The Dark Beloved

by Helen Falconer

  Lois flushed with pleasure; she said weakly, ‘But why does it have to be her who plays the part of Aoibheal? Why can’t I be your queen?’

  Dorocha withdrew his finger and leaned out of the window, crying, ‘Coachman! Drive on!’ The whip cracked, the horses jerked forwards, and the coach rumbled into the driveway of the last house, drove in a circle around the lawn (living room curtains being furiously jerked aside), then out of the gate again, back towards Kilduff. After which Dorocha brought his attention back to Lois – who was staring open-mouthed out of the window, clearly shaken at the way the coachman had just driven right over someone else’s carefully mown grass. ‘Lois, I adore you . . .’

  Immediately she turned to him, all smiles – the churned-up lawn forgotten. ‘Do you?’

  ‘But everyone has to do what they do best. And what you can do best for me is to be my gift to the druids, who have asked me to bring them a teenage human girl as a sacrifice—’

  She emitted a shrill, startled giggle. Then said uncertainly, ‘What?’

  ‘Let me explain again. I am on a mission from the druids to bring back a teenage human girl for their festival.’ Again Dorocha touched the girl’s soft chin, tickling her very lightly under it. ‘My sweet one, say you’ll be my gift to them!’

  Her doubts softened by his endearment, Lois simpered, ‘Sweet one? Oh, you’re such a messer . . .’

  ‘Sweet and tasty! Yum-yum! Ah, she’s smiling! Come on, say you will!’

  ‘Oh, you . . . OK, whatever!’ relented Lois, laughing. ‘I’ll be your human sacrifice!’

  Lying on the hard wooden bench, watching Dorocha make Lois his adoring pawn, Aoife focused on breathing slow and deep. She had to make a move soon. She had to get stronger. She had to persuade Lois out of the coach. She struggled; managed to half sit up. ‘Lois, you need to get out. Now.’ Her voice was slurred – soft and croaky.

  Lois stopped giggling with Dorocha and bristled at Aoife, black curls bouncing. ‘What? No! And quit talking like a zombie on Xanax – you don’t sound scary, you just sound stupid, you can’t act.’

  Dorocha winked at Aoife. ‘You see? Lois doesn’t want to get out. She wants to feel the cold stone knife pushing slowly, slowly, through her skin, the fat, the flesh, the ribs, tickling the skin of her heart just before the druid . . .’

  Lois said, giggling again, ‘I know it’s Halloween, but . . .’

  ‘. . . plunges in the knife!’

  Lois squealed with infatuated pleasure, ‘Eeugh, gross!’

  The coach had re-entered the square and was nearing the church again. A handful of cars were crossing their path – parents arriving to collect the disco-goers, forcing the horses to slow to walking speed. A knot of older teenagers were gathered at the top of the parish lane, watching for the return of the coach, their shadows thrown long and black by the solitary streetlight on the corner. Carla was waiting, with Killian’s arm around her. Sinead was there, looking at Killian, and Darragh as well, a cigarette glowing between his lips, patiently being ignored by Sinead.

  Dorocha pressed his face to the window, gazing with sudden interest. ‘Lois, who is that remarkable-looking boy with the very pale hair? He does remind me of someone . . .’

  ‘Killian Doherty? He’s an awful tart, and his girlfriend is a penance. Can we go round again before you give them their go?’

  He drew back from the window, smiling at her fondly. ‘Of course we can. Together, you and I, we can go round and round.’

  ‘Really?’ Lois glowed, enchanted. ‘Thank you so much . . . Can we drop Aoife – I mean, Aoibheal – off first?’

  A stir rippled through the group of teenagers as it became clear that the coach was not going to stop on the corner, or follow the cars down the lane to the hall. Lois’s phone rang; without taking her eyes from Dorocha, she put it to her ear and rolled her eyes. ‘Sinead, stop bothering me, we’re having great craic. No, he’s lovely. Stop trying to spoil things for me. No, I’m not going to get out – we’re going around again—’

  Aoife said, louder than before, ‘Lois, Sinead’s right, get out now.’

  ‘Bye, Sinead – and in your face!’ Clicking off the phone, Lois turned on Aoife crossly. ‘No, you get out! Go on, go chase after Darragh or Killian, or whoever you’re hot for tonight— Hey, where are we going?’

