The Stolen: An American Faerie Tale

by O'Connell, Bishop

  “Shut up,” Dante said in a harsh whisper to the elves. “You can fight it back,” he said to Brendan. “You’re the stronger one. We made sure of that.”

  Brendan screamed, struggling against the monster and wanting nothing more than to tear the flesh from Dante’s bones. To feel his hot blood—­

  “Brendan, she wouldn’t want this. She would want you to save the child.”

  Brendan saw Áine standing before him, as real as Dante. She smiled, and he felt the warmth of her love like a noonday sun.

  “I love you,” she said. “And this isn’t who you are, my love.”

  Cold washed over him, quelling the inferno, and he felt a rush of strength as his will hardened to steel. He pushed and fought the beast back, one inch at time, until, at last, it faltered and Brendan got the upper hand.

  Relief flooded through him as the heat extinguished and the beast retreated.

  You’ll not keep me locked away forever!

  The pain and injuries that were of no consequence before leveled Brendan now, and he collapsed, gasping for air. When he managed to open his eyes, Áine was gone and his heart broke all over again. In the distance, he could see the handles of his knives glinting in a small pool of light leaking from a broken window. His eyes drifted over to Dante and the elves. They were watching him, warily.

  Brendan lay there for several minutes, struggling to draw in a breath and get the better of the pain, physical and emotional. His muscles burned as he rolled himself onto his side.

  “Is it you?” Dante asked.

  Brendan couldn’t speak, but he did manage to nod.

  Dante started to move forward, but one of the elves grabbed his shoulder. “Are you sure it’s safe, Magister?”

  The hesitation in Dante’s eyes was like a knife in Brendan’s heart.

  “On your feet, Fian! There’s still work to be done!” Brendan told himself. With effort and pain, he got to his knees. He gritted his teeth and groaned as he lifted himself to his feet. His legs threatened to give out, but he managed to make it to the wall. He leaned against it and turned to look at Dante.

  Dante pulled free of the elf and ran over to Brendan. He tore the remnants of Brendan’s shirt off and used it to clean away some of the blood, but there was so much that his efforts did little more than spread it around and mix it with the evaporating oíche gore.

  Brendan sucked in a breath and tried to take stock of just how bad off he was.

  “Well, you’ve looked better,” Dante said. “Sorry about that, but—­”

  “Nothing to be sorry for.” Brendan didn’t look up. “Just being smart about it.”

  Brendan’s left shoulder had at least three bullet wounds. His ribs felt cracked or broken, which explained why he was having trouble breathing. His face had taken a beating that left his skull throbbing with a dull pain, but somehow they hadn’t broken his jaw. There were cuts all over his chest, and he was sure under all that blood would be plenty of bruises. His legs had escaped with only a ­couple of grazes from stray bullets and shrapnel from ones that had broken apart when they’d hit the floor.

  “You look pale,” Dante said.

  “I’ll live,” Brendan said. “We need to get out of here before the coppers show.”

  “Don’t worry about them.” Dante motioned for one of the elves to help him. “We’ve taken care of that.” When the elves faltered, Dante glared at them. One came to stand beside Dante while the other two watched the room.

  Brendan’s eyes were wet. “I didn’t have no choice. I wouldn’t have let it loose, but—­”

  “You don’t have to explain to me. I know how bad it had to be for you to go there.”

  Brendan knew Dante couldn’t really understand, but he smiled anyway.

  “So, ambush, huh?” Dante asked as he looked Brendan over.

  “Aye.” Brendan nodded. “They set me up, and did a fine job of it, too.”

  “Looks like.” Dante squinted at Brendan’s wounds. “I won’t say I told you so.”

  “Appreciate that, boss.”

  Dante turned to the elf at his side. “I can’t see anything. I need some light.”

  The elf removed a small sphere from inside his coat and held it in his open palm. The sphere lifted and glowed brighter and brighter until the area was filled with soft white light.

