Free Wondrous Strange by Lesley Livingston Page A

just any Faerie child that mortal stole!” Sonnyprotested. “Granted it may have been a harsh decision at the time, but Auberon was well within his rights to make it. The child was his heir!”
    Bob was relentless. “And the fact that you were, what, the son of a poor crofter? Or that your friend who waits outside the door—whatsisname? Maddox—that he was a mere blacksmith’s child…did that then make it all right for the Faerie to cross thresholds and steal you from your folk?”
    “I…”
    “Do you not think that your own mother wept bitter tears at the loss? Tear at her pretty, dark hair and fall to the ground in an agony of mourning for her stolen child?”
    “What do you know of my mother?” Sonny demanded, suddenly furious.
    “Pretty thing, strong-willed, and a wild heart. Blue eyes. Lovely face…when it wasn’t all twisted up with grieving, that is.” The boucca spoke in low, thrumming tones. The glint of mischief was gone from his eyes. “The theft of you tore her apart. Tore her family apart. They all thought she’d gone mad. Husband up and left because he couldn’t stand the pain in her.”
    “Stop it.”
    “Do you not think a woman like that might have sworn revenge?” The Fae’s eyes glowed green as his stare bored into Sonny. “A child for a child?”
    “My mother—”
    “Could never have crossed into the Otherworld. No matterhow strong, nor wild, nor willful. Not without help.”
    “But you just said—”
    “Yes. I did.”
    Sonny could only stand there staring at the boucca, mystified.
    “Now. There’s something to think about, eh?” Bob fell silent then. He crouched on the landing, utterly still, watching Sonny with his unblinking eyes.
    Riddles . Why is he giving me riddles ? Questions with no answers, all obscured by the emotional impact of thoughts of his mother. His mortal life that could have been…He clamped down hard on the urge to ask anything further and turned to leave.
    Except there was just one more thing he wanted to know. A mere curiosity—but it pricked at his mind…
    “Tell me something.”
    “Is that an order?” Bob glared flatly at him.
    “No. Please.” Sonny held up a hand. “I mean—I would like to know. If you would like to tell me. The story I heard about you and the leprechaun…”
    “And the honey jar?”
    “Yes. Did it happen? Really?”
    “Well…the insides of my ears are sticky.” He snorted. “And I occasionally attract the attention of amorous bees. You tell me.”
    “How did you get out?”
    “May the gods bless progress.” Bob raised his eyes to theceiling. “Eight or nine years ago some bullyboyo contractors came along and built a five-star resort and golf course on the very site. The day they broke ground, they broke my jar!”
    Sonny laughed despite himself.
    Bob shrugged. “It’s a very nice course. I’m sure the patrons wonder, though, why they lose so very many balls. And the plumbing in the clubhouse tends to be…quirky.”
    “Never cross a leprechaun.”
    “Right.”
    “What did you do to raise his wrath?”
    Bob’s expression went stern. “That I will not tell you.”
    “But why—”
    “What I will tell you is this. Are you listening?”
    Sonny nodded silently. The Faerie’s stare was so intense that Sonny almost felt it as a physical sensation.
    “Once upon a time,” the boucca continued, “I was Auberon’s henchman, much like you. But I was never Auberon’s fool. And I am not entirely without compassion.” And then Bob, who was called Puck, who was called Robin Goodfellow, laughed gently and leaped gracefully from his perch, disappearing up into the shadows of the high stage rigging. His last words echoed down through the darkness.
    “Take care of her, Sonny Flannery,” he said. “I did….”

XI
    K elley showered in the tiny bathroom attached to her dressing room and blow-dried her hair. Of course, when she glanced up at the high, tiny window, she noticed sourly that it was suddenly raining