Druid (Secrets of the Fae Book 2)

by Rebecca F. Kenney

  On our way to the festival, we pass a square where a crowd of people have gathered— rows and rows of them, backs to the street, wedged tightly together. The air seems thicker and more humid here, and we can all hear thrumming and drumming coming from the center point of the crowd.

  "What is that beat?" Laurel's snapping her long, manicured fingers to the rhythm. "I gotta get me some of this."

  She breaks away from Mike and hops up onto a statue pedestal, peering over the crowd. I'm curious too, so I swing up on the other side.

  The square is actually a small stadium, with rows of concrete benches and a grassy center. In the middle, on the grass and along the first row or two of benches, there are people with drums. It's a close-packed, sweaty, fleshy gathering. Some of the men have their shirts off, and I see all colors of skin, from white and pink and olive to tan and brown and black. Thumping, bumping, jostling, thrumming on the drums— no other instruments. The beat seems to burrow its way into my head and nestle there, urging me to come closer, to join the bodies swaying and the voices calling out here and there over the rhythm.

  "Ladies, ladies," says Mike, walking up to us. "I love me some drums, but we got places to go. Places with actual music."

  "Man, you don't know what you're talking about," says Laurel. "This is beautiful, the community comin' together!"

  "I see some hippies comin' together, right over there," says Mike, pointing to a group that's doing a little too much body-pressing and hip-weaving for a public space. "Come on, my queen, let me help you down."

  Laurel sighs, but she takes his hand and steps down. Zane doesn't ask, just splays both his strong brown hands around my waist and swings me down off the pedestal. For a second I'm right against him, and my stomach erupts into butterflies. His brown eyes are warm, glowing with his smile, and I can feel the heat of him through his T-shirt.

  For a second, nobody but us exists. Nothing but us and the warmth of the June night, and the rhythm, and the pounding of our hearts, and our eyes, locked together, and—

  "Yo," says Julio, pushing between us to peer at the drummers. "C'mon, where's this festival already? This drum thing is so not my scene. Oh, 'scuse me, you guys having a moment? Pardon me while the rest of us just hang out and watch. Not like we got anywhere better to be."

  "Yeah, c'mon ya'll, let's go." Laurel waves us ahead.

  Zane takes my hand with the gentle sort of squeeze that tells me we're going to be revisiting this moment later.

  The festival features a bunch of different bands; and the minute I hear the music, I realize that this whole thing may have been a bad idea. Since I first let loose with my pixie powers at prom, I'm incredibly sensitive to music, and listening to it without dancing like a crazy person is almost painful. I try to enjoy myself, but the entire time all I want to do is let loose and dance. And I could. I could even charm everyone into joining me again, like they did at prom. But Zane wants this weekend to be magic-free, and besides, I can't risk any more attention from those investigators and their Fae Council— if it even exists.

  So I hold myself in, and I only dance in place a little bit, like everyone else in the crowd. By the time everyone's feet are tired from standing and we leave the concert, I feel exhausted and frustrated from holding back.

  When we leave the festival area, I realize that I've completely lost my sense of direction because of how many little side streets and cut-throughs we've taken; although I could find our way back if I kicked in my pixie sense. But Frank seems to know exactly where we are— he used to live in Asheville. He's got his date-of-the-week clinging to his arm— this model is an artificially tanned, artificially blond girl who looks as if a stiff breeze would blow her over— I think her name is Maisie.

  "There's a great place up ahead," he says. "Food, no IDs at the door, music. Let's stop in."

  "Any place where my poor aching feet can have a moment's rest," Laurel groans. She's strapped herself into some stunning skyscraper footgear for our night out— no wonder her feet are hurting.

  "Want me to carry you, baby?" asks Mike. She swats at him with her purse.

  The place Frank knows is a little hole-in-the-wall spot, almost literally. We climb down a dark, narrow flight of steps to a door, which opens into a crowded space with dimly lit booths and heavy wooden ceiling beams.

