by Kate Ristau
“Okay,” Áine said. “As long as you don’t tell them either.”
“Agreed.”
Áine wondered what Hennessy’s mother and brother would be like. In the portraits in her schoolbooks, the Shadow women all had beautiful dresses and intricately styled hair. The men wore long, ornate gowns and their hair flowed past their shoulders. They were tall and beautiful.
Hennessy didn’t look anything like those pictures. She was short, her hair was long and sleek with jagged edges, and her clothes were dark and strange.
Áine smiled to herself. She’d crossed the threshold, been chased by a guardian, and all she could think about was Hennessy’s clothes?
“What’s so funny?” Hennessy asked, pushing open Áine’s door.
“Nothing. Your world is just so strange.”
Hennessy laughed and got out of the car. “You know, you’re not the one who’s supposed to be enchanted. It’s supposed to be the other way around. All those tales about fairies charming humans, dragging them into the Fairy world. Making them sing and dance and party until they die.”
“I’ve never made a human dance ‘til she died. And most of us are actually pretty nice.” As she said the words, she knew they weren’t true. “I can’t vouch for everyone, though.”
“Like psycho-guy?”
“Like psycho-guy.”
But it wasn’t just him. Áine thought about Kern as she followed Hennessy inside. The Crow. After seeing those vicious black birds, Áine understood why Eri had called Kern that.
Hennessy pushed the door open. “As long as you’re not like psycho-guy, I’m not worried about you enchanting me. Especially if it means you’re gonna take me away from here and make me dance until I die. That would be wicked sweet.” Hennessy laughed and strange lights ignited around the room.
“What are those?” Áine asked, pointing toward several shining balls anchored around the room.
“Oh girl, you got a lot to learn. Those are lights. You turn them on with this switch here.” Hennessy pointed to a square on the wall. She flipped the switch and the lights went off, and then she flipped it again and the lights were back on again.
“Can anyone do that magic?”
Hennessy stifled a laugh. “It’s not magic, Áine. It’s electricity. Technology. So, yeah, anyone can do it. Come on, I’ll show you what I mean.”
Áine followed Hennessy through a large room that was incredibly messy. And gross. The floors were caked with dirt, and plates and cups with scraps of food were rotting on broken chairs and bookshelves.
“I know,” Hennessy said, not looking at her. “It’s dirty. But I gave up trying. It wasn’t worth the fight. Or the time. I’m moving out in a couple of months anyway. I can’t stand it here. My mam is a packrat...an alcoholic too. Don’t worry—you won’t meet her. She’s probably already passed out. And my brother Collum—”
“What about him?” a deep voice asked.
Áine spun around and came face to face with a tall broad-shouldered man with stringy dark hair. He shoved past her into the kitchen and plopped down into a chair. He was unsteady on his feet and smelled like rotten fish.
“I was just going to say that you were probably gone too.” Hennessy backed away from him quickly.
“I woulda been if you woulda left me the car. Instead, I’ve been stuck here all night.” Collum swept his arm around the room and knocked a small box off the table. Áine watched it fall to the floor and her shoulders tightened. Collum hadn’t even looked at her or the box. He was bearing down on Hennessy.
“I’m sorry, Collum,” Hennessy said, avoiding eye contact. “Josh needed me to come in early, and I thought Jenna was going to—”
He went on as if he hadn’t even heard her. “And I was supposed to go hear The Frames at The Crane, you stupid git. We woulda had a grand night, if you had just—”
“Take it easy, Collum. I want you to meet my friend, Áine—”
“Easy?” His hand crashed down on the table and he pushed himself to his feet. “Don’t tell me to take it easy,” he yelled. “You always do this. Steal the car. Drag your little girlfriends over here.” Collum flung his hand in Áine’s direction, but when he caught her eye, his voice broke, and he stopped.
Áine smiled warmly at him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Collum,” Áine said slowly. “I’m sure you feel the same.”
“I...” He shook his head, but didn’t break his eyes away from hers. “I...I do.” He sat back down in the chair next to her. “Áine, was it? Beautiful name. Just beautiful. Like a flower. Or a bird. I’m sorry I was rude there. My sister...”
