Despite what appears to be a new rule concerning reviewer responses and the cessation thereof, I have chosen to continue giving my reviewers an incentive and a reward to send me those little messages I love so much. Besides, I offer character interaction within my responses, so there. Also, I have loaded AOL onto my new computer and GASP! I not only can get to my mailbox, but I now have total access to FFNet! I love my Dad and his ever-so-helpful suggestions. n,.,n–♥ Using that to segue into a bit of interesting news: I also have an account at DeviantArt. No pieces up yet, but look for KitsuneEclipse in the future for those pictures I keep talking about.
Silverwing013: Hey, I can't get mad at people when I'm behind on reviewing myself, now can I? One thing I try to avoid is hypocrisy, except in the whole cliffhanger issue. Then I just have fun. Obsidian does seem to have all the luck, but I can't tell you why just yet. You'll find out in the actual chapter 18.
Kitsune Kit: Kohaku: Gomen, but I have class myself.
Don't scare me like that! For second there I thought you'd seriously been diagnosed as suicidal and I've have to stress about you and all the ways people can find death. I've had at least two people I knew online go that way, and I hate it! —deep breath— Meanwhile, I suggest you hang out with the Gothic crowd if there is one, or some other similar group. They're always the anti-jock folk (I was part of the anime gang at my high school, so I'm talking experience here) and naturally produce pheromones that deter preppie/jock types. Also, see if you can find medication for that foot-in-mouth syndrome of yours.
Rikka Chishio: You changed your name again? That makes, what? The third or fourth time? I lost count. It was a weblink to a blog or somesuch, go read the reviews if you got confused, I have no idea what thing you were talking about there. Ergo, I will be of no help in that department.
Asilin Kheldarson: No, you can't have Obsidian. Knowing you, he'd come back all traumatized or something. Unless it's for a fic, and then I'll think about it.
Obsidian: o.O Eep.
Magus784: I'm not mad, and Judo class keeps me in a decent enough mood that I don't bite people's heads off. FFXI? Okay, that I might kill you for, if only to swipe the game and the system needed to play it. I STILL haven't gotten to play VII yet 'cause the discs I was given were used and scratched enough to where I can't get past the save-slots screen. THAT is just torture. By the way, in case you haven't guessed, you now know the answer to the question I never technically asked, which was: should Aislin and Yoko have a child?……Is Joshua seriously your name? Let's hear it for random coincidences!
—Starling and Shiku wave noisemakers—
EarthHeartIdiot: So many questions, young grasshopper. Fox-girl say: a wise person exercises patience. All is revealed in time—
Starling: Except for a baby shower. Keiko's the only one who's 'girly' enough to want one, but she got outvoted by the rest.
Uh, yeah, pretty much. In the meantime, YES! READ RANMA! It's like the lynchpin of all anime, on par with Cowboy Bebop and Samurai Champloo!
Fate's Child: No, actually that was on purpose. It's a manner of speech, not an issue of grammar. Umm, I think that's what I mean. Anyway, I wanted it to be like that, even if it does sound a little odd. It's his way of speaking. —brightens— Ah! That was the phrase I was looking for! So the line remains unchanged. Thank you, though, I really do appreciate having reviewers out there who are willing to correct me on mistakes.
Luna's Lady Love: It's pretty simple, actually. 'Haru' is being tutored by Aislin and Kurama, yes? Just have the friend-relationship become obvious enough that it would be a no-brainer that 'Haru' gets invited to the wedding. Besides, like I say in the chapters involving the wedding, if Koenma even tries to arrest him the child prince will have to deal with well over four hundred people's strenuous objections. Namely, those of the Lair and the Pridesholt mercenaries.
Darknesspirals: I don't like babies either, personally. No, wait, I take that back. I like other people's babies when they're smiling or quiet. Working at Albertson's for a while made me come up with a defensive mechanism: give crying babies the wide-eyed, smiling look and ask what's the matter. Nine times out of ten, they stopped crying/bawling and just gave me the wide-eyed look back. Thank god I don't have children of my own. As for the temple folk? Um, yeah, things got kinda…itchy for a while.
