The Veil (Fianna Trilogy Book 3)

by Megan Chance

  “Worse than that. It’s all we can do to keep her alive.”

  “And the mother . . . she still says nothing?”

  Beyond Gaelic words she shouldn’t know? “She doesn’t believe the legends.”

  “I wonder what the Fianna know that we don’t?”

  Patrick wondered that as well.

  The Fomori king paused. There was something about it that filled Patrick with dread. “We cannot find another spell to save her.”

  “What?”

  “No such thing exists. I’m only being honest with you, Devlin. You should have no false hopes.”

  “But then . . . you’re saying she’ll die?”

  “Yes, but—Lot may have another solution. A bargain, perhaps, with the Otherworld. A favor for a favor.”

  Patrick’s hope warred with his foreboding. “What kind of a favor?”

  “Aengus Og kept Diarmid’s soul after he was killed on the plain of Ben Bulben. Lot believes she can do the same thing, though she has never attempted it.”

  Patrick remembered the legend well. “But it wasn’t permanent. Aengus Og only brought him back from time to time.”

  “Aye. But we could keep her soul tethered until we can find another solution.”

  An icy cold filled Patrick’s chest. “And if you can’t?”

  Bres smiled—the smile of a king, and one Patrick didn’t know whether to believe. “If anyone can find a way, ’tis Lot. Have you forgotten she’s a goddess? And a very clever one. You should have no fears on that score.”

  It was not the reassurance Patrick wanted, but it was better than nothing. Better than death. They would tether Grace’s soul and find a way to bring her back permanently. They were gods—or at least Tethra and Balor and Lot were. Bres was right; if anyone could do it, it was Lot.

  Patrick was so busy convincing himself that he forgot to ask what favor the spirits of the Otherworld might ask in return.

  October 21

  The Fomori lingered until nearly dawn. When they were finally gone, Patrick started for his bedroom. He was halfway up the stairs when he heard, “You do realize that the Fomori are our only hope of saving Grace.”

  Mrs. Knox stood at the bottom of the stairs, her hand resting on the newel post, and there was a defiant determination in her expression that was so different from her usual distraction that, for a moment, Patrick thought he must be dreaming.

  “The Fomori?” he echoed. He came back down. “But I . . . You said you didn’t believe the old stories.”

  “I never wanted to believe. I thought if I just ignored everything, it would all go away. But Lot has shown me that I’m only hurting Grace by refusing to see the truth.”

  “Lot?”

  “She’s helped me understand so much.” Mrs. Knox winced as if in sudden pain, putting her hand to her temple. “I feel that Grace is in grave danger. Lot says they can still save her. She can bring Grace’s soul back to us, Patrick. But only if Grace returns and chooses them. We must find her before the Fianna do.”

  The words spilled out before Patrick could decide what not to tell her. “Grace found an ogham stick with a prophecy. Aidan says she was following it when she disappeared.”

  “Aidan?”

  “He’s with the Fianna, Mrs. Knox, but he wants to save Grace too. He tells me there’s a connection between them. That he can feel her—or he could, anyway, before . . . I know it’s odd, but—”

  “Odd? Not in our family. What does this prophecy say?”

  When he told her, she frowned. “How familiar it sounds.”

  “That’s what I thought too.”

  “It’s in a story . . . somewhere.” Her frown deepened. “I can’t remember where.”

  Patrick said, “There’s something else you should know. Even if we find Grace and bring her back . . . she’s been with Diarmid Ua Duibhne. You remember he has the ball seirce. That’s a true story, unfortunately.”

  Mrs. Knox grabbed his hand. “I know. But I also know Grace loves you, Patrick. She must not be allowed to ruin her future because she believes in a lie. I will do anything I can to keep that from happening.”

  Assuming Grace had a future. Or that souls could be brought back and made to stay. But Patrick didn’t say that. He wanted to believe. He wanted it more than anything. “The ball seirce is very strong. You’ve seen what it’s done to my sister.”

  “Grace will do what’s right in the end. I know it. We’ll save her life, and she’ll do what’s right.”