He pointed over at Hennessy, who stood awestruck by the counter. Hennessy blinked, and whispered, “What?”
“Yes, your sister,” Áine said. “She’s great. You should really be nice to her. Like really nice.”
“I should,” he said, as if he was thinking really hard about it. “You’re right. I will.” He stood up and looked over at Hennessy. “You hungry? Can I make you guys a couple of sandwiches?”
Hennessy strangled a laugh and nodded her head. “Sure. I guess. I mean, yes. Yes, please.”
Collum motioned for Áine and Hennessy to sit and made his way to the cupboard. Áine gestured toward the door. Following her gaze, Hennessy nodded. “Um, we’re gonna head to my bedroom.”
“Okay! Sounds great! I’ll bring them there.” He was already wiping off a dirty plate and humming quietly.
Hennessy cocked her head and mumbled, “Thank you.”
They headed down the hall and when the door slammed behind her, Hennessy laughed. “Bloody hell! What did you do to him? He’s never said a nice thing to me in my entire life, and now he’s making me a sandwich? What happened out there?”
“I’m not sure. The Et—the magic—it works so strangely here. Draws people in. Did you see the way he was looking at me?”
“I know! So gross! He’s such a sleezeball. But really, I don’t bloody care. If you can make him...less scary...well, it doesn’t matter how it works. I’m just happy it does. He’s such a plonker.”
Hennessy collapsed on the bed and started poking at her phone again. Áine set down her heavysack on a stuffed chair and smiled. Hennessy’s room was completely different than the rest of the house. Everything was immaculate—not a speck of dust, books all lined up—and an ornate iron bed with a fluffy white comforter filled the middle of the room, while books and artwork lined the walls.
The art was confusing, though: a jumble of rough paint strokes. But when Áine stood farther back, images swam to the surface. A mess of lines transformed into a portrait of an old woman with wrinkles etched into her face in jarring shades of purple and black.
“That’s my Nana,” Hennessy said. “Took me forever to convince her to sit for me. She said I had better things to paint. But I finally got her, and when I did, she loved that painting. Hung it right over her bed until the day she died. Then I got it back.” Hennessy shifted up onto her elbows. “Damn, she would have loved to meet you. Sometimes I wish—”
There was a knock on the door and Hennessy tensed up. Collum opened the door, holding a tray. “Sorry, there’s not much down there. But I made some peanut butter sandwiches. And the crisps are still good.”
“Thanks.” Hennessy took the tray from him and placed it on the bed. Collum lingered by the door, gazing at Áine.
Áine could feel the heat rising in her face, and she wiped her sleeve across her forehead. “That’s all we need for now, Collum,” she said. “Why don’t you go downstairs?” He nodded his head and slipped out of the room. Áine waited until he was gone, and then whispered, “Oberon, that’s so weird. He’s so obedient. It’s creepy. I don’t like it.”
“Seriously, it’s fine. It’s better than having him go off.” Hennessy took a giant bite of the sandwich. “You better get over here if you want any of yours.”
Áine sat down on the bed and took the sandwich; she hesitated a moment, remembering all the stories where the fey ate f
ood in the Shadowlands and were forced to stay there forever. She almost didn’t eat, but the smell won her over and she gave in. The bread tasted amazing. Sweet, soft and sticky—it made her really thirsty. Still, it didn’t fill her up. She grabbed the crisps, shoving several in her mouth at a time. She didn’t know what they were, but they were salty and perfect.
“Jesus, girl. Nana always told me I ate fast. You just breathed in that food. Did you even chew?”
Áine swallowed and looked up at Hennessy. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was so hungry.”
“No doubt. But don’t apologize. You’re just so prim and proper—”
“I am not prim and proper!” Áine interrupted.
“Prim and proper...not from around here...whatever. You’re just so cautious. It threw me off to see you scarf that down.” She tossed her hand toward the tray as she fell back onto the bed. “I’m exhausted.”
“Me too. My legs, my arm...I mean, nothing hurts anymore, but I’m just really tired.”
“Ha! I can’t imagine why. Different worlds, epic injuries, crazy crows, homicidal weirdos...” Hennessy hauled herself back up and moved the tray onto a table. She opened the dresser and started pulling out clothes, then paused as she said, “You’re not gonna tell me who he was, are you?”
