Children of the Veil (Aisling Chronicles)

by Colleen Halverson

  He cupped my chin with his large hand. “Darling, it’s late. You’re exhausted.”

  I grabbed his hand and folded it in mine. “I don’t want to be like that. Like those pigeons. This is the real thing, right? This is it? What we have?”

  Finn pulled me toward him, planting a kiss on my forehead. “It’s the real thing, Elizabeth.”

  He clutched me tight, leaning back on the cushions, listening to The Beatles chant about all God’s children going to heaven.

  If there was a heaven, I wouldn’t be getting in now. Not with my broken soul. But maybe that was okay. If I could just spend a few moments in Finn’s arms, maybe that could be enough. Maybe that was all we’d ever have anyway.

  …

  I startled awake to the slam of a door. Finn and I were still curled up on the couch, the record player skipping in dusty beats as it turned endlessly on the needle. I blinked, bright sunlight burning my eyes as I rubbed the sleep away. Finn’s warrior instincts kicked in, and his muscles tensed until he saw Dad breeze through the living room. He gave the two of us a dark frown before escaping into the kitchen.

  Finn and I shared a tired glance before I retreated back to the bathroom to retrieve my clothes. When I returned to the kitchen, Finn and Dad stood facing each other, leaning against their respective counters, coffee cups clutched in their hands and apparently in the dead heat of a staring contest. I squeezed between them, grabbing a mug from the cupboard. Dad’s body guarded the coffeemaker, and I mumbled an “excuse me.” He didn’t move but continued to lock eyes with Finn, the line in his forehead deepening. Tension crackled in the air, and I glanced over my shoulder at Finn, trying to make eye contact.

  Don’t pull the alpha male bullshit. Not now.

  “Dad.” I dangled my cup in his face. “Coffee?”

  He slid a foot to the right, and I filled my mug, taking a grateful sip.

  “Elizabeth hasn’t eaten,” Finn said in a deep voice. “Were you going to offer her breakfast?”

  I smiled at Finn. “I’m actually not that hungry—”

  “She knows where everything is,” Dad said. “She can take care of herself.”

  “Yes, you’ve made good sure of that.” Finn took a sip of coffee.

  “Do you have a problem, Mr. O’Connell?”

  “Dad, don’t.” I stepped between the two men, grabbing my mug with both hands to keep the coffee from spilling.

  “I do have a problem, Mr. Tanner.” Finn planted his coffee on the counter, raising himself to his full height.

  Dad narrowed his eyes. “It’s Colonel Tanner. Or sir.”

  Finn puffed his chest, pulling me aside.

  “Hey!” I stumbled backward.

  “I don’t answer to you, Colonel,” Finn growled.

  “I think you have a great deal to answer for. I know who you are and what you are,” Dad stepped in. “And I don’t appreciate you dragging my daughter into your mess. Showing up at my door—”

  “Do you even know what Elizabeth has been through?” Finn’s eyes blazed, his fists clenched. “You call her your daughter, but where have you been? What have you done for her? You didn’t even try to protect her from this!”

  My heart pounded, and I clutched onto my cup so tight I thought it might break. Leave it to Finn to say exactly what I wished I could.

  “You think it’s so simple, don’t you?” Dad’s face flushed. “Believe me. I did Elizabeth a favor staying out of her life. But it didn’t matter because she ended up a freak just like her mother. Just like you.”

  Finn’s arm whirled through the air and time moved in slow motion. My hands snapped with power, and I pushed him backwards with my energy. He staggered against the stove, clutching onto the metal door handle before righting himself.

  “Stop.” I thrust my palm in front of Finn’s face and gave him a warning glare before turning back to Dad. “Seriously, for fuck’s sake, guys, I haven’t even had my first cup of coffee.”

  “Language, Lizzie!”

  “Oh, shut the fuck up, Dad!”

  Well, this was going spectacular. I turned around and took a deep breath, my hand gripping the edge of the sink. Turning around, I took a sip of coffee, the warm liquid burning a trail down my throat. I flashed Dad and Finn my best smile.

