Puca Read online

  Published by Mojocastle Press, LLC

  Price, Utah

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  Puca

  ISBN: 1-60180-043-6

  Copyright © 2007 Penny Ash

  Cover Art Copyright @ 2007 Penny Ash

  All rights reserved.

  Excluding legitimate review sites and review publications, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Copying, scanning, uploading, selling and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without permission from the publisher is illegal, punishable by law and will be prosecuted.

  Available online at:

  http://www.mojocastle.com/

  Dedication:

  This one is for all my Irish ancestors, including the Fae ones.

  And for Della, who kept me on track; a person couldn’t ask for a better friend.

  Puca

  Penny Ash

  Chapter One

  o human was near; there were none to witness the Nconvocation of the courts of good and evil, save for a family of foxes. The night was quiet, clear and cold; the stars were bright points of light in a moonless sky.

  A faint glow came from an opening in the side of the hill of Tara as both the Seelie and Unseelie courts filed in. It was a rare occasion requiring both courts to convene. The chittering, grumbling crowd of otherworldly beings mingled in an uneasy truce to watch one of their own be sentenced for treason against the Sidhe.

  Kian Sean Puca, shapeshifting trickster and member of the evil Unseelie court, hung his head. He waited, bound with cords and spells and his mouth gagged with silken scarves, forced to kneel before the hated dark Elf Finvarra, the King of the Daoine Sidhe.

  Kian glanced to where the rest of the court stood in uneasy silence off to the side. Their bejeweled silk and velvet robes glittered coldly in the firelight. He saw none there sympathetic to him other than his family.

  Finvarra stood and looked down at the Puca, barely contained rage on his saturnine face.

  The Puca returned the King’s glare, refusing to be subservient to the arrogant Elf. He was not fit to rule, so he wasn’t, Kian thought hotly. No, not when 1

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  Finvarra could not keep his filthy hands from the innocent human women, even though the beautiful Donagh graced his bed.

  A picture flashed through his mind’s eye; the memory of the day he’d gotten a wicked thorn in his paw and the fair daughter of the O’Neill clan that had nursed him. He had not forgotten his vow to watch over the girl and her family. He knew she was not the one who would grant his heart’s desire, but still he could not allow her to be despoiled by Finvarra.

  Spiriting the girl and her new husband away to enjoy their wedding night unmolested had led him here.

  And if the death of a few of Finvarra’s cattle had been required for the diversion... Well, it was no more than the lecherous Elf deserved.

  The King sat and stared at him for a long, tense moment, then stood at last, walking slowly toward Kian, stopping just a few feet in front of the mischievous shapeshifter. The Puca knew the loss of a night of pleasure with the human girl was galling enough for the evil Elf, but the loss of several of his prized cattle was intolerable. Kian watched as the King walked around him, examining him from all angles before stopping in front of him once again.

  “Tis a strange thing indeed, a Puca caring for aught but causing mischief. Puca Kian, you have interfered with my pleasures and made me look the fool before my subjects. What have you to say for yourself?” The King reached out, impatiently jerking the gag from Kian’s mouth and knocking the bound Puca to the cold stone floor.

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  Kian’s eyes narrowed slightly, flaring red for a second, a low growl sounding deep in his throat. He snapped his teeth, earning a kick to his ribs from his captor. A negligent wave of Finvarra’s hand sent a trio of pixies scurrying toward him. They tugged and pulled at him with much swearing and grunting, finally levering him up to his knees once more.

  “I did naught but repay a debt; the only one to cause you to look the fool is yourself,” the Puca said defiantly. He shrugged the pixies off, wishing he could shift into one of his many forms. Fire would be nice—to burn the whole treacherous court—but the spells that bound him prevented him from even his favorite wolfhound shape. Sighing heavily, he closed his eyes, clenching his teeth in frustration. He’d not be captured now but for a trap baited with a choice piece of honeycomb and his weakness for sweets.

  Memories rose in the Puca’s mind like specters. He watched the people of the village going about their business. A young couple caught his eye, and he laid his head on his outstretched paws. Obviously in love, the young man and his sweetheart strolled past the Puca lying in the shadows of the tavern. The Puca felt the tiniest stirrings of envy begin to make itself known to him. His chest felt tight and he lifted his head, whining softly to himself as they walked past him. To know that perfect acceptance, that unquestioning and solid love, was his greatest dream.

  Kian sighed and laid his head on his paws once again. According to the legends his father told, a Puca could be tamed and bound only by the love of a very 3

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  special human. His one experience of human compassion had left him wanting more. His search of the old stories told him that it had happened at least once before. And if it could happen once, it certainly could happen again. He could see no reason why such good fortune could not be his. He jerked his wandering attention back to the King.

  “A debt? To a human?” Finvarra laughed, a cold, joyless sound. “What debt is it that requires your life, Puca?”

