“Help me?” I asked, not truly believing it.
Her cheeks turned pink and she glanced away, muttering something that could have been an acknowledgment to my question.
I smiled, but didn’t allow it to grow too wide. We were, after all, speaking about broken geasa and the wickedness of a wrathful Celtic goddess. No longer able to stop myself, I reached out and took her hand. It felt warm in my own icy one, so I brushed my thumb against her skin, reveling in the sensation and trying to communicate my appreciation of her act.
“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice slightly hoarse.
Meghan took a deep breath and said, “I bet your girlfriend is really ticked off. That was you who I saw in the Otherworld the other night, right?”
Every muscle in my body contracted, including the ones in my hands.
Meghan gave a soft cry and tried to tell me that I was hurting her, but I had temporarily lost the ability to process simple thoughts.
“Girlfriend?” I rasped, my stomach roiling with revulsion.
Meghan nodded. With some effort, I relaxed my grip on her hand.
“The Morrigan is not my girlfriend. Is that what she told you?”
“No, I just thought-”
But she didn’t finish her statement. She didn’t need to.
“She would want you to think that.” Oh yes, that was just like her, to confuse Meghan and use her emotions against her. I shuddered, partially in disgust, partially in irritation.
“I assumed, well, after seeing the two of you in the woods-”
She bit back the rest of that sentence and retreated into herself again.
“You saw us in the woods?”
Oh no, what had she heard? A new wash of fear flooded over me. Had we discussed anything that might give Meghan the wrong impression? Well, worse than the impression she already had? I tried to think of what was said, but my brain was just too tired to recall my memories.
Eventually, I looked back over at her and searched her face. No, she hadn’t heard much. Thank goodness.
“Meghan, the Morrigan is definitely not my girlfriend.”
I suppressed a horrified shudder and remembered that soon I would have a new set of grueling tasks to keep me busy, and to keep the Morrigan away from Meghan.
“I have to go soon Meghan,” I said after awhile. “I have a broken geis to make up for.”
“Will I ever see you again?” she asked softly, not meeting my eyes.
I will do everything in my power to make sure that happens.
“Perhaps, when I’ve done my penance,” was all I said.
Then I remembered the torque I had bought in Kellston so many weeks ago, still tucked away in my trench coat pocket. I had seen it while passing through the small town and I had instantly pictured it perched around Meghan’s throat. A woven band of silver with two hounds’ heads growling at one another. I had purchased it without a second thought. Now would be the perfect time to give it to her.
“I have something for you,” I said, reaching my arm behind my back and conjuring the torque from my coat pocket several feet away. The moment the cool metal found my fingers, I drew it forward and presented it to Meghan.
“What is it?” she asked.
“A torque. The Celts wore them into battle. It will help protect you while I’m gone.”
Meghan went very still and fresh tears began to spill from her eyes. I sucked in a breath and cast aside all my careful restraint. I reached out a hand and placed it against her cheek, catching the tears as they fell. I wanted so badly to lean in and kiss them away; to kiss away her pain. But I held back.
“Meghan, listen to me,” I whispered, my voice raw, “you are stronger and much more powerful than you think, but I’ll leave Fergus here to look after you.”
She blinked up at me, fighting the tears as she tried her best to be brave. “Can’t I come with you?”
Oh my darling, how I wish you could . . . I smiled, and I knew it was more an expression of sadness than joy. “No. Your fae power awoke when you came to Eile, but it is very weak.”
I explained to her that although the Otherworld would feed her power, it would take a long time and I still needed to teach her how to use it. And I wouldn’t be able to do that, not right away. It was safer to stay in the mortal world for the time being.
“Thank you for the torque,” she said eventually.
I grinned. “It suits you.”
The morning approaches, Fergus sent, jerking my attention away from Meghan. If you wish to be rested when you meet with the Morrigan, you should return to Luathara now. I will look after Meghan.
Thank you Fergus, I sent back.
I glanced back down at Meghan, studying every detail from her mass of dark hair, slightly disheveled from sleep, to her hazel eyes flashing from green, to gray and back again, to her small nose peppered with freckles. I would hold that image in my mind as the Morrigan gave me tasks I knew would tear away a little bit of my soul, one day after another. No, I wouldn’t succumb. I would hold Meghan’s image close and that alone would keep my spirit intact. It would have to.
I stood and turned to leave, but Meghan’s voice, quiet and pleading, stopped me.
“Cade?”
I turned my head and gazed at her.
“Be careful. And come back soon.”
Tilting my head ever so slightly, I answered, “I promise.”
Before any other words could be exchanged, I turned back around, stepped through the sliding glass door, and disappeared into the grey light of early dawn. Fergus followed after me, only to see me to the dolmarehn. I had meant what I’d said to Meghan; that he would stay behind. She needed him far more than I did and besides, he wouldn’t set a single toenail within a mile of the Morrigan if he could help it.
Dead eucalyptus leaves crunched under my feet and the gloomy fog dripped its discontent upon me as I made my way to the gateway of my world. My every nerve was drawn tight and my hands shook, not only because of the rest I so desperately needed, but also because of the raw emotion that coursed through me.
