Children of the Veil (Aisling Chronicles)

by Colleen Halverson

  Malachy ruffled through his suit and handed over two knives to Balar. They gleamed in the moonlight before the Cyclops threw them to the side. With a grunt, he turned around, gesturing for us to follow him through the drainage tunnel. “Come on, then.”

  Squaring my shoulders, I trudged after the Cyclops.

  The tunnel led to a heavy oak door. Balar fumbled with an old key, and the door opened with a large groan, revealing a leprechaun on the other side, his beady eyes peering at us through the shadows.

  “Tell the boss Malachy Moray and the Princess of Tír na nÓg are here,” Balar said.

  The leprechaun vanished down a long hallway covered in plain white tiles.

  “Go in and enjoy yourselves.” Balar waved down the corridor stretching out before us. “Torc will call for yous when he’s ready.”

  Faint music drifted ahead of us, the boom of a bass drum reverberating in my chest. We reached the end of the hallway, and Malachy opened the double doors with a flourish.

  A wall of sound hit me, and I staggered backward. Distorted guitars echoed through the cavernous room, a drilling background for a wild reel played on an electric violin. On a make-shift stage, a man with numerous piercings sang a raucous sea shanty in a rough, wild voice. All around us, Fae of all stripes whirled and danced in yards of crinoline, plaid, and gabardine. With our bizarre getups, I thought for sure we would stick out like sore thumbs, but sure enough, we blended right in with the flurry of petticoats and ascots.

  We drifted through the roman arches lining the pool, where some of the Fae had sought out private moments in the shadows. I quickly glanced away as my eyes drifted over a female dearg-dubh in an unnatural position with three leprechauns. The empty Olympic-sized bath churned with the figures of dancing Fae, bouncing in time to the band on the stage. High above on a mezzanine sat a burly, giant of a man on a carved oak throne.

  “Is that Torc?” I shouted in Malachy’s ear.

  He nodded, bobbing his head to the rollicking music.

  Torc grabbed a serving woman by the waist and pulled her onto his lap. She squealed, her look of panic changing to consternation as Torc squeezed her breast and whispered in her ear. The leprechaun from before approached Torc and pointed to us. The púca glanced over the dark hair of the Fae woman and pegged me with a hard stare. He nodded, his coppery beard catching the shifting lights from the stage. He muttered something in the leprechaun’s ear and the creature disappeared.

  Finn growled behind me and his fingers brushed protectively against my elbow. “I don’t like this.”

  Torc threw his head back and laughed at something the Fae woman had said. She had plastered a smile on her face, but even from far away, I could see the tension in her shoulders.

  “Let’s just try to get what we need and get out,” I said.

  A young man crossed my path, and I recognized Linnet from the restaurant earlier today. He had discarded his apron for a white pirate shirt and a pair of suspenders. A brown velvet hat perched low on his head, his blond hair trailing behind his back.

  Malachy stopped him, pressing his fingers on his chest. “Any sign of Fir Bolgs?”

  Linnet backed away, taking in Malachy’s serious expression. “They cleared out quickly after the police came, but I haven’t seen them around here, no.”

  “Does anyone know where they’re hiding out?”

  “No.” Linnet leaned in, and I had to strain to hear over the loud music. “But I’ve heard rumors of sightings in Wandsworth.”

  Malachy nodded and patted Linnet on the arm before the dearg-dubh wandered off, back into the twisting throng of Fae.

  The leprechaun who had approached Torc appeared before us suddenly. “The cenn fine will see you now,” he said and turned on his heel. The four of us followed the tiny figure through the crowd. Some of the Fae stopped dancing to stare at us, pointing and whispering.

  “Why are they looking at us?” I whispered to Malachy.

  “Word travels fast amongst the Fae,” Malachy replied. “They know we’re here, and they know who you are.”

  “Who I am?”

  Malachy jabbed me with his elbow. “Stand up straight. Try to look…regal. These are your people, Princess.”

  I gazed across the crowd of Fae as they laughed and caroused, and a surge of energy ran through my limbs. I felt powerful, ready to lead. These steampunk magical folk were my kin, and they needed my help. Taking a deep breath, I swept through the crowd with my chin held high, Finn trailing me, his solid presence giving me strength as we walked up the steps of the mezzanine.

