by Kate Ristau
“But how—” he mumbled. “Niamh!” Shaking his head, he lifted his hand into the air, gathering a ball of red flame, but he suddenly turned as he heard the sound of an approaching car. He tried to hurtle the ball of flame at the speeding car, but his blow was glanced away by a shower of pine cones descending from the trees. The car aimed straight for Creed, and he jumped out of the way right before it slammed into the corner of his car.
The other car squealed to a stop and the back door flew open.
“Get in!” said a voice from inside.
“Ciaran?” Áine asked.
“Come on!” he yelled.
Áine grabbed Hennessy and pushed her into the back seat of the car. She shook a few branches from her arms, and the roots unwound from her body, leaving tiny leaves all over her hands. She jumped in beside Hennessy and slammed the door.
“What in the Hether was that?” Ciaran asked.
“Just drive!” Áine yelled.
He plowed through the broken concrete and downed branches. Áine watched as Creed struggled back to his feet, but she wasn’t afraid. She smiled him, then pointed at the wreckage of his car. He wasn’t going anywhere.
Hennessy stared out the back window and laughed. Hard. And loud.
No one else laughed with her.
“Um, is something wrong with her?” Ciaran asked. “She looks like she needs—”
“I’m fine!” Hennessy snapped, spinning back around in her seat. “I just thought I was going to die there. That’s all. Oh, wait. I did die. But she brought me back.” Hennessy pointed at Áine, her eyes fiercely intense. “God, it’s good to be home. I love this place. It’s so magical. A bunch of drunks and homicidal maniacs throwing fire. That’s the Shadowlands for you. Love it. Just love it!”
Áine reached for Hennessy’s hand. “Are you okay?”
Hennessy shook her off and glared at her. “I said I’m fine!”
“Hennessy, listen, I’m sorry—”
“No, you listen. I don’t care if you’re sorry.” Her eyes shimmered, and the color of her hair seemed to be shifting from black to grey. “You had no right to bring me back. To this horrible place. Don’t you get it? I was almost free. I was this close. And then you made me come back. Tore me away. For what? What was so important?”
Áine’s mind spun. She’d thought Hennessy was angry that she almost died. But she was actually mad Áine had saved her. The thought made no sense. Why wouldn’t Hennessy want to stay? Why would she want to die?
“Don’t just stare at me! Say something!”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“Enough! Enough with the apologizing! I don’t want to hear it!”
“Give her a break,” Ciaran said over his shoulder.
“Shut up,” Hennessy said, waving Ciaran away. “I’m not talking to you. I’m asking her.” Her piercing eyes bore into Áine. “Why? Why did you bring me back?”
Áine hesitated, and then whispered, “Because I wasn’t ready to let you go.”
Hennessy stared at her for a moment, jaw clenching, but then her features softened, and a little of her anger seemed to slip away. “I...you...okay.” She seemed to be searching for the right word. “Jesus. Just next time think about what I would want. Stop being so flipping selfish.”
Áine didn’t think she was being selfish—she had just saved Hennessy’s life—but she kept her mouth shut and nodded her head carefully. Clearly, there was something she was missing.
Ciaran cleared his throat. “So, who’s she?”
“I’m right here,” Hennessy replied. “Talk to me. I’m not crazy.”
“Understood. Who are you?”
“Hennessy.”
“Thanks. That really clears things up.”
“Ciaran, this is Hennessy. She’s my friend. She’s a Shadow—a human.”
“Charmed,” Ciaran said.
“Likewise,” Hennessy replied.
“Oh stop it. Ciaran, what are you doing here? I mean, thank you. That was amazing. Perfect. You were right there when we needed you. But what are you doing?”
Ciaran laughed nervously and kept his eyes on the road. “Aunt Eri was really mad...”
“What? That’s why you’re here? I told you not to come—”
“And I didn’t listen,” Ciaran said. “I was worried about you—”
“I wish you would just trust me—”
“All right already,” Hennessy said. “He’s here. So what do we do now?”
