Korrigan (Secrets of the Fae Book 1)

by Rebecca F. Kenney

  Would it hurt to have some extra strength the next time Maeve or Gillian or the leprechauns come after me?

  I draw the fenodyree's power into myself, hoping his extra hairy attributes won't become mine as well. There's no reason to think they will— the pixie powers didn't make me shorter, and the leprechaun's powers didn't make me green, or ugly.

  A new feeling settles inside me— a kind of slow-burning sensation. I gag again, from the smell and the heartburn feeling— and the sleeping man stirs.

  "Time's up, love," says the Far Darrig, opening the door for me. "Let's leave him to enjoy the rest of his day."

  On the way back, I don't feel like talking. I keep thinking of that miserable little trailer and the miserable being inside it. How will his life be changed by what I did? I hope it will be better, somehow.

  Using Kieran's phone, I check my email. There's one from Arden, explaining that she's been delayed, and can't leave the house till tomorrow.

  He peeks over my shoulder. "Looks like you're stuck with me for one more night."

  Great.

  I finger-comb through my red mess of hair, wishing for my products from home. The home I can never go back to.

  Kieran glances over at me, looking longer than he should. "Eyes on the road!" I exclaim as we almost swerve into the path of a farm truck. The truck makes me think of Zane. I feel empty, and sad.

  Suddenly the Audi does a complete 180 on the road, tires squealing, kicking up a massive cloud of dirt and dust. I scream.

  "What are you doing? You could have killed us!"

  "Relax. You look sad, so I'm taking you somewhere fun."

  "Oh, please, no fun. I just want to go back home. Not home, but to the loft. Please."

  "Aislinn, trust me. This will be fun. I guarantee you'll enjoy yourself."

  I fall back into the seat, sighing. Helpless. Except— "I could transport myself back to your loft right now."

  "I wouldn't try it from this far away."

  "What? There's a range? You didn't tell me that."

  "The leprechauns can't go beyond about 30 miles or so. We've tried it."

  "So I really am stuck here. With you."

  "Is that so bad?" He gives me that look, those intense eyes.

  I relax, resigned. "Where are we going?"

  "Karaoke night, sweetheart! I know a place near here that's always got it going, and there's usually a crowd. We'll hang out, have some food, and then I'll give you a show."

  "You sing."

  "Of course I do. Baby, I'm the damn Top 40."

  When we pull up to our destination, I'm underwhelmed. And nervous. The building looks more like a shoebox with a green metal roof than a restaurant. A neon sign out front reads simply, "Pete's Pub."

  "You know I'm underage, right? I can't go into bars."

  "Oh." He's actually forgotten I'm only seventeen. Somehow, it's flattering. "I'll try a spell."

  "Like a Jedi mind trick?"

  He cocks his head to one side, confused.

  "Never mind. And also, I have to show you a few movies later. Six of them— no, nine. Ten?"

  He's staring at me, amusement mixing with the confusion. "I think your brain's getting weak from hunger. Come on, let's get something to eat."

  I am hungry. It's been hours since that breakfast pastry, and it's well after dinnertime now. Plus I have to go to the bathroom.

  Thankfully, whatever he says to the man at the door works like a charm. I slip away to the bathroom, which is exceptionally grimy. In the mottled mirror, I examine my face. No extra hairs sprouting out anywhere. The mascara is flaking a little, but otherwise I look good. I run my fingers through my hair again to tame the frizz, turn my face this way and that to check my skin. Pale but pretty.

  I wonder what Zane is doing right now. Is he thinking of me? Trying to text me? My phone is probably still in the clutch on my nightstand, unless Maeve confiscated it or Arden rescued it. Funny how it feels like a piece of me is missing when I don't have it along. I'm really and truly disconnected.

  Off the grid.

  The idea is a new one for me, and exciting. Anything could happen tonight. I'm here with the Far Darrig, who is breathtaking and also likes me; I'm in a bar, about to experience karaoke night. I'm smiling at myself in the mirror when a mini-skirted woman in boots shoulders her way into the bathroom, and I'm shaken out of the moment.

