by KB Anne
“Who is that?” Alaric says with wonder.
I squint at the warrior. “Scott?”
“That’s your brother?”
I smile as hope blooms within my chest. Maybe Balor can be defeated. I’m having a major proud-sister moment.
“It appears that Oegden, reincarnated God of Love, is a kick-ass warrior.”
Three hellhounds pounce on Scott. He knocks them off with one massive strike, but more keep coming.
“They need help. They’re never going to stop all of them,” Alaric says.
I take off at a sprint. I might not be able to harm another living thing, but I doubt that Fomorians count.
Alaric easily catches up to me. “We aren’t really here, remember? What can we do?”
“It doesn’t matter. We can still fight. Scott and I battled with Gallean in the seomra de rúin. We need to help them.”
The ground shakes with the intensity of the battle and we are thrown backward. Dazed, I lift up my head in time to see Gallean leap into the air as Balor slowly reaches for the patch over his eye.
“What’s he doing? He’ll get turned to stone.”
Gallean shoots a shield out of his hands toward Caer. It encompasses her along with all the humans, including Scott. Balor’s gaze strikes Gallean.
I gasp as Gallean turns to stone. His body falls to the rocks below and smashes into a million pieces.
Another blast sends us spiraling backward.
Alaric lunges for me. He catches me just as a roar, at least I think it’s a roar but it’s like nothing I’ve ever heard before, shoots us into the air. This has Granda’s “limbo” thing written all over it. The ground gets farther and farther away before gravity takes over and we spiral down toward a small puddle.
Shit, this is how I’m going to die.
We grip each other close and slam into the freezing water. We never hit the bottom. We just keep falling and falling into the murky depths. We kick and thrash to get back to the surface, but rushing water keeps pushing us down and down.
If this is indeed limbo, it fucking sucks hairy monkey ass. I’m getting a refund on this ticket.
We continue to fall and fall, seemingly forever. At last, when I’ve almost lost the will to live, our heads break the surface. We gasp for air.
We finally catch our breath and clutch on to each other.
“We made it,” I cry.
“We made it,” Alaric agrees.
When my chest stops pounding like a herd of wild horses, I look around. Dozens of swans flock around us.
“What the . . . ?”
“Welcome to Lake of the Dragon Mouth,” a woman with black spiked hair and wings—fucking wings—says, hovering just above the water.
“Lake of the who-de-whatey?”
A head pops out of the water next to me. “Lake of the Dragon Mouth, you spaz,” Scott says, yanking me to his chest.
“Scott, I didn’t recognize you without your glowing orb of Oegden.”
“Shut up and hold on. I’ll swim you to shore.”
“Alaric?” I call out.
“Right here, Gi,” he says, swimming up alongside us.
Scott tucks me under his arm, easily propelling us toward the shoreline where dozens of people (including Caer holding her sword and a giant freaking spear) are waiting for us.
“I never knew you were such a gifted swimmer,” I say.
“You’re dying to make a swan joke right now, aren’t you.”
“If the wing fits . . .”
His chest rises and falls as he laughs. “I missed you, sis.”
“I missed you too. I see you and Caer are getting along swimmingly.”
“Oh gods,” he groans.
“Birds of a feather.”
He tightens his grip on me. “Stick together.”
18
Three of Pentacles
“Did you know that I’m not really here?” Gigi said as Scott swam her real butt across Lake of the Dragon Mouth.
“You feel like you’re here. You better not be starving yourself because you’re depressed that you and I haven’t been together. Your bones are jabbing into my side,” he said, tugging her along to the shoreline where Caer and the rest of her people awaited.
She wriggled around as if to prove that, yes, she was in fact bony.
“Well, there were some complications back in Ireland, including our current situation.”
“I would expect nothing less.”
His sister possessed a strong bent toward theatrics. She would award herself an Oscar and an Emmy after what she believed were particularly riveting performances. Scott usually agreed with Judge Gigi’s decision.