————————————————————————————————————
Kurama is filled with a feeling of satisfaction, a cheerful whistle trailing behind him as he glides up the front walk to his home, looking forward to a good session of gardening now that his birthday-present to Aislin is finished. All it needs is a little more growing time…
The front door bangs open, his step-brother Suiichi hanging out the doorway, fright pinching his face into a white mask. "Bro! It's about time you got home! Mom and Dad took Haru to the hospital! I found him in the backyard by the koi pond, out cold!"
Satisfaction turns to fear in a heartbeat, his graceful hand catching the keys his step-brother flings at him before sprinting to the small sports-car his step-father had bought him for his birthday in April. His wallet containing his driver's license is hard on the heels of his keys, and Suiichi slides into the passenger seat just as Kurama takes the wheel.
It takes ten minutes of near-reckless driving to reach the hospital that Suiichi directs him to, and the red-head sprints inside while the human teen gets his land-legs back. Damn, but he'd never known Shuichi could drive like that! It was like being in a movie! Surprised that no patrol car had pulled them over, Suiichi heads inside.
He finds his step-brother standing behind his step-mother and his father, a doctor in a white lab-coat looking very puzzled as he glances from clip-board to people. "…Darndest thing, Mr. and Mrs. Hatakana," the doctor is saying as Suiichi puffs up. Four fricken flights of stairs. Never bloody again. "There doesn't appear to be anything wrong with him. Tests indicate he doesn't have a concussion, his brain-waves are normal, there's been no trauma of any kind to any part of his body. We'll have to wait a little longer for the blood-tests, but I have a feeling that nothing will be wrong with those, either."
There won't be, Kurama vows in his head, after I'm finished altering them. We've come this far, my pupil will not have his identity compromised.
/No worries, fox/ interjects Hiei on a smooth telepathic thread. /I'm already switching the sample with a suitable replacement from overseas. The security of this place is severely lacking and your shields aren't exactly superior at the moment./
Kurama takes the unsubtle hint and restores his mental shields. Breathing a sigh of relief that he pretends for the sake of his parents is solely for the doctor's words of encouragement, Kurama looks at the door behind them. "Is he allowed visitors?"
"I have no objections," the older man replies, pushing back ebony hair shot through with silver, "and it would reassure him to wake to friendly faces. Go on in."
Kurama has already vanished inside. The adults go to fill out some necessary-but-dull paperwork, so Suiichi chooses to follow after his step-brother into the room reeking of disinfectant. "—work, for certain," he hears just as he walks inside. One of the red-head's slender hands rests on the pale forehead, its equally-pale owner lying still on the white sheets.
"What'd you say, bro?" Suiichi questions with his head tilted. The other jumps and snatches his hand away from Haru's forehead, startled by his step-brother's silent entrance.
"Don't sneak up on me like that," scolds Kurama, running shaky fingers through his mane. "You're as bad as a cat sometimes, I swear!"
"You mean as bad as you sometimes, right?" the human boy snorts, unfazed. "You sneak up on Aislin-nee-san all the time."
"That's different; she's my girlfriend."
"Yeah, right." Suiichi takes a seat on one of the hard plastic chairs by the window. "I'm not as spacey as our folks, Shuichi, I know something's up. You're hiding something, and it's got something to do with that little ring you've been wearing on a chain under your shirt."
Kurama freezes, taken aback by the unexpected and very sharp observation from his human brother. "How'd you…"
"Come on, Shuichi, if you want to hide it, stop playing with the thing," retorts the brown-haired boy. "Every time you think no one's watching, you're tugging at the chain. What's it for, anyway?"
A broad grin cracks the worry that had turned his eyes glacial. "That's a secret you'll all be finding out about soon enough. In the meantime, let's concentrate on Haru, here."
