Kelly Jamieson - Irish Sex Fairy

The security buzzer sent her nerves on another blastoff. The police. Please let it be the police.

She scrabbled for the phone. The operator was still there. “Is that the police?” she demanded.

“Yes, that’s the police. They’re at the entrance to your building.”

“Thank God, thank God.” It seemed like an hour since she’d called them. She climbed to her feet on unsteady legs and stumbled to the security system, but as she went to buzz them in, she paused. How did she know it was the police? What if it was someone else trying to get in?

She knew in her head that was crazy, but…she pressed the intercom button. “Who is it?”

“LAPD.”

She hit the button and let them in. Moments later they pounded on her door.

She peered through the security peephole on her door and saw two uniformed officers. Fingers still shaking, she unlocked the door and let them in.

“Someone’s on the balcony!”

The female officer stayed close to Keara while the male officer walked straight to the doors and yanked the curtain aside. He peered outside, then flicked open the lock of the door and slid it open.

Keara gasped and tensed. He didn’t even have his gun drawn. Who knew what kind of nutjob could be out there?

He stepped out onto the balcony, turned his head from side to side, walked to the railing and looked over. Then he turned back into the condo.

“There’s nothing here,” he said.

Keara blinked at him. “Yes there is.” She looked down at the phone she was still holding. Was the 9-1-1 operator still there? She shook her head, dropped the phone. Whatever. “There was someone out there.”

“No, ma’am, there’s nothing. Come look for yourself.”

She followed him hesitantly out onto her balcony and peered around. The dark wind whipped her hair around her head, and she shivered.

He was right. There was nobody out there.

She peered over the railing, holding the cold metal tightly with both hands, and stared at the ground three stories below.

“What if he’s on the balcony underneath?” She turned to the officers. They exchanged a glance. Keara pressed her lips together. “Well, he could be. He could have dropped down to the balcony on the next floor.”

“I don’t think so,” the male officer said. “That would be pretty tricky.”

“I’m telling you, there was someone on my balcony!” Keara pressed her fingers to her mouth. God. She sounded hysterical.

“Come back inside,” the female officer said, her voice gentle. She put a hand on Keara’s back as she stepped inside, then slid the door closed.

“Why would someone climb up three stories to break in?” the male officer asked. “Unless it’s you they were after. Is someone stalking you?”

Keara shook her head. “No. Of course not. My life is boring.”

“Not that boring,” he replied. “Weren’t you just involved in a hostage taking a few weeks ago?”

Her stomach tightened. They’d checked her out. They knew about the robbery. They probably knew she’d been seeing a shrink. No wonder they thought she was nuts.

She answered a few more questions but she led such a vanilla life there was no reason for what happened. Which only made her feel even more stupid.

“It’s pretty windy tonight,” the woman officer said. “Maybe something blew around on your balcony.”

“Yeah.” Keara sucked in a long, restoring breath. “That must be it.” She’d been nervous because of the bad dream she’d had. Maybe her nerves and imagination were hypersensitive. Okay, that wasn’t a maybe, it was a definite, oh hell yeah. Plus she still felt shaky from that weird episode she’d had the other day. The doctor said it was a panic attack, but Keara wasn’t convinced of that. It had felt too physical—spinning head, dizziness, nausea—it was more likely low blood sugar or something, but whatever it was, she still felt the effects and it didn’t take much for her to get all agitated.

The police thought she was crazy. Cheeks burning, she locked the door behind them, but when she turned back to her empty apartment, fear wrapped around her in such a ferocious grip she couldn’t move.

She couldn’t stay there alone.

She had to stay there alone.

She’d already annoyed Paige, Monica was away and Essie had a new baby. So Keara sat up all night watching television with every light in the condo on, and a heavy trunk in front of the balcony door.

All she wanted was to get better. She didn’t want to be like this—the nervous tightness in her stomach, the feeling of impending doom. What was wrong with her?

She had to think. What could she do? Her friends weren’t an option for her right now. She had no family—her parents had died almost eight years ago. No siblings. The only family she had was Great-aunt Maeve in Kilkenny.

