The druids apparently have a more complicated, messier way to extract my power. Who knows if it will even work, since they obviously haven't done it before. As Kieran always says, I'm special, one of a kind. The druids apparently can't absorb powers from the Fae themselves; if they could, they wouldn't need the Far Darrig's spell. I'm not sure if their inexperience with this ritual is encouraging or frightening.
They begin some kind of weird chant in the Old Tongue, drawing symbols on my stomach, my arms, and over my heart. One of them cuts his hand and drizzles blood on me— I'm definitely not wearing this shirt ever again.
I hate the warm feeling of the blood, but I hate it worse when Malcolm rubs his knife in the sweat from his forehead and dabs it on me. Then June spits in the same spot. Gross. I'm really nervous about which bodily fluid Stanley will contribute, and I'm actually relived when it's more blood.
There's more chanting, and the application of bits of mistletoe and oak leaf and bone and charred wood. Still, nothing magical happens. I begin to wonder if they made all this up.
Apparently Maeve is wondering the same thing. "How long is this going to take?" she says. "Can you do it or not?"
"Hush!" snaps June.
Still chanting, the four of them connect their hands over my chest and then draw them upward sharply.
And there it is, my Life-Stream of a hundred years, twining in the air like glowing golden smoke; and twisted around it are the powers I've taken— a dark green strand from the leprechaun, dusky red from the fenodyree, pink from the pixie. June gasps and reaches toward the luminous, drifting stream. I feel painfully vulnerable, as if someone has stripped away my skin and muscles and is about to touch the beating flesh of my heart.
I can't give up my powers. Whether they're rightly mine or not, they keep me safe. I close my eyes, thinking back to the most painful night of my life, when the Far Darrig held me down magically and forced me to draw out Zane's Life-Stream. I was able to resist him by calling on powerful emotions, finding a calm center within myself, and pushing off the enchantment.
Maybe I can resist what they're trying to do. After all, I am part druid as well as part Korrigan.
"All right, we can see the powers now," says Stanley. "Time to begin the extraction." He sounds like a surgeon performing an operation. For all I know, he might be one.
I sink into myself, mentally searching for the root of my powers, my Life-Stream. I have to hold onto it all somehow. I think strings of Gaelic words in my head, linking them together like I'm crafting a spell— thinking them as hard as I can, and trying to say them through the gag. Fighting.
The druids are chanting more words, adding more blood and fluids to the mix from various vials. This is so gross. I'm going to need a shower— no, five showers— as soon as I get out of here.
More and more intensely they chant, eyelids half-closed, eyeballs rolled up, sweat breaking out on their foreheads. Still, the power stream and the Life-Stream intertwine lazily, floating above me, tethered to my body.
"Face the facts— you can't do it," says Maeve.
"Wait, wait, wait!" screams Stanley. He picks up his knife and starts cutting into my skin, carving something. The pain flashes through me, sharp and blinding. I scream through the gag.
Suddenly the golden Life-Stream detaches from my body, floats up into the air, and dissipates in a shower of golden flecks. The colorful power stream recoils like a whip, curling back into my chest and vanishing.
"What did you do?" cries Maeve.
Stanley is panting, sweating, his shirt sticking to his body in places. "We couldn't get the powers out," he says. "We could see them, but we couldn't remove them."
"And the Life-Stream? You stripped that?" Maeve sounds beyond furious. "This was not our agreement. There will be no payment for a job half done!"
"Very well." Stanley steps forward, eyes narrowed, his tone sharp. "Then we keep the girl."
Maeve hesitates.
"She's useless to me like this," she says. "You were supposed to make her less powerful, so I could handle her!"
"Tough break," says June, wiping her hands on a paper towel. She hands one to Stanley as well.
Maeve's rage is cold, like a blast of dangerously frigid air. There's something about her, even without any supernatural power, than makes the room feel even less safe. I wonder if the druids can sense it too.
They must, because Stanley clears his throat and says, "Perhaps we can offer you something else, a consolation prize? We keep the girl, you get— dot dot dot?"
