Darragh frowned. ‘Do you trust her to do that?’
‘Do we have a choice?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘Okay, then,’ Ren said, wishing his thoughts would clear for a moment so he could get his head around everything that had happened in the last couple of hours. It was hard to credit, standing in this suburban hallway, that a few hours earlier he’d been standing on the battlements of a fortress hundreds of miles — and an entire reality — away from here, having his brain magically slam-dunked by the twin brother he didn’t even know he had until a few weeks ago. ‘We should get some sleep. It’s nearly three am and I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted. In the morning, we’ll sort out clothes, and I’ll find out where Hayley is.’
‘Will she not be in the place you left her?’ Darragh asked.
A terrible thought occurred to Ren. If Hayley was still in the ICU, and still in a coma, how was he going to get her to the nearest reality rift so he could have her magically healed in another reality, if she didn’t survive the journey through?
The first thing Ren did on waking the following morning was take a shower. It felt so unbelievably good, he almost ran the hot water out, letting the grime and the confusion of the past few weeks wash away with the water.
The only sour note to the morning was that he’d dreamed the dream again. It wasn’t as vivid as it used to be, but that might have been because Darragh was here with him. Or perhaps their recent actions had changed the possible future they both saw, and the dream was no longer relevant. Did that mean staying in the other realm would alter that future? If he only had the dream when he was in this reality, perhaps it was staying here that would make it come true.
He let the water cascade over him, trying to decide what would be better. Stay here and suffer nightmares for the rest of his life, or return with Darragh to an uncertain world where he might have some hope, perhaps, of controlling his fate?
Ren wasn’t sure what day it was. In Darragh’s reality, all the days seemed the same. Because of the moon, he knew he had been away for a month or so. By now, all his friends were back at school. Life would have gone on without him …
It was a disconcerting thought.
Once he was out of the shower, Ren borrowed Warren’s razor, something far easier to use and far safer than the thin cutthroat razors on offer in Drombeg. He then went looking for some clothes and had a stroke of luck. Warren owned nothing likely to fit Ren or Darragh, but the ‘kids’ Warren referred to were obviously teenagers. The first bedroom door he opened was painted pink, filled with posters of Britney Spears, and an alarming number of stuffed animals. Darragh was stretched out across the frilly floral bedspread on his back, snoring softly.
The second bedroom revealed a shrine to all things heavy metal. There were posters of Megadeth on the wall over the bed, a Guns ’n’ Roses towel draped over the window to cut out the light, and a Metallica poster on the other wall beside the built-in closet, and when he flipped the light switch, it proved to be wired up to a UV light over the dresser. Ren grinned and went to the closet. Sure enough, in addition to a number of school uniform shirts and a blazer bearing the crest of the nearby Terenure College, the wardrobe was full of blue jeans and black T-shirts.
He pulled out a pair of jeans and was relieved to find they were of a size that might fit him and Darragh if they wore a belt. When it came to shoes, he wasn’t quite as fortunate, but he figured that wasn’t such a big deal. Their boots from Darragh’s reality would pass casual scrutiny, concealed under jeans.
Ren gathered up the clothes and walked back into the hall, wondering where the others were. Darragh was asleep in what was clearly the room of Warren’s teenage daughter, Warren was passed out on the sofa in the upstairs study, which was where Darragh had left him last night. He assumed Sorcha and Trása had crashed in the lounge.
Ren headed down the stairs carrying the clothes. He heard the television. It wasn’t coming from the lounge, but from a wall-mounted set in the kitchen. Trása was sitting cross-legged on the counter, dressed in black jeans and pink T-shirt proclaiming ‘Boys are cute, every girl should own one’ in glittery writing on the front. She was eating a bowl of fruit puffs, and was engrossed in what appeared to be a program on the E! Channel.
She ignored Ren until he picked up the remote and started flicking through the channels, looking for the news. That was the fastest way to work out what day it was.
‘Hey! I was watching that!’
‘I need to find out what day it is.’
‘Thursday, 6 September 2001,’ she told him, through a mouthful of fruit puffs. She snatched the remote and switched back to the E! Channel.
