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"You're one of the Faeries!" she whispered, her voice almost too soft to hear.
I gave her a wink. "Yes, I am. My name's Delilah." I didn't extend my hand; friendliness was too easily misconstrued with Earth children, and I understood why, though it made me sad to think about.
She held her hand to her mouth, her little friends equally in awe. Finally, one, a girl with short red hair and more freckles than bare skin, said, "Hi. My name's Tanya. Are you a Faerie princess? I always wanted to meet a Faerie princess!" She sniffed a red carnation that she was carrying.
Hating to disappoint her, I shook my head. "I'm sorry, Tanya, but I'm not a princess. I'm just a regular old Faerie. Most of us aren't very special."
"You're a bad woman," said the one who'd run into me. "My mommy says that you Faeries are all sluts and that you're the reason Daddy left us."
Oh great gods in heaven. How the hell was I supposed to deal with this? And did the girl really even know what the word slut meant? Hoping she didn't, I let out a long sigh and said, "Some Faeries cause problems, and some don't. Just like people…" I stopped, not sure how to explain what I was trying to say, or if I should even bother trying.
Tanya, the redhead, beamed me a huge smile and turned to her friend. "Janie, it's like the bullies at school. Just 'cause Billy yanked my hair doesn't mean all boys are bad."
"That's right," I said, stopping as a tall, thin woman strode up. Janie, the girl who'd decided I had broken up her home, backed up against her. Mother and daughter, that much was obvious. Her mother looked like she wanted to drown me right then and there.
"Get away from my daughter, you bitch," the woman muttered, just loud enough for me to hear. I glanced at Janie, thinking it was a shame she was going to grow up so angry. How could she help it with a role model like that?
"I didn't mean to interfere—" I started, then shut my mouth. It wouldn't do any good. But as I turned to walk away, Tanya tugged on my jacket. I looked down at her as she handed me the carnation.
"I still think you're a Faerie princess," she whispered.
I winked at her. "Maybe I am, but I'm in disguise, so don't tell anybody, okay?" She giggled and ran off, beaming. I watched her go. So I told a few white lies now and then. What could it hurt, if I could make somebody's dream come true?
The Fairy Tale, a clothing shop, catered to the renaissance crowd, and the owner, Jill Tucker, was an accomplished seamstress. She did a good business in both custom and off-the-rack clothing, and Iris had hired her a couple times over the past few months to make her custom outfits. I leaned on the counter, smiling at the pewter dragons that paraded across the shelf next to the register. Camille should buy one for Smoky, I thought, but then nixed the idea. It would probably seem stupid to someone as old as he was. Hell, he probably had solid gold statues tucked away somewhere in his barrow.
"May I help you?" Jill swung around, her smile infectious. She was holding a measuring tape and a piece of cloth that looked like the weaver had caught the Aurora borealis midripple.
"I'm here to pick up an outfit for Iris? Iris Kuusi." Iris used the Finnish surname that had belonged to the family to whom she'd been bound, until they all died out. She often told us stories about her days with them, usually when we were curled up near the fireplace with a big bowl of popcorn.
Jill tossed the tape on the counter along with the material. "Oh yes, she mentioned someone would be coming in today to pick it up. We've met, haven't we?" She extended her hand, and I took it, shaking lightly.
"Once, I came in with Iris when she ordered several custom-made aprons. I'm Delilah D'Artigo."
"Right! Her dress is ready to go. Hold on, and I'll be right back." She ducked into what looked like a back room the size of a closet and returned with a white box tied with a big red ribbon. A pewter unicorn charm dangled from the bow. "Here it is. Tell her to let me know if she needs any alterations. It was nice meeting you," she said, picking up the measuring tape again.
I could sense the busyness emanating off of her and picked up the box. The holidays had most people I'd met lately in a frazzle. "Have a lovely day," I said, meaning it.
"You, too," she called as I left the shop and headed out of the market.
The drive to Siobhan's condo took me right by Discovery Park, which consisted of over five hundred acres of protected meadows, thickets, and woodland situated on Magnolia Bluff. The park included two miles of shoreline designated as protected marine reserves.
Camille and I often came here to walk and think. The call of the gulls echoed along the tide flats, and it always seemed as though we could breathe easier while looking out over the bay toward the Olympic Mountains. I preferred to stay up in the woods, while Camille liked walking on the shore. The park was one big playground.
I navigated through the winding streets skirting the park, until I pulled to a stop in front of a two-story building. It had originally been a large house and was now divided into four different condominiums. Far from the chrome-and-glass towers going up around the city, Siobhan's home retained the flavor of an era gone by. The building had a homey feel, almost like a boardinghouse.
Jumping out of my Jeep, I headed toward the staircase on the right side of the building. There were two apartments on each floor, with stairs on either side of the building leading to the upper two residences.
The building needed a new paint job, that was for sure. Weathered from the winds and rain, paint flaked off the walls, but overall the place didn't look run-down so much as tired. Large shrubs and bushes surrounded the house, and ivy twined up the walls. Around back a patch of open lawn overlooked the bay.
I dashed up the stairs and knocked at a faded white door marked with the gold letters B-2. After a moment, the door opened. Siobhan stood there, tall and thin, with long black hair and pale skin. She was black Irish, and it showed. Dressed in a pale gray linen skirt and turtleneck, she reminded me of a shaft of moonlight streaming through the window on a cool autumn night.
"Hey, come in," she said, ushering me through the door. Siobhan moved like a shadow; one moment she'd be there, and the next she'd be on the other side of the room.
Her house was a reflection of her nature. Paintings of the sea, wild and foaming ocean waves, graced the walls. The sofa and love seat were a soft silver suede, and the wood gray and reminiscent of driftwood. Even the flowers she bought mirrored the colors of the ocean. All whites and pale violets with an occasional spray of pink interspersed among the roses and orchids.
"Would you care for something to eat?" she asked, holding out a tray of smoked salmon and crackers. My stomach rumbled, and I eagerly bit into an hors d'oeuvre, then wiped my mouth with a paper napkin. As we sat in the living room, overlooking the bay, I wondered how long she'd lived in the city. Earthside Fae were as long-lived as the Fae from Otherworld. Siobhan could be a hundred years old or five hundred.
"When did you first come to Seattle?" I asked, watching as the wind picked up, whipping the waves into white frenzied lines of sea foam.