  Just as well, because the Far Darrig has already ordered for us, and two steaming burgers are sitting on the bar.

  "Just don't try to order any alcohol," he whispers, his breath tickling my ear. "I don't think my spells will work on everyone in here."

  We can't talk about magic or anything in this place, in case we're overheard. What on earth will we talk about?

  "So tell me about where you've lived," he says. "How many places?"

  And just like that, we start exchanging stories of cities and states. My experience of them is much more limited, having taken place mostly at night, when I was a kid; but he has amazing tales to tell of all the places he has lived, and the people he has met. He carefully avoids talking about his time in Texas, though— he rightly guesses that would be painful for me. But the rest of the places he mentions sound amazing, and I find myself feeling jealous— and wanting to travel.

  We're deep in a discussion of the various politicians and celebrities he's encountered over the decades when a broad-chested man strides onto the little karaoke stage and clears his throat. "All right, folks, we're about to get this night started. Remember, no videos of the performances tonight— let's keep it unplugged and just enjoy. If you wanna sing us a song, just come on up."

  "That's my cue," says Kieran. He slides off the barstool, kisses my cheek, and strides up to the karaoke stage.

  I've already noticed several women in the bar eyeing him. A couple of them, seated across from their dates, have been stealing glances at him every few minutes. A few others stare openly, not bothering to disguise their admiration, or their lust.

  When he takes the stage, smiling, with those silver-gray eyes, I hear murmurs from some of the women. They're awed by his beauty— who wouldn't be? He's Fae, after all.

  I imagine him singing in that low, velvety voice of his, and my heart actually skips a beat. I swear it does.

  He takes the mic and strikes a pose; but when he starts singing, it's not his own voice. He's using his power, channeling Bruno Mars to perfection, sounding just like him.

  The crowd is stunned. Mesmerized. I glance at the bar owner, who's smiling and nodding along— he's obviously seen Kieran do this before. I wonder what arrangement the two of them have.

  When the song ends, the entire bar erupts in raucous applause and whistles and yells. They won't let him come down; they make him sing again. He does everything, from Dan Reynolds to Pharrell Williams to Justin Timberlake and even Michael Jackson. I can tell he's practiced their moves, too; he dances fluidly, with a lithe grace that makes me breathless. I'm totally fan-girling, and I can't help it.

  After several songs, he refuses to take any more requests. He's breathless, laughing, eyes shining, looking more alive than I've ever seen him. He doesn't give me a chance to say anything— just grabs my hand and we're running out of the bar, ignoring the people who try to stop him and ask him questions about how he does it. There's even a middle-aged guy jogging after us, waving his card and yelling about how he's a talent scout, an agent— but we leap into the Audi and speed away before he can catch up.

  "That. Was. Amazing. I had no idea you could do that."

  "So can you."

  "No way. Not like you, I mean you've practiced."

  "The breathing and dancing takes some practice, yes. But the voice, you can do anytime. Try it."

  "I need music, I'm not singing a capella."

  He flips on the radio. It's Taylor Swift, so I listen for a minute and then sing along. It's uncanny. "I sound exactly like her!"

  "Let me try."

  When Taylor Swift's voice comes out of his
mouth, it's the funniest thing I've ever seen. I laugh till I can barely breathe.

  All the way back to the city, we try out different voices, even a few duets. And we laugh, so hard that my sides ache.

  We stumble into the loft, still laughing, and collapse onto the couch.

  "Thank you," I say.

  "For what?"

  "For making me forget everything that's going on. Helping me have fun."

  That dangerous look is back in his eyes, that heated, intense, craving look. "We could have some more fun."

  "Can't you give it a rest and just be my friend?"

  He leans forward. "Is that what you want?"

  "Yes." I'm not sure.

  A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. "I don't understand you. I've had women from every era, all kinds and shapes and temperaments, and none of them were as stubborn as you."

  "That's your sales pitch? All the women you've— had?"

  "Was I supposed to be a monk all those years?"

  "I suppose not."

  He leans back and lays his arm along the back of the couch. "They couldn't resist me. And I didn't have to use magic, or even get to know them."

