Eire of Aggression Read online

  2

  Simon stepped out from the front door of his house into a bright and breezy Saturday morning in late February. While his dog sniffed through the matured plant beds, he looked up and took a deep breath of satisfaction. He tilted his head up and exhaled, letting the cool plume escape in a long, refreshing whoosh. Only a few stray clouds rolled past, decorating the brilliant blue sky. The air was crisp and clean, soft with the scents of horses and hay. There were no planes flying overhead, no hum of distant traffic, no noisy neighbors; Simon basked in the serene quiet and sunlight.

  While he waited for Gunnar to mark his territory once again and then drop a load, Simon recalled the time from just a week ago; a busy week, indeed. He tamped down a quirley and struck a fireplace match from the heel of his cowboy boot to light it, telling himself enjoy the moment. He had a lot on his plate, but he chose that for himself and truly enjoyed everything he was doing.

  Simon knew that routines would sort themselves out and things would settle. Just for a bit, though, there'd be some days that would knock the steam out of his pipe and he'd be drained by the time his butt hit the bed. He wouldn't have it any other way.

  From when he took on Gunnar just a week ago, they'd taken to each other immediately. Sure, his brindle mixed breed had a touch of goof and ham in him, but the dog was nigh on a year and still had a lot of pup to live out. Simon's big worry of his pet running off was soon forgotten; Gunnar had no interest venturing beyond the low walls along the rural road and kept himself close to his master as a matter of choice. Whenever Simon was in his shop, Gunnar stayed outside of it because of the noise, but was always nearby. The dog was often seen laying in the doorway with a tennis ball in his mouth, and was often indulged with a few minutes of play.

  Simon was happily giving his dog more attention than he thought he would; Gunnar went with him on farrier calls, ran close by when he rode Banjo out back through the fields, and slept on whichever side of the bed Simon was closer to. Being a happy dog, he had no idea how strong he was; Simon would get a real workout during tug-o-war with a rope. When it was time to relax and try to find anything decent on the idiot box, Gunnar was right next to him on the couch and ready to be given attention. The happy, four-legged galoot was like a child and worthy companion all in one.

  Simon's newly adopted horses kept his spirit renewed, he guessed because they reminded him of when he worked in the corrals as a youngster. Banjo was a handsome boy and liked to show off his speed and agility; he'd get jittery with anticipation whenever Simon fetched the saddle. Most times, though, the tall Connemara kept company with Charlie. The older horse was slower to warm up to Simon, but was becoming more affectionate.

  Both horses loved the freedom to roam the big pastures after living in cramped quarters. Charlie liked rain more so than Banjo and would graze out in it while his younger friend normally found the nearest tree to stay dry but still kept company. Simon sometimes liked to just walk his land with them, enjoying the solitude. Like with Gunnar, his frequent attention brought a friendly familiarity.

  The only other movement around Simon's ranch was when he'd noticed that tiny fae friend of Brody and Kate's when she was on his property on a couple occasions. The first time, he'd simply caught sight of her when she slowly floated across his back lawn. The second time was just two mornings before; he stepped out of the metal shop and saw her sweeping the porch of the stables. When she took notice of him as well, there were a few uneasy seconds before she curtsied. Simon nodded his head in return and then went in the house.

  He wasn't thrilled about seeing her there, but at least he felt no inclination to grind her under his heel.

  Only on one other occasion did Simon come across fairies out on his land, just a few days after he'd moved in. During a nighttime stroll through the pasture, he saw some flying lights low to the ground near the far tree line. Two of the things were just glowing balls of light, but the other two looked like Tinkerbelle-style fairies. Brandishing his boot knife, he chased them all off, and hadn't seen any strange lights since.

  Beyond his newfound domestic bliss, Simon was eager for his and Brody's store to open. On some of the projects, he and his mountain of a cousin got to work side by side - 'collaborating', as Kate called it - which was always a good time. Brody had some good ideas and was pretty creative, his filly kept everything organized, ol' Mary was sure to run a tight ship, and the marketing firm spread the word and already had internet sales coming in. Simon had back-stock on a few of the items that were already moving, so he wasn't under much pressure.

  There was even a plan to shape up the storage garage back behind the store to be used as sort of a team workshop where he and his cousin could finish their projects together. Every aspect of the new business was leaps and bounds over what he had back in Denver, and the scenery let him enjoy some peace.