Walking over to me, Maeve stares down at my face. What she decides now is going to change everything for me, I can feel it; and none of the possibilities look good— stay here, with the druids and their creepy rituals, or go home to a prison I may or may not be able to escape.
I don't know what she sees in my eyes— probably fear, uncertainty, pleading. I do know that she won't be moved by any of it.
After a minute of looking at me, her gaze flicks up to Kieran. He greets her with a contemptuous, challenging stare.
"Keep the girl," says Maeve. "And kill him for me." She points to Kieran.
"We can't do that, not yet," Stanley protests. "We still need the spell from him."
"Fine. Chain her up tomorrow, during the day. Use her to get the spell from him tomorrow evening, once she takes human form again. I'll be back tomorrow at midnight to witness his death. And I want her to see it too."
"Can we do it as a sacrifice?" The druid sounds ghoulishly excited. "A death like the Far Darrig's will come with immense power— seems a pity not to harvest it for our benefit. Think of the charms and relics we could make!"
June is nodding, her eyes bright and hungry.
"Whatever you need to do, as long as he's dead at the end," Maeve says.
Stanley rubs his hands together eagerly. "You see, I knew we could all get something we want! A pleasure, Queen Maeve." He actually bows to her. Instead of acknowledging the gesture, she stalks out of the room.
Stanley approaches the altar again. "At least now we have a consolation prize. Let's get her fed and washed, then lock her in for the night. And be sure she's chained up before dawn, in the backup dungeon, Level 2. We'll take her out tomorrow night for a nice little torture session."
As they drag me away, I catch Kieran's eye. A tear slides down his cheek, soaking into the gag. This, more than anything, breaks me.
Malcolm takes me to a room with several showers all in a row. No curtains or partitions between them, just a big open shower space. Maybe the druids come here to wash off the filth after their ceremonies.
I don't undress. I just take off my shoes and stand under the warm water, in my shorts and my ruined tank top. The clothes aren't long for this world anyway; when I transform at dawn, they're going to be torn to bits.
Malcolm watches me the whole time. Not a flicker of admiration or desire in his eyes, even though my wet shirt is practically see-through. It's like he's a mechanical creature that runs on pure hate, and that's what I see shining out of his eyes— a kind of deep hatred and disgust for me. It's the way I might look at a spider, or a cockroach. I wonder if it's the Korrigan he hates, or women, or people in general.
Finally I finish cleaning up and wrap myself in a towel. He takes me back to the cell and removes my gag. My mouth feels horribly dry, and my teeth seem to scrape unbearably against my sore tongue.
There's food waiting— some lumpy instant potatoes, a wedge of meatloaf that looks like dog poop. As much as I hate eating their food, I'm starving; and I have to keep up my strength in case I get a chance to escape. My mouth and lips ache as I eat, but somehow I manage to swallow most of the meal.
I hope they're feeding Kieran. I hope he will get to sleep tonight.
With the food in my belly, I'm suddenly, heavily tired. The day of tension, and waiting, and enduring all the druid spellwork has taken its toll. I collapse on the bed, murmuring a prayer to anyone listening that Kieran will be all right, that he will live throu
gh the night and the day to come, and that I will see him again.
It feels like just a few minutes later when Chuck wakes me. "An hour till dawn," he says. He's already painted another knot in blood on my chest to curb my magic. I was sleeping so hard I didn't even feel it. Pinning my arms, he hustles me, half-asleep, up one corridor and down another.
Before we even reach the dungeon, I know what I'm going to see. A massive room, hung with equally massive chains intended to hold me and my Beast when it manifests. Around my waist, Chuck snaps a band of metal. More manacles around my arms and legs— shackles so thick I sink under their weight. Chuck's beefy arms and huge fingers make quick work of the heavy locks.
"Wait!" I plead. "Are you going back to the Far Darrig? Because you know if you torture him much more, he'll die. Then he won't be able to give you the spell."
