(To catch up on the story, read here.)
There was no choice. The Her was shrieking now. I snatched back the coverlet and moved the Princess closer to the button and began to extract the silk of her hair.
To my surprise, she immediately became silent. Smiled, though wanly.
Not at me, but at Callan.
I glanced over my shoulder at him. He was moving closer to her, his cell phone in his hand. Glowing on its screen was a picture of…. a Her.
“She’s a fae, a beautiful fae.” His voice was reverential.
“Where--- where did you get that picture?” I was stuttering.
He touched her gently, and she reached for him. He answered me almost absently.
“This one, from a video game. But of course there are books, and websites, too.”
I stepped back from the bed to see this: The Her and my grandson smiling at each other as if they had known each other their whole lives.
She was speaking to him in Gaelic, and he shook his head, yearned toward her, couldn’t understand.
I caught a word. Geata. Gateway.
A place where all would be set right.
I yearned toward that.
“Portal,” I said.
He smiled slowly and broadly as he picked the Her up.
“Oh I know where you have one in your garden,” he said, looking at her as if he couldn’t fill his eyes enough, but speaking to me. “Under the old tree, between the roots near the wall. I’ve loved to hide there since I was little.”
We looked toward the window.
But what was the commotion we heard outside?