by M. D. Massey
“How so?”
As Mom fiddled with the shoulder strap on her bag, I noted that I’d rarely seen her this vulnerable. “He was noble, and brave, and a defender of the weak. Watching him in the field, the decisions he made—it reminded me of the sort of person I once was, before I lost my first husband. I couldn’t help but fall in love with him.”
“Huh. And you didn’t know about his connection to Finnegas and the World Beneath when you met?”
“No, but I suspected as much. Your father was no ordinary man. And I also suspect that Finnegas had a hand in our meeting.” A sudden change came over her as she exhaled sharply and drew herself up to her full height. “But enough of this—we’ve no time to reminisce. The Dark Sorceress or The Battle Crow will be here soon, or if not them, their lackeys. It is time to go.”
That moment of vulnerability was gone, and the old battleaxe stood in front of me once more. To be honest, I grieved a bit for its passing.
“Right. Let’s head to the Grove, then.”
Mom raised her hand. “First, to Éire Imports, then to your magical treehouse. There’s something The Seer left for you, and it’s time you retrieved it.”
3
We jumped the privacy fence around the garden patio behind Finnegas and Maureen’s old offices. Mom chose to stay outside, ostensibly to keep watch, although I thought there might be more there than she was letting on. It was my turn to arch an eyebrow as I pressed her on the matter.
“Any reason in particular why you don’t want to wait inside?”
“The place dislikes me,” she said, scanning the skies.
“With that sparkling personality of yours, I can’t imagine why,” I replied as I produced my key to the place, turning it in the lock.
The wards were attuned to me, so there was no need to drop them. Even so, I checked to make certain Maureen hadn’t beefed them up before I entered. After crossing the threshold, a moment’s reverent pause seemed appropriate. I was glad I did, as the smell of Finn’s pipe tobacco took me by surprise.
I wish I’d had more time with you, old man.
There was no sense dwelling on wasted years, as I could self-flagellate later when I was safely ensconced in the Grove. Granted, I could have the Oak portal me out of here in a heartbeat, but both Badb and Fuamnach could probably trace a fresh portal trail with little effort. It was best to find the package Finnegas had left quickly, so we could be off.
I walked down the short hall that led to the training room, warring with emotions the familiar sights and scents had dredged up. I’d spent years in these rooms, learning how to fight and survive under Finnegas and Maureen’s tutelage, with Jesse right beside me. Coming back was always difficult, but it was a bit easier now that I knew The Dagda was looking after Jesse.
Hmm… The Dagda. I wonder how he’ll feel about the death of his son.
Anyone who was strong enough to lead the Tuatha Dé Danann was someone you did not want to share enmity with, and that was a fact. Plus, he’d always been kind to me. For a moment I felt guilty for killing Aengus so offhandedly. But recalling how fucked up my life was because of gods and fae like Aengus, I shook off my remorse.
Time enough for that later. Stay on task, McCool.
Mom had no idea where the old man had left his parting gift, so I scanned each room as I walked through it. There were minor magicks and enchanted items throughout the place, so it took more time than I’d have liked to complete the circuit. Having saved Finnegas’ office for last, I approached the room with empty hands—unsurprising, since this would definitely be the first place he’d expect me to look.
On entering the room, I immediately noticed the bottle of Glenfiddich 30-year sitting in the center of Finn’s huge mahogany desk. It had a plaid ribbon in the colors of County Donegal tied in a bow around the neck and sat atop a piece of parchment. Of course, he’d written a note to me on the parchment paper.
Colin—
Enjoy the Scotch. I know it’s your favorite. Don’t forget the set of Glencairns on the shelf.
—F.
I was not a Scotch drinker, and the old man knew it. If he’d have wanted to get me a present, he’d have splurged for a bottle of Pappy or Blanton’s. I’d trade the Glenfiddich for such later, but for now, I was much more interested in the tulip-shaped crystal glasses that sat on a shelf nearby. Or, rather, what they concealed.