Moments ago, when the ground rumbled, Scott, Caer, and the people of the Faerie Realm, who had barely recovered from the last battle, were prepared to fight Balor and his armies again until their last dying breath. Then the sky split open, and Gigi and Alaric came tumbling down, landing in the middle of the lake.
“Alaric and I are in a seomra de rúin back in Kildare, though I think when that big fat stony-eyed dude roared, our seomra de rúin kicked into chaos mode and I somehow created a portal that got us here with you—wherever that is. Granda said sometimes it’s possible to get stuck in a limbo space until the key is found, so I assume that’s why we’re here.”
Scott shifted his gaze to her. “There aren’t any keys lying around.”
“Maybe it’s a symbolic key. Maybe it doesn’t always have to be a solid key.”
“We definitely needed to find solid keys to get out of the last one. And remember how long it took you?”
“Here we go with another ego trip. I finally found it. And don’t worry, I’ll figure out a loophole.”
He couldn’t see Gigi roll her eyes, but he knew she did. He wished Caer could learn how to relax and enjoy life for a while like Gigi did rather than being so serious all the time. But then, Scott and Gigi hadn’t had a one-eyed Fomorian monster after them their entire lives. It was only in the last few months that they had discovered werewolves, witches, and magic even existed.
He deposited her on the shore of the lake. “You always know how to make a splash. I will give you that.”
She leaned over and retched half the lake onto the rocks. When she finished, she sat up and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “Splash is right.”
His sister was always classy.
When the spittle remnants were gone from her face, she looked up at him and said, “So says the guy who grew a million arms to strike down any enemy within reach.”
He flopped on the shore next to her, careful to avoid her puke water. “What?”
“Alaric and I saw you fighting. Neither one of us believed it was you at first. You were always more politician than brawler.”
“Ha! I’m not a politician. I just know how to use my words instead of my fists—or claws in your case,” he said, picking up her curled hand, “or boots.” He laughed, shaking his head. He couldn’t believe he was finally reunited with Gigi after thinking about nothing else but getting back to her since she’d left. He had even been willing to go so far as to use Caer in order to return to his sister.
His gaze slid over to Caer now. She was sizing up Alaric. Scott supposed from a purely meat-and-potatoes standpoint Alaric was very handsome and strong. Jealousy flashed through him. Granted, he didn’t know reincarnated Caer well enough to warrant possessive notions, but they were soulmates in the Otherworld. Maybe in their reincarnated forms, the rules of Otherworldly unions didn’t apply. He certainly hadn’t acted lovingly to her when he was hoping to use her to get to Gigi.
Thank the gods Alaric didn’t encourage her by returning the attention. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of Gigi, except for an initial passing glance at Caer when he waded onto the shore.
Caer walked over to Alaric. She inhaled deeply. “What are you?”
Alaric frowned at her then glanced at Gigi.
Gigi wrung out her shirt, unruffled by Caer’s interest in Alaric.
“Go ahead and tell her. I’m sure Scott blabbed all our secrets anyway.”
Alaric straightened to his full height, his powerful arms and legs at the ready as a testament to his lupine strength. “I’m a werewolf, son of Clayone.”
Caer blinked. “The Original Werewolf?”
“The one and only,” Gigi added.
“I’ve learned much about him from a book I read, along with conversations with Scott, and Gallean.” Her eyes watered. They still hadn’t really discussed what had happened to the wizard, other than Caer asking where he was when she initially awoke.
Gigi reached for Scott. “We saw what happened. I’m so sorry.”
“He gave his life for her,” he said, nodding toward Caer.
Caer stiffened, gripping both her sword and the iron spear she had yet to let go of since Keturah had given it to her. “I will make sure Balor pays for all the lives he has taken.”
Gigi cracked her knuckles. “I’m sure you will.”
“But first,” Caer said, redirecting her attention back to Alaric, “what are you?”
