their unfinished lunches in front of them though neither felt like eating anymore.

         “Why did you leave after the funeral? You never even said goodbye.” Her voice was quiet, barely a whisper in the loud din going on around them. But he heard her clearly, as if they were alone in the room.

         He let out a long breath and fiddled with his fork. “I don’t know, Ryanne. There were so many reasons back then. Now. How could I face your mom and dad? You? You had just buried your sister and it was my fault—”

         “Gavin Reid! Stop it. Stop blaming yourself for what happened. The crash was ruled an accident. My sister wouldn’t have blamed you and neither did we. You were part of our family and your leaving hurt almost as much as losing Regan,” she paused, counted to two, and added, “You had no idea a cow was trying to commit suicide on that road.

         Gavin stared at her, trying to keep a straight face. He’d forgotten Ryanne’s weird sense of humor and welcomed it now like a gift. Unable to keep the grin off his face, he shook his head at her. “Really? A suicidal cow? That’s all you could come up with?”

         Ryanne snorted. “Well, it made you smile didn’t it?” She pushed her plate of food toward the center of the table and motioned to one of the barmaids to place an order. A few minutes later, an Irish coffee steamed in front of her and Gavin cupped his Black and Tan between his hands. Blowing on the hot liquid, she took a small sip, enjoying the creamy warmth that helped calm the fast-paced thudding in her chest. She placed the glass mug on the table. She had questions to ask and she’d waited long enough. “How have you been? And your parents? When their letters stopped, Mom and Dad assumed they moved again. Why did you never bother to even write?”

         He downed the last of his beer and wiped his mouth, tucking the napkin underneath the edge of his empty plate. “I’ve been fine. Morenci wasn’t the same after--. Besides, I never wanted to work at the mine. As you know, Phelp’s Dodge was pushing for our land. Dad was more than ready to retire. Two years ago, Dad died. Mom—well, she can’t let him go. What about you?”

         She sighed. “Pretty much the same thing. I hated living there. The mine reminded me of what’s been lost. About a month or so after your parents moved, the mine told the rest of us to leave. Mom and Dad live Payson.”

         Gavin glanced at the clock behind the bar and groaned. Leaning forward, he grabbed Ryanne’s hand and asked, “I have to get back to work, but would you like to meet me for supper?”

         She nodded and gave him a huge smile. “I would love to.” She scribbled her cell number down on a napkin and handed it to him. “Call me at this number and I’ll meet you. I have a few places to go this afternoon and don’t know how long it will take me.” She handed him the napkin and watched as he walked to the register at the end of the bar. After paying, he carefully folded the napkin in half and tucked it in his wallet then left the pub. Disappointed he hadn’t looked back, she made her own way toward the register. Digging through her purse for money, she didn’t notice Aidan standing behind the counter.

         “Gavin paid for ya, cailín.”

         Startled, she glared, not caring how much he scared her. “Why did you grab my wrist earlier?”

         He shrugged his thin shoulders. “Ya have somethin’ o’ mine and I’d be wantin’ it back.”

         Ryanne frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She raised her arms and looked down at her body. “I bought everything I’m wearing and carrying. The only thing I didn’t buy was my bracelet. I made it from my sister’s lucky coin.” Her gaze speared his. “I have nothing of yours.”

         He smiled. It was not a nice smile and made her step backward. “’Twill see ’bout that, cailín. The future will be tellin’ us who has the right of it.”

~  ~  ~

         Ryanne sat on the small balcony of her hotel room. The rusty, red sandstone of the tall conical formations on the horizon reminded her of stalagmites she’d seen at Carlsbad Caverns years ago. The rounded, jagged formations rose toward the sky like dark pillars or chimneys and gave the area an eerie charm. She still loved Gavin—not as a brother like everyone thought, but as the other part of her soul. She had loved him before her sister even knew he existed.

         Glancing down, she rubbed her finger over the surface of her sister’s lucky gold coin. She had never believed in luck or magic but that’s exactly what she would need with Gavin. When he didn't call, she knew he still struggled with the past. She kissed the coin, sending a silent plea for help, then went back inside her room, closing the sliding glass door on her worries.

