The Dark Divide

by Jennifer Fallon

  Logan had nailed it.

  Jesus wept! There’s two of you!

  Chelan Aquarius Kavanaugh — adopted son of the famous actress, Kiva Kavanaugh, spoiled brat and escaped fugitive on the run from a charge of murder and now kidnapping — had an identical twin brother, and Pete Doherty, one way or another, was going to find him and prove he wasn’t seeing double.

  CHAPTER 4

  Trása’s escape from the samurai compound had come at a cost. She’d lost some tail feathers to that beast of a dog and one of the arrows loosed in her direction had grazed her wing. Unsteady and shaken, she flew on in agony, grateful, nonetheless, that the injuries had not damaged her flight feathers. If that had happened, she might as well have stayed with Rónán, let them slit her throat and feed her remains to the mastiff.

  It would have been a quicker and much less painful way to die.

  She flew far from the torch-lit compound, deep into the kozo forest, before she felt safe enough to land, despite the injury to her wing. At least her avian eyesight gave her an advantage. Trása needed to find somewhere to transform, something she couldn’t do if she simply landed high in the branches of a tree and tried to change there. Turning back into a human might break the branch she’d landed on and send her plummeting to the ground.

  Not much point in escaping one death — so it had been drilled into her in Tír Na nÓg — simply to find another by being careless.

  Of course, that was assuming she could resume her true form. Trása might be trapped as a bird here just as easily as she was in her own realm. The magic in this reality was strong. It wouldn’t surprise her at all if Marcroy’s curse held power here too.

  Trása wouldn’t know, however, until she tried to change. If she could change without a problem, then it would be safe to change back into a bird again, and see if she could help Rónán.

  Exhausted and in agony from her wounded wing, she spied a clearing in the vast forest that seemed far enough away from any signs of human habitation to make it safe to land on the ground. There was no telling what animal dangers lurked beneath the forest canopy. Her owlish eyesight was excellent, but she couldn’t see through the leaves to know if a fox or a vole lurked beneath, waiting for an owl foolish enough to land on the forest floor. Trása would need to transform as soon as she landed. Before anything big enough to view her as edible came along and decided it was time for breakfast.

  The clearing was small and shadowed as Trása swooped toward it, the rising sun yet to find the forest floor. She circled it a few times to ensure it was clear of predators, before coming in to land on the leaf-strewn ground. As soon as her claws touched the moist carpet of rotting vegetation, Trása imagined herself as human again.

  A moment later she was standing in the clearing, naked, shivering, bleeding from a flesh wound on the underside of her upper arm, but filled with a relief so intense she wanted to cry. Gasping, she checked herself over, thrilled to discover the only injury was the arrow-nick. Unharmed, but cold and filled with an insatiable hunger — common for shifters changing from a form that needed much less food than another.

  Trása healed the arrow wound with a thought. It had been intensely painful when she was trying to fly with a wounded wing, but it was barely noticeable now she was human again. She was freezing. It was just on dawn and she had nothing to wear until she could steal some clothes.

  That meant finding a human settlement of some kind.

  That in itself was a straightforward exercise. She merely had to fly around until she spotted a village or a farmhouse from the air. There would be a washing line somewhere, with clothes she could appropriate without being seen. Of course, the problem she would have then was carrying those clothes back to where they were holding Rónán prisoner, so she didn’t have to rescue him while stark naked.

  What she needed was a Leipreachán. A lesser sídhe who could vanish and reappear at will. Then she could make him carry her clothes wherever she needed them.

  The thought made her hesitate, as it occurred to Trása she was standing in the middle of a vast forest in a realm steeped in magic, and yet there was no sign of a single sídhe — lesser or otherwise. In Trása’s realm, if a magical creature had landed in a forest and transformed from animal into human form, there’d be curious lesser sídhe come to investigate. They couldn’t help themselves. Faerie were curious beyond reason, and instinctively drawn to others of their kind.

