“Dr. Ahearn here,” Jim answered.
“Hi, Jim. It’s Regan.” She swallowed a few times. “Is Fáelán there?” There was a long pause, and her gut twisted.
“Nay. Is he not with you?” he answered, his tone filled with concern.
“No, and I don’t have any idea where he is. He was gone when I woke up this morning.” She bit her lip for a second, trying to get control over the way her voice quavered. “I haven’t heard a word from him. I’m afraid he left out of some mistaken notion about protecting me.”
“It’s happened then, has it? He loves you.”
She nodded, then realized how stressed she was, because of course Jim couldn’t see her nod. “He does, and I love him too. We have today and tomorrow left, and now he’s gone. If you hear from him or see him, call me immediately.”
“Aye, of course, but—”
“Tell him I’m pissed, and he needs to come to Howth ASAP.”
“Wait, Regan. Is his car still there?”
She brought her hand to her forehead. He’d left not only his car and his phone but his clothes too. “It is, but he could’ve called someone to come get him.”
“Perhaps, but I’d be the one he’d call, aye?”
“OK. What are you suggesting?”
“I fear—”
“You think Morrigan took him?”
“It may be. The Tuatha Dé Danann are selfish creatures by nature, and they see no need for fairness where mortals are concerned. Years ago, I did warn Fáelán this might happen, but he insisted Morrigan had made a vow, and fae law prevents them from breaking their oaths.”
She closed her eyes. Certainty settled in her gut like a load of gravel. After their declarations of love last night, Morrigan had taken Fáelán from her. Regan needed her sisters, if only for emotional support. “Are we completely screwed here?” Tears of frustration filled her eyes.
“That I cannot say, but Fáelán told me once that any action undertaken by one of the fae was known to all of them through some kind of collective awareness.”
“OK, so how does that help us?”
“Their kings and the law keepers will know a wrong has been committed, though not exactly what the act entailed. Morrigan’s father is one of their kings, and he’d be more sensitive to any transgression on his daughter’s part because of their bond of kinship.”
“So, her father will know she’s up to no good, that she broke her oath to Fáelán?” Did that mean there was hope? If so, she’d clutch the slim possibility to her and never let it go. “Her father might intercede?”
“A slim bit of hope, aye. The fae follow their own whims and love nothing more than their intrigues, deceptions and plots within plots. If Morrigan was not clever enough to get around their laws somehow, King Lir might become involved. That doesn’t mean Lir will restore Fáelán to our time. He may put him back in the third century, where he belongs. In which case, things would go on for Fáelán as they were originally meant to, and we’d likely lose any knowledge of ever having known him at all.”
“I don’t want to lose my memories of Fáelán,” she said, her voice hitching. “I don’t want to lose him.” She shut her eyes. “Right now we don’t know what’s going on, or where he is. Will you call me if you hear from him?”
“Of course.”
“Great. I have to go. I’ll let you know if I hear anything. I’m not . . . I can’t sit here and do nothing. I’m going to look for some way to help him while I still can.” While I still remember him.
By the time she ended the call, tears were spilling down her cheeks. She headed downstairs and sank onto the couch. Regan hit the picture icon on her phone and scrolled through the many pictures she’d taken of Fáelán with his family, and those she’d taken of the two of them together. Finding the pictures still there reassured her. It meant he hadn’t been returned to the third century, and there was still time for her to do something. What that something might be, she had no idea.
Regan leaned back and closed her eyes again. She needed a few minutes to calm down, and then she’d call her sisters. With their abilities combined, they might be able to help her at least locate where Morrigan held Fáelán. He was her destiny, and she’d been drawn to Ireland to help him, hadn’t she? God, she hoped so.
Chapter Nine
It was already late afternoon, and Regan had hardly moved from the couch since her phone call with Jim. She still hadn’t pulled herself together enough to come up with any kind of rescue plan for Fáelán. She still hoped it was all a mistake, and he’d walk through the front door any minute.
