Druid (Secrets of the Fae Book 2)

by Rebecca F. Kenney

  "Drinks in those barrels and tubs over there," says Kieran, pointing to a collection of casks not far away, lit by a stand of lights. "Don't drink anything that's not sealed, and never put your drink down. Don't eat the food."

  I'm barely listening, already bouncing on my toes to the music. "Come on!"

  I pull him into the crowd. The music is so deafening it seems to alter the beat of my heart, forcing my blood to sync up with the rhythm. I stand on my tiptoes and lean so close to Kieran's ear that my lips brush his earlobe. "Tell me about the Fae you see."

  Immediately he points to a tall, voluptuous woman dancing near us. In the flashes of light, I catch glimpses of a vividly beautiful, breathtaking face. She's wearing black leather, dominatrix-style, and several men that look human are dancing around her, fawning over her.

  "Lianhan sídhe," he says in my ear. "Easy to spot. They enchant and enslave mortal men."

  "Great."

  He points to another group of dancers, that look perfectly normal to me, except for some kind of strange headband each one wears. "Pooka," he says. "They have to keep their horns filed and covered when they want to blend in with humans. They can take the shape of dark horses or black goats. And they breathe blue fire."

  As if to illustrate his point, all four of the pooka suddenly throw their heads back, and from their throats shoot streams of blue flame.

  "Looks like the fire you used on the leprechauns," I whisper.

  "Similar." His face darkens. "Please don't mention that incident here. It could get me in a lot of trouble."

  I can see how the genocide of a Fae race could be a problem, especially with this crowd. Even if the Fae race he killed was a pack of murdering maniacs.

  Kieran is brooding again, so to distract him I look around for more Fae to ask about. There's a man nearby, large and muscular, with a thick gold band around his neck and a mane of black hair. A woman dances with him, also wearing a golden collar.

  "What are they?" I ask, nodding in the couple's direction.

  "Dullahan, headless riders. The gold band keeps their heads in place, keeps them human. Remove a dullahan's gold band, and you're in for a world of trouble. In this form they're harmless, though."

  "I can see why you'd rather hang with the pixies than these guys."

  He smiles. "They're not all bad. I see selkies— seal folk, and merrows, probably visiting from the coast. Lots of cluricauns— like leprechauns, but not as bloodthirsty. More thirsty for ale, beer, wine— any alcohol really. Ah, there's a pixie."

  I recognize the pixie he's pointing to— a short young man with red wavy hair, a turned-up nose, and a perky grin. He waves at me.

  "Soul-Stealer, how are you?" he calls.

  Suddenly the crowd around us quiets. There are eyes on me, eyes on Kieran. I hear the whispers coursing through the Fae— "Fear dearg! Soul-Stealer." Apparently we have a reputation.

  The pixie who called out to me seems to realize his mistake and the embarrassment it's causing us. He snatches my hand. "Help me whip up this crowd!" he cries. "Come on, people, let's dance!"

  He whirls me around, bends me backwards, spins me this way and that, and I move with him, feeling the hum of his magic over my skin, through my body. I boost his power with mine, whispering Gaelic spell-words to lure the crowd, to stir them into a frenzy. And it works.

  The DJ, whatever kind of Fae he is, apparently does mostly modern electronica dance music, the frenzied kind that pumps the crowd higher and higher till everyone is just jumping and jumping and twisting, hands up, heartbeat staccato. With every pulse of the music, I feel power surging out and music rushing in, and it's exhilarating.

  I dance for days. Years. My braid long since unraveled; my hands are in my hair, and I'm flowing with the music. I am the center of a whirlpool of flashing legs and arms and wild eyes— Fae, dancing with complete abandon. They are faster because of me, better because of me. One with the music because of me. There is nothing in the universe but music, and the dance.

  And then Kieran is there.

  Right in front of me, chest to chest, his face bent to mine, his breath on my skin. He's perfectly still in the center of the storm of people, and I pause, mesmerized by the energy I feel from him. He takes my hands, weaves his fingers into mine, and we're dancing, moving slowly, but somehow it's even more intense and fierce than the frantic movements of everyone around us. He is all I can see, all I can feel. He's so close, if I move up an inch our lips will meet, and my heart will explode into delirium and delight and float out of me, up into the star-studded, neon-slashed sky above us.

