Soul Fire

by R. F. Long

Daire wiped his mouth and set down the empty carton. “It is of no matter. I thank you and I am happy to have pleased you.”

  The flush grew again and she looked away, trying to hide it. “Daire, about earlier—”

  “There is nothing to discuss. I should be the one to apologise. I never meant to hurt you, Rowan. It grieves me to see pain fill your eyes. But I do not know what I can do to banish it.” A lie, he knew that. But a necessary lie.

  “I’m sorry I offended you.”

  “You could never do that. With your permission, I will continue my search for the key, but—”

  “I’ll be fine with Maggie,” she insisted.

  Good, he thought. It was better for them to spend some time apart.

  Maggie collected Rowan not long after that and Daire found himself strangely alone. The milk strengthened him less than he would have thought. And alone, he could think once more. Sad to say, it felt like relief, this solitude. At last he could relax. And that felt like a betrayal of Rowan. He seemed to be doing that a lot of late.

  Daire left the cottage, with its iron veins and pulse points, and made directly for the woods. He intended to focus his search nearer to the gateway, up to and including the stone circle, to try to find some clue he had missed before. They had rushed through the trees that night in great haste. It might have happened then.

  When he stepped into the shade of the autumnal stained trees, peace washed over him, and with it, he hoped objectivity would come to him as well. But it was not to be so. As he listened to the birdsong and the rustling of life around him all thoughts of the key vanished.

  He had meant everything he had said to Rowan. They could not be together, human and Sidhe. He would never bond with another female, not after Aynia. Even if it had been possible in spite of their different species, he had laid his heart open to Aynia and she had repaid him with treachery. No. Not even for Rowan.

  Daire sat cross-legged in the clearing, the crunch and rustle of the brittle leaves surrounding him, an earthy comfort. He closed his eyes and opened his mind to the world around him, allowed his senses to reach out, investigate, and explore.

  The world around him fell still. The ridge above her home, normally so full of life, went completely silent. Even the birds fell to silent watchfulness. Daire eased his breath, trying to still the alarm he felt whenever he thought of Rowan, of his reaction to the woman.

  The image of Rowan’s body flared like a shooting star in his mind. She arched towards him, her escaping breath shuddering against her skin.

  Daire shook his head, driving the picture away by sheer force of will. But another picture came, her kiss, her body pressed to his, her arm encircling his waist. The scent of her body, her arousal, of warm sunlight on her hair. The rise and fall of her breath in sleep.

  The girl wanted him. That was generally the reaction of a mortal to one of the Sidhe and he couldn’t blame her for that. But he wanted her just as much. And more. He wanted to force her down beneath him, pin her there and watch her face as he slid into the warm, wet depths of her. He wanted her to cry out beneath him, to arch to meet him and say his name on a ragged breath. And even if she didn’t, even if she fought and bit and—

  Daire’s eyes snapped open in horror at the same moment he heard a soft laugh on the breeze. Aynia’s laugh.

  “You have no power in daylight,” Daire challenged her. “If you have something to say, stand forth and say it.”

  “Something to say?” the voice grew stronger. Aynia shimmered into sight, like a figure emerging through a heat haze. “Something to say? You’ve been very naughty, Daire. And with a mortal too. Aren’t they supposed to be beneath your notice?”

  “Leave Rowan out of this.”

  Aynia smiled a catlike smile. “I’d love to, my darling, but I’m afraid she put herself well and truly into it. Ask her about your key, my Daire.”

  “I asked. She knows nothing.”

  Aynia threw back her head and laughed. She always had that knack, to throw herself into her amusement with full force, even when no one else felt like laughing. Especially then. “I fear your gullibility is still unsurpassed.”

  She stepped closer, slid her hand to his chest. Her touch made his skin itch beneath his clothes, cold and unrelenting. Her smile never faded. She tilted her face up to his and drifted closer still. Desire fuelled the hunger in her violet eyes, and her full lips parted, hungry for his kiss. She slid her hand lower, passing it over the ripples of his abdomen.