Ren decided not to argue about it. He headed for the fridge, hoping the absence of Warren’s wife didn’t mean the absence of anything edible. ‘I don’t know why you watch that crap,’ he said, as he jerked the fridge door open.
‘Don’t knock it,’ she said. ‘It’s how I found you. Where’s Warren?’
‘Still sleeping it off in the study upstairs. Have you seen Sorcha?’
‘Last I saw of Sorcha, she was patrolling the grounds.’
‘Shit,’ Ren muttered, slamming the fridge shut. The last thing they needed was one of the neighbours spotting Xena the Warrior Princess in the yard, armed to the teeth, ready to fight off … well, whatever it was she thought she was protecting them against. ‘Why did you let her go outside?’
‘Interesting. You say that like I had any say in the matter.’
Ren looked out the kitchen window. He couldn’t see Sorcha, but that just made it worse. She might be halfway across the golf course by now. ‘I’d better go find her. Can you show Darragh how to put these on? How to work the zip,’ he asked, pointing to the clothes he’d dropped on the counter beside her.
She nodded and kept eating her fruit puffs. He was at the back door before she stopped him. ‘Rónán.’
He turned to look at her. ‘What?’
‘I’m sorry I got you into trouble,’ Trása said, sounding genuinely contrite. ‘I thought I was helping Marcroy.’
‘You were helping Marcroy,’ Ren said.
‘I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt.’
He wished he could be certain her apology was real but she had framed him for murder. And thanks to the Comhroinn, he had enough of Darragh’s lingering mistrust of her, to doubt Trása’s sincerity. ‘I’m sure the homeless guy you killed would be thrilled to know that, Trása.’
She sighed, as if his anger was exactly the response she expected. ‘I won’t let you down again, Rónán,’ she promised. ‘You or Darragh.’
‘Damn right, you won’t,’ Ren said, as he jerked open the back door. ‘’Cause believe me, Trása, you won’t get the opportunity.’
CHAPTER 53
The air in this realm was wrong.
Sorcha didn’t feel the loss of magic. She had no magical ability to speak of, so she was no more handicapped here by her lack than she had been in her own realm. But the air smelled wrong, and because of it, she felt uneasy.
From her perch in the trees, she could see the back of the house, and plenty of other houses besides. They all seemed too big and too close together, a mishmash of styles that didn’t look right. On her right, the golf course — whatever that was exactly — stretched out before her. Defensively, it was a nightmare. The large open swathes of clipped grass were broken up by lines of trees and undergrowth that might have some useful purpose, but offered too much cover for an advancing foe.
She heard a door opening and turned to survey the building. Rónán was coming out of the house, dressed — she presumed — in clothing appropriate to this world. He cut a much leaner figure than his brother, and lacked Darragh’s athleticism, but that was something they could address once they got back home. A few months of training should fill him out and put some meat on his bones.
Rónán looked around, his expression worried.
He’s looking for me, Sorcha realised.
> ‘Psst!’
Rónán turned his head in the direction of her hiss. ‘Sorcha?’
She grabbed the branch she was squatting on, tucked in her head and rolled forward until she was hanging by her arms a few feet off the ground, and then she dropped, landing on the soft lawn with bent knees. ‘If you yell my name a little louder, Leath tiarna,’ she remarked as she straightened, ‘perhaps the people in the next village will know I’m here, too.’
Rónán regarded her for a moment. ‘You do realise we’re not in a village, don’t you?’ he asked. ‘We’re not even in what you would call a town. This is Dublin. There are a couple of million people living around here.’
‘Well, that would account for why the magic is gone from this world,’ she said. ‘What happened in this realm to make Eblana the centre of the world?’
Rónán seemed puzzled by the question. ‘The centre of the world? Dublin? You’re kidding, right?’
Sorcha shook her head. ‘Not at all. Why else would all these people gather here, if it were not the centre of learning and government for this realm?’
‘You think Dublin’s the largest city in this reality?’ Apparently amused by her question, Rónán turned and headed back to the house, obviously expecting her to follow. With a final glance around to assure herself they were safe, she followed him to the porch. He opened the back door and stood back to let her enter.
