by Mary Lindsey
Anna caught my sleeve as I turned to leave. “Wait. Who is that jerk?”
Jerk was a good word. Not exactly the one I had in mind, though. “That jerk is my foster father.”
She had to practically run to keep up with me. “You’re just gonna let him talk to you like that?”
“Absolutely.” I realized with some amazement that it was she who followed me this time. I shortened my strides slightly to allow her to keep pace without running.
“Why?” She was a little out of breath, which added a whole new appeal to her voice.
The bell on the door of the store clanged as I opened it for her. “Because I have a very strong survival instinct and that ‘jerk’ controls whether or not I starve or freeze to death. Also because he can overpower me and it’s unpleasant when he does. I avoid it whenever possible.”
She stopped just inside the door. “He hits you?” She actually looked concerned, as my Anna would.
I walked past her to sit on a stool near the counter. “Sometimes.”
Her endless blue eyes met mine. “That’s not right.”
“Most things aren’t.”
She stared at my face as if searching for something lost. Her brow furrowed as her mind toiled. Undoubtedly my situation made no sense to her. She lived in a world of unfathomable privilege. Yet, from the tabloid accounts I’d read, that luxury didn’t bring her happiness. This beautiful creature suffered too, and based on the fact she’d almost succumbed to the call of the sea, she was likely equally miserable. Time expanded infinitely as we stared at each other, souls communing on some level beyond earthly. I thought perhaps on Sht ble. Tily I felt it, but she returned my gaze with equal intensity, as if she too were under the spell.
“Well, you two are back fast,” Francine said, jerking me back to reality. She stopped in the doorway to the loading dock behind the store. “Are you hungry? I’ve got chowder on the stove.”
“I . . . um . . .” Anna looked from Francine to the phone. “I appreciate your offer, but I really should go. I’d like to use the phone again first if that’s okay.”
“Certainly, dear.” Francine led her to the console. “What number?”
After dialing, Francine joined me at the counter. Out of politeness, we should have given Anna some privacy, but I felt compelled to stay near her, as if she would dissipate like a dream if I left her presence.
She shifted her weight from one slender foot to the other in nervous anticipation. Perhaps, for different reasons, she feared her parents just as I feared Pa.
“Dad,” she said, turning her back to us. “Sorry to leave a message on your cell, but I couldn’t reach you at the house. I need to come home. I have to get out of this place. I’m . . .” She glanced over her shoulder at us. “I’ll just call back later.” Her voice became soft and tremulous. “Please don’t leave me here.”
I feared for a moment she would cry, but instead, she stood straighter and lifted her chin before placing the handset gently in the cradle. After a deep breath, she faced us. “Thanks.”
“It’s no trouble, dear,” Francine said. “Are you sure you don’t want to join Liam for a nice bowl of chowder?”
Her smile was an admirable effort, but clearly forced. “No. I should really go.”
“Why?” I asked on impulse. I didn’t want to part from her yet. Not when I finally had her near. Not when I felt alive for the first time in years.
“Miss Ronan doesn’t know I’m gone.”
Francine snorted. “I’m quite certain she does. She doesn’t miss anything, the nosy old . . .” Francine cleared her throat. “Never mind. Bad words, thoughts, and deeds come back, you know.”
Anna pushed the door open. “Thank you for letting me use the phone.” Her eyes met mine briefly and a lovely flush of pink moved up her neck. “Bye, Liam. It was great to see you again.”
“Wait!” Francine trotted behind the counter quicker than I’d ever seen her move. “I need Liam to take something to Taibhreamh.”
She pulled out a large burlap bag of coffee beans and set them on top of the counter, giving me a look I knew well. It was the do-as-I-say-and-ask-no-questions look. I’d received it week before last when she bargained with a vendor. “Here. Go with Anna and deliver this to Miss Ronan.” She shoved the bag closer to the edge of the counter.
I thought for a moment that Anna would protest, but she shrugged instead. Maybe she wasn’t ready to part company yet either—or maybe she was just too polite to object.
Regardless of her motivation, I slid the bag of coffee beans off the counter onto my good shoulder and fell into step beside her, thrilled
at the prospect of being in her presence all the way up to Taibhreamh.
5
There are surel Vht blnter">y other worlds than this—other thoughts than the thoughts of the multitude—other speculations than the speculations of the sophist.
—Edgar Allan Poe,
from “The Assignation,” 1834
The path to Taibhreamh, once well worn by villagers walking to and from work at the vast estate, was now overgrown—almost obliterated in some areas like the cliff-side section we were currently climbing. When the Leighton family stopped summering on Dòchas over a decade ago, Miss Ronan let all the villagers employed there go. On rare occasions, she brought in a few for odd jobs, but the only permanent employee other than Miss Ronan was Connor MacFarley, the groundskeeper.
Anna stopped when we reached the top of the first hill. Her shoulders rose and fell as she breathed in the ocean air. She hadn’t said anything since we left the village, so I remained silent as well, waiting for her to lead.
