The Undivided

by Jennifer Fallon; Jennifer Fallon

  ‘Tomorrow night,’ Ciarán told him. ‘Whatever scheme Álmhath and Tarth have cooked up between them, it would be useful if you could delay them until after that.’

  ‘They’ll be there waiting this time, Ciarán,’ Darragh said with complete confidence. ‘I know they will.’

  ‘Is that your Sight speaking, lad, or are you just hoping for the best?’ Ciarán asked gently.

  Brydie strained to hear the answer. She was very interested to know that too. Was Darragh simply hoping for something to happen or had he Seen it?

  For that matter, if he had the gift of Sight, why hadn’t he Seen her in his dreams, or had some inkling as to why she’d been thrust in his path?

  Prescience, Brydie decided, wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

  She moved her head slightly, to hear a little better, but this time Darragh caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. He spun around faster than Brydie would have thought possible. The bowl tumbled to the ground, plunging the room into darkness, the scrying magic evaporating as the link with Ciarán was severed.

  Darragh leapt astride Brydie, his hands at her throat, before she could utter a sound.

  ‘Tell me everything you heard,’ he demanded, his sapphire eyes sinister and dangerous in the darkness. ‘And trust me, I’ll know if you’re lying.’

  She stared up at him in fear, her heart pounding, her breath strangled. Should she betray her queen or save her own life?

  It should have been a difficult decision to make, but she decided she wouldn’t be in a position to report anything to her queen if she was dead. Brydie did not doubt that Darragh was capable of carrying out his threat.

  ‘I heard you talking to Ciarán. I gather he’s hunting some rogue rift runner for you, and he’s planning to bring him home soon. Or at least you’re hoping he will.’

  He squeezed her throat a little tighter. Brydie could barely breathe. ‘Is that all?’ he said.

  ‘What else was there to hear?’ Brydie gasped, struggling to drag air into her lungs.

  ‘Why did Álmhath send you here tonight?’

  ‘She … she wants me to have your child.’

  Darragh stared at her for a moment and then released his grip on her throat and stood up. He waved his hand, setting the candle by the bed magically alight. The meagre flame did little to dispel the sinister cast to his angry expression.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ he demanded.

  ‘Álmhath wants a child from you,’ Brydie repeated. ‘She says your line is too precious to lose.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You are one of the Undivided,’ Brydie reminded him. ‘I would have thought the why was self-evident.’

  ‘Why now, then?’ he asked, echoing the thought Brydie had had when the queen first marked her for this task.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I only know what Álmhath told me. “The Tuatha have found something they weren’t meant to find.” Those were her exact words.’

  Darragh frowned as he considered her information. Brydie wondered if the rift runner Ciarán was searching for had anything to do with the thing the Tuatha had discovered, the very thing that had precipitated her presence in Darragh’s bed.

  ‘So you’re not really a volunteer, then?’

  ‘No …’

  ‘Get out.’ He said it in a flat, emotionless tone.

  She was shocked. She’d told him the truth. ‘But … why?’

  He sat on the edge of the bed and began to pull on his shirt. ‘Álmhath might want my seed bad enough she’s willing to take it by force, but I’m not having any woman against her will. Go.’

  Brydie couldn’t believe he was kicking her out because he was so principled he didn’t want to take a woman against her will. Laudable as that was, Brydie couldn’t go back to Álmhath empty-handed. Or with an empty womb, for that matter.

  ‘But Ciarán just told you to play along with Álmhath,’ she said, afraid she sounded like she was begging to stay. ‘You should be keeping me here to allay her suspicions, not sending me away.’

  He looked at her over his shoulder. ‘You heard that much, then?’

  Hmmm … I probably shouldn’t have admitted that. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I thought you weren’t a volunteer.’

  ‘So now I am volunteering,’ she said, sitting up to look him in the eye, conscious the furs had fallen to her waist and her breasts were exposed.

  Darragh studiously avoided looking at anything but her face. ‘You’re spying for Álmhath.’