  “Ouch,” Dante said. “Something tells me you look even worse under this blood. Hand me the kit, Liam.”

  The elf to his right pulled a black case from his jacket pocket, opened it, and held it out.

  Dante removed a long, thin crystal rod with a black tip. “We need to get the bullets out, Brendan. This is going to hurt like hell.”

  “Well, that’ll be a nice break, then,” Brendan said between labored breaths.

  “I just—­”

  “Dar fia! Just do what you have to.”

  Dante gripped Brendan’s shoulder and pushed the rod into one of the bullet holes.

  Brendan closed his eyes as all of his muscles tried to flex at once.

  “Got it.” Dante withdrew the rod; encased inside the crystal, just below the black, was a single bullet. “That’s one. Are you sure—­”

  “Mo mhallacht ort, just do it already!” Brendan said without opening his eyes.

  Dante retrieved the second and third bullets. As he pulled the rod out for the last time, the bullets were lined up in a row inside the crystal. “You okay?” he asked.

  Brendan nodded, and his breathing began to return to something approaching normal.

  Dante put the rod back in the case and brought out a small jar. He dipped a finger in and removed a generous amount of greenish ointment. “This’ll help with the pain.”

  “You’re talking like we’ve never done this before.”

  “It’s been some time, and some could say you still haven’t learned not to bring a knife to a gunfight.” Dante applied liberal amounts of the ointment to the bullet wounds.

  “Well, I brought two knives, didn’t I?”

  Dante chuckled and shook his head.

  “Trust those bloody things if you want,” Brendan said. “Like as not, they’d explode in me hands.”

  “Sure, cause that happens all the time.” Dante smiled. “You know, it’s so cute that you don’t let things like progress affect you.” He returned the jar to the case. “Let’s get a bandage on that.”

  Dante rolled a small, flesh-­colored ball between his palms. After a moment, he pulled and stretched it into a flat disk. When he was happy with the size, he placed it on Brendan’s shoulder.

  The bandage stuck, then drew itself tight. The ointment was working, and the pain in Brendan’s shoulder was almost gone. He looked away as Dante tended to his ribs and face.

  Dante closed the case. “That should do it for now. How do you feel?”

  “Better, thanks.” Brendan found that his legs were steady once more. One of the elves handed him his knives. He sheathed them behind his back. “We’ve a problem.”

  “A new problem, I assume?” Dante asked. “Not one of the myriad of other problems we already know about?”

  “Aye.”

  “Just like old times. What is it?” Dante saw the look on Brendan’s face and turned a little pale. “What’s wrong?”

  Brendan drew a breath. “They crossed.”

  “What? No, that can’t be. That’s impossible.”

  The elves gave each other quick glances.

  “I know that, don’t I?” Brendan said. “But they did. I saw them with me own eyes. They leapt into some shadows and was gone.”

  “I don’t need to remind you the Rogue Court can’t cross without a gateway,” Dante said. “Even if they had one, it isn’t an instantaneous trip. Only the trouping fae can do that, and I know the oíche didn’t join their ranks.”

  “I saw what
I saw,” Brendan said. “I didn’t say I could explain it. Is there no way they could do it?”

  Dante shrugged. “I suppose they might have prepped it, but they’d still need a gateway.”

  “What if they had help?”

  Dante considered for a moment. “A mortal wizard might be able to do it. If he were good enough, he could make a talisman that would work as a gateway.”

  “Maybe that’s who they stole the girseach for?”

  Dante ran a hand through his shoulder-­length hair. “That’s possible, I suppose. Where’d they find a wizard, though? It’s not like they’re listed in the yellow pages under W.”

  “We could ask Justin when we’re asking about the girl.”

  “We could,” Dante said. “But, shocking as it may be, he and his entourage disappeared shortly after I talked to you.”

  “Aye, monster surprise there,” Brendan said. “But it don’t matter none. We don’t need to search him out.” He smiled. “I’ve got his name.”

  “You’ve got Justin’s true name?” Dante asked. “Do I want to know how you got it?”

