Dark Vision

by Debbie Johnson

  Chapter Fourteen

  Our mutual contempt was cold enough to freeze lava by the time we arrived back at the house. He was an arrogant, heartless prick who expected mindless obedience. I was a selfish, immature prima donna with no sense of responsibility. We both played these roles to the hilt, walking through the streets of Dublin, screaming, shouting, and on one occasion, slapping. That would be me, and the slap was a compromise. What I’d really wanted to do was push him over the edge of O’Connell Bridge and into the River Liffey.

  We’d wandered around the city until it was dusk, raging at each other, pausing only to buy bags of chips that we ate with chilled fingers. In a strange way I enjoyed it. The fighting, not the chips. It was the first time I’d ever really argued with anyone, and I was getting pretty good at it. Even when I thought he was right, I didn’t budge an inch, and I found the fact that I could provoke so much fury satisfying in the extreme. If it had been a film, we’d have ended up with passionate make-up sex against the wall in the hallway. As I still half hated Gabriel, and had my strange debilitating skin allergy, it actually ended with a lot of slammed doors, and me wondering if Luca was awake yet. I needed someone to pummel.

  As soon as I walked into the living room I knew something had changed. Connor, Finn and Kevin were standing up, with fixed expressions on their faces. The vampires, very much awake, were scattered around, looking unusually well behaved; and Carmel was curled up in an easy chair, legs tucked beneath her, arms wrapped around her own body as though she was cold.

  ‘Thank fuck you’re back,’ she whispered as we entered. ‘You’ve got visitors.’

  I could tell from the aroma curling into my nostrils that one of them was Eithne, my old friend from the Coconut Shy toilets. I knew the normal reaction would be fear, but my blood was still up from sparring with Gabriel, and I glared at her viciously. If she fancied round two, I was up for it.

  She giggled, a sound that seemed completely alien to her, and smiled. ‘Nice to see you too, Goddess,’ she said. Her nose wrinkled slightly. ‘Mmm … chips?’ she asked.

  Standing next to her in front of the marble fireplace was a man, tall and lean, with long black hair tied back in a loose ponytail. His skin was caramel brown, his eyes dark and slanted upwards, and he was clad head to toe in black leather. Kind of a medieval Asian assassin look. I’d never seen him before, but I could tell he was important from the body language of the vampires, who were all casting sneaky glances in his direction.

  ‘High King,’ he said, nodding at Gabriel, then turned to survey my frostbitten cheeks and damp hair. ‘Goddess,’ he said in greeting.

  ‘Lily will do fine,’ I replied, unbuttoning my coat and wondering when someone was going to tell me what was going on.

  ‘My name is Donn,’ he said simply, and a few things fell into place. Like the fact that Isabella was looking at him like a scared puppy, and even Luca was sitting quietly, fully clothed, with his hands neatly folded in his lap.

  ‘I am the Lord of the Dead, and ally to Cormac Mor,’ he added formally.

  I shrugged off my coat, slung it over the back of a chair with my bag. Not so long ago I’d have run screaming from the room, but now? Lord of the Dead? All in a day’s work.

  ‘What’s with this Cormac Mor business?’ I asked. ‘You’re the third person I’ve heard call him that.’

  ‘It means “great”,’ said Eithne sneeringly. ‘Which he thinks he is.’

  I cast a look in his direction. He was bigger than usual, and edging towards me, placing his outsized body between Eithne’s and mine.

  ‘Yeah, he does, doesn’t he?’ I said. ‘Now, not to be rude, but why are you here? Last time we met I got the impression you didn’t much like me.’

  ‘Sorry about that. I got a bit carried away – nothing personal.’

  ‘You tried to kill me. That’s about as personal as it gets.’

  Gabriel advanced towards her, and in response, Connor, Finn and Kevin tensed. I noticed that all three had swords in belts at their sides, and their hands were inching towards the pommels. There’d been a lot of talk about sword arms in the past few days, and now it looked like I was about to see them in action first-hand.