  Something deep in my mind is ruining the moment. I can't quite grasp what it is. Something, no, someone—

  Someone I can't hurt.

  Zane.

  I untwist my fingers from Kieran's, break away, and slip through the crowd. I'm running from him, losing myself in the dark, where he can't find me and mess with my head.

  Panting, I break out of the dancers into the open space of the field, where the air is fresher. I'm thirsty. Desperately thirsty.

  I stagger toward an ice-packed barrel of drinks, barely able to keep my feet from starting the dance again. I grab a cold soda, crack it open, and taste it— pure, delightful heaven. Again I drink, deeply and long.

  Then I notice someone— a young woman, probably early thirties. Taller than a pixie for sure. She's standing apart from the crowd, watching me. Why? She should be dancing.

  She waves me over, so I walk her way. "Hey there! Want to join the fun?" I ask.

  She shakes her head. Her hair is short, choppy, sticking up in places— dark locks streaked with gray. Her eye sockets are deep hollows of shadow. She doesn't look party-ready at all; in fact, her ratty, oversized white T-shirt and leggings look like something she found in a dumpster.

  "You're the one, right?" she says. "Everyone's talking about it. The one who can steal powers from other Fae."

  She's bringing down my mood. "Yes, but you don't need to worry. I don't go around taking powers from whoever."

  "Oh, I'm not worried. In fact, I was wondering if you'd like— some extra power. A little boost."

  "What kind of a boost?"

  "Just, you know, the ability to sense danger. Heightened sense of others' emotions. Pretty useful stuff." She's inching backwards, away from the lighted drink area, toward a patch of the field that's in deep shadow. "Come on, I'll tell you more about it."

  I'm having trouble thinking right now, but my befuddled brain says that making friends is a good thing; so I shrug and walk toward her, into the darkness. A tense breath escapes her. "Good. Now you'll want to do it quickly, okay?"

  "Okay. But why do you want to give me your powers?"

  "I'm just tired of them. Can't use them much myself, so I'd be happy to pass them along to someone who can." She says it airily, but her eyes keep darting back and forth, looking behind me. Those eyes are too intense, too hungry. "Okay? Let's get this done so you can try out some new powers!"

  She lies down in the grass. "Go ahead and do the spell, or whatever."

  Why is she in such a hurry? Why do I feel like something is wrong? I pound the side of my head, trying to clear the fog. Too much magic. Shouldn't use any more.

  But I say the spell anyway. My lightheadness gets worse at the same time that the golden Life-Stream floats upward, out of her chest, tethered at one end.

  "Wait!" She grips my wrist. "You can take the powers without killing me, right?"

  "I can."

  "And they'll be gone. Not a bit of it left? I'll be normal?"

  "Yes."

  "Go ahead then." She's breathing fast, and her eyes are very bright.

  I bend my mind to the Life-Stream and unswirl the power stream from it. Her powers show as a long black wisp of smoke, threaded with white.

  "What are you?" I ask, hesitating.

  "Just do it!" she says through clenched teeth.

  "Aislinn!" Kieran's hands close over my wrists, pulling my hands back. "Deireadh!" he s
ays, ending the spell, and the Life-Stream and power stream curl together and whip back inside the woman's chest.

  "No!" she cries, and then wails, long and loud, a keening, sorrowful sound like I've never heard.

  "Shame on you," Kieran says harshly. He leads me away, while the woman still mourns and wails, pulling at her clothes and hair.

  "What just happened?"

  "She's a banshee, Aislinn. Her power is to sense death, and when she does, it's incredibly emotional and painful for her. Banshees feel the pain of impending death so heavily that they scream and wail for the victim, even if it's a complete stranger."

  He looks over his shoulder at the woman behind us, and I follow his gaze. She's stumbling away, toward the trees, still keening mournfully. "She's probably so weary of warning victims and their families, of sensing and feeling death, she was willing to do anything to get rid of her power. That's why she was trying to give it to you. Trust me, that's one ability you do not want."

