“Alright,” I replied as I struggled to wrap my head around the abstract concept. What she said made sense; I’d encountered similar notions in Catholic school, though of course they’d been skewed towards the Biblical. What made less sense, however, was where I fit in. “And what about me, then? Which tier do I belong to?”
“Well, that depends.”
“On?”
“On whether you have an opposite, or not. You have to keep in mind that, in the height of their power, your mother and her two sisters combined to become a supremely powerful force. The Morrigan once drove the Fomorians from the island of her chosen people with the strength of her voice alone. She was a deity tied to death and sovereignty, to fate and prophecy. Among her own kind, she was opposed in ability only by the Dagda, the greatest of the Tuatha de Dannan. To contain even a third of her capacity is astounding. And yet, you also carry the blood of a sorcerer whose legacy continues to shape the world, and whose own lineage is riddled with controversy. And let’s not forget you possess the ability to manipulate time, making you even more volatile than you might have otherwise been.”
“It’s not like I go around stoppin’ clocks whenever it suits me,” I countered, indignantly. Frankly, I didn’t like the way the conversation was going; I’d always considered myself dangerous, true, but in an applied way. Eve made it sound like I was a bomb just waiting to explode at the slightest impact.
“Exactly my point. So much of what you’re capable of is unknown. Untested. Are you a goddess bound by the laws of the universe, or a mortal with the capacity to reshape the world? Quinn, have you ever asked yourself what the former might mean? Not in the grand scheme of things, but simply for yourself? You could be immortal. It’s possible you may never age from this point forward. You may never die, though everyone around you might. If you ever plan to have children, you could be passing on a legacy you don’t fully understand. And that’s not even accounting for what might happen if your opposite—”
“That’s enough, Eve,” I snapped.
I’d cut the conversation off there and had retreated behind the tree where I now sat, leaving Eve to finish her preparations on her own. The thing is, I hadn’t exactly been horrified by what Eve proposed; I’d had such thoughts in the past, though I’d quickly dismissed them. I wasn’t worried about living forever, not with the shit I put myself through day in and day out. As for the rest, well, remaining relatively young until my time came didn’t sound so bad, I’d already had plenty of people die on me from a lot worse than old age, and the notion of childbirth had always physically repulsed me. Basically, I’d made peace with all that.
No, in hindsight, what bothered me most was the fact that I’d had no say in any of it. That no one had ever asked me what I wanted. Not my mother. Definitely not my father. Not the scheming Temples. Sitting there, alone, I had to wonder if Nate Temple was out there somewhere, feeling the same way. Feeling wronged, like a tool created with only one purpose in mind. I’d always figured him for an entitled prick because he’d been born rich. Envied him for having loving parents. Resented his charm, his easy way with people, his relationships with Othello and Callie Penrose—two women I’d desperately wanted to like me. Granted, the self-proclaimed King of St. Louis hadn’t made things easier by hijacking my Uber and breaking into my apartment, but I could at least admit to myself now that I’d been biased, my animosity fueled by jealousy and spite. That I’d seen in Nate a reflection of my own upbringing, my own coping mechanisms, my own faults, and had been compelled to look away.
A reflection...now that was a troubling thought.
I took a deep breath and let it out as slowly as I could manage, forcing myself to think about the task at hand. To decide whether or not I was up to the challenge. I held my hand up, staring at the lines criss-crossing my palm, the callouses I’d developed from training with the spear, the silvered scars representing decades’ worth of pain. Pain, I knew, was coming; blood wasn’t the only thing needed to reinvigorate the island. According to Eve, the bonding process was unique to each individual who experienced it, which meant she couldn’t predict exactly what would happen to me once I offered Neverland my father’s legacy. Only that it would be difficult. Oh, and that it would hurt.
“Nothing can occupy the space of another thing without friction,” she’d said, moments after confirming that my blood was the key. “That’s why the bonding processes responsible for creating life are often pleasurable, and those for causing death so painful. What you are doing here requires both. In order to fashion a new bond, you must first kill the old. You must take the reins and give her a new purpose. Create something better than what came before.”