  Torc Triath pushed the Fae woman off his lap, and she scrambled away gratefully, flashing us a curious glance before disappearing through a back door. The cenn fine folded his hands over his lap, and a swan tattoo stood out against the pale skin of his hand. Finn and I shared a look and then focused our attention back to him.

  “Malachy Moray!” Torc bellowed. “The last time I saw you I was almost taken into federal custody. I hope you’re not here to ask for money. I’m out of the revolution business.”

  Malachy lifted his hat and bowed with a flourish. “My lord,” he said. “The revolution lives on.”

  “You’ll have to remind my soldiers of that if they are ever released from prison.” Torc’s amber eyes narrowed on Malachy. “That is, if they’re still alive.”

  The two Fae shared a hard glance. Finally, Malachy cleared his throat and gestured to me. “My lord, Torc. May I present to you, Her Royal Highness, Princess Elizabeth.”

  I didn’t know if I was supposed to curtsy or kiss Torc’s hand. What did a Princess do in these situations? I decided to just stand there, shoulders thrown back, my stomach doing the tilt-a-whirl.

  “So you’re Niamh’s brat.” Torc’s gaze drifted up and down my body, lingering at my breasts. My confidence deflated a bit, and I wished I wasn’t dressed like a Moulin Rouge extra.

  “Elizabeth is an aisling, my lord.” Malachy’s eyes sparkled, raising his fingers in a “jazz hands” gesture. “Like her mother before her. She has great power, which is why we come to you this evening.”

  Torc sneered. “I don’t give two shits if she’s the goddess Danu, herself. Make it quick, dearg-dubh.”

  “My lord, I have top secret information about someone in your employ,” Malachy said.

  “What do you know, Malachy?” Torc leaned forward.

  “The witch Anny Black is secretly using the London rift to supply American weapons to the Fir Bolgs,” Malachy said in one breath.

  Torc paused and then shook his head. “That’s preposterous,” he said, but a flicker of doubt passed through his eyes.

  Malachy toyed with his cane, twirling it between his fingers. “Is it? The Fir Bolgs have sophisticated weapons. They’ve killed King Bodb Dearg and are now planning a full-on onslaught of Teamhair. Haven’t you wondered where they’re getting these weapons?” The dearg-dubh smiled, reveling in the fact that he knew something Torc didn’t.

  Torc grunted, pouring himself a glass of wine. “Bodb Dearg is a bastard. His own stupidity was the source of his demise.”

  “Oh no, my lord.” Malachy shook his head. “It was an enchanted missile launcher. The Americans are helping the Fir Bolgs. They want to shut down the Veil forever.”

  Torc took a sip, his eyes studying Malachy over the rim of his glass. “How do you know all this?”

  Malachy stood up straighter, planting the butt of his cane on the floor. “I’ve been working for the US Army as a double agent, and I know Anny Black has been their conduit.”

  “A double agent?” Torc burst out laughing, wagging his finger at Malachy. “You keep telling yourself that Malachy. We both know you’ve always chosen the side most convenient for you at the moment.” He leaned back in his chair and chuckled under his breath, gazing at the mob of Fae below. “Double agent, indeed.”

  I clenched my sweaty palms, gnawing at my bottom lip. Finn and Eamonn shared a glance, and Finn shook his head with a heavy sigh, turning away. T
orc’s lack of faith in Malachy made me question my own belief in him, but I couldn’t waiver. We had no choice but to move forward with his plan. Grabbing hold of Malachy’s sleeve, I hissed in his ear. “You better convince him. Now.”

  He wrenched his arm away. “Just give me a second,” he whispered. With a deep breath, he knelt down in front of Torc. “We can only win the war against the Fir Bolgs if we cut off their weapon supply. You know this.”

  “Fuck off, bloodsucker,” Torc roared.

  Malachy stumbled backwards and turned his back on Torc, his shoulders slumped.

  “I’ll deal with Anny Black on my own time, but she’s a good earner,” Torc continued. “What do I care of the problems of those Tuatha Dé Danann cunts?” Torc’s sharp gaze snapped to me. “You give me one good reason why I should fight for you, Princess.”

