“Explain,” I said as the door swung shut behind us. “And quickly. Patrick’s waiting for me.”
“What exactly has he told you?”
“More than you have. And he hasn’t lied either.”
“Don’t be so sure of that.”
“Oh really? You knew the whole time, didn’t you, what I am?”
“I suspected it,” he said uncomfortably. “But I didn’t know for sure until the night I took you to Finn.”
The night he’d used the lovespot on me. Or no . . . he must have used it before then. All those dreams I had of touching him, mesmerized by his laughter.
I said, “You’ve done nothing but lie to me and trick me. You’ve never once told me the truth about anything.”
“Because I wasn’t sure. There was no point in telling you anything until I was. I meant to protect you.”
“From what?” I asked. “From who? Finn? Yourself? Diarmid Ua Duibhne. That’s who you really are. The Diarmid who ran off with Grainne and saved Finn and the others from the House of Death. The Diarmid who slew six hundred men in the battle with Lochlann’s son.”
“How do you know all that?” he asked, looking startled.
“Is it all true?”
“Well, I probably didn’t kill six hundred that day. Though I suppose if you counted over a few months . . .”
His humor only enraged me further. “I’ve believed enough of your lies. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done to me, I won’t believe you again.” I tried to push past him to the door.
He grabbed my arm, in the same moment pulling me closer, until we were toe-to-toe, only inches between us, his fingers searing through my sleeve. “What I’ve done to you? I’ve kept you safe. And I’ll keep on doing it, Grace. Did Devlin tell you he’s called the Fomori? They’re on their way now. That thunder you hear is Tethra. Have you heard of him?”
He was too close. It was hard to get out a single word. “Yes.”
“Then you’ll know what a monster he is. You don’t want to be in their hands, Grace, and that’s exactly where Patrick Devlin means to put you.”
“Patrick’s promised to protect me.”
“He can promise all he wants. They’re the Children of Domnu. Gods of chaos and darkness. You can’t trust them.”
I heard the dread in his voice, but I couldn’t admit to him that I was frightened of the Fomori, that I was afraid Patrick might be wrong. But Patrick had spoken to them, and he knew the legends as well as I did, if not better. “What if you’re wrong? It’s been two thousand years.”
“It’s in their nature to lie to you and trick you. And in the end they’ll take what they want whether or not you wish to give it.”
“Nothing like you,” I said.
His fingers tightened on my arm, pulling me up against him, and I could not bring myself to move away. His gaze held me as he whispered, “No, nothing like me. You know that, Grace. You know me. Don’t tell me you don’t feel what’s between us.”
His voice raised a pure longing I could not let myself feel. “I don’t know you,” I whispered back. “How can I, when everything you’ve told me is a lie?”
“Not everything.”
“No? Which part of it is true? That you’re a stableboy? That you are Derry O’Shea, an immigrant boy? A gang boy?”
“How could I tell you? You would never have believed me.”
The warmth of him against me was distracting, tempting. I forced myself to continue. “What about when you told me you didn’t take Patrick’s book? Or that we were going to visit your friend in the hospital instead of a tenement in the worst part of town, where I was nearly assaulted—”
“That was your own doing. I told you not to run.”
“Kissing me when you were courting Lucy! You were lying to her too! And she’s in a terrible state, by the way, not that you care.”
“That couldn’t be helped. But she’ll get over it.”
“When the lovespot wears off, you mean? How long does that take, exactly? How long does she have to suffer?”
“Do you care so much?”
“I want to know. How. Long?” I hit his chest with my free hand, punctuating each word. He caught my wrist before I could swing back to hit him again.
“Careful, lass. I’m a bit too familiar with your hands.”
Both of which he now had in a tight hold. We were so close. He had me imprisoned. “Let go of me. I don’t want you to touch me.”
“Who’s the liar now?” His mouth was nearly against mine. I felt myself sinking, unraveling, yearning.
“I want to kiss you again,” he whispered. “And maybe ’twould show you that you belong with me. With the Fianna.”