“I’ve already told you. I’m the son of the Original Werewolf, and therefore, a werewolf—though more powerful than most werewolves since I was born with the curse,” Alaric said, before looking over at Gigi as if to ask, “Does she not understand English?”
Caer stepped closer, invading his personal space. Scott swallowed. He didn’t like Caer anywhere near Alaric’s lips, the very ones Gigi had once labeled “luscious slices of man-flesh.”
Keturah and two other women closed in behind Alaric and inhaled. He shifted uncomfortably.
“I agree,” Keturah said. “He is something else.”
“Oh gods,” Gigi said, pushing herself off the ground. “Please don’t tell me he’s another reincarnated god, because we’ve got too many of them already.”
“No,” Caer said, circling behind Alaric. Keturah and the two others rounded him with her. “He’s part Fae.”
Gigi wrinkled her nose. “Excuse me, did you just say Fae? As in fairies flying around spreading pixie dust?”
Scott grunted. Leave it to his sister to turn a startling discovery into a comedic interlude.
Gods, how he missed her.
Keturah fluttered her wings at Gigi. “Does it look like I spread glitter while I fly around?”
Gigi studied the wings closely until finally she lifted a hand. “May I?”
That surprised him. Normally she touched first and asked for forgiveness later.
“Sure,” Keturah said. “Why not?”
Scott wondered if Caer had faerie wings too. He had watched her fly up to the cliff when she was trying to get to Balor, but she hadn’t grown wings then. And when they had both shifted into swans, they obviously had wings, but they were the feathered variety. Keturah’s wings looked like they were made of a dark, thick membrane like leather, but almost translucent. More like bat wings than bird wings. And there were lines that looked like veins running through them.
“Are those blood vessels?” he asked, pointing but being careful not to touch them.
“They are. Wings are a living part of us. Blood flows through them to make them strong and powerful.”
Keturah’s wings were black with purple and blue patches. The other two women’s wings were orange with black patches. They reminded him of monarch butterflies. Gram’s garden was always full of them. She kept an entire patch of milkweed for that very purpose. Could any of those monarchs back in Vernal Falls have been faeries?
Alaric slowly backed away from Caer and the other women. “I am not Fae. I don’t have wings.”
Keturah shrugged. “Not all of us do, but your mother must have been Fae. Wait,” she turned to the two other women, “do you remember Naisha?”
They nodded. “Could it be?”
“What?” Alaric asked, suddenly very interested in the conversation. “I never knew my mother or her name. She died in childbirth.”
Keturah put her hands on her hips. “If your mother was Naisha, she didn’t die giving birth to you. She was a powerful faerie, but she disappeared long ago. She . . .” Keturah’s eyes brightened as she remembered something.
“What? Tell me,” Alaric asked, desperate to know anything about his mother.
Scott recognized the hunger. Not so much in himself. He had been given a long history about his own mother growing up—none of it had turned out to be true, but still. No, it was Gigi who was always starving to find out more about her mother. She’d never fully given in to the notion that her mom was a “crack whore,” as Kensey used to call her, although Gigi had made a lot of life choices based on that fabricated origin story.
“Naisha used to visit the different realms when the veil between them was thin. She talked about a tribe of people who worshipped wolves. She left one Midsummer’s Eve at the Strawberry Moon. Let me think what the tribe was called. It was a very long time ago.” She tapped the bridge of her nose with her finger.
Alaric swallowed, his cheeks ashen. “Was it the Diana Moon Cult?”
Keturah’s eyes brightened. “Yes, that’s it!”
Alaric stumbled backward as if struck. Gigi rushed over to him. Through the years Gigi had been called many things, and sometimes it was warranted, but above all else, she was loyal and protective of the ones she loved.
“Alaric, what is it?”
He turned to her. Her touch gave him courage to speak. “That was the name of my dad’s tribe.”
“What?” Gigi said, like she didn’t believe him.
“The Diana Moon Cult was the name of my father’s tribe.”
The name triggered a flood of memories for Scott. “Gigi, remember the story I told about Clayone the night we went camping?”