  "Maybe that's the difference," I say, looking him straight in the eye. "I actually know you. Who you are. What you've done."

  His face sobers, and he looks away. "So you're saying no one who knows what I am would ever have me."

  I think I really managed to hurt his feelings this time. For some reason, it bothers me. "Listen, I know what that's like. Do you think Zane would date me if he really knew what I am, or what I can do? He'd run for the hills."

  "That's why you and I are perfect together. We don't have to hide who we are."

  He makes a valid point, and it seems even more valid when he's looking at me like that, like he really sees me. But I'm not about to swoon and give in. "You let your creatures kill my parents. My mother and my father, they're gone because of you. My life is what it is because of your curse. And you made me kill for you. That's something I can never forgive."

  "So if there's no hope of you ever coming to me willingly, why am I giving you a choice?" His voice is darker now, almost threatening.

  I need to be careful. Even with my new powers, I have no defense against spells. Mental note— have Arden teach me protective spells.

  "Because it's the right thing to do," I say. "And you're still hoping I'll come around."

  He stares at me, his silver eyes unreadable. I stare right back, because I sense that breaking the contact would be showing weakness.

  After a minute, he turns away. "You know how to ruin an evening, love, I'll give you that. You take the bed this time, I'll have the couch."

  It takes me a long time to fall asleep, knowing that he's there in the dark, in the same room. The pillow smells like him, and I can hear his steady breathing not far away. But at last, I sink into a dream.

  This time, in the darkness of the dream, I see a man.

  He's turned away, so I have a view of his shoulders, his back, tapering to a slim waist, dark hair curling a little way down his neck. He's tall, with long arms, hands hooked into the waistband of dark trousers. His shirt is loose, old-fashioned, a creamy white, and his feet are bare.

  "Who are you?" I ask. But my voice seems to stop at my lips; it doesn't reach him.

  Still, he turns around after a moment, and it's the Far Darrig, as I expected. But he's not the laughing, flirting, confident version that I know. His eyes are younger, and there's fear in them, and pleading.

  He holds out his hands, palms up, and speaks to me as if I were someone else. His voice shakes.

  "Please take me instead. She did nothing; it was my fault, my mistake. Please, let her go."

  The voice that comes from my mouth is Maeve's, and I have no control over the words. "Traitors die, and their bloodline with them, and their allies are cut off."

  I can't stop what's happening, what I'm saying. But now I see other shapes, faint and smoky, like ghosts. A girl on the ground, her face an indistinguishable blur, hand spread protectively over her stomach. Women standing around me, holding swords and spears. Some of the women I recognize, because I've lived with them. The Korrigan.

  "Rip out the traitor's heart and feed it to the dogs," says Maeve's voice, through my mouth. "But tear the woman apart first, so he can see it."

  "No!" The Far Darrig roars and strains as smoky hands grip his arms and hold him back. The women around me bend forward, slashing with their swords at the girl on the ground. Tearing her open. The Far Darrig is screaming, his muscles and the cords of his neck standing out as he strains to reach her.

  When the restraining hands let him go, he falls on her, cursing and crying. Bright red blood spreads out from her ghostly shape, soaking into his white shirt and staining it vivid crimson. He's sobbing, moaning, as if his heart has already been split in two.

  I'm crying, and I try to go to him; but something holds me in place. The dream won't let me comfort him. Wake up, I tell myself. Wake up, Alice!

  And my eyes pop open.

  He's groaning on the couch, still suffering in the nightmare. In the dark, the sound is hollow, inhuman, frightening. I rush to the light and then to him.

  "Kieran, wake up."

  He groans again, a broken sound wrenched straight from his heart.

  "Kieran." I shake him a little. "Kieran. Midir!"

  His eyes flash open. "Etain?"

  Oh, no. "No, it's Aislinn."

  "Aislinn." He sits up, running his hands through his dark hair. "What did you do to me?"

  "What did I—"

  "The dream. I haven't had that dream in years. Did you—" His eyes dart to my throat. He seizes the ruby necklace and rips it free with a single jerk.