  “Okay. Let’s start over.” I took Finn’s hand and squeezed. “Dad, this is Finn. Finn, this is my dad.”

  Finn stretched out his hand. “Sir.”

  Dad looked down at Finn’s steady hand and frowned before stomping out of the kitchen.

  I let out a pained exhaled and rested my head against Finn’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. He’s— I mean, my dad is—”

  Finn planted a kiss on my cheek, smoothing my hair over my shoulder. “You don’t need to apologize for him.”

  “I know. It’s just for once I wanted something normal. You know, like introduce him to my boyfriend. How hard is that?” I took a sip of coffee to hide the break in my voice, turning to top off my cup. “But that’s the definition of crazy, right? Doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result?”

  I pushed the coffee carafe back onto the burner a little too hard, and the sound of clinking glass filled the kitchen.

  “You’re not crazy, Elizabeth.” He rinsed his cup in the sink, reaching over for the dish soap and sponge. He looked so sexy standing there, his broad shoulders slightly sloped, his hands glistening beneath the running water. He caught my gaze.

  “So I’m your boyfriend?”

  I chuckled, swallowing so I wouldn’t snort coffee up my nose. “Shut up.”

  He laughed, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “We should go.”

  “I’m not leaving until I have answers. If I have to torture it out of him, I’ll get the full story.”

  “No need for desperate measures,” Dad said behind me, and I jumped.

  “Besides,” he said. “I’m trained to withstand anything you could dream up, Lizzie.”

  Finn raised an eyebrow as he dried off his hands with a towel.

  I shook my head and whirled around. “I’ve also had training, Dad. You want to compare battle scars?” I raised my wrists to reveal my demon tattoos.

  Dad raised a large manila envelope, keys jingling in his other hand. “Get your coats. It’s time to talk.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rows of strip malls, pawn stores, and gas stations rolled by in a never-ending sprawl just outside of base. We drove in silence, until we arrived at a small park in an older neighborhood. I stepped out onto the curb, breathing in the early spring air. A few daffodils lined the iron fence, their bright yellow faces bending down against the cold wind. Finn hovered behind me, his body tense and alert, side-eying Dad as he locked the car with a push of his thumb.

  A few families wandered through the park, bundled up but happy and smiling with hot cocoa in their hands. The calliope sound of a carousel sailed on the crisp breeze, its brass bells just slightly out of tune. The shifting lights and mirrors of the ride triggered a memory in me, and I let in a sharp breath.

  “You took me here once,” I said to Dad.

  He nodded.

  A vague imprint of a moment danced at the periphery of my consciousness. Me riding the carousel over and over, holding on to a gleaming black horse with liquid blue eyes and a purple harness. Dad talking to a large man in a long black coat.

  He led us to the carousel and slipped the attendant a fifty dollar bill, muttering a few words. The old man nodded, clutching his Styrofoam coffee cup with both hands before waving us up to the platform. Dad led us to a large open carriage in the shape of a swan, its cracked white wings billowing out behind its graceful neck that curved up toward the twinkling lights above. I slouched on the bench while Dad settled in beside me. Finn leaned forward in the backseat, his eyes scanning the carousel and the crowds beyond.

  “What is it?” I whispered over my shoulder.

  His eyes followed a figure in the crowd, but then he stared back at me and shrugg
ed.

  The carousel lurched forward, the music jarring and desperate in contrast to the gray sky above. A light sprinkling of snow melted on my nose as we turned, and I jammed my hands deep in the lining of my coat.

  Dad settled the folder on his lap, his pointer finger tapping on it in rhythm to the calliope. “Before you were born, I worked at the JAC in Molesworth, just outside of London,” he began. “When I first started, I was little more than a paper pusher. Gathering reports. Creating presentations. I was ambitious. Never went out much.”

  He took a long breath. “But one night these UN guys invited me to a party. My friend Remi said he knew some girls down in Camden Town, and it was my birthday. So.”

  Dad paused. The carousel loped around and around. Parents waved to their children and the smell of roasted almonds drifted through the lines of wooden animals.