  “I’m not that gullible, Aynia,” Daire pushed her away with both hands, a single, violent movement.

  She didn’t fall. Not Aynia. The air cradled her and she glided back from him, coming to rest almost where she had been. Was she an illusion? But she had felt real. As real as Rowan, her lips rose blushed where Aynia’s were scarlet, her eyes half-lidded with either desire or enchantment, the scent of…

  He saw Rowan kneeling before him, her face lifted in adoration. He reached out, smoothing his hand across the sheen of her hair, knotting his fingers in its length and pulling her forwards until her full lips parted to take in the length of him.

  No! It wasn’t real. It was an illusion, one of Aynia’s vicious little tricks.

  Daire snarled in frustration and held his own head, as if trying to keep the madness inside.

  “That never happened. Leave my thoughts to myself, Aynia. This is none of your business!”

  “Oh, but it is,” she replied, her voice softly dangerous. “We were bonded, you and I.”

  “That bond is broken.”

  “It can be re-forged.”

  “Not while I can draw breath.”

  She shrugged her shoulders, rolling them as she had when she danced for him, long, long ago.

  “I can arrange that too.”

  “Just leave Rowan alone.”

  Vindictive fire ignited in her face, her eyes blazing with it. “And let a mortal steal away that which belongs to me? That I will not do.”

  Daire jerked his sword free and Aynia laughed, violent and uncontrolled laughter. She dissolved before him, swirling smoke on the air, but he could hear her voice. She sang. Her voice had always charmed him. Now it cut to his heart.

  “O what are you, yon pleasant hils,

  That the sun shines sweetly on?”

  “O you are the hills of heaven,” he said

  “That you will never win.”

  “O whaten a mountain is yon,” she said

  “All so dreary wi’ frost and snow?”

  “O yon is the mountain of hell,” he cried

  “Where you and I will go.”

  Her voice drifted back to him as she shimmered away, softly seductive and at the same time chilling. “Remember your place, my love. At all times, remember your place.”

  “My place is not with you!” he shouted, enraged, letting the insane anger burn unchecked in his veins for the first time in days. It blazed through his body, and deep inside him the seed of the Dark Sidhe stirred, uncoiled its questing shoots. For a moment, he welcomed it. It was strong, vibrant. It would help him defeat Aynia, help him find his way out of the iron world and back to the Fae Realm.

  And then what? How could he go home as one of the enemy?

  He forced calm back through his body, quashing the dark seed as quickly as he had bid it grow.

  “My place is not with you,” he whispered again, though he couldn’t be sure if the words were meant for Aynia, or for Rowan.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Rowan? Where should this go?” Maggie called, struggling in with a piece of carved driftwood. A man’s face peered from the wood—oak, if Rowan was not mistaken. He reminded her of Daire and a smile tugged at her lips.

  “Over on the pedestal.” Balanced on a stool, Rowan pinned the picture wire to the wall and strung it to the next nail.

  “Libby and John are on the way with theirs. This is fantastic, Rowan!” She almost danced on the spot with excitement.

  Rowan climbed down and helped Maggie p
lace her woodcarving in the central position. The white pillar rose from the floor like an organic thing, a part of the building. Peter had insisted that the room flow, “the energies moving with the clients.” Now it had the effect of cradling the carving like maternal hands holding it aloft, displaying and protecting it at the same time.

  Maggie stared at it, wonder on her face, as if seeing it for the first time.

  “Wait a second.” Rowan climbed down from her perch and flicked on the spotlights.

  Maggie let out a squeal of delight. She rose up on her toes, ready to begin her dancing once again.

  The bell over the door jangled as the others arrived and Rowan stepped back, listening to them laugh and joke, to the sheer joy of the experience for them. It was infectious. How long had it been since she had heard that sort of fun going on while she worked? Not since she left college, if truth be told. The artists she had mixed with recently had been so caught up with their sense of self, with their public persona, that they forgot—and she forgot—what it was all about.

  “Rowan?” asked John. “Why aren’t you displaying some of your work? You’re still painting, aren’t you?”

