"I'll come," Annad said, glancing at Nika with a frown.
Trása opened the car door and was hit with a wall of wind-driven icy rain. Echo zipped past her ear and was gone before she could stop her. The others climbed out of the car and together, bent over against the downpour, the three of them ran across the street, stepped over the fence and headed across the car park toward the fairways and the stone circle.
They reached the second fairway just as the first, faint rhythmic thumps of a helicopter's rotor blades beat their way through the air, and Trása picked up her pace.
It is nearly done, she realized with relief, not caring about the icy rain.
Rónán and Darragh were almost home. Together, they could tackle anything Marcroy tried to throw at them. They could break the curse on her. They could take their rightful place as the Undivided of their own realm.
She glanced up and spied the helicopter in the distance.
A few more minutes, she promised herself, determined to believe Rónán would arrive with the power to open the rift. A few more minutes and we'll be home.
Chapter 60
The helo pilot did an admirable job, all things considered, Pete thought. It wasn't easy - and probably against air safety regulations - to fly through weather like this. To do it with a shotgun pressed to your temple was even more heroic.
He spied Trása, Nika and Annad running across the fairway and signaled to the pilot to put down and then glanced over his shoulder. Logan and Ren in the back were working on Darragh, trying to stop the blood loss long enough to get him to the rift. Logan was doing most of the work. Ren cradled Darragh's head in his lap, talking to his brother intently. It was impossible to hear what he was telling him over the noise of the helo. It was possible that Darragh couldn't hear him either. At Ren's feet was a carryall he'd found at the castle, filled with a grotesque souvenir of their visit to this realm.
When they got through to the other side and once they'd sorted Darragh out, Pete intended to have a long and very serious talk to Ren about the contents of that bag.
"Are you sure you can open a rift?" he shouted to Ren as they began to descend. He'd asked Ren the same question back at the castle, in the chaos that followed Darragh diving in front of a shotgun blast, when Ren demanded they highjack the helo so they could get Darragh to the nearest rift and back to a magical realm before he died. So much had happened in such a short time, there had been little chance for anybody to deal with what had happened. Or what they had done.
Ren looked up and nodded. "Trust me!" he shouted back.
"Yeah," Pete muttered to himself, as he turned back to the pilot, "'cause that's worked out so well, lately."
The pilot, a ginger-haired young man, with pale skin that looked positively ashen at the moment, landed the helo with only a slight bump and then looked at Pete expectantly.
"Shut it down," Pete ordered. "All the way down." He didn't want this guy trying to be a hero and taking off while they were disembarking.
The pilot did as Pete ordered. In the back, Logan unlatched the door and kicked it open. He jumped out and then turned to help Ren unload Darragh as Trása ran up to them with Nika and Annad not far behind.
"Are you going to kill me now?" the pilot asked, in the sudden silence once the engines stopped.
"No. Just ..." Pete hesitated. It didn't matter what he told him. The moment they were out of sight, he was going to radio for help. "Give me your cell phone."
The young man reached into his jacket pocket and handed it over with a great deal of reluctance.
"Now cover your ears."
The pilot hastily did what Pete asked when he saw him aiming the shotgun at the radio. Pete let it have both barrels. He wasn't sure if the buckshot was enough to disable it, but it scared the crap out of the pilot and probably bought them a few extra minutes.
"We're going now. You can go for help if you want. We'll be gone before you get back. Have a nice life."
Pete jerked open the door in time to hear Trása demanding to know what had happened. He ran around to the other side of the helo to help with Darragh. Annad and Nika moved to assist without asking.
"What happened?" Trása kept demanding, as they pulled him clear. Darragh cried out with the pain, but they didn't have time to be gentle. If Stella hadn't raised the alarm already, the pilot was going to the moment he thought he was clear. "Who shot him? We have to open the rift! He's dying!"
"The bag!" Ren ordered. "Get the bag!"