  "I feel bad for her." Tears come into my eyes.

  He half-smiles at me. "Of course you do. That's who you are. And the fact that you're magic-high right now isn't helping your reason. We should go."

  "Oh, no! One more dance! Please, please!" I twirl around him, giving my best pout and pleading eyes. "Pretty please, Kieran."

  I see his resistance melting away. "Another dance. Then we really need to—"

  I catch both his hands and pull him into the crowd of dancers. There's nothing quite like the joy of moving together like this— the motion, the music, and the magic. But we don't get quite as close this time. I forget why we shouldn't, and I'm a little disappointed that he won't move against me like he was before.

  "This is fun," I say. "We should go for ice cream after. They sell ice cream where Zane works. Oh! Let's go there now!"

  "No, Aislinn, I think I should drive you home."

  "Silly, we can transport."

  "No, you've used enough magic for one night."

  "I can do it. Watch!" And before he can stop me, I put both arms around him and transport us to the parking lot of the gas station where Zane works.

  I'm laughing, gasping. Everything feels thrilling, every sense is just— more.

  "Aislinn." Kieran catches my hand. "Stop spinning around."

  In the harsh light of the lamppost overhead, I realize that he didn't have on the red jacket tonight— it's just him in his gray T-shirt and dark jeans. I don't ever think I've seen him not wearing red before.

  "Dance with me!" It's a command, and I follow it up with Gaelic to tighten the spell.

  He shakes his head. "You know that doesn't work on me. Calm down. You've used too much magic; you need to rest."

  "Thanks for the warning, grandpa. Gosh, you're such an old man sometimes. You should be dancing!"

  He pins my arms to my sides. "Aislinn, stop."

  "Oooh. We're doing this again?" I move closer to him. It feels good, being near him. He smells like fresh rain and fragrant pines in the forest. I reach for his waist, sliding my fingers up under his T-shirt, touching the hard muscles of his stomach, and such smooth skin! He feels even better than he smells. Except he has too many clothes on. I want to see him, all of him.

  He's pushing my hands away. "You don't know what you're doing. Stop. Listen to me."

  Of course I know what I'm doing. It's just that everything's a little more colorful, and bright, and loud, and beautiful, and it feels like there's music playing in my head all the time. I just want to move to the music, and I want him to move with me.

  Maybe if I take something off, he will too. In a second my shirt is over my head, then on the ground. I'm suddenly glad that I wore my prettiest bra today. "See, it's easy. Now you."

  He's staring at me, the muscles in his jaw working. "Why are you doing this to me?"

  "Having fun."

  "After everything, Aislinn? Please stop." He takes out his phone. "I'm calling you a car."

  "No, don't worry about it— I'll just transport when I'm ready to go."

  "No! No more magic until you've had rest. Your mind can only take so much. I would put you to sleep, but I don't know if I could manage it right now, and I don't know what another spell would do to you in this state."

  "Don't want to sleep. Want to dance. With you." I run my fingers down his arms, from shoulders to fingertips, taking his hands and placing them on my bare waist.

  Suddenly a figure rushes past me, big and fast, like a freight train. The next second, Kieran is on the ground, his nose bleeding.

  "It wasn't my fault!" he's saying. "She's out of her mind. She went too far, used too much magic."

  Zane appears in front of me, brown eyes glowing with anger and concern. "Did he hurt you?"

  I frown. "Hey, I was trying to dance with him. Party pooper."

  "What?" He's frowning too. Stepping back.

  "You smell nice, too. Not like him, though— different, like sunshine and spices. Do you want to dance?"

  "Don't dance with her," says Kieran, getting up. "Just help me get her home to bed."

  I burst into giggles. "Get me to bed!"

  Kieran sighs. "You're ridiculous. Look, Zane, she just needs rest, and sleep. This will wear off, if you can keep her from using magic for a while. Otherwise, things are going to get worse."

  "I got it," says Zane. "Where the hell is her shirt?"

  Kieran hands it to him. Holding the shirt in one hand, Zane picks me up. I lean against his broad chest with a sigh, running my hand over it. "You feel amazing."

