She opened her eyes and looked up at the sisters of The Morrigan standing together atop Oweynagat’s ogham stone.
Macha released Badbh’s hands, and Nemain reached forward to keep Badbh from buckling under the powerful vision.
Sally knelt behind Freya and rested a hand on her back. “What is it? What just happened?”
Freya sat in stunned silence. Badbh turned her way and held her gaze.
Macha laid a hand on Badbh’s elbow. “I’ll ask again. Are you willing to accept the consequences of this action?”
Tears streamed down Freya’s cheeks. She looked up at her grandmother and shook her head.
“No,” Badbh said at last. “The cost is too great.”
Freya held her face in her hands and wept. “It wasn’t real,” she whispered. “It didn’t happen.”
“What didn’t happen?” Sally asked.
Freya reached for Sally’s hands and held on tight. She was afraid to breathe in case she might break Macha’s vision before it truly settled into Badbh’s bones.
Macha stepped back from her sister. She and Nemain stood together as Badbh turned to face the Æsir and their allies.
“Odin, Chief of the House of Asgard,” Badbh called with an audible crack in her voice.
Odin dipped his head. “Badbh, keeper of the cauldron, mistress of The Morrigan.”
“Please,” Freya whispered.
Badbh paused to get control over her breathing. She glanced at Freya, still kneeling in the grass, and then looked down to Freyr who lurked in the shadows of Oweynagat below.
“Hold your position, Freyr,” Badbh said softly. “We won’t be here long.”
“Freyr?” Sally’s voice caught in her throat. “He’s here? He’s alive?”
Freya squeezed Sally’s fingers. “Just hang on, Sally.”
“Your voluntary retreat into the cauldron was one of the conditions of the treaty,” Odin said. “As was the continued wellbeing of my kin, Hœnir and Mímir.”
Badbh didn’t laugh. She listened instead.
“For the sake of the peace, for all of us, I overlooked their murder,” Odin continued.
Badbh nodded. “That was an unfortunate time in our history.”
“I am hoping to avoid more such unpleasantness now.” Odin gestured toward Freya on the ground beside him. “I have kept your grandchildren safe by my own fire, and have adopted them into my family.”
“Yet you have set foot on Vanir soil,” Badbh replied, then she raised a hand and offered a small smile of acquiescence. “As you had reason to.”
“We can end this war before it begins in earnest,” Odin called up to Badbh, and then looked to Macha and Nemain in turn.
“Please,” Freya whispered again. Sally squirmed and yelped, and Freya relaxed her grip on the Rune Witch’s hands.
Badbh lifted her arms and addressed the field. “Let us not condemn this land, nor the continents and seas beyond, to this bloodshed.”
Thor frowned and glanced around the complex of ancient earthworks. “Is she talking to us?”
Freya sniffed as fresh tears sprang to her eyes. “She’s addressing the land, and all who dwell on or in it.”
She climbed to her feet and turned to her Æsir kin and human friends. “It’s over.” She smiled and wiped at her wet face. “You all fought so bravely.”
Looking to the edge of the grassy field, Freya caught Loki’s eye. He lifted his shoulders in a half-shrug then quirked one corner of his mouth upward into an approving smile.
Niall lifted his shillelagh. “But we didn’t do anything.”
Freya’s smile broadened, and she reached out to Niall and squeezed his shoulder. “You did more than you’ll ever know. You might consider training with Bria, though, in addition to your college studies.”
Freya turned to face the cave. Her brother’s name was on her lips as she rested her hands on her heart and strode forward. She looked up at Badbh as she approached.
“I will not lose you both,” Badbh said.
“I know.” Freya glanced into the shadows of the cave. She could barely make out the figure of her brother standing out of reach of the sunlight. Her eyes threatened to fill with tears again. She looked back up at her grandmother. “You will keep him safe.”
“You have my word, child.” Badbh gave her a sad smile and then looked to Odin. “I return, voluntarily, to the Black Pool.”
Macha and Nemain took Badbh gently by the elbows. Before they turned away from the field, Macha locked eyes with Freya.
