Chapter Thirteen

Merry woke lying on the worn carpeting outside his bedroom door. His head throbbed and he tasted dried blood on his lips. It was still dark so he didn’t think he’d been passed out for long. When he rose to his hands and knees, nausea assailed him and he barely made it to the bathroom before he lost what little was in his stomach.

With a stifled groan, as he rested his forehead on the cool edge of the porcelain bowl. His dad had been a great dad when Merry was little, and he wanted that dad back. Since his mom left, his dad had steadily grown worse. And now he was.... It was like he was freakin’ possessed or something. He sat there for a few moments and tried to puzzle it out. Nothing made sense. Nothing had made sense for a week. Well, except for Quinn. Quinn cared for him. Quinn loved him—him—he was Quinn’s wee dote. And Quinn kept him safe. Except when fairy things interfered.

His brow knitted in thought. In fact, there seemed to be an awful lot of fairy interference since Quinn kissed him. The real kiss, not the Fairy Kiss.

He still didn’t know what the significance of a Fairy Kiss was. Quinn called it special, but that didn’t tell him anything. It didn’t tell him the true meaning or the magnitude of it. But something about it seemed to have set bad things in motion for Quinn, not the least of which was his mom’s anger. Man, what a cruel biatch. Then there was that whole bit about his hand. What had the demi-fae boss called it? A healing hand? He looked at his palm, then at the back of his hand. It looked normal. He sighed. Another thing that didn’t make sense.

He slowly got to his feet, opened the medicine cabinet, and reached for the Tylenol. He downed a couple of tablets and thought, not for the first time, he should own stock in the company that made it. He brushed his teeth as he admired his bruised and swollen cheek in the mirror. Perfect. Yet another bruise for people at school to stare at right before they said something mean. He took a quick shower and realized he had nothing to wear as he dried off. Crap. He wrapped the towel around his waist, and threw his bloodied clothes in the hamper. At least he hadn’t had to explain Quinn’s blood all over his clothes. His dad’s fists had taken care of that.

He went to the bathroom door, put his ear against it, and listened. Once his dad was passed out in bed, he didn’t wake, but something had been way different about his dad tonight and he didn’t want to take any chances. When he didn’t hear anything, he opened the door ajar and peeked down the hallway. Only his dad’s loud snoring filled the space. He was good to go. He made his way to his bedroom door and slowly turned the doorknob, worried that he might scare the demi-fae in his room. “It’s Merry,” he whispered as he opened the door and slipped inside.

Bright, silvery moonlight cascaded through the window and afforded him enough light to see almost as clearly as if it were day. Man, this vision thing is weird. He focused his eyes, looked around and, to his utter astonishment, the room was empty.

He didn’t know the demi-fae boss’s name, so he whispered, “Lady Sadb?” No response. He stepped forward and his knee bumped something. He looked down and saw nothing. He bent and felt the air and his hand touched the blow-up mattress. Invisible? He moved his hand along the edge and his fingers met with the soft velvet of Quinn’s wing. Wow. Everyone and everything out of the ordinary was invisible! He took small, shuffling steps, afraid he would step on a demi-fae.

“Ye be well, lad?” the boss demi-fae asked from the shadows.

Merry almost jumped out of his skin. “Ah, yeah. Where are you?” he whispered.

The moonlight suddenly brightened and everyone and everything reappeared in the room. Demi-fae littered Quinn’s hurt wing, sprawled out, fast asleep. “What are you guys doing on his wing?” Merry’s whisper was a harsh demand on the quiet night air.

“We partook o’sugar.”

Anger instantly filled Merry. “You got drunk?”

“Aye. We Prince’s wing be mended. Be cause for celebration.”

Merry’s quick intake of breath sounded loud in the quiet of the room. “He’s all better?”

“Nay all, but most. A few deep wound in he chest and back be needin' more healin’.”

Merry was so relieved he felt faint. He sat at the end of the bed carefully so as not to disturb Quinn. “When will he wake up?”

“Take much o’he magicks to heal he wounds and he be weak. May not wake for a day or so.”

Oh, no. He couldn’t hide Quinn in his room for the night, let alone a couple of days. What if his dad came home in the middle of the day? His dad had never done that before but knowing Merry’s luck it would happen now. “Are you going to take him home?”

“Ye dare not move a fae once he settle in he healin’ sleep.”

“I can’t keep him here! What if my dad sees him?”

“Ye need not worry of it, lad. I put ye a spell on ye door. Ye da’ not enter nor see us.”



Merry relaxed a little. That was cool. Maybe. Mostly. If it worked. He looked at his sleeping Quinn. With his features relaxed in sleep, he looked much younger than he was. The red-auburn waves of his hair were vibrant across the pillow. Soft and silky, Merry wanted to run his fingers through them.  Quinn's skin looked pure in the moonlight, almost luminescent in its shine, and was marred only by the few wounds that remained. They were deep, and looked tender and raw, and the memory of Quinn’s excruciating pain made him shudder. He wanted to lie down next to Quinn and hold him. He wanted to make sure Quinn would be all right. And he sure as heck didn’t want Quinn to defy his mom again. Ever.

He tore his gaze from Quinn and looked at the demi-fae sleeping on his wing. Some were stirring, beginning to wake, including Sadb. He could only imagine how safe he would feel wrapped in Quinn’s velvety-soft wings.

“Aye, lad. We Prince keep we safe,” the demi-fae boss said quietly.

Merry was irked. It was rude to read someone’s thoughts without permission, wasn’t it? “What’s your name?”