Four such short-stemmed drinking goblets were lined up next to a framed picture of Finnegas, Maureen, Jesse, and me. I’d completely forgotten about it. The pic had been taken at the Renaissance Faire, after I’d taken first in longsword and Jesse had cleared the fields in the cutting competition and archery. I picked the photo up to give it a closer look.
Huh… what’s that in the old man’s hand?
He held a leather-bound journal of some kind, dark-brown and worn with age and handling. I was absolutely certain he hadn’t been carrying such a book around with him that day, so I flipped the frame over and opened it to remove the photo. At first, only a date was revealed, written in marker on the back. But soon after my fingers brushed the surface, a circular incantation appeared, written in the runes and glyphs we used in druidry.
Curiouser and curiouser.
It was missing a rune, so I read through the symbols until I deduced the absent character. I grabbed a pen from the old man’s desk, scribbling in the symbol for dair or “oak” in Ogham, ᚇ. Little-known fact, “dair” was thought by some scholars to derive from the Gaulish word “duir,” or “door.”
After I infused the incantation with a breath of druidic power, the glyphs began to glow. Moments later, the back of the photo disappeared, revealing the dusty interior of a wooden compartment no larger than a lunchbox. And inside that lay the leather-bound journal Finnegas held in the photo.
Being no dummy, I pulled the journal out of the box. Absent its contents, the access point to the tiny pocket dimension disappeared, as did the symbols on the reverse side of the photo. Flipping the photo over, I noted that the book Finnegas had been holding was now gone.
“You crafty old bastard,” I muttered, awestruck.
After tucking the Scotch and picture away in my Bag—I planned to hang it in my Keebler cabin in the Grove—I sat behind the old man’s desk and laid the journal before me. Chances were good the contents were of great importance, either to my survival, my inherited responsibilities as the only surviving druid on Earth, or both. I ran my fingers across the cover, noting the embossed oak tree and warding runes that would prevent anyone but a master druid from opening it.
The wards are beyond my ability to unlock. No way could I open this, not in a million years.
I was about to search the office for more clues when Larry’s shrill, heavily accented voice echoed from the depths of the building. “Yo, druid—better come quick, cause your mom says that sorceress chick is here.”
“Where’d you come from?” I asked, tossing the journal in my Bag as I sprinted down the hall for the back exit with Larry at my side.
“I’ve been here the whole time,” he replied, loping along with his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. “But considering how hot the situation is, I figured I’d lay low, ya’ know?”
“How’d you—? Never mind, just stick close if shit goes sideways, alright?”
“Meh, your mom usually grabs me by the scruff when it’s time to đi đi mau.”
I did a double-take as we sprinted through the training room. “First off, how long have you been working with my mother? And second, she can see you?”
“Survey says, since you killed that demigod, and maybe? She always seems to know where I am, no idea how though.” I paused by the rear exit, taking time to slam the defensive wards in place while Larry licked his crotch. “Gotta’ tell you though, Colin—she’s one scary woman.”
“Don’t I know it,” I said in a low voice as I peeked out the security window in the thick steel door.
The coast seemed clear, but that didn’t mean anything
. Preparing for a speedy escape, I stealth-shifted and cast a chameleon spell on myself. By the time I finished thirty seconds later, Larry was already gone. With a shrug, I queued up a couple of nasty offensive spells, then I snuck out the back door.
A woman’s voice with a strong, Trans-Atlantic accent called out from beyond the garden wall. “Druid, I know you are in there. I would have words with you. You have talent—talent I can put to good use. Come now, dear, there’s no need to hide.”
Badb—I’d recognize that silky-smooth voice anywhere.
“I know you fear me,” she continued. “And for good reason. Yes, I should punish you for slaying Tethra, but I’m willing to let bygones be bygones. Reveal yourself so that we may parley, and all will be forgiven.”
Never one to miss an opportunity to piss in a god’s eye, I started to open my pie hole to offer a smart-assed reply. Before I could speak, I felt a strong, thin hand clamp my jaw shut, while another covered my mouth.