A jarring ring startled her out of her lethargy. She grabbed her phone from the coffee table, checked the ID and had to swallow a few times before she could answer. “Hey, Meredith. I was just about to call you.”
“Rae, what’s going on?” Meredith asked. “Grayce and I are both picking up on your distress, and we were supposed to be having our Google Hangout date with you and Fáelán now. We got worried.”
Since the day Fáelán had appeared at her door, Regan had been texting photos to her sisters and keeping them up-to-date, and today she’d arranged for them to meet. “Oh, God. He’s gone, Meredith. Fáelán is gone.”
“What do you mean he’s gone? Start from the beginning. Wait. I’m going to put my phone on speaker, so Grayce can be part of this conversation.”
Regan cradled the phone against her ear. “OK. So.” Tears clogged her throat and filled her eyes. “Just a sec.”
“Take your time,” Grayce said, her tone gentle.
Regan grabbed a few tissues from the box on the coffee table and blew her nose. “Last night, Fáelán told me he loves me, and . . . and this morning he was gone—and I mean really gone. His clothes, phone and car are still here, but I can sense he’s no longer in this world. I talked to his nephew. Jim thinks Morrigan discovered her curse was about to end, and she stole him back to the void.”
“Wait,” Grayce said. “I thought he had five days of freedom. This is only day four, right?”
“It is, but . . . obviously that doesn’t matter.” Regan grabbed another tissue and swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “Besides, the curse doesn’t specify a number of days. I need you two here. Are you close to a computer, so we can book your flight?”
“Yeah. Hold on,” Meredith said.
While her sister went for her laptop, Regan strode over to the kitchen table and grabbed her purse from the chair. She pulled out her wallet and returned to the couch, where her own computer sat on the table in front of her. “I don’t suppose you’ve had any visions that might lead me to Fáelán, have you, Grayce?”
“No, but if something comes to me, I’ll call you immediately.”
“Please do, or maybe when we’re together, we can join forces and make something happen,” Regan said, wishing it was true. Could they combine their abilities in a situation like this? They weren’t facing a spirit needing to be exorcised here. This was completely out of the realm of their prior experience.
The next twenty minutes were spent arranging their flight to Ireland. After that, Regan went over every detail of her last evening with Fáelán. “He said he’d rather remain cursed for all eternity than put me in harm’s way, because my safety is more important to him than his freedom.” She wiped her nose again. “It could be Morrigan took him at his word, and zap, he’s her prisoner again. Only now it’s forever.” A fresh tear slid down her cheek.
“Not only is he gorgeous, but he has a true Celtic heart.” Grayce sighed. “He’s a romantic.”
“Yeah, well,” Regan croaked. “I wish he’d been a bit less romantic and a lot less dramatic. Then maybe he’d s-still be—”
“We’ll be there Monday morning,” Meredith assured her. “Hang in there.”
“Do I have a choice? Go. Pack. Call me when you land, and I’ll pick you up at the Dublin Airport.” They said their goodbyes, and ended the call. Once again, the silence closed in around her, and Regan turned on the TV. Background
noise was better than emptiness.
Regan forced herself to make something to eat, and then she cleaned up and moved back to the couch and her computer. How did one defeat a faerie? She typed it into the search bar, surprised when things actually came up. She read the first entry. “To kill a faerie, you must trap it in a microwave oven.” Regan glanced at the compact appliance on her kitchen counter. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”
She scrolled down to the next link. “They can be trapped or harmed by iron,” she read, “but killed only by weapons of their own making.” Great. How could she get her hands on a fae weapon? Even if she did, she’d have no clue how to wield such a thing. Besides, the faerie on the receiving end would surely have a weapon as well. Chances were good it would know how to fight, while she did not. All those years she’d studied yoga, chanted om and namaste she should’ve spent learning martial arts. This was getting her nowhere.