Pete didn't have time to warn her what the bag contained. Trása reached into the helo and grabbed it, slinging it over her shoulder and running after them.
They pushed their way through the undergrowth to the stone circle and laid Darragh down on the wet ground. As soon as he'd let go, Ren grabbed the bag from Trása's shoulder and turned to Nika. "Give me your talisman."
"It won't work here," Nika said. "There's no -"
"Just give it to me!"
She did as he asked, reaching under her shirt to pull out the disgusting mummified baby's foot that she always wore. In her realm - or any magical realm for that matter - it had been charged with magic and was capable of opening a rift. Here it was useless.
"If you want Toyoda and the pixie to come back with us, you'd better summon them now," he warned as he unzipped the bag.
Trása leaned forward to see what was inside and then stumbled backward, gasping. "Oh, my God! Is that ...?"
Ren plunged the mummified foot into the bag and then extracted it, black and dripping with blood. He stood up and held the dripping talisman aloft, then closed his eyes. Pete felt the atmosphere change. The rain around them stopped, falling away from the stone circle as if it was protected by a translucent dome. He felt magic crackling in the air, making the hairs on his forearms stand on end, but it wasn't magic he was used to. This was thick. Ancient. Sour. And when lightning began to steak around them, it wasn't red, but a sinister shade of purple. Out of the corner of his eye. he saw Toyoda appear. Nika had her hands cupped in such a fashion that he guessed she had Echo safely contained. Darragh lay on the ground, fading fast. Logan was on his knees beside him, hands pressed to his chest to stop the bleeding.
Pete stook a step back, bumping into Annad.
"See," he said, smiling at the awestruck look on the psychologist's face as the rift resolved and the world on the other side - moonlight and peaceful - became visible. "I told you it was real."
"I'm tripping on something, aren't I?"
"Feels like it, doesn't it?"
Annad nodded and then he turned to Pete. "You're not coming back, are you?"
"Not if I can help it."
"Then that's what I'll tell them happened here. I was tripping on something."
"Come on!" Logan yelled at Pete. They were dragging Darragh through to the other side and he could see the rift destabilizing around the edges already. Whatever dark force Ren had used to open the rift, it wasn't going to hold for long.
"Thanks for your help, Annad." Pete didn't wait for him to answer. He could see the rift collapsing. He dived headfirst through the portal, landing hard on the stones on the other side, rolling to a stop in time to see Trása morph into an owl, screeching furiously at the indignity of it as she flew away.
Standing on the edge of the circle in what had to be Darragh and Ren's home realm was an old crone, clutching a gnarled staff.
"Only one," she said to Ren, while he bent down to save his brother.
"Turns out your vision was wrong," Ren said. He tore open Darragh's ruined shirt and placed his hand on his chest. They all felt the powerful surge of magic as Ren drew the shot from Darragh's wounds and healed his shredded chest. This was not the magic he'd used to open the rift. This was clean. Pure magic. Sídhe magic, joyous and untainted by the corruption of the babies, Hope and Calamity.
Thinking of them made Pete glance at the bag that lay on the ground near Ren's feet. Did the Hag - for that was surely who this old biddy was - know what the bag contained?
Ren smiled down at his brother and offered him his hand. He pulled Darragh to his feet and then turned to face the Hag. "I understand."
Pete didn't know what she was talking about, but apparently Darragh did. He grabbed at Ren's arm as his brother stepped forward to confront the old woman. "It is done," he said, "but I want a favor in return."
"If I can grant it," the Hag agreed with a nod.
Ren leaned toward her and spoke for a moment, and then he added in a voice so soft Pete could barely make out his words: "Now make the nightmares go away."
The Hag smiled and morphed into a much younger woman for a moment. She reached out and touched Ren's face with gentle finger. As soon as she did, he dropped like a sack at her feet, his eyes wide and staring and very, very dead.
For a moment, nobody moved, too stunned by what had happened to react. By the time Pete looked up again, the Hag was back in her crone aspect. She raised her staff and pointed it at the carryall.
