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  The Summer Prince

  Copyright 2010 Carol Oates

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  Published by Carol Oates

  First Published by Omnific Publishing 2011

  Bonfires cast the surrounding area in translucent gold and amber shadow. Flickers of red hot cinder quivered into the blackness of the sky before vanishing in the distance. I swayed with the music of the fiddles and heat radiating from the pockets of festival-goers huddled in conversation.

  I shouldn’t be here.

  I knew at any moment one of my neighbors, or maybe one the elders skirting the bonfire areas, would recognize me. The Beltaine celebration in my tiny Irish village was strictly for those over sixteen, and so I desperately attempted to fade into the background near one of the hawthorn bushes that made up the boundary of this supposedly sacred place.

  I felt ridiculous with stained lips and pink cheeks and the fancy-tied sandals Sally made me wear. They didn’t make me look older at all. The parchment-light leather did nothing to protect my feet from the muddy field, and I was still a short, waif-like fifteen-year-old with milky skin, reddish hair, and a cowlick that refused to cooperate no matter what I did. Now I was all this, but with sticky lips and aching feet too.

  I felt his eyes on me from clear across the field, the boy, the one with the raven hair and piercing stare that made it hard to breathe. I tried not to look back but failed miserably. He had skin the color of the palest gold, almost luminescent in the warm rainbow of dancing light. His plump lips were a deep pink and perfectly shaped. His shoulders were wide and strong under his dark shirt. Even from where I stood, I could tell he had to be at least a head taller than me, probably more.

  I didn’t know him, but I didn’t know a lot of the people here. Dur­ing the festival of Beltaine, the village was flooded with strangers from the surrounding towns. Summer began the first of May, and they came on the last day of spring to watch us hide our children from the aos sí and light bonfires to purify the land. Children used to gather nettles from the woods until some went missing, captured by the women of the fair folk who were unable to have children of their own — or so we were told in captivated groups around hearths on the nights leading up to the festival.

  I held my breath; the air around me was heavy, laden with the aroma of burning wood. My cheeks began to heat, but each time I tried to turn my gaze away, I felt a tightening in my chest, as if someone had drawn ribbons around my insides. When I struggled, the binds tightened. He made no effort to approach — he simply watched and waited. An unfamiliar shiver rushed over my skin when the quick, hollow thumping and clicking of the bouran drum erupted, signaling the time for dancing. More fiddles joined in and then flutes. The ground quaked as couples pounded the earth in jigs and reels, encouraged by the fresh bread and nettle-wine punch ladled from cauldrons around the fire.

  It was only a momentary distraction, but one blink and he was gone, leaving me feeling bizarrely empty.

  Perhaps Sally would know him. She should have been here by now. She came up with the idea of sneaking out; although I found it hard to deny the irrational tingle of excitement it gave me to break the rules. Maybe it was because, despite what I proclaimed, I couldn’t dismiss the old tales as easily as others did. A foreboding hung over me since the beginning of the year, a feeling that my time was quickly disappearing. My father constantly reminded me this year would be different from the rest.

  My best friend, Áine, advised me to listen. She came from a long line of mystics and could read fortunes in the lines of a person’s hand. Whispers around the village said that for a price her grandmother could curse or save a man, whereas Sally insisted Beltaine was just another excuse for a party and the only way to prove it was to see for myself.

  Sally…my other best friend and constant bad influence. Her mischief had gotten both Áine and me into trouble for as long as I could remember. Everything from missing school on fine days to laze by the river to sneaking through the orchard to pinch the apple pies Mrs. Mallory made for quilting morning in the village hall. Sally claimed it was her own fault for leaving them to cool on the sill where they were just too inviting to resist. Lately Sally had gotten worse…

  Finally I saw her, and just as I suspected she wasn’t looking for me at all. Her blond hair hung in lustrous waves over her shoulders and down her back, swishing from side to side when she threw her head back to giggle at something the ruddy-cheeked town-boy whispered in her ear. Her slim fingers lightly touched his chest, and she laughed again, adjusting the twisted piece of fabric holding her dress in place. It drew attention to the exposed space between her clavicle and her breasts. She was playing with the poor boy. It was only then I saw him place a cup in her other hand. Before I could rush forward and swipe it from her, she took a sip and handed it back to the boy, who followed suit. Everyone knew not to accept a drink or food from a stranger on Beltaine.