I recalled what Rose had said about Derry being a game. But the tables had turned, and now I was the game, and he was playing me. He means to seduce you and kill you. That was the truth I had to remember.
As carefully and clearly as I could, I said, “Don’t you dare. I don’t want you, whatever you think. That kiss was a mistake. It will never happen again. I want you to leave me alone.”
“Ah lass, I wish I could.” There was such real sorrow and regret in his voice. He said, “I’m sorry, Grace,” just as he released me and started to push his hair from his eyes—at last—and at the same moment I heard my mother calling, “Grace? Grace, is that you?” and I thought of my grandmother, my questions, everything at stake, and I wrenched away, taking advantage of Derry’s surprise to shout, “I’m here! I’ll be right up, Mama!”
I began to push through the doorway. He put up his arm to bar the way.
I glared at him. “Let me pass.”
“This isn’t over, Grace. Don’t you see? It can’t be over.”
But I pushed again, and this time he dropped his arm and I lurched through the doorway, into the hall, trembling as I hurried to the stairs.
“It can’t be over.” There was still the ritual, the role he must play in my fate—something else he hadn’t told me.
“You know me. . . . You belong with me.” Never once the truth. I have to kill you.
But I was free of him now. And I meant to stay that way.
THIRTY-ONE
Diarmid
He watched her go with a sense of failure, despair—and relief. Relief most of all, because even though she was running from him again, she was still herself. Still Grace, not bewitched by love, and he was glad.
He knew Finn would not understand, however. Diarmid supposed he could say he was getting ready to use the ball seirce and then she bolted, which was true. But he also hadn’t convinced her to come with him, and that was disobeying another order.
The back door opened, and Aidan came inside. Grace’s brother looked as if simply standing was the most he could do. He was sweating profusely, his hair still standing on end, his eyes glowing. Finn and Cannel had taught him a few things in the last hours, but learning to control his power would take much longer than that. Diarmid felt the electricity coming off Aidan now; it almost hurt to be around him.
Aidan glanced around the kitchen. “Where’s Grace? We have to meet the others.”
“She’s upstairs,” Diarmid said.
“I’ll tell her to hurry.” Aidan started past him. Diarmid stopped him. Thunder crashed overhead—very loud. Very close.
The Fomori.
Aidan cringed, looking fearfully at the ceiling. “We can’t wait. We have to get her out of here.”
Diarmid said, “I need more time.”
“You didn’t convince her?”
“Not yet.”
Aidan looked sick. “There is no more time, Derry. Can’t you hear them?” He grabbed his head. “Aaaahhhh! That screaming! I can’t stand it!”
Aidan’s hair was hissing. Diarmid put his arm around Aidan’s shoulders, jerking away again as he was rocked by a painful shock. Aidan fell to his knees, gasping. “It’s time. The Fomori will come for her. We’ll have to force her if she won’t go willingly.”
The plan had been f
or Diarmid and Aidan to bring Grace to meet the others a few blocks away, where it wouldn’t be so unusual to see gang members lingering. They didn’t want to call attention to themselves so far uptown. But now Aidan was right; there was no time for that.
Aidan’s eyes shone. “Bring Finn and the others here. We’ll need them to keep her safe. The Fomori are so close. I can hear them!” Aidan grabbed his head again, digging his fingers into his scalp. “Shut up! Shut up!”
Diarmid grabbed Aidan’s shoulder, shaking it. “You’ll have to get her to the back gate. Do you understand? Get her there and wait for us. I’ll be as quick as I can. Can you manage it? Just to the backyard.”
Aidan squeezed his eyes shut. “The backyard. Yes. I’ll bring her.”
Thunder shook the house. Aidan whimpered. With a last look at the kitchen door, a last wish that she was in his arms, Diarmid left. There was no other choice now. The Fomori were here.
He ran to get the others.
THIRTY-TWO
Grace
I hurried up the stairs. Mama waited at the top. “Oh, Grace, you’re back! This thunder . . .”