"Haru where?" rasps a voice from the bed. Bloodshot violet eyes crack open and shut again at the bright overhead lights. Kurama leans over, supporting his weight with a hand by his charge's shoulder. Combined with the tumble of crimson hair, it provides enough shadow to enable Haru to open his eyes.
"Do you remember anything, winsome kit?" he murmurs, concern welling in his emerald eyes. In the violet ones below him, pain wars with confusion at the strange surroundings.
"Walking angel-girl home."
"Past that?" prods the fox, and is answered by a grimace of negation. Bitter knowledge surges into Kurama's face, quickly hidden by his human mask. Covering the violet eyes that flicker now to gold and back again, the changeling straightens and looks over at the human boy sitting on the edge of the orange plastic chair. "Suiichi," he says softly, "could you go ask a nurse for some water? Haru-san says he's thirsty."
"On it!" And the boy arrows out of his chair in an instant. The second Suiichi is gone, Kurama once again leans over.
"You're in a human hospital, but don't worry," the older renard soothes in his whisper-soft baritone. "We've got everything covered. My step-brother found you in the backyard unconscious not too long ago. I expect you were caught by one of the toddler's groups and succeeded in fooling them into thinking you human, which means that you had the experience wiped from your memory."
"'M fine?"
"You will be, once I get one of my teas into you to help with the back-lash headache," comes the sorely needed reassurance. "Judging by the style, I'd have to say the Wind of Death did it, and if you passed her inspection you can trick any mind-reader from here on in. Well done, winsome kit."
A weaker version of the black renard's dazzling smile blooms at the unexpected praise from one of his idols, remaining in place even when the doctor bustles in with Shiori and her husband in tow, Suiichi coming in a few moments later with a pitcher of water and a stack of plastic cups. "The nurse said everyone probably needs a drink, since she saw you an' me running up the stairs," the younger boy explains to Kurama, who'd stepped aside the moment the doctor had come in.
——
In the end, Obsidian's blackout was dismissed as a severe 'dazzle-headache' and he was sent home with a bottle of nasty-looking (and smelling) medicine that is supposed to help with the pain if he gets another. While Shiori tucks the unsteady fox into his bed, Kurama brews up one of his special teas designed for mind-intrusions, setting the bottle of medicine on the tea-tray in a false intention of adding it to Obsidian's cup. Not happening: not only do the energy-infused concoctions he makes work better than ninety-nine percent of human medicines, they taste better by a serious long-shot.
Hiei shows up by window a short time later to add his aid, using his own telepathic abilities to smooth away the miniscule tears caused by Shikyo's hurried task that are causing a majority of the burning sensation. Then the fire apparition departs before Koenma's usual scan can detect him where he shouldn't be.
Not long after that, Aislin rushes in to find her beloved sitting on a chair beside Obsidian's bed, reading him his Literature homework while the black-haired boy sits and listens, sipping at his tea. "Hiei said he saw you racing out so I called and no one was home. I came as fast as I could so you better tell me what happened before I break your head, koi."
"Not so loud," chides Kurama, setting the book aside. "I'm sure Haru's head is trying to split as it is."
"Feeling better," offers their pupil, going back to hiding behind his teacup.
Apologetic, the ice apparition goes and sits on the edge of the bed, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. "Okay. Please explain."
"Haru seems to have had something called a 'dazzle-headache'; nothing serious and certainly not life-threatening." /He was captured by the toddler's other hunters and taken to the Palace. Somehow he managed to trick everyone, by luck and skill, that he was human and named Haru Shinkai. The technique indicates that the Wind of Death was the one who erased the memory and she was a shade careless./
"And you'll be all right, ne, Haru?" Aislin inquires with real concern, her cat-green eyes gazing up at her taller pupil. /Has her work been detailed/
"I'll be fine, Aislin-san, really I will." /Hiei stopped by and fixed most of it, but I still don't remember anything after dropping Ivory off./
"I'm glad to hear that, Haru-kun." And she smiles to show she means it, but sorrow lingers behind the cheer. /You won't. She's stronger than us in telepathy and when she blanks a memory, it stays gone. I'm afraid you won't be getting it back./ "You're too much of a sweetheart to be hurting, and I don't want to set off your fan-club. They're still miffed because Zephyr-chan got the role of princess in that play you keep telling us about."
