Moonlight, Monsters & Magic

by Linda G. Hill

  About the Author

  Taylor Morgan has always had a penchant for fairy tales—and not the Disney sort. Currently, she is creating tales that feature heroes who are more likely to hide in the woods than ride off into the sunset, and the heroines who claim their hearts. Taylor lives in Alabama with her husband, daughter, and dog. If missing, she's probably holed up with a new book, a blanket, and a glass of wine or a Pumpkin Spice Latte.

  Follow Taylor here:

  Facebook: tmsorenson

  Instagram: booksandbevvys

  SWAN SONG

  Everleigh Allen

  During Liah’s once-in-a-lifetime trip to Ireland, things begin to get weird. Even as she becomes more isolated, a magical world opens up to her.

  Torn between Fiachra and his mesmerizing voice, and the mysterious and handsome Eóghan, Liah finds herself seemingly trapped in a world where nothing makes sense.

  Meanwhile, someone is out to get her. But who?

  (m/f; heat level: medium)

  SWAN SONG

  “Suck it up, buttercup. So you’re alone in a foreign country—you’ve handled worse than this.” Liah stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her eyes brimmed with tears.

  Ireland was not what it was supposed to be, and she wished she could go back home. She took a deep breath and pushed back her thick brown hair, tapping the wayward curls down with a bit of water before she exited the bar’s bathroom.

  The music assaulted her senses.

  The lights were dim and intimate as the singer, Fiachra, hit a note that was higher than humanly possible. His voice was compelling, intoxicating, and it lured her and all the other women in, until the note broke into a low hum. His eyes found hers, locking her in place. She swallowed nervously but kept his stare until his voice went silent.

  She scanned the club, stopping at the bar. The bartender, Eóghan—pronounced Evan—met her eyes. “What can I do you for, lass?”

  Liah smiled, blushing at the unintentionally suggestive comment. There was something about him that captivated her.

  But like an unseen tug of war, the pull between the man on stage and the man behind the bar made her anxiety rise.

  Panic suddenly tightened her lungs as she met Eóghan’s gaze. She needed air.

  She headed out the door and wandered down the cobbled streets until streetlights came on with the setting sun. The lamps gave off a false sense of warmth as they glowed through the rising fog.

  Goosebumps chilled her.

  Impossibly lost within a lurking mist that folded around the buildings, she dodged the wispy grasps as she ran through the alleys.

  When the shadow of a man appeared within the vapor, she quickly turned on her heel and ran down a different street. He followed. His shadowed form seemed to tower and warp under the streetlamps as he called out to her in Gaelic. She didn’t understand, nor did she stop. Instead, she opted for refuge in the nearby woods. He advanced, searching for her through the thick haze.

  The watchful trees stood around her, defiant and unmoving. She held her breath as he moved closer.

  “I can hear your heart. It’s frantic,” he hissed in a thick Irish brogue. His mouth curved into a wicked grin that she could only see in shadow. “Come to me, now.”

  His voice made her want to, but Liah didn’t move.

  Luckily, someone called out. He turned and left.

  Liah rose from her spot, watchful. The fog began to lift, allowing the setting sun’s rays to move through the tall trees and branches. Her chest burned from her thrashing heartbeat and from holding her breath for so long.

  A sharp caw from the tree directly above startled her. A crow sat on a branch just overhead, eyeing her. It cocked its head to watch a large swan that circled the darkened streets. Normally she’d be curious about the birds, but she was worried about a reappearance of the man.

  Taking in her surroundings, she came upon several strangely twisted branches. Saplings of Aspen trees were woven together in intricate braids, coming together to form an arch. It looked like a doorway—a doorway with hundreds of knotty, watchful Aspen eyes that observed her as the crow did from above. How she hadn’t seen the arch before was beyond comprehension. The space felt intimate and safe, until a swift upwind caused her to pause. Frigid air pushed at her back. Liah closed her eyes and took a large, awkward leap straight through the arched branches, landing with a thump on the forest floor.

  Nothing happened.

