The Undivided

by Jennifer Fallon; Jennifer Fallon

  It was now or never, Ren realised. If Pete called this in, they’d both be arrested and it was unlikely they’d get away a second time. Even with Brógán and Niamh on the case and an endless supply of Brionglóid Gorm — God, if only they’d had time to bring a bag of that magic blue dust through the rift with them — it would take a major effort to spring both of them out of gaol, and that was surely where they were headed. And even if they could be rescued by people from another reality, the problems back in their own reality caused by their absence were mounting every moment they were away.

  It suddenly occurred to Ren how selfish his plan to rescue Hayley really was. Not only had he drawn Trása and Darragh into his folly, he wondered if Hayley even needed rescuing?

  All he knew about her condition he’d read in OK! Magazine.

  There was no way he could allow Darragh to be caught here. Whatever the future held for Ren, he needed to end this so Darragh, at least, could get away.

  Before he could do anything heroic, however, Sorcha’s head appeared over the front passenger seat. Ren hadn’t realised she was crouched down in the front with Darragh, although it made sense. She would never let Darragh rescue him without her help. Pete barely had time to register she was there before her fist flew at his face. She knocked the detective out cold with a single short sharp jab.

  ‘Should I finish him off?’ she asked, looking at Ren questioningly.

  ‘Christ no! Get these cuffs off me.’

  It took a few seconds for Sorcha to climb into the back seat, rifle through Pete’s pockets to find the keys, unlock Ren, and pull the unconscious cop out of the car onto the footpath. Traffic whizzed past, and the occasional car slowed down so the occupants could stare at them. As soon as he was no longer shackled, Ren jumped out of the back seat and jerked the driver’s door open.

  ‘I’m driving,’ he said. Darragh nodded and climbed sideways into the passenger seat without protest. Pete was already starting to moan as he came to. Ren climbed in behind the wheel and turned to Sorcha. ‘Get his radio.’

  The warrior looked at him blankly. ‘His what?’

  Ren could try to explain what he meant or do it himself. Cursing, he jumped out of the car again, ran around to Pete, rolled him onto his back, grabbed his radio, tossed it on the ground and crushed it with his heel. Then he ran back to the car, climbed in, started the engine, slammed the transmission into reverse, and backed it out into the traffic with all the finesse of his brother.

  A glance in the rear-view mirror as they sped away showed him Pete starting to pull himself upright. At least Pete wasn’t dead. A pissed-off cop was one thing. A dead cop would bring the entire Gardaí down on them and they’d not get another mile, let alone back to the golf course.

  Ren turned his attention back to the car and spied a switch on the dash with an external wire leading under the front console. Guessing it was the car’s concealed police lights, he flicked it on and was rewarded with a piercing squeal as a siren howled to life. Almost immediately, the traffic began to part ahead of them.

  ‘All right!’ he said, grinning. ‘Now we’re in business.’

  He pushed the accelerator down, running the next red light as cars pulled over for them. Glancing in the rear-view mirror again and seeing no sign of pursuit, Ren allowed himself a little hope. At this speed, provided it took Pete a few more minutes to flag someone down and alert the rest of the cops of their escape, they might actually get away.

  CHAPTER 62

  Driving turned out to be trickier than it looked.

  Trása managed to keep the car on the road and not hit anybody or anything, but driving a real vehicle wasn’t anything like driving those pretend cars in the video arcades that Plunkett used to hang around, looking for victims with ready cash or credit cards.

  After pubs and bookies, video arcades had been his third favourite place for finding fools easily parted from their wealth, he had once told Trása.

  Having a blind passenger didn’t help matters much. Although Hayley couldn’t see where they were going, she had a disconcerting habit of squealing whenever Trása hit a curb, swerved to miss another car or leaned on the horn to clear other vehicles out of her path.

  It was very off-putting and made Trása want to slap her, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the road long enough to deliver the blow.