  ‘So, don’t tell me anything of strategic importance.’ Brydie smiled, figuring if she couldn’t entice him with her fabulous breasts, a smile was about the only weapon left in her arsenal. ‘At the very least, don’t give Colmán ammunition to compose some dreadful epic poem tomorrow about your inability to keep a woman satisfied.’

  Even Darragh cracked a small smile at that suggestion. ‘I can see why Álmhath picked you.’

  Brydie smiled a little wider. ‘I have a better idea. You want to stall Álmhath and Marcroy Tarth until Ciarán opens his rift tomorrow night? Then stay here with me as you planned. Don’t come out of your room at all.’

  ‘Why?’

  She climbed onto her knees, warming to the idea. She could still get Álmhath the child she wanted, and also remain in the good graces of the young man who, a few moments ago, had his hands around her throat and might still be considering killing her to ensure her silence. ‘You’ve already had me tell Colmán you’re planning to be here for days. So let’s do it. They can’t hold a meeting with the Undivided if you’re not there, can they?’

  He stared at her in silence.

  ‘I’m up for it, if you are … and if you aren’t … well, I know a few tricks that could help with that, too.’

  Darragh continued to study her with a puzzled expression. ‘Just whose side are you on, Brydie Ni’Seanan?’

  ‘The truth?’ she asked him honestly, thinking of Ethna and her grim future as Atilis’s bride. ‘Mine.’

  CHAPTER 22

  Hayley wasn’t sure when she became aware of her surroundings again. For a long time she floated in a world of emptiness … a warm cocoon where nothing seemed to matter. Reality resolved around her slowly. It took a while for her to register she was lying in a hospital bed and that there seemed to be some dissent as to her prognosis. She had heard people talking in the distance in hushed, frightened tones. Then the soft beeping of countless electronic monitors lulled her back into unconsciousness, while voices she didn’t recognise whispered about her as if she wasn’t there.

  When she tried to move, she discovered a strange heavy feeling in her limbs, holding her down, but the cottonwool cocoon kept her warm and safe so she didn’t feel the need to panic. She did want to know why her stepmother was crying, though, and why her normally jovial and talkative father was so ominously silent.

  Hayley deduced that people were upset, and they seemed to be upset with her. She wasn’t sure why. She wanted to tell everyone she was fine. She wanted to sit up and demand to know why she was surrounded by electronic beeps and whispering voices, because she had no idea how she got there.

  Hayley’s last memory was seeing Ren with that girl. He was holding her hand.

  In the distance, the faint beeping seemed to grow more strident …

  Hayley drifted in and out of consciousness, unable to tell anyone she was awake. Her head pounded constantly when she emerged from the darkness. Unconsciousness was a relief. Such a relief she was disinclined to do anything that might prolong her fleeting bouts of awareness.

  Not that Hayley had any control over that, either. She couldn’t move a muscle.

  Her dreams were jumbled and chaotic, never focussing on any one thing for long. Her world was defined by haunting images interrupted occasionally by a reality so painful she prayed for the dreams to return. Her dream world was bewildering, but painless.

  In her dream world, Ren wasn’t holding that pretty blonde girl’s hand. He was holding Hay
ley’s. Ren featured a lot in Hayley’s dreams which was why she preferred them to the real world. In them, he seemed much happier than the Ren she knew in her waking life. In her dreams, Ren wasn’t haunted by dark nightmares so terrible he couldn’t even tell his best friend what he dreamed about …

  In her dreams, Ren noticed she was alive.

  Even in her befuddled state, Hayley knew that wasn’t fair. Ren didn’t ignore her. Of course he knew she was alive. He was her best friend, after all, and she was his.

  But that’s all he was, she knew; that was how it was meant to be. Hayley had resigned herself to that long ago, and some days it even seemed a good idea. Ren had few real friends, thanks to his suspicion, not entirely unfounded, that people only wanted to know him because of his mother. He protected those few friendships jealously.

  But he wasn’t nearly so careful of casual relationships with girls, as their encounter in the mall with Shangrila had proved.

  In that respect, he was like every other boy who had ever drawn breath. Kerry had once hugged her and told her to stop worrying about it. Besides, Kerry said, it’s not like you have to care, darling. He’s your cousin.

