by Kate Ristau
Hennessy pinched her lips together. Áine continued anyway, “I’m sure this place is guarded. If we’re going to take the chance and walk in the front door, we might as well all go in together. We’ll at least be able to back each other up.”
Ciaran locked eyes with Áine. “And we’ve been through some crazy stuff before. Remember Tralee—”
“And the kelpies? Oberon, they were so mad.”
“Oh, I get it,” Hennessy interrupted. “You two”—she pointed back and forth between them—”don’t want to be separated. You can’t stand being apart from each other—even for a couple of minutes.”
“Lighten up, girl—” Ciaran said.
“Don’t you call me girl—”
“Or what?” Ciaran asked. “You’ll have another drink?”
“No, I’ll kick your ass.”
“Both of you,” Áine snapped. “This is the last time. Shut up. We all go in together. That’s the plan. We can adjust it once we get in there.”
Hennessy laughed. “If you make it up as you go, it’s not really a plan.”
Áine glared at her, and she stopped laughing. Áine grabbed Ciaran’s arm, pulling him forward. “Fine!” she yelled. Turning around, she shouted back over her shoulder, “No plan!”
She walked toward the entrance, listening for the sound of Hennessy’s steps behind her. She stopped when she realized Hennessy wasn’t coming, and turned around to face her. The look in her eyes was unyielding. Áine dropped Ciaran’s arm and marched back toward Hennessy. “Let’s go,” she said, yanking on her arm, but her feet were firmly planted, and she held her stare.
“No,” she said. “I may be drunk, but I am not stupid. If we march in there without a plan, we’ll die.” Hennessy’s voice quieted, “They’re waiting for us. He’s probably waiting for us.”
“Okay,” Áine said, dropping Hennessy’s arm. “Here’s the plan. I go in first. You second.” She turned around and yelled at Ciaran, “You’re last. Hennessy, you tell me if anything seems weird, or out of place. Ciaran, focus on the Eta. See what you can control in there. We’re out of our element once we get inside. We need to be on our toes.”
Hennessy nodded, and wiped her hands on her pants. “Okay, that sounds like a plan. Very James Bond. Only less guns. I like it. Let’s go.”
They all began the long walk up to the front door. Suddenly, Ciaran stopped.
“Four veils!” Áine said. “Can we just get inside?”
“Something’s not right here. Everything feels a bit off.”
“I think we’ve established that,” Áine said.
“No...it’s not...I think it’s you,” he said carefully. “You’re all over the place. I can’t even focus on the Eta. Áine, you can’t go in there like that. All frazzled and frantic. You’ll just end up doing something stupid. You need to calm down and focus.”
“Calm down?” Áine yelled. “What the Hether is wrong with you two? My sister is in there. Under some crazy spell. And who knows what’s happening to her! This is what we’ve been waiting for. Why we’re here in the first place. What my father died for! And you want me to calm down?”
Ciaran put his hands on her shoulders, but she shook him off. He put his hands on her shoulders again, and she stiffened. “Listen to me,” he said. She shrugged him off, and he continued. “Don’t waste what he did—what he tried to do—and everything we’ve done, just to spite me. Take a deep breath, Áine. Think about what you’re doing. If you really want to call the Eta, your mind has to be in the right place.”
She glared at him. He stared back at her and said, “Remember what happened with Ratrael.”
“And that’s my cue to leave,” Hennessy said. “I forgot my phone in the car.”
Áine clenched her hands and felt her fingernails bite into her skin. “Of course you would bring that up now. You can’t let that go, can you?”
“And you can’t either. But that’s not my point. You were out of control. I was out of control. And he paid the price. You have to realize that. I’m not saying you wanted to harm him, but when you’re like that...people get hurt.”
“Maybe I want people to get hurt.” The heat rose up her face. Anger. Embarrassment. Mixed with frustration.
She flexed her fingers, then tried to shake them out. They wouldn’t relax. She could barely focus on his face in front of hers. Her eyes were darting everywhere.
He was right. She was out of control.
