by Elle Lincoln
Tinkerbell is my personal favorite story, romanticized to a fault. Brownies will clean your house, for a fucking price. I’d never let the wee bastards in my cabin. I suppose that’s why it’s so dirty and falling apart. Either way, they aren’t light and they aren’t always helpful. Most of the forgotten ones will sooner consume you than help you.
And we’re their fucking guardians. I’ve no pot of gold. If I did, I wouldn’t live like this in seclusion. I live like this out of necessity. To keep the little fuckers satisfied and away from wandering humans.
“Alright, ye little fuckers,” I begin and watch as a small dryad shimmers upon a branch, blending in with the environment. It is more insect-like than anything else, with long wings that sound like a cricket when rubbed together, only the sound has a higher pitch. And if you hear it? Fucking run. “Yer kin are creating havoc and I am needed elsewhere.” I watch as more pop into existence and I throw a handful of seed out. Like vicious piranhas they swarm, attacking the seed and, more specifically, my blood with abandon. “Ye can stay here, or come and help. It will be bloody and you’ll have all the meat you can eat.” I shudder to know they will be more of a cleanup crew than anything else. One we will need. We can’t very well set our dead on fire, and there will be death, make no mistake.
A small salamander dares crawl closer to me, its skin a fiery red and shimmering as its tongue tastes the air. One touch and I’ll be out cold for days, as my body burns in fever and my skin bubbles with sores. I take a tentative step back before thinking better of it, standing my ground. I scratch the scab off my hand and let blood well once more. With a slight dip, my blood drips off my palm and I watch as the damn creature snaps its tongue to catch the falling drop.
He stares at me with those ancient orange eyes, the black of its slitted pupil knowing far more than I give it credit for. I breathe a sigh of relief as it backs away. At least I know the salamanders will be on our side. Mostly.
A high-pitched chirp splits the air. “I’m not bleeding for all of ye.” I throw the rest of the seed out to the remaining forgotten Fae. There aren’t many and they horde together. Some days they follow me and others I follow them. And they aren’t always this agreeable.
“These fuckers always give me the creeps.” I look over my shoulder not even startled to see Casseus standing there.
“Hypocrite,” I sneer at him, he’s just as creepy as my little pets after all.
He feigns heartache with a palm over his chest. His dark eyes filled with mirth I don’t share. And they call me the trickster. Casseus is a complicated character, considering he was once human. A long fucking time ago.
“Now, now paddy.”
“Don’t call me that.” Except a smile cuts through my lips.
“What shall I call you?” His voice dips in a tone full of laughter.
“Patrick is me name. Sure Paddy is an option, so is Patch, Scratch, and Trick.” Which one will he choose?
His laughter rings out across the forest. “I forgot about Scratch.”
The one time I drink vodka. I smile at the drunken memory. Vodka does get me drunk and it makes me itch. A fucked up part of me misses my favorite drinking buddy. I hand over my flask and watch as Casseus takes a swig. He doesn’t even flinch with his long pull before handing it back. “Balor?”
“Inside. He needed to check on Bette. The big man is soft and gooey over her.” He isn’t worried about that, and neither am I. Balor being soft is a good thing, it means he hasn’t gone insane again. Maybe she will keep him from losing his shit.
“Ye haven’t gone in yet?” I tease, knowing full well he’s probably avoiding Mac. Another complicated story.
He gives me a look that says he knows exactly what I’m getting at.
“Will they follow?” Casseus changes the topic, pointing at the swarming creatures most would mistake for bugs or lizards. They are anything but.
I give a half-hearted shrug. The truth is, I don’t know. The forgotten have loyalty to no one. Not even their guardians. “I may have to bleed a little more to get them on our side.”
“Eh, a little bloodletting will be good for ya!” He slaps me on the back and turns, walking toward the cabin. I shake my head, knowing he’s probably right.
Chapter 16
Bette
Stranger in a Strange Land
Sometimes we sleep to dream. And other times we float in the darkness of dreamless sleep. I did neither. I passed out one moment, and the next I’m rubbing the goo from my eyes. But one thing I did know?