  “Not likely,” Brendan said. “I got it the same place I got yours.”

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Dante said. “Now all we need is a wizard of our own to compel Justin to appear and answer our questions.”

  Brendan’s smile widened.

  Dante’s eyes went wide. “Do not tell me you found a wizard,” he said, then gave Brendan a hard look. “Is there something I should be worried about?”

  “Relax, mate,” Brendan said. “It were just by chance. He’s a friend of the wee one’s mother. I don’t know if he has the skill to pull it off, but if it’ll help, he’ll likely try.”

  “Try? That doesn’t sound promising.”

  “Oh, you got a better plan in mind, then, aye?”

  Dante sighed. “Let’s go. We’ve got a car parked outside.” He took a few steps, with the elves close on his heels.

  “No, I’ll be taking me truck, thanks,” Brendan said.

  “You think you’re good to drive?” Dante asked. “Just because you don’t feel the pain doesn’t mean the injuries are healed.”

  Brendan opened his mouth to comment, but Dante cut him off.

  “I’ll ride with you.”

  “Magister,” Liam said, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be without protection. This mess could be the start of a war with the oíche, and you’d make a great target.”

  “Follow me then if you like,” Brendan said as he limped toward the door. “But I’m not leaving me bleeding truck here. Besides, I need a clean shirt, and that’s where I keep me wardrobe.”

  “You follow,” Dante said to Liam. “I’ll ride with Brendan.” He watched Brendan limp by. “But stay close.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Edward closed the book slowly, as if doing so quickly would cause it to explode, and slid it away. He’d expected to find at least some similarities between cultural faerie stories and fact, but there didn’t seem to be any. Shakespeare didn’t even get the names right.

  He pulled off his glasses, put his head down on the desk, and tried to get a handle on the situation. The twinge of curiosity—­and, he had to confess, excitement—­at the thought of all this happening was gone now. In fact, it was taking a determined effort to keep from curling into a fetal ball and wetting himself.

  A sound from the living room brought his head up with a snap. He got to his feet and stopped in the study doorway.

  Caitlin was stirring on the couch.

  He looked at his watch, then out the large window in the living room. It was still dark and at least a few hours until sunrise. Kris was still sleeping soundly.

  “No, no, no. You’re not supposed to wake up yet,” he whispered.

  Caitlin grunted as she opened her eyes and looked around. She blinked repeatedly and looked around again. Confusion settled on her face as she drew her knees up to her chest.

  “What’s going on? Where am I?”

  Edward knelt next to the couch, taking her hand in his. “Easy. It’s okay. I’m here.”

  “Eddy?” She shook her head and wiped her eyes. “What? What are you doing here? Where am I?”

  “You’re at, uh, my house.”

  “What happened to your hand?”

  Edward moved his bandaged hand away. “It’s nothing, I just cut myself. Listen, you’ve had a, well, a bad night. What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “Bad night? What are you talking about?” She tried to stand up, but her eyes closed and she started to wobble.

  “Don’t push yourself.” He helped her sit back down and propped a pillow up behind her.

  She looked around again. “Wait, your house? What am I doing at your house? How’d I get here?”

  Edward scratched his head. “Well, it’s kind of a long story. I think it’d be best, right now anyway, for you to concentrate on what you recall.” He leaned in closer, squeezing her hand. “What can you remember?”

  Caitlin put her free hand to her head and closed her eyes. “I, um.” She swallowed. “God, I have a splitting headache. I didn’t think I drank that much.”

  “Here.” Edward handed her a bottle of water and a ­couple of Tylenol he’d gotten out earlier.

  She took the pills and emptied the bottle in a series of deep gulps. She set it down, then held her head. “I feel like I got hit by a—­” She winced. “By a . . .”

  “A what?”

  She looked at Edward, as if by trying hard enough she’d find the answer in his eyes. “Last thing I remember, I was out with the girls. I don’t think I got drunk, but . . .” She ran her hand through her hair. “Weird things had been happening all night. I remember leaving and then, I, uh, I got stopped by a ­couple of kids.”