  Another topic that Simon was nearly as expectant for was Alana Quinn. He wasn't sure how it would pan out, but things looked good so far. She chose to spend at least part of her Valentine's Day with him, which he took as a good sign. Over that date, she agreed to go with him over to Brody and Kate's for the big duck dinner.

  Simon recalled the night before, sitting around Brody's big table and stuffing himself with all the good cooking. Brian Madigan's wife, Tira, was starting to show and would be popping out a little nipper come May; Alana and Kate seemed almost envious from time to time through the evening when they looked at her. Anytime Simon thought he saw that look, he stepped out for a smoke.

  It wasn't that he didn't want things to get serious with Alana, but he hadn't even settled in yet. Besides, he had no claim on her - she could have other courters for all he knew. The only extensive experience Simon had with women was saloon whores; he was walking a thin line between not treating her like one and having some fun at the same time. He didn't want to get the mitten by being a jackass of one sort or another; he would just have to stick to his guns and hope it kept her interest.

  Other than that little itch in the back of his mind, Simon really enjoyed himself at Brody's the night before. Alana was just the right kind of date, too. She was funny and talkative without being a boor; neither clingy nor distant, and sarcastic with a strong pinch of flirt. Brian and his wife started quiet but loosened up. Jack and his wife, Fiona, were fun folks as always. Liam was his reliably laid-back self, and his wife, Cora, evidently took the stick out of her ass before she came over.

  Brian the butcher was a gun enthusiast - which explained him being a crack shot - and they swapped hunting stories. Simon and Liam talked horses as usual; the older gent asked about Simon's new pets, so he was invited to come out to give Banjo a ride whenever he wanted. Simon remembered when Jack told Brody one of his mason workers smashed some fingers on the job, and Brody offered to fill in a bit before Jack even thought to ask.

  Afterwards, and for a little while, things were as they should be; the men were bending elbows and cutting up while the ladies sat in the kitchen and traded their scuttlebutt. It was yet another aspect of this new life that Simon was enjoying.

  When it came time to call it a night, Alana surprised Simon by quietly asking him where she was sleeping. He didn't hesitate for long. Sure, they were both a little sauced from the strong drinks after dinner, but he made certain that she knew what she was doing. After she assured him, they went straight to his place; her car was there anyway. That gal was just as fun in the sack as she was at a party. He reminded himself that she was still asleep in his bed; he'd wake her after a spell.

  Simon contentedly walked to the side lawn toward his shop and stables with thoughts of last night's erotic romp with Alana replaying in his mind. He distractedly noticed when Gunnar sprinted by him in pursuit of a squirrel, but then something else caught the man's keen eye.

  Some type of creature hovered over his property, out by the stables. With just a quick glance, Simon felt more than thought that it was something vulgar and vile; a corruption of nature. It was a blemish of foulness su
rrounded by native beauty. It did not belong.

  Simon continued walking at a normal pace toward his metal shop, going in the general direction of the fiendish figure. Only using peripheral vision so as not to let the thing know he could see it, Simon was only able to get a few details. The creature, maybe half his height at a guess, hovered twenty feet above the open area between the shop and stables. It was roughly humanoid, dark in color, with flapping bat wings that kept it airborne. He didn't dare to look up directly at it to figure its intentions, so he kept to his course and walked into the open door of his shop.

  From there, Simon hurried over to a workbench to hastily gather up one of his special projects; he wanted to get back in time before the foul fairy thing moved on. With hand-wrought metal weapons in hand, he jogged back over to the wide doorway and looked up.

  The creature was even more revolting in detail; sickly green and gray skin, long arms and short legs, pot-bellied, swishing lizard tail, oddly shaped head and ugly as all hell. It was a bit closer to the empty stables then, eyeballing Gunnar as the dog ambled toward his master. Simon thought that for the bastard to even exist was bad enough, but its leering cat eyes told him that it was on the shoot with designs for his dog.

  Livid and glowering, Simon quickly settled into a stance before the flying thing caught wind of him. A balanced throwing knife was heaved just as the creature began to turn, making the blade barely miss its disproportionately large head. It spun and looked at him with what he guessed to be surprise. Simon took advantage of the thing's hesitation and flung another blade lightning-quick.