  They had passed the entrance to the lane, but instead of going around the square, the coach had carried straight on down the Clonbarra road and was now picking up speed – the horses trotting past the empty estate, cantering as they reached the garage . . . Galloping now, the wheels spurting gravel and squelching in mud . . .

  Lois was beaming, bouncing up and down, hanging onto the edge of the wooden seat. ‘Oh, oh, the road’s so bumpy! How far are we going?’

  ‘As far as your house, my dear.’ Dorocha had his arm hooked over the back of the seat behind her; his dark blue eyes, resting on the human girl, were narrow with amusement.

  She was thrilled. ‘Really? Are you going to come in?’

  ‘I am indeed.’

  ‘Yay! I’ll text Mam to tell her she doesn’t have to fetch me – she’ll be delighted.’ Her thumbs tap-tapped away happily at her phone as she bounced. ‘I can’t wait to see Mam and Dad’s face when they see us roll up in this! Let’s drop Aoife first, she’s on the way. Here’s her turning— Oh!’ The coach had swept past the lane to Aoife’s house. ‘You passed it! Can he turn round? Seriously, Mam won’t want me bringing her home with me; my nan thinks she’s an awful heathen . . . OK, fine, but we’ll have to leave her in the coach while we have our tea.’

  The cold glass of the window trembled against Aoife’s cheek, vibrating with the speed of their going. In the small stone house at the bottom of the lane, James and Maeve O’Connor would be waiting for her to text them to pick her up from the disco. If she could just somehow open the door, jump out . . . But she couldn’t leave Lois, she had to help Lois. Lois thought Dorocha was joking, but the druids did sacrifice teenage girls; the changeling girl Caitlin had been afraid of them for that very reason . . .

  God, help me help Lois.

  But God had turned His back on her. The water had boiled in the font.

  Shay, help me . . .

  How could Shay Foley have abandoned her? It didn’t make any sense . . . Dancing with that girl. That girl. She slipped her fingers under her cardigan, slid them over her shoulder, where he had touched her to heal her. Still hot, even now. She angled her hand to cover the print of his. The heat of him rising from her skin. The touch of his touch, seeping into her.

  ‘Oh, hi, Mam, did you get my message? You’re going to get a real surprise! Not far away . . .’ Lois rang off, then said nervously, checking out of the window at the black hedges flashing by, ‘We’re nearly there – aren’t we going a bit fast?’

  ‘Are we, my lovely Lois?’

  She giggled wildly. ‘Oh!’

  The warmth of Shay leaking up into her hand, wrist, trickling into her blood, crawling into her heart . . . The last of his grá for her.

  ‘That’s mine up ahead – tell your driver to slow down, we’re going to miss it, we’re going to— Oh!’

  At the last moment the coach swung violently to the right, whip cracking and horses screaming, wheels half off the ground, and went thundering up a neat gravelled driveway straight towards the Munnellys’ small modern bungalow.

  ‘The horses are bolting! We’re going to crash into my house!’

  ‘I thought you didn’t want to miss it,’ said Dorocha cheerfully. ‘And who in their right mind builds their house on a fairy road?’

  ‘We’re going to crash!!’

  A sensor light flared, illuminating the porch. For one moment it did seem they were going to smash straight between the plastic columns into the front door, but at the last instant the galloping horses took a sharp left across the lawn, sending a small fountain and a hundred plaster gnomes flying. In the living room, turning from the television, startled faces . . .

  Lois
howled in horror, ‘The lawn!’

  Dorocha shouted out of the window, up to the coachman, ‘Get off the lawn!’

  The coach took a sharp right, straight through the closed French windows of the conservatory . . .

  ‘Not the house!’

  . . . in a massive shower of glass and plastic, turning over a potted palm tree, the television, the drinks cabinet . . .

  ‘No! The sun room!’

  . . . the wheels of the coach mired in cane furniture, horses screaming, struggling to get through. In the archway that led to the living room, Jane and Peter Munnelly standing clutching their heads and howling in distress . . . Lois’s grandmother, her pink face distorted with horror in the background . . .

  Still holding her shoulder, Aoife made a weak effort to stand up. Now was her chance to get out, and take Lois with her.

  ‘Let me past!’ Lois shoved Aoife aside, reaching for the coach door, crying over her shoulder to Dorocha: ‘Come on, quick – let’s go!’