  Patrick remembered Aidan saying that his mother was stronger than she looked. Patrick saw that strength now. He didn’t feel so alone. “You should get some sleep, Mrs. Knox. It’s been a long night.”

  “I trust you, Patrick. I know you will find her.”

  Patrick was relieved that she knew the truth, but her trust was a heavy burden. She seemed so certain he could fix this, and yet he was no longer certain of anything. His dreams never left him; the prophecy murmured in his head. He felt always that he was on the edge of worlds; a single wrong step, and he would hurtle back into time, into another century of swords and Druids and rooms filled with oracle smoke.

  They were only dreams, he told himself. But there was a part of him that knew they were more than that, that there was something in them he should understand, something he should remember.

  And that was the most troubling thought of all.

  That same day

  Diarmid

  Diarmid cornered Aidan near the stairs. “A word with you.”

  “Leave me alone.” Aidan tried to push past him. Diarmid didn’t budge.

  “When you met with Patrick Devlin two nights ago, who were you talking about?”

  “Ah, so it was you I felt. I’d have thought eavesdropping beneath you.”

  “I’d have thought consorting with the enemy beneath you. Was it Grace you spoke of?”

  Surprise flickered in Aidan’s eyes. “Grace? No, why would you think that?” He glanced at Finn. “Oh, I see. Let me guess: you thought we were talking about Grace, and you went to find out for yourself. No wonder Finn’s annoyed with you again. How many times do I have to tell you that I’m trying to save my sister’s life? Why the hell would I want her with the Fomori?”

  “You were talking about someone who swooned. Someone speaking Gaelic.”

  “My mother, you addlepated ass. That’s who we were talking about. Patrick was worried about her, though he shouldn’t be.”

  “How would you know? When was the last time you saw her? Does she even know you’re alive?”

  “It’s none of your concern, as I’ve told you before,” Aidan spat. “Now let me pass.”

  “Not until you tell me why you were meeting with Patrick Devlin.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but I thought he might be able to interpret the ogham stick.”

  Now Diarmid was surprised. “The prophecy?”

  Aidan nodded grimly. “Patrick studies relics, you know. I thought he could help.”

  “So you gave him the information that might lead him to Grace first.”

  Aidan let out an exasperated breath. “She’s engaged to him, which I think you keep forgetting. And he loves her and wants to save her. That’s not a lie.”

  The words were like little blows.

  “He’s not under a geis to kill her either,” Aidan added. “So if you’re asking me who I trust more to help me save her, I’m going to choose Patrick, whether he’s allied with the Fomori or not.”

  Diarmid shoved Aidan into the wall. “You’re dangerous and you don’t even know it. If Patrick and the Fomori find her first, she’s dead. By the gods, ’tis lucky Grace loves you, no matter that you don’t deserve it, or I’d slit your throat.”

  “Let’s not talk of who’s deserving, shall we? You’re the one who left her. It’s because of you that she’s in danger now. All I asked was for you to protect her, and you couldn’t even manage that.”

  The guilt worked. Diarmid released Grace’s brother.
Aidan pushed by, shoving Diarmid hard.

  Diarmid could not deny Aidan’s words, and he would not wait another moment to talk to that Druid in the pawnshop. The old man had to know something. It was too strange—a Druid in Manhattan that no fairy had yet mentioned. It didn’t make sense.

  He grabbed the railing, swinging to the stairs. He’d only taken a few steps before Oscar called out, “Don’t be going off alone, Derry. Wait until I’m done with training, and we’ll go together.”

  Diarmid winced when Finn asked, “Go where?”

  “We found a burned out Druid yesterday,” Oscar told him. “Drained by the sidhe. Half-mad. We were going to question him today.”

  Aidan turned around. “What?”

  Diarmid ignored him and said to Finn, “I don’t want to waste any more time. I’ll go alone. The old man won’t be any trouble.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Aidan said.

  “No,” Diarmid snapped.

  “He might know something about the prophecy.”

  “I don’t want you,” Diarmid said bluntly.

  Finn waved a dismissive hand. “Take him anyway. Perhaps he can discover something, Druid to Druid. They tend to understand each other.”

  Diarmid bit back his irritation. “Fine. Come on then.”