  “Good, go on.”

  “They tried to mug me, or something. No, I think they were going to take me—­” Her eyes went wide. “Oh God, Eddy! Fiona!” She gripped Edward’s shoulders. “I have—­”

  “Breathe,” Edward said, knowing he had to act fast to stop her from hyperventilating and passing out. “You have to slow down your breathing.” He ran to the kitchen and retrieved a fresh bottle of water. “Here, drink this, slowly.”

  The bottle shook as she lifted it. After a ­couple of swallows, her breathing began to return to normal. Her eyes were still wide, but her face had turned to stone.

  “It’s a blur. Eddy, where’s Fiona?”

  Edward opened his mouth to speak.

  “Where’s my baby? Something’s happened to her. I can’t remember what, but I know.”

  “Well.” He hesitated. “She’s—­”

  Caitlin’s face went pale. “She’s dead. I saw her body—­”

  “You what?”

  “No.” Caitlin shook her head. “No, that’s not right. I mean, I did, but it was wrong. I remember seeing her, but I know . . .”

  “She’s not dead. They took her.”

  “They took her?” She paused, and then her mind engaged. “They took her! We have to call the police. Where’s your phone? Wait, you already called them, right?”

  “Well, no—­”

  “What? Why not? We need to call them, right now. Your phone?” She made to stand again, but her legs gave out and she fell back down.

  “Easy. Normally, I’d agree with you.” He was struggling to find the right words. He’d told ­people their worldviews and concepts of reality were wrong before, but Caitlin wasn’t one of his schizophrenic patients. “Under typical circumstances, I would’ve been the first to call, you know that, but this isn’t typical. Caitlin, they can’t help us.”

  At the sound of her name, she seemed to snap out of it a little more.

  “The things I need to tell you, well, they relate to that. I promise you, we’re goin
g to get her back. In fact, Brendan is already out there, trying to find her.”

  “Who?”

  “Brendan, do you remember him?”

  “No—­” She furrowed her brow. “Wait, I know that name. I, I can’t place it though.” She put her hand to her head. “Jesus, did they drug me?”

  “Sort of.” Edward gently touched her cheek and turned her face to look at him. “Brendan? Do you remember him? He helped you when you got attacked?” he said.

  “Big Irish guy with scars?” She started to laugh. “No, he can’t be helping. Eddy, he said they were—­” She shook her head and laughed again. “He said they were faeries.”

  Edward cleared his throat. “It turns out he was telling the truth.”

  “What? No.” Her smile faded. “No! This is a joke, right? Where’s Fiona?”

  Edward looked down.

  She scowled. “No! There’s no such thing as faeries!” Shaking hands went to her face and through her hair. “That’s insane, faeries aren’t real! Eddy, this isn’t funny. Where’s Fiona? Where is she?” Tears began to run down her cheeks.

  “Brendan’s out looking for her—­”

  “Some stranger is looking for my little girl and you’re okay with that? Are you insane? What is going on?” She pushed him away. “Tell me, damn it!”

  “I would’ve gone, but I had to stay here and look after you and Kris.” He looked at his watch, then back up at Caitlin. “And, well, he knows more about all this than I do.”

  “He knows more about this? What’s that mean? He knows more about what? Kidnapping little girls?”

  “No! Faeries, he knows more about faeries.” Edward lifted his hands. “Caitlin, please, focus on what I’m saying, this is important, okay? I know it’s hard to believe, but tonight you were attacked by faeries. Oíche-­sidhe.”

  “What the hell is that?” She covered her ears. “No! Stop it! Just stop, we don’t have time for this! We have to—­”

  “Caitlin,” he said with more force in his voice. He pulled her hands from her ears, then held them tight. “This is me, okay? Are you listening?”

  She swallowed and looked at him. Anger still burned in her eyes, but she squeezed his hands, and not in an attempt to break them.