Finn pulled me up from the bench, and I clung to him, my knees shaking.
“You’re a cruel man, James Tanner,” Finn spat, his face red with rage. “Family may not mean much to you, but where I come from, it’s the only thing that matters.” He went to turn away but then leaned close to my Dad’s face. “And tell your Fir Bolg friends to stay away from her.”
Finn half carried me off the platform, and the two of us walked quickly away from my father, arm in arm. I glanced back over my shoulder once, the wind whipping my hair in my face. The sun emerged from the clouds, bouncing off the mirrors and casting beams of brilliant light all over the giggling children racing around the carousel. My father sat alone in the swan carriage, the glassy eyes of the bird glinting bright as it circled around once more.
Chapter Nineteen
Finn and I turned a corner, and I collapsed on a bench, covering my face. Finn settled beside me, his heavy arm secured around my back. His presence anchored me, and I swallowed the flood of tears threatening to fall. My mother the spy. My mother who abandoned me. That I could accept. Maybe. My mother was an aisling, quite literally a vision, a dream, but my father was very real, and the sting of his rejection poisoned the marrow in my bones.
I let out a bitter laugh. “It’s funny.”
“Elizabeth,” Finn breathed, holding me closer.
I pulled away, staring into his concerned eyes. “No, it’s funny how childhood works. I thought, you know. I used to pretend that my mother wasn’t dead. That she was just on some long trip. And I thought—” My voice broke, and I stared down at the file in my lap.
“And I thought,” I stammered, trying to form the words. “If I could find her, if we could be a family again, and then maybe…maybe he would love me.”
My chest shook, caving in, and Finn drew me close. I buried my face between the lapels of his leather coat and let out a long, terrible choking sound.
“But he won’t,” I said, my voice high and strained. “Because I’m Fae. Because my mother lied to him, and he’ll never forgive me for it.”
“Elizabeth, stop. Your father—” Finn broke off, squeezing my shoulder and turning to face me. “We do not know your mother’s side of the story. There may be more to this than—”
“Than what? She never loved him!”
He held my gaze. “But she loves you, Elizabeth. And that still counts.”
“Does she?” I smoothed my hair back and took a deep breath, the edge of the folder my father had given me crumpling in my hands. “What do I know about her? What do I really know?”
I leaned back, staring up at the sky through the sleeping trees. They hadn’t even budded yet. “Maybe we should just give up. Go to Argentina or somewhere in Tír na nÓg, hide out. Forget all this.”
Finn paused, staring up at the blank sky with me. “And always wonder what happened to your mother?”
I sighed.
He took hold of my hand. “You need to eat something. I spotted a café on our way here. We’ll read through the file, and then you can decide. Fair enough?”
I nodded, wiping my face clear of any trace of tears. We walked in silence until we reached the coffee shop. Burnt orange walls, large, overpriced watercolors, and the hiss of an espresso machine greeted us as we walked through the door.
We ordered and settled into a small table by the window, waiting for our food to arrive. Students surrounded us, staring into laptops and sprawled-out textbooks, white earbuds buzzing faint music into their skulls. With a small pang, I thought about how this was what I should be doing right now, transcribing notes or typing up a term paper. I turned back to Finn, his large legs banging against the edge of the table, his cheek resting on his palm. He looked like a panther in the middle of a daycare center, instinctively scouting out the entrances and exits.
“What was your father like?” I asked abruptly.
Finn blinked and then smiled. “He was a great man.”
“Did you love him?” I shook my head at the awkwardness of the question. “I mean, were you close?”
Finn tilted his head in thought. “My father was a busy man. It was different then, but I guess you could say we were close. He worked very hard for us.”
I played with the edge of a napkin, leaning toward Finn. “What did he do?”
“Well, in Ireland at that time, if you were Catholic you could not own land, vote in parliament, none of that.” Finn frowned, but then his face lifted, and he glanced out the window. “But there were ways to work the system if one was clever enough, and Da was clever. To any ‘laird’ we appeared as just another family of tenant farmers, slaving away on a piece of land grandfathered in on a long lease.”