  Were they too terrified to approach? Was she so strange to these foreign sídhe that she frightened them? Had the rift implosion that brought Trása and Rónán here blown them across the world, as well as across realities? Had they landed in this realm’s version of Japan? Were they in a place where her long blonde hair and pale skin marked her, not as Faerie, but as an alien creature they didn’t know or recognise?

  Shivering, Trása cocked her head, straining to hear the tell-tale signs of sídhe in the undergrowth — but there was nothing. The first rays of the sun were kissing the leaves in the upper reaches of the forest canopy. How could that be? This world was drenched with magic. Trása breathed it in with every breath. It oozed out of her every pore. How could it not be swarming with every kind of sídhe?

  Her forehead creased with concern. That heartless bitch in the gorgeous kimono, who so casually ordered her samurai to slit Trása’s throat, had called Trása Youkai in a voice fairly dripping with contempt. The Youkai were the Faerie of Japan and the Korean peninsula in Trása’s realm. She’d met a few of them back in her own reality, when they had come to Sí an Bhrú to pay their respects to what was left of the Undivided. They had seemed proud and exotic creatures, not unlike her own kind, and somewhat disdainful of humans.

  Their contempt had seemed odd at the time, but now — with this apparent lack of any other sídhe — it was positively frightening. Where were the Youkai? They had to be here somewhere, Trása reasoned, because there was too much magic for them to be extinct. She had visited worlds where the sídhe had been annihilated … the reality Rónán had been sent to by her father was one. Here, though, she could taste magic on the very air. There ought to be Youkai giggling behind every bush, hiding in every tree and lurking under every blade of grass.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she called out, turning a slow circle to see if she could coax someone out of the forest. Things would be easier for her and Rónán too, if she could enlist the help of her own kind to set about rescuing him. ‘I won’t hurt you! Look! I’m Youkai, too.’

  She repeated her call in the rusty Japanese she’d been imprinted with months ago but never had reason to use until now. It was greeted with the same eerie silence as the call in her native tongue. Trása waited for some time, knowing that shyness sometimes overrode the curiosity of the lesser sídhe, but there was no answer. The forest was silent. In the distance she could hear the birds who made their homes among the kozo trees chattering among themselves, but it was the chatter of real birds greeting the rising sun, not magical creatures hiding in bird form.

  Trása was at a loss about what to do next. She had never visited a magical world where there were no Faerie. Even in Ren’s reality, where the magic was almost non-existent, she’d had a Leipreachán to help her, although until now she’d never really considered Plunkett O’Bannon’s annoying presence to be actually helpful. She was a little shocked to think she was missing him now.

  Where could the Youkai be? Had the humans imprisoned them? The woman in the red kimono hadn’t used magic the way Trása was accustomed to, but had folded a piece of paper into a shape first, and the magic seemed to have been released when it disintegrated into dust at her command. That made less sense to Trása than the missing Youkai.

  Trása’s stomach rumbled. She felt hollow inside, but she wasn’t convinced it was just because she was hungry. Filled with uncertainty, she shivered again. Despite the rising sun, it was chilly in the clearing and she still had nothing to wear. She needed to get out of here. Now she was sure she could change shape at will, Trása had one less thing
to worry about, and she would be warmer in bird form with feathers to protect her and much less body mass to heat than she would as a human. With her arm now healed, she should be able to fly safely enough, but with daylight approaching, and the samurai on the lookout for a large white owl, she decided it wasn’t a good idea to change back into the bird form she favoured.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, wondering if she could recognise the call of any of the other birds in the forest. She would be much less conspicuous in daylight if she could blend with the local bird population. Trása wasn’t even sure if she was still in Eire, although some aerial surveillance would tell her soon enough. Sailing around the skies in the middle of the day disguised as a common barn owl might draw unwanted attention if they weren’t indigenous to the area.

  At the sound of a raucous call Trása would have recognised anywhere, she smiled. It was a seagull. They must be close to the sea here. Gulls were easy to emulate: they could fly long distances, were sociable, unafraid of humans and likely to go unremarked when hanging around a human settlement. The samurai would think her nothing but a precocious scavenger if she assumed the form of a gull and flew back to the compound where they were holding Rónán.