  ‘This is not the time for conflict,’ said Donn, his voice as deep and exotic as his eyes. ‘Much as I’d like to rip out Eithne’s still-beating heart and eat it, we are here to talk. Eithne is here to represent the views of the Fintna Faidh, and I speak for the rest of the Tuatha de Danaan.’

  ‘Where is Fintan?’ asked Gabriel, giving a slight shake of the head to his warriors. Their hands moved; postures marginally relaxed. ‘Why does he not come himself?’

  ‘He’s … busy,’ answered Eithne. ‘People to see, things to do. But he has sent me on his behalf, to discuss the future of the alleged Goddess, and the balance of power that holds sway over her.’

  ‘Alleged’. Huh. What a cow. I looked at Carmel, and she made a little catlike ‘meow’ noise. Seemed that bitchiness was a female hobby in the Otherworld as well as in ours.

  ‘The Goddess is in my care,’ said Gabriel. ‘And will remain so. Any balance you seek was made void when Fintan sent his minions to kill her. Her sisters were taken in their eighth and ninth years respectively, and she has been attacked several times. I will not release her into danger.’

  He made a valid point, but I still bristled at his use of the word ‘release’. I was not Gabriel’s property, child, mate or prisoner. I didn’t know quite what I was yet, but I did know I could make decisions for myself.

  ‘We haven’t been attacked for days now, Your Greatness,’ I pointed out. ‘And I don’t feel threatened by anything other than you.’

  It was true. I didn’t feel threatened. Scared and freaked out, yes, but not threatened – because, well, the voice in my head had told me I could relax. That the men in black would not be pursuing me again. My mental visitor had said he wanted to talk to me, not kill me, and I believed him. I wasn’t sure how well citing ‘voice in head’ would go down as proof, so I didn’t elaborate.

  ‘Who is Fintan?’ I asked instead, as Gabriel struggled not to splutter out loud at what he would undoubtedly see as another example of my ‘foolhardy and contrary’ nature. That had been just one of the many complimentary gems he’d thrown at me earlier.

  ‘He is my lord, leader of the Fintna Faidh and the greatest of the Tuatha de Danaan,’ announced Eithne proudly, sticking her boobs out like a pageant queen in front of the judges.

  Donn rolled his almond eyes, and snorted. ‘Self-styled,’ he murmured.

  ‘He is your enemy,’ said Gabriel, violet sparks flaring from his eyes. ‘And whatever she says, he wants you dead. The only way to prevent you from saving humanity is by killing you.’

  ‘Not strictly true,’ said Eithne. ‘Admittedly that is a path that was followed in the past, but it is not the only way, Cormac Mor, and you know it. You are conveniently forgetting that the Goddess has a choice. And that she may choose us.’

  Not bloody likely, I thought, as her sour-cider smell assaulted me. I wouldn’t choose her, anyway. But seeing the effect her words had on Gabriel was enough to keep me quiet. He was rigid with anger, planted in front of me like a colossus, his shoulders wide enough for two, his chest physically blocking me from the others.

  ‘She speaks the truth, High King,’ said Donn, ‘although I wish to hear it as little as you. The wench should not have a choice; she should be forced to accept her role, in the way she would have been in your father’s time. But whether we like it or not, Fintan’s case has been accepted by the rest of the Tuatha. In the old ways, the Goddess would have been prepared, trained to control her power and embrace her fate. And yet she remains here, raw and unschooled. You know that if it were up to me, that would not matter – she is but a vassal, and should be treated as the property she is. Sadly, that is not my decision to make, and the Faidh are insisting she is given free will.’

  I wasn’t sure that Donn and I were going to end up as friends. His
attitude made Gabriel look like an enlightened modern man. If this was an ally, something was very wrong. All my instincts fought against Eithne, and yet she was the one saying the words I wanted to hear.