  She tried three more steps forward, and then back through the arch, but again, nothing happened.

  Liah shrugged, berating herself for believing that something magical could’ve occurred.

  A woman’s laughter echoed through the woods and Liah followed, looking in all directions for the source.

  “Who’s there?”

  Silence.

  The crow cawed loudly. Liah stopped and turned in its direction. The forest grew darker and darker with each step away from the setting sun. She touched each tree as if it were a friend in a crowd of strangers. She couldn’t help it—the simple task kept the anxiety from being hopelessly lost at bay.

  The breeze swept between the trees, creating voices from all directions, making her want to chase them. She ran back and forth, but they seemed just out of grasp. Eventually, she gave in to exhaustion and sat on the forest floor, wishing for her mother.

  She remembered quiet nights in front of the fireplace as her mother hummed. Sometimes, Liah would sing the words to the songs, which made her mother smile in gratitude.

  Liah missed those moments.

  She hadn’t known they would be so few.

  The crow cawed, staring at Liah.

  She rose and followed the crow until finally, she saw the glow of the streets. Standing under a sign she recognized, she looked around to find the crow, perched on a streetlamp. “Thanks, crow, for helping me out,” she whispered, fascinated that it had followed her. She pulled a coin out of her pocket and flicked it into the air, watching it catch the glimmers of the streetlamp before the crow caught it and flew away.

  Rustic buildings lined the cobblestone streets, lit with the warm glow of old-fashioned oil streetlamps. The scene looked as if it was taken from an old painting; she could see its soft, calmer appeal.

  She turned down an alleyway. A door flew open, knocking Liah to the ground.

  No one noticed the man dragging her body by her feet into the building.

  ~~ * * * ~~

  Shrill laughter filled the forest.

  Curious, Liah rose from her spot under the large leaded window and left her family’s cottage, situated at the end of a grove of trees. She walked without care, not glancing at the door she had left open. She didn’t notice the crumpled sage she brushed by; she ignored the warning caws of the crows overhead. She walked straight to the part of the forest that was off-limits, toward the laughter.

  Liah stilled in the darker part of the woods, filled with healthy evergreens and oak trees, and dappled with colonies of Aspen. Daylight struggled to filter through the thick branches. She heard the faint call of her mother from her home, but the mystery of the laughter drew her in, thwarting all sense of self-preservation.

  “Where have the fates led me to?” she whispered aloud, but there was no answer. She stood at the visible yet invisible line of sunlight versus shadow that held her there. She licked her finger and stuck it in the air; no discernible breeze on the sunlit side.

  A peal of laughter turned into a sharp, shrill voice, singing, mesmerizing Liah, causing her to move absentmindedly into the gale of deceptive shadows, into the East Wind.

  The keen song was elusive. Liah laughed as she moved through the trees, trying to catch a glimpse, exhilarated. Exploring the forbidden made it all the more delicious.

  She felt free. The thick, rich air filled her senses as she breathed it in. The ground was dense with moss and blanketing ferns that promised a restful slumber, while old, curvaceously thick silhouettes of trees watched everything. The trees seemed to re
ach for Liah with their long, knotty limbs. Their windy whispers bewitched her, their swaying leaves hypnotic in their dance.

  Liah smiled, removing her shoes to feel the soil beneath her feet, vaguely hearing her mother, Astra, calling out to her again from the distance.

  “Can you open your eyes?” a voice asked in the distance, but Liah couldn’t place it. It didn’t fit.

  “Dance with me, Liah, as we sing!”

  “You’re not really here.” A tear fell from closed eyes.

  “Come with me now.” The warmth of her mother’s hand caressed her cheek, wiping her tears.

  “Liah, open your eyes. Wake up.”

  “Oh, sing me a song of the water,” her mother’s whispered voice sang in her ear, distracting her.

  Large, foreboding evergreen trees hid a small pond that glowed from the setting sun, where Astra and Liah walked hand in hand. The sun’s rays cast sunlight over her mother’s form, silhouetting her. Liah could barely make out her face, even though there was an impression of her grin.

