This was so weird. And kind of sad as well. Aoife literally didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. So she stood there in the hallway, smiling through a blur of tears, while her mother spoke happily about the fairy world under Connacht (that safe and perfect fairy playground which existed only in her parents’ minds) and James happily whistled his way past them into the kitchen, to fill the kettle for a welcoming cup of tea. It felt utterly crazy that they didn’t realize who their daughter was – or rather, who she wasn’t. Obviously Carla hadn’t told her parents about the pooka – they had a pact to shield Aoife’s parents from the darker secrets – but she’d still expected …
Yet what had she expected?
Her parents to instantly realize their mistake, and that now she was the real Aoife? (Yes, actually.) She followed her father into the kitchen. Surely if he stopped and looked closely at her, he would realize there was a difference between her right now and the ‘her’ that had come back to this house in January. She said, ‘So, I guess you were surprised last time I was here, and I started going out with Killian and fell out with Carla?’
Her father looked startled as the kettle overfilled. ‘Well, you know, I did think … I mean, right from your first day at school, you and Carla were so inseparable …’
Maeve followed them into the kitchen, rolling her eyes. ‘James, I’ve told you – Aoife’s not in junior infants now. She’s a teenage girl. She’s growing up. Things change. Even old friends fall out when boys come along.’
‘I know, I know.’ Sighing, he turned off the tap. ‘Just sometimes it’s hard to remember that she’s not my little girl any more.’
‘Oh, Mam. Dad.’ Aoife felt a painful sob rising in her throat. So that was how her parents had squared the circle. The last time she’d been home from the fairy world, their teenage daughter had acted completely out of character; she’d stolen her best friend’s boyfriend and destroyed a lifelong friendship, and her parents had put it all down to her being a teenage girl and ‘growing up’.
Maeve said anxiously, ‘Aoife, darling, what’s the matter? Is this about Killian and Carla getting back together again? Are you not OK about it?’
‘Oh, Mam …’ The tears flowed.
‘Darling, tell us?’
And suddenly small arms were clamped around Aoife’s knees, and Eva was shrieking, ‘Hooray! You’re not a monster any more! You’re a fairy!’
‘Oh, good girl!’ Aoife caught up her human sister in her arms and kissed her wildly, all over her soft cheeks, in relief.
Maeve was also looking mightily relieved: ‘See, now, Eva – I knew you loved your big sister all the time!’
‘No I didn’t!’
‘You did, Eva, don’t be silly.’
‘Oh, Eva, honey.’ Aoife pressed the child tight against her heart, feeling the little arms slip around her neck, skinny legs wrap tight about her waist. ‘I’m so glad to see you. And I’m so glad you didn’t get eaten.’
‘I told them!’ cried the little girl, clinging tight to her. ‘I said you were a monster! Mam tried to make me let you kiss me and I was scared you’d bite off my head, so I wouldn’t let you kiss me, not once, and they said you could babysit but I screamed and screamed until they didn’t dare leave the house …’
‘Oh, you’re such a good girl!’
(James O’Connor – surprised – gave a short, rather bitter laugh. ‘Don’t be encouraging her, Aoife. Your mother and I would like to be able to leave the house again by ourselves one day.’)
‘And then Zoe gave me a special necklace!’ Eva wriggled to pull out from under her dress the same crystal that Teresa Gilvarry had given Aoife. ‘Same as you’re wearing now, which is how I know you’re back! And the other “you” kept trying to make me take it off, but I wouldn’t ’cos Zoe said it kept monsters away! And you never tried to kiss me again!’
‘Oh, you’re such a clever girl.’ With a sob of gratitude, Aoife buried her face in the baby neck, breathing in the sweet lamb’s-wool smell of Eva’s hair, grown long and curly in the past few months.
The little girl squealed shrilly, ‘And you kept digging up plants and leaving them in the lane, so I hid the twigs in the ditch, and when you pulled off all the horseshoes, I found them and threw them behind Declan Sweeney’s wall.’
‘You’re a genius.’