"Thank the gods," comes the fervent mutter into his drink. "They still look like they can't decide between ripping my clothes off or eating me."
"True, that," sighs both of the older foxes. They, too, have the unpleasant experience of having a near-fanatical fan-club, one each, back at their high school—though since Aislin had only arrived a couple of years ago, she's had to deal with it less. Kurama had been stuck with one since junior high; when girls finally realized that boys weren't just walking cooties and started trying to attract them.
"If you're going to be all right, Haru-kun," Aislin sighs, rising and ruffling his hair, "I'd better get back to work before the boss goes ballistic. You keep an eye on him, koi."
"I already am," protests the red-head as his beloved walks out the door. "Not that you particularly need watching," he adds to Obsidian, once more picking up the Literature book to resume reading. Obsidian's reply is muttered into his tea, allowing Kurama to pretend that he didn't hear it.
——
Four days later, the crimson fox is a bundle of nerves, all of them stretched very thin indeed. The wedding plans are going fine, Obsidian seems to have been dropped off of Koenma's radar for the time being, and Ivory—Zephyr, he corrects himself—is doing fine as well, both the kits having performed flawlessly last night to a standing ovation from the audience. The play was so popular that there will be an encore performance tomorrow night, as everyone is using today as a breather.
But that isn't what has him nervous, oh, no. What has him nervous is that tonight he'll be revealing his engagement…and the fact that he's been leading a double life since he was born here. That is what has him pacing in a quiet corner of Genkai's forest, gnawing lightly on his knuckles.
All of a sudden a tanned hand comes out of nowhere and grabs his wrist, pulling his abused hand away from his teeth. Startled, unfocused eyes blink at Kohaku, using her training as rain-caller/healer to literally wash the self-inflicted wounds away. "Damn, Kurama, you're wound tighter than the strings on Ally's guitar. Take a trank and cool it before you really hurt yourself."
"You don't understand," Kurama growls, pulling his hand away to resume pacing. "My entire existence as Shuichi hangs on how things go tonight."
"And what you refuse to say," Kohaku fills in, in her uncanny way of reading between the lines of written and spoken speech, "is that you're petrified that your human family with reject you as a monster. Specifically, you're scared to death that your human mother will no longer love you."
"YES!" Kurama roars, startling a flock of birds into arrowing flight. "YES, damn it! I admit it! Happy now?"
In response, a miniature cloud dumps a bucketful of cold water on him while Kohaku looks on. "Calm down, baka. You're being dense. Shiori's a good mom, and good moms don't just stop loving their children just because those children turn out to be something they don't expect. You're freaking for nothing."
"Easy for you to say, wolf-girl," comes the growl as the fox resumes his pacing. "You're not doing this."
"No, I'm not," she agrees readily. "So I don't have the emotional stakes you're playing on. But Wolf-god, Kurama, you're still acting like an idiot." She dodges the anger-fueled lash of a rose-whip with the ease of practice. "Instead of freaking and thinking how bad things can go, do a mental one-eighty and think of how well things can go. For all you know, your family's been keeping their own secrets about the other worlds."
"And the moon is made of freeze-dried slug-demon." A pained laugh. "Besides, I've tried that already. It stopped working when I was eleven."
Despite herself, one chocolate eyebrow rises. "Wow. You seriously have over-thought this. I'm going to go see if Aislin's got anything to chill you out for a couple of hours until tonight. You stay put and try not to damage yourself any farther."
"Har, har," follows her in a sarcastic fashion while she exits the clearing.