‘Isn’t it?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s not even close. Do you suppose you could come inside and get changed? I don’t want the neighbours ringing Warren to ask why Conan the Barbarian is patrolling his back garden.’
Sorcha gathered he was referring to her clothing. Maybe even her weapons. And the back garden was overlooked by the upstairs windows of several neighbouring houses. Although she’d been hidden from view in the tree, on the ground, she was vulnerable.
She wasn’t happy about having to change, however. ‘Are you going to make me wear clothes like the mongrel sídhe is now wearing?’
‘You mean like Trása?’ He shook his head. ‘There should be some jeans in Warren’s daughter’s room that fit you, but if you’re not a fan of pink sparkles, Warren Junior seems to be a metal-head. There should be something in his room with enough studs and chains to keep you happy …’ He paused, and then gave her an odd look. ‘What?’
Sorcha shook her head. ‘I am discovering, Leath tiarna, there is a great deal of difference between understanding your words and understanding their meaning.’
‘Yeah, well —’ His words were cut off by a panicked cry from the half-Beansídhe traitor who’d followed them through the rift.
‘Rónán!’ The call came from somewhere deep in the house. The Beansídhe was no longer in the kitchen.
‘What?’ Rónán called back. He shut the door behind Sorcha and locked it.
‘You’d better come here!’
‘Jesus Christ, what now?’ Rónán muttered.
Sorcha followed him through the dining room — with its long table polished to a mirror shine and plush chairs fit for a council of kings — and into the front room. The Beansídhe was standing in the middle of the room. Next to her was Darragh, dressed in a similar fashion to Rónán. They were staring at a small box on one of the side tables by the far wall, which sat next to another small rectangular box resting in a cradle. There were blinking lights on both.
‘Could we keep the yelling to a minimum?’ Rónán said, as he stalked into the room. ‘Warren’s still asleep. What’s wrong?’
‘I heard the box talking,’ Darragh said, pointing at the blinking red light.
‘The answering machine?’ Rónán walked to the oddly shaped silver box in question and started pressing buttons.
Sorcha sidled up to Darragh and asked, ‘Why do they have machines here to answer questions?’
Before he could explain Rónán pressed another button and a woman’s voice emerged from the box.
‘It’s me,’ the voice said. ‘Pick up the phone.’ There was a pause, and then an exasperated sigh. ‘Okay then, I was just ringing to let you know we’re on our way home. I’ve had a gutful of my mother. I can’t do anything right, according to her. I’m a heartless monster, our kids are a lost cause and you’re a hopeless loser. I swear, the next time I’ll listen to you and just send the miserable old bitch a card and a bunch of flowers for her birthday.’ There was another sigh, and the woman added: ‘We should be home around dinner time, so if you’ve been having wild parties while we were away, honey, you’ve got until then to clean up the mess.’ She chuckled and added, ‘Although knowing you, you’ve probably eaten at the club every night since I left … anyway, we’ll see you later today. Don’t forget to put the garbage out.’
The woman’s voice was replaced by a horrible beeping noise that Rónán shut off with the press of another button. Then he turned and looked at them. ‘Anybody care to hazard a guess as what later today means?’
‘If Warren’s wife is in Limerick,’ Sorcha pointed out, wondering why he looked so worried, ‘then we have a day or more, surely? If this city is Eblana as you claim, then Limerick is more than a hundred and twenty miles from here and they have no ability to travel magically via the stone circles.’
‘Yeah, but the magic of the internal combustion engine could have them here in a couple of hours if the traffic’s with them,’ Rónán said, looking very concerned. ‘Shit! I was hoping we’d have more time.’
‘More time for what?’ Darragh asked. Trása flopped into one of the big armchairs, picked up a magazine from the table beside the chair and began flipping through the pages. It was enough to make Sorcha want to slap her. Trása shouldn’t have been here, but now that she was, the least the mongrel Beansídhe could do was act as if she cared what was happening.
‘I need time to find out Hayley’s condition,’ Rónán said. ‘Time to figure out how we’re going to get her from the hospital to wherever we need to go, to get her back to your reality. Time to figure out where that is, by the way. Jesus! Just time!’