Áine tried to push it all away; she closed her eyes and put her hands to her temples, focusing on the rise and fall of her chest.
“Remember last Midsummer?” Ciaran said. “When we convinced Aunt Eri to show us how to call the Eta in the spoons?”
Áine nodded her head, remembering how cold the night was, how she felt like she could never get warm enough.
“Eri said the Eta was weak in the spoons. Because the silversmiths had messed with them too much. Manipulated them. They’d lost their true selves; they’d melded with the spoons. The Eta couldn’t remember the voice of the fey. We had to speak louder to them. Clearer.”
“They listened to you,” Áine said. “They came when you called. They never listened to me.”
“Because you couldn’t focus. Áine, you have to be right here.” He tapped her arm and her eyes shot open. “Right now. Not somewhere else. This is what you’re doing. It’s not about Hennessy. And it’s not about me. It’s about what’s right in front of you. Don’t focus on how the Eta never listened before. Focus on what’s happening right now.”
Áine looked up at the tall stone building, and the haze in her mind slowly cleared. Anticipation surged through her muscles and out to the tips of her fingers. Her sister was in there. Would Keva even recognize her? They were so young; it had been so long. Did Keva dream of her too? Áine carefully focused on the stones of the building. The Eta were weak, but she could feel them. They were there. Like little stars. She could call them if she wanted to—but would they listen? She forced the thought from her mind. They had to.
“I’m sorry,” Ciaran said, bringing her back as he grabbed her hand. “I didn’t mean to bring that up...to treat you like that. I just want you to be ready.”
She squeezed his hand, then she let it fall. “I know. I am. Let’s go.”
This time as she turned around, she heard footsteps behind her. Hennessy caught back up with them. “We good?” she asked.
“Yes,” Ciaran and Áine replied simultaneously. Áine smiled and continued, “Yes, we are. Let’s do this. No more discussion. Ciaran, after we get inside, I want you to hang back at the entrance, and Hennessy and I will try to go in and see her. Then you’ll be by the door if you need to get us out of there or if we need your help. Plus you can watch for anything weird.” Ciaran nodded slightly. He looked disappointed, but Áine ignored it. “Hennessy should be able to help me talk with them. Or, if we need to, we can force our way in.”
“No matter who they have in there, this is still a hospital in Ireland,” Hennessy said. “We’re not in the Aetherlands. The humans in there will have their rules too.”
“Well, let’s hope they don’t break them,” Ciaran mumbled. He suddenly straightened up. “I take that back. I hope they do break them. Why aren’t we just charging in there? Tearing the place down? Pulling your sister out? Screw the Shadows.”
Hennessy glared at him, and he laughed.
“Slow down,” Áine replied. “We don’t know who’s in there or what to expect. There could be a bunch of innocent humans or a whole army of fire fairies inside that building. And, Oberon, I’m sick of talking about it. Open the doors.”
“As you wish, your highness,” Ciaran replied.
Áine smacked him on the top of the head. “Come on,” she said.
Ciaran pulled open one of the large metal doors, and Áine stepped across the threshold.
Seventeen
The double doors opened up to reveal a large front room, several stories tall. To the left and right were two seating areas w
ith chairs and couches. Ciaran veered away from them and took a seat, while Áine and Hennessy approached the two women who were almost hidden behind the large wooden desk at the far end of the room.
Áine braced herself, walking toward the desk cautiously, but the women didn’t even raise their heads.
“Visiting hours are over,” one said.
“Come back in three hours,” the other said.
“Or take a seat in the waiting area,” the first one said.
“It’s gonna be a while,” the other added.
“Excuse me,” Áine said. “I would like to see Keva Claiborne.”
The woman kept filling out her paperwork. “Seven a.m. No exceptions.” She continued to make her notes.
To Áine’s surprise, Hennessy snatched the pen from the woman’s hand and began to fill in her name on the visitor’s sheet. The woman raised her eyes slowly.
“I believe that each patient is allowed one late night family visit per month,” Hennessy said. “No matter what the time or the patient’s...mental capacity.”