  But before Lois could turn the handle, the wheels came free and the coach shot through the back wall of the conservatory, across a rockery and then – the horses sweating, dragging and shrieking under the persistent whip, bloody spittle flying from their mouths – squeezed between the tightly planted border of conifers, over a low stone wall and line of barbed wire, into a field of sheep that scattered, onwards up the steep moonlit hill towards the mountains . . .

  Lois sank to the floor, arms over her head, wailing, ‘We’re all going to die!’

  Dorocha pulled her up onto the seat beside him. ‘Calm down, my sacrificial lamb. You’re safe with me.’

  She clung to him. ‘Save me!’

  ‘Ssh, shh, of course I’ll save you.’

  ‘Don’t let me die!’

  He roared with laughter. ‘Now why would I let you die, my lovely Lois? Not yet, anyway.’

  Drawing on the last remnants of Shay’s energy, Aoife made one more desperate effort. ‘Lois, you have to get out!’ Staggering upright, she dragged the human girl from her seat and pushed her against the door, throwing it open. ‘Jump!’

  ‘What are you doing?’ howled Lois, clinging to the door frame as the field went flying past beneath the wheels.

  Aoife shoved her as hard as she could. ‘Get out!’

  ‘Stop pushing me! You’re crazy!’

  Dorocha was amused. ‘Aoibheal, really, don’t be so cruel to the girl. How many times does she have to tell you, she doesn’t want to get out? Lois, my love, come here to me . . .’

  ‘She’s trying to kill me! Stop her!’ But Lois’s fingers were slipping, and with one more fierce shove, Aoife hurled her out of the coach, then flung herself out as well, crashing on top of the screaming girl, grabbing her and rolling over and over with her down the hard stony hill, arms wrapped around Lois’s head, taking the battering of the rocks on her own arms. The coach thundered on up the hill, door slamming to and fro. The headless coachman – hood fallen from his shoulders – was standing up on the box, hauling on the reins, trying to turn them back. But Paddy’s screaming, bolting carthorses snapped the reins in their terror and – their heads now unrestrained by the coachman’s inhuman strength – went pounding on up the steep slope towards the moonlit sky, dragging the coach by its shafts behind them, disappearing with it over a ragged hedge of brambles into the next field.

  As the thunder of the wheels grew fainter and fainter, Aoife rose to her knees. Lois remained flat on her back – eyes closed, face white as milk in the moonlight.

  ‘Lois?’

  ‘Aaargh . . .’

  ‘Oh, thank God. Are you all right?’ She slipped one hand under Lois’s shoulders, thinking of trying to move her out of the bed of thistles in which the girl was lying.

  Lois shuddered and flinched. ‘Don’t touch me. My arm . . . My leg . . .’

  Aoife moved her hands away hastily. ‘Are they broken?’

  ‘Please don’t kill me . . .’

  ‘No one’s trying to kill you – he’s gone, you’re safe now.’ Far below at the foot of the hill, outside lights were springing on at the back of the bungalow; she could hear thin distant cries. ‘Have you your phone? Let me ring your parents, tell them where you are – they’ll call an ambulance. Is it in your pocket?’

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ With surprising energy, Lois rolled sideways across the thistles, scrambling to her feet, kicking off her one remaining high heel. ‘You’re a psycho!’

  ‘OK, good, I’m glad you’re OK, but call them anyway—’

  ‘You were determined to get rid of me, weren’t you? You’re not just a slut, you’re an evil vicious whore!’

  Aoife cried in astonishment, ‘Lois, I was trying to save you!’

  Staring up the hill to where the coach had disappeared, Lois wailed miserably, ‘And now he’s gone without me!’

  ‘Are you mad? You could have been killed!’

  ‘Yes, by you! Don’t try to follow me!’ And Lois went scampering away – ‘Mam! Dad! Help! Ow!’ – barefoot over the thistles and stones, down the long dark field towards the lights.

  Left alone on the hill, Aoife collapsed on the grass, exhausted, her forehead resting on her knees. Behind, over the mountains, the moon was riding high – every rock and clump of thistles throwing its hard inky shadow over the grey grass. Lois’s dark little shape zigzagged at surprising speed down the hill until she reached the conifers and scrambled over the fence into her garden, into the embrace of the electric lights and her parents running frantically to meet her.

  In the pocket of Aoife’s cardigan, her mobile beeped. She pulled it out – the screen was shattered, but thankfully it was still working. The text was from Maeve:

  Ready to be picked up yet?

