"Is this one your mom?" I point to a figure leaning on the arm of Maeve's throne. It's a crude drawing, but she looks a little like Aislinn's mom.
"I think so. And there's Magnolia with the pot and the sword. Wow, it's hard to imagine her fighting."
"Maybe she didn't want to, back then, but she had to 'cause of how things were. Pretty rough in those days, right? For women especially."
She looks at me like I've said something awesome. "You are exactly right. Those were cruel days. It makes sense that people who lived back in those times wouldn't ever quite get over that way of living, right? There's bound to be damage— scars."
"I guess. Who are these others in the picture?"
"The Korrigan who killed themselves or were killed. I don't recognize any of them."
All I want is for her to put the old papers away so we can chill. Until she took all this out, I thought we were here to watch TV and make out.
But she's going through the other drawings, one at a time. There's another of Maeve alone, then one of Aislinn's mother, and then—
She stops, staring at the drawing in her hands. I lean over. "What?"
It's a rough sketch of Maeve again, this time surrounded by men, some in robes, others in tunics with leaves and bones and animal fur strung around them. Right next to Maeve in the picture is a tall man, with straight features and dark hair, wearing a short tunic and carrying some kind of orb thing. It's obvious from her reaction who Aislinn thinks it is. The Far Darrig.
"That dude again? Wish he'd stop showin' up."
"Yeah." She laughs a little and shuffles the page back in with the rest. "Oh, there's one more thing I want to show you. Check it out."
She holds up an old medallion on a leather string. It's printed with some Celtic knot. It probably used to be thicker, with deeper grooves, but wear and tear and time have worn it down thin.
"A shield knot," she says. "I found it in a gift box, with the other things. My mother was going to give it to my dad on his birthday, I guess."
"Whoa. It's awesome." And I mean it. The thing is old as hell, but it's got a cool vibe.
"I want you to have it."
"Really?"
"Yes. It's almost exactly like the ward Arden taught me to trace over my skin. Tracing the shield knot in the air or on the skin doesn't last long, but I imagine that actually wearing a shield knot would be much more effective. Just in case, you know."
"In case what?"
"In case anybody tries to work magic on you again."
"Like the Far Darrig?"
"Oh, he won't," she says. "But Maeve or the other Korrigan might. It's a fair bet they haven't given up on making me and Arden pay for leaving them."
I'm about to cut in, to ask why she's so sure the Far Darrig won't come after me again. I mean, I know she beat him up and told him to stay away, but she's really not scary enough to keep a centuries-old Fae guy off my tail for too long.
But before I can ask her, she leans forward, staring at the TV. "Turn it up!"
"What? It's just news." But I turn it up anyway.
Some reporter is saying, "The anxious mother was reunited with her four children, whom officers discovered in a wooded area not far from the bank. They claim to have no memory of their abduction or of the bank robbery."
"They found the kids!" she says, all happy and excited. "He was right! They're okay!"
"What kids? Who was right? I feel like I'm missin' a story here."
"Oh, I was at the bank this morning when the robbery happened."
"Damn, girl! You okay?" I sit up straight.
"Oh yeah, they just knocked us all out and took some stuff. One woman's kids were missing— it was a whole thing. Don't worry about it, okay? I'm fine, none of my stuff was taken, and the children were found. It's all good."
"Wow, you're really calm about it. You need to talk to someone, like a counselor? Post-traumatic stress, or whatever?"
She looks at me like I'm crazy. "If changing into a horrible monster every day for seventeen years didn't give me PTSD, I'm pretty sure a mild little bank robbery isn't going to do it, either."
"Who says you don't have PTSD? You might. You kind of freak out sometimes when we go into the back part of the basement."
"That's not real PTSD."
I shrug. But I figure this is as good a time as any to tell her about my new life decision.
"So I've chosen my major."
"Really? What?"
"Criminal justice. I'm going to be a cop. Or an agent or something, eventually."