"You must burn that with him," she ordered.
"You know what's in the bag?" Pete asked. He wasn't sure why he asked it. It was obvious she did. Maybe it was because he couldn't think of anything else to say.
"I do," the Hag said. "Guard it well until it's disposed of."
"We will." It was Nika who answered her. She stepped up beside Pete and slipped her hand into his, squeezing it tightly.
The Hag turned to Darragh then and bowed to him. "Welcome home, leathtiarna."
"Are the Brethren turned assassin, now?" he asked. He was kneeling beside Ren's body in shock.
She shook her head. "It would make things considerably easier for us if we were."
He looked up at her angrily. "Why not just let me die and be done with it?"
"Because that is not how Destiny wanted it."
"What difference does it make? We're Undivided. You've killed me, anyway."
"How long does he have?" Logan asked.
"As long as he's got," the Hag replied, and then she vanished, leaving them alone in the moonlit stone circle with Ren's lifeless body, and no sound but the plaintive wail of a barn owl circling overhead, crying out in pain.
Chapter 61
They burned Rónán's body, the carryall and their clothes from the other realm on a pyre overlooking the same loch where Amergin had thrown the baby Rónán through the rift into a world without magic. Trása stood vigil over the flames, remembering her father, wondering what had driven him to do such a terrible thing. She had always thought it a weakness of character on his part, but now she wondered if the Hag was right. Destiny ruled some more than others. Rónán was destined to save them all, what set them on the path leading to that fateful moment her father and Marcroy colluding to separate the Undivided and throw a young child into another realm and let Destiny rule his fate.
She felt, rather than saw, Marcroy arrive behind her as the sun set behind the hill and the flames licked at Rónán's shroud. There was a time when his arrival would have set her pulse racing in fear. Odd that she was no longer afraid of Marcroy. There was no reason not to be; he was still as powerful as he ever was. Still as fickle. Still prone to cursing those who disobeyed or disappointed him.
And just as much a tool of Destiny as the rest of them. It made him seem much less scary. "You managed to get Darragh to break the curse, I see."
"Your son lies dead. You have another son about to die. And that's all you can think of to say?"
"I never really knew Rónán."
"You know Darragh well enough."
Marcroy was silent for a moment before he asked, "Is it true Rónán saved us all?"
"We're standing here talking about it, aren't we?"
He nodded. "It is to be expected, naturally, that any son of mine would be capable of great heroism."
"So you don't mind owning a couple of mongrel sídhe now they're heroes."
Marcroy chose not to answer that. He glanced around, as if expecting more mourners. "Where is Darragh? I thought he would be here, farewelling his twin."
"No need for a farewell. He'll be joining him, soon enough."
"And what of your accomplices?"
She glanced at him curiously. "My what? Oh! You met Pete and Logan? And Nika?"
"Their names are irrelevant."
"I'm sure they'd disagree," she said, "but you'll be pleased to know they're leaving your realm as soon as the Brethren have finished with them."
"What do the Brethren want with more mongrel sídhe?"
Trása smiled. She was going to enjoy this. "Pete and Logan are Undivided, uncle. Didn't you know that? At least they would have been if they hadn't been taken from their own realm as babies by the Matrarchaí. With the loss of Teagan, and therefore Isleen - wherever she was - the ninja realm has lost its Undivided. The Brethren have agreed to brand them with the triskalion so they can go back as Undivided, and continue helping the Youkai and sídhe refugees who've made that realm their home. Nika will be their Vate."
"And you will be their Youkai queen, I suppose?"
Trása tried not to smile too broadly. Marcroy didn't take well to people gloating at him.
He scowled at her. "What spell did you work on the Brethren to allow that to happen?"
"I didn't work any spell. Rónán asked a boon of the Hag before she killed him."
Marcroy couldn't do anything about that, but he wasn't going to let her enjoy a single moment of her victory over him. Not if he could help it. "The Tuatha Dé Danann refugees in that realm will never stand for you as their monarch, petal."
