There's nothing steamy about the texts, but I'm not stupid. I can see the tension between them in those lines, the back and forth, the little jabs and jokes they share.
I walk back and forth across the room, feeling like I want to run, just run, through a dark forest. No, maybe not, after those nightmares and the leprechaun thing. Maybe a good hard run down a well-lit street.
This is what she's done to me— made me afraid of the world. I showed her the sun, and she showed me the darkness.
And that bastard the Far Darrig, how dare he contact her again after what he did? What hurts the most is that she let him back into her life, after what he almost made her do to me. He and I need to have a good talk, with fists. I'm playing dirty, too; I don't care, he deserves it. Of course he could probably use magic and turn me into a toad or something.
Reading the texts through again just makes me angrier.
I'm calling him.
I take her phone outside, to the balcony, so I won't wake her or disturb Arden. And I put in the call.
The Far Darrig answers. "Aislinn? You should be asleep."
"Not Aislinn."
A pause. Like he isn't sure if it's me, or if she's faking my voice. But why would she?
"Zane," he says.
"I want to know what's been going on with you two. I deserve to know."
"Nothing. I told her I just wanted to be friends."
"Right. Like I'm gonna believe that."
"Believe it or not, your choice."
"I choose not."
"Look, I gave up." His voice is tense, frustrated. "She's yours, she wants to be yours. So she said us being friends was all right, and that she'd tell you about it when you were in a good mood."
"But she didn't."
"Maybe you were never in a good enough mood," he says.
"Are you really joking about this right now, man?"
Silence.
"So what were you guys up to?"
"Up to?"
"Yeah, man. What were you doing with my girlfriend?"
"I've taken her to a couple of Fae parties. That's all. She got worked up with the dancing, used too much of her pixie magic, went a little crazy. You can't blame her for it."
"No," I say. "But I can blame you. You should have stopped her before it went too far."
"You're right, I should have. But she can be—"
"Stubborn?"
"Exactly."
I hate that we agree on something, especially one of Aislinn's qualities. I don't know what to do right now. What I want to do is set up something for high noon, some kind of showdown. Fists only, no fair using magic. But I doubt he'd agree to that, and with her being the liar she is, I'm not sure she's worth me dying over her.
When I don't say anything, the Far Darrig speaks up. "Did you two talk about it?"
"No. She's sleeping."
"Talk to her. She'll explain."
"Explain all the lies? That'll be interesting."
"Zane, give her a chance. She's just trying to figure out who she is."
My face burns even hotter. "Don't tell me what to do. And don't talk about her like you know her better than I do— you don't."
Even as I say it, I'm not sure it's true.
"I'll talk to her tomorrow," I say. "And you need to stay away from her. I mean it."
"That will be her choice," he says, and the call disconnects.
I call him several foul names, even though I know he can't hear me, and then I go inside, toss the phone on the bed with Aislinn and head back to work.
Tomorrow, Aislinn and I are gonna have words.
17
MOUNTAIN
Aislinn
When I wake up, I know what I've done.
It's a mess. A horrible, horrible mess. I've hurt Zane.
Zane.
The first boy who ever liked me. The one who helped me get into the world, meet people— who stood beside me while I found my freedom.
How could I ever hurt him?
He texts me that wants to meet for lunch at a park a few blocks from the gas station where he works. I bring the sandwiches, drinks, and chips; but the whole time I'm putting the picnic together, I have this sick feeling in my stomach.
What is he going to say to me? How can I ever make this right?
He makes me wait a full fifteen minutes later than our meeting time. My insides are twisting together, forming new unintended pathways. Why did I even prepare a lunch? Neither of us is going to feel like eating it.
Finally there he is, pulling into a parking space. Getting out of the truck, all gorgeous muscle and strong features, with those brown eyes that tell me his moods so well. When he gets closer, I can see that today, those eyes are full of pain. And I'm the cause.
"Zane," I say, but he holds up his hand.
"Let me get this out first," he says. "Aislinn, you were crazy last night. Just strung out on magic— and you wonder why I don't like you using it. Girl, it's not good for you!"
"I know, but it's—"
"No! No, there's no excuse here. And what's worse, you were using magic with him! Texting him, calling him, seeing him, for weeks, without tellin' me!"
"Nothing happened, I swear," I say. "He's just being a friend, helping me learn about the Fae."
"You were taking off your clothes for him!"
"I was insane, from magic! But it's not like that between us; I just care about him as a friend."
"No. That's not it." He kicks the mulch by the picnic table. "You said things last night, Aislinn. About how you feel for him."
"That's not— it didn't come out right. That wasn't really me talking."
Zane stares at me. "You think I'm dumb?"
"No, you're not. You're one of the smartest people I know."
"Yeah, well, I'm smart enough to know when something is for real and when it's not. And I hope I'm smart enough to make the hard choice, for both our sakes."
What is he talking about?
He sits down on the picnic table bench, across from me. "Aislinn, you know I love you, but are you sure you love me?"
Do I love him?