  “Go right in.” Astra grabbed Liah by the hand. She felt a jerk and then she spun in circles, getting closer and closer to the water’s edge.

  “Oh, sing me a song of the water,” her mother sang brightly, cryptically.

  “Of the swans as they dance and serenade,

  Like the Siren’s enchantment of the sea,

  Into the water you then wade,

  For on the surface all seems carefree!

  Oh, sing me a song of the water—

  The marauder, stoic, lies in wait,

  All these sensations alter thy concerns,

  Before they come closer to seal your fate,

  For underneath their frenzy churns,

  Waking the spirits from their slumber,

  Oh, sing me a song of the water—

  Dear child, before you become the lumber.”

  Liah woke, shocked to find herself in an unknown room. Her heart raced as she realized her mother was gone. It was all a dream. She was alone.

  She turned her head toward the window and saw that bright daylight had overcome the city streets. “Where am I? How long have I been here?” she croaked. There was no one to answer.

  The musky smell of old, dusty linens permeated her senses. She tried to sit up, regretting it instantly as pain shot through her body, ending at the tender spot on her head. She tentatively touched her head and found a bandage there, wet with blood. Her other hand went to her chest. She was clothed in an ugly nightdress that could’ve been worn by someone’s grandmother, instead of her cute little halter top and jeans. Luckily, it was soft.

  The unfamiliar room’s caustic spirit was off-putting. It didn’t look like it had had many guests. A large fireplace held a small fire, just enough to warm the room. She slowly stood and shuffled over to it, raising her hands to be blessed with warmth.

  “I thought I heard shuffling.” A small woman stood at the door. “You’re not very quiet, and I thought you would be, considering your circumstance.”

  “What?”

  The strange woman didn’t have a strong Irish accent, nor did she look like a typical innkeeper with her inky black dress and matching long, straight hair that framed her ivory face.

  “I don’t repeat things, even to those who may not have all their senses in order.” The woman grinned with glossy red lips.

  “Who are you? Where am I?”

  “I’m Brenna, and you’re still in Ireland, obviously.” The woman laughed, her abnormally bright blue eyes shining in amusement. She moved through the room to add a few pieces of wood to the fire. A waist-long necklace, weighed down with a large, flashy labradorite stone, swung around Brenna’s neck as she stood, facing Liah.

  “I don’t know where you stayed before, but you’re in our home now, so don’t fret. You’ve been asleep for quite a bit. All last night and most of the day. Come down when you are right and ready.” Brenna moved out of the room.

  Liah changed back into her own clothes, which took longer than usual since her wound was so tender. She found another sore spot on the back of her head—probably where she hit the street when she fell. She was pleased to see that her clothes were freshly cleaned, without any visible blood stains.

  Carefully, she walked down a flight of old, creaky stairs and stopped at the open door of a charming parlor. She peered inside. Across the room from the entryway, a large framed stained-glass window depicting a woman holding a small babe on her lap caught her attention. At the woman’s feet, another small child played with a flower while two cygnets searched the grasses for bugs. The gentle, protective mother’s smile didn’t reach her eyes: they were locked on the sky, at a large swan flying over the dark, foreboding woods behind them.

  “It’s been in my family for generations—as long as anyone can remember.” Brenna said quietly, from behind Liah, making her jump. “We always ask our guests how it makes them feel.”

  “Oh, why?”

  Brenna shrugged. “Well, some love it, some dislike it, some are indifferent, and some have a visceral reaction. They hate it with unbridled passion! They’re my favorite.” She laughed lightly. “So?”

  “I like it fine,” Liah said warily. “It’s Leda and the Swan, right?”

  “Sure.” Brenna nodded. She hooked her arm with Liah’s, helping her down more stairs.

  “Are you staying in Ireland long? Have you seen the sights? Kissed the Blarney Stone?”

  Liah smiled softly. “I don’t know. Not many. Not yet.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Don’t?”

