But this was altered. In the dream he remembered seeing everything by moonlight, not the lightning of an angry storm. In the dream, he'd been mildly concerned about what his brother intended to do.
The reality was quite different. The walls were glistening with blood. The air reeked. Marie-Claire stood over the cradle cooing to the babies, so enchanted by them she hadn't noticed him, or his brother, enter the room.
Darragh wanted to help his twin. He knew he should, but he was powerless to fight off the need to protect the monsters he'd spawned.
They needed him. They needed someone to protect them.
You'll protect us, won't you, papa?
Of course I will.
Rónán reached the cradle and stopped to study it for a moment. It was the cradle they both knew so well from their dream - oak, carved with elaborate Celtic knotwork, inlaid with softly glowing mother-of-pearl.
Only now it was smeared with something that smelled like fresh blood.
Marie-Claire looked up, as if she'd only just realized Rónán was there.
"Aren't they beautiful?"
Rónán held the airgead sídhe blade behind his back. Darragh wondered if it would be enough.
Enough for what?
Don't you worry about Uncle Rónán, my darlings. He won't hurt you.
The airgead sídhe blade caught the light in odd places, illuminating the engraving on the blade.
"They're lovely," Rónán replied. "They look so innocent. Almost human."
Marie-Claire smiled. "You don't seriously mean to hurt them, do you?"
He glanced over his shoulder. Darragh wondered if Rónán knew he was standing in the shadows by the door.
Rónán turned back to Marie-Claire. "It has to be done, Marie-Claire. You know that."
"They are everything we hoped for. More even. They can force Partition. They are the start of our brave new world."
"They're not human."
"They are the next step in human evolution."
"They are a testament to your hypocrisy," Rónán told her. "You want to destroy the Faerie, but you needed to create Faerie monsters to do it. You've deliberately bred the sídhe into every set of Undivided that you could for the past two millennia, just so you can be rid of them."
Marie-Claire's smile faded. "You seem remarkably well informed about us, Rónán."
"I make it my business to be well informed about the people who seemed to be bent on destroying my life and everyone in it."
"You are being a touch dramatic, I fear. Still ... perhaps there is a place for you in the new realm. Your brother will be joining us, after all."
"No, he won't."
"I think you'll find he has no choice in the matter. He's a father now. He has responsibilities. Isn't that right, Darragh?"
He should have known better than to believe Marie-Claire was unaware of his presence. Realizing there was no point in hiding any longer, Darragh stepped out from the shadows.
What's going on, papa? Why is our uncle angry with Mother? Doesn't she love us?
Rónán turned to look at him for a moment. He didn't seem in the least surprised to find him here, either.
"So," Marie-Claire said, "the vision comes to pass."
She must have the Sight, too, Darragh thought, taking a small step sideways. Nobody seemed to notice, neither Rónán, Marie-Claire, or the twins. I wonder if the future she sees has a different ending to the one Rónán and I have shared all these years. And if it is different, whose version is going to win in the end?
It will end how we decide, papa.
Rónán shook his head. He still had his arm and the knife behind his back. Darragh looked away and continued to sidle alongside the cradle toward Marie-Claire. He tried to fill his mind with thoughts of love and affection for his daughters. He forced no hint of his despair or horror to show through, afraid they would see through him if he dwelt on it for too long.
"This is not my dream, Marie-Claire," Rónán was saying. He was keeping her engaged and her attention away from his brother, although whether it was deliberate or by coincidence, Darragh wasn't really sure. "You were never in any vision I ever had."
"You've always been in mine, Rónán. Right up until you die."
"You can't kill me," Rónán reminded her. "If the babies want their father around so they can enjoy your brave new world, I get to live. If I die, he dies, remember."
Marie-Claire didn't seem to have an answer for that so she turned to Darragh. He froze. "Talk to your brother, Darragh. Explain this to him."
"They are innocent," Darragh said to Rónán, just as he was meant to. There was no emotion in his voice. They were just words. Words he always said in his dream.
