Druid (Secrets of the Fae Book 2)

by Rebecca F. Kenney

  Maybe this safe deposit box holds some answers about them. I'll take anything.

  Calling the bank and setting up an appointment is a new experience for me. The appointment is during Zane's work hours, so I'm not even sure how I'll get there. For a second, I consider calling the Far Darrig— Kieran— for a ride. But I hate him thinking of me as the insecure teen who can't drive, is nervous about going in the bank by herself, and doesn't know what to do about college. When I'm with him, I feel like he sees me as so much more— older, smarter, more important, more powerful. Cooler. Why ruin that image?

  In the end, I call a lift to get to the bank. It's a plain building, dull gray concrete with some navy trim for color. When I open the doors, there's a blast of cold air-conditioning and a smell of copy paper, varnish, and air freshener. It's very quiet, with only the low hum of computers and a little soft music over the speakers.

  A few customers stand at the stations along the big counter— a woman with some kids, a young couple.

  I walk uncertainly across the lobby, past heavy chairs and a thick rope hung between two waist-high brass pillars. The young couple finishes up at their station and leaves, and I step forward.

  "Can I help you, honey?" asks the woman behind the counter.

  "I have a meeting here, with Ms. White?"

  The woman points to a row of glass-walled offices to one side of the lobby. "Right there, third door."

  As I walk toward the office, I notice the three children standing behind one of the customers at the counter. They're all watching me, grinning.

  Grinning a little too widely. Licking their lollipops a little too zestfully.

  There's something about those smiles that looks familiar.

  I'm imagining things. Of course they're not leprechauns.

  I smash right into the office window.

  "Oh my gosh!" says the lady inside. "Honey, are you okay?"

  "Yes," I say, rubbing my forehead. "I got distracted, didn't look where I was going." Great. They're not giving a college loan to someone who walks straight into windows.

  The children behind me are snickering in a very un-childlike way. I know those voices— no illusion can disguise them. They are leprechauns!

  But the adult they're with seems perfectly normal. She's a lumpy, wide-hipped woman with flat brown hair, combed back into a greasy ponytail.

  Maybe the leprechauns are changelings, and they've stashed her real children somewhere. But why would they be hanging out with this woman?

  "Come on, Bert, Liam, Bella. We're following the nice man to the vault, to see Grandpa's special box," says the mother. "Won't that be exciting?"

  They don't answer, just follow her along.

  "You kids are being so good and quiet today! Such a treat for Mommy." The woman sounds so grateful I feel sorry for her. I wonder what her children are like when they're not leprechauns.

  Leprechauns going to the bank vault. That's got to be bad news.

  I remember the Far Darrig telling me that leprechauns crave gold in all its forms, including the golden Life-Stream. What if they're here to steal some gold from the vault?

  "Miss Byrne," the lady in the office calls to me. "Are you ready to discuss your college loan options?"

  The mother and the children are disappearing down a hall. I pop my head into the office. "Actually, I need a safe deposit box opened first."

  "Okay, there's a form you need to—"

  I slap the key and the piece of paper down onto her desk. "Can we hurry? My aunt put me on the list for access; it shouldn't be a problem."

  We lose precious minutes while she searches for the form. I write on it as quickly as I can. "Now can I see the box?"

  I can just see her thinking "freaking Gen Z" as she raises her eyebrows, but she escorts me back to the safe deposit box area of the vault.

  The moment we enter the vault, she collapses on the ground. There's a thin line of green, steamy goo across the threshold— the knockout charm the leprechauns use when they're up to no good. As a Korrigan, I'm not affected, so I walk into the room without keeling over.

  The mother of the four kids is out cold, and so is the attendant who escorted her. The leprechauns are in their normal, grotesque forms now, and they're busy ripping out safe deposit boxes and prying them open with grubby nails sharp as knives. They're tossing valuables and cash into bags.