“So we’d be, what, making a new Eden?”
“No!” Eve insisted, vehemently. “Not Eden. Not ever. You have to create something better. Not some timeless paradise.”
“If not Eden, then what?”
“I can’t tell you. If you can control her, it’ll be your decision—it’ll be your will which shapes this place. But please, be mindful of what you want from her. A fortress cut off from the rest of the world, accessible only to a chosen few, may keep you and your loved ones safe, but no fortress stands forever. Eden’s walls kept far more out than it kept safe, and as such became more of a punishment than a reward. To see such a glorious place, only to be cast out, to watch it fade, is the worst sort of cruelty.”
She looked impossibly sad, then. I thought about asking her if she regretted this life of hers, if she resented me for my role in her existence. I wouldn’t have blamed her; she hadn’t asked for any of this shit, either. But I didn’t. I was too afraid of what she’d say. Instead, I resolved to do what I could for her, to bond with Neverland and give Eve a home she could be proud of. Of course, we hadn’t discussed what her role would be—whether she’d want to remain here, or not. But I sensed she felt a connection with this place, with Neverland; they had a great deal in common.
I sighed, realizing that I was merely delaying the inevitable—moping behind the tree like a child who didn’t get the present she wanted for Christmas this year. And so I lowered my hand and pressed it to the cracked, barren dirt, preparing to rise, when Cathal lumbered into sight. The faerie hound plopped down beside me, seemingly oblivious to my sudden resolve. I settled back, curious what he had to say, even if it meant another delay. At this point, I wasn’t worried about the others. If the Goblin King ran off, I’d manage, and the Neverlanders would definitely wait. As for the Greeks, well, I considered it an opportunity to see how committed they were to our journey; for some reason, I couldn’t work my head around Narcissus tagging along with us, even if his logic seemed perfectly sound. Helen just bugged me. Maybe it was that she always hid her face. Or maybe it was the fact that, when she didn’t, I swore I could hear “Heartache Tonight” by the Eagles playing in the background.
“It’s funny,” Cathal said, his silhouette blocking out what little light the gloomy sky offered, “we travelled together for a while, but we never talked much about ourselves. Turns out there was a lot I didn’t know about you.”
“Been talkin’ to the tree, have ye?”
“She’s not what I expected. Neither of you are.”
I shrugged, thought about making a joke about books and covers, but went with, “Everyone judges. If they get it mostly right, we call ‘em perceptive. If they get it wrong, they’re judgmental. T’ing is, most end up believin’ what they want to believe, no matter what their eyes and ears tell ‘em. Takes guts to admit ye were wrong, but to yourself most of all.”
Cathal made a sound low in his throat, as though he agreed.
“Anyway, I wouldn’t worry about it,” I said. “Neither of us are big on sharin’.”
“No point looking backwards if all you see is pain.”
I turned to study the hound, trying to analyze his expression beneath all that hair. Dogs, in my experience, had oddly expressive faces; aside from the exceedingly dopey ones, you could tell a lot from how they star
ed up at you, from the way their brows knit or their lips curled. And yet, I doubted I’d ever seen regret flash across a dog’s face. I’d seen pain, the kind animals lashed out against, and even contrition. But never sorrow, never true anguish. Eventually, I turned away, fighting the urge to reflect on everything that had been taken from me, everything I’d lost—as I was certain Cathal was doing. Perhaps that’s why neither of us shared our stories; we’d seen enough of each other’s scars to know what it meant to pick at old wounds. “Aye,” I replied, at last, thinking of my supposed destiny and the ridiculous journey ahead, “though I’m not sure if the future is that much brighter.”
“Your tree disagrees.”
I raised an eyebrow at that. “Gone all optimistic, has she?”
“Did you know your mother killed my master?” Cathal asked, changing the subject abruptly. His tone was surprisingly casual, given the accusation; the faerie hound continued to look to the horizon, his muzzle in profile.