  “I’ll not be besmirching a lady’s honor by telling the likes of you,” Kian said haughtily. He blushed deeply at the gasp that rose from the assembled court.

  They thought the girl his lover. They were wrong. The Puca sighed. Killing the Elf King’s cattle still held far more attraction than the fleeting pleasures of a woman’s bed, although that was quite enjoyable as well.

  “Then it is to your grave you’ll be going, Puca, a fine example and warning to those who think to defy my will and destroy what is mine.” Finvarra snapped his long, bony fingers, waving the waiting executioners forward.

  The Redcaps eagerly stepped forward, their dry chuckling sending a chill through him. Kian gagged on the dank smell of rot surrounding the ugly creatures in their customary hats dyed with the blood of their prey. He swallowed hard, silently vowing to take as many as possible with him. An expectant hush fell over the court as they waited for blood to spill. A thick aura of evil excitement hung in the air.

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  Hypocrites, the lot of them, Kian thought in disgust.

  He rose to his feet. He would not go down kneeling and shaking like a coward.

  A crystalline tinkling broke the stillness, washing over the assembled onlookers, carried on a breeze so cold it burned. There was a collective gasp from the assembled creatures making way for the Queen of the Daoine Sidhe. A fine tracery of lace-like frost preceded her as she advanced toward the dias where Finvarra stood.

  “And would you compound your foolishness, Finvarra, by harming one I have placed my protection upon?” Donagh stepped from the crowd of onlookers.

  She stopped beside Kian and tossed back silver moonbeam hair, her eyes flashing sapphire daggers at her errant husband.

  The Red Caps shrank back from her cold gaze.

  “Wife, you forget yourself,” Finvarra said coldly.

  “No, I think not, husband, f
or I still have my honor and the respect of my subjects,” she said.

  They glared at each other for a long moment, locked in a silent battle of wills. Finvarra finally looked away. The King stormed out of his throne room, his face contorted with frustration and anger, followed by his entourage of Red Caps and other vile creatures.

  Donagh turned to Kian. She did not smile. She gazed back at him, her expression hard and cold.

  His heart lurched painfully. Suddenly he realized she knew his secret, she knew and did not expose his perverse longing to become part of the human world.

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  He swallowed hard, terrified of her as he had not been of Finvarra.

  “Puca Kian, for your imprudence in your love for humans and interfering, you have been sentenced to death. For your family and your honor, I exile you from this land to roam the world. If you break the tradition, if you defy the ban and return, you will die.

  It is all I can do,” she said.

  Kian’s bonds were released and he fell to the floor with a wave of the Elf Queen’s hand. He glared at the court, then knelt, bowing his head in acceptance before Donagh. She reached out and he felt her touch on the crown of his dark head in blessing, pausing for a brief moment before she imperiously swept from the throne hall, the gossiping, glittering court following her.

  Kian watched them all go, waiting bleakly until he could no longer hear them before slowly standing once more. He left the great hall then, hurrying from the hill of Tara and all that he had known in his short life. Not yet two hundred years old, he was still considered a boy by his people; his punishment was harsh.

  * * * * * *

  Nearly seven hundred years after his exile, Kian sat in front of his computer in the darkened attic room that served as a home away from home. He watched the conversation flowing past on the screen, hoping to see one name show up. When it did not appear, he sighed 6

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  heavily. He got up, pondering something to drink.

  Pulling a perfectly chilled bottle of spring water out of the air next to him, he wandered over to the stained-glass window and pushed it open, looking out over the moonlit yard. Running his free hand through his long, thick midnight-black hair, he listened to a car passing by on the road into town and took a sip of his water.

  Stepping back to his computer, he sat down and scrolled back to see what he had missed. If he had missed the arrival of his most current crush. Ah, I wonder if PoohLady might be the one to accept me as I am?

  She always has such sweet words for me. He sighed, a wistful sound. There had been three that had come close, providing years of comfort and contentment, but none had ever fulfilled the legends.

  An argument broke out online, and he smiled. He loved the magic of this time in history most of all he had lived through. He typed a response designed to irritate the pompous idiot maligning his favorite video game and joined the fray.

  Kian finally noticed the crick in his neck an hour later and pushed away from the desk. The inventiveness of humans and their imagination never ceased to amaze him. Everyone on the chat had gone quiet, so he minimized the window and leaned back in his chair, raising his arms toward the ceiling and stretching until his bones popped. He shook his fingers to relieve the cramping brought on by a long spell of typing.

  He glanced at the window once again. The sky had 7

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  begun turning pink with the first blush of false dawn through the trees. It promised to be a beautiful day.

  Downstairs, he heard Tilly and Pin bustling about the kitchen. He smiled, wishing his sometime lover, the Asrai, would show herself.