  She texted back:

  Not yet. Having great craic.

  Then, with a sigh, sank her head into her arms. A shower of hair fell around her shoulders, coming loose from its tie – glinting dark silver in the moonlight, instead of red-gold. A cool wind blew over her back, making her shiver in her thin cardigan. She raised her head, pulled the short dress down over her knees. Time to go home. Maybe slip back to the parish hall so Maeve could pick her up from there? A long shadow lay on the ground beside her. She looked at it for a while, then, with the faintest of hopes, pressed her hand to her shoulder. But the skin was cold now. The last of Shay’s warmth was gone. She was on her own. As calmly as possible, she got to her feet and turned round.

  He was standing just above her on the moonlit hill, on a small tussock of earth and grass, his arms folded. As soon as she had turned to face him, he winked and took a step towards her.

  Don’t let him touch you. She took a hasty stride back, nearly falling.

  ‘Oops, mind yourself!’ He was laughing, raising his hands, palm out. ‘Relax, my queen. I’m not going to come near you! I’ve only come to talk.’

  She could run, but she knew now that he was so much faster . . . She stood with her fists clenching by her sides. Show no fear. He didn’t know about Shay and the girl in white. As far as Dorocha was concerned, Shay’s grá was still her shield: the Beloved could not force her to marry him. ‘Talk about what?’

  He sat down on the tussock, perched with arms around his knees, his dark coat spread out about him. The moonlight brightened his pale skin, deepening the inky blue of his eyes to black, whitening his copper lashes, casting shadows beneath his high cheekbones. His hat was on his lap, the spiders balanced precariously around the rim. ‘About you, for one thing. I’m curious about you, Aoibheal. You just risked life and limb to save a stupid human girl who had nothing good to say about you.’

  ‘I could hardly let you hand her to the druids as a sacrifice!’ Even though she suspected him of being . . .

  Empty . . .

  . . . she was shaken by this glimpse into his nothingness – the fact that he couldn’t even understand why she would want to save silly, foolish Lois Munnelly. It was unnerving, the ignorance that underpinned his evil.

  Dor
ocha was shaking his head. ‘But she was human! Aoibheal, you have to grow up – you need to break your ties with this world.’

  She said angrily, ‘It was you who sent me here when I was four!’

  He tutted, flicking at a spider that had crawled off onto his knee, herding it with cupped hand back onto his hat. ‘I should have chosen your parents more carefully – I didn’t realize you were going to be so badly brought up.’

  ‘They’re good parents!’

  ‘Exactly. Anyway, enough of your personal failings. What I’m really here to talk about is your lenanshee boy. How did you like Shay Foley’s sweet lover, Aoibheal? His hungry, heart-sucking demon? She always steals the most beautiful boy from the dance – and so I sent her here, to Kilduff, because who could be more beautiful than a lenanshee boy of sixteen? She is so happy with my gift to her, and he is deep in love . . .’

  The blow to Aoife’s heart was so great, she staggered; the field seemed to shift beneath her feet. She should have known . . . Why hadn’t she listened to Carla? Carla had said, This isn’t Shay Foley’s style. How could Carla have been so wise, and she so blind? Shay would never have left her for another girl. She should have known something must be wrong. Instead, she had abandoned him . . . She cried hoarsely: ‘Where has she taken him?’

  Dorocha shrugged, spreading out his hands. ‘Too late now, I’m afraid. My pretty demon will never let him go, and his heart is hers for ever. It’s a shame, Aoibheal. I was going to bring you with me to Falias. I thought you might like to join the party.’

  She seized at this strange, amazing straw. If she could get to Shay, she could simply kiss him, and they could fly to freedom. ‘I would, I’ll come with you to Falias – it’s such a beautiful city!’

  But he pulled a long face at her, his lower lip thrust out. ‘Mm, no, sorry, changed my mind.’

  ‘No! Why?’

  He was shaking his head. ‘Blame that Lois. Or rather, blame yourself. Look at all the fuss you made to save that stupid girl, when I had specially promised the druids a teenage girl for their festival – and now Morfesa will get in one of his foul moods and mutter on about every time he ever did my bidding against his better judgement, and how I always try to force the hand of fate. All this mindless rushing to rescue people, Aoife – it makes such a mess of things.’