Somehow, Kurama manages to survive until nightfall, even going through the planned, formal-attire dinner he'd had scheduled last month at one of the best restaurants in town. (The owner is a pro-human dragon-youkai who loves human-made cuisine and has hired some of the most skilled chefs in the world—who also owed the fox a favor from the old days.)
Aislin was a large help, mostly because her appearance kept Kurama distracted for most of the meal. He'd dressed in a tuxedo like his step-father and step-brother, his mother in an old-fashioned kimono. Aislin, however, was garbed in a pewter strapless gown with a full skirt, made from silk and velvet. Around her neck was Kuronue's old pendant—Luke had yet to ask for it 'back'—and diamond drops glittered in her ears against her dappled-grey braid.
Kurama's only jewelry was the Tear of the Rose in his left earlobe, which in youkai terms signified that he was unavailable, not what his sexual preference was.
Now, though, the family has returned to their home with Aislin accompanying them, mostly as Kurama's emotional support and to reveal her own part in this. Everyone has changed back into regular clothes, Suiichi sticking close to his step-brother since his 'excitement alert' is clanging red alarms in his head. He knows that whatever's going to happen, it's going to be huge.
Finally, though, everyone is in the living room awaiting the revelation of whatever has the couple keyed up. Shiori sits with her husband on the couch; Suiichi has the armchair. Kurama and Aislin are standing, just a yard or so away from the door if it goes very, very badly.
Kurama takes a deep breath, Aislin squeezing his hand lovingly. "Mother, everyone, I have an announcement to make."
"Actually," says the vixen softly, "we have several, though a couple have to wait until we see how you take the first one."
"Well, dear, don't keep us waiting," Shiori prompts gently, wondering why her son looks as though he's getting ready to bolt out the door.
Another deep breath and Kurama spills his greatest secret. "I'm a kitsune."
In the following silence, "I as well."
Seeing that none of the three humans seems to be taking the announcement seriously, Kurama lets out a pained sigh and shifts. His mother gasps and the other two stare at the near-seven foot man abruptly standing in their living room, platinum tail lashing from nerves.
After several very long eternities/moments, Shiori rises from the couch and slowly walks over to her son, eyes wide. She crooks her finger in a gesture for him to bend down, and he does so, closing his eyes. A few moments later he feels gentle tugging on his ears.
Wonderment. "Are these actually real?" Tug. Tug. He suppresses a giggle born of hysteria.
"Yes, they're quite real, so please don't yank." Kurama's step-father jumps at the deeper voice coming from that graceful throat, eyes locked on the fangs moving in the silver fox's mouth. Kurama cracks one golden eye open when the gentle tugging pauses, to find his mother looking over at Aislin.
"Dear, you said you were a kitsune, too." A playful smile. "So where are your ears?"
"Ah," Aislin squeaks, surprised at how well the woman seems to be taking this, "there's a reason I'm not shifting and it's part of the other announcements."
"Bro, you're a fox."
"I'd noticed."
"No, man, you're a fox! A total stud! A—what was that word the girls use?—a 'beefcake'! Advertising companies would brawl each other to have you as a model! Geez, no wonder you've got girls trying to jump you all the time!"
"They'd try," mutters Aislin possessively, "but they lay so much as a hand on my Yoko and I'll put their pretty faces in the dirt, Inari help me."
Hatakana finally breaks his silence with a quiet observation. "You still sound like Aislin."
A soft laugh. "That's because I haven't gone through the same problems as Yoko, here. My body is still my original."
Shiori sits back down beside her husband, a pleased smile lighting her features with a soft glow. Warily, the foxes do the same on the other couch, some of their tension melting away. "It sounds like you've got quite a long story, Shuichi-kun," the human woman chuckles, "or should I call you 'Yoko-kun'?"
"Actually," admits the renard, "I use 'Kurama' these days, but I'd prefer it if you continued calling me 'Shuichi'."
"Creatures of habit that we are, it would seem strange to us if you called him anything else," puts in Aislin, making Shiori chuckle again.