Crazy Maeve. Seventy years old, never married, she owned a sex shop in the quaint tourist town just north of Santa Barbara. Keara used to spend part of her summer vacations there with her great-aunt. She liked Maeve, although as a teenager she’d been embarrassed by Maeve’s brilliant red hair, eccentric dress, and oh yeah, most of all about the way she earned her living. But everyone in the town loved Maeve.

Maeve had called her, after the incident at the bank, to make sure she was okay. Keara had reassured her aunt that she was fine. Promised to keep in touch. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” Maeve had said.

Well, maybe there was.

Maybe she just needed to get away for a bit. A little vacation. Lord knew she never used all her vacation time, workaholic that she was. Maybe that was the problem.

So as the sky lightened and the sound of morning traffic on the streets began to build, she picked up the phone and dialed her aunt’s number.

Kilkenny, California

“Keara! What are you doing here?”

Keara stood in the middle of Maeve’s small shop, and stared back at her great-aunt Maeve, trying to be casual and unconcerned about the variety of sex toys and other accessories surrounding them.

“What do you mean, what am I doing here?” She’d just talked to Maeve yesterday. “You said it was okay if I came to stay with you for a while.”

Maeve’s green eyes filled with confusion and her slender auburn brows drew down over her nose. “That was next weekend. Wasn’t it?”

Keara shook her head. “No, it was this weekend. Remember? I said I’d drive up tomorrow? Which is today.”

What was going on? Had she screwed up the days when she was talking to Maeve?

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Maeve said briskly, throwing her arms around Keara. “You’re here, that’s what matters. I just…oh, never mind.” She gave her a tight hug and Keara hugged her back, her aunt’s bones frail beneath the sweater she wore. “How are you, muirnín? I’m so glad you decided to come and visit me. It’s been too long.”

Despite having lived most of her seventy years in America, Maeve’s voice still held a faint Irish lilt.

“I hope I’m not putting you out,” Keara murmured, breathing in the spicy, exotic scent of Shalimar. It had been a long time since she’d seen her aunt. At that realization a twinge of guilt snapped inside her like an elastic band.

“Of course not!” Maeve smiled at her as they drew apart. “I told you on the phone, I’m thrilled to have you! It’s been far too long.”

Keara studied Maeve. A few more lines framed her bright eyes. Her auburn hair—completely unnatural, Keara knew, but hey, it was the color she’d been born with nearly seventy years ago—stood up in short spikes around her head. Maeve still took the time to apply makeup, and still dressed like the fashionable eccentric she’d always been—slim black pants, a black turtleneck and, draped around her neck, a shimmery gold and orange scarf.

Keara smiled back. “Thank you. I needed a vacation.”

“A vacation, hmmm? Well. That is fine,” Maeve clucked, and tucked Keara’s arm through hers to lead her to the back of the store. “Come on upstairs. Jayla will watch the store for a few minutes, won’t you, a rún?”

Jayla, standing behind the counter, nodded her purple-spiked head. “Of course.” Maeve quickly introduced them.

“You actually have someone helping you now?” Keara said as they walked through the Staff Only door at the back, then climbed the stairs to the second floor where Maeve lived.

“Yes. Jayla’s been working here for a few months now, part-time. It’s wonderful to have someone so I can take things a little easier.”

Most people didn’t keep working into their seventies, but her aunt wasn’t like most people. She had more energy than Keara’d ever had, even when not drained by depression and stress, although Maeve took the stairs just a little slower than Keara recalled.

Maeve’s apartment above the store reflected her eclectic style, with walls painted a deep green and mismatched furniture slip-covered in spicy shades of saffron, cinnamon and sage.

“Are you hungry?” she asked. “I can make lunch for you…”

“No. I’m not hungry. I grabbed something in Santa Barbara a little while ago.”

The drive from LA had gone quicker than she’d expected with light Sunday traffic on the Ventura freeway. When she’d arrived in Santa Barbara she’d stopped for coffee and a muffin before continuing on the last hour of her trip, north and inland to Kilkenny on that crazy winding road through San Marcos Pass.

“Coffee, then,” Maeve said briskly, moving into her small kitchen attached to the living room. “Or maybe…you’d rather a wee bit of Jameson’s.”

Keara laughed and shook her head. “It’s too early for whiskey, Maeve.” She’d never called her great-aunt by the title “aunt”, had always called her only by her first name.