I remembered everything, and I sure as fuck didn’t want to.
“Oh, good yer awake!” Patrick’s booming voice pierces my skull like a sword through my eye. Did he have any level other than loud and foul?
“Shush.” I roll over, snuggling beneath blankets. Clean blankets that smell like... whiskey. Dammit, I was in Patrick’s bed and he smells like bourbon and spice. I involuntarily inhale again. I’ll never admit it, but I like the smell of him.
“If yer done scenting me sheets ya can get up now. We’re all here waiting on yer lazy ass.” He gives a grunt and I hear the twisting of a cap. “Fine arse that’d be.”
“Have you no shame?” I grab the pillow and throw it at him, choosing to lie in this luxurious bed. Guy would love it.
Guy who isn’t Guy but a man named Balor. Who is a king? The pieces are fitting themselves together. Yet I don’t recall a king on the east coast. If I’m going to get any answers, then I’m going to have to roll my ass out of this bed and demand them.
I wonder if they have coffee? I don’t need it because, oh yeah, I can just suck a soul out of someone. What has my life come to? Nope, I don’t want the answer to that yet. I’m going to shelve everything and deal with it later.
I roll off the huge bed, stumbling to my legs, and stand up too quickly. My vision dims as the blood rushes from my head. Bad idea Little Raven. I teeter for a moment before the room comes into focus. It’s plain with hideous wood paneling, a bed, and a bureau with no curtains on the windows, only blinds that are drawn tight.
I roll my shoulders and march out of the bedroom and into the smallest sitting area, which is currently housing four large men. Their voices quiet when I enter, their conversation paused due to the crazy lady who passed out. I grunt at them and turn to the equally as small kitchen. I look around the area and find a coffee pot full of delicious liquid I cannot wait to consume. Some smart fellow left out cream and sugar, but I won’t be needing those. Just a mug and my lips.
I inhale deeply as I let the aroma of freshly brewed coffee comfort me in a way nothing else has been able to. It sinks into my muscles and eases them. Bleeds into my bones and lets all the kinks out. Realigning the body to its perfect form. Hell, I think I even see a fucking unicorn prancing around out back.
There really isn’t a unicorn of course, and I need to face the squad in front of me. I eye each one with my perfected resting bitch face. The only one I actually affect is Mac, so I decide to start there.
“Mac. Let’s have a chat, shall we?” I’m trying rather hard to be as diplomatic as fuck. Whether or not I accomplish this is a different thought completely.
“Yes, my love?” He’s hesitant, eying me up like I may implode. I don’t blame him, the possibility is there.
“First of all, I’m not your love—”
“Yet,” he cuts in.
“I... Excuse me?”
“Yet. You aren’t my love yet.” Jackass, I knew what he meant.
“He means to say he wants in yer pants!” Patrick gives a waggle of his brows, the red furry caterpillars take over nearly his whole damn face. The whole lot of them needs a good barber.
“How can we get off track this fast?” I mumble to myself, pinching my nose and blinking my eyes wildly. “Mac, lets start with you. What are you?”
“I think that is pretty evident.” He gestures down himself and I’m realizing now that any conversation with these men is going to be difficult.
�
�He’s a god Bette. A god.” This comes from Casseus who, for once, isn’t covered in shadows, but he does look a little worse for wear.
“Trouble find you birdie?” I tease.
“Yes, now let’s get past this so we can move on to said trouble. This is a waste of our time.” He rolls his eyes before getting up off of the sunken couch. He begins to pace and I move on.
“You’re a god?” I can’t hide the disbelief from my voice.
“Of the sea,” he supplies with a hint of arrogance.
The unfortunate part is I can see that. Those eyes tell a story of the murky depths hidden at the bottom. I roll my shoulders, the need to move on is overwhelming. I’m not quite ready to accept his disclosures.
“Casseus, what are you?” I redirect.
“Best to save me for last.” He doesn’t even pause in his pacing.
Okay. Well then. That leaves the drunk and the big brooding man who hasn’t stopped staring at me.