  And maybe, if she were lucky, someone would toss her some food.

  Trása closed her eyes again and formed the image of a seagull in her mind. A moment later, plump, white and grey, she launched herself upward toward the rising sun to search out Rónán, her delicately grey-tinted wings flexing in the faint breeze.

  It was time to see what she could do to save the only man in this reality capable of saving her.

  CHAPTER 5

  Riding around in the trunk of a car, even one as roomy as a Bentley, Darragh was starting to feel as if the world was closing in on him, a feeling in no way helped by the fact that Sorcha — who should have been protecting Rónán, wherever he was — lay curled up beside him like a spooning lover, muttering to herself in her native tongue about the indignity of it all.

  Darragh had no way of knowing how long they’d been trapped in the back of Rónán’s mother’s car. He didn’t know if it was day or night. He had no way of knowing how similar her chauffeur, Patrick Boyle, was to his alternate reality version — Amergin. Would Patrick betray them in the same way Amergin had so heinously in their own realm? The police here wanted his twin brother, Rónán, and for all Darragh knew, Patrick was helping them. He and Sorcha might well be on their way to the nearest Gardaí station.

  When Patrick opened the trunk to let them out, Darragh and Sorcha might be safe. Or they might be arrested.

  ‘This was a foolish idea,’ Sorcha growled, as they hit another bump that forced an involuntary grunt from both of them. She shifted a little, trying to get comfortable. ‘This man you have placed your trust in is Amergin’s eileféin. He will betray you as surely as Amergin did.’

  Darragh shook his head in the darkness, refusing to believe it. The trunk smelt of carpet and petrol fumes. ‘Patrick is like a father to Rónán,’ he whispered, not sure if their voices would carry to the passengers in the car, who had no idea — Darragh hoped — there were stowaways aboard.

  ‘Amergin was like a father to you, too,’ Sorcha pointed out in a sour whisper. ‘That didn’t stop him betraying you in our realm. I’m quite certain it won’t stop him betraying us in this one, either.’

  Darragh had no answer to that, other than his faith in his brother’s memories that the Comhroinn — the magical mind sharing of the Druids in his reality — had given him. He had to believe Rónán’s high opinion of Patrick was deserved because, really, Sorcha had a point. Right until Amergin confessed his betrayal on his deathbed, Darragh would have sworn the Druid was the most trusted man in the entire universe.

  Was fate so cruel? Are we so naïve and unlucky that we could be betrayed twice by the same man in two different realities?

  He cried out suddenly as a sharp pain slashed across his face.

  ‘Be quiet!’ Sorcha hissed.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered back, reaching up to touch his cheek gingerly. His fingers came away sticky with blood. ‘Something cut me. On the face.’

  ‘How …?’ Sorcha began, and then Darragh felt her shrug in the darkness. ‘Rónán is alive then.’

  ‘So it would seem,’ Darragh agreed. He wasn’t sure if Rónán was safe, however. For him to manifest a wound inflicted on his brother in another reality, the wound had to have been caused by a weapon forged of airgead sídhe. Faerie silver.

  It did not bode well that Rónán had been gone only a few hours and was already wounded with a magical weapon. Where was he? Had he slipped while handling his own weapon or was he under attack? Darragh had no way of knowing, and only one small consolation. The psychic link between them only worked on magical injuries. At least, wherever he was, Rónán was not suffering the indignity of a sprained ankle in a realm devoid of magic.

  They rocked forward as the car came to a stop. His heart in his throat, Darragh realised they were about to find out what Patrick Boyle planned to do with them. He heard faint voices, then footsteps. The car started again. A few moments later they stopped and the engine died. More footsteps, the trunk lid lifted and daylight flooded in, temporarily blinding both of them.

  ‘You okay in there?’

  Darragh squinted in the painful light, noting — with a great deal of relief — that Patrick seemed to be alone.

  ‘We’re fine,’ he said, a little warily. ‘Are we somewhere safe?’