To my delight, she looks impressed. "Wow. That's amazing. You're perfect for that."
"Right? I thought so. My mom didn't take the news so well though. Had me pegged as the leader of a Fortune 500 company or some crap like that."
"I could see that, too," Aislinn says. "But if it isn't you, don't do it. Your mom will come around. Hey, what made you decide to do this?"
"I want to help people out. Do some good."
She tilts her head to one side and looks into my eyes, like she's evaluating my soul. It makes me nervous. "What?"
"There's another reason, isn't there?" she says.
"Yeah, well, you're not gonna like it."
"Try me."
"I never had an encounter with anybody really bad, you know, really evil, before the Far Darrig. So it's like, now I can put a face to the evil. I know the badness people are capable of. What he did, trying to get me out of the way, he did with magic; but a jealous human guy might do it with a knife or a gun. It's that kind of guy that I want to stop. You know, the guy who's the center of his own world, and nobody else matters. Doesn't matter to him who he hurts, long as he gets what he wants. I want to stop guys like that, or at least bring them to justice afterwards, if I can't stop it."
Aislinn is looking at me with a strange mix of emotions I can't process. I was too busy digging into my own feelings, and I just can't get a handle on what hers are right now.
"I'm glad you figured all that out," she says, calmly. "Anyway, back to business— I'm giving you this necklace, okay? And I want you to wear it."
She's looking at me with those green eyes, and of course I have to say yes. Even if it means wearing the ancient Celtic shield knot that my girlfriend's Korrigan mom was going to give to her druid husband.
With those slim white fingers of hers, she picks up the necklace and drapes it over my head. Then she takes the medallion and slips it under the collar of my T-shirt, out of sight. "There." Her hand runs down the front of my shirt, smoothing over the lump that is the medallion; but she doesn't stop there. Her fingers run all the way down my chest and stomach, right to the waistband of my jeans, where she hooks both thumbs into my belt loops and moves herself onto my lap.
This is it, baby. What I've been waiting for, the sweet-sugar taste of her. Man, she's hot. A few kisses in and I'm already burning like the pavement on a hot Southern day.
"Zane?" At the sound of my mom's voice and her steps on the basement stairs, Aislinn spins off my lap onto the couch, pretending to be very busy arranging her papers.
My mother comes down and looks at us, a half-smile on her face. "You kids bein' good?"
"Yes, ma'am," I say. Aislinn nods.
"Zane, you left your phone upstairs, and it looks like your boss called, probably about that extra shift tomorrow. Be sure you call him back." She hands me the phone. "How you doing, Aislinn?"
"Good, Mrs. Percy."
"Call me Latesha, child. I told you that."
"Sorry— I'm doing fine, Latesha, how about you?"
"Enjoying the freedom of the summer," she says. "People think kids look forward to summer— baby, we teachers look forward to it a lot more. You kids want a snack or something?"
"We're good," I say, willing her to just go back upstairs.
"Okay then." She turns and climbs the steps. "You can get back to your kissing now."
The door at the top of the stairs closes.
Aislinn looks at me, smiling, che
eks flushed and eyes sparkling with laughter. "She knew."
"Course she did, girl. Come here."
My mother might be cool with us making out, but like my dad, she's really religious. Abstinence till marriage and all that. She never knew about me and Laurel, the one time— she'd be disappointed if she did. And she sure wouldn't be happy about the thoughts that go round in my head about Aislinn, every damn day.
There's no chance of us hooking up here. Probably not at Aislinn's place either, with Arden there most of the time.
It's not like all I want is to get in Aislinn's pants; I mean, I love her. She's funny, and sweet, with that strong fiery spirit and smarts to match. The girl's grades are dope, even if she was homeschooled— and bonus, she likes most of the same TV shows I do. I could see me and her being a real team, like for our whole lives. A life with her would be sick— the two of us, as smart and tough as we are— we'd reach the American dream.