"I know when to stop," he grunts. "It's a fine art. Besides, honey, it's you who'll be tortured this evening."
He turns and climbs the concrete steps back up to the door.
When he leaves, I start crying. I can't help it. The druids may be watching through cameras, or through the narrow window at the top of the room. But I've been stronger so far than most seventeen-year-old girls would be, I'm pretty sure of that. I'd be inhuman not to cry over what's going to happen— what just happened— what I lost.
The Life-Stream was never really mine. I was forced to take it, to drain the pixie till death. Still, it was my insurance— a hundred years when I wouldn't have to wrestle with my conscience about Life-Stealing. A hundred years when I could feel the sun instead of spending the daylight hours locked away, buried inside a raving beast.
And now, in about an hour, I'm going to change again. When night falls, I'll be shivering and naked in this room, chained to the walls. And with the blood-drawn ward on my chest, I can't do magic to escape.
Unless the change scours away the ward.
It's a faint hope, but it's possible. I'll just have to wait till tonight.
20
WORRY
Zane
"Z, it's Laurel."
"Hey girl, what's up?"
"Wondering if you know where Aislinn is. She and I were supposed to go for coffee and do some shopping the other day, but she never showed. She's not answering calls or texts either."
"I haven't talked to her in a while."
"Yeah, okay. I know ya'll broke up, I just thought you might have some idea where she is. You know, with her family treating her bad and stuff, I just wanna be sure she's okay."
After Laurel hangs up, I keep thinking. Aislinn loves her phone. She keeps it on her all the time, and she's always checking it. Maybe I should talk to Arden, see if everything's all right.
But Aislinn and I broke up, right? So this whole thing isn't any of my business.
I'm sitting there, frowning at my phone, when Kali walks into my room. "Hey, Z. Ada's pickin' me up in a few minutes. You know I'm spending the night at her house, right?"
"Sure, yeah, fine."
She plumps herself down on the bed next to me. "You look really grumpy."
"Thanks, sis."
"Wanna tell me about it? I got nothin' better to do while I'm waiting."
"A'right, here's the problem. Laurel was supposed to meet Aislinn the other day, but Aislinn ditched. Won't answer calls or texts. So Laurel's worried."
"So call Aislinn. Or see if her aunt knows where she is."
"But she's not my girlfriend anymore."
Kali frowns. "I know, and I'm not happy about it. What did you do?"
I ball up a dirty T-shirt and pitch it at the laundry basket. "I got jealous."
"What? There's somebody else?"
"Yeah, this guy— look, I don't wanna talk about him. What do I do about Aislinn, right now?"
Kali taps her chin pensively. "Well, you still care about her, right? And she could be in trouble. So I'd say yeah, check up on her. Make sure she's okay."
"Maybe I will, maybe I won't," I say. "Now go on, get outta here." I toss a pair of smelly socks her way. She yelps and dives off the bed.
"Gross, Z!"
After she leaves, all offended, I call the number Aislinn gave me for Arden.
"I don't know where she is either," Arden says. "She wasn't here last night when I got back from the conference— I thought maybe you two patched things up and sneaked off somewhere together."
"No, we didn't." Now I'm getting worried. "Do you think— your old gang might have gotten to her?"
"The other Korrigan? It's possible. I'll go talk to them."
"Not alone," I say. "I'll meet you there."
I hang up before she can protest.
Why did I say that? I promised myself I'd stay out of this. Still, these are the women who beat Aislinn and locked her up for years, and I might finally get the chance to give them a piece of my mind on the subject. I been wanting a come-to-Jesus moment with Aislinn's grandmother, and this could be my chance. If they don't cast some kind of spell on me first.
Jerking open my top drawer, I toss boxers and socks out of the way till I get to the old Celtic knot medallion, the one Aislinn gave me. I slip it over my head.
"Kali," I yell on my way out the door. "Be good till Ada gets here!"
"I'm fourteen, I'm old enough to be on my own for five minutes!" she yells back.
It's been a while since I drove past the corner store where I first talked to Aislinn. A little way past it is the long driveway leading up to that huge house where the Korrigan live.