‘I’m clever ’cos I’m five in two days’ time! But my birthday party’s this afternoon! And you can come to it if you like!’
‘Thank you, I will – ah, don’t go already!’
But the little girl was wriggling to get down, bored now that everything was back to normal. ‘I want to watch telly!’ And she ran off into the back room, leaving Aoife’s parents staring at their elder daughter. Their smiles were fading.
Her mother said, ‘Aoife? What was Eva on about?’
And her father: ‘Aoife? What’s going on?’
Aoife opened her mouth to say, When you thought that was me in January … But she stopped. She couldn’t do it to them – any more than Carla had been able to do it on her behalf. She couldn’t tell them that they’d been sharing their house for a month with a demon. They’d never sleep again. And they’d been through enough in their life. So she plastered on another of her fake smiles. ‘When I came home in January, me and Eva invented this silly game …’
‘Oh, I see.’ Already, Maeve was breathing again – the colour coming back into her round, plump face – casting a smiling glance at James, who was still gripping the kettle with shaking hands. ‘You mean it was you who invented “Fairies and Monsters” for Eva and Zoe?’
Aoife had never heard of that game, but it sounded like something Eva and Zoe would play. ‘That’s right, Mam. Fairies and Monsters.’
And now James had relaxed as well, rolling his eyes. ‘For a minute, there, I nearly thought …!’
Half an hour later – as Aoife inspected her room in shock (hideous Barbie-pink duvet; stomach-churning posters of kittens instead of Kurt Cobain and Lady Gaga; glossy magazines instead of books; teddy bears and rabbits) – a brand-new (pink!) iPhone rang on her bedside table.
There was no caller ID. When she picked it up, it was Carla – who said without any introduction, ‘Can you come to a meeting? It’s starting in the deanery in ten minutes, as soon John McCarthy has shut up the shop.’
‘Grand, I’ll be there … Oh God!’
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ Aoife had just spotted a hundred photos of herself and Killian pinned to a corkboard, simpering at each other.
‘Aoife, are you OK?’
‘Fine.’ She wasn’t. She was feeling nauseous at the strange sight of herself and Killian lovingly messing with each other’s hair; sharing a Coke; sitting wind-swept on the beach; riding a pony together. And the most sickening thing about it was, he looked so happy …
So.
Very.
Happy.
While betraying Carla with a demon who looked just like Aoife.
CHAPTER FOUR
The dark-panelled dining room of the deanery was poorly lit, the heavy brown velvet drapes drawn against the bright noonday sun – as if the priest was worried about anyone seeing them.
After Mrs Nolan, the housekeeper, had shown her in, Aoife took her seat near the foot of the long mahogany table, next to John McCarthy and opposite Teresa Gilvarry, who was still wearing her green hat with the pom-poms. Carla was already sitting at the other end of the table, with a pen and a copybook, jotting down notes. ‘Father Leahy has agreed to be treasurer – thank you, Father, for the use of the church funds.’
The priest said nothing; he was too busy glaring at Aoife through the gloom. Hunched in his black robes, he fingered his crucifix with long, pale fingers.
‘Father …? OK. Nan, you’re doing press and publicity.’
‘Call me Grandmother Teresa, darling!’
John McCarthy snorted, but Carla said kindly, ‘Have you any ideas for publicity, Grandmother Teresa?’
The old woman nodded ea
gerly. ‘I was thinking, we could stage a photo opportunity for the local papers – me on my knees with a hammer in one hand and a horseshoe in the other?’
‘Wonderful. Now, John McCarthy has kindly agreed to be in charge of supplies …’
(‘Not that I’m looking for a picture in the paper,’ said John McCarthy snarkily.
Teresa snapped, ‘Just as well, because who’d want to be looking at you?’
‘Nan!’
‘He started it!’)
With a warning frown at her grandmother, Carla continued, ‘Ultan McNeal sends his apologies because he can’t leave his father for a minute, but he’s going to keep researching on the internet. I’ll be doing research as well. Could we get your dad to lend me the rest of his library, Aoife?’