  Hayley Boyle turned out to be prettier than Trása was expecting, the same height as she was, with dark hair and blue eyes and something about her that seemed hauntingly familiar. Although Rónán had gone on and on about her since they arrived in this realm, Trása had only seen Hayley in the flesh once before, on the day of the accident. She didn’t remember much about the girl, just how devastated Rónán had been by her injuries. Everything else she knew about Hayley she had learned via Rónán, who seemed inordinately attached to his not-quite-cousin, although she gathered he thought of Hayley more as a sister than a girlfriend.

  This girl was, apparently, the stepdaughter of his adopted mother’s cousin. Trása didn’t think there was a word in either realm to label that relationship.

  Even so, she was a little jealous of Hayley. She had true friends. Loyal friends. Friends who’d risk anything for her. Rónán cared enough about Hayley to rescue her from another realm. He’d risked everything to come back here and find her, in the hopes of taking his friend through the rift to the place where she could be magically healed.

  Darragh, on the other hand, had let the Druids banish Trása to Tír Na nÓg and barely raised his voice in protest.

  ‘Hang on!’ Trása called, as she swung the steering wheel sharply to the left. She recognised the camera shop on the corner as one they’d passed on the way from the golf course when they still had Warren in the trunk of the car. Trása had learned the advantage of noting landmarks like that the last time she had been in this realm. She was confident she could find the Castle Golf Club again and with it, the rift Ciarán was going to open for them at moonrise. Trása leaned forward and looked up, trying to gauge the time to moonrise, but couldn’t see anything for the streetlights and the low, dark rain clouds that blanketed the twilight sky.

  ‘Damn!’

  ‘Damn what?’ Hayley asked, sounding more than a little panicked. ‘What do you mean by that? Why are you saying it? What’s happening?’

  ‘It’s starting to rain again. I can’t see a damned thing through this window.’

  ‘Turn the wipers on then,’ Hayley said in exasperation.

  Trása glanced at Hayley uncertainly. ‘How?’

  ‘Are you kidding me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘They’ll be on the steering column,’ the human girl told her. She reached up and felt around for the handle mounted on the roof near the passenger side door and gripped it as if her life depended on it.

  ‘The steering what?’ Trása asked, looking around the front of the car urgently. The rain was getting heavier by the minute. Were it not for the blur of red tail-lights in front of them, she’d have no idea where the road was.

  ‘It’s the thing holding the steering wheel on. It’ll be a lever on the side and the end will probably turn. I’m not sure where; depends on the model of the car.’ Hayley checked her seatbelt was secure and closed her eyes. ‘Bloody hell, we’d be safer if I was driving.’

  Trása found the wipers, which swished back and forth as the windscreen cleared. The road ahead was straight. Relieved, Trása took a deep breath.

  She had time, for a moment, to converse with her passenger, and she discovered she had a few things to say. ‘You could thank me, you know,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you for what exactly?’ Hayley asked. ‘Trying to kill me? Where’s Ren?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘He was arrested. That’s why Darragh and Sorcha went after him.’

  Hayley was silent for a moment, and then she turned her unseeing eyes toward Trása. ‘Is Darragh really Ren’s twin brother?’

  ‘He
told you about that, did he? What else did he say?’ Rónán couldn’t have told her much, Trása reasoned. He was only alone with her at St Christopher’s for a few moments.

  ‘Not very much at all. Just that he had a twin brother and that he’d been with him these past weeks. Are you related to him, too?’

  Trása shook her head and then realised what a useless gesture that was. ‘No. I’m kind of … a friend of the family.’ She glanced sideways at Hayley as a disturbing thought occurred to her. ‘You’re not a Druid, are you?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  Trása bit her bottom lip for a moment, trying to figure out how to ask the question she needed an answer to. ‘Are you a Druid?’

  ‘Are you insane?’

  ‘I just meant …’ Trása had no idea how to explain what she meant. Bringing someone from one reality to another was always a risk, because of the Tuatha prohibition about bringing eileféin through the rifts. Having extracted a promise from Rónán to undo Marcroy’s curse once she got back to her own reality, it would be very unfortunate to discover she’d inadvertently brought someone’s eileféin back and end up dead because of it. She studied Hayley for a moment, wondering. What are the chances of there being another Hayley Boyle in my reality?

