"You idiot!" If he were here, I would smack him.
He's laughing so hard he can barely talk to me. "A professional project," he says, mimicking me to perfection.
"That was you. The whole time?"
"Of course. Do you think I let random women carry my phone, or answer it for me?"
"I really don't know what you do."
He's still laughing.
"Stop it already, it wasn't even that funny. And how did you know it was me?"
"I didn't. But not many people have my number, and very few of those would call me at midnight."
"Were you sleeping?"
"No."
"What were you doing?"
He pauses. "Why do you want to know?"
"Just— curious."
"Watching that movie you told me about. The one with the Jedi mind tricks."
"Are you serious? Which one?"
"The first one. No, the fourth one, I think. With the big ball of interplanetary death and the furry giant and the caped man in the black breathing mask. I like him, he's got style."
"You would." I roll my eyes.
"So you said you had a professional question?"
I tell him what we saw on the way back from Asheville, in the woods. The stone circle, the bits of human, the ravens, and the blood, and the bones. When I finish, he's quiet.
"So? What do you make of that?" I ask.
"Druids."
"Come again?"
"Sounds like it. A modern North American sect, of course. I heard there were some around here, but never knew exactly where. Druids and I don't get along; in fact, they hate me. So I've never gone looking for them."
"What do we do?"
"You do absolutely nothing."
"Why not? They're obviously doing horrible things, maybe even killing people. At the very least, they're performing gross rituals in the middle of nowhere so nobody knows."
"And they prefer to be left alone, so you should honor that. Druids can be very dangerous, Aislinn."
"But if they're hurting people—"
"It's not your concern."
I'm furious that he can be so callous. "It is my concern! It should be yours, too!"
"And why is that? Because some humans might be killing other humans? Don't humans have a justice system for that?"
"Yes, but apparently the police don't know anything about it."
"So call them if you must. But don't give your name, and don't get involved." He's very serious now, intensely earnest. "I mean that, Aislinn. Take it from someone who pretended to be a druid and got on their bad side— it's not a place you want to be."
"Fine."
There's silence from both of us, but neither one of us hangs up.
"How's your friend doing? Ériu?"
"She's well."
"You changed your mind quickly. About what you want— or who you want." I'm not sure why I say it. Maybe to put him on the spot, get back at him for his joke with the voices. Maybe because I'm a little offended that he got over his captivation with me so quickly.
There's silence, as if he's deciding whether or not to answer me.
"Ériu is just what I said— a friend," he says. "She has her own lovers, and I'm not one of them. I went to her for healing, after the beating you gave me— and for advice."
"Advice? What advice?"
"About women."
My eyes widen. Did he ask her about me? My heart's beating faster than it should.
"She told me I drove you away, being reckless and possessive. That I should have been patient, and kind, and acted as a friend."
"Seems like something you could have figured out for yourself."
"Aislinn, I haven't gotten close to someone in a very long time. The connections I've had with humans were brief, and nothing as deep or honest as what you and I shared. I was so desperate to go further, to keep you, to have you, that I ruined it all."
"And now?"
"Now I don't want anything from you, except your friendship."
"Really." I let my disbelief show in my voice.
"Yes." At first I think he really means it; and then he says, "Until your Zane grows too old to give you what you need. Then I'll be the first in line." I can tell he's smiling.
"If we're going to be friends, you can't talk like that."
"I know." Then he's silent, waiting for me to decide. To let him back into my circle.
"Zane won't like it, you and I being friends," I say.
"Should I talk to him? Tell him I yield?"
"Absolutely not! Never talk to him. He'll crush you."
The Far Darrig's voice is low, dangerous. "He could try."
There's a part of me, a primal, selfish part, that could totally get on board with watching two gorgeous men fight over me. But one or both of them would end up seriously injured, and Zane doesn't have a healing goddess-friend like the Far Darrig apparently does.
"Okay, we can be friends. But for now, let's just leave it quiet," I say. "I'll tell Zane about it when he's in a good mood."
"Works for me. I'll see you soon."
"Wait, what? You will?"
"My stay with Ériu was always meant to be brief. I'm coming home tomorrow. Now if you don't mind, I want to see if this human pilot in the movie can hit the very small target without getting blown up first."
"He hits it."
"Spoiler!"
I smile and end the call.
I don't feel good about keeping my communication with the Far Darrig a secret from Zane. But he gets so angry when I even mention the Far Darrig, I don't really have a choice right now. At least that's what I tell myself.
6
STRESSED OUT
Zane
Sunday dinner with my family.
Otherwise known as "interrogation time"— oh yeah.
It's an after-church tradition— a bunch of families go out to a restaurant and eat. Buffets are my thing. I can put away plate after plate and never see an ounce of fat round the middle. My dad always says, "Just wait, son. Your metabolism is running crazy-fast right now, but you hit college and then get married and that ole metabolism gonna slow right down. Then you'll be packing on the pounds just like your old man."
"Not if I keep exercising and running," I say. And I know he doesn't think I will, but I plan to.