  She demurred, but they pressed. John had been in her class in school. She had gone to art college and between them Matt and Grams had regaled the village with tales of her successes for years. Until those successes stopped. She hoped they hadn’t broadcast her failures quite so widely. Now, when she looked into their glowing faces, she longed to experience the same thing.

  “I’ll dig something out, bring it in tomorrow. Okay?”

  Maggie grinned brightly. “I’m going to hold you to that. And you’ll have to bring Daire along to the opening. Have you met him?” she asked Libby and then mouthed the word “hot”. Libby giggled.

  Daire. Rowan’s stomach turned in on itself and her skin contracted. As soon as Daire found the key, or Aidan sent help, he would leave her. And perhaps he would go through the gate at Samhain no matter where it took him, rather than stay here with her. He had looked so disgusted this morning when he had realised how she felt. Impossible, he had said. Despite that, she dreaded the moment when she would be alone. Something tightened in her chest. It hurt.

  “No,” she sighed, aware that the silence had gone on a fraction too long. “He has to leave before the opening.”

  That deadened the atmosphere. They worked on in a more subdued manner and Rowan felt like a killjoy for bringing them all down.

  The mechanic called at two thirty to say that her car would be in for a week but she could pick up the replacement car at the garage, courtesy of her insurance company. Once again, she gave silent thanks she had shelled out for the extra cover.

  By three o’clock, Rowan knew she couldn’t afford to put off driving back to the cottage any longer. She forced thoughts of Daire and last night from her mind, as she had been doing all day. If he had found the key, he would be gone and that was that. The sun would set earlier again today and she had no wish to be outside, on the road, during twilight, when Dark Sidhe powers were strongest.

  As she walked to the garage, she tried to ring Matt again. There was no reply at the office, which was not only strange given the time, but worrying. His home phone served her no better, but she rarely caught him in his apartment. Concerned now, she tried his mobile. It rang for long moments until, just as she was about to give up, Matthew answered, breathless and distracted.

  “Where are you?” she asked.

  “Me? Oh, I had a…a thing. You okay?”

  “I could ask the same of you. Listen, I figured it out. The gallery, I mean. The opening is going ahead tomorrow night. Big party. All the world invited. You’ll be there?”

  “Sure, sure,” he replied, his voice saying the words but his mind preoccupied. For a second Rowan thought she heard a woman’s voice, a sultry purr from somewhere on the far side of Matt’s head to the phone. Was he on a date? She almost asked when Matt spoke again, more forcefully. “Is he still at your place, or have you thrown him out yet?” The aggressive tone startled Rowan. It didn’t sound like Matt, not at all.

  “Daire is my guest, Matt. Show some manners. Are you coming tomorrow or not?”

  “Fine. I’ll pick you up at six. You need a lift, right?”

  “No. I have a car from the garage.” Irritation sliced into her. Even her brother was intent on running her life. “I’ll just… I’ll see you there.”

  She hung up before he could add another cutting remark, mentally cursing him. Where did he come off acting like such a jerk?

  He hadn’t bothered to ask about the exhibition, or how she had pulled it off. Wasn’t even interested, probably. So much for his offers to help. As a brother he had been born to torment her.

  She wondered if Daire had the same sort of problems with Aidan. Although she was forced to admit that Matthew had never let her get trapped in a parallel reality where she would slowly die, and then not turned up when he should have to take her home.

  Rowan paused in her stomp up the High Street to slip the phone into her pocket. An aging advert for fresh milk dominated the window of the supermarket. Daire needed milk. It was the only thing he could eat or drink in her world. It just took a moment to nip inside and soon she was struggling out with three extra-large cartons of full fat. She paused, trying to find a way to hold them and walk at the same time. Should have got a bag after all, she told herself crankily, and green living be damned.

  Her eye caught on a number of objects in the window of the antiques shop next door. Amid the jumble of odds and ends from other eras, the detritus of lives cluttering the window, the metal stood out by the lack of a gleam, the absence of sparkle. Dark grey, almost black, she could see it more clearly than if it was polished silver or gold. Right now, it was a hell of a lot more valuable.