The waves, which had been so menacing during last night’s storm, lapped the jetty below in gentle foamy caresses. During the day, it was hard to believe the lore—hard unless you had experienced it firsthand. Living on Dòchas had taught me that things were never what they seemed. Something darker always lurked under even the most placid surface.
Anna opened her mouth and then clamped it shut, evidently deciding the words were wrong. I shifted the bag of coffee beans on my shoulder closer to my neck and waited.
Still, she stared over the cliffs at the jetty, her expression as turbulent as the sea had been last night. Without a doubt, she wanted to talk about what had happened but wasn’t ready, or perhaps just didn’t know how to begin a conversation that unconventional. In her world, things like that didn’t happen.
“I hate this place,” she said finally.
I did too, but that wasn’t what she wanted to talk about. I shifted the bag of coffee again.
“It makes me jumpy—not right, you know what I mean?” She sat on a large stone a few feet from the path and stared at the jetty below.
I knew exactly what she meant. The Otherworlders’ presence on Dòchas was strong. Humans have a natural instinct to deny things that are not of the human world, which in most places shuts them out. Dòchas was different: the villagers’ beliefs gave the Otherworlders enough power to transcend their plane and interact in ours.
I squatted down and let the bag of coffee fall from my shoulder, then sat on a rock on the opposite side of the trail. “Why are you here, Anna?”
“As a punishment. More like a banishment, really,” she said with a shrug, still looking over the cliff at the water. “I pissed my family off.”
“Ah.” In a way, I was banished as well. We had that in common.
“It’s stupid, really.” She picked up a small stone and pitched it over the edge to the water below. “My brother’s getting married, so they want me out of the way until it’s over. The wedding is a big deal because my brother has political aspirations and is marrying the daughter of a governor.” She brushed away the hair that had blown across her face. “You know this already, don’t you?”
“I know about the wedding because of the newspapers. I know nothing about why you were sent away.”
She laughed—not a genuine laugh—it was melancholic and ful [holout l of pain. My chest
pinched at her misery.
“If you read the papers,” she said, “then you know exactly why I’m here.”
Poor Anna. No wonder the Na Fir Ghorm had almost claimed her. The sorrow ringing in her voice was almost palpable.
“There’s a significant delay in my news. The boats only come once every other week in these warmer months, weather permitting. Once a month if we’re lucky in the winter, so I’m not very current on the big city happenings.”
“That makes sense,” she said. “It must drive you crazy to be isolated like this.”
“It’s all I’ve ever known. I suppose the lack of comparison to other places and lifestyles keeps me sane.” I couldn’t help but smile when her beautiful brow furrowed in concern. She was exquisite. Only a fool would send her away. “What did you do to anger your family so?”
“You really do talk funny,” she replied.
“You’re being evasive. The paper will eventually arrive and I’ll read about it. I’d rather hear it directly from the source.”
One side of her mouth turned up in a half smile. “It’s silly, really. I got carried away at a friend’s party at a hotel and ended up . . . a little underdressed.” She looked back out over the sea and pitched another rock over the cliff.
“If the tabloids are correct, you’ve done that before,” I answered.
“Yeah, but this time I got arrested and they mentioned my brother’s wedding and his fiancée’s father’s name in every article about it. When the local news showed shots of me wrapped in a blanket in the back of a police cruiser, my mom packed my bags.” Her eyes met mine. “And here I am.”
“And here you are.” Her misfortune had created my luckiest day. “Dòchas isn’t really all that bad. Not as bad as jail, right?”
She turned her head back to the sea. “I’m not sure. Jail might have been safer. Things aren’t right here.”
Perhaps she trusted me enough to talk about what had driven her to the water last night. “I know,” I almost whispered, willing her to confide in me. “Dòchas is unique.”
After what felt like an eternity, she tore her eyes away from the jetty and leveled her tear-filled gaze on me. “I thought I heard something last night out on those rocks.”
She was holding back—testing me to see if I would mock her claim. I’d done the same thing when it happened to me the first time. Fortunately, Francine had been the perfect confidante. “Yes, I know.”
“What . . .” Her voice trailed off. I understood her struggle. It was difficult to reconcile the fantastic with reality, hard to accept that things we can’t see exist—terrifying, in fact. Anna had every right to be afraid. The fear was good. It would keep her alive. “What did I hear? What was that?”
“The Na Fir Ghorm.”
She twisted her fingers together in her lap. “The blue men that wreck ships and stuff? My uncle told me stories about those when I was a little girl. Miss Ronan mentioned them last night.”
I nodded.
She sat very still, probably reliving last night’s terror. Then she shook her head and stood. “Miss Ronan is nuts and my uncle’s stories were nothing but fairy tales.” She shook her head and started back up t [tedad and she path. “It’s all total crap.”
Denial was natural and would weaken the lure of the Na Fir Ghorm. She was emotionally fragile right now and an easy target for them. Best to leave it like this. Francine had allowed me to accept it gradually and I would extend Anna the same courtesy.
