Never Date a Siren, page 7
“You should have spoken up at the Biergarten once I said that I owed you. As the holder of the debt, it’s up to you to outline the rules. But since you weren’t aware this, I set the rules myself.”
“Mighty decent of you.”
Logan’s grin got an answering smile from Brigit.
“For the future, though, know that when a Debt of Gratitude is announced, you need to step forward and claim it. Make at least three criteria. First, outline the task that must be done to complete the Balance. Second, always stipulate that the fae can’t harm you or yours during the finishing of the task. And last, provide a time frame.”
“So what about our Gratitude bond? What are the boundaries?”
“First, the task is getting your heart free from Sibyl’s claws.”
“I thought getting rid of those monsters in my bedroom paid off the debt? That seemed like a pretty big favor to me.”
“Not good enough for me.” Brigit did not explain to him that saving her from being killed meant a bigger payback than vanquishing a couple of tulpas.
“Besides, Sibyl tried to harm me the other night so not only do I have a Debt bond with you, but I also have a Challenge, a Fiat of Harm, to settle with her. Saving you would kill two birds with one stone.”
Logan knew how tricky the fae could be, but since Brigit seemed forthcoming, he tentatively asked, “You could just let me die. Wouldn’t that absolve you of this debt thing?”
“Yes, but not in an honorable way.” At Logan’s look of relief, Brigit cautioned him, “Hey, I’m not saying fae haven’t used that method before, but only a low-ranking being would stoop to such. Like those bog sprites. But not a dryad like me.”
She picked up an apple from the bowl on the table and paused, holding it high and rotating it before her eyes to examine it.
“Of course, the simplest method would be to kill her.”
“I don’t want her dead,” Logan cried out in alarm.
“Good. I’m glad you’ve got some common sense as I wasn’t sure if you were the bloodthirsty type. Killing Sibyl would indeed be the simplest and fastest solution. Since she attempted harm against me, I would be justified within the Laws of Civility to repay her in this manner. But in the long run, it would result in all sorts of problems with her bondmates retaliating in kind.”
“Like a vendetta? Such as Romeo and Juliet?” Logan asked, receiving a nod of affirmation from the dryad.
Brigit bit into the apple and continued talking with her mouth full. “Meanwhile, let’s get your defenses in place. Once she realizes we have a Debt of Gratitude, she’ll come after us both pretty hard. Best be ready. When is your first class today?”
“I have to make up some time by helping at the practice hall today. If I don’t get there by one, my head will be on the chopping block.”
“Okay. That gives you time to stop by the studio.”
“Studio?” Logan raised an eyebrow. Brigit gave him a thumbs up for asking another question before handing him a business card.
“The simplest defense against the fae is iron. Generally, we can’t stand the stuff. There’s an artist in the town square. She makes jewelry, Goth stuff, out of iron. That should do in a pinch. Pick out something you can wear every day. Bracelets, rings, something like that.”
“Are you sure I can do that by myself?”
“Not really. But iron gives me the willies so I can’t help you.”
Keeping in mind what Brigit had told him about boundaries, Logan made her swear many binding things: she could not touch his violin, could not damage or remove anything from the apartment, and could not enter his bedroom or bathroom without his presence.
At each of his demands, she smiled, nodding her head, agreeing with his requests. By the end of his recital, she was openly laughing but not in derision.
“You’re a fast learner, Bard. You might get out of this in one piece after all.”
When Logan exited the auditorium hall, he found Brigit under a tree waiting for him.
“Lay down in the grass,” she commanded without opening her eyes.
He did as she requested, but made sure he was more than an arm’s length away from the dryad for Logan hadn’t forgotten their morning conversation.
If Brigit’s lessons got him released from Sibyl’s spell, he would do anything she asked. But, she didn’t need to know that.
“Do you feel it?”
“What?”
“The energy?” He closed his eyes and tried, but couldn’t sense it. “I love that about the human lands. So much vibration and power. Not like back home.”
Logan suspected asking about the PR wasn’t a good idea, so he said nothing. Brigit could make conversation for two.
“We need to announce a Fiat against Sibyl.”
He wondered if Brigit said things like this to startle humans, so he decided to wait for an explanation. The dryad rolled over to her side, propping up her head with a bent elbow, and under her penetrating stare, Logan said, “Sounds dangerous to me.”
“Of course it is.”
“A Fiat is a fight, right? How would I stand a chance at winning a duel with a fae? I don’t know anything about pistols, swords or magic. I’m not a wizard.”
“Using swords in a duel to mark the forehead is human stuff. We don’t do those types of showdowns. Well, not many of us would,” conceded Brigit, who was trying to be as truthful as possible with this human. She rolled backward, putting hands behind her head, and gazed up at the fluffy clouds.
“You say you’re not a wizard, but when it comes to magic, you seem to forget you’re a bard. The fae are rightfully pretty skittish about bards because you can persuade us through your song and poetry, just as effectively as a Beguiler can reel in a human. Probably besting your bard skills was one of the reasons Sibyl came after you. She enjoyed the Challenge of conquering one thought immune to her charms.”
“I don’t think I was much of a challenge,” said Logan, truthfully. He had been an easy conquest last fall.