"All right, then, dears. Why don't you tell us some of the story I smell waiting?"
"Better make yourselves comfortable, then," advise the foxes. "It's a very long story."
It's almost one o' clock in the morning by the time Kurama and Aislin finish giving their family a royally-abridged version of their lives, including the events that led to the existence of Shuichi Minamino, and they trail off at the end, waiting for whatever might come afterward.
Suiichi's reaction reassures and deals a little damage to their pride: he'd fallen asleep about an hour ago, sprawled over his chair in the way that only young teens and cats seem to manage. The adults had listened intently to the whole thing, expressions varying only in response to the emotions behind the words.
Kurama finishes the tale with a very edgy, "And you're all taking this remarkably well. When's the part where you start chasing us with holy and/or sharp objects?"
Shiori starts laughing then, leaving her husband to give his own part of the answer. "I've been interested in the supernatural since I was in college, Shuichi. You're a shock, but I'm not going to try to kill you or anything. From your story, you've been who you are all along. You're just letting us see behind the mask I've sensed you wearing."
/I told you he might be a sensitive./
/Must you start in on I-told-you-so's now, aisuhana/
Kurama's mother chooses that time to get her laughter under control, smiling at her son in a particularly wicked fashion. "Dear, you honestly don't think you managed to keep it all a secret, do you?"
Taken aback, golden eyes blink at her. "Uh, actually…"
Shiori's eyes dance while she corrects his assumptions. "I've told you that you talk in your sleep. I've known about 'Yoko', Kuronue, and 'aisuhana' for years. It's just tonight that a number of the pieces were filled in. I must say, though," and here her eyes take on the kind of pride only mothers can have for especially fine sons, "I didn't think your other self would look quite so handsome. You must've beaten girls off with sticks before you met Aislin-chan."
"Literally," mutters the ice-fox, adding, "After that it was my delightful job to do it for him."
Suiichi, who'd woken at his step-mother's laughter, catches that near-silent comment and grins. Yeah, that sounds about right. "Bro, I just think you're seriously cool. Too bad I can't tell the guys at school about this, it'd shut them up about you once and for all."
/Koibito, I really must say it. I told you so./
/All right, all right, you win as usual. Thank Inari./
"So!" Shiori brings the foxes' attention back to her with a jerk. "You said you had other announcements! Are you going to tell us or are you going to just keep them a secret?"
Broad smiles light up the jeweled eyes as the conversation turns to very glad tidings indeed, and much more comfortable subjects. "You'll love these ones," Aislin laughs, as Kurama wraps a possessive arm around her shoulders. "We're getting married."
Glad chaos for the next ten minutes, followed by an interrogation about details. Shiori is mildly indignant that nothing was put past her, first, but brightens again when Aislin suggests that maybe the human woman's good sense can get the girls to pick a dress that isn't frilly, frothy, or gods above, pink.
Suiichi pokes Kurama's shoulder while the females of the family go off into a wedding-related conversation. "What's the rest of it, bro? Anything good?"
That prideful, merry, utterly Yoko smile spreads across the tanned face as silver ears tilt crazily. "You might say that, 'Uncle' Suiichi."
Pause. Eyes widen. "I'm a what?"
"Going to be an uncle," Aislin confirms before she's glomped by a crowing Shiori, who suddenly understands why her new daughter-in-law didn't show off her ears or even a tail, having done a lot of research on kitsune myths for a paper in college. "Come next summer."
By the time everyone seeks their respective beds, the clock on the VCR reads nearly three in the morning. Kurama and Aislin have promised to give a fuller tale when time permits, and now take refuge in the green-scented haven of Kurama's room—though not without knowing smiles given to them by Shiori and her husband. Snuggling beneath the light cotton blanket with his mate, the ruby fox marvels that while the tables were effectively turned on him, they were done so in a pleasant fashion and without any disturbing side effects—so far.