  Rowan swallowed. Kryptonite to Daire. But if Daire was gone she would be on her own. And she didn’t believe for a moment that Aynia would forgive and forget her involvement once the Sidhe prince departed.

  No. She needed iron. A few minutes later she left the shop with a box that clanked and lurched as she walked. She tried to ignore the fact that the antiques dealer came to the door and watched her all the way to the garage, staring at her and scratching his bald head.

  The little car was one of those hybrid motors which Rowan hoped absently would please Daire. Fewer chemicals in the environment was a good thing, wasn’t it? If only the paint wasn’t such an unpleasant shade of metallic mustard. Still, it ran smoothly, and she didn’t have to look at the colour from the inside. Elated by the day spent at the gallery, she sped home, hoping that if he had found the key, he would at least have stayed to say goodbye.

  The sun slid low as she pulled into the drive and illuminated the bottom of the wispy clouds, staining them pink and orange. Rowan killed the engine and opened the door, delighted to see Daire stride from the side of the house, clad in his garb of leaves. He was almost upon her when she realised his whole demeanour was enraged. He moved like a predator, the way he had moved while fighting the Sidhe in the forest, the way he had moved when he slaughtered them.

  “What were you thinking of leaving so close to sunset?” he growled. “Did you want a repeat of yesterday?”

  Taken aback, Rowan struggled from the car, pulling the box after her in the hopes of using it as an explanation. “I just stopped to—”

  He grabbed her upper arms, his nails digging into her body and drawing blood. The box slid from her grip, scattering horseshoes and oddments of ancient iron around him. They clattered against the gravel, skittering by his feet.

  Daire slammed both hands against her, pushing her into the car. Taking another step, he trod on a horseshoe and a blunted, bent nail stabbed up into his foot. He threw back his head and screamed, an unearthly, multi-toned sound which tore through her as if it had barbs.

  Rowan clamped her hands over her ears and huddled back in the car, pushing herself into the far corner of the passenger’s side, knees to her chest, knocking t
he milk cartons over in the footwell. Daire’s face melted to reveal nothing but shadows and smoke. Eyes like white-hot fire seared into her and she realised she was screaming too. The cry came from deep inside her, clawing its way out, tearing its way right through her thundering heart.

  It wasn’t Daire! Couldn’t be Daire. She called his name as the Dark Sidhe before her writhed against the iron encircling him, the iron stabbing into him. He shrieked out curses in a tongue she didn’t want to know. Claws sprouted at the end of the outstretched fingers, the flesh on them bubbling and boiling. The Dark Sidhe lashed towards her, missed and lurched forwards again, trying to better his position. The car door stood wide open and he slid in after her. Fumbling behind her, Rowan found the handle of the passenger door and tumbled out the far side. She landed heavily, the stones grazing the skin of her hands, bruising her body. But she couldn’t stop moving. If she stopped, the creature coming after her would kill her.

  “Rowan!” Daire yelled, sprinting towards her from the house. His sword flashed red in the last rays of the sun and became a blur of light. The Dark Sidhe, its skin blackened and ruptured, lurched back from the car and turned on him. Rowan saw revulsion flicker across Daire’s implacable features before the sword descended, felling their enemy.

  The body crashed onto the iron and burst into flames, reducing to ash in just a few moments. Daire shied back from it, every muscle in his body taut.

  “You brought cold iron,” he said to her when he could gain back his breath.

  “I just…” But she was shaking too much to answer, her body aching as she tried to pull herself upright. She edged towards the remains. “He looked like you,” she whispered. “And then he attacked me.”

  Daire pulled her against him, sheltering her, the sword crossing her body, a bar against the world from interfering.

  “I think it was Cathal. A favourite trick of his, to steal the semblance of a loved one and then—” He heaved out a breath. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

  “No. I…” But a large gash ran down her upper arm, blood slicking the length of the limb. She held it up, studying it with detached clarity. “It doesn’t hurt,” she said, surprised at the abstract nature of her thoughts.