“Guy. I’m guessing that isn’t your name. Care to elaborate?”
“No.” He looks at me with that one piercing eye, seeing right through me in his quiet stillness.
“Ooomp!” Pat rolls his broad body forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Guy is Balor. The Tyrant King of the Fomorians. Don’t peek under his eye patch if ye value yer life. I am a leprechaun.”
I raise my brow at that. There was way too much information in that monolog than I can’t even remotely deal with right now. “A leprechaun. Like the rainbow riding, pot of gold leprechaun?”
“That’s what breaks yer mind? Is it so hard to believe?” He leans back into the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table before pulling out his flask again.
I slowly slurp my coffee as though this is the most normal conversation I’ve ever come across. It isn’t, but I’m going to put on a good act while planning my escape.
“So a leprechaun?” I scrunch up my face.
“Believe me, you don’t want to cross him in a fight. And he’s never drunk, so don’t be fooled,” Casseus explains, while continuing to pace a hole in the carpet.
“I guess that leaves you, my darling murderer.” I turn to face the mohawked man with demon eyes.
“About that, you are going to have to get past it. First of all, I had no idea any of this was going to happen.” He splays his arms out as if that actually pleads his case. I prop my hands on my hips and start wishing for a hot shower. “Okay, so have you ever heard of the Sluagh?”
“I was a business major. I know nothing of lore. Nothing.” I punctuate the last word to get my point across. Wait. If I was declared dead, does that still mean I have to pay on my student loans? I sure as hell hope not.
He groans, his body slumping before moving on. “The Sluagh are the spirits of the damned in Irish folklore.”
“Some folklore if your stories are to be believed.” My sarcasm spews out. He just looks at me, exasperated. It can’t be folklore if the fuckers are real, just saying.
“The Sluagh consume the souls of those too evil for Hell. They chose you.” Casseus stops in his pacing to eye me.
Which makes no sense, I’m not evil. Am I? My brows scrunch together. I didn’t think I was a terrible person. I mean, I didn’t murder anyone. “Why me?”
“That I don’t have an answer for. But now we lead them. You need to figure out how to control their power.” My gut turns over the coffee I just drank. “You consume the evil of a soul, sometimes the whole soul. Some can be rebirthed and some are forever a part of the hunt.”
“The wild hunt?” That I’ve heard of, and my heart starts to pound in my chest. Sweat beads along my spine and I try like hell to keep my face passive. I may be failing. “The chipmunk.”
Casseus nods. “They needed to teach you how to consume.”
“Why did I need to forget everything?” I know we’ve had this conversation already.
“Because your puny human brain would break otherwise.” He stands before me, crossing his arms over his lean chest. “Now you need to help me lead them.”
Right. I pinch my arm. Yep, hurts a little. So not dreaming.
“Here.” Pat leans forward holding out his flask.
“Fuck it.” I take a swing of the smooth whiskey and flinch as it burns down my throat. “What’s at play here? And why were the Sluagh imprisoning Balor here?”
Balor looks at me, his eye downcast as though he’s worried about what I’ll actually think of him.
“He was a bad boy, all that power went to his head.” Casseus taps his temple and I take another swig of whiskey.
There’s much more to that answer if Balor’s demeanor is anything to go by. I let it pass for now. “Okay, so what am I missing? Didn’t you talk about a war? Who were the government agents?”
Surprisingly it’s Mac who answers me. “Yeah, those weren’t government agents.” I snort, getting the evil eye from Mac. “They were Fae scouts, however, I’m wondering why they would be seeking you out.”
I purse my lips. It is an odd conundrum. What would they want with little ol’ me?
“But why are they are here now? So quickly after the Sluagh are free? It’s no coincidence,” Mac muses as he pets his beard, which draws my attention to it. I never thought I’d like a man with a beard but as I look around, I realize they all have one or some kind of facial hair. Must be the era they come from. Either way, it’s sexy as fuck.
I clear my throat and disperse the visual. Fucking Mac gives me a knowing grin.