Do I utter the same words in Marie-Claire's dream? In Rónán's?
Would it be enough to allay their suspicions?
"How can you say that?" Rónán asked, staring at his brother in disgust. "You saw what they did to Brydie."
"They didn't know. Didn't understand ... She was trying to smother them."
"And you haven't thought to ask why?"
Don't let him hurt us, papa. Is he going to hurt us? We can't tell. We can't tell what he's thinking.
"They are death, Darragh. They've killed once already. They'll kill you and I as soon as they don't need us any more. And if she has her way," he added, pointing at Marie-Claire, "they'll be the death of billions upon billions more."
Why is he saying those things about us, papa? Doesn't he love us?
Why can't we tell what he's thinking?
Not now. Let me take care of this. Darragh shook his head. "They won't ..." He didn't finish the sentence. Why can't they tell what Rónán's thinking?
"Partition is not the end," Marie-Claire said. "It is a new beginning."
"There's a few million Faerie out there who might disagree with that," Rónán said.
Marie-Claire reached out a hand to him. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to, Rónán. Your brother won't let you. They won't let you do it. You're not a tool of the Hag. Neither of you are. You don't have to do her bidding."
"Even if she's right?"
"What is right?" Marie-Claire asked. "You've seen this moment a thousand times in your dreams, I suspect, and how much of it is what you saw? Right is what is. Embrace what Destiny has offered you."
"I am embracing it," Rónán told her. "I will end this."
"I won't let you."
"How will you stop me?" he asked as he raised the blade.
Darragh looked down into the cradle. One of girls was stirring - they were too alike to tell which was which. She opened her eyes to stare up at him, her face framed by soft dark curls, her expression disturbingly alert and aware for one so young. Her eyes were strange ... blue with no pupil and no whites at all. Just a pool of blue terror that had already killed once and would kill again and again until they'd achieved their goal.
"I won't stop you," Marie-Claire said, "they will."
The other baby's eyes flew open. Darragh realized what she was doing. She was ordering them to kill Rónán.
No! Wait! If you kill Rónán, you'll kill me too! He barely completed the thought when Marie-Claire's hands flew to her ears and she cried out in agony. Her nose was dripping blood, her tears ducts were leaking blood. She dropped to her knees, screaming something incomprehensible. Darragh watched in horror as they pulverized Marie-Claire from the inside out. He hadn't meant to order the babies to kill Marie-Claire. He'd told them not to kill Rónán.
Apparently, you were either with them or against them, and against was a death sentence.
It took Marie-Claire a few long and agonizing minutes to die. Neither Darragh not Rónán moved to aid her. There was nothing they could have done, in any case.
When she finally stopped moving, a bloody, broken heap on the floor at the head of the cradle, Darragh turned to Rónán.
He met his brother's eye and knew, at that moment, what they must do. Funny how all this time, he'd believed that one
of them would try to kill the babies and the other would try to prevent it. He realized now it was nothing of the kind. The dream had just been a rehearsal, a chance to perfect their script as he distracted these evil-spawned monsters so his brother - who for some reason could block them from his mind - moved in for the kill.
"I'll kill you if I have to, Rónán, to stop this." He said the words, just as he always did in his dream.
Rónán nodded in understanding and replied exactly the way he was meant to, dismissing the empty threat. "Even if you could get across this room before the deed was done, Darragh, you can't kill me without killing yourself, which would achieve precisely what I am here to prevent."
Rónán moved the blade a little, repositioning his grip. The security lighting from outside caught the blade and danced across its engraved surface, mesmerizing the baby. There was a drawn-out silence, as Rónán played the light across the blade. Darragh remained motionless.
"There must be another way." He could hear the note of defeat in his voice; the glimmer of acceptance.
"I wouldn't be here if there was," Rónán replied, still staring down at the baby he was destined to kill. "You know that," he added, looking up at Darragh. "You're just not willing to accept the truth of it yet."