  “Don’t kiss the stone. It’s said that the special luck comes from some of the town folks’ sacred waters.”

  Liah stopped and gaped at Brenna, wondering if she meant they peed on it.

  “I can’t say it’s true, of course.” She winked and nodded.

  Brenna led her to a small landing with a swinging door. “Anyway, just through that door with you; something warm and delicious is waiting, be sure of it.”

  Liah stalled. She was a bit apprehensive, since she still wore bandages. The noise of strangers and music added to her growing anxiety. It sounded like a bar. The door swung open, giving her a glimpse inside. Liah could see that it was, in fact, the same bar she’d been in last night. Taking a deep breath full of musky aged ale and whiskey, she moved inside. People mingled and laughed, but Liah stilled when she saw a man standing on the shadowy stage with a guitar and a microphone. She couldn’t tell who he was until he breathed his life into his lyrics. The melody moved through the room, and everyone quieted and focused on him.

  It was the man from before. She knew instantly.

  Fiachra.

  Liah didn’t understand his Gaelic lyrics but she felt them, especially when his face moved forward from the shadows and his eyes locked with hers.

  Her breath hitched, suspended in time with him. Time passed without measurement until, his dark eyes shut, and he melded back into the darkness, only his cryptic voice lingering behind.

  With the spell broken, Liah turned toward the bartender, Eóghan, who gave his wicked grin to everyone freely. He was muscular, with dark hair cropped short and questioning dark green eyes. His tattoos peeked out from under his black short-sleeved shirt. Visible around his neck as well, they seemed to litter his body in inky black and blue designs. Liah longed to see them in their entirety. She wondered what stories they could tell.

  His gaze held hers. It was like time stopped.

  He poured her a drink without a word, eyeing her form, giving nothing away. His toughened hand, knuckles scarred, pushed the glass to her.

  “Thanks.” She took a sip, trying not to cough but failing miserably as the warm, honeyed liquid burned down her dry throat. She turned away in embarrassment, choosing to look at the stained walls with dark wood trim instead of him.

  He moved from behind the bar and stopped next to her, his body lined up impossibly close to hers. “Not from here?” he asked in a thick brogue. The hair on the back of
her neck stood up as a sense of excitement ran through her body.

  “No.” Liah flushed. He rubbed the polished bar with a soft cloth, curling his arm around her. The push-pull friction of the gesture wasn’t lost on her.

  Liah took a step to the side but he followed her movement, caging her in. “No concept of personal space?”

  “None.” He grinned.

  Music resumed in the background and she turned her attention to Fiachra’s voice, mesmerized. What was wrong with her? Why did this man have such an effect on her? Every word, no matter how minimal, left her wanting to rush the stage. But she resisted.

  Eóghan stepped away from Liah and sneered at Fiachra, who grinned slightly as he sang.

  “Your table, lass,” he said abruptly, causing Liah’s breath to hitch, flustered at his sudden displeasure.

  She followed him and sat down. From her table she could barely see Fiachra, but she could see Eóghan’s penetrating eyes from behind his bar. Eóghan moved like a wild cat balancing on a high branch. A few women moved in front of him, trying to get his attention. Liah looked away. She sat back in her booth and looked over the menu, even though she couldn’t really read any of it. But staring at it gave her something to do, and it acted as shield from Eóghan’s and Fiachra’s unerring gazes.

  Several minutes later, a plate dropped onto the table and the menu was yanked from her hands. She watched Eóghan, showing off his muscular ass in form-fitting jeans, walk back to his spot at the bar. She wasn’t the only woman who appreciated the view. Mine, Liah thought.

  Whoa. Where did that come from?

  She sighed, directing her attention to her food: a simple breast of roasted chicken, root vegetables, and a side of bread rolls with homemade butter. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she took a bite of the warm bread and butter. All else was forgotten.

  By the time Liah looked up from her plate, the bar was quiet and only a couple of patrons remained, sipping on their wine and ale. She’d been so intent on her dinner that Liah didn’t notice when Fiachra’s music stopped,