As if on cue, it clapped right above the house, so loudly we both ducked our heads. Tethra.
“Is everything all right, Grace? With Patrick, I mean?”
“He proposed.”
“Oh thank goodness! And you accepted?”
How could I tell her the truth? The Fianna and the veleda. Choice and sacrifice. Her face was so pale I could see the blue of the veins beneath her skin. “I told him I needed to talk to Grandma first.”
“Grandma? Why?”
“There were some things Patrick said. About our family. Some questions he had—”
Her hand went to her head. “The Devlins have known our family for generations. Why, your grandmother and Patrick’s were as close as sisters in Ireland. Why would he question our suitability?”
“He’s not questioning it, Mama,” I said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to distress you. It’s nothing. I just need to talk to Grandma for a few moments.”
“And then you’ll accept him?”
“Mama, please.”
“Very well. I’ll be in my room if you need me. Oh, I hate this thunder!”
I stopped her, hugging her as tightly as I could. She gave me a funny little smile. “What was that?”
“I love you, Mama.”
“I know, darling. Is everything really all right?”
“Yes. It’s just . . . things are changing so quickly, that’s all.”
“Everyone feels that way now and again. But you’re no longer a child. You’re a young woman with a full life ahead of you. And Patrick is a good choice. I know you’ll do what’s right, Grace. You always do.”
Tears came to my eyes as Mama kissed me and drew away, going to her bedroom.
Patrick and Derry, the Fomori, centuries of Irish legend come to life. To think I was the focus of it all—in that moment it felt even more impossible. I wanted to be the girl Mama thought I was, uncertain because of a marriage proposal and not because she had to die—
But maybe not.
I straightened my shoulders and wiped my eyes, going into Grandma’s room. She was sleeping, her eyelids fluttering with dreams. I wondered what they were. Wars and a screaming Morrigan?
I touched her shoulder. “Grandma.”
Her eyes opened. She stared at me as if she didn’t recognize me, and my hopes that she could tell me something, anything, about the veleda fled. But then her gaze cleared. “Mo chroi? Why are you here? Why are you not already gone?”
“Where would I go, Grandma?”
She grabbed my wrist. “Listen—you must find him.”
“Grandma, I need to ask you some questions—”
“No! I can’t—” Her eyes clouded, then cleared again. A fine sweat broke out on her skin. “No time. I cannot keep it away. I am . . . not strong enough.” Her fingers bit into my skin. “You must listen. I will be gone—”
“No. No, don’t be silly—”
“Ssshhh. He is here. The sidhe will help you, but you must be very, very careful.”
I stared at her. This was different. She hated the fairies—she said it all the time. Stay away from the sidhe. Fear them. But that didn’t matter now. “Grandma, please. I need to know about the veleda. Do you know what I mean? Do you remember?”
“The Fianna have found you at last.”
She did know. My despair was so overwhelming I had to look away.
“You must . . . ’Tis not right. ’Tis broken.”
“That’s what Aidan said. What’s broken?”
“Aidan . . . he will know.”
“Grandma, Aidan’s too sick, and—”
“Listen! Remember, mo chroi. To harm and to protect are as one.”
“Grandma, please.”
“’Tis a curse. The sea is the knife.” Her eyes seemed to burn. “You must find the archdruid. He can help you.”
“Who is that? How can he help me? What do you mean?”
“He knows. Find the sidhe. But careful, mo chroi. You must be very careful. Your mother . . .”
“Yes, I know. I won’t say anything to her. But I don’t know what any of this means. What archdruid? What curse? What do the sidhe have to do with it?”
“There is . . . a key.”
Thunder again. I flinched, and Grandma glanced toward the window. The sky was darkening.
“A key to what?” I asked.
But when she turned back to me, her gaze was faraway. “Do not fear . . . That boy.” Her grip loosened.