Of course there's the whole thing of how she's not going to age much past twenty-five. But I figure we'll cross that bridge when we get there. Because I love her, and love finds a way or whatever.
I'm not just trying to sleep with her.
But a guy has his limits, and the longer we kiss, the faster I'm reaching them.
"Let's drive out somewhere tonight," I say. "Out in the country, find a field— we can put blankets in the back of the pickup and lie there and— look at stars."
I say "look at stars," but I got something very different in mind, long as she's down for it.
"I can't. I'm going to this thing tonight," she says apologetically. "A party."
"Oh, we goin' to a party?" I could be chill with that.
"Well, not exactly 'we'— see, it's more of a Fae thing. No full-blooded humans, just pixies."
Is she serious with this? I pull back from her. "So you're going to a party with a bunch of pixies?"
"Is that okay with you?" Something about the way she says it sets off little alarm bells in my mind, like she's not really asking permission. Like it's more of a challenge— a be-okay-with-this-or-else kinda thing.
But I'm not backing down. "Look, girl, I thought the whole point of breaking free from your guardians was so you could be normal, have a normal life. That's what you told me, anyway."
"Yeah. That and not getting beaten or locked up anymore. Sure, I want to be normal, you know that. It's what I've always wanted."
"So— you're living anything but normal. Like moving furniture around with superhero strength, and transporting whenever you want to get somewhere. Why don't you just— do normal?"
"If you could get wherever you wanted to in the blink of an eye, wouldn't you do it?"
"Maybe..."
"Well then." She says it like that's the end of the discussion.
"Okay, hold up. I'm just saying it feels like you were trying to get away from things that made you different, you know, and you did. And now you're kinda huntin' it down. The whole Fae experience."
"I guess so." She hesitates, like she's trying to decide whether or not to tell me something. "When I use magic I just get this thrill. It's exciting, and it makes me happy."
Sounds like a drug to me. But I know nothing about this whole magic deal. Who am I to say that what she's doing is wrong, or that she's not being true to herself?
Still, I kinda wish she'd just stop it and be the Aislinn I knew at the beginning, that first month. The Aislinn who had problems, had troubles— but at the time I just thought they were the normal human deal. No magic involved, that I knew of. It was simple then, her coming over, training, watching a little TV, chilling together, just talking. Hanging with our friends. We still do those things— but it feels different. She's different.
She's stronger, for one thing. Not just muscles, but spirit. And confident. I mean, I like a girl who's strong, but it's like she doesn't really need me now.
And if I'm honest, I'm still pissed at her for lying to me about the Far Darrig— about her staying over at his loft those two nights back in May, going to Georgia with him, getting so close. She's told me everything now, and I don't like it. Makes me feel unsteady, like the ground under our relationship isn't so solid. And here I thought we had this magical connection from Day One. But maybe I was just the first cute guy she saw in the sunlight.
She's watching me, looking worried. "You're mad."
"Not mad. Maybe a little. No, it's cool though, you just go have fun. I'm good."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah girl. Go do your thing, get to know your people."
"They're not exactly my people."
"They're Fae, right? So—"
"Leprechauns and pixies and fenodyree— those are just a few of the Fae races. Some of them don't even consider the Korrigan to be true Fae. They think of us as just cursed humans. So they may not even want me there at all."
"Then why are you going?"
She looks confused, desperate. "I don't know. I just feel like I need to. The Korrigan kept me shut away for so long. They didn't tell me anything about the other Fae, or their culture. I need to find out more."
"Can't Arden help you? Give you the lowdown on all this?"
"Arden isn't the most talkative person. I'm already talking to her more than I ever have, and I think if I do any more talking on a daily basis, she'll barricade herself in her room with a laptop and a mini-fridge."
I smile. I try to understand and be cool with it. "A'right then. Well, until you need to go, can we just relax and watch some TV? Maybe do a little more of this—" I kiss her lips— "and a little more of that—" I duck my head and kiss her neck, a row of kisses right down to her collarbone. She shivers with delight. Yeah, baby.