  I don't bother saying, "Stop it!" or "What are you doing?"— I just say "Láidreacht" to activate the magical strength I took from the fenodyree, and I grab the nearest leprechaun and throw it as hard as I can. It smashes into the wall with a screech of pain, jewelry and cash scattering everywhere.

  Striding forward, I grab the next one by its dull red jacket. "Get out of here, you little creeps!"

  "As you say, Korrigan," it sneers, and vanishes from between my fingers, taking its bag of loot along.

  I spring to catch the last one, but it transports just in time, overstuffed bag in hand.

  The leprechaun I stunned regains its senses and scrabbles around for a few trinkets before disappearing as well. I stare at the mess.

  I can't just walk out of here. The camera outside will catch me leaving, and I'll become a suspect. I need to pretend that I was overcome, along with the others. But first, I need to check my safe deposit box.

  By the luck of the Irish, it isn't one of the ones that the little green creeps broke into. The key has slipped from Ms. White's relaxed hand, so I scoop it up and insert it in the lock, heart pounding. Click.

  There's not much in the box. My eyes pick out a few things immediately— an ancient-looking gold ring with a green stone, an old driver's license, and at the bottom, some drawings on thick paper. No, not paper— animal skin, maybe? Parchment? The drawings are sealed in plastic sheaves.

  There's a small box in there, too, wrapped in shiny paper. The tag reads, "To Paul, from Fiona. Happy Birthday!"

  A birthday gift from my mom to my dad, one she never got the chance to give him. I suppose it came to the Korrigan along with my parents' things. Maeve got rid of almost everything they owned, but I suppose someone— maybe Arden? — set this aside. No one has opened it.

  There's no time to look at the things more closely now. I slip the small gift, the ID, the drawings, and the ring carefully into my purse. It's a large bag, so hopefully the drawings won't be too badly bent; but either way I don't really have a choice right now. Quickly I replace the safe deposit box in its slot, locking it carefully.

  Time to play the part of one of the victims. I arrange myself on the floor, near the loan lady from the office, and wait. I can see the green goo on the threshold of the vault fading and fizzling, slowly. When it's gone, the sleep charm will wear off and everyone will wake up. Best that I pretend I was out the whole time, too. Fewer questions that way.

  When the last bit of goo fizzles into the air, the mother and the bank attendant start to stir. I stay motionless, eyes closed, till the lady near me shifts and wakes as well.

  "What happened?" I mumble, sitting up and rubbing my temples.

  "Oh, no. Oh, no!" cries the attendant. "There's been a robbery!"

  "My children!" screams the mother. "Where are my children?"

  Cue the chaos, the police, questions, and more questions. I float in and out of it all, sticking to my story— I followed the loan lady into the vault, and we passed out immediately. I remember nothing till we all woke up.

  The police seem to believe me. There's a theory voiced about knockout gas; and they decide that someone must have tampered with the security camera footage, since no one appeared to leave the vault while we were out. No one can explain where the three children went, or who the robbers were, or how anything was taken out of the bank.

  More than anything else, the thought of the missing children makes me furious. If the leprechauns hurt those kids, there's going to be trouble. They'll wish they'd never been born— if they were even born to begin with— I have no idea how they reproduce. The only ones I've ever seen h
ave been male— sort of.

  As soon as I'm able to disentangle myself from all the aftermath of the robbery, I call the Far Darrig.

  "Aislinn."

  Hearing him say my name in that sexy voice always does something strange to my brain. It's like my higher order thinking functions get slower as the hormonal part of me goes into overdrive.

  Stop it, Aislinn. You have a boyfriend. A gorgeous, muscled, sweetheart of a boyfriend. Don't let a beautiful voice affect you like this, you stupid little teenage girl!

  "Aislinn?" the Far Darrig says again.

  "Sorry," I said. "Got distracted. Guess what your little freaks have been up to?"

  "Yes, they told me they saw you at the vault."

  "We need to talk about this."

  "Are we not talking, right now?"

  "Not over the phone. In person."

  "Ah. So where do friends meet for this kind of talk?"