He flashed me a sly smile and then continued. “Beneath the facade, my father accumulated wealth from trade. We were proper middle-class, you could say. Sent us all to study in France. In the eyes of the Irish, the O’Connells were the rightful lords of the land. Da abided by the old ways, providing small loans, charity, appealing cases to the gentry. You had a problem, you came to Francis O’Connell.”
Finn stared down at the table, rearranging the salt and pepper shakers. “He was a good man, and he loved my mother. She was fiery and proud. She wrote poetry. In Irish, of course. All of it is lost now.”
“Lost?”
“During the Rising. Our family’s house was burned down.” Finn sniffed and looked away. “With my family inside it, unfortunately.”
“Oh my God,” I breathed, taking Finn’s hand.
The waitress set down our meal. “Is there anything else I can get you folks?” she chirped.
I didn’t even glance in her direction. She wandered off, clearing her throat.
“Finn, I’m so sorry,” I said.
He waved me away. “I’ve had centuries to mourn. It was a very different time, Elizabeth.”
We ate in silence.
“Finn?” I asked in between bites of my sandwich. “What would you do if you were me? Would you open this file?”
He set his fork on the side of his plate. “I can’t answer that question. I’m not you.”
I let out a sigh. “I know, but I mean, if you were. Would you want to know? After hearing what my Dad said?”
Finn wiped his mouth with his napkin and set it down on the table. “When I was sixteen, I fell madly in love with a girl. Beautiful Mary Bright from the next town over. She had long blond hair, sparkling eyes. Incredible, big breasts.” Finn made a gesture with a hand in front of him, fondling invisible boobs.
I rolled my eyes and smothered a laugh. “You’re disgusting.”
Finn raised a hand in defense. “Oh, I was desperate for her, in the way only a young man can be.”
“Is there a point to this story?” I asked, folding my arms across my very real breasts.
He nodded, his mischievous smile dulling slightly. “My brother Sean knew I loved her, and for almost a year, he hid it from me, and from everyone really, that he was secretly courting Miss Bright.”
“No way,” I breathed in mock scandal.
He raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders. “Young love.” He took a long sip of his tea and set it back on the table, his fingers grazing the edge of the cup.
“One night I was walking back home from a dance. I had seen Sean leave much earlier. He had claimed he was not well, and I did not pay it any mind, but then I saw them.” Finn paused for a moment, shoving his plate away.
“I ran right into them,” he continued. “Kissing, talking, laughing. I watched them for a long time. They were grand together. Sean looked up and saw me, and I will never forget the look on his face. Regret, shame, hurt, pride. He called my name, but I was gone, running as fast as I could into the woods until I came to a stream, the same stream we used to play in as boys. I cried all night until the sun came up.”
“Oh, Finn.” I took his hand and squeezed.
He cracked a wide smile and placed his hand over mine. “A year later, Sean married Mary Bright, and they had four
beautiful children together, and we never talked about that night. Not ever.”
He looked away out the window, his eyes following the young families passing by.
I unclasped my fingers, taking the last sip of my latte. “Sorry, but I don’t understand what you’re getting at here.”
He stared back at me and chuckled under his breath. “Don’t you see? It wasn’t losing Mary Bright that hurt me. Not really. It was the lie Sean had told. It was thinking he was one thing, but beneath it all, he was something else. Family means being able to be who you are, who you truly are, unconditionally. Sean loved Mary Bright, and she loved him. It killed me to see them together, but better the truth came out. There may be parts to your mother’s story you don’t yet understand.”
I nodded, glancing down at the file. My hands trembled as I broke the seal, unloading the contents on the table.
A folded piece of paper caught my eye, yellowing and faded with spidery handwriting written in black ink long faded to brown. I glanced up at Finn, and then smoothed the paper out on the table.