Arden's car and mine nearly collide at the entrance to the drive. She refuses to move, so I back up and let her pull in first. She hops out of the car, looking fit to bust.
"I leave town for a couple days, and this is what happens?" She shakes her finger in my face. "I'm holding you personally responsible."
"Hold up now," I say. "We broke up! It's not my job to keep tabs on her day and night. You're her freakin' guardian."
"Don't you speak to me," she says. "Just shut up and let me do a shield knot on you."
Shield knot?
I reach into my shirt and pull out the Celtic medallion on the leather string, the one Aislinn gave me. Arden's faces turns pale.
"That's the— she gave that to you?"
I nod. "Something wrong?"
She shakes her head, swallowing. "That will do the trick. Don't take it off while we're here."
With her fingernail, she traces a knot over her own skin, right under the collarbones, hard enough to leave red scratches. She's whispering the whole time she does it. Creepy. Something about the way she hurries, the intensity of her sharp face, makes me think that Arden is scared. Scared of Maeve.
If she is, she hides it well. Striding up the front steps, she pounds on the door. And pounds again. And again, till finally a brunette woman opens the door a crack. It's one of the twins, and she looks scared.
"Where's Maeve?" demands Arden.
"Not here," says the brunette. "She's gone, on important business."
"Let us in."
"No." The twin starts pushing the door shut, but I step forward and block it. She throws herself at it, but she's a lightweight, and I'm not. I'm like a rock immoveable. Finally the woman gives up and backs away.
"Thank you," I say, walking in. Arden moves past me, seizing the other Korrigan by the shoulders.
"Gemma, I've known you for centuries, and I know when you're hiding something. Where is Maeve? Where did she go?"
"Now look," says Gemma. "You can't just come in here and—"
Arden seizes Gemma's throat in one thin white hand. When she tightens her grip, her nails dig into the other Korrigan's flesh.
"I can't?" she says. "Honey, I'm not a part of your little Maeve fan club anymore. There's nothing I can't do. So you need to tell me, right now, where Maeve went and if it has anything to do with Aislinn."
"The— the mountains," gasps Gemma. "There's a druid place up there. Maeve has been talking to their leader."
"Druids? Why?"
"I can't tell you— I can't— she'll be so angry—"
"What about me? Do I seem angry?" Arden's sharp face is a bare inch from the other woman's nose.
"You better tell her," I say. "She just might kill you, and I don't think I feel like stopping her."
Gemma's eyes widen. "The druids are going to help Maeve strip away Aislinn's powers. And her Life-Stream. Then she'll have to come back here, with us."
"Hold up, can they do that?" I ask Arden.
Arden frowns. "I don't know. Maybe."
"Druids, for real? Like actual people-sacrificing, Celtic druids?"
"A branch of the old tree, yes," Arden replies, releasing Gemma. "We've known where they were for some time; but Maeve hates them. I'm surprised she would go to them for anything."
"Wants Aislinn back pretty bad, doesn't she?"
"I guess so." Arden frowns. "But Aislinn has her powers. How did Maeve manage to capture her alone and take her up there?"
"Overpowered her, maybe?"
Gemma speaks up, rubbing her throat. "I don't think Maeve captured her. Maeve left for the trip by herself yesterday. She said she'd be gone all weekend, but she also told us it's just a networking and planning trip. You know, schmooze with the druids, talk about quid pro quo, and figure out the details. They weren't planning to grab Aislinn for a week or two."
I'm surprised at how much she's telling us. It's like once she's started talking, she can't shut up. Not the greatest person to hold onto secrets, I guess.
"Then if Aislinn isn't here, and she isn't with Maeve, where is she?" I ask.
Gemma's face changes, like she just realized something; and Arden is quick to notice. "What is it? Don't make me choke you again."
"No, no, don't." Gemma backs away. "I was just thinking— maybe Aislinn heard about the Far Darrig."
Druid (Secrets of the Fae Book 2) Page 17