  I met his stare, and I felt all my past experiences collectively rising up to challenge my fear in that moment. My lonely childhood, the death of Dr. Forrester, my enslavement by Lorcan and Bres. Strength pulsed through my body, the kind of strength that allowed me to destroy Bres on the battlefield of Teamhair. I was the last aisling, and I refused to allow this man to intimidate me. I glanced back at Finn, and he nodded, the look in his eyes willing me to speak my truth.

  “Because”—I stepped forward—“I am going to win this war against the Fir Bolgs, and then I’m going to renegotiate the contract with the bard Amergin.”

  Torc looked at me for a moment and then burst out laughing, his barrel chest quivering as he held his sides. He laughed until tears streamed from his eyes, and he brushed them away with his pinky.

  I bristled, my fists tingling with magic.

  “You?” Torc howled again, his laughter impossible to suppress. “You’re going to take on the great bard Amergin? Renegotiate his contract? Oh, Princess…you’re precious, really you are.”

  I held my chin up high. “The Fae deserve their rights. They shouldn’t be treated like second-class citizens.”

  “Lovely sentiments, Princess.” Torc nodded, sipping his wine. “But I don’t trust you. I trusted your slut mother and it was near the ruin of me.”

  Unbridled power surged from my body and the lights flickered as I lunged forward. “Don’t talk about my mother that way!”

  Malachy held me back, giving me a hard look. “Calm down,” he said in a low voice. He turned, flashing a brilliant smile. “Em, I can see that we’re not quite seeing eye to eye on this issue. I suppose we’ll be going then.”

  “Going?” Torc raised his palms in a welcoming gesture. “Why, you just got here. And besides, I have some friends I would like to introduce you to.” He waved his hand and several púcas who had been waiting in the wings closed in on us, while the leprechaun opened a door behind Torc.

  Five Fir Bolgs stepped out, their black eyes glittering under the wild lights from the stage. One of them met my gaze, and I startled with a flash of recognition. He was the blond Fir Bolg from the church, and he sneered at me, his lips curled in a horrible grimace.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Malachy raised his hands in the air. “You’re making a mistake, Torc.”

  Torc bolted from his throne, his face flushed with rage. “The only mistake I ever made was following you and Phelan. The Fir Bolgs’ gold is good as anyone’s.”

  Anger and panic churning inside me, I threw my energy over Finn, Eamonn, and Malachy, dead set on traveling out of the baths.

  “Stop her!” the blond Fir Bolg cried.

  Something hard hit the back of my head, and pain exploded in my brain in bright white lights before I smacked to the floor.

  “Shit!” I shook my head to clear my vision and looked up just in time to see the blond Fir Bolg shoot a strange weapon at us. A glowing web fell over our heads, immediately cutting off the rushing aisling energy pooling in my fingers. Fucking brilliant. A net made of gemel. Without a second thought, I reached down beneath my skirts and whipped out the clockwork pistol strapped to my thigh and aimed it straight at the Fir Bolg’s nose. My finger paused for a moment on the hard metal of the trigger.

  “She’s got a gun!” someone screamed in my ear, and a hand clamped down on my wrist.

  “Get off of me!” I screamed.

  The shot rang out. The bullet went wild, and the blond Fir Bolg fell to the side, clutching his arm.

  “Grab her!” Torc cried.

  Finn shouted with rage, lunging toward the púcas, but four of them restrained him, tumbling to the floor in a churning melee of limbs and glittering gemel. A giant hand squeezed tight on my neck, tearing me loose of the net, and lifted me to standing. My feet barely grazed the floor as the púca holding me threw me at Torc. He pulled me to his chest, turning me around and pressing something cold and sharp to my neck. I gulped, the slight movement sending a trickle of blood down my chest. I had to concentrate, focus my powers on getting us out of here, but blood pumped hard in my ears, the room spinning around me.

  “Tie her up!” Torc barked.

  “No!” I screamed, but the blade dug deeper into my flesh, immobilizing me for a moment, which was just enough time for a púca to tie a thick strand of gemel rope around my wrists. Panic surged through my limbs, and I tried to stop the horrible shaking in my hands. It was a mistake to have come here. I glanced at Malachy, his translucent eyes calm, his face a blank mask. I should never have trusted the dearg-dubh. He should have known the dangers. He should have known the kind of man Torc was. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, trying to get a grip on the situation, but my mind raced, unable to see any way out.

