Children of the Veil (Aisling Chronicles)

by Colleen Halverson

  “But it’s freezing in here!” I balked. “That could be hours.”

  “Oh, no,” Malachy said, “It’s never hours.”

  Finn let out an exasperated sigh, and Eamonn folded his hands behind his back, his brow knitted with worry.

  “Don’t lose heart, my friends. The lunch rush is starting soon.” Malachy gestured to a shelf laden with desserts. “And there’s cake here. Do you want some cake?”

  My stomach gurgled at the sight of chocolate. “I’ll take some cake,” I piped up.

  “Cut it out, you two,” Finn growled. “No one is having cake.”

  I gave him a sideways glance and skulked against a metal shelf stacked high with stainless steel bins full of quartered lemons.

  Finn crouched and ran his fingers over the drain. “Are there a lot of these sorts of tunnels across London?”

  Malachy laughed. “Oh, wouldn’t you like to know, Fianna.”

  “Ex-Fianna,” Finn replied, resting his elbows on his thighs. “I’m surprised the underground is so complex.”

  “Are you?” Malachy drawled. “Does the cleverness of the Fae often surprise you?”

  Finn stretched himself up to his full height. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Malachy. You know what I meant.”

  The dearg-dubh perched himself on a crate of vegetables. “Exiled Fae have developed these tunnels over the centuries. The Fianna would discover one, and we would just create another. Word would spread across the Faerie community: codes, keys, locks, combinations, all memorized and kept secret. For the most part it was just a way for us to get through the city outside of the watchful eyes of London’s Fianna.” Malachy’s eyes sparkled, and he swung his legs back and forth against the crate. “Of course, in the 1980s, when the revolution really caught fire, these tunnels served much more rebellious purposes. Weapons smuggling and the like. Those were exciting times.”

  I pegged Malachy with a hard stare. “You sound like a believer, but you betrayed your friends…everyone.”

  The wistful look on Malachy’s face fell away, and his delicate features sharpened with a frown. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand how someone could betray his beliefs, betray the people he cared about, just to save his own skin.”

  “There were larger things at stake, Princess,” Malachy said in a voice so low I could barely hear him.

  “What? What was at stake?” I approached the dearg-dubh.

  He opened his mouth to respond, but the door of the locker swung open and a young man in a long white apron sauntered inside, stainless steel bins towering precariously in his arms.

  “Hey, Linny.” Malachy jumped off the crate of vegetables.

  “Hiya,” Linny replied not even looking up. He had brown hair in a ponytail and several tattoos on his arms. Punk music blared from his earbuds. He flashed me a glance, and a pair of translucent eyes grazed over my body. A dearg-dubh working as a chef in a department store. I bet everyone figured he wore contacts.

  Linny set down the trays of prepped food and walked out of the locker, kicking the door open wider without a second glance.

  With his shoulders flung back, Malachy stepped into the kitchen, not waiting for Eamonn, Finn, and me to follow. Several restaurant workers milled about the kitchen, dicing vegetables and stirring bubbling pots. None of them paid any mind to the vampire, Druid, warrior, and aisling who wandered through the high tables and out to the main floor. Malachy waved to Linny as he pushed through the swinging doors to the restaurant. Linny, who was busy bobbing his head to his music while chopping carrots, raised his butcher knife in recognition but didn’t look up.

  “Who is that guy?” I asked.

  “That’s Linnet,” Malachy said. “He’s a chef.”

  “I can see that,” I said as we wandered out of the eatery area and into the part of the department store. “What’s he doing here?”

  “He’s been working at Mark & Spencer’s for ages. From before the Children of Lir days.”

  “Is he registered with the Fianna?” Finn asked.

  “What do you think?” Malachy arched his eyebrows and raised a finger to his lips. “Look, we need to get what we need and get out. Eamonn and I will pick up some things for ourselves. Finn, you take Elizabeth and try to find something that makes her look halfway presentable. She can wear that dress tonight, but she’ll need some street clothes. We’ll meet back here in twenty minutes.”