“Thank you,” Freya whispered.
Macha nodded once, then tossed her fiery hair over her shoulder and locked arms with her sisters. The Morrigan started down the steep descent from the moss-covered ogham stone. Freya watched as the three sisters faded on the air with each step until they simply weren’t there anymore.
When Freya glanced again into the shadows of Oweynagat, Freyr was gone.
The Morrigan was gone.
It was still Samhain, but the danger had passed. And everyone was hungry.
Sally stood alone on the grass and watched Freya peer sadly into the Oweynagat cave while the others ambled back to the parking area. Then Freya angled her face to the sky, whispered words Sally couldn’t hear, and turned to head back to the van.
Sally strode forward, her steps more confident than her heart. She walked toward the cave entrance, then stopped and studied the lintel where the three sisters of The Morrigan had stood together mere minutes earlier. The stone was overgrown with grass and moss, but Sally could just make out the worn carvings. She had no idea what the inscription said.
She stared into the darkness of the cave.
“Freyr?” she called tentatively, and received only silence in reply. She hadn’t really expected an answer, but still she hoped.
“Freyr? Are you there?” she called again. “Can you hear me?”
There was the tiny echo of a single pebble hitting stone deep within the cave. Sally stepped forward as if to enter, but she stopped at the line of shadow on the ground that separated the living field from the entrance to the underworld. It was cold on the other side of that line, and she could feel the darkness reaching for her.
Sally’s heart trembled in her chest. She looked again at the lintel stone, and then glanced to either side. No one was watching. She spotted a thick twig on the ground. She picked it up and used it to churn up the damp soil at the cave entrance.
She didn’t pause to think about what she was doing; that would have stopped her for sure. When she’d dug up a small pile of rich Éireann earth, she tossed the stick aside and scooped the dirt into her bare hand and then shoved it into the front pocket of her jeans.
I’ll figure this out, Sally swore. Somehow, I’ll make this right.
She heard Heimdall call her name from the parking area. Without a parting glance at Oweynagat, Sally turned and dashed toward the vehicle.
From his perch atop the grassy rise at the other end of the field, Loki smiled.
As the sun was setting over the Irish countryside, Freya laid the unused shillelaghs into the dolmen’s open portal chamber. It had been a somber drive back from the Cruachain complex, and Freya had battled every minute to put her brother out of her mind.
“I don’t understand what happened,” Sally said, standing next to Freya.
Freya rested her hands on the ancient stones and closed her eyes. “Macha, the red-haired sister of The Morrigan, has the gift of prophecy.”
“Is that where you get your mind-reading talents? From The Morrigan?”
“It’s not really mind-reading.” Freya paused. “But I guess it runs in the family. That has to be why I shared Badbh’s vision. At least, I think that’s what occurred.”
Sally looked back Heimdall, Thor, Niall, Odin, and Loki waiting outside the Red Top Tours van. Thor seemed particularly agitated. He had a far-away expression on his face as he slowly twirled the leprechaun hammer in his fingers. Sally got the feeling he was itching to use it.
>
Across the distance, Loki met Sally’s gaze. She looked for some hint of regret or apology in his eyes, but there was none. Still, his gaze conveyed friendship and unwavering loyalty. Sally turned back to Freya.
“And what you saw wasn’t good,” Sally said.
“No.” Freya’s breath caught in a short sob. “No, it wasn’t good.”
Sally placed her hand over her pocket and felt the dampness of the Oweynagat earth seeping through to her skin. “What about Freyr?”
Freya glanced at Sally and shook her head. Sally wanted to say more, anything to keep open the door of Freyr’s possible return, but Freya broke off and turned toward the others. “Thor, I need that hammer. Now.”
Thor frowned at the small hammer in his hands. “Are you certain I can’t keep it? It’s kind of on the dinky side so I’d probably have no trouble taking it on the airplane. And those little marshmallow crowns are kind of tasty.”
“Thor.” Freya’s voice was stern. “The hammer.”