What is love? Do I even know yet? "Yes, I think I love you."
"Girl, I think you don't know what you want. And that's okay, but I need something real in my life right now. Somebody I know is gonna be there for me. If you can't do that, then I think we best end this."
My world lurches, tilts over on its side, and I'm sliding, sliding, faster and faster into an abyss, a great vast yawning emptiness. Thoughts fly like frantic birds through my brain.
This isn't happening.
I won't beg him to stay.
He's right. I know he's right.
Where am I without him? Who am I?
It's better this way, so I can't hurt him anymore.
This was going to happen eventually.
He frowns. "You're not gonna say anything? Nothing at all?"
I shake my head, pinching the bridge of my nose to keep the tears back. He waits, but I can't talk. I can barely form a coherent sentence from the fragments fluttering through my head.
"Okay, then I'll go."
He's walking away, down the path, back to his truck. He's almost gone.
Then he turns around. Strides back to me, and I'm hoping he'll pick me up off my feet and kiss me and forgive me, and let me be myself and stay with me while I work through everything.
He kneels in front of me, cupping my face in his hands. "I love you."
"I know."
He shakes his head at the movie reference; but actually I don't mean it as a trite quotation. The words just seem to fit.
"Can you give me a reason not to break this off? For both our sakes?"
"No— because you're right," I whisper. "You're better off without me."
Again he shakes his head. I hate seeing that look of pain on his face and knowing I caused it.
"You know, when you walked out of the forest that day, I thought you were too good to be true. Turns out I wa
s right."
He walks away, for good this time. In a few minutes, he's gone. And there's an aching hole in my heart where he used to be.
I shouldn't be angry with him. After all, he's got a point— I don't know what I want, or who I am, or where I'm going.
But I am angry. Angry because after all we've been through together, he won't stick with me till I figure myself out. And then I'm angry at myself , because asking him to hang on while Kieran is still in the picture just isn't fair.
And Kieran is definitely in the picture.
Kieran is trying so hard just to be my friend, trying to tone down his whole malevolent trickster thing and show me who he really is. He's helping me get comfortable with who I am. Trying hard not to flirt with me like he used to.
But I can still see the way he feels about me in those random moments when he lets his guard down and his eyes tell the truth.
And for me, he killed the leprechauns— his pets, his bodyguards, his companions for centuries. It was a weird kind of sacrifice, but I understand it, and him.
Why am I thinking so much about Kieran when I should be thinking about Zane? The boy with the brown eyes who convinced me to get in a car with him and three complete strangers on my First Day. Who didn't run screaming when he found out I was the monster who scared him half to death in the woods. The boy who has dealt with more weirdness in our relationship than any seventeen-year-old guy should have to handle.
But as horrible as I feel for hurting him, I have this strange sense of release in my soul— a kind of dawning freedom. It makes me feel guilty and glad at the same time.
Because Kieran.
I have to talk to him. Just not now, when I feel so bad for what I've done to Zane.
Later.
First, I need to go home and cry. And maybe eat an entire gallon of ice cream.
◆◆◆
I half expect Kieran to text me about what happened, maybe to apologize for not making me leave the party sooner, or to fuss at me for letting things get out of hand. But he doesn't.
He doesn't call or text the next day, either; and I start wondering if he and Zane had words. Maybe Zane threatened him, told him to stay away from me. I don't think that would stop Kieran, though— maybe he's just giving me time and space.
By the end of the second day I've had enough time and space from Kieran. It's like there's a magnet in me and another in him, just pulling, pulling, all the time, and I can't go too long without knowing he's there, without hearing his voice or seeing his words— or better yet, his face. I miss him.
I miss Zane, too. But the truest proof of my real feelings, that I can't even deny to myself any longer, is the way I miss him. I miss Zane like I would miss my own comfortable bed after sleeping on cold, hard concrete for weeks. It's how I might feel if I found my favorite possession burnt and smoking, just ash and embers. It's painful, but I will live.
Missing Kieran is different— it's like not having enough air. I get this tightness around my heart and this ache— a restlessness and a hunger. It's a need. I can't be without him.
But Kieran doesn't answer my texts or my calls. Not for the next five days.
I think about transporting straight to his loft— but that would be rude, especially if he doesn't want to see me. Finally I decide to go see him in the normal human way, by taking a bus downtown and walking to his loft building.
I'm nearly there when, in the window of an ice cream shop, I notice someone— short and thin, with a stringy goatee, dressed in rumpled clothes. It's Rimmle, a pixie I met once. When I last saw him, he was working for the investigators.
On a whim, I step into the shop and walk up to him. Maybe he knows if the investigators have given up and left, or if they're still hanging around, waiting to summon me to the Fae Council.
The pixie is deep in a banana split, eating noisily and licking his lips and fingers every few seconds. It's disgusting.
"Rimmle, isn't it?" I ask.
"You again," he snorts. "I've had enough of you and your friend the Far Darrig. You two cost me a lot of money, you know."
"How's that?"