  "How many?" says the waitress. She's probably right at five feet, with a crop of spiky red hair and black lipstick. I wonder briefly if she's a pixie; but there's no secret password to let you reveal yourself to other Fae— at least none I've learned yet. So I just smile at her and say, "Eight."

  She leads us to an even darker section of the restaurant and seats us in a corner booth. I end up in the very middle of the circular bench, with no way to get out unless I ask three or four people to move. Should have stopped by the bathroom first.

  Once we get settled, I realize that there's live music. Somebody is crooning an Ed Sheeran song, a beautiful piece of passion and pain. In fact, this guy sounds quite a bit like the artist himself. The singer is seated, his back angled toward me as he plays the guitar. After the blood-pumping, foot-stamping music of the festival, this song is refreshingly soft and quiet. I can relax into it.

  "He's pretty good," says Frank.

  "Not my thang," says Mike. "How 'bout you, baby?"

  "You know I like a nice soft love song every now and then," says Laurel. "Frank's right, he's good. Sounds just like Ed Sheeran."

  When the song ends, soft clapping breaks out from the listeners. The singer shifts on his stool, bowing his head to thank them for their attention, and I catch a glimpse of his profile. Strong cheekbones above cheeks faintly sunken; angular jaw, perfectly straight nose, straight black brows over exceptionally long lashes.

  My stomach does a magnificent triple axel.

  I can't be sure in this light. I'm at a weird angle, and I can't see properly. Then—

  "I don't believe it." Zane sounds mad. "Are you kidding me?"

  "Shut up!" exclaims Laurel. "That's Mr. O'Connell! The donor from prom! I didn't know he could sing. Oh, I'm goin' to say hi."

  She leaps up and intercepts the singer as he steps off the small stage, making way for the next musician.

  "Mr. O'Connell! It's Laurel, from prom! Remember me?"

  He looks up, straight into my eyes. There's no doubt now. It's the Far Darrig— Kieran O'Connell, as he likes to be called outside of Fae circles. There's shock in his silver-gray eyes. Either he's surprised to see me, or he's an excellent actor. Probably acting— I wouldn't put it past him to plan something like this, just to mess with me.

  "Of course I remember you, Laurel," he says. "How are you?"

  "Good, good. Just hangin' out. Come on, sit down with us for a bit, come on." She practically pulls him to our booth. "Scooch in, everybody, scooch."

  Zane refuses to scooch, so I end up smushed next to him, so the Far Darrig can sit at the end, next to Laurel. Normally I'd love being this close to Zane, but right now I'm too flustered to enjoy it. Mike doesn't look too happy about his date's enthusiasm, either. Frank's date, Maisie, starts talking and giggling extra loudly, and Julio's girl Carmen just stares. Such is the effect of a gorgeous Fae, one of the last of the Irish god-race, the Tuatha dé Danann.

  "So... how are all of you?" The Far Darrig doesn't look thrilled to be here, but he smiles politely. "Graduation go well?"

  "It was great," says Zane. "Got rid of some creepy characters that were hangin' round, so we could all relax and just enjoy ourselves." He's giving the Far Darrig a hard stare.

  Laurel frowns at him, confused.

  "Yes, graduation was just fine," she says. "All of us will be headed to college this fall, except for Julio and Maisie."

  "Hey, I take life easy," says Julio. "Doubling up on senior year. No shame in my game."

  "And you have plenty of time." The Far Darrig nods to him. "How about the rest of you?" He's looking right at Zane. "Moving away? Headed to a college out of town? Across the country, maybe?"r />
  "Just an hour away," says Zane. "Still plenty close to home. Especially with all the modern methods of travel." The Far Darrig and I both know he's talking about my ability to transport myself instantly— an ability I wouldn't have gotten without the Far Darrig's help.

  "How perfect for you," says the Far Darrig coolly. "I'm afraid I have to go, but it's been nice to see all of you again. Enjoy your evening."

  He stands up and walks away, carrying the guitar. When he's almost out of sight, I make a sudden decision. I have to talk to him, to find out if he's been following me and if he arranged this little encounter. I also need to warn him about the investigators and ask him about the Fae Council. But I can't just follow him out— Zane will be angry.