For now I would serve the Morrigan, as much as it horrified me just to think about it. If that was what it took to keep Meghan safe, then it was worth the sacrifice. And when I could extract myself from the goddess’s talons, if she didn’t kill me first, I would discover a way to bring Meghan to Eile, and I would find a way to earn her affection and convince her to become a permanent presence in my life. I would find a way to overcome everything that separated us.
The next several weeks of my life would be hell, but if it meant seeing Meghan again, healthy and whole at the end of those weeks, then it was worth it. I would survive the Morrigan’s wrath, and when she was through with me I would do whatever it took to win Meghan Elam’s heart.
~*~
Acknowledgments
For this particular book, I want to especially thank all of my readers. I can’t express enough how much I appreciate your support, encouragement and kind suggestions with regards to the scenes you wished to read from Cade’s point of view. I only hope that these three short stories lived up to your expectations.
About the Author
Jenna Elizabeth Johnson grew up and still resides on the Central Coast of California, the very location that has become the set of her novel, Faelorehn, and the inspiration for her other series, The Legend of Oescienne.
Miss Johnson has a degree in Art Practice with an emphasis in Celtic Studies from the University of California at Berkeley. She now draws much of her insight from the myths and legends of ancient Ireland to help set the theme for her books.
Besides writing and drawing, Miss Johnson enjoys reading, gardening, camping and hiking. In her free time (the time not dedicated to writing), she also practices the art of long sword combat and traditional archery.
For contact information, visit the author’s website at:
www.jennaelizabethjohnson.com
Other Books by this Author:
Find all Jenna’s book
s at Amazon~
The Legend of Oescienne Series
The Finding (Book One)
The Beginning (Book Two)
The Awakening (Book Three)
Tales of Oescienne - A Short Story Collection
*Read excerpts of these books here*
The Otherworld Series
Meghan’s Point of View
Faelorehn (Book One)
Dolmarehn (Book Two)
Luathara (Book Three)
Cade’s Point of View
Ehriad - A Novella of the Otherworld (Book 4)
Ghalien – A Novel of the Otherworld (Book 5)
Robyn’s Point of View
Lorehnin – A Novel of the Otherworld (Book 6)
*Read excerpts of these books here*
Connect with me Online:
Twitter: @AuthorJEJohnson
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorjejohnson
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/authorjejohnson/
Instagram: http://instagram.com/authorjejohnson
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/authorjejohnson
My Website: http://www.jennaelizabethjohnson.com/
*For news regarding book releases, giveaways and author appearances, be sure to sign up for my newsletter HERE*
A sneak peek at the first book in the Otherworld Trilogy, Faelorehn:
http://amzn.com/B007WHDHQS
-One-
Memories
The only reason I knew that I was awake was because of the pale green glow of neon stars staring back at me from my ceiling. I lay in my bed for a few moments, taking deep, steadying breaths and letting my eyes adjust to the darkness of my room. The remnants of a dream still danced in my mind, but as the approaching dawn light chased away the dark, it tried to slip away. Unfortunately, this particular dream was familiar to me, and it would take a lot more than my return to the conscious world to eject it from my mind.
I turned my head on my pillow and blinked my eyes several times at my alarm clock. Groaning at the early hour, I rolled over onto my stomach and buried my head into the pillow. I guess the darkness had some claim on the subconscious world, because instead of dispelling the dream, my actions only made it come racing back.
Huffing in frustration, I kicked off the covers and leaned over the side of my bed, scrabbling around stray pairs of shoes and forgotten socks as I searched out my current journal. Years ago the therapist I had been seeing thought it would be a good idea to keep track of these strange recurring dreams. Anytime I dreamt of anything that reminded me of my past before entering the foster system, I was supposed to write it down. That and anything strange that I saw or heard while I was awake. I hate to say it, but the visions happened more often than I would like to admit.
Although my collection of diaries held other frivolous information alongside the crazy stuff, at least once a year, on the same date, the exact same dream was described in near perfect detail.
I dusted off the cover of my latest journal, grabbed a pen from my bedside table, clicked on the lamp and opened up a brand new page. The dream was starting to slip away once again, but it wasn't as if I wouldn't be able to remember the details. I had written about this exact dream so many times before I could probably recite it in front of a crowded gymnasium without glancing at the page it was written on. Not that I would ever have the gumption to speak in front of a crowd. Nevertheless, I began writing:
I had the dream again; the one that always comes to me this time of year. The fog wasn’t as thick as usual in my dreamscape, but I could feel the grit and cold of the blacktop beneath my bare feet. I looked down. Of course I was naked, but at least I was a toddler in the dream.
I paused and thought about that. I had decided a long time ago that the dream was merely a subconscious illustration of the saga that was my beginning. According to my adoptive parents, I was found when I was two years old, wandering the dark streets of Los Angeles (on Halloween night of all times), completely nude and babbling some nonsense that no one could decipher. I know most toddlers babble nonsense, but according to the woman at the adoption agency, what I babbled was nothing like what normal human babies produced when trying to communicate with others. Oh well. Like the bizarre dream, I can’t explain that either. I was lucky, they told my parents, because the part of L.A. they found me in was notorious for gang wars.
