Page 139 of Lucky In Love

I thought fairies, and leprechauns were just myths, stories to scare children into behaving. I wanted to prove I was right. Instead, I see how incredibly wrong I am-.”

“One never sees the betrayal of another who is trusted until it is too late.”

“You speak from experience.”

“I do.”

“Want to tell me about it.”

“No,” she gave him a soft smile before turning back to her wing.

“Are you a fairy, too?”

She laughed. “Goodness no. Did you see those wings? A strong breeze would rip right through them.”

“What are you then?”

She turned to him, sobering up. “Let’s just say I’m your good luck charm.” She looked at the sky and then frowned as she turned to Byron. “It’s time for me to depart. I cannot stay any longer, but you’ll be safe now.” Angela stood and headed deeper into the woods, disappearing.

Chapter Five

Sitting up, Byron gasped as he realized it was all just a dream. He rubbed his face with his hands. It was the first night he’d had such a strange dream. It certainly couldn’t be real, but his whole body hurt as if he had indeed tackled someone, and his fists are now bloodied, as if he had thrown some punches. He got up from his chair and headed into the bathroom. Peeling his shirt off, which was slightly damp, he saw bruises forming on his torso. They appeared shaped like a fist. He stepped into the shower, letting the hot water soothe his aching body.

He wondered if the bruises were real, the pain factual, were the fairies also true? Was Angela? And if they did exist, how was he ever going to redeem himself to them? Would he ever see Angela again?

“Why can’t I be lucky enough to meet someone like Angela in real life?” Once dry, he wrapped a couple of bandages around his knuckles, feeling as though he now looked like some prizefighter.

As he headed out, he glanced at his latest addition. He stopped dead in his tracks. The face of his gargoyle statue looked like Angela; which was why she’d seemed so familiar to him. “Shit. I’m going crazy. I’m enamored with a fucking statue.”

Angrily, he grabbed his coat and headed out to work. Although he realized Angela was only a figurine, he couldn’t help thinking about her and their talk after the fight.

He couldn’t wait to come home and examine the statue further. She had told him she was his good luck charm and with the bit of peaceful rest he had, despite the bruises his body sustained, she seemed to be just that. Was she real or only his imagination? Would she come back to him in his dreams? Would that be the only place he could be with her? He was anxious for nightfall, eager to see if she would appear again, and he yearned to be with her, to find out more about her, or if her wing had healed, then criticizing himself over his imagination.

Once home, he quickly fixed himself a sandwich to eat along with a bag of Oreos, then sat down with the gargoyle statue on his dining room table for companionship. “I don’t know if you are real or just a figment of my wishful thinking. I don’t know if I will see you again tonight, but I hope so. I hope your wing has healed. I hope we can talk more. I’m anxious to find out more about you. Who made you? How are you able to come to life? I’ve heard gargoyles are lucky, protecting those who have them on their housetops.”

He looked at the mail he had brought in the house after work, as he finished his sandwich.

Pulling a larger envelope from his mail, he frowned. “Shit.” He held the package up and waved it in front of the gargoyle. “This is the fairy ring stone. They returned it to me. I guess they don’t want to touch the stone either. I don’t know what to do.” He put his head down in folded arms on the table in total despair.

He felt a soft hand on his shoulder. “We will find a way to return it.”

Slowly, he lifted his head, sighing. “You came back.”

“Yes.”

“Where are your wings? Are you healed?”

“I’m mostly healed. It’s still tender, but the wings only appear when I want them to.”

Byron looked at the table, but the statue was gone. “You’re the gargoyle, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Angela sighed softly. “May I sit?”

Byron jumped up and offered her his chair. “My apologies, of course. Can I get you something to eat or drink?” He pointed to the open bag of Oreos. “An Oreo?”

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