  ‘Temporarily,’ the man who reminded him so uncomfortably of Amergin said, glancing around. ‘I just dropped Kiva off at the RTE studios in Donnybrook. Your mam has a TV interview scheduled this morning. No thanks to you. She’s calling it damage control.’ The man glanced around again and then stepped back and beckoned them out.

  ‘Where are we?’ Sorcha asked, frowning at the unfamiliar surroundings.

  ‘St Vinnie’s Hospital car park. Should be safe enough for the moment.’

  Cautiously Sorcha and Darragh climbed stiffly out of the car and looked around. It was well past daybreak now. They were in a multi-level car park between rows and rows of abandoned vehicles, although none seemed as large or stately as the Bentley. The air smelled of petrol fumes and stale urine but there were no people around that Darragh could see. His ankle was throbbing, and he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to put much weight on it, but he wasn’t going to confess that to Patrick. The chauffeur hadn’t betrayed him yet, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t.

  ‘Have you got any cash on you?’ Patrick asked.

  Darragh shook his head. He hadn’t planned to spend more than a few hours in this reality. What need for coin of the realm?

  ‘You’d be a fool to use a credit card they can trace.’

  He nodded in agreement, not sure what Patrick meant about cards being traced. He was quite certain, if he found the time to trawl through his twin brother’s memories — acquired in the Comhroinn — that Patrick’s warning would make sense.

  ‘Here then,’ Patrick said, pulling out his wallet. He thrust a number of paper notes at Darragh. ‘That should be enough to get you home. If you catch the DART at Elm Park you’ll be home in a few minutes.’

  The DART? He means the train. By Danú, he expects us to travel by public transport?

  ‘You’d better not let anybody see you,’ the chauffeur added, frowning. ‘You know where old Jack keeps his spare key in the glasshouse, don’t you?’

  Still coming to grips with the notion of navigating his way through the mass-transit system of this realm, Darragh thought about it for a moment and realised one of Rónán’s clear memories included the location of the next-door neighbour’s spare key.

  ‘Take a cab from Blackrock Station,’ Patrick ordered. ‘Have it drop you at Jack’s place. Let yourselves inside and then lie low until I get there.’

  ‘What if Jack is home?’ Sorcha asked.

  ‘It’s Friday, so he should be at his gardening club meeting until after l
unch,’ Darragh said. He realised he knew a lot about the old man who lived next door to Rónán. Darragh was relieved Patrick was sending them to Jack.

  Jack had already helped them solve the problem of what to do with the man they’d kidnapped yesterday. It was fair to assume he might help them again.

  ‘Don’t worry, Patrick. We’ll be fine,’ Darragh said.

  The chauffeur studied Sorcha for a long moment, making no attempt to hide his suspicion about who she might be and what she was doing with the boy he thought was Ren. ‘You planning on introducing your friend anytime?’

  ‘This is Sorcha,’ Darragh said, not sure how he was going to explain her presence without telling Patrick much more than he had time for now.

  ‘What have you done with my Hayley?’ Patrick asked her.

  Sorcha apparently couldn’t think of any better response than the bald truth. ‘Nothing. I don’t know where she is.’

  Patrick stared long and hard at both of them and then turned to Darragh. ‘You’ve got some explaining to do when I get home, Rennie, me lad. Make no mistake.’

  ‘He’s not —’ Sorcha began, but Darragh grabbed her arm to silence her.

  ‘Thank you, Patrick. We are indebted to you. And I promise,’ he added truthfully, ‘Hayley is safe and I will explain everything when we have more time. Although I’m not sure you’ll believe me.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ Patrick replied, not looking at all happy with either of them. ‘I have to be back to pick Kiva up in twenty minutes so I’ll see you later. By then you’d better have a good explanation for what’s been going on these past few weeks and what’s happened to my Hayley, Ren Kavanaugh, or I’ll be ringing the Gardaí and handing you over to them myself.’

  ‘I’ll tell you everything,’ Darragh promised.

  ‘Then head to Jack’s place,’ Patrick urged, as the sound of another car approaching reached them. ‘Keep that hood pulled up and don’t let anyone see your face.’