Reluctantly Charmed (45 page)

I was miserable and angry for a long time. I was angry at the fairies and what they’d done to my life, for turning it upside down and shaking it out. I was angry that they’d tricked me with their playful words, seduced me with their pretend innocence. But slowly my anger has subsided. There are many ways to have a family, and I’ve realized that ultimately I’m the winner here—not the fairies. They didn’t get what they wanted. I’ve kept the power.

After I left F & P, I packed up my Dublin life and rented a small cottage in Knocknamee. It felt like the right move: Knocknamee felt like home. But there was an adjustment period. Moving from the city to the country wasn’t as easy as I thought it was going to be. I started to miss some of the things that would drive most people out of the city: the smell of rain on cement, the choke of car fumes, angry bus drivers who will battle like samurais for the correct fare, wobbly seats at the French cinema that smell like every day of their fifty years of service. I also missed late-night shopping under fluorescent lights, sushi bars, and delicious cocktails with expensive-sounding names. But it all balanced out, and Knocknamee has given me a lot more than alcohol options. I am still madly in love with this beautiful little spot.

Hugh hasn’t officially moved in, but his bike, clothes, shoes, shaving gear, surfboard, and books have. I cleaned out some drawers and suggested he put his stuff in them, but he said they were much happier on the floor/chair/bed. I always lose the battle over the remote control, so TV viewing has been dominated by sports and political dramas with never-ending plotlines.

Hugh takes off his muddy boots at the door every evening and
bursts through excitedly, bounding toward me, delighted that I’m here and delighted that our evening is beginning. I’ll throw my arms around him and we kiss, smiling. I tell him he smells of the farm and he needs a shower, and he’ll strip off in the kitchen and try to pull me in with him. I hope that we’re still doing this evening dance together in forty years’ time, that we are still so excited to see each other after a day apart.

Hugh is a master in the kitchen, which means that my jeans are a little bit too tight these days while he’s perfecting pasta dishes. We’ve taken up running to counteract the weight gain and are regularly huffing and puffing down An Trá Bhán in the evening with Setanta in tow. After showers and stretches we flop out on the couch and into a bottle of wine. With Hugh, I am filled with happiness. He is my best friend, my love, my darling.

Not long after I moved to Knocknamee, the letters started arriving, and often people come to the door. I still don’t know how they find me. Some are lost, distressed, hurt, out of love, out of pocket. All want help. The recession has taken Ireland firmly by the throat, and life has become very hard for a lot of people. The Irish bankers have played the country like a game of Monopoly, only to flip the board over once every house was mortgaged but just before the old boot got the chance to pass Go. Journalists have scrambled for vocabulary to describe the bleak state of the country: cheap cuts of meat, heavy blankets, and candlelight. Unemployment is on the rise, and basic necessities are getting harder and harder to afford. I wonder if it’s because of this bleakness that my skills are so in demand. Like the Red Hag in the famine, I seem to be able to provide people with some hope. At least I try my best to.

So they come and sit on my Ikea furniture, sip on a cup of tea, and tell me their troubles: missing engagement rings, business
worries, love affairs, and money—they always need to know if there’s money coming down the line.

Sometimes people just need a friendly ear—they don’t need an answer. But I try my best. I concentrate, sit still, and wait. And sometimes, I find the answers. I prescribe potions and lotions—treatments for obscure ailments. I keep track of the spells, now, write them all up in a large book. Hugh calls it my cookbook. I have to keep a record, because sometimes the spells pop in and out of my head so quickly it’s a race to hold the pen. I still don’t understand everything, but I’m trying and I’m learning.

I never ask for money. I don’t want to go down the road the Red Hag traveled. But people leave donations: milk from their farm, a new set of shelves, an iPod.

The blue Bottle is still a mystery. Occasionally a clouded image appears and disappears, but invariably I can’t understand it. I know it has power—I just don’t know how the power will work for me, yet. I know it’s been left to me for an important reason, and I’m sure it will reveal itself one day.

I see fairies a lot more clearly, now. They still hide from me, but I catch a glimpse. I know they’re there, being mischievous, playing tricks, guarding us, and having fun. I listen for their messages, which come to me in my dreams, most of the time. I know they’re still angry with me for not bringing them into the world, but I know I made the right decision. I don’t regret that.

I don’t know what the future holds for the fairies. Maybe there will be a time to lift the veil, to let the immortal walk with the mortal. But until then, I know that
I’ll keep loving nature and enjoying every beautiful moment in it. I’ll keep having fun, and singing and dancing and laughing, just like they asked us to.

RELUCTANTLY CHARMED
AND FAIRIES

T
hanks so much for picking up
Reluctantly Charmed.
It’s my first novel, and it’s been a labor of love, tears, and many cups of tea. I wrote it in my parents’ front room in Dublin, their good room. I was given permission to use it as long as I promised not to eat or drink in there (I’m sure Hemingway never had to contend with a mother concerned about crumbs).

I knew I had a story, and I knew I had to get it down.

It all came to me in a roundabout way from my granny. William Butler Yeats, Walt Disney, and my granny believed in fairies. Granny O’Neill instilled the fear of God in her grandchildren with stories of fairies. Irish fairies are not cute little angelic creatures, but mischievous fellows with an evil glint in their eye who would put a hump on your back for singing a song out of tune. Granny came from a small farm and, as many of her generation did, grew up with the certainty of their existence and of their wrath if not appeased. As I got older and Santa and the Easter Bunny disappeared, the fairies remained. Fairies belonged to the grown-up world.