  "I have to use the bathroom," I say. The bathrooms are in the opposite direction from the exit, so hopefully Zane won't be too suspicious. And if he guesses what I'm up to, I'll just explain later and hope he understands.

  Once I'm locked in a bathroom stall, I think carefully about the street outside the restaurant. There's a dark alley a short way up the street; I looked into it as we passed. That will give me enough of a focal point for a jump.

  I transport there, banging my shin on a dumpster when I appear in the alley. A roach nearly as big as my hand scurries past, and I practically leap out of the alley onto the sidewalk, right in front of the Far Darrig. He swears, and I delight in the fact that I startled him.

  "So, you're here," I say. "Why are you still following me around?"

  "Don't flatter yourself," he retorts. "I didn't follow you here— I've been here for weeks. Visiting a friend."

  "A friend?" I laugh. "You don't have friends. Except for the little green pustules that do your dirty work."

  "The leprechauns are elsewhere, for now," he says. "And yes, I do have friends. Maybe more like what you'd call 'frenemies,' but still— people I know. Why am I explaining myself to you?"

  A door up the street opens, and I glance quickly to make sure it's not Zane coming out of the restaurant to look for me.

  The Far Darrig follows my glance. "Your sweetheart doesn't know you're out here with me."

  "He hates you," I say. "And he has a right to. I don't want to upset him; this was supposed to be just a fun getaway, no magic stuff."

  He tilts his head to one side. "Getting tired of the 'magic stuff,' is he?"

  "I didn't say that." I'm getting off track. Time to focus. "Look, I came out here to warn you. There are two people calling themselves investigators running around back home, asking me questions and looking for you. They say they're from the Fae Council."

  The Far Darrig takes my elbow and ushers me back into the alley. I glance around nervously for cockroaches.

  "The Fae Council? I never heard of it. What do they want?"

  "They're saying that I need to explain everything to them, exactly what's going on and what I've done. If I don't, they say I'll be called before the Council."

  He frowns. "That sounds either very serious or completely false."

  "Right? That's what I said."

  "How do they even know about you and me?"

  "They have video of you doing karaoke at the pub, and testimony from the fenodyree that I took his powers. And one of them witnessed me transporting, the morning after you tried to force me to kill Zane."

  I look him straight in the eye as I say it. I don't know what I'm expecting— regret, an apology, defiance— but I get nothing. Just an unreadable stare from those dark-lashed silver eyes.

  "I have to go," he says.

  "Just a minute." I hand him my phone. "Put in your number. You have a number, right?"

  He stares at the phone, then at me. "Yes, but—"

  "Put it in. In case I need to contact you about something important, like spells or investigators."

  There's a twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he's trying not to smile. He enters the number and hands back my phone. Before he can say anything else, I vanish back to the bathroom stall. I take a minute to do my business before returning to the group.

  "We thought you fell in," says Maisie, giggling. "You were gone a long time."

  "Sorry, I felt a little sick." I can feel Zane watching me, but I don't look at him.

  "Ya'll ready to head for the house?" Laurel asks.

  In about twenty minutes, we're at the place we've rented for the night. The couple who owns it is always traveling and just wanted to make a little extra money, so we scored it cheap. There are a few bedrooms we can use, and two bathrooms.

  Arden is there, working on her laptop at the kitchen island, same as she used to do in the big house we shared with the other Korrigan. "Did you all enjoy yourselves?"

  Everyone else says yes in one way or another, but Zane and I don't respond. While they're all discussing room arrangements, he whispers in my ear, "Meet me in the living room later."

  I feel flutters in my heart and my stomach. I don't know whether he's going to resume our intense moment from earlier or demand to know if I talked to the Far Darrig. And I have to wait nearly two hours to find out, because Laurel, Carmen, and Maisie take forever to get ready for bed and even longer to settle down. Finally, when I think they're mostly asleep, I slide out of the bed I'm sharing with Laurel and slip out the door.