Every Sunday this summer, no matter who we're eating with, somebody has asked me, "So Zane, you're starting college this fall, right? What's your major going to be?" Or some variation of that question.
I just don't know.
Mom usually jumps in with, "He's still thinking about it." She and my dad want me to go into business management, accounting— something with money. Something that'll set me up for life.
I'm starting to realize that I don't like restocking shelves and standing behind a register; but I don't see myself sitting behind a desk all day, every day, either. I guess I wouldn't mind it for a while; but for years? If that's all I'm doing, I'm gonna go crazy.
How about a job that has some desk work, but involves exercise, action, quick thinking, and helping people? That's what I really like to do— I like to help people in trouble. People who are hurting, people who need someone to protect them.
My mom says I got a weak spot for the underdogs. She remembers this time, I guess I was in second grade, and another kid was picking on my classmate, a girl kinda small for her age. He was telling her "You're so puny; you should go back to K5." Not much of an insult, but for a second-grader, that stings. So I stepped up and said, "Leave her alone, or I'll punch you in the face." And the kid looked scared and ran away.
I guess I was pretty proud of myself when I told Mom about it, and she had to warn me about threats like those. "Careful, or you'll turn into the bully yourself," she said.
I sort of listened. I kept facing down the strong kids and taking sides with the weak ones; and sometimes I'd threaten a smackdown. Only had to follow through once, though; and the word spread that I wasn't bluffing. After that, when I sh
owed up, whoever was causing the problem would usually just slink away.
So yeah, I'm a sucker for people who need a helping hand. Maybe that's why I was drawn to Aislinn at the beginning. She was hot, yeah— but she was vulnerable, too. Unsure, alone. She needed somebody to show her around, to take care of her. That's what I liked doing. Of course now, she pretty much takes care of herself.
Aislinn is with us for Sunday dinner. My little sister Kali loves her, and they're chatting nonstop the whole time. I don't even know what they're talking about, because I'm so busy being interrogated.
"What made you pick that school?"
"What's your major?"
"Are you living in the dorms this year? How about next year?"
"What's your career path?"
"When does Aislinn graduate? Will you two go to the same school?"
On and on, stressing me out. I don't know the answers to most of the questions, so I just keep shoveling food in and point apologetically to my bulging cheeks when someone asks me, like I don't want to talk with my mouth full. By the time I'm done chewing, they've moved on; and before they come back around to me, I've got another bite in. It's a system. It works.
I think I've escaped the questions for another week.
And then when I get into work on Monday morning for my shift, my supervisor says, just casually, "So Zane, what are you planning to major in when you start college?"
"I'm not sure."
"Not sure, huh? Well, son, you better pick something and do it fast! Start that career path with some purpose. You know you could always stick around here— move up and become a manager of one of these places someday. Cool, right?"
Not on your life. "Yeah, man, that's cool."
I'm standing at the register, staring at the polished floor and the shelves of snacks and candy, and the warmers full of breakfast sandwiches and freaking breakfast pizza, thinking that this is probably going to be my life if I don't make up my mind soon.
And then someone says, "Yo, Z!" It's Dashawn, a dude several years older than me who used to live down the street from us. He dated Ada for a while. Decent guy.
He's looking good, wearing a cop's uniform that makes his shoulders look bigger than I remember. Man, he got some biceps, too.
"Hey, man," I say. "Just the large coffee?"
"Yep."
"Hey, how are you doin', anyway? Job treatin' you all right?" I gesture to the uniform.
"It's good, it's good," he says. "A mix of paperwork and panic." He laughs. "No, it's all good. You should come down to the station sometime, meet the guys."
"Thanks, man, maybe I will. Peace."
He's walking out, and the next customer is coming up. I'm in a daze, cause I just got struck by a lightning bolt of an idea.
What if I became a cop?
Protecting people. Helping people in trouble. Enforcing the law on the creeps of the world, the ones who take what isn't theirs.
The job is probably way more complicated than I realize right now. And sure, there's bad cops who take one look at a man's color and peg him for trouble. But that's why cops should come in all colors, right? I could be one of the good ones.
Zane Percy. Major: criminal justice. Career path: law enforcement officer.
It sounds good. And I could even take it further someday, be a detective, a special agent, police chief. I can see the whole thing right now, and I'm more excited about this than I've been about anything since Aislinn.
My shift passes by quickly, because my brain is busy planning. I need to declare my major. My college has a criminal justice program— gotta get in there and check the requirements, classes, pricing, all that stuff.
Back home in my room, I'm on my laptop, figuring it all out, when Mom comes in. "Hey baby. You comin' to dinner?"
"Dinner already? Yeah, sure."
When I come to the table, Mom, Dad, and Kali are already there. We don't always eat together, especially not during summer; but my parents like to make it happen a couple times a week.
"So you looked pretty busy in there," says Mom. "What you workin' on?"
"I decided what my major's gonna be," I say. "Criminal justice."