Darragh held out his hand, as if he expected the blade to be handed over, and for this night to be forgotten, somehow. They had to believe he was going to protect them. "They're just babies."
"They are Partition and the destruction that goes with it."
"But they're innocents. Dammit ... they're your own flesh and blood!"
"Tell that to Brydie. And all the others." Rónán gripped the blade tighter and turned back to the cradle, steeling his resolve with a conscious act of will. "They are abominations, bred to cause chaos and strife."
"Maybe we can save them."
"Marie-Claire was right, you know. I see the future, Darragh. So do you. And I dare you to deny the future you see isn't just as filled with chaos and strife because of what these children are, as the future I perceive."
Papa ... what does he mean? Is he mad at us? Is he mad at Marie-Claire? We killed Marie-Claire for you. Why can't we tell what's he's thinking?
Darragh didn't argue with him. Whatever Rónán had seen, it wasn't in his head, so Hope and Calamity couldn't see it either. Was Destiny so clever that he had manipulated this event, this moment, to happen in this world, away from magic, so Darragh couldn't know what his brother knew and give the game away?
Turning back to the babies, Ren reached into the cradle with his left hand to pull back the blankets covering the children. The twin who was awake grabbed his finger. Her frightening blue eyes smiling up at him, she squeezed it gently. Darragh watched and tried to think of anything else other than what was about to happen, too appalled to allow it, too afraid to stop it.
"Help me or leave," Rónán told him, just as he did in the dream. "Just don't stand there feigning disgust, as if you had no part in bringing us to this pass."
"Perhaps the future we see isn't ours ..."
"Are you kidding me? Look around you, Darragh." He raised the blade, transfixed by the dangerous blue on blue eyes staring up at him.
"Get the fuck away from that cradle, Ren."
Darragh and Rónán both looked up to find Pete standing in the door, shotgun at his shoulder. Logan was right behind him.
See papa, he can't hurt us. If you can't stop him, we can.
Darragh didn't know if Pete and Logan had been taken over by the babies as everyone else who came near them seemed to be. Everyone but Rónán, who was somehow able to resist their insidious control. It didn't really matter. Even if they had just arrived in time to see Rónán about to murder a newborn baby, their reaction would probably have been the same.
It must have been only seconds; time slowed down for Darragh. He saw Rónán bring the knife down sharply, slicing through the swaddling and fragile ribs without remorse or regret as the flash from the shotgun blinded him. He called out, throwing himself in front of Rónán so his brother could do what must be done before these monsters realized they were powerful enough to do what the Matrarchaí wanted of them.
It wasn't about one or two people dying, Darragh realized, in a moment of clarity that made all the nightmares he'd ever suffered gel into a single perfect purpose. It wasn't about killing. It wasn't about right and wrong. It wasn't even about the Undivided, Faerie or human, good or evil.
It was about stopping the universe being reset back to zero and killing every living thing in the process. Creation was protecting itself. They were just the tools the universe needed to set things to rights.
Darragh's moment of clarity seemed eternal, but it couldn't have been more than a split second. His cry of protest was drowned out by the boom of the shotgun and then it vanished to be replaced by a burning, agonizing pain as his chest took the full impact of the shotgun blast at almost point-blank range.
Before Darragh hit the ground, before Rónán could extract the airgead sídhe blade from one tiny heart and plunge it into another, he heard an agonized wail and realized it wasn't the babies, it was him.
Chapter 59
"Something's wrong."
"Something's wrong. Something's wrong. Something's wrong," Echo repeated in a panic, buzzing around like a trapped insect.
Trása peered out of the window of Annad's car at the entrance to the Castle Golf Club. The gates were closed, the rain was pelting down and there was no sign of Pete and Logan, no sign of Ren or Darragh, and no sign of Stella Delany.
"Nothing's wrong," she assured the psychiatrist. And the pixie.
"They should be here by now."