  Adopted cousin by marriage, Hayley wanted to remind her, but she stayed silent. It hurt less if people thought she was just being a critical friend, questioning her cousin’s taste, rather than a jealous fool with a crush on a boy she could never have.

  Hayley once woke to a world she didn’t recognise. Ren was there, as he was in all her dreams, except this time he wasn’t the Ren she knew. He was a different Ren, with longer hair, and a more muscular build, as if he’d spent all summer working out, instead of playing that PlayStation of his. The Ren in her dream was dressed strangely, too. He was different, stronger, more serious. But every time she called to him, every time he turned to look at her, the dream vanished and she was back with the pain, the electronic beeps and the hushed, worried voices of reality.

  ‘Hayley … can you hear me?’

  Ren’s voice pierced the fog and she realised she wasn’t dreaming this time. She was stuck in the limbo between unconsciousness and waking where the pain hadn’t quite returned, but she could hear the beeping that had become the soundtrack of her dreams.

  Ren …

  Hayley said his name in her mind but nothing came out. Her tongue was dry, stuck to the side of her mouth, forced there by a tube that took up most of the space between her teeth. She was aware of the tube, mildly surprised she wasn’t gagging on it.

  But she could do nothing about it.

  And she certainly couldn’t speak.

  ‘They say you can hear me.’

  Yes, Ren, I can hear you. God … my head is pounding … it hurts so much to think …

  ‘I’m so sorry, Hayley. This is all my fault.’

  Hayley might have agreed with him, had she been clear-headed enough to figure out exactly to what Ren was referring. She guessed it had something to do with the headache and the tube and the beeping and the fact that she couldn’t feel her fingers or toes …

  ‘They told me to just tell you good news … you know, like you’ll get better, and keep on fighting, and all that crap … but …’ His voice faltered.

  But what? Hayley wanted to scream at him. Don’t stop there! Tell me what’s happening!

  ‘Jesus, you’d better not die on me, Hayley.’

  Die? I’m dying? Thanks for the heads up, Ren …

  She sensed him leaning in a little closer. ‘We’re gonna get him for you,’ he whispered.

  Get who? Make some sense here, Ren.

  ‘Trása’s called in a few favours from Jack’s old prison cronies.’

  Trása? Who is Trása? Is that the skanky ho I saw you walking down the street with? Hand in hand?

  ‘Turns out Murray is a first-rate sleazebag,’ he said.

  Like somebody else, I could mention. If I could talk.

  ‘One of Jack’s buddies has some info on a deal he’s got going this afternoon,’ Ren continued, still talking in a whisper, as if he was afraid he’d wake her.

  God, Ren, stop going on about Murray Symes. Tell me what’s wrong with me …

  ‘The cops said they’re not going to do anything about what he did to you, but we can get the bastard disbarred, or dismembered, or whatever it is they do to doctors caught dealing shit under the counter.’

  Is that what’s wrong with me? Murray Symes gave me something? The thought didn’t make much sense to Hayley. The last thing she remembered was seeing Ren trying to cross the road amid a sea of photographers.

  Was Murray Symes even there?

  Hayley knew the answer was there somewhere, but in her pain-fogged mind, she couldn’t quite make the connection. She wondered if Ren was holding her hand. If he was, she couldn’t feel it.

  He was still talking, but Hayley found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on what he was saying. She wished she could open her eyes but there seemed to be something over them, blocking out the light, and she couldn’t move her hands to check. By the time she finished that thought, she felt something on her forehead … Ren’s lips, she decided, not sure if he was kissing her goodbye or she was back in another dream …

  ‘Why isn’t she awake yet?’ Hayley thought she heard Ren ask, except he wasn’t talking to her. His tone was no longer soft and conspiratorial. Now he sounded angry. Or maybe worried.

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ she thought she heard Kiva tell him. Was Kiva here too? Why?

  Hayley might have panicked at that point — if she’d been able to. God, I must be dying if Kiva’s the one handing out sage advice.

  ‘She’s in an induced coma, sweetheart,’ Kiva explained to Ren in a low voice. ‘The doctors will bring her out when they’re satisfied she’s stable.’