  “As soon as I walked in the door, all I saw was her. The way she danced. Her eyes.” Dad’s hand grazed the curved line of the swan’s wing, his nails picking at the chipped paint to reveal the dark wood beneath. “I came down every weekend to see her. She was so different. I’d never met someone like her.” He snorted, shaking his head. Then he looked right at me.

  “When she told me she was pregnant—with you—well, I was scared. But excited. I was going to be a father.”

  The carousel slowed to a crawl. Children hopped off, their pudgy hands grabbing onto their parents, talking excitedly about the ride. “Did you see me?” they cried. “Did you see me?”

  Dad didn’t make a move, and I sat on my hands, impatient for him to continue. The mechanism fired up again, and slowly the carousel picked up momentum, turning once more.

  “At the same time,” Dad continued, “I was asked to be a part of a special team to investigate unexplained attacks throughout several major cities across the globe. New York, Chicago, Dublin, Sydney, and, of course, London. People being drained of their blood. Wild animal attacks, but in urban centers. It was our job to catalog and search for patterns.” He shrugged. “We learned quickly not to ask too many questions.”

  “But one night, very close to the time you were born, a man approached me. But it wasn’t a man. It was a vampire. A dearg-dubh is the term he used. He told me he had secrets about the attacks, and he would offer them to me in exchange…” Dad trailed off, wiping his face with his hand as if to erase the memories from his mind.

  “In exchange for what?” I prompted.

  He sighed. “What I didn’t know then, but I know now is that there is a world that was cut off long ago from our own. A world called Tír na nÓg.”

  I leaned in. “I know, Dad. I’ve been there.”

  Dad let out a bitter laugh. “Of course you have.”

  “It’s not just that. It’s—” I broke off, shaking my head. What could I tell him? I was heir to Tír na nÓg? That I had been married to a Fomorian King? Any decent father would have asked where I had been the last few months, but not Dad. Either he didn’t want to know, or he simply didn’t care. I turned away, leaning my elbow on the swan’s wing, pressure rising behind my eyelids as I forced the tears back. Finn reached out a hand and gave my shoulder a secret squeeze.

  “The US government has known about this world since the mid-1800s,” Dad said. “But it’s very classified, of course. I don’t even know if the president knows the full extent of it. The military has worked with Trinity on a few occasions to police the dregs that come from the other realm, but it hasn’t been enough. For years we’ve been trying to shut down the passage between that realm and ours permanently, and we’ve finally found an ally to help us do it.”

  “Who’s that?” I sat up on the bench.

  “You probably know. A tribe called The First Men?”

  “The Fir Bolgs? Oh, yeah. I know all about them.” Flashes of Kent’s blue hair and Candace’s hollow black eyes danced through my mind.

  “What you probably don’t know is that the US government has been funneling money into their rebellion.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at Finn, and we shared a knowing stare. So this was where the Fir Bolgs got there “sophisticated weaponry.” The pieces snapped into place, and my heart pounded with fury.

  “But why?” I asked. “Why fund them?”

  “Because the Fir Bolgs share mutual goals with the US government,” Dad said with a pointed stare. “To close the realms forever. To create a permanent wall between us.”

  I clenched my fists. “But what about the dearg-dubh? It would exterminate their race! They require human blood.”

  Dad shrugged. “And would that be such a terrible thing? The world has changed. The Fir Bolgs hate this modern life and see the dearg-dubh, the vampires, as a menace. They want to shut out our influence and the American government is more than happy to help them.”

  I leaned back against the bench, my mind buzzing.

  “But it doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “Why would a dearg-dubh help you? Why would he help the Fir Bolgs?”

  Dad’s eyes narrowed. “He knew he was on the losing side. In exchange for information, he wanted to take up permanent residency in this world, and he wanted protection”—my dad twisted around and nodded at Finn—“from your people. The Fianna.”

  Finn’s face was a wall of stone. His eyes flickered to mine, and then he turned and stared back into the crowd.

  “Who was the dearg-dubh?” I pressed.

  Dad swallowed. “His name was Malachy Moray.”

  Finn half stood, his eyes wide. “Malachy Moray?”