Aoife nodded. ‘But I don’t want him or Mam discovering the fairy world isn’t a perfect paradise. I didn’t even dare tell them they’ve been sharing their house with a pooka – too mind-bending.’
‘Mind-bending is the word,’ murmured Killian, who was sitting near the top of the table, to Carla’s right.
Her soft brown eyes brimming with sympathetic tears, Carla reached for his hand. ‘Poor you, it was so traumatic for you …’
‘It was.’ He folded his fingers around hers, while shooting Aoife a long, cool glance from under his golden lashes.
For a moment Carla seemed unable to speak – blushingly happy to have Killian holding her hand so openly in company. But after a few seconds she managed to gasp out, ‘Now, to business. Ultan told Nan …’
(‘Grandmother Teresa.’)
‘… Grandmother Teresa that Caitlin McGreevey wants to lead the changelings into battle against their former human parents. So maybe we should expect them to attack us next. Aoife, could you tell us what you know about Caitlin?’
Aoife pictured the passionate, ugly changeling girl, with her gappy teeth and stone-green eyes. ‘Caitlin’s human mother kept telling her she was ugly and stupid – and nothing like her own precious, pretty human daughter, who was stolen by the banshee. It’s made Caitlin bitter against all humans. So she wants to get revenge. But I don’t think the other changelings feel the same. The real danger …’ Crap. She didn’t want to talk about this. Yet she had to. She breathed in deep, then let it out. ‘It’s more to do with Dorocha …’ She stopped.
Carla prompted, ‘The man you say is a devil?’
The devil.
‘That’s right. He was my mother’s servant once. The queen’s servant. Dorocha the Beloved, my mother called him. His work was to bring her human men of her choosing …’
(Father Leahy drew in his breath through his teeth – a disgusted hiss at the waywardness of fairies.)
‘… but in the end …’ Aoife stopped. Too hard to talk about her mother’s murder. Not with the priest glaring daggers down the long table at her with such hatred (no doubt reliving that moment when he’d attempted to baptize her, and the font boiled over). Nor with Killian still studying her in that strange, calculating way – not hostile like the priest, but more like he was trying to work something out. That familiar mouth, lifting at one corner.
His cynical expression, so like Dorocha’s …
She shuddered. She had to stop thinking that. It was only because Dorocha was everywhere in her mind, poisoning everything – his words like thorns in her brain: I will come for your family and your friends.
Carla prompted, ‘Aoife?’
Aoife shook herself. ‘Sorry, it’s kind of hard to talk about some things. Look, all I’m saying is, I don’t think we need worry about the changelings. I think we have to watch out for banshees. And dullahans.’
‘Dullahans?’ gasped Teresa Gilvarry, while the priest groaned and grasped his crucifix:
‘Our Father who art in heaven …’
‘Dull what?’ asked Killian, still holding Carla’s hand but with his eyes on Aoife.
Old John McCarthy scowled at the builder’s son in disgust. ‘Do they teach you youngsters nothing in school these days? The dullahan serves no master but death. He rides by night in his black cloak, his head beneath his arm, and the flesh of his face is like mouldy cheese, and his smile stretches from ear to ear and the whip in his black-gloved hand is the spine of a human corpse, and if he calls your name you perish on the spot.’
Killian went pale and turned his eyes from Aoife to Carla – as if when it came to the worst, he knew where true comfort lay. ‘Carla, what’s the old— John McCarthy on about?’
Carla squeezed his hand, saying soothingly, ‘Don’t worry. If we act now, we’ve got plenty of time to protect our families. The days go a hundred times faster in this world, so even if it takes only a couple of hours for the dark forces to realize the sluagh have failed, that’s over a week in our time. And if the dark forces take a week to regroup in the fairy world, that’s two years in our time.’
Killian looked astonished: ‘And if it’s a year in the other world, that’s a hundred years in this one before anything even happens?’