Somehow, I survived that nocturnal stroll only to be reminded of that night exactly fifteen times, once a year for every year since I was found. And after fifteen years, I still don't understand why this dream won't leave me alone. I sighed and got back to my writing.
The dreamscape shifted and I noticed that my right hand was pressed up against a warm, solid shape, my fingers clinging to a wad of something rough and coarse. I could just see what it was out of the corner of my eye: a huge white dog, its bedraggled fur acting as an anchor for my small hand. The dog was massive, even from my child’s perspective. I wanted to turn and get a better look at it but something kept my eyes trained forward, as if some crazy hypnotist was twirling a black and white spiral wheel in front of me.
The city lamps glowed an eerie orange, the only color in this black and gray world, and I leaned closer to the dog next to me. It padded quietly along, not making a sound; almost guiding me to some distant point of interest. I wondered what it all meant, but before I could make anything of it, I woke up.
Just as I shut my journal and replaced my pen on the table, my alarm clock started screeching and I nearly had a heart attack. I had forgotten to shut it off when the dream woke me. I tossed the sheets back and hit the snooze button, not even bothering to turn off my lamp. I wished I could sleep in all day but if I remembered correctly it was Monday. I groaned. Mondays were the worst.
After fifteen minutes of snoozing, I finally got up and made an effort to get ready for the day. I ran my hands through my hair and cringed. It was a tangled mess, but that was normal. I flipped on my bedroom light and stepped in front of the mirror glued to my bathroom door. Ugh. Sometimes I hated my wavy hair. Not straight enough to be considered elegant and not curly enough to be truly beautiful. Tully was always telling me how much she wished her hair had some curl to it. She has the type of hair that is so straight that hair spray won’t even keep it in place after she takes a curling iron to it. She has no idea how lucky she is.
Taking a brush to the tangled mess did nothing but make it worse. Sighing, I made my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. For the only girl in a family consisting of five boys, I lucked out and got my own room and bathroom. Of course, the only reason was because my brothers were afraid of this particular part of the house, a converted basement that had served as a storage room to the previous owners. I think they somehow convinced themselves it was haunted, but that was only because it felt like the room was underground. It wasn’t completely sunken into the ground though; more like the foundation of the house was pressed into the side of a small hill. The one wall facing the backyard had a sliding glass door that displayed a forest of eucalyptus trees disappearing down into the small marsh that sat behind our neighborhood.
I threw my brush back into the drawer with all the hair bands and hair clips I’d collected over the years. Staring into the mirror, I tried in vain to wish away all my flaws. Unfortunately, no matter how thoroughly I washed my face, I couldn’t seem to make the freckles disappear. At least I didn’t have as many as Tully. Of course, mine were darker. I scrunched up my nose but that didn’t help either. Besides, I couldn’t go around looking like an angry rabbit all day and it only made my nose look smaller than it already was.
Eventually, I caught my own gaze in the mirror and cringed slightly when my eyes stared back at me. I sometimes tried to convince myself that it was my awkward height and scattering of freckles that made people turn away from me, but I knew deep down that it was my eyes. They were the windows to the soul, so the saying went. If that was the case then there must be something dreadfully wrong with my soul if people couldn�
�t even bring themselves to look me in the eye. I had trouble doing so myself.
On normal days my eyes were a light hazel color, too large for my face and slanted a little. People used to fuss over me when I was a little girl.
“Oh! What a darling little fairy, with that hair and those eyes!” they would say.
Then they would actually take a good look at my eyes and something would cross their face. A shadow or some subconscious instinct telling them something wasn’t quite right about me. They would continue smiling, of course, but I knew, even when I was too young to really understand, I knew they had withdrawn from me.
I crossed my arms and let out a huff of breath. It was foggy out this morning and that meant my eyes would take on a grayer tinge. Yes, they tended to change color from time to time. Something else that made people uneasy. Sometimes I tried to tell myself that that was the real reason why people turned away, because of the color and not what they sensed lying deeper within.
After brushing my teeth, I slipped into my favorite jeans and t-shirt. My Monday clothes, because Monday mornings were just too stressful to have to worry about putting together a cute outfit. Even though I attended a private high school, it conveniently didn’t have much of a dress code. Black Lake High, in the small rural city of Arroyo Grande, was actually quite laid back for a private school. In fact, our entire town was pretty easy going on the whole, but that wasn’t unusual in the Central Coast region of California where perfect weather was a year round phenomenon. When my parents first moved here just after adopting me, the Five Cities area was still relatively small, but over time it grew into a bustling rural metropolis of sorts. Fortunately, there was still plenty of open space to spare. I don’t think my family could have handled living in a big city with me and all my brothers.
I was in the middle of stuffing my books into my backpack when the door at the top of my spiral staircase swung open violently.
Faery Realms: Ten Magical Titles: Multi-Author Bundle of Novels & Novellas Page 101