The little green guy stood and, with a sweep of an arm and a deep bow, introduced himself. “Lord Conlaoch an Glas, in the service of we Prince of Fairy, He Majesty Quinn Malloy O’Cuinn, son of we Queen Muirgan of we High Court of Fairy, Queen of Flesh and Bone, Bearer of Hands of Fire and Water.”

Merry rolled his eyes in the dim light of the room. “Please don’t tell me I have to call you all that.”

The demi-fae chuckled. “A gobful, to be certain. Ye may name me Conlaoch lest we be at Court. Then ye must use me title.”

“Nice to meet you, Lord Conlock. Thanks for your help with Quinn. Please don’t read my thoughts.”

Conlaoch chuckled again. “Be me job to ensure ye be well in me Prince’s absence. Ye be he Fairy Kiss.”

OMG! Did everybody know? “W-what’s that mean, anyway?” Conlaoch laughed outright now, and Merry was immediately defensive. “What’s so funny?”

“Ye should sense what it mean, lad.”

“Well, I-I don’t. So, what does it mean?”

Conlaoch turned serious. “It mean he claim ye as he own. None in the Land o’Fairy may court ye.”

Court me? “Y-you mean it’s, like, a public statement that w-we’re”—going steady sounded so totally grade school—“um, like, w-we’re together?”

“Be he mark upon ye. A nonce short of a hand-fast, it be, Meriadoc.”

Merry’s heart soared as his mind filled with a million jumbled thoughts. “Wow,” he breathed on the cool night air.

“Aye,” Conlaoch agreed. “By the cause if it, ye must pay due respect and remember he title.”

Merry was defensive again. “I didn’t know he was a prince until Sadb told me.”

“Surely ye suspect so.”

“Why would I? I asked him if he was a prince and he said ‘after a fashion.’ That’s all. And sometimes it’s kind of hard to understand what he means.”

Conlaoch chuckled softly again. “How be ye sight?”

Merry gaped in the dim light. “How did you know my sight was screwed up?”

“Ye not see ye eye in the mirror?”

No. He hadn’t. He’d been preoccupied with his raspberry-blueberry-bruised face. He rose from the bed as quickly as his aching head would allow and sped to the bathroom. Flipping the light switch on, he all but threw himself at the mirror.


He peered close, then backed away, and then peered closer yet, as if what he saw might change before his very eyes. Or whosever eyes they were. His eyes had turned gold—no, teal—no, gold! No! Gold and teal! And he had two irises! Or, rather, two rings of irises. The inner one was bright gold and the outer one was teal! And they moved! Like, dilated independently of one another!


He ran back to the bedroom and slipped inside fighting to keep from imploding with hysteria. “What happened to my eyes?” he demanded.

Now awake, Sadb gasped when she saw him. “He be—!”

Conlaoch cut her words off with a slight wave of his hand. She gurgled once, then fell silent. “Whist, Merry. Calm ye self, lest ye wake we Prince.”

“What happened To. My. Eyes!” Merry’s whisper was harsh, demanding.

“What ye see when ye look at ye da’?”

Merry paused in his panic. “Evil,” he whispered.

“Aye. What else there be?”

“H-he didn’t look... normal.”

“Ye see he aura, did ye?”

“Y-yeah. He had this black misty thing happening and it was... scary. But that doesn’t explain anything. What happened to me?

“Not be what happen. Be what a touch o’Fairy set free in ye.”

Sadb almost wailed. “He have the wild mag—!”

“Hold ye tongue, Sadb, lest I cut it from ye gob!” Conlaoch growled before turning back to Merry.

Wow. That seemed a little harsh.

“Touch we Prince, Merry. Touch a wound on he back,” Conlaoch encouraged.


“Ye’ll see.”

“First, tell me what happened to my eyes.”

Conlaoch made an exasperated noise. “Ye have magicks in ye, lad. When Sadb give ye a touch o’Fairy, they come alive in ye.”

He didn’t have any magick. He was boring, plain Merry the f-f-non-fairy. “S-so what’s that mean? I’m Fairy Kissed and Touched?”


“And that’s why you think m-my hand is magick?”

“Now, ye take me meanin’, Meriadoc. Touch we Prince. Heal he wound.”

The part of Merry that thought all this was absolutely freakin’ nuts warred with the part that told him something had definitely changed in him. And the eye thing. Well, he couldn’t think of anything that could explain the freaky eyes. Freaky eyesight maybe, but not the freaky eyes. Nope.

“Touch we Prince,” Conlaoch encouraged again.

What he was about to do would prove the demi-fae right or dead wrong. Merry took a deep, filling breath and breathed in courage as he stepped around the corner of the bed and sat on the edge of it next to Quinn.

Soft murmurs filled the air as the demi-fae woke and looked on.

“Just touch him,” Merry breathed to himself. With a tentative hand, Merry set a fingertip to one of Quinn's wounds. His cheek began to tingle, his fingertip warmed, and Quinn’s skin began to glow violet beneath his touch. “W-what’s h-happening?”

“Ye be healin’ we Prince.”

“No way!” Merry’s voice was nearly inaudible on the air.

“Aye, Meriadoc. Ye magicks come alive in ye.”

Merry withdrew his fingertip and Quinn’s wound was healed. Suddenly, the part of him that knew the demi-fae was right loomed large in his mind.

I have magicks.

He was no longer plain Merry the Fairy. Rather, he was plain Merry the Fairy. Ohmygod! Could it be any more confusing? He looked at Conlaoch, disbelieving and fighting the question that wanted to fly off his tongue. “Quinn s-said I wasn’t a fairy.”

“He mean ye not be full fae, lad. Ye be half fae.”

Those were the last words Merry heard before he fainted.

Chapter Twelve                                              Table of Contents                                             Chapter Fourteen
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