Dear James,
By now you must know who I am and what I have done. Please believe I never wanted to leave you this way, but I have no choice. Take care of our daughter, and know that I will never be too far away. For there is another world, but it is in this one.
Love,
Niamh
“For there is another world, but it is in this one,” I repeated, staring down at the words. “That’s Yeats, isn’t it? What do you think she means by that? Do you think she means the dreams?”
Finn shrugged and pulled out a couple of photographs. One was the picture of my mother I had found when I was a little girl, her head tilted back slightly and her eyes bright with laughter.
Other photographs slipped through my fingers, glossy black and whites. Phelan’s face, Malachy Moray dodging out of a pub. Other dearg-dubh, púcas, even a few Fir Bolgs and leprechauns. Surveillance mixed with custody photos, reports attached to them with dull paper clips.
Someone had scrawled in black Sharpie the word “Human” followed by a question mark across the top of one file. I pulled the papers loose and stared at a photograph of an old woman with straggling black hair and wild eyes. “Anny Black,” someone had scribbled in the margins and below that was stamped “Informant.” In another shade of ink, a government official had later noted “Whereabouts unknown. Presumably in London.”
I shoved the file under Finn’s gaze. “I think we need to find her. If she informed on my mom, she might know what happened to her.”
Finn thumbed through the report, but there wasn’t much there. Just some information on where Anny Black lived before London and previous odd jobs she’d held before she became involved with the Children.
“What’s a human doing in a Fae rebellion?” he asked, staring hard at her photograph.
“And why did they let her join in the first place?”
Finn and I shared a glance.
“I guess we’re going to London,” I said, rubbing my chest. The ache had subsided through most of the morning, but it flared up again, like small stabbing knives in my sternum.
He tilted his head. “London’s nice this time of year.”
“Is it?”
“Not really.”
I snorted, taking his hand in mine, hesitating. I knew I needed to tell Finn, but we had the first real lead for finding my mother. Picking up my cup, I downed the rest of my latte, making a firm vow I would tell him in London. We could just check things out, make inquiries. It wouldn’t take too long, and then we could figure out what to do next.
“I’m going to hit the ladies room first.” I stood up and stretched. “But when I get back, we’ll jet. Okay?”
I gave him a small peck on the cheek before walking to the back of the café to the bathroom. After I washed my hands, I took a moment to run my fingers through my hair and wipe the crusty tears from my eyes. For the first time I felt a small twinge of hope, a sense of direction. London is a big city, but where the paranormal was concerned, it couldn’t be that big. Someone would know where to find Anny Black, and if we could find her, maybe she would lead us to my mother.
I threw my shoulders back and smiled before stepping back out into the hall. A large hand clamped over my mouth, and I let out a muffled scream as a rag reeking of chemicals jammed over my nose. I struggled against a thick chest, the grip on my shoulder like iron. Before I could travel anywhere, before I could even think, the world did a somersault and all the lights went out.
Chapter Twenty
My eyes snapped open, an itchy wool blanket scratching the side of my face. I blinked a few more times to find myself in a room a little larger than a broom closet. A stainless steel toilet and a small basin sat in the corner. Throwing the blankets aside, I stood up on wobbly legs, scanning the cinderblock walls for an escape. A wave of panic flooded my cotton-stuffed brain, my heart pounding as I dashed against the door and banged my fists on the blank surface.
“Let me out of here!” I screamed over and over, but no one came.
I paced the cell, rubbing my elbows with my clammy hands. Someone had placed me in a hospital nightgown, with blue printed flowers fading into abstract watercolor, and I clutched at the thin fabric, smoothing it over my cold legs. The hairs on the back of my neck rose, and I whipped around. The red light of a surveillance camera blinked in the corner, its blue-black lens mirroring my reflection.
“Hey!” I screamed. “Let me out!”