  ‘Who are these people Ren says can help me?’

  ‘Is that what he told you?’

  Hayley turned to her with a suspicious frown. ‘Are you telling me that’s not where we’re going?’

  ‘No … it’s just …’

  ‘Pull over,’ Hayley ordered. ‘Let me out.’

  ‘Hang on, turn coming up!’

  Hayley squealed in fright again as Trása wrenched the wheel hard right and skidded across an intersection, slipping in front of a car that slammed its brakes on so hard to avoid her, it slid sideways on the slick bitumen and crashed into a parked car on the other side of the street. Trása managed to right the Audi without losing control, and was gratified to see a road sign ahead advising the approach of the Castle Golf Club turnoff.

  She smiled. This driving thing wasn’t so hard. ‘Sorry … did you say something?’

  ‘I said let me out,’ Hayley repeated, with an edge of panic in her voice.

  ‘Why?’ Trása asked, a little wounded by this girl’s ingratitude. Didn’t she realise Trása had mastered driving for her? She leaned forward, peering through the rain, looking for the entrance to the golf course. On the right, she could see the course through the wire-mesh fence, bordered by trees. The entrance must be coming up soon.

  ‘If you’re an example of the people Ren has lined up to help me, I think I’m better off blind.’ Hayley felt around for the door latch. ‘Stop the car!’

  ‘Don’t be an idiot.’

  ‘If you don’t let me out, I’ll jump.’

  ‘Fine,’ Trása said with a shrug, too focussed on her driving to look at Hayley. ‘Jump. This wasn’t my idea, you know, and Darragh is risking a lot, letting Rónán take you back to our realm. You want to jump and remove the problem by killing yourself? Be my guest.’

  Clearly, Hayley wasn’t expecting to have her bluff called. She slumped back in the seat just as Trása spotted the entrance to the golf course.

  ‘Who the hell are you people?’

  ‘Rónán … Ren can explain when he gets here,’ Trása said, slowing the car gradually, now she’d figured out where the brake was and that it worked much better if one stepped on it gently rather than stomping on it like you were squishing a large hairy spider. She glanced in the rear-view mirror. There was no sign of the others yet. ‘Assuming he gets here.’

  ‘Where is here?’ Hayley asked unhappily.

  ‘Castle Golf Club,’ Trása told her, seeing no reason to keep their destination a secret.

  ‘Ren’s friends who can help me are waiting at a golf club?’ Hayley sounded sceptical. Trása supposed that was to be expected. This must seem very strange to her. She wondered why Hayley had agreed to come at all. If their situations were reversed, she’d want a much better assurance all was well than a hasty hug, a few moments of frantic catching up, and an unsubstantiated promise of a cure.

  Hayley must trust Rónán a great deal to leave the safety of St Christopher’s for the dubious company of a felon on the run.

  ‘Not exactly at the club itself,’ she explained as the large white clubhouse came into view. She managed to park the car, although it wasn’t very straight and took up several spaces. Trása turned off the engine, wondering what to do next. Should she take Hayley and head for the stone circle? Wait here for the others? Go through without them?

  She turned to her passenger. ‘You up for a bit of a walk?’

  ‘I want to know where Ren is,’ Hayley insisted stubbornly.

  Trása sighed. ‘He’s either back in gaol and you’ll never see him again, or he’s on his way here. Either way, it’s almost moonrise or, worse, it’s past it already, and I want to go home. You can come with me or not.’

  Although Hayley didn’t realise it, Trása would never have left Hayley here alone. Trása needed to be in Rónán’s good graces when they returned. If she abandoned Hayley to save her own skin, he’d leave her flapping about as an owl until Marcroy decided she’d been punished enough. Assuming Marcroy ever actually decided she’d been punished enough, of course. Her Daoine sídhe uncle could hold a grudge for a very long time.

  ‘Okay, then. Where are we going?’

  ‘Across the greens,’ Trása explained. ‘But don’t worry, I’ll hold your hand. You won’t get lost or fall over, or anything.’