“You were talking about a war,” I remind him, waving him on.
“Right, so the Tuatha De Danann.”
I cut him off. “Hold on right there, the what?”
“Tuatha De Danann,” Mac repeats like that explains fucking everything. It doesn’t.
“Oh, you daft child. Faeries. They are faeries.” Pat now gestures Mac on.
“They aren’t fairies. They are the ancestors of the Fae, but they aren’t the same,” Mac explains, and I catch Casseus’ groan as he rolls his eyes.
“Same,” Patrick argues.
“The Tuatha are gods, Fae are their love children, and the forgotten are pure elementals,” Casseus corrects on a sigh.
Oh, that? That sound is my mind breaking. It just noped the fuck right out of this conversation and my eyes blurred these fuckers into a blob. “Guys! Just what is the issue here?”
“The Fae are kidnapping humans and making themselves known. The old gods no longer care and have fled.” Mac’s voice reigns over all the others.
“They cannot,” Balor finally butts in. “The old gods are ruthless. My kin are not a kind lot. They will fix the issue.”
“Who are the old gods?” I question.
“You really should have taken a class in lore.” Casseus is really getting on my nerves. “Each of the Celtic deities vied for the land of Ireland because the soil alone was rich with magic. Many fell. The Fomorians, or Balor’s people, fell back into the sea and he was imprisoned. Even the Tuatha fell. But unlike the others, they found land across the ocean just as full of magic where they could regroup, and wait.”
“Wait for what?” My voice is hardly a whisper.
“The day to return.”
“What happens if they return? Aren’t they already returned if they never left?” The question made sense in my head.
“They went into hiding. They still exist, but their descendants are proving to be spoiled children. I assume they want the same things as their ancestors, but it’s stupid to assume,” Casseus finishes.
“What do they want?”
“To be worshipped of course.” Casseus pauses. “I think.”
That doesn’t sound as though he’s sure. Something is missing.
I ponder his thoughts as a cloud of oppression descends on us. What would happen if the gods just showed up? Utter chaos is what. The Christian church killed in the past for less. World wars would rage if gods suddenly became real, rendering religions moot. Not just that, but many more gods would surface.
Surely other deities are real too.
“So they want to be worshipped?” It seems stupid really.
“Not just them. But the Fae are a vile race. Full of ‘em selves. Snooty bastards,” Patrick grumbles with a grumpy frown. It’s slightly comical, but only slightly because of the conversation and all.
“So I’m guessing not everyone is on board with the god worship here? Since Mac, you are a god?” Still not buying it completely.
“I don’t need to be worshipped. I’ve made a life here. This era suits me. The women suit me.” He eyes me up and down, allowing the tension in me to break.
Balor growls which has me swallowing a laugh. Mac holds up his hands in a placating gesture, but his crooked smile is telling.
“Alright, so that is a lot.” I rub my face, thinking back to the dream I had while in Balor’s cabin. I don’t think it was a dream at all. The blood, the fighting. Humans would be slaughtered if it came to that again. I feel the darkness swell in my chest at the thought of a good meal. “Oh, that’s just gross.”
“What’s that?” Mac questions.
“She’s hungry,” Casseus supplies, a knowing smirk on his face. “May as well see what you can do.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” My voice squeaks with the question.
“It means it’s time we teach you how to hunt.” Casseus looks far too smug. I don’t like it and I don’t like where this is going.
“I’m good,” I state. Liar, liar.
It doesn’t even deter him. He steps into my space and I become all too aware of him. Didn’t he kill me? No, he actually didn’t, the Sluagh did for their own purposes. Ones I’m not quite ready to understand just yet. Even so, I’m drawn to Casseus, even though I’m not sure I want to be drawn to him. Yet of all the people in this room, he understands me on a level they can’t. He went through the same transformation, connecting us on a deeper level.
“How about it Little Raven?” he taunts.
“Why do you call me that?” I wonder.
“Because it’s only a matter of time before you figure out how to fly with the flock.” Those black eyes of his are now seductive, and I fall into their depths with the promise of the wind beneath my wings.