‘Brilliant!’ Carla smiled fondly at him, as if the fact that he could multiply one by a hundred was a sign of genius. ‘Anyway, the point is, we have to be prepared. I mean, if Nan …’
(‘Grandmother Teresa,’ murmured Teresa.)
‘… if Grandmother Teresa hadn’t acted when she did …’
(‘All by myself.’)
‘… exactly, all by yourself …’
(‘With my knees.’)
‘… with your knees, then the sluagh would have won already. And even if it is fifty or even a hundred years before they come again, we wouldn’t want to leave the problem for our grandchildren. So the safest thing for everyone is to get the fairy world sealed off for good. John McCarthy has put iron in the Doherty grave – thanks, John – so the next thing is to work out where the sluagh came from. I’ve been checking through last night’s Twitter for #lostsouls and #scarybirds and I found a tweet from Lois Munnelly about huge geese flying down from the bog, and then about ten other tweets from houses around the edge of the town on the school side, all the way up as far as David Burke’s beyond Rourke’s pub. Aoife, what do you think?’
Aoife, picturing the route in her head, realized – with a sudden tightening of her gut – where that flight of monsters had been headed in the small hours of the morning. ‘They must have come from the hawthorn pool, straight down the fairy road. The Munnellys’ bungalow is in the way of it. Your protective circle forced them to stop there and circle the town, instead of flying on to my house …’ She stopped, too shaken to carry on. If it wasn’t for Carla, she would have definitely returned to find her whole family torn apart by those filthy claws and mangled beaks.
Carla was looking amazed at her. ‘The fairy road we used to play on when we were little girls?’
Killian released Carla’s hand and leaned forward, interested. ‘Which hawthorn pool?’
‘The one on the small green hill, out on the bog.’ Aoife pushed back her heavy chair. ‘You’re right, Carla – as always. We need to close it off. I’ll do it now. I’ll take Teresa’s bag of horseshoes, and do it on my way home.’
Carla said anxiously, ‘You’re not coming back to the meeting? I know I said about there being probably plenty of time, but we do need to talk about other roads.’
‘I don’t know any other roads – except the sea-cave, and the lenanshees have that closed now with a seven-year spell. And I do need to pop back home for at least a while. It’s Eva’s birthday party this afternoon, and I promised to be there. Teresa …’
But after all her complaints about her knees, the old lady was surprisingly reluctant to part with her burden of horseshoes. ‘That’s all right, darling. You can come in the car with me, and show me the way, and I’ll do it myself. Might as well see things through to the finish, after I’ve done so much already.’
Carla intervened – kind but firm. ‘No, I know that pool, and it’s across a lot of soft bog and up a steep hill. Your knees won’t cope. Aoife’s a fairy and
she’ll manage it easily, because she’s so fast and light.’
Reluctantly Teresa surrendered the bag, which was chinking with rusty iron. ‘I suppose it is time to pass the baton to those with more flexible knees.’
‘Exactly, Na— Grandmother Teresa. Killian, you can take Aoife on your motorbike up the bog road, then drop her home afterwards.’
‘No thanks!’ Aoife slung the heavy bag over her shoulder and fled to the door before the builder’s son could get to his feet. ‘Stay where you are, Killian – I’ll go on my bike. I’ll be quicker.’ She ran down the hall and let herself out into the church lane. Maybe she was being over-sensitive, but the thought of being alone with Killian out on the bog – or anywhere – made her shivery. She didn’t like the way he’d been looking at her for the last half-hour, like she was a strange dog.
As if he was trying to figure out whether she might bite if he touched her.
And it would be nice to get away from Father Leahy too, with his dark, suspicious glares.
Her bike was leaning against the deanery wall. She threw her leg over the saddle and pedalled along the church lane into the square and turned down the Clonbarra road. The sun was soft and the hedges bright with the leaves of spring. As she passed the new estate, she tried to pick up speed. But failed.
Weird.
Normally she could make any vehicle go as fast as she liked. Yet right now, something seemed to be holding her back. Weighing her down. Maybe …
The Hawthorn Crown Page 14