I, meanwhile, could only gape at the question. I certainly hadn’t known, though perhaps I should have. The trouble was that my mother played both prominent and supporting roles in a great many Celtic myths, many of which I’d been hesitant to read; it had felt a little weird, getting to know her that way. It didn’t help that a great deal of the literature contradicted itself; one tale claimed she’d seduced the Dagda while straddling a river, another that she was a vicious, vindictive hag who routinely led people to their doom.
“It was a long time ago,” Cathal continued. “My master refused to love her despite her beauty, and so she brought about his ruin. It’s an old story. A long one.” He huffed, chest vibrating from the force of his own breath. “I hate long stories. But you should know that when I was told to guide you, and where, I wasn’t happy about it.”
“Ye don’t say,” I said, recalling how short the hound had been with me during those first few hours, not to mention how caustic our relationship had become before we’d had to rely on one another to survive. I still wasn’t sure where he and I stood now that we’d left the Otherworld behind. He’d saved my life, and I’d saved his. Once, I might have been naive enough to think that meant we’d formed a bond, even a friendship. But now I knew that wasn’t enough. If it were, I wouldn’t be chasing after Ryan, trying to save him from himself.
“No matter how you look at it,” Cathal said, swiveling his head to look down at my arm, “it seems we were destined to meet. Destined to become linked.”
I followed the hound’s gaze, eyes drawn to the faint impression of teeth on my pale white skin—evidence of Cathal’s bite, a mark that seemingly shackled the two of us together, though neither of us seemed to know which role to play. Was I his master? Was he some sort of familiar, forced to answer my call whenever I needed him? Either way, I wished there was some way to remove it. Cathal was his own person, not a creature to be leashed. Unfortunately, the irony that I was about to try and collar Neverland before the day was through was not lost on me. Still, Cathal and I had yet to hash any of that out, and I secretly hoped that wasn’t where this conversation was going; I had a feeling it would be a long, potentially fruitless chat.
“Destiny can go screw itself,” I muttered.
Cathal grunted. “Pretty sure it’s busy screwing you.”
“Hah hah. Say what ye came to say, already, ye mongrel.”
“You reminded me of him, you know, when we first met. Of my master. He, too, chased after life, noseblind to what was happening around him, always believing he’d relax when he finally caught it,” Cathal said, shifting his weight so his shoulder rested gently against mine. Which was good, considering the hound could have crushed me to death with just one of his paws if he felt the urge. “But lately, not so much.”
I thought about that, then nodded. “I’ve been doin’ some self-assessment, that’s all. Seemed like the t’ing to do, after what happened in the Otherworld. After what we went through in the Blighted Lands.”
“Yeah, well, the tree has noticed, too. I think that’s why she’s so optimistic about the future. Why she wants you to do this.” Cathal rose to all fours, towering over me so that all I could see was his faintly pink belly poking out beneath wisps of grey-white hairs. Mercifully, the rest of him hid behind the dense muscles of his hind legs; I’d caught glimpses of what lay between, but never in such close proximity. “This thing you plan to do,” he said, sounding oddly thoughtful, “I have heard tales of others who have attempted it. I know it seems the only way forward, but you should not take this lightly. Beasts like this one are not so easy to tame.”
I rose, joining the hound, my head in line with his shoulder. Dirt clung to my hands where I’d pressed them to the earth. As I rubbed them clean, I considered Eve’s request, wondering what I’d make of this place when the time came. As an amateur interior designer, I had to admit I had a certain flair; anyone who’d been invited to my apartment said as much. But landscaping was a unicorn of a different color; I couldn’t begin to imagine what a tropical paradise would look like, or even something more architectural in nature. No, what I wanted had to be simple. It had to be able to sustain the Neverlanders, of course, but it wouldn’t be Neverland. Not anymore. Peter Pan no longer played his games here. Hook no longer sailed. The heart and soul of this place had vanished. Which meant, if I had to risk my heart and soul in exchange, I was going to get something worthwhile in the bargain.