"After I located you, I was hired to find the Far Darrig. Thanks to your concealment spells it's been a tough job, but I was closing in! He lives somewhere downtown, doesn't he? I was working on an exact location; but Malcolm texted me a week ago that they've already got him. Probably used some kind of new-fangled digital technology." He spits the last word. "So there goes my payday. Thanks for making my life harder."
But I only heard three words. "They got him? The investigators?"
He chuckles. "Look, sweetie, I don't have to keep up their lies any more, okay? So let me tell you a little something that you were too dense to figure out. Those two never worked for any Fae Council, and they're not 'investigators.' They're druids, and they've been after your red friend for a very long time."
Fear flares through me. Druids? June and Malcolm were druids?
"Why were they after him? Where did they take him?"
"That's not my concern, and even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you." His eyes are narrow, his tone bitter. "Why don't you use your little purloined powers to find him, Soul-Stealer? Good luck, though— those druids are a nasty bunch."
The sound of his laugh fades behind me as I duck into the bathroom of the ice cream shop. I close the door without locking it and transport straight to Kieran's loft.
All his things are still there— the mid-century modern furniture, the ancient sculpture of the dancing woman on the table by the window. His guitar, lying on the bed. The sofa I slept on the night I left the Korrigan, and the chairs we sat in when he told me the story of his wife's death.
Everything is very, very quiet, and there's something stale about the air, like nobody has been here in a while.
And then I see his phone, lying on the nightstand beside the bed.
He takes his phone everywhere. Every time I used to call or text him, I'd get an answer within a couple of minutes.
I check the bowl by the door. His car keys are still there— and since he got rid of the leprechauns, the Audi is his only means of transportation. He wouldn't leave those keys behind.
Rimmle is right. Someone has taken him.
Stay calm, Aislinn. Think, think, think. Pixie powers. Use them to find him.
I close my eyes and focus on his face.
Nothing. No inclination to go anywhere, no flash of an image that might help me transport. He's too far away, or concealed against me somehow.
If I could get closer to where he is, maybe I could find him. And I know where at least one druid sect resides, in the mountains near Asheville.
Arden is at some techie convention in Columbia— and besides, she wouldn't necessarily help me find him. She doesn't like him much, ever since he lied to her about reversing the curse.
Zane and I are done. And there's nobody else I can go to for help. I'm the only one in the whole world who cares that Kieran is gone, that he could be in trouble. I'm the only person who can help him.
I pick up the keys to the Audi, nervously. Zane has let me drive his truck a couple times, and I have a learner's permit now— but that's not enough to keep me out of trouble if I get pulled over. I'm supposed to have a licensed driver in the car. And no way am I getting out of downtown on my own without raising some red flags; I can barely take a turn without miscalculating and hitting curb.
I set the keys down. Transport it is.
It takes a while to even get close to the spot where we saw the stone circle. To jump, I need an image of a place in my mind, a specific spot where I plan to appear. I have to use my phone to find locations along the route, just under 30 miles apart, which is my distance limit for transporting. One time, I appear right in front of an antique store, and several people on the porch of the building stare at me with their mouths open while I desperately tap away at my phone, locating another spot and checking street view before vanishing again.
At least I gave them an interesting
story to tell. Probably the most exciting thing they've seen in a long time.
Finally I reach the road where Frank, Maisie, Zane and I forged into the woods while Mike and Laurel stayed behind.
Laurel. Darn it. I forgot we had plans to get together today. She's craving some chill time to help her forget about cheating Mike and his new girl.
Maybe I can find Kieran and still get back in time to hang with Laurel.
I close my eyes and picture the stone circle. I imagine myself standing on top of the big altar, the one where I found the hollow filled with bones and teeth.
When I open my eyes, I'm there, looking down at the ring of stones and the dead, black earth.
The clearing is quiet, except for the chirping of birds somewhere in the trees around its edges. Thanks to the late afternoon sun, the rock altar is hot to the touch, burning and scraping my bare legs as I slide down.
I hold Kieran's face in my mind, and I start walking— and as I walk, I whisper his name, and I speak Gaelic words of finding. I hope the Druids haven't hired a pixie to conceal their hiding spot, whatever or wherever it is; otherwise I could be walking out here for a very long time.
For hours, it's me and the forest— fallen leaves, earth, and scattered undergrowth, thorns and roots and rocks. Trees like tall, silent sentinels. Humidity like a blanket over my shoulders, making me sweat even though I'm in shorts and a tank top. Mosquitoes and little buzzy flies hover in front of my face again and again, no matter how many times I swat them away.
Slowly, the light is sucked out of the forest. It's night, and still, I haven't found him. Not a building, or a cave, or another stone circle in sight.
I stop by a huge oak to catch my breath.
I can't see very well out here anymore and the forest feels immense, like it takes up the whole dark universe and I'm the only tiny speck of life among endless trees.
Zane isn't here to encourage me. Kieran isn't here to protect me. There's no Arden, no Maeve, no one older and smarter than me to rely on.
It's just me.
Druid (Secrets of the Fae Book 2) Page 13