  The razor-sharp knife slammed into the foul creature's round stomach, buried to the handle. The flesh around the wound almost instantly turned black, bubbling and sizzling as the darkness spread in veiny tendrils. The little monster's inhuman mouth opened impossibly wide in a silent scream, contorted in a rictus of agony.

  'How does that feel, you shit-ugly devil?' Simon thought to himself with grim satisfaction as he stared up at the mortally wounded fiend.

  The fairy creature's wings began to flap erratically in a futile attempt to gain altitude and flee. Both three-fingered hands frantically gripped the metal handle to dislodge the blade; its fingers immediately began to char from further contact with the hand-wrought iron. The otherworldly trespasser was almost thirty feet up by the time the poison of the metal was discoloring its thin neck, big ears, and jittery bat wings.

  It looked down at Simon, its eyes wild with horror and loathing as dark veins coursed up its brutish face. The creature came to a sudden halt of movement, defied gravity for a long second, and then dropped straight down.

  Upon contact with the hard gravel, the grotesque body crumbled into itself like wood ash collapsing in a hearth. Simon stepped over to it and dispersed the majority of the dusty remains with a swipe of his booted foot, content to let the cool breeze deal with the rest.

  In a crouch as he was retrieving the blade that had killed the ugly fairy and also giving the affectionate Gunnar a scratching behind his ears, Simon once again detected movement out ahead of him. Further off, near the field gate between the stables and the carport, another small figure flew into view at a brisk pace.

  Shooting to his feet and stepping in front of his dog, Simon set himself into another throwing stance. With his arm cocked back and the blade held between his thumb and forefinger, he waited until the smaller target came to a stop. Just as it did, Simon tensed for a longer throw but then froze; he recognized the figure. He let the knife drop from his shaky hands, placed them on his slightly bent knees, and took a deep breath.

  After exhaling and peering back up, he saw that Liadan had floated nearer to him with her tiny blue eyes level with his hazel. Simon stood straight and frowned at her - he didn't feel inclined to chew the fat with another fairy just then, friend of Brody's or not. He wondered what she was doing there yet again; she could have been ready to offer a hand, or she could have just been sticking her tiny nose in his business.

  Liadan looked down at the scattered ash and then nodded to him, as if to commend the man for his attack. Simon didn't want to be disrespectful, but he didn't need her consent or approval.

  In the silence of the sunny morning, the back door of Simon's house was heard opening and closing. He shifted his eyes from the silhouette of Alana in his enclosed sunroom back to Liadan. She regarded him for a moment before offering a pleasant, dimpled smile; he wasn't sure what her gentle reaction meant.

  The tiny fae then turned in mid-air and held one of her hands out in front of her. To Simon's surprise, a miniature trellis arch appeared in front of her, glowing and decorated with vines and blooms. Liadan floated through its flowered canopy and simply vanished; a second later, so did the shimmering trellis arch. As Simon knelt to once again retrieve his blade, he stared at the spot where the tiny woman had just been and only saw blue skies.

  The squeaky door of the sunroom brought Simon's attention back to Alana. She took a few steps out onto his back lawn and waited with a rosy smile as he approached, with Gunnar following lazily behind him. Dressed in her own casual shoes, but wearing a pair of his tightly-cinched sweatpants and bundled in his long denim coat, Simon thought she looked silly and ravishing at the same time.

  "How's the form, Yank," she said with a playful lilt.

  "Mornin', ma'am," Simon replied with a grin of his own while he leaned in for a peck on the lips.

  "I remember you saying last night that I... how'd you put it? I 'tuckered' you out. Then I wake to an empty bed…"

  Simon pulled his coat more snugly around her neck. "Don't take no offense, Alana; I had a heap of fun, and last night was top-notch. It's just that I'm one of them early risers, and to be honest... I ain't used ta sharin' my bed."

  Alana grinned; Simon was immediately relieved she didn't take his words wrong. "Fair enough, but maybe it's something you'll become fond of."

  "Yeah," he replied with a new grin, "I just might, at that."

  So," she said as she glanced around his shoulder and then back up to meet his eyes, "what were you doing out here?"

  "Just enjoyin' the quiet, is all."

  "Well then, if you're done communing with nature and had enough quiet time," Alana said as she put her hands on his hips, "why don't we step in out of the chill and go make some more noise. What say, my fine Yank? Care for another go before I'm away?"

  Simon put an arm around her shoulders to lead her back inside. "I reckon you read my mind."