Aislin is a gentle warmth against him—which he still hasn't gotten used to, accustomed to having cool skin meet his touch no matter the season when she's in his embrace—and her eyes glow with a faint luminescence in the darkness. "That went well, koibito."
"It did," he admits with no little relief. "Mother's reaction was the most interesting, I think. She's thrilled, you know. I don't think she can wait to have our children running about."
"She'll make a wonderful grandmother, even if she is a little young for it."
"I doubt she cares about her age, beloved."
"No, I imagine she doesn't." That statement is flavored with laughter, apple-green eyes glowing a little brighter. "Now all we have to do is send out invitations to your human family and choose where and when we're having the ceremony."
Out of nowhere, a thought strikes her mate, as they sometimes do: no warning and with no logic behind them whatsoever. Aislin's face turns puzzled at the stunned expression frozen on Kurama's face. Her lifted eyebrows prompt him for an explanation when he cuddles her closer with a growing smile.
"Koi, what about your human relatives?"
——
Two days later:
"Hey, Kurama, where's Aislin?"
"Oh, she's checking up on a missed detail, Yusuke."
——
It's nearing a false-dusk in a sky that rains bitter cold on the highlands of Eire by the time a cloaked figure reaches the gate of a small, ancient castle nestled among the heather and grasses flattened by the downpour. Face in shadow, a small hand reaches up and bangs once, twice, three times on the heavy wood.
Within, the middle-aged woman tending a white-haired grandmother looks up at the sound that echoes through the building. The muffled sounds of her son and grandson playing pool a couple rooms down cease as the boy's light footsteps patter by, racing for the door.
"Morgan, who be at the door?" queries the old woman wrapped in shawls and blankets against the damp despite the fact that a space-heater is going full blast in the corner of the modernized room.
"Ah don't know," the middle-aged woman half-shouts into the elder's ear. "Brandon's gone tae see."
"Grandma Morgan!" pipes a young tenor on the intercom, "there's a lady here coom tae see us! Th' door's stuck."
"Oh, saints preserve us," sighs the auburn-haired woman, rising from her half-crouch only for a baritone to crackle through the speaker.
"Don't worry, mamaith. Ah'll go help Brandon."
"Bless ye, Mike-hon," Morgan replies by intercom. "'Tis a nasty night tae be oot in th' dark."
Below, the guest waits patiently outside, hood turned into the pouring rain as the cloaked shoulders rise and fall in deep breaths. "So this is what Ireland smells like," a sweet contralto says in English, almost unheard over the thunder of water on stone. "Inari, but it's soaked with the scent of magic."
Her musing is interrupted by the squeaking of the doors' hinges, one panel pulling back just enough for her to slip it. A man with mahogany-brown hair shoves it shut again with a grunt of exertion, a young boy with bright red hair regarding her with solemn green eyes. The man's eyes, too, are the same shade of candy-apple green, flecked with caramel chips in a surprising star-like ring around the pupils.
"Mah apologies fer no' gettin' the door any faster," the man says in a light brogue, extending his hand in welcome. "'Tis a bit o' a walk from upstairs. Ah'm Michael Moors."
Graceful hands push the cloak's hood back, revealing storm-cloud hair and cat-green eyes before one of those hands clasps his. "It's a pleasure, indeed, cousin, to finally meet you. I'm Aislin Moors."
"You're pretty," blurts the young boy before he bolts off on coltish legs. Michael shakes his head in amusement, jerking his head in the direction the boy had run.
"That's mah son, Brandon. Six years old this fall, he'll be, and all the mischief o' a kelpie wit' nae o' the intent."
"Pleasure to meet him, too," chuckles his guest, turning her head to study her surroundings. "I didn't expect the ancestral home to be quite so large, though."
"It seems no wee bit smaller when the rest o' th' family's here," assures the man as he leads Aislin upstairs to meet his mother and grandmother. "Right noo' they're mostly down in th' barns, taking care o' th' sheep. Ewes are lambin', an' we've had no few gone missin' come a mornin'."