  "Maybe a coffee shop?" Not my favorite coffee shop— what if those Investigators are around? "How about one downtown?"

  "I know just the place."

  Soon we're sitting at Methodical Coffee, staring out at the bright, white, sunshiny plaza beyond the shop windows. Children are playing along the edge of the shallow fountain outside. People walk by with dogs, shopping bags, laptop satchels, strollers. It's all very bright and summery and normal and colorful.

  Our conversation is going to be anything but normal, and Kieran doesn't seem in a hurry to start it; he sips his tea without speaking to me.

  "So, are you going to explain yourself?" I say.

  "Since when do I explain myself to you?"

  "Um, since always. You've always over-shared and told me everything, even when I didn't want to know."

  "I'm sorry if I bored you."

  There's a flicker of hurt in his eyes for a second, and suddenly I feel guilty for being so thorny to him. Then I'm angry. I have every right to treat him harshly, for everything he's done.

  "Look, Kieran, it's just not okay. The whole—" I whisper the words, "bank robbery thing. I mean, do the leprechauns do this often?"

  "Sometimes. They bring me the cash, and they keep the gold and jewelry for their hoard. It works."

  "But it's stealing. And people could get hurt. Why do you encourage it? Surely you can get money another way."

  "I don't encourage it," he says, like he's tired of explaining. "I just help them out with some information. Which banks don't have cameras in the actual vault. Which safe deposit boxes belong to wealthy clients with insurance, who won't suffer too much from the loss. That sort of thing."

  "What about the kids?"

  "What kids?"

  "The children, the ones whose forms the leprechauns took. Where are they?"

  "They're fine. The police have probably found them by now. They're always left somewhere safe nearby, with a sleeping charm around them. That was my idea, you know. Otherwise the leprechauns would just drain them and dump the bodies."

  "So I'm supposed to thank you for that? You think you're the good guy here, taming them?"

  He shakes his head. "I can't tame them. The most I can do is guide them a bit, point them in certain directions. Give them advice for staying under the radar. And in return, they—"

  "Spy for you, I know."

  "More than that," he says, sighing. "But you're not interested in listening, only judging. So forget it."

  There's a tightness to his handsome face, like he's working hard at keeping himself in check, under control. It reminds me of what he said once, how he's not used to having people deny him things he wants, or denying himself anything. Having a friend who will tell him when he's doing wrong must be new for him, too.

  "Kieran." I reach out and lay my hand over his. He goes very still. "I know you think you're making it okay, by doing your best to control them. But they're just— they're cruel. They don't value humans or other Fae at all, from what I can tell. Would it be so bad to just let them go? Learn to live without them around?"

  "I guess not."

  "They're like your pets, aren't they?"

  "Servants or bodyguards, maybe. I suppose I have a little affection for them. Pity, mostly. That must seem strange to you; but I owe them. They saved me from Maeve, and we've helped each other stay safe and hidden for centuries. Without me, they would do much more damage, to humans and to Fae. And eventually they would all be caught and killed, or subjected to experiments by the humans."

  "Maybe their time is over."

  He sighs. "I suppose. Maybe." With his fingers, he traces lightly over my hand, the one that's covering his left hand. Absently, as if he doesn't realize he's doing it. The touch sends little thrills up my arm to my heart.

  "I think you can do this, Kieran. After all, you're super adaptable. I mean, you've lived since ancient times, but here you are in this century, using a smartphone and driving an Audi and just fitting right in. It's really impressive."

  He smiles. "Not so impressive. Change happens gradually, so I have time to adapt."

  "I know, but adapting so much over so long? How does it feel?"

  "No one has ever asked me that before." He hesitates, like he's thinking it over. "It's feels like watching a stream run through a shallow bed. You could sit there, with your mind blank, and watch it go by for ages— and before you realized it the stream would be a river, and its bed a canyon, and you'd be swept away by the current. But if you get out there and wade in the stream, and then swim in the river, and try everything new that comes along, you become part of the change. And then you can stay afloat, and the depth doesn't surprise you as much. Does that make any sense?"