“I’ve been trying to forget it ever since, but . . . what’s your name?”
“Keturah.”
“Keturah, you’re saying that Alaric’s mom might be alive?”
Keturah nodded. “We are immortal. It is highly possible.”
Alaric pulled Gigi to him. “We have to go back. We have to find out if this is true. Nan said my mom died in childbirth. Gi, if my mom is alive, maybe she can convince my father to side with us.”
Gigi blinked a few times as some realization hit her. “Wait, wait . . . Keturah, what did you say her name was?”
“Naisha.”
Gigi paced around in a circle, talking to herself. “Naisha could be Nancy, I suppose.”
Alaric stood in front of her. “Nancy? Who’s Nancy?”
Gigi swallowed. “Lizzie’s mom.”
Alaric’s eyes flashed gold, and Scott saw the wolf he was.
“We need to go,” Alaric said.
Scott didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. Why did Gigi think Lizzie’s mom could be Alaric’s mom?
Because Lizzie’s dad is Clayone, Gigi dropped in his head.
What the . . . ? It was Scott’s turn to stumble backward in shock.
Before he could ask more, Alaric and Gigi grabbed each other’s hands and disappeared.
Gigi and Alaric disappeared in front of their eyes. Caer did not sense magic from a portal, nor did she see an opening in the universe—both indications that a portal was used. What then?
“Where did they go? How did that happen?”
Scott stared at the place where Gigi and Alaric had vanished. “Gigi said they visited the Land of Shadows through a seomra de rúin, a room of secrets one can visit in a deep meditative state, but a tremendous amount of magic is required to conduct it.”
“And your realm has powerful witches and wizards capable of conducting such magic?”
She remembered when Scott and Gigi had visited Gallean through a seomra de rúin prior to their arrival for training. And there were others who had sought him throughout the years by such means. She hadn’t realized it was a powerful magic though. That would explain why Gallean was surprised she had been able to penetrate it. It must also mean that she possessed her own type of powerful magic beyond th
at of portal making and invisibility. But after baring her soul so much during her time with Scott and losing Gallean today, she was not prepared to explore the boundaries of her own magic at the present. Someday, perhaps when she was alone, she’d examine, but not in front of so many witnesses. Yes, they were her people, but mostly they were strangers with only a passing familiarity.
Scott studied her for an uncomfortably long time. She shifted her feet. The motion snapped him out of his trance.
“Clarissa is a very powerful witch. You might know her as Ris from that book you were reading. My granda is also a powerful Druid, our name for wizard.”
Caer found it incredible that all the characters from what she had originally thought was just a story still lived today. Or did live until today. Sadness filled her. But there were still many unanswered questions.
“Are there others capable of conducting this magic?”
“There are other members of their coven, a Druid circle actually, though they call it a coven. Anyway, there are others who have experience with magic, but I don’t know if they’re capable of conducting that high a level of magic. Why?”
“Gallean told us his life-force was connected with Clarissa’s.”
He stumbled backward. “I hadn’t thought of that. Gigi assumed they were stuck in a kind of limbo after the battle, and that’s how they were able to come here.”
Then it hit her. She threw out her arms with excitement, careful not to hit anyone with her sword or her spear. “When they landed in the lake, they came through a portal. Is it possible to create a portal in a seomra de rúin?”
“I guess, but the magic required . . .” Scott began circling the perimeter, scratching his head. He had not slipped into god-speed yet, but it looked like he was trying to work out a number of different things. Suddenly he stopped. “All the magic you can do, all the magic Gigi can do—everyone said none of that magic could be done, but yet, you both were able to create portals at different unexpected times. You were able to create a portal in Gallean’s keep. Gigi created one in the seomra de rúin. Along with the fact that Balor’s armies were able to break through Gallean’s boundaries, even if Gallean’s magic was weakening . . . the magic seems wonky—like it’s malfunctioning and amplifying at the same time.”