She and Fáelán had planned to visit the Hill of Tara today. She brought up the park’s website and glanced at the time. It was already 7:00 p.m., and Tara closed at 6:00. She could trespass like she had at Newgrange, but it was pouring rain, and she was still too emotionally wrecked to function well enough to concentrate. The site opened at ten o’clock tomorrow, which was Friday. She’d go to bed early and start the day searching for magic, information and a faerie weapon. Yep. Things looked entirely hopeless.
Friday proved to be the clearest day she’d encountered since arriving in Ireland, which made missing Fáelán all that much worse. He should be with her now, spouting historical facts about the Hill of Tara. Missing him hurt like hell, and she wanted him back, dammit.
Regan pulled in to the car park at Tara, relieved to see there were only two other cars present. That would change. Soon the tour buses from Dublin would arrive, and the tourist attraction would be swarming.
With everything she’d learned about Tara, a fragile hope had taken root. When the wizard Amergin had defeated the Tuatha Dé Danann, he’d banished the fae to dwell beneath this very hill. There had to be a reason why the wizard had chosen this spot. Fáelán’s theories about metaphors embedded into Irish mythology made sense, and Tara had long been recognized as the center of all things mystical to the ancient Celts who’d settled here.
Regan climbed out of her car and followed the path to the small parish church that had been converted into a visitor center. Already her pulse raced in response to the energy and mystical power radiating from deep within the land, and she wasn’t anywhere near the top yet. She paid the admission fee and left the visitor center.
The path leading to the top of Tara ran behind the church and led her past a statue of Saint Patrick, the church’s patron saint. Pausing, she stared out over the rolling landscape spread out under the saint’s benevolent granite gaze. She needed a minute. Strong magic permeated the site all right, along with lines of energy triangulating the area. Ley lines?
Never before had she experienced anything like this, and her fragile hope grew by leaps and bounds. She continued along the path to the summit, drawn by those invisible threads of power. Trust in your abilities.
Regan took in a long, slow breath, released it, and opened herself to the energy coming at her from all directions. This time it worked, and she trembled from the onslaught. Closing her eyes, she tried to separate the threads crossing through her. Would one of them lead her to answers? How would she know? She opened her eyes and started walking. As she grew closer to the top of the hill, the threads of power increased in strength and exerted a pull.
A frisson of fear traced through her. She was caught in a spider’s web of magic as ancient as the earth itself. Whatever this was, she was being drawn in a specific direction, held by a current she wasn’t sure she could escape. Did she want to escape? Not if the pull led her to Fáelán. She came to a stop in front of a mound, a miniature passage tomb with stones guarding the entrance.
These stones bore the same ancient designs etched into the slab of rock guarding Newgrange’s entrance. Every cell in her body tingled, and the hair on her arms and at the back of her neck stood on end. She even had goose bumps on the calves of her legs.
The Mound of the Hostages, she read on the plaque before her, Duma na nGiall, dating back to 3000 BC, built of boulders and covered with earth. Exactly like Newgrange and more than likely built by the same ancient inhabitants. Her heart tattooed against her ribs. This had to be the way into other dimensions and the reason Amergin had chosen this place to banish the fae from the earthly realm.
The Mound of Hostages sat atop the pinnacle of Tara, the place where fae magic and the ley lines of earth’s energy intersected and combined. Those powers and energy combining must form a vortex of some kind, and she’d find it.
An iron gate blocked the entrance into the mound. She needed to find a way around the barrier. Circling the mound, she searched for any sign of a magical door. What was she thinking? Even if she did find a way in, then what? Fáelán had said he focused his will on a particular location and there he’d go. But he had to have already been to the place before the process worked. How many planes of existence were there? Her knees went a little weak, and she trembled. How the hell would she find one Fiann in a haystack of dimensions?
She returned to the entrance and read more of the plaque. Humans had been cremated here—was that code for sacrificed?—yet she didn’t sense a single ghost, only currents of energy, power and magic, a cosmic layer cake of things she knew nothing about and couldn’t hope to control.