~  ~  ~

         Ryanne stood in the jewelry store. An empty rocking chair sat tucked into the back corner behind the counter. The sound of a soothing waterfall coupled with quiet classical music created a peaceful ambiance and gave the store a different feel from all the others. She loved the warmth of the pale yellow walls and the small selection of beautiful pottery resting on small, almost invisible ledges across the back wall.

         “Mom, can you—?”

         She jumped at the sudden sound of Gavin’s loud voice and turned in time to see him abruptly stop, staring at her openmouthed.

         His surprise quickly turned into a frown. “What are you doing here?”

         “Good to see you too.” She waved her arm around in amazement. “This is yours?”

         He stared at her then pushed a long breath between pinched lips. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. I was just surprised to see you. Here, that is. And yes, the store is mine.”

         She stared back, not sure if she should be mad, especially since he’d stood her up the night before or feel relieved because she had found him. Again.  “I gathered that. Especially since you never called me last night.”

         He sighed, offering her a crooked smile. “I know. I’m a giant chicken.”

         She shook her head and laughed. “What are you, ten? That was your favorite comeback when you knew you’d done something wrong.” He took her hand, holding it tight to his chest. “Can I interest you in a make-up cheeseburger? I know a really great pub not to far from here.”

         She stared at their clasped hands resting over his heart. “Yes, I would definitely be interested in food, especially if you add an Irish coffee to the deal.”

~  ~  ~

         Ryanne took a sip of coffee, savoring the hot sweetness, then tilted her head. “So why a jewelry store?”

         “I’ve always been more interested in creating things. You know, woodcraft, painting. I played sports for Dad. Making quarterback was his dream and I couldn’t let him down.”

         A thoughtful expression stole over her face as she took another sip. “I’ve always known that. The pictures you painted for Mom always ended up on my bedroom walls.”

         He groaned. “Please tell me your taste in art has improved.”

         She pursed her lips and lightly slapped his arm. “Seriously? I was eight years old!”

         “Why were you in the store? Jewelry shopping—or were you interested in the Hopi vases?”

         “Neither actually. I came to Sedona to try and sell my jewelry. I think I’ve talked to every shop owner in town. No one will even look at my stuff.”

         He pulled something from his shirt pocket and held it out to her. She gasped. In the palm of his hand lay a small silver ring, thin ropes of metal twisting around and creating a simple but unique piece.

         She lovingly brushed a finger over the ring. “This was the first thing I made. I worked and worked to get the metal to twist just right.” She met his gaze. “You wore it on your pinky--”

         “Until I almost couldn’t get it off. I’ve carried it in my pocket since.” He watched her eyes fill with tears and realized what he’d been missing all those years. Her. Sitting beside Ryanne now, the weight he’d been carrying around since Regan’s death lifted. The air in the pub practically sparkled.

         He leaned forward and took her small hand in his.  “I’m sorry for everything, Ryanne. But most of all, I’m sorry for all the time I’ve wasted. Please stay. There’s space next to my office. You can use it to make your jewelry then sell it in the store.” He gently brushed her hair back from her face. “Whatever this is—give it a chance? Give me a chance?”

         She leaned forward and feathered her lips over his. “All you had to do was ask.” She cupped his cheeks with her hands and pulled him to her, laughter filling her eyes. “I’ve loved you since I was five years old. Do you remember the day we met? I fell out of the tree—“

         “And I caught you. Your red hair looked like fire in the afternoon sun, even in pigtails.”

         “When Mom tucked me in bed that night, I told her someday I was going to marry you.”

         “Sweetheart, your someday is here.”

         As they sealed their love with another kiss, neither noticed the sparkling gold light circling the lucky coin. They never heard the small pop when the coin disappeared from its silver bed. Across the room, Aidan smiled, a mischievous  gleam lighting up his eyes as he rolled the gold coin over his knuckles and whispered, “Aye, cailín, as I was a sayin’, I’ll be havin’ what’s mine. But, ya have a good heart and I wish ya nothin’ but a wee bit o’ Irish luck. And to ye both, may ye live happily ever after.”