Looking at a cloud in the shape of a rabbit, Brigit continued thinking out loud.
“Fae get bored easily. It’s pretty common for us to do contests and wagers for the excitement alone. We need to give Sibyl a new Challenge, let’s make her work for it.”
“Are you sure you aren’t a fae psychologist?”
Brigit took Logan’s sarcasm at face value.
“No, I’m going to be a botanist. There’s a disease in the trees back home that our fae talent can’t cure. I’m hoping human science has the answer.”
Faced with her truth, Logan took his time examining the dryad. However, she remained just as strange and mysterious as ever, especially when trying to explain her world to him.
Returning to her subject of the siren, Brigit said, “We need something that would feed Sibyl’s ego. That shouldn’t be too hard. The more public, the better. She’ll love losing if there’s an audience.”
“That makes no sense,” said Logan, thoroughly confused. “Why would Sibyl love being publicly humiliated?”
“Because it increases her status. Unlike humans, winning isn’t always the end goal. What we crave is the thrill. It’s the process that toots our horn. It’s one reason we seek so much human company. You’re delightfully unpredictable.”
“So from what you’re describing that would mean the leaf mite at the Weberhaus enjoyed the beat-down you gave him?”
Brigit gave an exasperated sigh and climbed to her feet, dusting bits of grass off her jeans.
“In an odd way, it probably did. It was probably the most exciting thing that has happened to it in a decade. But overall, no, that was just a fight. If you’re ever put into physical peril by the fae, respond quickly. You must meet them with just as much, if not more aggression. They’d kill you out of contempt if they thought you were weak.”
Logan sat up, but he wasn’t going to move more until he got some answers.
“Why did Sibyl try to poison you in the first place? Isn’t that a Challenge? Why aren’t you the one calling her out in a duel?”
Brigit didn’t want to explain that Sibyl’s attempt on her life was because the dryad was living in Logan’s extra bedroom. She’d tell him the details some other time, just not today.
“I could Challenge Sibyl. Not to brag, but most likely I would win because I’m pretty cool like that. But I think you have the prior claim. If I got my Balance, would that free your heart?”
“Point taken.”
“Don’t look so serious. You’ll win against Sibyl because I’m your bondmate. Remember, our bond is a pledge of assistance. An insult to you, is an insult to me.”
Logan rose to his feet while Brigit continued talking.
“That’s why Sibyl’s prank was incredibly stupid. I’ve spent the last six months building a network of bond partners. I could ask all of those beings to assist us in our Challenge, which is also part of our problem. Because once Sibyl figures that out, we lose our advantage. By the way, I don’t see any iron on your hands? What happened?”
“I had to get the rings I liked re-sized for my fingers. They should have them ready for me in about a week.”
“Hm, all the more reason we should go visit the polo ponies.”
“What?” asked Logan, confused.
“I talked with your welcome mat, but that silly being has a consciousness like a sieve. It’s probably already forgotten all of my warnings.”
“You talked to my welcome mat?” Logan’s expression was incredulous.
“Sure. I talk to a lot of beings. Anyway, as I was saying, horses wear horseshoes, which are a great source of cheap iron. Horseshoes also hold a symbolic power too since they are an ancient form of protection. They would be a great item to place around your doors and windows.”
“But that would stop you and the brownie also, wouldn’t it?”
“The brùnaidh can cross as they have a resistance to iron due to their long association with humans. If you invite me, I can cross under iron, though it feels unpleasant. It’s why you need to be very careful who you welcome through the door. Once they gain access, it’s hard to evict them.”
Sudden Death Chukker
Since neither Logan or Brigit knew where to find the stables, they went to the library for assistance. After getting directions, they found the bus that took an outside loop.
Scenery change from city buildings to green fields scattered with grazing farm animals. It felt like they were playing hooky from school and both, by wordless consent, talked about subjects other than the siren: teachers they liked and didn’t, schedules that put you on opposite sides of the campus at nearly the same time, and the crazy long lines in administration.
The bus stop for the stables was at the base of a wide gravel drive. From the bottom of the hill, they could see three long green barns, decorated with white trim, at the top.
Walking up the drive, as they neared the barn, the heads of horses inside popped out the stall windows. As one, the animals turned to watch the two approach. Logan found the horse’s silent stares unnerving.
“They aren’t fae, are they?” he whispered to Brigit as if the animals could hear them.
“Of course not!” But even as she denied it, Brigit squinted her eyes, deciding to be on the lookout for any púca, such as the horse-shifting kelpies that enticed humans to ride on their backs.
As they came closer to the barn, Logan hesitated, wondering who they should ask for help. Meanwhile, Brigit sauntered confidently into one of the barns as if she owned the place.
The center aisle was paved in concrete and on each side was a row of stalls. Upon their entrance, the horses changed position so they could watch Brigit and Logan from behind the bars of their stall partitions.
Logan had no experience with horses but still found their silent observation disturbing although Brigit didn’t seem to notice it. Instead, she stopped in front of each horse, silently observing the stall’s occupant for several minutes before moving on to the next.