The woman snatched the pen and clipboard from Hennessy and put one single dark line through Hennessy’s name. She looked up with a forced smile. “If you are familiar with the regulation, then I am sure you also know that this particular exception only applies to legal guardians and family members,” she said sharply. “Which, I assume, you are not, young lady.”
“Fair enough,” Hennessy said. “Áine?”
The woman assessed Áine with a look of calculated disdain. Áine smiled back faintly. Gathering her courage, she nodded her head. “I am,” she said. “Family, I mean. My name is Áine Claiborne. Keva is my family.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed slightly, and she said, “I’ll need to see some ID please.”
The other woman stared at Áine, her eyes softening. “Oh hush, Gráinne. Just look at the girl. She’s the spitting image of Keva. She looks exactly like Keva did the day I started working here. And you read what he wrote about her.”
Gráinne stared at her for a moment, forehead wrinkling, then relented. “I see it. You’re right, Moira. I just didn’t think she would come. It’s been a long time. You’re here to see Keva then?”
When Áine nodded, Moira sighed. “It’s been too long since her father visited. She has been calling for him for quite a long time. How are you related?”
“She’s my sister,” Áine said.
Gráinne’s eyes darkened. “Impossible. You cannot be her. She was lost more than fifty years ago. Keva has mourned her every day since.”
Áine balked at her own stupidity. How could she forget? Time moves so slowly in the Shadowlands. “I...I guess I always thought of her as my sister. My mother spoke of her so often but I’ve never actually seen or talked to her. You have to understand. I need to see her. Keva is my aunt.”
Gráinne looked about to disagree, but Moira stepped in. “Your years deceive you child. You don’t look a day over seventeen. But I have to believe it. You look exactly like she did the first time I met her...the auburn hair, those startling eyes...though your eyes are much clearer.”
Moira reached beneath the desk and pulled out several small cards on a chain. “Come along,” she said, turning to leave. Áine and Hennessy followed her to the door.
“No,” Gráinne said. Áine flinched and shot a glance at Ciaran as they turned around slowly. He jumped up as Gráinne pointed at Hennessy. “Leave that one behind.”
“Why?” Hennessy said. “You want some late night company?”
Gráinne’s lip curled, and she pointed at the seating area. “Sit. Stay.”
“Bark, bark,” Hennessy said, then walked over to Ciaran.
“We only have twenty minutes before we need to do our other rounds,” Moira said.
“See you soon!” Hennessy yelled across the room.
“We’ll be right here waiting,” Ciaran said, nudging Hennessy toward the couch.
Gráinne’s face twitched as she shot a look at Moira, who nodded her head slightly.
As Moira led her to the door, Hennessy yelled, “Wait! One more thing!” Áine smiled apologetically and turned around and walked back to Hennessy. Gráinne sighed loudly. Smirking, Hennessy pulled Áine away from the nurses and whispered, “I don’t have anything important to say. I just hate it when people like her are in control. She’s obviously not a fairy—just a stupid human. But be careful, okay?”
Áine sighed and turned back around, smiling at Moira, and ignoring Gráinne’s glare.
“Sorry about that,” Áine said. Walking quickly toward Moira, she gestured outside. “Quite a strange night out there, isn’t it?”
“Yes, clouds were coming in from the South. The rain never comes in from that way. No complaints here, though. Lord knows we need it.”
“I know,” Áine replied, mind racing. “My roses are looking so droopy lately, but I don’t really have the time to get out there and water them every day, you know?”
“Oh, yes. I’ve been out with my hose whenever I get the chance. It isn’t supposed to be like that here at all. No rain for weeks. This is Ireland, for heaven’s sake! I’m happy we had a wee bit tonight. It hasn’t ever been this dry. At least, not for as long as I can remember. This year has been something else.”
Áine nodded her head, taking in everything. She couldn’t get a read on Moira and nothing looked familiar. She didn’t recognize anything from her dreams. Maybe they were in the wrong place? They approached the door in the corner of the lobby, and Moira flashed the card again. The door buzzed and opened outward unexpectedly, revealing a narrow white hallway.