  Neither he nor Aidan said anything as they left the flat and walked through town. They didn’t speak until Aidan pushed him into an alley, out of sight of two policemen that Diarmid had been too distracted to see.

  “Look, I know you’re angry,” Aidan said, “but I’d rather not have to tell Finn you’ve been arrested.”

  “You shouldn’t have come,” Diarmid said.

  “Finn’s right, and you know it. Perhaps the Druid will tell me something he wouldn’t tell you.”

  “You’ve never seen a Druid like this. We’ll be lucky if we get any sense from him at all. The sidhe don’t leave much behind.”

  Aidan shuddered. “Were the fairies still there? Did you feel them?”

  Diarmid remembered that Aidan had reason to be fearful. “I won’t let them touch you if they are there. But ’twould be best if you weren’t like your sister, insisting on making bargains that are better not made. They’ll tempt you, and you’ll find it hard to resist. I’ll try to keep you from being stupid, but I’m no miracle worker.”

  “I’ll try to keep you from losing your temper and killing him before he tells us anything, but I’m no miracle worker either,” Aidan said.

  Diarmid laughed reluctantly. “Maybe we could call a truce, aye? At least until we get back.”

  “Agreed. What matters now is finding Grace.”

  They said little more as they made for Corlears Hook. The pawnshop was easy to find again. Aidan opened the door and they went into the muffled quiet. Again, Diarmid felt that uncomfortable, eerie heaviness. Already he wished to be gone.

  “Do you feel it?” he asked Aidan.

  Grace’s brother shifted his shoulders as if to relieve pressure. “Yes. Where is he?”

  Just then, there was a clicking sound, toenails on floorboards, and the whippet Diarmid had seen yesterday rounded a corner. It growled low.

  Warily, Diarmid called, “Anyone here?”

  He heard nothing, or—whispers, though they seemed weirdly inside his own mind. Aidan was cocking his head as if he heard the same thing. Diarmid’s skin crawled; it was all he could do to call again, “Hello?”

  The dog growled once more, and then there was a crash from the back, and the old Druid emerged from the storage closet.

  “Ah. ’Tis you again. Not hiding today?”

  “We’ve come to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.” Diarmid stepped toward him. The dog growled, but slunk out of the way.

  “Questions’re free.” The old man went to the glass counter and pulled out a bracelet, which he began to polish.

  Diarmid went up to him, pressing his palms upon the glass. “You’re a Druid, aren’t you?”

  “Druid?” The old man looked at him with watery eyes and sighed. “Ah me, no.”

  “Perhaps not now,” Aidan said, coming up beside Diarmid. “But you were once, weren’t you?”

  His rubbing of the bracelet grew more intent. “Was I? Perhaps. The years pass so—”

  “The fairies came,” Diarmid reminded him. “D’you remember that? They wanted to touch you—”

  “Touch you, touch you,” the old man said in a creepy, singsong voice.

  Shivers slid up Diarmid’s spine.

  Aidan started, looking over his shoulder. “What was that? I heard something—”

  “Ghosts,” said the old man. “Spirits. Oh, we’ve plenty of them, don’t we?” He laughed; it was a boyish giggle.

  Aidan said, “We’re looking for my sister. She’s a Druid—a veleda. Have you seen her? Or heard of her?”

  “Why ask me?” The man polished the jewelry feverishly.

  Aidan said, “Because you’re a Druid, like she is, like I am.”

  The old man’s expression sharpened, distraction gone. “You’d best leave. You’re in danger here.”

  “In danger from what?” Diarmid asked.

  The old man said to Aidan, “He waits for ones like you. He’ll want to keep you.”

  “Who is he?” Diarmid asked.

  “Leave! Go now. I cannot help you.”

  Aidan frowned. “But my sister—”

  “Go!”

  Diarmid seized the man’s wrist, stopping his incessant rubbing. “Have you seen her?”

  “No. No, no, no. If you value your friend, you will take him away.”

  “You mean the sidhe return here?”

  Again that childish giggling. Diarmid released the Druid’s wrist and stepped back. Aidan swayed, looking over his shoulder in confusion. Diarmid recognized that expression. He’d seen it in Grace, when they’d been surrounded by the sidhe.