When she passed away six years ago, I was sad to lose that link to the other world—the maybe world and all the dreaming and possibilities of it. I started to investigate the folklore around
fairies. I found hundreds of firsthand reports of encounters with the
little people.
There were recent articles and stories of road works and construction sites brought to a halt because of the threat of disturbing a fairy tree or fort. I found it hard to believe that modern Ireland was holding fast to these superstitious beliefs. There was something wonderfully romantic about it.

And I wondered . . . what if? As crazy as it sounds, what if there was something in it?

And so I found Kate McDaid, a modern, funny, cynical, regular city dweller, probably the antithesis of my granny in her twenties. Kate already had enough on her plate with romantic troubles, a hectic work schedule, and some off-the-wall parents. I chose her as the key holder to the fairy world and watched the story unfold.

Reluctantly Charmed
is a story of magical realism. It’s a story for anyone who has ever wondered
what if.

I really hope you enjoyed it.

Ellie O’Neill

2014

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

T
hanks to my sisters, Niamh and Cathy, who have been my biggest cheerleaders on this long journey to publication, my first readers, my best friends, my harshest critics and biggest supporters. You have pushed and pulled
Reluctantly Charmed
in the right direction.

Jacinta di Mase and Catherine Drayton, who have shown me great leadership and advice. A big thank-you to the team at Touchstone New York for taking a punt on an unknown author. I am deeply grateful to you all, particularly Miya Kumangai, Maria Whelan, and Linda Sawicki. Thanks to all at Simon & Schuster Sydney, in particular Roberta Ivers, Larissa Edwards, and Anna O’Grady. Thanks, too, to Jude McGee and Elizabeth Cowell.

Thanks to William Butler Yeats, part of whose poem “The Stolen Child” has been reproduced in
Reluctantly Charmed
. I would also like to acknowledge the authorship of the epigraph used at the beginning of the book: “The world is full of magic things patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” For me, it was a perfect summation of Kate’s journey, and while historically the quote has been attributed to Yeats, it can’t be substantiated by the poet’s literary estate. A quote that is very similar has been
attributed to English author and playwright Eden Phillpotts, where the word “universe” is used in place of “world.” In any case, I acknowledge both writers for their eloquence.

To the fairies, for allowing me to peep under the veil of this world into theirs to share this story and encourage magic to bloom.

And to Joe and Cian, my happily ever after, forever and ever my men.

TOUCHSTONE READING GROUP GUIDE

Reluctantly Charmed

ELLIE O’NEILL

W
hen Dubliner Kate McDaid turned twenty-six, her goal for the next year was to get a promotion at work. Focused on a pay raise and a new job title, she certainly never expected that her twenty-sixth year would bring her fame and attention beyond anything she could imagine—or want. It begins when a mysterious letter arrives inviting her to attend the reading of the will of Miss Kate McDaid. What seems at first to be an obvious mistake will soon turn Kate’s life completely upside down when she is named the sole beneficiary to the estate of her great-great-great-grand-aunt of the same name. The catch is that the estate will
only be revealed after Kate publishes a letter and a series of seven poems that her ancestor has bequeathed to her. Curious—and a little amused—Kate agrees, and decides to publish the poems online. And so begins a frenzy in Ireland and around the world as each of the “Seven Steps” brings followers closer to a world beyond ours, a world with fairies and witches and the promise of eternal youth. As the messages gradually become more sinister with each step, Kate is faced with the decision of whether or not to see them through. Could the fate of humanity be in her hands?

Filled with humor, romance, building suspense—and of course a little bit of magic—
Reluctantly Charmed
makes us think about the things we believe in and ponder what may exist just beyond our detection. It charms from page one, and is a debut to be devoured without any reluctance.

FOR DISCUSSION

1. Matthew says, “
Some of that stuff is kind of nice. Thinking that there’s something else out there, that maybe it isn’t just this.
” Do you agree? How do you feel about the idea that it could be “just this”? Do you think it’s possible in today’s modern world to believe in an “other world”?

2. Kate and her parents have very different approaches to dealing with the sudden fame and publicity they receive from the Seven Steps. What do you make of their reactions? Who would you act like in a similar situation? Or would you take a totally different approach?

3. Drake Chandler’s suicide note mentioned fairies. Was it a coincidence—or something more?

4. Kate decides to keep following the steps. She acknowledges that she likes to stay on top of trends: “
If people are talking about it, I’m going to try it.
” Are you also quick to try out the latest fads, or are you more of a wait-and-see type? Do you think you would have been likely to start following the Seven Steps if everyone else around you were talking about it?

5. Kate had an imaginary friend as a child that she later remembers and realizes was one of the fairies. Have you ever had a childhood memory suddenly come back to you? Do you think it’s possible to hold onto childhood beliefs, like fairies, in adulthood? What were the magical things you believed in as a child?

6. “
A stranger in a small town will never know the rhythm of the place. A stranger will always cause an eyebrow to raise
or a throat to clear. There is a language, a code built into the locals that a visitor cannot translate.
” Does this notion of a small town ring true with your own experiences? Have you ever been an insider or an outsider in a small town?

7. Do you think it was right for the people of Knocknamee to try to profit off the attention that the Seven Steps brought them? Should they be “
making hay while the sun shines,
” as Annie put it, or do you agree with Father O’Brien that cashing in on the attention is worshipping money as a false god?

8. Compare and contrast the characters of Hugh and Jim. How did your feelings toward each of them evolve throughout the course of the story?