‘Who the fuck are you lot?’
Warren was standing at the living room door, staring at them in shock. He was rumpled and unshaven, still dressed in his golf clothes from the night before, bleary-eyed and obviously confused. Sorcha, who was standing closest to him, summed up the situation in a heartbeat. They needed time, Rónán said. At worst, they had only two hours before Warren’s family got home. Warren’s appearance was robbing them of precious minutes.
Without a word, she stepped up behind the man, put her arm around his neck so her forearm was pressing against his Adam’s apple, and then she pushed his head forward with her other hand, squeezing hard. Five seconds later, Warren slumped in her arms. She let him go and he dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
‘What the fuck!’ Rónán exclaimed in shock. ‘What did you do?’
‘You said we needed time,’ she reminded him, a little offended at his tone. ‘He was wasting it.’ Sorcha rolled her eyes. ‘What were you expecting me to do? Give him a fighting chance by letting him land the first few blows?’
‘But you knocked him out cold!’
‘It’s not that difficult, Rónán,’ Darragh said. He too seemed a little puzzled by his brother’s attitude. ‘If the blood vessels that feed the brain are robbed of blood, it induces almost instant unconsciousness. You didn’t want her to kill him, did you?’
‘Enough!’ Rónán exclaimed. ‘Christ! What was I thinking bringing you lot back here?’
‘Strictly speaking, you didn’t bring them here,’ Trása said, looking up from her brightly coloured magazine. ‘They brought you. It was Ciarán who opened the rift.’
‘Shut up,’ Rónán snapped. He turned to Darragh. ‘Can you check if Warren’s okay?’ he asked, pointing to the unconscious man. ‘We’ll need to lay him out somewhere until he comes around. And make sure you put him on his side. We don’t want him suffocating on his own tongue. We have enough problems as it is.’
‘Wh
at about me?’ Sorcha asked as Darragh manhandled their host into the hall. ‘Do you have any orders for me, Leath tiarna?’ Her tone left Rónán in no doubt about what she thought of his orders, but he ignored it, and took her question at face value.
‘Yes, I do. Get out of those clothes and into something that isn’t going to get us arrested the moment you step out of the house. And stop hitting people.’
‘Yes, Sorcha, do as the Leath tiarna says,’ Trása added cheerily. ‘Stop hitting people.’
Rónán turned on the Beansídhe, no more appreciative of her interjection than Sorcha was. ‘Will you shut up?’
‘I could render the halfling unconscious just as easily as I did the man,’ Sorcha offered, fairly certain that Rónán wanted to kill the mongrel sídhe even more than she did.
‘Don’t tempt me,’ Rónán muttered, glaring at Trása.
‘Pity,’ the sídhe said. ‘Because then you’d never learn what I know about Hayley.’
‘You don’t know anything about Hayley.’
‘I do,’ Trása said. ‘And if you promise on your brother’s life to release me from my curse as soon as we get back to our reality, I’ll tell you what it is.’
Sorcha took a step closer, her hand on the hilt of her sword. ‘Please, Leath tiarna, let me kill her. It will make things easier for us all.’
Rónán held up his hand to forestall her and studied Trása for a moment. ‘What do you know?’
‘Promise me first.’
‘Okay, I promise. What do you know about Hayley?’
‘She’s not in hospital any longer.’
Sorcha let out an exasperated sigh. ‘Please, Rónán. Don’t let her waste any more of our time. She can’t possibly know that.’
‘Sorcha has a point. How do you know where Hayley is?’
Trása tossed the glossy magazine to Rónán, who caught it in one hand. He looked at her.
‘Page twelve,’ Trása said, pulling a face at Sorcha before adding, ‘Kiva’s Mission of Mercy is the headline. There’s a lovely article in there about how she’s paying all the bills for her chauffeur’s daughter’s treatment after her terrible accident caused by the paparazzi outside her house. There are even pictures of your mother and your little friend, who is alive and well, you’ll be glad to know. Oh, except that apparently, she’s blind.’
The Undivided Page 37