“If you’re foolish enough to make her aware of your presence,” Mom whispered, “then you deserve the fate she intends for you. Follow, quietly.”
We crept around the corner of the building to a sewer grate that I’d never noticed before, probably because it had been covered by foliage that was recently cut away. The hinges had apparently been recently oiled, because it made almost no sound as Mom lifted the heavy iron cover. She gestured that I should enter, so I climbed down metal ladder rungs embedded in the concrete wall of the drain.
Mom descended soon after, pausing to silently close the grate behind her. When her feet hit the bottom of the sewer tunnel, she cast a spell on the grate with a quick gesture and a word in a familiar, but foreign, language. Without even glancing at me, she headed down the dark, damp passageway, and I followed.
Fifty feet into the tunnel, we hit a “T” that branched off in two directions. We paused there as Mom reached into a nearby alcove to retrieve her duffel bag. I gave her a questioning look, as she’d obviously been busy while I was fetching the old man’s journal.
“Yes, I sensed the Crow’s approach earlier and tucked my things away down here. I do not savor the prospect of fighting one of the Morrígna while encumbered.”
A loud boom echoed down the tunnel from the direction we’d come, shaking the ground above so that dirt and debris fell from the ceiling. Badb was attacking the wards that protected Éire Imports, and she’d get through them shortly from the sound of it. A quick scan above us in the magical spectrum revealed that she was using massive amounts of energy to breach the old man’s wardwall.
She’ll tear the building down with all the power she’s exerting.
I thought of all the memories I had in that building, mostly happy, some bittersweet. That train of thought brought me round to the fact that Éire Imports had been the old man’s baby, back before Jesse died, and he fell apart. In many ways, it was one of the last places I had where I could reminisce and revisit all the good times I’d had with those two.
I struggled between fleeing or facing Badb down now, if only to save one of the last vestiges of the happiest time of my life.
Mom grabbed me by the upper arms in a firm grip that revealed her superhuman strength. “You will lose much more than that shell above us before this is through. Now is not the time to succumb to sentimentality. Your opportunity for revenge will come, but for now, we must flee.”
I hesitated for a moment before giving her a grim, purse-lipped nod. “Once we cross the ward wall, she’ll sense our presence and follow us.”
“Biróg snuck Cian into the tower where my father held me captive. Her magic will conceal us well enough to escape Badb’s notice. Observe, as you may need to use this spell again.”
While Badb rained hell down above us, I committed the air sigils and finger gestures to memory as Mom cast the most powerful obfuscation spell I’d ever seen. After witnessing the spell weaves, I realized that she hadn’t been invisible earlier; Aengus and I simply hadn’t noticed her presence. It was intricate spell work that required a great deal of energy to empower. Mom barely completed it before the wardwall around Éire Imports failed.
First, the wards came crashing down with a whoomp of extinguished magic. Then came a rushing of wind as Badb called down a tornado to tear the building above us apart. More dirt and debris fell around us as the ground above shook under the furious assault of an angry, vengeful goddess.
“We’ll take the tunnels for a mile or more, then you may instruct your tree to portal us away,” Mom instructed without preamble as she shouldered her duffel and took the right branch of the “T” in the sewers.
After allowing myself a single backward glance, I followed suit. As my boots splashed through the mud and muck, I vowed once again to make Badb pay for taking so many things I loved away from me.
Ten minutes later, we were far enough away from Badb to portal back to the Grove. On our arrival, I instructed the Oak and Grove that they should not kill or expel Mother, despite the obvious danger she posed. Both bristled at having a strange Fomorian in their presence, but they relented when I conveyed that she was my mother.
The trek through the sewer tunnels had left me covered in muck, so I immediately began stripping off my clothes as I headed to a nearby pool to bathe. “Make yourself at home. There’s food everywhere—if you’re vegan, that is—and you’re welcome to nap anywhere outdoors, as the weather never changes. The only place that’s off-limits is my cottage, but feel free to explore otherwise.”