  "A'right, girl, let's get you home before you do somethin' crazier. No thanks to you," he snarls at Kieran.

  Zane carries me to his truck. The seatbelt confuses me, so he reaches over to buckle me in. I run my hands over his tightly curled black hair, his cheekbone, his jaw.

  "You're so pretty," I say. "I like you a lot."

  "Thanks." He closes the car door and climbs in the driver's side. "Ready to go home, get some beauty rest?"

  "Mm-hmm." As he starts the car, I murmur, "I like Kieran too. He's not just pretty— he's beautiful. Don't you think so?"

  Something deep in my brain, some repressed part of me, is fussing about what I just said. Like it was wrong, like I shouldn't have spoken it out loud.

  Zane's hands clench on the steering wheel. "No, Aislinn, I don't think the Far Darrig is beautiful. I think he's an old creep with a cruel heart under a stupid face."

  "He's not stupid, or cruel," I say. "He's really interesting. And he's very, very lonely, and he hurts. He hurts so much inside, you don't even know."

  "And you do?"

  "I do. Because I can feel him, here." I touch my heart. "He's always in here."

  The fussy part of my brain is getting louder. I shouldn't be saying these things, not to Zane. What was I saying again?

  "I think I need to sleep."

  "Yes, you do." Zane's voice sounds strange.

  I don't have time to worry about it though, because I'm already drifting away.

  16

  GRENADE

  Zane

  She's in love with him.

  And here I thought I was the hero of this romance, and he was the bad guy. But I'm just the first cute guy she saw when she walked out of the forest. I'm the practice run, the prep course for the real deal.

  She's choosing somebody else. Just like Laurel did.

  Why can't I catch a damn break?

  Why couldn't I see it sooner?

  What were they doing tonight? He said she used magic— a lot of it. Why would she do that? And she hid it from me. Said she wasn't feeling well. Lied.

  Liar. Liar.

  She's been lying this whole time. Why couldn't I see it? She knew he was back. And the whole thing with the dead leprechauns? I'll bet that was him, and she was covering up for him. Makes me sick.

  She used me. Used me to make friends. Needed someone to teach her some fighting skills— used me for that. Needed love and support when she was in bad place— used me again. But she ne
ver really loved me.

  I slam my palm against the steering wheel. Again. And again, and again, and again, until it kills and I have to stop and wring out my hand.

  I can't compete with this guy. Not when he has immortality and magic on his side.

  Two ways to see it. Either I stay in this fight, and maybe come out the loser, looking like an idiot. Or I back out now. I make the choice to end it, and let her go her own way.

  Those strands of her, the ones all tangled up in my heart— they're going to hurt coming out. Blood and pain and mess.

  I don't need this right now. I got college coming up. We should be spending these days together, having fun, not with me all torn up inside because she's slipping away.

  I glance over at her. She looks like a freaking angel, with that cloud of red hair and her face so peaceful. She probably won't even remember what she said, or know what it did to me.

  When we get to the apartment, I pry Aislinn's key out of her pants pocket and unlock the door. There's a light on in Arden's room; I can see it through the crack under the door. But I'm not about to try to explain this to her. I just carry Aislinn to her bedroom at the other end of the apartment.

  She's costing me work hours here. I need to get back.

  I lay her on the bed. She's so calm now, after that weird frantic energy she had at the gas station. I'm just glad none of my work buddies saw her stripped down, feeling up some other guy. Even if she was out of her head, that's no excuse.

  I sit next to her on the bed. She still doesn't have a shirt on, and for just a second I look at the curves of her, at the slope of her stomach and the way the band of her shorts stretches over her hip bones. I've never seen her like this before.

  But I'm the good guy. The good guy doesn't touch, even if he's mad as hell with his heart splitting open. So I grab an extra blanket from the chair in her room and I cover her with it.

  Then I look in her purse and take out her phone. Sure, it's a breach of privacy, but I'm only human, after all. I have to know.

  I've seen her unlock the phone, so I know the pattern. And there are the texts. The calls. She's been talking to him for weeks, ever since that night we saw him in Asheville.