With a heavy shrug, Thor headed toward the dolmen. He took his time about it, and he paused before he handed over the hammer.
“Who’s to say there isn’t another faerie fracas going on back in Dublin? Maybe I should hang onto this, in case we need it later.”
Freya laid her hand on the wooden shaft. “It’s not yours to keep, nor to wield.” She withdrew the cobbler’s hammer from Thor’s grasp. “It wouldn’t have suited you long-term, anyway.”
Freya leaned over the burial stones to return the hammer to the cache of ancient weapons.
“Not even as a souvenir?” Thor asked, his eyebrows lifted in hope.
Freya straightened and patted Thor’s arm. “Sorry.”
“I hate Ireland,” Thor grumbled and stomped back toward the car.
Sally moved out of the way while Heimdall helped Freya replace the dolmen’s table stone. She shoved her hands into her jeans pockets, plunging the fingers of one hand into the soil of Éireann while her other hand brushed against the exhausted eye stone from Badbh’s eel bracelet. She pulled out the piece of natrolite and held it up to the fading Samhain sun.
Loki stepped up beside her.
“Do you think Frigga will let me keep it?” she asked. “I mean, if there’s supposedly no power left in it?”
“Doubtful.” Loki smiled. “Even burnt out, a magickal tool will retain traces of its former power.”
Sally looked up at Loki and narrowed her eyes. “You’re not sharing everything you know.”
Loki chuckled and patted Sally on the back. “I rarely do.”
She was tempted to wriggle away from his touch, but there was still something comforting about Loki’s presence at her side.
“I don’t know if I can trust you,” she said at last.
Loki nodded toward Heimdall and Thor standing by the tour van. “Join the party.”
Sally waited for him to continue. Finally, Loki shrugged.
“I will never deliberately put you in the way of certain harm,” he said. “This I promise you.” He looked away. “Think of me as a facilitator.”
Sally knew she wouldn’t get any more out of him. Not now. She stared at the stone resting in her open palm. What had once been sparkling white was now dull. It looked like any other dirty pebble from someone’s driveway. “Do you think he’s still alive?”
Loki remained silent.
“Badbh wanted to bring back Vanaheim,” she said. “She was going to pull Freyr through that underground cave to remake him as the Vanir prince she wanted him to be.”
Loki nodded.
Sally made a fist around the stone in her hand. “Do you think there’s enough magick left to bring back Freyr? And Clare? That pooka, Phelan—he said he owes me a favor.”
Loki took Sally’s wrists gently into his hands. Sally knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth, but she clung to hope that she was wrong.
“Even if such a thing were possible, Sally, how would you choose between your friends if you could not have them both?” he asked. “A single favor could not be redeemed for two resurrections.”
“Freyr is important to the Lodge, and to Freya.” Sally watched Freya walk back to the van. “But Clare . . . Even if she was rash and was a total pain, she didn’t deserve to die.” Her face darkened into a deep frown. “I don’t think I’d be able to choose.”
“A good thing you don’t have to,” Loki said. “A pooka doesn’t have that kind of power.”
“Speaking of pookas.” Thor grabbed Loki’s shoulder and spun him around. “You still haven’t explained how you always manage to show up just when all earthly and other-worldly hell breaks loose.”
“Just lucky.” Loki shrugged.
Thor glared at him from beneath lowered eyebrows. “You said the Wargs and the pookas are cousins.”
Loki raised a placating hand. “I said nothing of the sort—nor did anyone else, as I recall. However, you are correct. There is a kinship, though somewhat more distant than you might imagine.”
“I knew it!” Thor exclaimed. “As soon as that sniveling black cur of a pooka showed up on the scene and Freyr said—”
Thor stopped mid-sentence. His eyes widened, then misted over.
“And then Freyr said,” Thor tried again, but he choked on the words. “Freyr . . .”
Loki held his arms open. The god of thunder collapsed into Loki’s embrace and sobbed into his shoulder.
19
November 9. Sally was back on campus, standing just inside the Trinity College gates. The place was still a chaotic mess.