  He could see the spring-fed pool that was her home from the third floor attic room. Glimpses of her had been rare in the last few weeks, as she had nursed her anger at him. Just because he’d been so tipsy he’d relieved himself in the pond last full moon.

  He snickered quietly. She’d no sense of humor at all. He would have enjoyed a bit of rough and tumble with her. Disappointed, he turned from the window and covered his mouth, yawning hugely.

  The thought of breakfast surfaced as he watched the pictures of nude women that made up his screen saver float across the screen for a few moments before wiggling the mouse to disengage it. He scrolled back and read through the conversation that he had missed. One of the chat channel regulars made a comment, and he hit the action key and a number.

  *Muffin tickles GrannyLady*

  *GrannyLady laughs* She responded with an action of her own.

  He sighed. GrannyLady was nice enough to talk with, but she could be irritating as well. The one he truly hoped to see went by the name of PoohLady, but she had not been on in over a week.

  Truth be told, he was getting a just wee bit concerned at her silence. The boyfriend she mentioned on rare occasions sounded like one to get 8

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  violent. It was just too bad he could not do something about the man from such a vast distance.

  Kian’s expression softened, thinking about the last conversation they’d had. She had been so excited about her first solo showing of her artwork in Paris. A quick glance at the date on his wonderful computer and he rolled his eyes. No wonder he had not heard from PoohLady; she would not be back from France for several days yet.

  Kian pushed back from the desk, rolling smoothly out of the chair toward the floor. Shimmering faintly, he changed and his paws hit the floor. He yawned, stretching, then shook himself and padded out of the room, leaving his computer to chatter away to itself.

  Miss Emma was arriving this morning to claim her inheritance, and it would not do to miss the arrival.

  He trotted down to the kitchen and out the door for a run, breaking into a joyous gallop as he felt the warm sun on his back.

  * * * * * *

  Emma O’Neill pulled up in front of the Toddle House Bed and Breakfast outside the small city of Enchanted Grove, Oregon. It was a pretty house, a rambling Painted Lady Victorian, standing out from the surrounding rain forest with its bright mint-green walls and white and red trim. It appeared to be newly painted, and the grounds around it were clean and well kept. Thankful the long drive from Dallas was over, she turned off the ignition and opened the door, 9

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  stepping out of her red Jeep Cherokee.

  She looked up at the two tiny old ladies waiting for her on the front porch. Tilly and Pin. They were always around while she was growing up in the house. She wondered if the dog she had played with as a child was still around, or if they’d gotten another.

  They were shorter than she remembered, or maybe it was just that she was taller. According to the terms of Aunt Chloe’s will, she inherited them along with the house and business.

  Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she forced a smile onto her face and walked up the front steps to greet her new responsibilities.

  They followed her with their gaze as she walked toward them. She remembered the day when she had come to live with Great-Aunt Chloe after the death of her parents. There were still traces of the somber child she had been in the sad smile that did not reach her dark eyes.

  Emma remembered Chloe standing on the front porch with Tilly and Pin watching her running across the yard. She smiled as the huge black Irish wolfhound bounded after her, barking wildly. Emma turned and threw the red ball she clutched, laughing as the Puca obligingly ran after it.

  Chloe had turned to Pin and Tilly. “She has no idea what he is, what the fates have planned for her and for him,” Emma heard her say.

  She reached out and hugged the dog, burying her face in his shaggy fur and listening to the women talking.

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  “Aye, as it should be,” Tilly said.

  “Y-yes, the-there is t-time, l-let her b-be a chi-child as l-long as pos-possible,” Pin said, smiling at her son and the playing girl.

  “I wish I could spare her the pain to come,” Chloe said. “I wish I could spare them both.�
��

  “A-aye, as-as do I, b-but th-they’d n-not gro-grow oth-otherwise,” Pin said.

  Emma kissed the dog and ran. He barked, chasing her across the yard. She shrieked joyfully, turning and tackling him, throwing her arms around his neck once more.

  Chloe smiled at the sound of her great-niece’s laughter. “That’s good to hear. It’s been too long since she’s laughed like that,” she said softly.

  Just a few short years later, the two housekeepers and Aunt Chloe noticed the way Emma watched Kian. They’d heard her, the telltale sighs of a young woman feeling the first stirrings of attraction giving her away as she watched him chop wood.

  As she walked up the front porch steps, Emma thought about her trip to the house after hearing of her Aunt’s death. When she’d finally been told the call had come, she had booked the first flight home from Paris and spent the long flight staring out the tiny window at the darkness outside the plane. She sighed heavily. At the very moment she was soaring over the Atlantic at forty thousand feet, she knew Brian, the jerk, was mingling with the wealthy gallery patrons, smiling and shmoozing.

  She could see the scene. She did not have to be 11

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