Áine had never heard that tone in Hennessy’s voice. Was it anger? Irritation? Jealousy? Áine wished she could just slow things down—just talk to Hennessy. But she couldn’t. Not in front of Ciaran. It would be too awkward. She would have to wait.
“Nothing’s changed,” Áine said. “We still need to get to Dublin. I guess now we just have a little more help.”
“You’re welcome,” Ciaran said.
“Shut up,” Áine replied, but she couldn’t stop the smile from slipping onto her face.
Ciaran smiled back at her. “Why are we going to Dublin?” he asked.
“I have a sister. And she’s alive.”
Thirteen
“A sister?”
“Yes! Her name is Keva. Ciaran—there’s so much that Aunt Eri didn’t tell us. You saw what Creed was doing with that fire.” Ciaran’s eyes narrowed and Áine went on. “He’s a fire fairy. All this time, I thought the Guardians were terrible monsters—”
“He is a monster,” Hennessy whispered, then turned and stared out the window.
Áine reached out to pat her leg, but Hennessy shifted away. The small move made Áine ache a little inside.
“Áine? What about Creed?” She started and glanced up at Ciaran, who was anxiously staring back at her.
“He won’t give up. It’s not about the Crossing. My father—” Áine felt tears welling up, and she covered her face with her hands.
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
Wiping her face, she saw Ciaran’s look in the mirror and immediately wanted to hide in his arms, pretend like none of it had ever happened. She wanted to go back down to Caerning and dunk her head under the water and swim in silence for a while, as far away from the Shadowlands as she could get.
But she couldn’t. Hennessy, sitting next to her, as far away as she could, so alert yet so alone, made that clear. Áine had to finish this. And not just because of Hennessy—because of her sister too.
“He’s still alive. My father. I mean, he was alive. He was looking for me, searching. Trying to find me. He found a crossing—he was so close! But he killed Kern—remember that Guard? The fire fairy? He’s Creed’s brother. He was Creed’s brother. Now he’s dead. My father killed him when he was trying to cross over. That’s why Creed has been trying to kill me—”
“Sokanaté,” Ciaran said. “A blood debt from a fire fairy. Oberon, he’s never gonna let that go. They fight wars over that stuff.”
“I know. Ever since Kern died, Creed’s been trying to make my father pay.” The rest of Áine’s words rushed out of her. “We were at my father’s house, and we were surrounded, and my father...he gave himself up for me.”
“I’m so sorry, Áine,” Ciaran said. His eyes glanced toward hers in the mirror. “I never thought he would still be alive. I just don’t get how it’s even possible.”
“I know. He was just barely alive when I saw him. He’s been holding on, tied to life by the remnants of Shadowmagic.”
“Shadowmagic?” Ciaran asked, shifting his eyes back toward the road. “I thought there was nothing left.”
“I thought so too. At least, that’s what Aunt Eri always said. But she lied to us. So many lies. All those stories about the Balor Wars, they always ended with the humans losing their skills, wasting away their spells because of greed and hunger for power.” Áine reached into her pocket and pulled out her father’s leather-bound journal. “But, it’s not gone.” She passed the journal up to Ciaran. “This was my father’s. It’s the sto
ry of what happened to him. Ciaran, it’s full of Shadowmagic. Spells, enchantments, runes...I have no idea how he found all this stuff.”
Ciaran glanced over at the book and then gestured toward Hennessy. “Maybe she can use some of it. She’s a Shadow.”
Hennessy didn’t even look at him, but Áine did. “Are you crazy?” she asked. “You know what the Shadowmagic does. You’ve heard the stories. The shadows. The darkness.”
“I know, but—”
“And that’s not all,” Áine said. “It stretches you thin, brings your mind closer to the Hetherlands while your body remains behind. Wasting away. Every day you’re closer to darkness.” Áine remembered how the shadows had slithered around her father’s feet—how they had slipped in and out of his mouth. “You should have seen what it did to my father. Lengthening his life in the cruelest ways possible. Who knows what it would do to her.”
“Niamh,” Hennessy said. Ciaran’s eyes shot toward Hennessy, and Áine turned toward her.