  “You know him?” Dad said.

  Finn slammed back down on the bench, a hard frown stretched across his face. “Yes. I know him.”

  I tried to meet Finn’s gaze, but he rested his chin in his hand and looked away.

  “Malachy said he would only talk to me. He said…” Dad trailed off, leaning his head on the palm of his hand for a moment. “He said that your mother was a spy for their organization. The Children of Lir. Niamh was sent to get close to me, to learn secrets. Everything she said to me, everything we—” His voice broke off and he shook his head, rattling the folder in his hand. “It was all a lie. I couldn’t believe I had been that stupid. I should have known. A woman like that.”

  I shook my head, unable to process what Dad was saying. Everything I had learned from Phelan, everything about her spying on my father for The Children of Lir, everything my father said. It all lined up so perfectly. My mother. A spy. It couldn’t be true. But there it was. I held my breath, my hands shaking.

  Dad began again, his voice low and quiet beneath the clamor of the calliope. “Two days later your mother gave birth. At the same time, our government, in cooperation with England, raided The Children of Lir’s headquarters. It was all over. Anyone we didn’t kill outright, we detained indefinitely. I didn’t tell your mother what I knew. Maybe I was still in shock. I knew the government was coming for her, but I was paralyzed. I loved her, but the betrayal…”

  His eyes turned to dark slits, his mouth set in a thin line. I saw what the years had done to him, the hard angles of his face, the gritty quality of his skin, the brush of gray around his temples. My father had always looked young for his age, but in that moment he appeared worn down, tired. He massaged his forehead, staring down at the folder on his lap.

  “We were at the hospital,” he said. “Just hours after you were born. You were so tiny, Lizzie. So tiny. I could hold you in one hand.”

  He lifted his palm up and curled it slightly, staring at it intently.

  “I went to get a cup of coffee, and Niamh was gone. Just gone. All she left was a letter.” Dad placed the file into my hands. “It’s in there. Wherever your mother is, she doesn’t want to be found. Do you understand? She doesn’t want you. Or us. She never did.”

  Tears stung my eyes, and my lungs burned with all the things I wanted to tell him. About finding her in the dream. Her calling to me on the battlefield. But I knew if I said one thing, then my whole past would unravel. And what would be t
he point? I pressed my fingernail beneath the flap of the file, hesitant to open it. I held one history in my heart and one in my hand, and nothing seemed true or real anymore.

  “She wanted me, Dad. I know she did,” I said in a small voice.

  “You’re old enough now to accept the truth.” Dad’s voice rose, laced with rage. “Forget about her. She abandoned you, Lizzie.”

  I clutched the file so tight it crumpled in my palm. “Why did you tell me she died? Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

  “A mother abandoning her own child?” Dad snapped. “How could I have explained that? It was for your own good.”

  I held my head in my hands, shaking my head, whispering “no” over and over again under my breath. None of this made sense, and I wanted the carousel to stop so I could get up and walk away from everything.

  Finn spoke up from the backseat. “Do you know the Fir Bolgs tried to kill your daughter? There’s a hit out on her life. Are you so positive you’re fighting on the right side?”

  Dad’s head snapped around. “There is no right side or wrong side, Mr. O’Connell. There’s our world and theirs. We cannot share the same universe.”

  I smashed my fist on the bench. “But, Dad. I’m—”

  “I know what you are! I’ve known that my whole life. How could you be anything else?” Dad raised his hands in surrender. “I taught you to protect yourself, to be smart. That’s all I could do for you.”

  I felt as if my skin had shrunk five sizes too small and I was six years old again, kicking my legs against the wooden horse on the carousel.

  “But what about love?” My voice choked on the word. Love. It sounded so stupid.

  He paused, grinding his teeth. “I was twenty-four years old, Lizzie. I didn’t know what to do with a baby. I did the best I could, but now it’s done. That world and my part in it. It’s done. Do you understand?”

  The carousel stopped, but I sat paralyzed, staring at my Dad through blurred vision, trying to swallow the hard lump in my throat. Around us, a new swarm of children flooded the platform, squeals and laughter swirling all around us.