  Strangely it does. "I get it."

  His eyes, silver-gray and so deep, so ancient and yet somehow still full of so much life, captivate me. Does he know how unique he is? Maeve, Gillian, Magnolia, even Gemma— they've adapted outwardly, but they mostly grind along through life because they have to. They don't really go anywhere exciting or do anything new. They exist. As far as I can tell, they function very much the same way they always have.

  But with him, it's different. He likes to go places, try things, experience more— still, after all these years.

  I've been quiet too long. Staring into those silver, black-lashed eyes for too long. Thinking about him too long, and touching his hand for much too long. He's giving me that smile, the half-smile that happens mostly in his eyes.

  Flushing, I pull my hand away. "Drink your tea, it must be getting cold."

  "Yes, ma'am." He drinks, then says, "How is Zane?"

  "Great. I mean, good. We kind of had our first fight, on the way back from Asheville."

  He raises his eyebrows. "Details, please."

  Frowning, I fiddle with my coffee cup. "You'll just gloat because you don't want me and him to work out."

  "But I'm your friend, right? Friends talk. Best behavior, I promise."

  "Here's the thing— I've always wanted to be normal. And now— I'm not so sure. I feel like I want to know more about the Fae, to learn about them and understand them. But all Zane wants is for me to forget about magic and do regular human girl stuff."

  "Aislinn." Again with the caressing voice. He's going to have to stop that. "You don't have to pretend you're normal. You're not, and you never will be."

  "Thanks a lot."

  "No, I mean it. It's not something you have to be sad about. Accept it, embrace who you really are, and you'll be happier. And once you know how to relate to the Fae part of yourself, Zane will sense that and he'll come around."

  "How can I learn, though? Arden won't teach me or tell me anything about other Fae."

  "I will." That sparkle is back in his eyes, the thrill of doing something different, showing me something new. He loves it. The scientist, ready for another experiment; the explorer, crossing a new horizon. "There's a pixie dance tonight. You can come with me."

  "A pixie dance?"

  "Aislinn, remember the prom?"

  Of course I do. It was amazing, enchanting�
� and I made everyone dance with me until their muscles ached and their shoes nearly wore out.

  "Imagine dancing like that, with a group of other Fae who can do the same thing, who don't wear out as fast as humans do. Think prom, times ten."

  I'm in. Totally in. But then I remember something. "What about the pixie I— you know." The one I killed. "Won't they hate me— us?"

  He sobers a little, but he's still eager. "Don't worry about that; it won't be a problem, trust me. The pixie you— I— ended wasn't missed."

  It's a callous thing to say. But he really doesn't seem to think it will be a problem, and I really want to go, so—

  "What should I wear?"

  He grins. "Something sexy."

  8

  SUGAR

  Zane

  "Guess what I found?"

  We're sitting in the basement den, curled together on the couch, watching TV. Aislinn's excited, pulling a jumbled handful of papers and strings and jewelry out of her purse and showing it to me.

  I stare at it. "Cool?"

  "It's my mother's stuff. Arden saved it for me. It's not much, but check it out. There she is." She shows me an old ID. There's a young woman in the picture who looks a lot like Aislinn, with the cloud of curly red hair and the bright green eyes. Her face is longer though, and her features not as small as Aislinn's.

  "She was pretty," I say.

  "Right?" She stares at her mother's picture. "I've seen a few photos and videos of her, but finding a new one— it's special."

  Then she shuffles through the papers. "Also, there are these."

  The drawings are old, on some kind of heavy paper. They're in plastic, covered and sealed. "Those look ancient."

  "Yeah. Check this out. I think these are the Korrigan, all together. Maeve and her daughter and her women. See, that's Maeve, on the throne, looking bored. And there's Gillian, with the staff— for the beatings, probably. Arden, with a scroll and a knife. Gemma, with—" she peers more closely at it— "maybe a roll of cloth? Ever the fashion queen. And she has a spear, too."