“What did you say?” Áine asked.
“Niamh. Creed said Niamh. Why do I know that name? Who’s Niamh?”
“She’s Oberon’s sister,” Áine answered. “We talked about her. The Queene of the Fairerlands.”
“Why did he say her name?” Hennessy asked.
“I don’t know.”
“If you can’t answer me that, how about this: why is fairyboy still driving? Is that even legal?”
Áine laughed at the little outburst, then smiled. Hennessy was coming back. “Good question. But I’ve got an even better one. Ciaran, how are you driving in the first place?”
“My brother,” Ciaran said. “Before he disappeared, Kian spent most of his time working on his car.”
“His car?” Áine asked. “In the Aetherlands?” Ciaran nodded. “You never told me that! How did he get it there?”
“He built it. From scratch. Apparently he saw one when he snuck over here. Nothing like this one, though. Oberon, it was a good day if he could get that thing moving faster than I could run.”
“Unbelievable. Where’s the car now?”
His smile faded, and he looked away. “I don’t know what happened to his car.”
“I can’t believe you never told me that.”
“I didn’t want to talk about Kian when I got to Aunt Eri’s. I didn’t want to think about the past, or any of the good stuff that had happened with him. It was all mixed in with the bad. I just wanted to start over.”
Ciaran was always laughing and joking or smiling, but there was so much he didn’t want to talk about, so much he never said. He never talked about Kian. Or his parents. He didn’t want to remember everything he’d lost. His parents. His brother. His whole life.
Ciaran looked at Áine in the mirror, holding her gaze. “You know, you’re the only one who got me through that time. The only one who made me feel—”
“Car!” Hennessy yelled. “Road!”
“Four veils,” Ciaran said, swerving back onto his side of the road.
The silence was heavy as they drove through the darkening forest, until Hennessy broke it again, “Can I drive?”
Ciaran opened his mouth to protest, but then closed it and nodded. “Probably a good idea. But only if you tell me a little more about yourself first. Áine doesn’t always make the best choices in friends.”
“I can tell,” Hennessy said, with eyebrows raised.
Ciaran parked along the side of the road and switched places with Hennessy. When he got into the back seat, he immediately pulled Áine into a hug. She sank into him, pressing her face into his shirt. After a long moment, she let go and settled down next to him, her head on his shoulder.
Exhaustion moved in. Her eyes fluttered, but she caught a strange look on Hennessy’s face in the rearview mirror, and fought to keep her eyes open. Hennessy looked sad. Lost. The look disappeared as she started the car again.
“You guys should get some sleep,” Hennessy said, steering back onto the highway. “It’s gonna be a long night.”
“Nice try,” Ciaran said. “I have some questions for you.”
Áine didn’t know if Ciaran was charming Hennessy, but she did seem to relax a little bit.
“Bring it on.”
“Okay, first of all, are those really your eyes, or did you paint them?”
Hennessy laughed. “It’s eyeliner. Face paint. You should try some. You’d look good. Very David Bowie.”
“I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me.”
“And I wouldn’t tell you if I was.”
They went back and forth for a while. Áine tried to follow along, but they were talking so fast, and she was so tired. She kept slipping in and out of sleep, until she finally dove into the darkness.
* * *
A white room with soft white walls. Hands tied to a bed. Wrists red and aching from twisting and tearing. Throat throbbing and dry. The large white walls hemmed her in on three sides, and a door peeked out of the far wall. One lone window cast a dim light through silver netting, revealing her bare feet at the foot of the bed.
Her feet. Her feet were untied. She felt a sudden clarity, a desperate urgency to get out before he came back. Him. The one who made the darkness. The one who drew the shadows over her eyes. She didn’t have much time. She focused her mind and pushed her left leg underneath her. With a brutal force, she pushed up off her foot and yanked her left hand as hard as she could, clenching her teeth as waves of pain radiated from her shoulder. Her muscles stretched and strained, but with a sudden crack and a bright white light, the fabric tore away.