Áine rubbed the comforter between her fingers, trying not to think about his red eyes, his fiery hands. Hennessy had helped her this far. Would it hurt to tell her a little bit more? “I think he’s the Guardian...the Guardian of the Crossing.”
“Is the Crossing where you came over?”
“Yeah. Our worlds, the Shadowlands and the Aetherlands, they are only thinly connected. There are a few places where you can cross to the other side. Those Crossings are heavily guarded—at least on this side.”
“So, that guy, he’s a fairy too? Like you?”
Áine nodded, pulling back her sleeve to examine her arm in the light.
“He doesn’t look like a fairy.”
Áine watched the light sparkle in a thin line across her arm. “What does a fairy ‘look like’?” she asked, smiling.
“Hot,” Hennessy replied and Áine blushed. “And they have wings. Where are yours?”
“I don’t have any. That’s a pixie.”
“I know. That was a joke. Tinkerbell. Freakin’ Disney.” She held up a shirt and Áine took it. “That guy definitely wasn’t Tinkerbell.”
“He’s a fire fairy. He can do stuff most of the fey can’t. He can summon flames—hold them in his hands and command them—”
“Hold that thought, and put these on.” More clothes landed in her lap. “I’m going to go get us some water and brush my teeth.”
Áine held up them up. “Pantaloons?”
“No! God, no. Pants, Áine. Just pants.”
“Gotcha. Pants.”
Smiling and shaking her head, Hennessy left the room. Áine pulled off her cloak and shrugged out of her dress. The small, sparkling line stretched across her arm. She sighed, then slowly smiled. The Eta–she had called them. Aunt Eri was going to be so proud.
Áine pulled on the pants, her smile slowly disintegrating. Maybe not proud. Aunt Eri was probably wringing her hands, waiting. Angry and frustrated. Making herself look busy by baking saffron cakes and feeding them to the Barrows children, accepting their thankful nods, all the while wondering where Áine was...and if she was okay.
The image of the guardian flashed in front of her eyes. A fire fairy. In the Shadowlands. Why? If he was in the Shadowlands, something must have gone horribly wrong.
Áine had only ever seen one other fire fairy—Kern. The first time she saw him, she was outside tying up her Goodweather man. The faceless doll was almost finished when she heard an angry shout.
Voices exploded from the small cottage. Áine stuck the doll on the fence pole and ran into the cottage. When she came through the door, the argument ended abruptly.
“Run along, now,” the guard said.
Áine glared back at him defiantly. Then she noticed the dirt beneath his feet had turned black and the air around him smelled awful...like rotten eggs. A cold hand slithered down Áine’s spine. He was one of the fire fairies from Puls Ne Geh. The ones that came back from the Hetherlands. Áine shuddered and Aunt Eri pulled her close.
“No, Kern,” Aunt Eri said. Her eyes sparkled against her dark skin. “You run along now. And tell the Queene that she no longer has my leave to run her patrols across the Barrows. We protect our own here.”
Kern shook his head and his hand settled lightly on the hilt of his sword. “The Queene will not take such a request lightly.”
A crimson light flashed in Eri’s eyes. “It’s not a request, Crow.”
Kern’s eyes darkened. “I am one of the Queene’s Guard. You will call me a Titan. Not a traitor. But believe me, the feeling’s the same, Leeshee.”
Eri exploded toward Kern. She ground to a halt in front of him and before he even had a chance to raise his hands, she shoved him hard toward the door, shouting, “Out! Now!”
Kern, red-faced, whipped his hands up, but Eri yelled at him, “You will not raise your hands here, sir. Not in my house. I don’t care who you work for. It’ll be the last thing you ever do.”
He opened his mouth, closed it, then the hint of a fierce smile formed over his clenched teeth. Bowing his head, he ducked under the threshold, whistling a strange tune. Áine watched as he tramped across the lavender and thyme, leaving a trail of broken stems and leaves behind him. He stopped at the path’s end. He drew his sword, and with a flick of his blade, he slashed the throat of the Goodweather man.