A group of tourists were coming up the hill and heading toward the mound. Regan forced herself to move toward the Stone of Destiny, Lia Fáil. She could almost see the ley lines connecting the mound and the stone. The path was that electrified, and once again she was being drawn in a specific direction. Trusting her intuition, she followed the current, and came to a stop within reach of Lia Fáil. Had this stone really made noise when the rightful kings of Ireland touched its cold surface? Judging by the waves of energy, the vibrations, she believed it was possible.
She’d read that the stone had been brought to Tara by the Tuatha Dé Danann themselves. It had to be the key that would unlock the door to the fae realm. All the energy, power and magic converged here between the mound and the stone, as if this piece of rock was the conduit for everything.
An overwhelming compulsion to touch the stone gripped her. She struggled against the urge. Not now. Not until her sisters were with her, and they’d figured out where Fáelán was and how she might help him. She fisted her hands and held them at her sides. She wanted to step back but couldn’t. Her heart climbed to her throat, and a fine sheen of sweat covered her face and the back of her neck. Regan tried like hell to move away, but the current held her fast. Even scarier, the harder she resisted, the stronger the compulsion to touch the stone grew.
Her hand came up, as if on a string pulled by someone else. Try as she might, she couldn’t force it back down, and she watched in horror as her fingers inched closer and closer to the stone. Sweat dripped down her temples, and she couldn’t breathe.
Her hand connected with the stone. Shock waves nearly knocked her on her ass. The stone was not cold at all, but warm and pulsing with life. She was caught up in a whoosh of movement, and the world flew by in a rush of color. Dizzy and disoriented, she closed her eyes. As quickly as it began, the sensations ceased, and she came to a sudden stop. Regan toppled forward, hitting her shin against something hard. Somehow she managed to stay upright.
Frozen to the spot, afraid to open her eyes, Regan assessed her surroundings. The smell of impending rain filled her nostrils, and the air around her held an unnatural chill. Regan shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “Oh, great. A ghost.”
“Do not fear.” A soft, feminine voice surrounded her, bringing warmth and a sense of peace. Regan cracked an eyelid to take a peek and gasped. She’d landed inside her town house in Howth, and her shin had connected with the coffee table in the living room. “OK. I heard the laughter. You
may as well show yourself.”
A young woman appeared out of thin air. She wore a long, flowing gown of pale green, like something found in one of those ancient tapestries from the Dark Ages. Her hair, a shiny light blonde with a hint of red, hung to her waist. Lithe, delicate and so beautiful it hurt to look at her, the being glided closer—did her feet even touch the ground?—and again the sense of peace washed through Regan.
She didn’t trust the sense of peace or the warmth. Nothing about this creature struck her as natural, and her nearness set off Regan’s fight-or-flight instinct. Fear churned through her. This creature had to be fae. “Morrigan.”
“No! Oh no.” The woman shook her head and waved her hand. “My name is Boann. I am Morrigan’s daughter.” Her neon-blue eyes met Regan’s. “And Fáelán is my sire.”
What? “I need to sit down,” Regan muttered.
“Please do.”
How she managed to get herself around to the couch, she had no idea, but she sank onto the cushions, leaned over and put her head between her knees.
“I mean you no harm,” Boann said, her voice soothing and altogether otherworldly.
Prickles of unease crept up her spine. Regan forced herself back to sitting upright. Her mind had completely short-circuited. The Hill of Tara’s force, the way she’d been brought here, and especially the ethereal creature before her . . . it was all too much, too big and impossible to take in. Thoughts and feelings crashed together, until she couldn’t think straight. Regan slid her sweaty hands down her jeans and swallowed against the dryness in her mouth and throat. “What do you want?”
“To help you . . . and my sire.”
“Fáelán never mentioned he had a daughter.” That too caused a swirl of conflicting feelings. Why had he kept that from her?
“He has no notion I exist.”
Tangled in Time (The McCarthy Sisters) Page 15
