And so it begins…
If that wasn’t the case, then she absolutely wanted to know. After all, how could she fulfill her wish if she didn’t know? She couldn’t and that was that. Fawn turned to her assistant.
“Libby, call Cullen and use all your charm to get him to agree to interviewing with us,” she demanded, though the sound of Fawn’s voice was other than demanding, more like syrup oozing from a bottle. She didn’t watch Libby scurry from her office, but knew without looking that Libby had jumped to attention—as she always did—and practically ran to enact the order.
Fawn sat back in the high-back, expensive leather chair and swiveled around to look out her office window. Twenty stories above the ground, her view was of the broader city, a city she knew and loved so well. A city she must coax Cullen into moving to or at least for a visit.
The sunlight suddenly veiled behind storm clouds. Her reflection just as suddenly sat staring back at her. Platinum blonde hair fell in waves around her face, curling about her shoulders. She smiled and winked. Nobody would ever guess you were a day over twenty-five, she thought, leaning slightly forward to see if her green eyes would come into clarity.
“Ah, there we go,” she said just as the sunlight came again, catching in her eyes and causing the green to flare. “Just like sunshine! You could capture him.”
But will he come willingly? That was the unanswered question. Would he?
And what if he didn’t? Would she continue to crave him? Would she become more and more obsessed with him that she’d search the media for any mention of his name or to catch just a glimpse of him in a photo? Television, Internet, newspapers, magazines could potentially take-up hours of time if he didn’t come and her obsession for him grew.
“Knock knock?”
Fawn swiveled back around. Libby stood in the doorway.
“I’ve a brilliant idea,” Libby said. “Or at least I think it’s brilliant.” She chuckled to herself.
“Well, let’s have it,” said Fawn, motioning for the lesser queen to take a seat. Libby instantly sprang forward, settling down, body poised, leaning toward Fawn as if in a hold, waiting for permission to jump on her.
“What if I could get Larry to invite Cullen to come? You know, invite Cullen to be the special guest of one of Larry’s Battle of the Band thingies he’s always sponsoring?” Libby straightened, eye-brows raised, a hopeful look on her face. “Or, or, what if Larry could create some special event just for Cullen, you know some world-charity event that would attract Cullen’s humanitarian ideals. That would probably be a better idea.” Libby paused and swished her mouth from side-to-side.
“Then, you haven’t called him yet?” said Fawn.
“Well, no,” admitted Libby, her shoulders slumping. “I had to go to the bathroom, and well, I started to think about different ways of enticing Cullen here and then I thought of Larry and I said to myself, ‘gosh Lib, that’s brilliant.’ I mean, after all, wouldn’t Cullen be more likely to come to Mag Mell for a king rather than to give an interview with a magazine?”
Fawn leaned back and looked away. Her assistant had something. In fact, Libby had hit it right on the head.
“Alright, you handle it with Larry,” she said. “Just get Cullen here. I’m desperate to meet this warrior.”
“He is that, isn’t he?” said Libby. “A warrior of the earth.”
“Of humanity.”
“So let’s make him Goddess Fawn’s Champion,” said Libby, smiling.
“Shoo, shoo,” said Fawn, this time watching her assistant rise, bow, and rush from the room, trusting the Ban Sidhe to execute an incredible plan like she always did, which was one of the reasons why Libby was still in Fawn’s service. Libby was totally reliable, though she did have a slightly un-refined side to her, but that didn’t worry Fawn, lesser queens often had such flaws and at least Libby’s wasn’t linked to appearance. Fawn hated appearance flaws. No, Libby was very pretty, with grey eyes and black curly hair, a small frame, and long slender hands, which Fawn found particularly attractive. She did, however, wish that Libby would snap-out of her retro-style of dress and begin wearing more modern, more sophisticated clothing. Ah, well, that in and of itself wasn’t even a flaw. Many of the Folks still dressed in the costume of yesteryear.
Libby’s flaws were in her quirkiness, her mannerisms, the way she often came-off sounding slightly stupid… maybe “gullible” was more it. Libby’s flaw was in her smarts, she just wasn’t quite witty enough, or quick enough, though she did come-up with some interesting ideas, like the one for Cullen.
Now, the question was would old Swift Hand at Sword, King Larry, Libby’s spouse, come through? Fawn glanced at her own spouse’s picture framed in pearls sitting to the side of her desk.
“Manny, you old fool,” Fawn said to the smiling image, a rather handsome image it was. “Always so careless toward me.” A heavy sigh rushed from her. She snatched-up the frame and brought it close to her eyes. He was beautiful. More beautiful then me, thought Fawn, sighing.
Manny was an elegant god. His wind-tasseled blonde hair swept back from a sun-tanned face, a weathered face from over-exposure to wind and sea but even the wear and tear on his skin didn’t diminish his loveliness. In fact, it made him more distinguished, more appealing, more of a woman-magnet, she thought much to her chagrin.
His casual but demanding stance aboard his vessel clearly communicated his ease on the open seas, his self-confidence—a lack of any fear whatsoever. Stately, slim, yet well shaped, all these characteristics had won Fawn over the first day she laid eyes on him. How many years ago? Too many to even count. Eons ago.
They’d never had a child. Many of the Folks didn’t have children, so there was nothing unusual about that. Although, Fawn was sure Manny had probably fathered enough demi-gods and demi-goddesses in middle earth across the globe to guarantee the continuation of his bloodline for a millennium. Or more.
Manny could have any number of women. Actually, any woman he wanted. There was never a problem with that, but he had chosen her as his spouse.
“Your beauty is as clear as a tear-drop that falls from the eye,” were the first words Manny said to Fawn. A “tear-drop?” For some reason the simile had always just slightly bothered her. To Fawn, a tear-drop implied sorrow, though once Libby had been quick to point-out that many people cried because of great joy.
“Great joy, Libby?” Fawn had said. “Who do you know that has cried because they were happy?”
Libby thought a few moments before answering, “Well, those humans earthside do all the time, Goddess Fawn.”
“Humans? Libby? Really? I’m talking about the Folks. Who in the Folks do you know cries from happiness? Let alone sorrow?” she added, turning from her assistant, having grown tired of the discussion.
So that was that. To Manny, Fawn, a goddess, was likened to a tear-drop in his eyes. From that day forth all the Folks called her such, “Tear-drop.”
She guessed it was better than bearing the nickname “The Hound,” like Cullen, or “Switch-hitter,” Libby’s nickname. Fawn shuddered at the thought. Tear-drop was much better. Funny how the Folks had such a need for euphemisms for one another, especially when interacting with the people; hidden identities, she supposed. Such things had been going on for centuries, long before she’d come into being, so long that it was now tradition.
Tradition was another funny thing about the Folks. Things had to be done in just such a way as they’d been done forever so as not to offend. But Fawn wondered who would actually be offended if and when traditions weren’t performed? She certainly wouldn’t be, and some of the traditional feats were done in her honor. Hmmm, she’d think more on that one and decide later as to whether or not there would be modifications given to the tribe in Tir Taingiri, her kingdom.
For now, she had more important and pressing matters to attend to—like Cullen, for instance. What is he up to, she wondered