Most people on Dòchas had been told the stories from birth. My ma had kept them from me, probably to protect me, though I’d heard parts of stories on the wharf and when people spoke in hushed tones about me. But it wasn’t until the sea first called that I became aware of the reality of the Otherworlders’ existence. I hadn’t been prepared, and neither was Anna.
I got on my knees and shoved my forearm under the bag of coffee. I wasn’t sure if I could pick it up from this angle or not. I pinned the bag by closing my bicep over the top, but it was too bulky and awkward to roll up on the first try. I repositioned my arm underneath it.
“Do you need help?” Anna called from up the path.
I did need help, but Pa had trained me to never ask. Self-sufficiency was strength. I positioned myself better to lift and stand at the same time, squatting instead of kneeling this time and placing my feet far apart. Sliding the bag off the counter to my shoulder at the store was one thing. Picking it up from the ground was another thing entirely. I should never have put it down.
“Hey, let me help,” she said, lifting from the bottom and lessening the weight of the bag as I stood and rolled it to my shoulder.
Our eyes met, and again it felt to me as though our souls touched, just as they had in the store. Perhaps it was her proximity that induced the spell; most likely, it was my own overactive imagination.
Her gaze dropped to my left arm hanging uselessly at my side and then back to my face. “What happened?”
No one had ever asked me that before. Everyone on Dòchas just knew. If she wasn’t ready for the reality of the Na Fir Ghorm, she certainly wasn’t ready for the truth about me.
“I was born this way.”
She nodded and started up the path again. I let out the breath I’d been holding. She had accepted my answer without issue, buying me more time with her. Time I didn’t have a lot of. As soon as she knew the truth, she, like almost everyone else on this island, would have nothing to do with me. She would mock and fear me—but not nearly as much as I feared myself.
Still, I had this moment with her. This brief, brilliant moment to cling to when she was gone again.
“We don’t need coffee,” she said over her shoulder.
“I know.”
“Why do you think Francine sent it?”
She paused briefly at the top of a rise and I caught up. “I wouldn’t even begin to try to decipher Francine’s intentions. She’s a very deep well.”
Tilting her head, she crossed her arms over her chest. “You are too, aren’t you, Liam?”
I said nothing, as her question wasn’t intended to elicit a response.
She captured a strand of hair that had blown across her face and tucked it behind her ear. “Prince Leem was so skilled and brave, he fought off a dragon with only one arm. I remembered that part, I just didn’t remember why.”
She didn’t remember because at the time, it didn’t matter. Children look for the good [ fohy.” and are not yet tarnished by the darkness. To the residents of Dòchas, darkness was often realized at a very young age. In my case, it had been a part of me since birth.
I attempted a smile. “That dragon didn’t stand a chance.”
“No, it didn’t.” She smiled and headed up the trail again.
The path turned northeast and cut through the woods. Dòchas was small but had rugged and varied terrain. When I was a child, this was my favorite part of the island. Like something out of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, the woods had allotted me hours of fantasy and pleasure. More than that, they had offered me a place to hide.
Sun flitted across the leaves and boughs as the wind caught the branches, giving the woods life and the magical quality I’d always loved. Flecks of light bounced off of Anna’s long, silky hair, making her appear as ethereal as Titania.
A high keening pierced the air. The wailing was unmistakable. Once you’ve heard a Bean Sidhe, you can never forget it. Their mournful wails were singular and I’d heard them all my life. It was part of my punishment, but I’d never heard them during the daylight hours before.
Anna froze and her breathing increased in pace. She’d heard them too. “Oh, God,” she whispered.
Why she would hear them was unknown to me. Only those bound to the wrongfully dead could hear their cries.
She bolted up the path without warning, as if she hoped to outrun them. But Bean Sidhes couldn’t be outrun. Like all Otherworlders, their powers transcended our feeble human abilities. As expected, the wails became louder. Anna covered her e
ars and continued to run. I had no choice but to lay chase. If the Na Fir Ghorm tried to claim her when she cleared the woods, they would no doubt have an easy time of it as frightened as she was. “Anna, stop!” I shouted. “They mean no harm.”
She didn’t slow until she burst out of the woods and into the brilliant sunshine. Even then, she only reduced her pace slightly. Bag of coffee bouncing on my shoulder, I finally caught up. She gradually slowed to a walk, but her features remained ashen.
“Truly, they mean you no harm,” I said, catching my breath.
Her lips drew to a thin line as she began the final ascent to the mansion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“They favor dark places,” I said. “In fact, it’s rare to hear them except at night.”
She slapped a bug away from her face before gracefully picking her way over the low rock wall marking the estate grounds. “I didn’t hear anything.”
So be it. If she needed to maintain her denial a bit longer, I’d let her. Acceptance is never instantaneous. It took me a considerable amount of time to
embrace it myself. Part of me still held out hope it was all just a terrible dream. The other part of me knew better.
6
I know not how it was—but, with the first glimpse of the building, a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit.
—Edgar Allan Poe,
from “The Fall of the House of Usher,” 1839
Taibhreamh means “to dream” in Gaelic. Perhaps Anna’s anc ^fonestors had a peculiar sense of humor because no name could be less fitting for the mansion.