  ‘But it’s been more than a day …’

  ‘And it may be a few more,’ his mother told him comfortingly. ‘There’s nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Yeah …’cause they induce comas for the craic, don’t they?’

  ‘Ren … please … not in here …’ That wasn’t Kiva. It sounded like her father. Was Patrick there too? Was everyone in the room, clustered around the bed, talking about her as if she was on her deathbed?

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ she heard Ren say after a moment. ‘About everything.’

  ‘It’s okay, Ren,’ Kiva whispered.

  ‘No … really. I’m sorry. About the red carpet. Accusing Murray of being a pervert. For getting Hayley into this mess.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, Ren,’ Hayley heard her father say.

  What? What isn’t Ren’s fault? Somebody tell me what’s happening and why I can’t make you hear me!

  ‘Patrick’s right, darling. Hayley’s injuries are not your fault. As for Murray … he only wants the best for you. We all do. You just make it so hard, sometimes.’

  ‘I know,’ Ren said. He sounded worn down and defeated. Do you sound like that because of me? Hayley wondered.

  ‘I do love you, Mum,’ Ren added in a low voice. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘You have an odd way of showing it sometimes, darling.’

  ‘Look …’ Hayley heard Patrick say in a loud whisper. ‘Much as it’s nice to see you two hugging and making up, can we move it outside? She can hear everything, you know.’

  ‘Then perhaps it’s a good thing she hears us talking,’ Kiva said. ‘Hayley should know she’s loved and that those who love her love each other.’

  ‘And she will,’ Patrick assured Kiva. ‘But really, if we crowd her, the doctors won’t let any of us in here.’

  ‘I could have my naturopath call in …’ Hayley heard Kiva begin. But she didn’t hear the rest because the voices faded and Hayley could no longer make out what they were saying. Or perhaps she’d fallen asleep again, and had dreamed the whole thing.

  Any time now, Hayley decided, I’m going to wake up at home in my bed and everyone is going to laugh themselves senseless when I tell them about this crazy dream I’m
having.

  Except if it’s a dream, why does my head hurt so much?

  CHAPTER 23

  ‘Anything coming?’

  Ren glanced out of the warehouse window at the rain-slick cobbled alley. He shook his head.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Like you were even looking,’ Trása said, tossing Plunkett the Creepy Leprechaun Doll ahead of her before climbing up the stack of abandoned freight pallets to where Ren was sitting. She wore a very tight T-shirt that didn’t quite cover her midriff, which Ren found distracting. ‘Some lookout you are.’

  Trása shoved the doll aside and clambered forward on the stack of old pallets to look out the window. It was still raining, but there was no sign of any cars yet. Ren wondered why she wasn’t wearing a jacket. It was chilly in the warehouse, but the temperature didn’t seem to bother her.

  ‘Are you sure Jack is right about this?’ he asked, still wondering why he’d allowed himself to be talked into this foolishness. Trása was far too good at persuading him to do things against his better judgement and he couldn’t understand why. He’d only known her a couple of days.

  In fact, the rational Ren inside him suggested — the one he wasn’t listening to — if you had any brains at all, moron, you’d leave now. Before anybody else arrives.

  And before his mother’s manager, Jon van Heusen, discovered Ren borrowed his rented Ferrari while he was back at the house discussing Kiva’s next movie offer with her.

  But Jack had been adamant this was the real thing. And as Ren was helpless to do anything else for Hayley, getting Murray Symes off the road seemed as noble a quest as any.

  ‘This is a matter of honour,’ Trása reminded him. She was very determined about this — so determined, Ren found it impossible to disagree with her.

  ‘I wonder if that’s reasonable grounds for breaking and entering,’ Ren mused, glancing around the rubbish-strewn building. There were a few cardboard shelters beside a couple of old shopping trolleys over in the far corner of the cavernous warehouse. He guessed a number of homeless people camped here at night. He wasn’t sure how the homeless men found their way inside the warehouse. Ren and Trása had broken a lock to gain entry. ‘That door didn’t pop open on its own, you know.’