  Diarmid’s uneasiness turned to fear. “Aidan, we need to go.”

  The old man sang, “Aye, they return. Over and over. Touch you, touch you, touch you . . .”

  Aidan’s knees gave way. Diarmid grabbed his arm, keeping him upright.

  “Do you hear that?” Aidan asked in a faraway voice. “A song . . . bells.”

  “Go away,” the Druid said. “Don’t come back.”

  Diarmid tightened his grip on Aidan, who was swaying in earnest. “If you hear anything of her, anything at all, send word to Finn’s Warriors. Can you do that?”

  “There’s no hope.” The man shook his head. “There’s no hope for any of us.”

  Diarmid pulled Aidan to the door.

  “Let go of me. I have to stay.” Grace’s brother struggled in Diarmid’s grasp. “He wants me.”

  Diarmid shoved Aidan out the door so forcefully, they both fell into the street. Aidan blinked as if he were waking up. He stared at the shop.

  “Are you all right?” Diarmid asked.

  “Dear God. I’ve never felt anything like that.” Aidan was pale and shaking. “That song was . . . I couldn’t resist it.”

  Diarmid sagged in disappointment. “’Tis bad, I know. Grace felt the same.”

  “It pulls you in. Like . . . like gravity. Did you feel it?”

  “I felt the magic; I didn’t hear the song. But I’m no Druid, am I? I’m glad to be rid of the place, but I was so sure . . .”

  “What made you think he would know something?”

  “I can’t even say. ’Twas just . . . odd, don’t you think? This place being here, us never having heard of it?”

  “There was no reason to hear of it. He’s been drained, as you said.”

  “But the sidhe return. They were there. You felt it. Why would they come back if there’s nothing to feed on?”

  “I don’t know.” Aidan sighed. “But Grace isn’t there.”

  “No,” Diarmid admitted.

  “I’ll tell you one thing, though. If she ever was, she would never have escaped it.” Aidan threw him a bitter look. “Not without you, not alone.�
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  Aye, she was alone. His fault. It was something he could not forgive himself for. Diarmid prayed it would not turn into disaster.

  But he feared it already had.

  The fourth week (sidhe time)

  Grace

  I dreamed of Diarmid turning away, deaf and blind to my pleas to stay, and then the hounds of Slieve Lougher were chasing us, their glowing eyes and slathering jaws, those dagger-like teeth, and Diarmid did not wait as I fell farther behind, the hounds nipping at my heels—

  I jerked awake with a gasp only to hear that the dream had followed me. Claws scratched at my door. A bloodcurdling howl. Then the howl turned into a whine, and I realized it was only Cuan.

  When I opened the door, he gave me a sad-eyed look and turned to the stairs, clearly meaning for me to follow.

  “What? Now? It’s the middle of the night—”

  He whined again. Iobhar would not wait. I grabbed a dressing gown from the trunk and pulled it on, pushing up the huge, draping sleeves, nearly tripping over the hem as I followed Cuan down the stairs. Iobhar was obviously in a temper again—it looked as if a tornado had hit. Piles had been scattered or become mountainous. Six chairs teetered on a mound of crockery. A tower of books stretched to the ceiling, brushing cobwebs heavy with dust.

  Iobhar was at the counter with a single oil lamp burning low. Neither Roddy nor Sarnat was anywhere to be seen, but Stag stood to one side, and Torcan rooted about the floor. I glanced at the windows; it was black outside.

  Iobhar stared into a bowl of water skimmed with shimmering oil. Lamplight sent rainbows across the surface.

  He looked up. His eyes were frighteningly yellow.

  “What?” I whispered, drawing back.

  “The first day I drained Roddy, there were ten other sidhe with me. They held him down while I leeched him. They cheered every moment. He begged me not to stop, but I wanted to torment him. I spent days tormenting him, sucking a little each day. An exquisite torture.”

  I remembered when the sidhe had grabbed me on Battle Annie’s boat, how repulsed and terrified I’d been even as I never wanted them to stop. “Why are you telling me this?”