When is she gonna realize that what we have, right here, is what she needs?
9
DANCE
Aislinn
I was going to tell Zane. I planned to say that the Far Darrig was going with me to the party, to help me acclimate, meet people. But then Zane got upset about not being able to go with me, and then about me going at all, and then about me using my powers. And then there was kissing, such delightful, exciting kissing—
I can't tell him now. I'll just have to go ahead with my plan and fill him in later.
Kieran gives me an address for the party, and I look it up in my phone's map system, using the satellite images and street views so I have a reference point for transporting. I find this makeup tutorial video and I do an extra sparkly job on my eyelids, along with a little contouring and some killer lipstick. The dress is aqua-blue, the same color as the super-short strapless one Kieran gave me back in May, after I transformed in the forest; but this one has straps and it's swishier, better for dancing.
Precisely at eight, I'm standing along the curb, right in front of the house where the party's happening. The long drive sweeps from the street to the front steps and back to the street again, and the lawn space within its semicircle is piled high with flowering plants and bushes. In the humid air, the sweet smell is overpowering.
Along the drive, guests have parked their cars— mostly large SUVs. It makes me smile, because the owners are pixies, and some of them apparently feel that they have to compensate for their size by buying the biggest possible vehicles.
Kieran appears a few seconds after I do, thanks to a little help from a leprechaun, who appears with him in the form of a human kid. I frown. He brings one of those creeps with him, even after our talk?
But the next second he orders it to go away, and he approaches, an apologetic look on his face. "I was running late. Had to use him to get here fast."
He's wearing dark jeans and a soft grey T-shirt under a red jacket that accents his shoulders and fits his tapered torso to perfection. He looks, in a word, delicious.
"I forgive you," I say. Then I do a spin in the dress. "What do you think?"
"You look beautiful," he says softly. Then a shadow comes over his face, like he's covering some emotion he doesn't want me to see.
"Shall we?" h
e offers me his hand with a flourish.
The place reminds me of my old home with the Korrigan— a big Southern house with porches and pillars and tall windows— except this one is the genuine article, with generations under its belt; and the one the Korrigan have is less than a decade old and custom-built, with a bonus room in the form of a subterranean dungeon.
"This place is huge," I say as we walk up the steps. There's light pouring from the windows, and music— quick-moving Irish music with a modern beat under it. Just hearing it makes my heart thump faster, and I feel something waking up inside me— the pixie love of dance.
At the heavy double doors stands a very short, very fat man who must be a pixie. He's holding a tablet and watching us with narrowed eyes.
"Far Darrig," he says politely. "An honor as always."
"Walter. You're doing well, I hope?" Kieran asks.
"Since you rid us of that traitor Elspeth, we're all doing very well," he replies; but he looks uncomfortable as he eyes me. "Who is your companion?"
"This is Aislinn Byrne."
"Human?"
"No, Korrigan."
Suddenly the pixie's eyes are alert, almost alarmed. "The Soul-Stealer? You brought her here? I'm sorry, but I just can't allow her to enter. This is a safe space for our kind."
"I'm sorry," says Kieran, very softly. Very dangerously. "Did hear you right? I thought you just said you can't allow my friend to enter."
Sweat beads on the pixie's forehead. "You understand, of course. Some of us are afraid she might—"
"Take your powers? Take your lives?" Kieran leans closer to the little man. "Trust me, Walter, you have nothing to fear from her. She took powers and Life-Stream at my bidding, from a member of your race who was hated by all of you. She's not looking for more. If there's anyone here you should fear, it's me." He smiles, in that darkly dangerous way that makes my breath catch.
"Kieran, if it's a problem—" I whisper.
"No problem," squeaks the pixie. "I'll add you to the list. Please, enjoy yourselves." He steps back, and Kieran opens one of the huge wooden doors.
"After you," he says.
Druid (Secrets of the Fae Book 2) Page 6