My throat burned from shouting, and I slumped onto the side of the cot. Breathing hard through my nose, I calmed myself, seeking out the source of my powers so I could travel out of there and back to Finn. But I couldn’t grasp at the spark of energy, couldn’t fight through the churning waves of panic. I punched the mattress and stood, waving my hand wildly to throw the cot against the wall with my telekinesis, but nothing happened. My muscles strained with the effort, a cold sweat beading above my top lip, and I doubled over with a howl of frustration.
I glanced up at the red light blinking in the corner. “When I get out of here, I’m going to fucking kill you.”
My body shivered, my blood sugar dropping from the adrenaline, and my teeth chattered uncontrollably. I pulled the blanket from the cot and wrapped it around me, swaying back and forth. A wave of memories flooded through my mind, Lorcan’s bloated face flashing before me, his cackling laughter echoing in my ears as he bound me to him. A blast of fire burned in my belly even as a thin layer of cold sweat doused my body. A strange, aching flutter ran across my heart, and I rubbed my chest, the wound in my soul, or whatever it was, adding a new layer of panic.
I curled up deeper in the blanket, and my eye caught a serial number. Familiarity snapped me back to reality. It was an old military blanket.
The ventilation clicked on and off, breaking the thick silence in the cell. I gripped the blanket in between my fingers, my thumb rubbing against the black stamp on the hem. I had been taken by some government entity. That much was clear. My heart sank, and I tore my hands through my hair, thinking of my father. Did he do this to me? Did he send me to this place? Because if I were in military custody, the Fir Bolgs wouldn’t be too far behind.
Shit.
With a click and a boom, the door of my cell opened, and three soldiers in black fatigues entered the room.
I shot up, raising my fists, and I savagely kicked my cot between us. It slid across the floor with a metallic screech.
“Who are you?” I demanded.
They circled me with military precision.
I leaped over the cot and through the door, racing down a long white hallway.
A gloved hand grabbed onto my shoulder, and I whirled around, launching my fist into the soldier’s chin. Before I could connect, a sharp pain exploded in my side. My muscles froze, and my lungs locked. I slammed into the linoleum floor, a bright white light filling my brain. My body doubled up in spasms, and I stared at my hands through a long tunnel of agony. My fingers
trembled violently, my knuckles rapping against the floor before going horribly still. Sickening waves of terror filled my body, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.
I felt a sharp pinprick on the side of my neck, and I let out a small choking sound, unable to speak. Those fuckers had injected me with something. My stomach rolled, and for a moment I felt for sure I would be sick.
A pair of hands lifted me by my armpits and dragged me across the floor. I tried to scream, but nothing came out but a soft gasp. The fluorescent lights flickered as we marched down the hall, and I stared helplessly at my naked toes as the other soldier marched behind me. A pair of double doors swung open, and we entered a dark tiled room lined with gurneys and glass shelving. One of the soldiers lifted me up onto an exam table, the paper crinkling beneath my body. They folded a leather strap around my arms, locking it tight.
“N-N-No,” I whispered, gritting my teeth. It came out as a thin croak.
I felt a brief tingling in my fingers, and I used all my force to struggle against the strap locking me to the gurney.
“No!” I screamed, the feeling returning to my body. “No!”
The clomping sound of boots retreated from the room, the soldiers’ dark shadows stretching against the small windows of the double doors. A man in a white lab coat breezed between them. He was slight with thin brown hair, and wire rim glasses dominated his thin face. A female nurse floated behind him, her blond hair stretched back into a tight bun on the top of her head. She busied herself beside one of the shelves.
“Hello, Ms. Tanner.” He leaned over me with a waxy smile. “My name is Dr. Fade.”
I clenched my fists, my chest heaving. “Who are you?” I cried. “What is this place?”
He ignored me and typed at a computer next to the bed. The screen turned his face a sick shade of green, the white type reflecting off his glasses. With one last flick of the keys, he swiveled his chair toward me.
Children of the Veil (Aisling Chronicles) Page 19