Page 55 of Dead Rockstar

“Didn't you?” she repeated.

This was not going well.

“The spell – is it permanent?” I asked, deciding to go with a direct question. “Or can it be reversed?” Phillip looked at me with alarm – apparently, he had not thought of this.

“It's permanent, yes, but it can also be reversed,” she answered. This was maddening. I had a sudden vision of her as the tuft-haired caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland, puffing away on her Virginia Slim, talking in riddles. “You can reverse it, except-” She stopped, then shook her head. “-you wouldn't do that to poor Sidhe, would you?”

“No,” I answered. “Unless he asked me to.”

“Maybe not even then,” she said with a smile. You're wrong, I thought to myself, hating her smugness. I'm not selfish like you. She turned to Phillip. “Whether or not Fee cooperates, dear Sidhe, you can always reverse the spell yourself.”

“How?”

“Can you not think of anything?” She raised an eyebrow.

I grimaced. “So if it's permanent, that means he won't, like, keel over tomorrow. But otherwise, is he a normal mortal guy? Can he be hurt or killed?”

“Yes,” she answered, her cigarette dangling from her lips. “He can be hurt and killed, both. But it will be harder to do either to him than most. He has a bit of extra strength, you see.”

“Yes.” I'd seen that for myself.

“Why did Guthrie give me the spell?” Phillip asked.

“You just said yourself,” she answered in surprise, “he owed you money. He did that from time to time back then. Idiot, foolish thing to do, but he never was very smart.”

“I don't believe that, not anymore,” Phillip answered. “He didn't have to give me that spell to placate me. He chose to, for some reason. He picked me for this...he knew that it would happen. The same as I know you're holding something back.” He fixed his gaze on her, and his hands were clasped tightly in my own, squeezing my fingers harder than he realized. “Why did he pick me for this?”

“I can't say I know, Sidhe.”

“Stop calling me that,” he snapped.

“You're very tense,” she said. “Relax, Phillip. You have nothing to fear. It's a blessing, a gift. Count your lucky stars. Not every man has the opportunity to shake off the mortal coil on a temporary basis.”

“What do I have to give in return?” he asked. “That's what I want to know. My soul? Something else? Will I end up sacrificing someone I love or having to serve some-” He stopped and shook his head. “What kind of price do I have to pay for this 'blessing'?”

“None at all,” she answered easily. “Magic doesn't work that way.”

“Then she,” he gestured at me, emphasizing the word, since it sounded so much like the one she kept using for him, “will have to pay the price.”

She looked at me dreamily. “Nothing she hasn't already paid.”

Phillip's face twitched.

“This magic,” I said, stepping in to diffuse the situation. “Is it white or black?”

“What?” Her forehead crinkled.

“The spell,” I said. “White or black magic?”

She smiled. “Fee means White Lady. White Witch. Magic is all about intention and what you use it for, what's in your heart.”

“That's not an answer,” Phillip thundered. “And you just said it was short for Fiona.”

“So it is.” She puffed away, her watery eyes working over us. “And Sidhe is an old Gaelic word that roughly translates to ‘tall fairy.’ The Sidhe were a mythical race of faeries that were able to walk among the heavens and the earth in kind. They had much magic,” she said with a clever smile, looking at Phillip. “Just looking at you, hulking around, so full of misplaced pride and concern you try to hide; it suits you. So tall and strong – all the trappings of a brute, but such a feminine face and a tender heart.”

Phillip glowered beside me and I hid my smile behind my hand.

“Fee and Sidhe. My white witch and my tall fairy man.”

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