“Grandma,” I said, shaking her. “Grandma, please. Answer me. What do I do now? Please—”
Her eyes closed—no answers would be coming today. An archdruid. Curses and a key. To harm and to protect . . . Aidan . . . I didn’t know what any of it meant. She’d told me nothing except what I already knew: that everything Patrick had said was true.
Thunder crashed. The whole room shook with it.
Grandma whispered without opening her eyes, “They’re here now. Choose well.”
Then I heard the screaming.
THIRTY-THREE
Patrick
They came while Patrick waited for Grace to return. A terrible crack of thunder, and then the maid appeared at his study door with a nervous curtsy. “You’ve visitors, Mr. Devlin.”
Thinking it must be Grace and her family, he stepped out into the hall to welcome her and saw the crowd of people standing in his foyer.
Rory Nolan and Jonathan Olwen and Simon MacRonan were there. Behind them stood Daire Donn and five strangers: one beautiful woman and four men, one of whom was seven feet if he was an inch, with arms the size of small logs and a craggy, scarred face that would have been frightening on a dark night and was still rather disturbing during the day. One eye was hidden behind a patch.
Daire Donn stepped forward. “My good Mister Devlin, we have arrived.”
Patrick motioned them quickly to follow him into the study. When they were all there, he shut the door. Thunder rumbled again.
Daire Donn smiled. “My companions, this is Patrick Devlin. Devlin, this is Bres, former King of Ireland”—he gestured to a man with fair hair and a patrician nose, and then to the giant—“and the good Balor. Their reputations, I think, precede them.”
And they did. The fair Bres was the king that the Tuatha de Dannan, the old gods, had deposed, the one the legends said had enslaved the Irish and raped the land until it was fallow. And Balor was the giant with the venomous eye that slew every man who looked upon it.
History is written by the victors, Patrick reminded himself.
“Miogach, son of Lochlann,” Daire Donn went on, introducing a dark-haired man with sharp gray eyes, “and Tethra”—the Fomorian god of the sea, whose hair hung in dense and twisted locks about his face, tangling in the ends of his thick, curling mustache. “And the lovely Lot.”
She was breathtaking, with long blond hair and nearly purple eyes. Lot—whom the
legends said had lips on her breasts and four eyes on her back. She was fully gowned, but still . . . Patrick thought of how horrible she’d been in the stories, and again he marveled at how history lied.
“We understand the Fianna have refused our fight,” she said in a light, musical voice.
“They have refused to stand with you,” Patrick corrected gently.
“And so they become the fight,” she said. “Well, ’tis most disappointing. We had hoped to aid Ireland rather than battle old enemies.”
“One would think old hurts assuaged after two thousand years,” Bres said.
“It was disappointing to us as well,” Simon said. “But the Fianna have chosen their course, and now we must defeat them before we can turn to our most righteous cause.”
“Well I, for one, relish it,” said Miogach. “Finn has always deserved a comeuppance. I’m happy to give it to him.”
Thunder cracked. Daire Donn frowned at Tethra. “I think you can stop that now.”
Tethra shrugged. “I did stop. ’Tisn’t me.”
Lot turned to Patrick. “Your friends tell us you have the veleda. Might we meet her?”
“She’s at her mother’s house. But I expect her here shortly.”
Thunder and purple lightning struck, illuminating the study. Purple? “What was that?” Patrick asked.
Lot raised her eyes to the ceiling as if she could see the storm through it. “’Tis Druid fire.”
“Aye,” said Tethra. “Not far either.”
“A few blocks south,” said Daire Donn.
“The Fianna used to have a stormcaster who made lightning this color,” Miogach noted. “A lass with dark hair.”
Daire Donn looked at Patrick. “Where did you say the veleda is?”
“Perhaps more importantly, where are the Fianna?” Bres asked.
And then Patrick knew where the lightning came from.
Grace.
THIRTY-FOUR
Grace
The scream came again, harsher and louder. Grandma sat up. Her eyes were almost black. “Go to him now,” she ordered. “Now!”
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