"You don't know that."
"If anything happens to my wife ..."
He didn't finish the sentence, probably because he had nothing to more add. There were few threats a law-abiding Gardaí psychologist could make to a couple of fugitives from another reality that would have much of an impact on them.
"They are taking an incredibly long time," Nika pointed out from the back seat.
"They're fine." Trása said it for herself as much as the others.
"We could call them," Annad suggested.
"Call the, call them, call them," Echo urged, although nobody paid her any attention.
"How?" Nika scoffed, as if the idea was ludicrous.
"Cell phone," Trása explained, mentally kicking herself for not thinking of it sooner. Of course they should call Stella. To cover her annoyance at herself, she turned to Annad and asked possibly the stupidest question she'd ever uttered. "Do you have your wife's cell phone number?"
Annad gave her a look that said he wasn't even going to bother dignifying her question with so much as a nod.
"Okay, then," Trása snapped. "Call her. Wait!"
She grabbed the phone from Annad, found the favourites list and dialed the number for Stella herself, just in case Annad got any ideas about calling somebody else. Like his workmates in the Gardaí.
Stella answered the phone on the second ring. "Annad?"
"No, it's Trása. What's happening?"
"I ... I don't know ..." Stella's voice was vague. Uncertain.
"What do you mean, you don't know?"
"I mean I don't know!" Stella snapped more forcefully. "Something happened. Something upstairs ... there were shots ... there're all these people milling about ... it's like they were drugged, or something and they're just coming out of it."
"What happened to Pete? To Logan?"
"I have no idea ... I haven't seen them since ... where are you? Where is Annad? What have you done to my husband?"
"Nothing," Trása told her. Stella sounded as if she was just emerging from a deep sleep and getting angrier the more awake she became. "Annad is fine. Where are Pete and Logan? Did they find Rónán? Or Darragh?"
"I don't know, I said," Stella barked. "Maybe it was them in the helicopter that took off a little while ago ... but ... you know what ... screw you, lady!"
&nbs
p; Trása handed the phone back to Annad. "She hung up on me."
"Is she all right?"
"She sounded just fine. And I'll bet you anything you care to name she's calling the Gardaí as we speak."
Annad's eyes widened in fear. "You can't blame her for -"
"Give it a rest," Trása cut in. "We're not going to kill you, your kids, or anybody else for that matter. We just want to go home. She said a helicopter just took off from there a little while ago. Can you hear anything?"
"What's a helicopter?" Nika asked.
"You'll know it when you see it," Trása promised with a smile. Things were looking up if Pete had been able to commandeer a helicopter. That meant no Gardaí and a clear run to the golf course and the stone circle. With luck, he'd found Rónán and Darragh, and hopefully Rónán still had enough magical power left to open a rift and get them out of this dreadful place. Stella had said something about shots, but she didn't say anything about injuries or people dying, so Trása decided to hope for the best. Maybe someone had taken a shot at them as they were leaving?
I didn't know Pete or Logan knew how to fly a helicopter.
Trása glanced up, but the rain, the thunder and the lightning meant she couldn't see or hear a damn thing. Across the street, the golf club's gates were closed, but they were mostly decorative and the brick fence either side of them was low enough to step over. They could probably drive the car straight through the gates if they wanted, but that would cause unwanted attention. They would be much better off on foot.
"Come on," Trása said, putting her hand on the door latch. "We'll meet them at the circle."
"It's pissing down rain out there!"
"It's only water," Nika pointed out, "and you can only get so wet. Don't be such a baby."
"Why don't I just wait here?"
"And miss your chance to see a rift opening to another reality?" Trása asked, guessing Annad wouldn't want to pass up a chance to either see for himself that they were right, or gloat a little when it was proved they were wrong.
Annad still hesitated. "Are you sure my wife is okay?"
"Yes. I'm sure. Now are you coming or does Nika have to knock you unconscious to keep you from betraying our presence in this realm before we leave?"
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