She fell onto her side and almost off the bed, but she grabbed a hold of the mattress tightly and shifted back onto her side, then glanced at the door. No one yet. She flipped onto her right side and loosened the buckles on her wrist until she pulled her hand free.
Free!
A smile lit up her face as she stumbled to her feet. Yet, when she raised her eyes to the door, she saw him standing there, assessing her with those cold red eyes.
“Bravo, Keva. It’s good to know you still have some fight left in you. And even a little of the Eta.”
She backed into the bed, felt the frame dig into her legs. “Why are you doing this, Creed?”
“We’ve gone through this a million times, Keva. The Queene senses your power and knows who you are. By keeping you here, she feeds off your power and grows stronger every day.” He took a step toward her, and she steadied herself. “But really, I don’t think you should focus all your anger on her. Your father was the one who brought you here.” Creed gestured around the room, and then flung up his hands in disgust. “Such a worthless Shadow. Can’t recognize a spell to save his own life. And it’s cost him so much. His wife, his daughter—”
Creed reached out his hand and caressed the side of her face. With a sudden move, she raised her arm to strike him in the head, but he saw her coming and stepped back. Her fist hit his shoulder, and she stumbled toward the door. Without a second thought, she ran toward the exit. But Creed grabbed a hold of her shirt and yanked her back toward him, throwing her to the ground. She covered her head as she fell and braced herself for the next hit.
Nothing came. She moved her hands away from her face and looked up.
He stood over her, a frustrated look on his face. “It doesn’t have to be this way, you know.” She pulled back and tried to kick him. He pushed her foot away and fell on top of her, trapping her legs with his thighs. She hit him square in the face, but he grabbed her wrists and forced them to the ground. Pain shot up and down her left arm. “It’s your choice,” he said as she struggled beneath him. “You can choose the spell. The madness. Choose to be tied to the bed in a padded room, hiding your face from the world, escaping into spiraling darkness. Or you can choose to join me. To serve the Queene by my side.”
She spat in his face. “I would rather die!”
He raised his fist to strike her, but taking one deep breath, he slowly lowered it to his side. “I hope one day you w
ill see things differently,” he said, his eyes filled with a desperate longing. “Would such a fate be so bad?”
She did not answer him; she couldn’t. She was worn out. Hollow. Drained.
Unable to form the words to reject or defy him, she simply turned her head to the side and cursed herself as tears of frustration fell down her face and onto the tile floor.
“I will give you time,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “That I can give you. But you should know that death will not be yours. Keva, look at me.” He pulled her chin back toward him, his touch surprisingly gentle beneath his calloused fingers. “As long as you are under her spell, the Queene retains your power. If you die, it disappears, and she will be weakened, which she will not accept. She is gathering her strength, preparing for—”
He stopped abruptly, and then laughed quietly. “I say too much. My words always get away from me when I’m with you. The Queene calls it my greatest weakness. But she’ll never understand. For her, everything is a question of power. That’s even how she was with Oberon. Guiding his steps, biding her time—” he stopped abruptly. “Maybe she’s right. I talk too much.”
He sighed, then looked at her with pleading eyes. “But still, I have to ask you, one more time...will you not take my offer?”
She said nothing in response. Nothing would work. She’d tried before. Over the last twenty years, she’d tried kindness, anger, pleading—and nothing had changed. He only wanted one thing. And she wouldn’t give it to him.
He continued to look at her, his penetrating stare searching for some sign of assent. She turned her head away from him again and he stiffened above her. “Very well,” he said without a hint of tenderness. “Let the madness settle in. I’ll come back to you again in one year, and offer you another chance. Actually, I’ll be back next week, and every week until then, but you won’t know I’m here.”
He stood up, pulling her with him. He forced her onto the bed and with a few whispered words, he reformed the ties and sealed her arms back to the bed. The fabric glowed for several moments before fading back to white. He kissed her on the forehead and mumbled low words that sounded like they were rising from the ground beneath her. The words coursed through her body. She could feel them biting at her fingertips and sinking into her skin. The last image she saw was his face, full of anger, frustration, and something softer she couldn’t identify.