"Fair Folk, you think?"
"Eh." A shoulder-roll that substitutes for a shrug. "A few thieves thinkin' to get themselves a wee bit richer, belike. The Moors hae been on good terms wit' the Fair Folk since Brian Moors, aboot a t'ousand years gone."
I can't imagine why, thinks Aislin in high amusement. Having someone with fae blood in your family generally sweetens the tempers of the worst Faeries. But she keeps her thoughts to herself until Michael ushers her into a well-heated room, hanging her cloak on a peg by the door. Apparently the room is always this hot, to require removal of extra layers before entry.
Her eyes are drawn to the tiny woman sitting in a rocker by the fire, half-asleep and almost buried beneath lap-blankets and shawls, the thinned waves of hair still tumbling over crochet-covered shoulders pure, translucent white. Then they move to the slender, fifty-something woman sitting nearby with a book in hand, reading aloud in Gaelic. The recitation ceases at the entrance of Aislin, brown eyes widening a bit at the unusual garb of their guest.
A cambric shirt dyed pale blue is worn over heavy brown pants, mud-splattered boots encasing her feet and legs to the knee. Black leather circles her hips as a slender belt, the buckle a Celtic knot shining burnished gold. Jeweled eyes study back, storm-dark hair caught up in a loose braid.
"Ah expected ye tae be a wee bit taller," says Morgan in startlement, then claps her hand over her mouth. "Ah! I've done it again! Mah apologies, lass, but me mouth has a way o' runnin' withoot me."
"I understand," comes the reassurance. "I think it may run in the family."
"Height or tactlessness?" queries the elder from her rocker, snapping awake to pin their guest with sky-blue eyes. Those eyes widen at the specter before her. "By th' Star-walker himself! 'Tis a ghost Ah'm seein'!"
"No, Granny Nia, I'm not a ghost, I'm Aislin Moors." Inwardly, though, the vixen winces. This one must've been walking the edge of Spirit World for a while if she sees something besides the lovely human disguise Aislin projects.
"Speak up, lass! Ah cannae hear ya!" Aislin chooses to use a touch of telepathy instead, reinforcing her words and keeping to the same volume. The old woman smiles at her. "Someone who knows how tae talk, at last! None o' th' usual mumblin's," Nia declares, thumping the arm of her chair soundly. "But ye, lass," and now a wrinkled, thin finger is leveled at the startled Aislin, "look just like th' woman me faither described in his stories o' Brian an' th' Wee Folk. An ye've got the shine."
"Mamaith," Morgan shouts from her chair, "half the family's got th' 'shine'! Ye really expected her tae be different?"
"Brian and the Wee Folk?" Aislin asks Michael, who shrugs.
"Th' reason that th' Fair Ones 'round 'ere leave us be is Brian Moors laid wit' a Sidhe in his wilder days as a child o' th' moors and is from anaether such tryst; 'tis why our name is such."
"I didn't know that." I can't believe they remember the liaison between Father and Mother all those years ago. I'll be damned.
Her curiosity is aroused when Michael mutters an oath and scrambles for his belt, yanking what looks like a cell-phone from a pouch there and snapping it open. "Aye?" he barks into it, and his face grows only grimmer while the person on the other end talks. At a very high speed, Aislin notes with a lifted eyebrow. Her host snaps out what sounds like orders in Gaelic, whirling on his heel to stalk for the door. "Herd o' horses hae gone an' attacked th' lambin' barn," he explains shortly, and finds his guest by his side.
She sticks with him into the hallway, swirling her damp cloak around her shoulders with a determined air. When Michael opens his mouth to speak, she silences him with a look. "Don't even think about suggesting I don't go. For all I know this problem might be my fault."
"An' why do ye sae that?"
"What kind of horse attacks anything in a rainstorm that doesn't have claws and teeth?"
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Damn, writing in proper Irish brogue is a lot harder than the people who scripted Jin made it look. Good thing I'm so stubborn.