  “There you are, Niamh.” She grinned sheepishly at me and draped her arm over Ruddy-cheek’s shoulder.

  He was a disheveled sort of handsome, with choppy, brown hair and dark-gray eyes.

  “This is Cormac.” Sally gestured between us. “Cormac, this is my friend, Niamh. It’s her birthday.”

  “Not until tomorrow,” I corrected her before he got a chance to comment, as his open mouth suggested he was about to. “Yeah, I know it’s bad luck to be born on the first of May.” I refrained from rolling my eyes. I was selective about what folklore I chose to believe, especially when it related to my life being cut short.

  “Well, an early happy birthday then.” He smiled cheerily, tipping his cup to me and taking another sip. As if he suddenly remembered his rude­ness, he offered it to me. “A drink for the birthday girl?”

  “No, thank you,” I responded politely, very aware of our proximity to the center of activity.

  Sally bumped my hip and transferred her arm to around my shoulder. It made me achingly aware that she was the epitome of beauty and grace while I was just…well, my father said I was unique.

  “Niamh here thinks you might be one of the Fae trying to tempt her to the other side with your offer of wine.”

  Cormac laughed. A small knot twisted in my stomach like a tiny burst of energy exploding. The heat rose under my skin, every nerve tingled, and I blushed. “I do not.” I brushed it off resentfully.

  On closer inspection, Cormac had several small puckered acne scars along his jaw line. I was pretty sure the Fae didn’t have freckles.

  “I can’t believe you actually wore those,” Sally teased me, pointing to my ruined sandals. I got the impression that hadn’t been her first sip of punch.

  “You told me to.”

  “I was kidding.” She waved down to her sturdy leather slippers secured around her ankles with soft fabric bows. “You could break your neck in those things you have on.”

  “You say the same thing to me at least once week about something, and I’m still here, aren’t I?” I muttered in exasperation. Sally had yet to make a challenge that I couldn’t meet. I could climb, swim, run, and jump faster that most of the boys in school. I could skin a rabbit in less than five minutes and start a fire with nothing more than dry grass and sticks. I was a tomboy who was much more at home rolling in the mulch of the forest than worrying about boys and makeup.

  The hairs prickled at the back of my neck, and I furtively darted my eyes around, sure that we were being watched, but no one was paying any attention to us.

  “Can we get out of here?” I asked, tired already and fed up that
I entered the world on the wrong side of midnight at the changeover of the months.

  Sally exaggerated a pout and twirled behind me to settle her chin on my shoulder. Her fingers closed around my upper arms tightly enough that her nails bit into my skin. It raised an eyebrow from Cormac, and I was almost positive his smile slipped when he met my confused expression. The pressure of her heart thumped against my spine, and the volume of the music seemed to escalate without warning in time to its pounding.

  “Why would we leave? The fun is starting here, right, Cormac?”

  Cormac nodded violently in agreement, leaving me wondering how his skull was still attached to his spine. I shrugged Sally off in frustration at her latest game and spun to be caught by Cormac’s formidable hands. Warm, sticky punch seeped down the fabric of my pants on my outer thigh. Cormac pressed his nose against my hair and inhaled. A wave of panic crackled over my skin, and my stomach plummeted as if I’d fallen over, except I was standing.

  “Ahh, does the little princess want to go home?” Sally goaded me.

  Maybe she’s drunk? It was easy to imagine if I disregarded her clear blue eyes and the steady sweep of her hand grazing over my cheek.

  I struggled to loosen Cormac’s hold on me and scowled up at