  Finn took my hand and led me to the women’s department. I took stock of Finn’s attire. His white shirt beneath his trench coat looked faded but pressed, and in the bright light of the department store, the tell-tale remnants of blood and dirt stained his dark trousers.

  “You could go find yourself some things, too,” I said, rubbing my hand up his arm.

  “Orin gave me a limited amount of money for what you need,” he said.

  I stopped, shoppers shrugging past me. “He gave you money?”

  Finn turned, cupping my elbow in his hand. “Yes, for incidentals.”

  I wrenched my hand away. “No, I mean, why did he give it to you?”

  He studied my face, his mouth turned down in confusion. Finally realization hit him, and he pilfered through his wallet. “Old habits die hard amongst our kind.” He pressed a few hundred pounds in my hand. “But our Elizabeth is a woman of the world.”

  I pressed the money back toward him with a wide smile. “You keep it.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

  I smoothed my hands down my hips and shrugged. “No pockets.”

  He threw his arm around me, and I snuggled up into the hollow of his shoulder. A few Londoners gave us some random quizzical stares but continued past us.

  “Let’s get this over with,” I said, ticking through a line of sweaters on plastic hangers.

  Finn wandered to the other side, stretching out the lacy sleeve of a light blue dress.

  “No dresses,” I snapped.

  He looked up at me with wide puppy-dog eyes. “Please?”

  I yanked a sweater off the rack and grabbed a pair of jeans. “Limited funds, remember?”

  Finn let go of the gauzy sleeve, his fingers idly tracing the hem of my cloak near my chest.

  “Do you ever buy something nice for yourself?”

  “I’ve bought some nice books.”

  He cracked a smile. “You know what I mean.”

  I grabbed a couple of plain T-shirts. “Dad never really understood the demands of the feminine wardrobe, so I sorta learned to make do. Shopping sucks when you’re broke.”

  “That’s a shame.” Finn turned and fingered the flimsy silk material of a blouse.

  “Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,

  Enwrought with golden and silver light,

  The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

  Of night and light and the half-light,

  I would spread the cloths under your feet…”

  I smiled, my body turning to a furnace. Nothing made me wet like hearing poetry pouring from his beautiful mouth.

  “But I being poor have only my dreams…” I countered.

  “Here.” Finn whirled and grabbed a dress in silver lace. “Try this on.”

  Tiny crystals on the dress caught the light and glittered beneath his hands.

  “Finn, that thing is ridiculous. I’m not going to be wandering through London’s sewers in a cocktail dress.”

  He nodded. “You don’t have to buy it. Just show it to me, all right?”

  I let out a deep exhale and pursed my lips. “The things I do for you.”

  His face cracked in a brilliant smile, and I slapped him on the ass as I shrugged past him, grabbing a pair of boots in my size. My arms heavy with clothing, I teetered off to the dressing room, with Finn trailing behind. He leaned against the door with a softened, domesticated look on his face, and it struck me as I entered the dressing room how, in some other dimension, this could be a ty
pical Saturday for us—going to the mall, trying on clothes, eating lunch somewhere, maybe picking up a video later and ordering Chinese takeout. I wondered if that would ever be us. I pulled off the velvet cloak from Tír na nÓg and the medieval-looking dress then balled them in a corner. I smoothed the much coveted silver dress over my hips, admiring my figure in the mirror for a moment. I didn’t mind the way the fabric clung to my breasts and waist, and I threw my hair back and smiled. Maybe there was something to this bombshell business.

  I opened the door, beaming. “Ta-da!”

  Finn’s eyes lit up, and he grabbed my hand and twirled me around a little.

  He traced the lacy fabric against my waist. “Let’s get it.”

  I laughed, shaking my head. “Finn, when am I going to wear this dress?”

  “When I get you alone?” Finn’s eyes smoldered. “I would very much like to take it off of you.”

  Warmth bloomed deep inside my belly, and I looked shyly at the floor, tucking a loose curl behind my ear. “Well, when you put it that way…”

  I stepped back into the dressing room in a daze, peeling off the silver dress and placing it gingerly back on the hanger. I tried on the rest of the clothes and decided on a sweater and jeans. I opened up the dressing room, my cloak and Fae dress balled under my arm, the silver cocktail ensemble draped over my shoulder. Finn was gone.