  “Elizabeth!” Finn snarled, still twisted in the net. He threw off three more púcas, holding him back, his eyes red with rage.

  “One more step and I slit her throat,” Torc bellowed.

  Finn paused, his chest heaving, muscles straining beneath his leather jacket.

  “On your knees, ye cunts,” Torc bellowed.

  His eyes never leaving Torc’s face, Finn bent down. Two of the púcas pushed Eamonn and Malachy to the floor. At this point, the music had long stopped, murmurs from the crowd echoing up to the mezzanine.

  I shut my eyes, straining to find Finn, Malachy, and Eamonn in the astral plane, but none of my powers could break through the gemel. Panting and gasping for breath, I struggled against Torc’s barrel chest.

  “You’ve got spunk, Princess,” he whispered into my ear, his hot breath sending a new wave of panic through me. “Maybe you could have beat old man Amergin.” The blade pressed hard into my skin, and a fresh pinprick of pain shot through my neck. I gasped, trying in vain to turn away.

  “Tie them up,” Torc boomed, and a púca raced to take away the net and tie gemel around Finn’s, Eammon’s, and Malachy’s wrists.

  Torc turned to face the crowd below. “All of you know the penalty of pulling a weapon in my presence.”

  “Death!” the crowd shouted. “Kill her!”

  “What?” My mouth gaped open, a new fear shuddering down my spine. I glanced at Finn, and his whole body seemed to shake with some uncontrollable spasm. I had to do something before he went kamikaze on these fuckers, gemel or no gemel.

  “You kill me, and all hope for the Fae is lost!” I shouted above the din. The baths grew quiet, so quiet I could hear the faint drip of water in some lost chamber. “These Fir Bolgs here plan to destroy all possibility of passage between the realms,” I continued. “Is that what you want?”

  My voice echoed across the tiles. Want want want…

  A powerful surge of confidence flooded my body, filling my lungs with air and allowing my voice to carry to every corner of the baths. Torc could tie me up, immobilize me, but my spine felt firm, unbending. The Fae below eased toward me, their faces attentive, their eyes studying me and hanging on my every word.

  Torc threw me to the floor. “Shut up.”

  I scrambled to my knees, my wrists still bound with gemel.

  “We plan to unite the tribes,” I cried. “Renegotiate the treaty so the Fa
e no longer have to live like second-class citizens and criminals in this world. You give me to the Fir Bolgs, and all of that is lost!”

  Lost lost lost…

  “Join me, Torc. Join me, all of you!”

  Tense mutterings spread through the crowd like the buzz of hornets. Torc looked down at me with his amber eyes, his teeth grinding before his face relaxed and he smiled. “The Princess makes such pretty promises, doesn’t she, my children?” A few nervous titters flew up from the crowd, but most of the Fae remained silent.

  “But weapons are forbidden in the baths.” Torc narrowed his eyes at me. “Even a princess isn’t above our laws.”

  “You betrayed us!” I cried. Blood thundered in my ears. “I was defending myself!”

  Torc’s voice boomed over mine. “I believe the time is right for a troid, what do you think, children?”

  A troid? A fight?

  “No!” Finn shouted above the bellowing crowd. They had taken off the net, and his wrists strained against the gemel twisted around his arms.

  I swallowed hard, meeting Finn’s wild gaze. “What’s happening?”

  Torc grabbed hold of my wrists and dragged me up to standing. “Who’s up for a little judicial combat?”

  “What?” I exclaimed, staggering backward on my heels.

  “The Princess against the Fir Bolgs’ champion!” Torc raised his arms in the air and the band started, the base drum pounding in my head.

  The mob chanted below. Troid! Troid! Troid! They scrambled out of the swimming pool until all that remained was an empty pit.

  Torc flashed me a menacing smile, and all the blood drained from my face. He didn’t just plan to kill me outright, but to make a production of it.

  Malachy piped up. “The Princess has the option of choosing a champion!” he cried. “It’s the law, Torc. You know it.”

  “A champion?” I said dumbly, the room spinning around me.

  “I will fight for Princess Elizabeth.” Finn bolted to standing, holding his wrists toward Torc. “Untie me, and I will fight for her.”

  “No!” I darted toward him. “I can use my magic, Finn. I can—”