There's quiet, like the kind of quiet when somebody steps on a pressure switch in a minefield. My dad lays down his fork and exchanges a look with my mom. She turns to me, eyebrows raised to high heaven. Here it comes— the explosion.
"You wanna be a cop?" she says, biting off the word.
"Yeah, I might."
"You know it's not like on TV. It's not as glamorous or fast-paced or exciting as they make it look. It's hard, dangerous work for not much money."
"Like teaching?" I grin at her, but she doesn't smile back.
"Don't you joke about this, boy. I'm being serious. Have you thought this through?"
"Yes."
"How long you been thinkin' about it?"
Since this morning. "A while."
She drums her fingers on the table. "Aaron, talk some sense into your son."
"Latesha—" he says.
"Don't 'Latesha' me. No. We raised this smart, handsome boy, hoping he would make something of himself, be somebody important with a nice house and a good, safe job; and now he wants to go catch the drug addicts out on the street? Pull over the drunk drivers? Respond to robberies? No sir, not my baby. This is not what you were raised for."
"Mom, I can't just sit at a desk, okay? I'm not an engineer like Dad, or a teacher like you. I got my own thing."
"And what exactly is your thing? Puttin' yourself in harm's way like a damn fool?"
Kali gasps. My mother never says anything stronger than the occasional "darn" or "Sweet Lord."
"Latesha, I think you're gettin' a little too worked up about this," says my dad.
"It's okay." I shake my head at him. There's no trying to stop her when she's like this— best just to let her talk herself out.
And she does, for the next two hours. Kali barely eats and then slips away to her room. I have to sit there, forcing down bites of food, nodding and saying, "Yes ma'am" and "No ma'am" and just waiting.
Finally, after she has poured out every possible argument for me not being a police officer, and after she has invoked the will of God and the wishes of my dad's dead father and the honor of my ancestors, she slows down. And then my dad speaks.
"Son, we only want what's best for you. Your mother's just worried about you, plain and simple. We're your parents, and we want you to have the best life you can."
"I know."
"But let's get past all that. Above all, we want you to be happy. We want you doing what you feel in your heart you were made to do. So you look deep down into yourself, and you ask yourself who you really are. And if the answer is a protector of people and a defender of the law, I'll be proud."
Mom huffs, but she doesn't say anything.
"Thanks, Dad."
"One more thing. Who we are— that can change with time. What you want right now, you might not want five or ten years from now, and that's okay. Your major, your job— those can change. What doesn't change is the people who love you. Those people stay in your life forever."
Why are my eyes watering up?
"I got it," I say, getting up. "I'm gonna go do a little more research to make sure this is right for me."
"You go research," says Mom. "And don't forget to learn while you research."
But that's all she says, and I count that as a win. Dad had the last word, and he's good with this plan, if it's what I need to do.
This could be awesome. Besides the fact that I learn fast and I care about people, I got a little extra knowledge on my side— an understanding about the Fae elements of the world. Could come in handy if I ever run into anything weird as a cop.
And I am gonna look damn good in that uniform.
7
SHAKEDOWN
Aislinn
Apparently college costs money. A lot of it.
When I compare the fund I have from my parents to the cost
of college, it's depressing. Even if I don't try for an out-of-state school, paying for four years at one of the local colleges is going to put a huge dent in my finances, leaving me without much to live on. I might be able to get a scholarship. If not, I need to get a job, and possibly a loan.
"You need to go talk to someone at the bank," Arden says. "And I'm not going to babysit you. You can go get the information yourself, and tell me about it later."
"Fine."
"And while you're there, check this safe deposit box." She hands me a key and a slip of paper. "I put a few things of Fiona's in there a while back. You may want them, or not."
Fiona. My mother.
"Thank you." I stare down at the key. I've never had anything of my mother's. The Korrigan barely talked about her. The only videos and photos I ever saw of her were thanks to Magnolia, when Maeve wasn't around. It's like Maeve hated the bare thought of her.
My mother's original name was Findabair. She was cursed along with the rest of Maeve's immediate entourage, sometime after they killed the Far Darrig's wife, Etain. Now that I know what happened, I've wondered if she struck any of the blows against Etain herself. I hope not.
I really don't know much about her as a person. What she liked, what she hated, what she did every day— everything that makes a person who they are. In the videos, she's always smiling, full of life. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, not much older than the age she was when the curse came. Long, curly red hair, like mine. Pale, freckled skin, like mine, and green eyes. We're the stereotypical Irish lasses, she and I.
She must not have been happy living with Maeve and the others, any more than I was. I've heard that grandparents are usually harsher with their own kids and more permissive to their grandkids. Since Maeve ordered beatings for me regularly when I was little, I can only imagine what my mother endured as a child, growing up in Ireland in those barbaric days. She probably hated having to live under her mother's control for centuries.
And then somehow, she managed to find my dad. An Irishman descended, in as pure a lineage as you can get, from the ancient druids. I know next to nothing about him, except that she loved him enough to follow him to Texas and set up a life there.
Druid (Secrets of the Fae Book 2) Page 4