  A twist of anxiety tightened in my chest.

  “Finn?” I called around the corner.

  The dress slipped and fell to the floor. I dipped to pick it up and in that exact moment, two bullets cracked over my head and splintered the dressing room door.

  “Shit!” I hit the ground, crawling beneath a rack of clothes. Two more bullets slammed into the wall where my head had been. Booted footsteps thundered toward me. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, seeking out Finn’s energy so I could travel to him. I rushed across the astral plane, and when I opened my eyes again, he stood over me, his eyes wide, a pair of high heels dangling from his finger. A bewildered clerk stared, blinking and shaking her head as if to clear her vision.

  I grabbed Finn’s pant leg, scrambling to standing. “We have to get out of here.”

  “What is it?” he cried as I pulled him behind a pillar.

  “Bullets! To my head!” I pointed at my temple. “Someone just tried to kill me!”

  The clerk spluttered something about calling the police and picked up a phone.

  Finn’s eyes narrowed into deadly focus, and he uttered the spell to make his sword appear. I grabbed his hand.

  “You can’t manifest a sword in Mark & Spencer’s!” I hissed. I peeked around the corner. “I’m going to seek out Eamonn and Malachy’s energies, and we’ll go.” I grasped Finn’s hand and reached out my energy in search of the Druid and the dearg-dubh. When I opened my eyes again, Eamonn and Malachy stood before us, finishing their purchases.

  I placed my hands on their shoulders. “Guys, it’s time to go!”

  They turned, and in that same moment, three Fir Bolgs rounded the corner, pistols aimed right at us, their black eyes sparkling beneath the fluorescent lights of the department store. Shoppers yelped, gasping and dodging out of their way.

  “Duck!” I pulled them down.

  All of us scrambled behind the cashier’s counter.

  “So much for our undercover operation,” Malachy muttered beneath his breath. “We have to get to the street level. Can you get us out of here, aisling?”

  I nodded, throwing a pool of energy across everyone, and just as the Fir Bolgs rounded the counter, we found ourselves back on the streets of London. A horn blared in my ears, and I whirled around to see a double-decker bus barely two feet away from us. Finn pushed me to the side, my knees skidding painfully against the sidewalk. Eamonn and Malachy caught up to us, their chests heaving.

  Malachy bolted down the street. “This way!” he called over his shoulder. I glanced at the entrance of the department store just in time to see the Fir Bolgs rushing out of the revolving doors. One of them locked eyes with me, and he pointed right at us and broke into sprint.

  “Come on!” Finn cried, grabbing the cuff of my sweater.

  We raced through the streets of London, dodging shoppers, tourists, and commuters. A light drizzle dampened my face, making the roads beneath my pounding boots slick. Puddles soaked my jeans, and a stitch ground into my side. Sirens echoed behind us from the department store, and I cautioned a glance in that direction only to see the Fir Bolgs gaining on us. Finn grabbed my hand to force me to run faster.

  “We need to travel!” I huffed to Malachy, but he turned a corner, apparently out of earshot. Two bullets pierced the brownstone inches from my head, and I raced into the alley.

  Finn panted, raising his sword. We shared a wordless glance, and I readied myself, pooling my energy and preparing to fight.

  “No!” Malachy shouted, grabbing onto Finn’s sword arm. “London is neutral ground. You kill those Fir Bolgs and you’ll have half the Fae world out to kill us.”

  Malachy whirled around and stopped before a door covered in faded purple paint.

  “Neutral ground?” Finn barked over his shoulder. “Those pistols don’t look neutral to me!”

  The dearg-dubh stood before the door, his pinky in his mouth. “I just need to remember the combination.”

  Finn growled, raising his sword higher.

  Eamonn hovered over Malachy. “Is it a warding spell? I might be able to break through it with—”

  “The spell is designed to keep people like you out!” Malachy snapped.

  The three Fir Bolgs darted around the corner, pistols raised.

  “Give us the girl!” One of them shouted, his big black eyes glittering through the mist.