Eventually, she turned to Logan and told him, “We’re in luck. It seems one of their herd mates threw a horseshoe at practice today, so the blacksmith is here. He’s bound to have gobs of shoes.”
Before they could seek the farrier, they were interrupted by a dramatic scene. Down the corridor, a large chestnut horse was rearing and letting out a piercing scream. The only person preventing the animal from bolting was a short woman holding onto a cotton lead rope attached to the horse’s halter. While she was trying to calm the frightened animal, an older man, standing off to the side, was shouting and cursing at them both.
Logan turned to leave, not wanting to get involved, but Brigit muttered, “idiots” and trotted towards the disturbance. Changing direction, Logan followed, wondering what she planned on doing.
When she was within a few yards, Brigit dramatically raised her hand above her head as if calling for attention. Like a conjuring act, the cotton rope wriggled out of the sweaty hands of the groom and sailed through the air to land in Brigit’s.
The dryad held the rope loosely, almost as if it didn’t matter. Instead, all of Brigit’s attention was for the panicked horse. The animal’s pinned ears and rolling eyes showed a great deal of white. Even to Logan’s uneducated eye, the horse seemed frightened out of its wits.
“Yes, I’ll tell them,” Brigit said out loud. “No one will hurt you again.”
Brigit’s calm, forthright manner seemed to convince the horse. He returned all four feet to the ground, his coat sweaty, and his body still shivering.
“Who are you, young lady?” demanded the man who had previously been shouting. “Who permitted you to be here? This is private property.”
The man’s attitude was so threatening and belligerent that Logan stepped between him and Brigit. While he didn’t know how it happened, it was evident to Logan that Brigit had calmed the horse. Logan was just about to tell the man he should be grateful when they were interrupted.
During the excitement, a newcomer had arrived at the barn. He had run down the aisle from the opposite direction. He was an older man, with short salt-and-pepper hair and an athletic physique garbed in tan riding breeches, tall black boots, and a crisp white shirt.
Upon his arrival, the horse’s handler stepped away as if she didn’t want to be involved in what was about to happen.
“What do you think you are doing, Foster?” the older man barked. “I told you to leave this horse alone today.”
It seemed the belligerent man who had been shouting was Foster. He shoved his jaw forward, his face becoming redder under his poorly cut, shaggy brown hair.
“The farrier is here, and Scalawag needs that shoe back. As the barn manager, it’s my job to get these horses looked after.”
“And as their trainer, ultimately, the care of these horses is up to me,” countered the other in a stern, cold tone.
Like many of the teachers and coaches at the university, the trainer’s words were flavored underneath with German.
Brigit intervened again.
“His shoe was loose because he hooked it on the fence the night before. The struggle to get it free hurt his hind leg.”
She pointed at the left rear leg, adding, “I don’t know much about horses, but it’s this area. Scalawag says it hurts especially when this man,” Brigit pointed now at Foster, “kept trying to lift it too high.”
The trainer gave a measuring glance up and down at Brigit, taking in her pointed ears. He grunted, “Fae, huh?” before taking the lead rope from Brigit’s hand. Holding the horse, he started running his hand over the area where the woman had indicated. His hand stayed there for a moment, and finally said, “Some heat and swelling here.”
He told the groom to call the vet for an appointment.
“Make sure she brings her portable x-ray and ultrasound equipment with her.”
During all this, the barn manager had continued to fume but could say nothing against the senior authority of the horse trainer. Foster loudly stated that he had work to do even if others had time to play with the fairies.
He stomped away, while the female groom left to call the vet. Only Logan, Brigit, and the trainer remained behind with the horse.
The trainer ran a calloused hand down the neck of Scalawag. While he murmured soothing noises to him, the horse pushed his forehead into the man’s chest, leaning into the trainer’s protective arms like a child seeking comfort.
“How did you know?” Logan whispered to Brigit, but before the fae could explain, the trainer did.
“She talked to it, of course. It’s why I knew she was telling the truth. The fae do not torment animals with lies. It’s only the captain of my polo team that they choose to tease to distraction.”
Brigit was quick to disavow any connection with the siren.
“I’m not here for humans. We just wanted some horseshoes.”
The trainer nodded, understanding, for he knew of the old folkways.
“Victor is our farrier, and he’s out behind barn two. You can take whatever he is willing to give. Let him know that Herr Schubert stands good for you.”
With the horse trainer’s goodwill and directions, they found the farrier in his leather apron under a Linden tree. He was in the middle of shoeing a bay mare, so they politely waited until he finished. The use of Herr Schubert’s name softened the man’s hard countenance.
“Usually I just recycle the horseshoes by heating and pounding them back into shape,” he said, pointing to the anvil on the back of his truck’s tailgate. “However, just take what you want from my discard pile, and I’ll charge it back to Herr Schubert.”
He gave them a wink and left them to sort through the pile of iron on the ground. Brigit walked away from him and put her back against the big tree. The fae took a deep breath as she closed her eyes.
“Dive in, human. I’ll chat with the Holy Lime tree, here.”
The gigantic tree didn’t look like the lime trees back home as it had no green fruit. Logan squatted and started to sort through the pile of horseshoes.
“What if they have nails?” he called over his shoulder to her.