  "Why are you wearing this?"

  "You gave it to me. Am I not allowed to wear it?"

  "But you know it causes a dream link. That's how I opened your mind to the Otherworld, to the nightmares."

  "I didn't know it worked the other way, too. I'm sorry."

  "How much did you see?"

  "I couldn't see anyone clearly except you. It was like everyone else was only halfway there. But I could hear, and there was— blood." I don't tell him the part about seeing through Maeve's eyes, giving the death order.

  He sighs, resting his head on his hand.

  "I'm so sorry," I say.

  "No. I'm the one who should be sorry. For all the hurt I've caused you."

  True. Still, it's impressive that he's admitting it, especially after I accidentally caused that horrible dream.

  "You have to understand, we were born in bloody times," he says. "Unless you were kin to someone, life wasn't precious then, as it is now. And the years haven't changed that very much, for me or for the Korrigan. Our way of life now is a forced cooperation with the new civilization. At root, we're still beings of the Old World. It's not an excuse for what I've done, what I made you do. But maybe it's a reason you can understand."

  I'm not sure I do, but I know he's trying to make things better between us, to explain why he is what he is. That means something to me.

  "Are you all right?" I ask softly.

  "Yes. Go back to sleep."

  ◆◆◆

  The next day I'm awake early, before Kieran is. I have to leave. Things are getting much too intimate too fast, and if I'm not careful, I'll end up cheating on my first boyfriend.

  As quietly as I can, I freshen up and dress in the same T-shirt and jeans I wore the day before. As soon as I'm ready, without even leaving the bathroom, I picture a spot under the magnolias, right behind Zane's house.

  It's early, so no one is stirring. The air smells fresh and damp and delicious, and the whole neighborhood is alive with the chortling and trilling of birds. Quickly I walk the spell circle around his home, stepping around bushes loaded with pink azaleas, ducking under white lacy dogwood branches, murmuring words of concealment.

  Hopefully Maeve hasn't already found the house. I never told Gem
ma or Gillian Zane's name, and they don't have any photos of him or know which school he attends, so I hope they can't track him down. At least, not without Arden's help, which hopefully she'll refuse to give.

  I need to check my email somehow. And explain to Zane what's happened. Is 7 a.m. on a Sunday morning too early to wake him?

  What I'm going to do is probably stupid, and might maybe get me shot if they're the kind of family who keeps guns around. Knowing his mom, though, they probably don't.

  Although we don't hang out in there, I've seen inside Zane's room a couple of times. I imagine a spot a few feet from his bed, and I jump to it, praying that he doesn't sleep naked.

  He doesn't, but it's close. Boxers only. He's beautiful in a different way from the Far Darrig— more muscular, darker skin obviously, stronger features. Younger. His room isn't pristinely kept or terribly messy, but somewhere in between— some shoes, a couple discarded outfits, a jumble of sports equipment in one corner, and study sheets strewn on the desk, the floor, the bed. Posters, mostly musicians and Marvel characters, decorate his walls and ceiling.

  I love this room.

  Zane is on his stomach, face turned toward me, deeply asleep. What's he going to do if I wake him up? This is creepy. I shouldn't be in here. No normal girlfriend does this.

  But it's too late. As I back away, my foot hits something— an empty water bottle? And it rolls, and bumps into a hockey stick that was apparently two seconds from falling over anyway. The hockey stick topples and bumps a basketball perched on top of the dresser, which rolls off and hits Zane right in the face.

  "Ow!" He sits up, rubbing his cheek, and stares at me. "Aislinn? Did you just sneak into my house and hit me in the face with a basketball?"

  "No. Why would you think that?"

  He looks down, and quickly covers himself with the blanket. "Aislinn, as great as it is to see you here in the morning, I'm a little— this is weird, right? Okay? So could you give me a minute?"

  "Meet you outside?"

  "That would be real good."

  He's not ready to see me vanish, so I slip out of his bedroom, close the door, and then transport to the backyard.

  In ten minutes he joins me, looking a little rumpled but refreshed.