“Pfah, you always did covet your privacy.” Mom looked up at the sky above and the landscape all around. “It really does obey your will. I would not have believed it if I hadn’t seen it.”
Having stripped down to my jeans, I walked barefoot toward a line of trees that hid my favorite bathing spot. “Yeah, I know you don’t expect much from me, but I do occasionally manage to get it right.”
“Son, that’s not what I meant—”
I waved her words off without a glance as I paused at the tree-line. “Save it—I know exactly what you meant. Let’s agree to avoid arguments for the next few hours, alright? I’ve barely had time to grieve, and I need a break.”
Her voice was subdued as she answered. “Agreed.”
“By the way, the old man’s grave is by the big maple tree near where we came in—just in case you want to pay your respects.”
Slipping silently into the woods, I didn’t bother waiting for a reply. I needed some alone time to process everything that had happened, so I instructed the Grove to keep Mom away from me until I said otherwise. At that command, the Grove would warp the space it occupied to lead her away from my location indefinitely. She could wander the grounds for all eternity and never see my face again if I willed it.
If only.
I rubbed a hand across my face, then I dropped trou and dove into the shimmering pool ahead. Sunlight dappled the water as I broke the surface, and I floated in the serenity of the moment as the cool, clean water washed away the dirt and grime. Unfortunately, it could do nothing for the sadness I felt over losing Finnegas, nor could it ease the hurt that had slowly resurfaced after his geas lifted.
Still disappointing my mom after all these years. Who’d a thunk it?
Mulling the day’s events over as I floated peacefully, I let the gentle bubbling of the stream that fed the pool lull me into a somewhat calm state. Then, I allowed my thoughts and feelings to flow through me freeform, without judgment or reaction, just as the old man had taught me. Once I’d reached a more detached and tranquil state of mind, I sifted through my emotions one at a time, testing each one for any basis in fact.
Had I always been a failure in my mother’s eyes? Not in all things, but in every measure that mattered to her, I believed I had. Fomorians were bred for war, and I’d never stood up to her scrutiny when it came to the ways of the Fomori. In her eyes, I’d never be strong enough, brave enough, or ruthless enough to meet muster.
In hindsight, I was certain that was why I’d tended to
cling to the women in my life over the years. Jesse, Belladonna, Sabine, and Fallyn. Jesse had been my first love, an immature yet all too real romance that bordered on infatuation, and losing her had almost destroyed me. Belladonna, despite her many redeeming qualities, had been a horrible match for me, yet I’d stubbornly held on when it was obvious we weren’t working out.
Then, there was Sabine. Although I hadn’t done it consciously, I’d led her to believe our relationship was more than it was, simply because I feared losing her friendship. When I took up with Belladonna, she’d felt betrayed, and rightly so. And in the end, I lost a very good friend due to my cowardice.
Finally, only one remained—Fallyn. She’d waited patiently, working to gain my trust as if she’d been taming an injured fawn. When we finally came together, everything felt so right, if only for a brief time. Then, my bullshit put her in danger, and she got hurt.
Now, she was gone as well. I only had myself to blame for all those disastrous relationship choices, but I wondered if things would’ve been different if I had a normal, caring mother. Despite the effects of Finn’s geas, the psychological damage remained.
It was no wonder that I sympathized with Crowley, despite his many faults. He was the only guy I knew who had a worse maternal relationship growing up. It wasn’t like I was going to invite him over for a beer to commiserate, but I certainly respected that he struggled to transcend his upbringing.
Thinking of how Crowley was fighting to win Bells over again brought me back to thoughts of Fallyn. For seven months Earth time—and years of Grove-side time—I’d passively waited for her to return to me. Despite my misgivings, I’d convinced myself that her dad was right in claiming she needed space after what Diarmuid had done to her.
But had I fought hard enough for our relationship after the fact? Or had I projected years of my mother’s disappointment and rejection onto Fallyn, unfairly expecting the same from her?