  Hayley hesitated and then seemed to give in. She unbuckled her seatbelt and felt around for the door catch. Relieved her companion wasn’t going to be any further trouble, Trása climbed out of the car and hurried around to the passenger side in the rain. She opened the door for Hayley and took her hand. Hayley accepted the help, a little begrudgingly, and stepped out of the car.

  Trása looked around. They seemed to have made it here undetected. The clubhouse across the rain-slick car park was brightly lit, and although the car park was filled with cars closer to the main building, at this end it was fairly deserted. In the distance, she could hear the traffic on the wet roads, and the faint wail of a siren approaching. She sincerely hoped it wasn’t coming for them.

  ‘You ready?’

  ‘Don’t you have an umbrella?’ Hayley asked, turning her collar up against the rain.

  Trása shrugged. ‘It’s only water.’

  ‘We’ll probably end up catching pneumonia,’ Hayley complained, as Trása took her by the hand.

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ she assured Hayley, tugging the young woman forward in the direction of the course and — if Brógán was as good as his word — the gateway back to the realm where she belonged. ‘Where we’re going, they can fix that too.’

  CHAPTER 63

  The Audi was parked at the far end of the Castle Golf Club car park. The headlights were still on, the keys still in the ignition and there was no sign of Trása or Hayley Boyle. Sorcha studied the car, walking around it in the rain, looking for some hint as to what might have befallen the two young women. She turned to Darragh and Rónán.

  ‘Well, they appear to have made it here in one piece,’ she remarked, shivering a little in the cold rain that was seeping down the back of her collar. Sorcha was not comfortable in the clothes of this realm. She was looking forward to getting home and back into clothes that felt right.

  ‘But where are they now?’ Rónán asked, glancing in the direction of the road. They hadn’t exactly been subtle with their getaway. Sorcha didn’t think it would be long before the place was swarming with every Gardaí officer in the city. Sorcha wasn’t worried about taking a few of them out, but there were probably more than she could comfortably handle and Rónán seemed squeamish about killing.

  ‘They’ve probably gone toward the rift,’ Darragh said, squinting into the darkness toward the stone circle. It was starting to rain even harder. His dark hair was plastered to hi
s head, flopping into his eyes, a problem Rónán didn’t have because of his shorter hair.

  Rónán looked around uncertainly and then glanced up at the sky. ‘Is it moonrise yet, do you think?’

  ‘Well past it, I’d say,’ Darragh said. ‘Ciarán may well have opened the rift already.’

  ‘Guess there’s one way to find … oh shit …’

  Sorcha turned in the direction Rónán was looking. Through the chain-link fence in the distance, she could make out several sets of flashing blue lights, accompanied by the frantic wail of sirens. She made a quick calculation and turned to the Undivided. ‘If they know we’re here, we won’t make it to the rift before they reach us.’

  ‘The hell we won’t,’ Rónán said, running back to their stolen Gardaí car. ‘Get in!’

  Darragh didn’t hesitate. Sorcha glanced at the approaching cars and then the golf course they would have to negotiate to reach the rift and wasn’t so sure. Still, she had no choice but to trust Rónán.

  He was already behind the wheel, gunning the engine. At the entrance to the club, a Gardaí car was turning in, lights ablaze and sirens screaming. There was no time left to debate the merits of Rónán’s plan. It was the only one left to them.

  Sorcha ran to the car, jerked open the door and dived into the back. Rónán took off before the door was closed, throwing Sorcha back against the seat.

  ‘Hang on!’ he called as he crashed through the barrier separating the paved parking lot from the shrubbery and trees on the edge of the course.

  Sorcha scrambled upright and turned to look through the back window. The Gardaí car had spotted them, and several more had joined the chase. Their car bounced over the rough shoulder, scraping a tree as they passed it, and then dropped onto the smoother surface of the fairway. Rónán turned the wheel sharply. The car skidded on the slick grass, but eventually straightened as he accelerated, leaving long dark scars on the pristine lawn.