The newspapers had reported a sharp uptick in Halloween pranksters “getting out of hand.” It was just as good an explanation as any for the faerie rampage across Dublin and into the countryside. Even the two-headed water dragon had been rationalized away as an animated parade float that accidentally ended up in the Liffey.
Sally had seen the repair work being done on the Gresham Hotel and up and down O’Connell Street. Before returning to Oregon, Freya had organized the available Tuatha de Danann into discreet work crews that made miraculous progress each night and left the less significant work to the human crews during daylight hours.
But at Trinity College, the faeries were out in force as they rebuilt benches, re-sodded the green spaces, replaced windows and bricks, and gathered up the miles and miles of toilet paper that decorated every tree, statue, and edifice on campus.
Sally was impressed. She stood and watched the faerie workers, and she smiled at so many pointed ears disguised under knitted caps—while brightly striped socks, diaphanous gowns, and other telltale faerie features were on full display for any human who cared to notice.
With a special clean-up crew assigned to Sally and Clare’s campus flat, Clare had gotten her pixie housekeeper after all. Only there was no more Clare.
Sally’s smile dropped.
The campus newspaper and gossip blogs were abuzz with the mysterious death of the international student from Texas. Stories told of her suspicious disappearance from campus the weekend prior to Halloween. Students hungry for a few minutes of fame stepped forward with claims of having seen Clare Bixby outside of campus that Sunday and Monday, and Sally recognized a few of these stories as being true.
After that, however, imagination took a sharp left away from the truth. Speculation about the nature of Clare’s death ran rampant after her body was discovered in the early morning hours of November 1. She was found floating in the Poddle River, downstream of its confluence with the Liffey. Even more perplexing were the scores of “faerie dolls” bobbing in the water all around her. Sally hadn’t gotten the final tally on the number of Tuatha de Danann whose bodies had been purged from the Black Pool and into the river.
The media wasted no time sensationalizing it all.
“Halloween hijinks gone very wrong,” the local radio stations proclaimed as they warned against the “darkness” and “insidiousness” of alternative religion and the isolation that foreign students might be subje
cted to on campus.
“Real-life witch’s ritual has deadly results,” was the headline on the website of Trinity’s alternative student publication, The Brazen Harp.
Now there were notices posted around campus announcing special meetings on “The Dangers of Solitary Cults,” socials and pub crawls for lonely foreign students, and the inevitable “Everything You Need to Know about Wicca” seminar.
Everyone was asking questions about Clare. Even a week later, reporters were pinging Sally’s phone, requesting everything from what kind of shoes Clare wore and the titles of the books she’d been reading to pleas for in-depth interviews about what it was like to share an apartment with a teenage witch. They all assumed that Sally and Clare, being American flatmates at a foreign college, would naturally have been best friends.
But all these stories made it apparent how few friends Clare had really had.
Sally kept her head down and her mouth shut. Trinity offered two weeks of bereavement leave under the unusual circumstances of her roommate’s death, but Sally only used a few days of it. Now she was gritting her way through the mandatory counseling.
Heimdall had been on her case to return to Portland with him. She could take the rest of the year off to study with Frigga, he’d said, and then start again at Portland State the next summer or fall.
But Sally chose to stay. She wanted to finish what she’d started, even if she wasn’t sure what that was. After extracting a promise from Niall and his land healer family to watch over Sally and see to it that she became more familiar with the local legends and spirits, Heimdall had to admit he was beaten.
Odin and Loki knew enough to leave her alone, at least for the time being.
Freya remained silent.
But Heimdall had made Sally turn her Connemara marble ring over to Bria O’Shay. No one could say for certain if the Rune Witch’s magick had interacted with the marble to cause or exacerbate the recent unpleasantness, but the thing had weighed heavily on Sally’s hand and she was relieved to be rid of it.
After a few false starts, Sally managed to pack up Clare’s things. Even Thor had offered to help, but she wanted to do it herself. They hadn’t been close, but Sally decided Clare deserved better than to have strangers sort through her belongings.
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