“I can’t say I know what I’m doin’,” I said. “Or what I’m about to put meself through. But, in a weird way, it feels like this island and I are related. Like we’re already bound.” I tapped a finger to my head. “Maybe it’s all in me head, but I can’t help feelin’ responsible for this, somehow. If I’d done this sooner, come back earlier, maybe Peter and Hook would still be alive.”
“Don’t be an idiot.” Cathal had to walk a circle to face me, giving me more eye contact in the process than most men do on a first date. “You know, you could just leave it all behind. Not only this island, but all of it. Return to the mortal realm, let the others settle into their new home, and leave this realm to its fate. Your problem is you keep assuming it wouldn’t survive without you. That, and you seem to have this issue with saving everyone and everything, even if it costs you your life.”
I could tell the faerie hound was baiting me, perhaps trying to get me to defend my decisions, but his take was simply too much; I had to laugh, wondering what my nearest and dearest would think hearing me described as a martyr of any sort. Guess I really had changed. Still, he was right; I wasn’t at the center of this conflict, so why was I rushing towards the enemy’s front lines? Why dig myself in deeper? The truth wasn’t as cut and dried as I’d have liked, so I gave him what I could. “Maybe I’m just craving a little absolution,” I said. “I have someone I called a friend out there, prepared to wreak havoc so long as he gets what he wants. A friend whose pain I was blind to, someone I might have helped if I’d been less self-involved. I’m not sure if there’s anythin’ left to save, but I owe it to him to try. That’s why I’m goin’. I’ll let everyone else worry about the fate of the realms.”
“Sounds like you have a hero complex, to me,” Eve chimed in from the other side of the tree, having apparently overheard at least a portion of our conversation.
“Come on,” I said with a sigh, nudging Cathal, “let’s go see if the Evesdropper’s ready.” I nudged him harder. “Get it? Evesdropper?”
Cathal winced, baring his fangs on the one side. “Humans are the worst.”
9
The three of us gathered in front of the decrepit remains of the Hangman’s Tree, Eve facing Cathal and I as though she were about to announce us woman and dog. Indeed, with her limbs spread wide, she rather looked like an officiant, moments away from giving us her blessing. Except it wasn’t a benediction we were receiving—it was a lecture, complete with redundancies.
“Whatever happens, whatever you experience, don’t let your guard down,” she insisted for the third time since I’d r
eturned. “Neverland is weaker than she once was, but that might make her more desperate. Like an animal lashing out when it feels cornered.”
“I thought ye two were connected,” I said, struck by the simplicity of what that meant. “Can’t ye just tell her to roll over and let me win? Avoid the bloodsheddin’ bit altogether?”
“She’s not a creature of reason, Quinn. Once perhaps, but she has been severely diminished since she was first deposited here. Without me translating, without me filtering her memories and emotions, you’d never have been able to communicate with her at all. Besides, it’s not in their nature to simply roll over, any more than it is in yours. Imagine how you’d react if I asked you to lay down and show me your belly.”
I wrinkled my nose, studying the ground. “Bit dirty, but if ye insist—”
“Hold out your hand,” Eve snapped.
I did as she asked, though with more reticence than I would have displayed if she’d had me lay down; there was something intimate about offering someone your hand. Something primal in us resists that urge, recognizing perhaps how valuable the hand is as a tool, how easily mangled it could become. But Eve didn’t reach out and crush it, nor did she cut it open—which is what I’d really feared would happen. Instead, she deposited a pip the size of a walnut. It was light and dry, the outer skin bright as the gold of Eve’s leaves, as though it had been dipped in metallic paint. Unsure what to do with it, I simply stared.
“Aren’t you going to ask what it’s for?” Eve asked, snarkily.
“Wasn’t plannin’ on it. Figured you’d tell me if ye wanted me to know.”
“You know, sometimes I wonder why I bother.”
“I wonder why ye do, too. And not only sometimes.” I grinned a bit and drew my hand back, the seed cupped in the palm of my hand. “Anyway, what’s it for?”
Sea Breeze: Phantom Queen Book 8 - A Temple Verse Series (The Phantom Queen Diaries) Page 6