  The guys must have zonked out quickly, because Zane is already in the living room, waiting. He's wearing sweatpants and a white T-shirt whose short sleeves hug his biceps beautifully. His bold handsome features, his close-cropped black hair, his strong gorgeous hands— they're all so familiar to me now, and they mean safety and affection.

  I'm wearing a tank top and shorts, with my hair in a long red braid. The curls that never stay put waft around my face, and I try to tuck them in as I approach him. I sit down on the couch, one leg tucked under me. "What's up?"

  He leans over, with warmth and longing in those brown eyes. "Come here. You're too far away."

  He pulls me onto his lap, and our mouths meet immediately. Kissing him is like magic— not real magic, which feels like an uncomfortable buzzing over the skin— but the kind of magic that sets my insides on fire. There's a sort of glow that grows inside me, stronger at any point of my body that touches his.

  So this is not an inquiry about the Far Darrig, then.

  I'm not sure how long we sit there, just kissing; but eventually he's lying on the couch and I'm lying on top of him. His hands move over my back, staying in respectable zones. He's never pushed me to do anything more.

  But suddenly, I want to. I lift my head, breaking the kiss, and look into his eyes. "Do you want me?" I whisper.

  Sudden fire leaps into his gaze. "Yes."

  "Then act like it."

  He doesn't waste any time. He's kissing me deeper, hands moving to new areas and under clothes. I'm burning up, I'm in such a frenzy I can hardly think.

  And then, someone clears her throat.

  "Ahem."

  Flushed, I whirl to see Arden in the doorway, not looking the least bit sorry for interrupting. I'm going to kill her.

  "Bedtime, Aislinn."

  I turn back to Zane and mouth, "I'm so sorry," before swinging off him and stalking to the door.

  "Good night, Zane," Arden says. "Get some rest."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  On our way down the hall, I hiss at her, "What did you do that for?"

  She smirks. "I'm the chaperone. That's my job."

  "That's your job description; you don't have to follow it."

  "Aislinn, do you want your first time to be here? In someone else's rented house, on a couch that doesn't belong to either of you, with friends nearby who could walk in any minute? And no protection?"

  She's right about all of it, and I'm furious. And grateful.

  "You're like a mom," I say, and it's both a rebuke and a compliment. For a second, I think I see those dark eyes of hers soften. Then she says, "Get to bed."

  In the girls' bedroom, I slip back under the sheets beside Laurel. She murmurs, "Did you do it?"


  Way uncomfortable, because she and Zane used to date, and they did it. Once, shortly before she broke things off.

  "I am so not telling you." I flounce over in bed.

  "So that's a 'no,' then."

  I ignore her.

  But sleep won't come. It just won't. I don't know if it's the excited state my body is in, or the flurry of questions in my head, but I can't rest. Finally, after lying there in the dark with my eyes wide open for ages, I give up and grab my phone.

  When I unlock it, the first thing I see is the number that the Far Darrig typed into my phone. He entered his name as "Consultant." I smile. Then I erase it, type in "Kieran," and save the contact.

  In the weeks since Zane's graduation, I've been wondering about him now and then— if he really left, and how far away he went. Checking out every guy in a red shirt or jacket. Thinking I hear his voice in crowds.

  It's not that I'm scared of him. After all, I broke his enchantment the night he tried to make me kill Zane.

  It's not that I like him. He wanted Zane dead, partly out of pure jealousy and partly out of a misguided desire to free me from "distraction," help me focus on the long game and the use of my powers.

  It's more that he was there, in my life, and then he was gone. He told me things about himself that he claims not to have told anyone else. Thanks to the enchanted ruby necklace, we shared each other's dreams. We laughed. I cried in front of him, two or three times. You don't just share all that with someone and then forget about them in a second.

  After that horrible night when I beat his face to a pulp and told him to leave, there was a gap inside me. An empty place that I've been carrying around, no matter where I go. The thought that he might be across the country, across the world, never to be seen again— it made me feel hollow.

  And when I saw him tonight, I felt as if a puzzle piece had clicked back into place in the picture of my existence.

  Hiding the light of my phone under the covers, I text him. It's like 2 a.m., but I don't even care if I wake him up. If I do, he deserves it.