Trása nodded. "I know. But I thought of that, too. I petitioned the Brethren on their behalf and they have agreed to let the pure Tuatha Dé Danann come here to this realm." She glanced at Marcroy's thunderous expression and smiled. "I told the Hag you'd really like the idea. I mean, you and Stiofán were such firm friends so quickly when you came to my new realm, it seemed a shame not to let you enjoy his company all the time."
She was rewarded by an exasperated cry as Marcroy vanished into thin air, too angry at her to even argue about it. Trása turned back to the pyre, wishing Rónán had been here to see it. He didn't know Marcroy that well, but he knew how much Trása had feared him as a child.
"You would have been very proud of me, just now," she told him.
"He can't hear you, Trása, or have you decided there is an afterlife?"
She turned to find Darragh coming up the hill behind her. He looked more the Darragh she remembered from her childhood, but in many other ways, he was unrecognizable. "You just missed Marcroy," she told him.
"No. I waited until he left. He didn't look happy."
Trása smiled. "No, he didn't, did he?"
He climbed the last few steps, panting a little from the exertion.
"How are you feeling?" she asked. It was two days since they had come through the rift and he was still alive. The record, as far as Trása knew, was about a week between one psychically linked twin dying and his other twin dying too. Darragh looked too healthy to only have a few more days to live.
"I'm not about to drop dead at your feet," he assured her. "At least, I don't think so. I assume there'll be some warning. If not, it's been good knowing you, Trása."
"You shouldn't laugh about it."
"Rónán would have. He was much braver than I."
"You're brave, Darragh. You survived ten years in prison in that horrid realm."
"And my brother resisted the temptation to come for me," he said, "knowing the moment he did, our fates would be taken out of our hands. I would not have had the courage to do what he did. Either to wait it out or -"
"Or to kill two babies."
Darragh placed his hand on her shoulder. "Do not judge him harshly, Trása. I know you and he ... he did what needed to be done. Our dangerous line is
dead so the Matrarchaí is rendered powerless. Whatever you think of my brother, remember that."
"I will."
He put his arm around her shoulder, and they stood there watching the fire burn in companionable silence. After a few moments she put her head on Darragh's shoulder and closed her eyes.
Our dangerous line is dead so the Matrarchaí is rendered powerless, Darragh had said.
If he thinks his line is dangerous, Trása thought, as they watched the pyre burn down to coals and then ashes, it's probably best I don't mention that I think I might be pregnant.
Epilogue
Hayley's first day on the job was both exciting and terrifying. It was exciting, because she actually had a job at a time when so many people didn't. There had been something called the GFC while she was away that meant lot of people were out of work. Somehow, despite that, she'd found a job as an office junior. And it wasn't just any old boring office, either. It was a modeling agency.
Kiva had pulled some strings, Hayley was certain. She'd been represented by this agency once, back before she made it as an actress.
Or perhaps it was some sort of reward. Hayley didn't know what had happened to the girl who came through the rift and went straight into labour. She hadn't seen her since she was whisked away to Cambria Castle in a helicopter. Hayley hadn't seen Marie-Claire since then, either.
She wanted to ask after them, but she wasn't sure who she should ask. She'd had no interview for her new position. Just a phone call informing her she had a job with ORM if she wanted it, working in reception, and if she was interested to be at the office first thing Monday, ready to start work.
Perhaps the Matrarchaí remembered her phone call. Perhaps they only hired people who knew their secret and they felt could be trusted with the truth about other realities.
Hayley didn't really care. She was twenty-seven, hadn't finished high school, had never had a serious boyfriend and everyone thought she was crazy. Employment of any kind was welcome, although she'd expected to end up talking into a headset all day, asking a steady stream of customers if they wanted fries with their burgers. To have scored a "real" job was more than she could have hoped for. To be working in the only place where they knew she wasn't crazy, was beyond a dream.
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