“That always reminds me of Alice in Wonderland,” Moira said. “It’s like going down the rabbit hole.”
Áine felt a shiver crawl down her back, and she wrapped her arms around herself.
Moira raised her eyebrows. “You cold?”
“Just a little chill. I didn’t quite dress for this weather, and I’m starting to regret it.” She forced her arms to her side and trained her mind on her surroundings. “This place is so big! How many patients do you have here?”
“We only have around twenty residents. Not near as many as we used to. These days, most people would rather keep their loved ones close by than send them to a place like this. But some don’t have any choice. Their families can’t take care of them, or the government sends them here, so we work really hard to make them feel at home. We try to keep our residents as content as possible, though their minds often refuse to cooperate.”
She remembered the dream—the flashes of fire—the fear, the anger. The pain. Moira seemed to read her mind.
“Keva, as your grandfather has probably told you, has had fiery dreams and psychotic episodes since she was just a little girl. Her grandfather...he hoped he could calm her rages, bring her back to the way she was before.”
“You knew—know him?”
“I know Oisín very well. He’s such a gentle, caring man. He held Keva close for many years, until he felt like he couldn’t care for her anymore. He’s getting so old. I think he’s held onto his life just to see her finally come out of it. But, with her, it’s either a whimper or a scream. It doesn’t matter if someone’s standing right next to her or if she’s all by herself. She’s always in her own head. She doesn’t feel any touch or hear the sound of music or understand our voices. Eighty-five years old now, and still beyond our help. The outside world simply does not exist for her.” Moira sighed as she ran her card to open another door. “Still, your grandfather had hopes that your mother could change all that. And then, recently, he wrote that maybe you could.”
“What? When?”
“His letter came yesterday. Official, notarized and such. He worried he didn’t have much time left; he had already lived so long. He passed on his guardianship to you. He left Keva in your hands.”
Áine was confused for a moment. How did he write that letter? How could he have known? When the shock wore off, she realized what must have happened. He probably wrot
e it long before he died. Told someone to send it if anything ever happened to him.
Or maybe he didn’t write it at all...maybe she was lying. Áine pasted a smile back on her face.
“Don’t worry,” Moira continued, mistaking her look for something else. “He left plenty of money to provide for everything she needs.”
“Oh, I wasn’t worried about that,” Áine admitted. “I’m just confused. I...I haven’t met my grandfather. My mother and my grandfather had a falling out when I was just a little girl.” A tiny lie, with a grain of truth. Moira knew more than what she was saying, and Áine wanted to find out what she was hiding.
“He must have known you were coming,” Moira insisted. “He’s not an impetuous man. You know, he used to come up here every Sunday, with a plate of scones for us girls. And now, even though he’s bedridden, his letters arrive like clockwork, every Monday.
“Until that last one. Came on a Thursday. And it seemed different. He didn’t seem like himself at all. I’m worried that something might have happened to him.”
“We haven’t heard anything,” Áine said, refusing to say the words—to admit that he was no longer...If she said it, that would make it more real, and she wasn’t quite ready yet. “When I find out, I’ll be sure to let you know. I’m sure he would want it that way.”
“I would like to know, if you don’t mind,” Moira said.
Áine knew there was more to Moira than Áine first noticed, and Áine realized what it was. Moira couldn’t hide how much she really cared for him. “Oisín and I became close during all of his visits and letters.” Moira wiped her nose with a small handkerchief, averting her eyes. “I wrote him each week in reply. Let him know how Keva was doing. The news was always the same, so I mostly wrote about my family, about life in Dublin, and he told me how things were going on the Islands. His last letter felt so strange...I was thinking I might just go down and check on him.”
The bright image of flames bursting through the small cottage windows streaked to the front of Áine’s mind. She changed the subject quickly, afraid Moira would make her way down to her father’s cottage and never recover from the grisly scene.