Áine cried out as the straw poured out of its throat. Her eyes narrowed at the fire fairy and she stomped her foot. The ground quaked beneath her, shaking and trembling, and Kern dropped his sword. As he stooped to pick it up, he glared at Áine with such fury that her knees almost collapsed beneath her. Aunt Eri grabbed her arm, holding her steady.
Then he laughed, a harsh bark that echoed in her ears as he disappeared into the meadow. The image of the Goodweather man’s throat spilling onto the ground swirled inside Áine’s head. “Come on, now,” Aunt Eri said. “Forget that old Crow and let’s be done with it. We have a Goodweather man to fix up, don’t we?”
It didn’t take them very long to put him right again, but years later, the memory lingered. And as she pulled on the shirt, Áine wondered what it all meant. Crows were traitors—they had chosen sides against Oberon in the Balor Wars—and crows were trying to attack her now in the Shadowlands. And the Guardian of the Crossing was a fire fairy—a traitor too.
Something else was going on. Something more than just coincidence. She sat down on the bed and pulled on the dark pants. Whatever happened, she would have to be ready.
“Do you think he’ll stop?” Hennessy asked, and Áine turned her head toward the door where Hennessy was standing, holding a glass of water.
Áine remembered Creed’s piercing red eyes. “I don’t know.”
Hennessy handed her the glass of water and sat down on the bed. “What does he want from you?”
Áine shook her head and took a long drink of water. It wet her tongue, but didn’t quench her thirst. “I don’t know that either. And I don’t want to find out.”
Hennessy yawned. “Me neither. Ignorance is bliss.” She collapsed onto her bed, pulling the covers back for Áine, “And bliss is also someone not killing you.”
“Agreed,” Áine said. She set the glass of water on the table and slipped underneath the covers. “I’d rather not die.”
Hennessy nudged her in the arm. “I’d rather you didn’t either.”
The joke rolled through her mind as she tried to go to sleep. The longer she tossed and turned, the less funny it became. She wasn’t in the Aetherlands anymore, and Aunt Eri wasn’t watching over her either. That man—that fiery fairy—had tried to kill her. And he wasn’t going to stop.
The gleam of his red eyes flared in her mind as she drifted off to sleep.
&
nbsp; * * *
One moment Áine stood by a window, looking out into the dark night, and the next she hid behind a rowan tree, peering out at a small group gathered around a giant bonfire that lit up the sky. The fire should have warmed her, but the smell brought a bitter chill. The smoke burned her nostrils, leaving an acrid taste on her tongue that made her catch her breath.
The crowd started to scatter, and her eyes focused on a tall man, screaming and pounding his fists on the ground. “Nia!” he screamed. A woman tried to pull him to his feet, but he pushed her away, and she disappeared into the night.
The man sat alone as the fire raged in the darkness.
In a flash, he was gone, and Áine stood beside the bonfire, staring into its depths. She was trying to understand what had happened—what had gone wrong—when a black, charred arm suddenly broke through the flames, dripping ashes and smoldering meat. She jumped back, but it grabbed her cloak. She pulled with all her might, but the hand held tighter still. She cried out as the first of the flames crawled up her cloak. The hand caressed her cheek, and then pulled her into the flames.
Five
Gasping, she shook Hennessy awake. “They killed her! I saw the crowd—that man—they burned her alive.” She knew with a sudden clarity that it was her mother. She remembered the bright flames consuming her skin, the way the crowd had slipped away. They had let her burn.
The smoke—she could still smell the smoke that had drifted through the air, dark and putrid. She grabbed Hennessy’s hand and pulled her upright in the bed. “I saw her. I saw her hand. It was...the fire...the smoke...it was everywhere. I can still smell it...I can taste it on my lips.” She dropped Hennessy’s hand and tried to wipe the smell away from her nose, but she couldn’t get it off of her.
“What are you talking about?” Hennessy asked, rubbing her eyes.
“My dream! I saw them! They killed her!”
“Slow down. Tell me what—” Hennessy stopped suddenly. “Why does it smell like smoke in here?”
Áine snapped her head toward the door; smoke was slipping into the room, slithering toward them. “Hether! I thought—Oberon! It happened again! I started the fire. My dreams—”