  “Go to hell!” I cried, sending a blast of energy toward him.

  A volley of bullets went wild, tearing through the alley, and Eamonn cried out, clutching his arm. He slid down the wall, and Finn raced to his side.

  I rolled up my sleeves as the Fir Bolgs reloaded. “Oh, hell no!” I blasted one and then the other out into the street. A car honked and skidded its tires and rolled over the Fir Bolg’s head, crushing it like a melon. He burst into a poof of ash, the other Fir Bolg howling around him, grasping at the ash as the driver of the car looked on in horror.

  “Got it!” Malachy cried. He painted an invisible symbol on the door with the edge of his fingernail. The door swung open on its own.

  One of the Fir Bolgs stood and snarled something at me, raising his weapon. My limbs felt weak from traveling, but I dug deep inside myself to draw forth my powers.

  “Come on!” A hand clamped down on my shoulder and threw me across the threshold. Finn slammed it behind us, and we crouched down in a dark hallway, panting on the grimy linoleum floor.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “What the hell are those Fir Bolgs doing here?” Finn puffed through the drafty hallway.

  I swallowed hard, banging the back of my head against the wall. I knew what they were doing here. I led them here. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead, my words echoing back to me from within the facility.

  And so we were headed to London before I got caught…

  How could I have allowed myself to grow so weak, so vulnerable? They had recorded everything. And Hermione? The girl in the vent? Was she just a plant, a part of their plan all along?

  A pulsing wave of heat ran through my chest, and I clutched my heart, all the air escaping from my lungs for a moment. The ache of my broken soul came and went, but now it felt like someone had dug a flaming knife through my chest. As quickly as it had come on, though, it vanished, and I swallowed hard as a new surge of panic swept up through me. The Fir Bolgs knew what that orb was, and they were tracking us.

  “Are you all right?” Finn whispered in my ear.

  Oh, God, I need to tell him.

  “Yeah.” I flashed him a smile through my fingers. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  Malachy rested his hand on the wall, catching h
is breath. “The clerk at the motel might have tipped them off. Maybe there’s a price on your head, Princess.”

  “Great.” My eyes flitted to the door, but it held.

  “Don’t worry,” Malachy said. “It should keep them back for a while. But we shouldn’t linger here.”

  Finn crouched over Eamonn, light flashing from his hands. “Are you all right, brother?”

  The Druid nodded, rubbing his arm. “I am now.”

  “Come on,” Malachy whispered.

  We followed the dearg-dubh down a long hall pasted with faded band posters and paraphernalia at least a decade old. Layers of graffiti lined the wall, and a fluorescent light guttered as we marched toward an ancient wooden door.

  “I hope this still works,” Malachy whispered, staring at the brass knocker square in the middle of the oak planks. Some craftsman had molded the knocker to look like an elf, its pointed ears turning up in an exaggerated curve.

  The dearg-dubh leaned over to one of its ears, cupping his hand over his mouth as if to tell the knocker a secret. He whispered something, and the eyes of the Fae knocker glowed and rolled back into its head. The door swung open and a wave of sound nearly blew us over.

  “What’s down there?” Finn demanded, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  Malachy glanced over his shoulder and winked at me. “You’ll see.”

  He descended the steps, and Eamonn, Finn, and I shared a look and shrugged. The sound grew louder as we made our way down the staircase, the clamor of hundreds of voices echoing through the walls. We entered expansive catacombs, the dazzling lights and flurry of movement taking my breath away as my eyes scanned the endless array of colorful tents and tables laden with trinkets, bottles, and weapons. The smell of clove wafted through the air, cries of “Druid cuffs!” and “Potions, lotions, and magic balms!” cutting through the murmuring din of the crowd.

  Malachy raised his hands and smiled. “Welcome to the Faerie Market.”

  I grinned, my attention drawn in a thousand directions at the shining baubles stretching out into the darkness as far as I could see. All sorts of Fae mingled in the chamber, hawking wears and haggling prices.

  “This is incredible,” I breathed. “I had no idea there were so many Fae on this side of the Veil.”