  ‘The old ways became irrelevant once her sisters were killed, Donn,’ replied Gabriel, his voice haughty and cold, even to his supposed ally. ‘They were taken, and they were slaughtered. The same will not happen to Lily. I will die to protect her.’

  ‘That’s very touching,’ replied Eithne. ‘And typically heroic of you, Cormac, but have you ever thought to ask Lily what it is that she wants?’

  I knew I was being played for a fool, that she was exploiting the obvious rift between us, but even as I battled my distress at the image of what had happened to the sisters I’d never met, her words slammed right into its target. I didn’t want to give Eithne the satisfaction of agreeing with her, so I fought down the urge to scream, ‘No, he bloody hasn’t!’ at the top of my voice. I was starting to wonder if ‘Tuatha’ wasn’t Gaelic for ‘manipulative bastards’, and didn’t really want anything to do with any of them.

  I coughed, drawing attention away from the mounting tension between Eithne and Gabriel, and back to me.

  ‘Sorry to distract you from your glaring competition, but you’re talking as though there are options, and you two have come all the way here to discuss them,’ I said, pointing at Donn and Eithne. ‘So would someone care to tell me what they are? I’m busy too, you know.’

  ‘Really?’ said Eithne, voice dripping with disbelief. ‘What could you possibly have to do right now that’s more important than this?’

  Sadly, I couldn’t think of a damned thing, and decided that poking her in the eye was probably the best response. If I could reach past King Swello.

  ‘She has to file her pop page. It’s deadline day,’ said Carmel, piping up in a small, slightly scared voice. I turned to look at her, hiding under a pile of cushions, hair still rocking electric-shock chic, streaks of old mascara under her eyes. I grinned. She’d never looked more fabulous.

  ‘Thank you,’ I mouthed silently. She was right: I had my real life as well. Deadlines and editions and copy to file. I’d almost forgotten it, and I shouldn’t. It mattered, at least to me. And the Dormice. I was not, and never would be, anybody’s ‘property’.

  ‘Yes. That. And I’ve never missed a deadline in my life. So hurry up, and get on with it. What – what are the options?’

  I saw Gabriel take a deep breath, about to protest. There is only one option, blah-de-blah-de-blah.

  ‘Shut up,’ I said, meeting his eyes. ‘Shut up now, or I’ll never be able to forgive you. For any of it.’

  For a moment, I thought he’d argue. Or explode. Pink fingers of anger were crawling across his skin, and his fists were clenched into balls the size of claw hammers. He was now a good two feet taller than everyone else in the room, and the floor tremored whenever he moved. Even Donn looked on in interest, glancing up at the quaking chandeliers.

  I stood tall too, held my head as high as I could, fixed Gabriel’s gaze with mine. Tried not to blush, or gulp, or faint at his feet. Channelled as much regal as I could.

  ‘As you wish, Goddess,’ he said after a few beats. His tone was neutral, which, I knew, was the best I was going to get. Around us the warriors and vampires exchanged significant glances, and Donn looked thoroughly disgusted at his acquiescence. I blinked, and looked away from Gabriel. I could feel the raw power of his disappointment, his soul-deep sense of defeat and rejection. Eithne smiled, and I had a moment of doubt: surely anything that pleased her was wrong?

  ‘Your “option”,’ he said, his voice sarcastic and cold, ‘is to leave here. To leave my protection. To leave me. Is that what you want, Lily?’

  ‘To leave you and go where?’ I asked, knocked off balance at the thought. Leaving him. Escaping. That’s what I wanted, wasn’t it? And if it was, why did I suddenly feel so empty at the very thought?

  ‘You will go to Fionnula the Fair,’ said Donn, ignoring the significance of the moment Gabriel and I were sharing. Gods, I supposed, learned to be insensitive after a couple of eons or so. ‘She will be your teacher. She will answer your questions, show you the way to gain control over your … emotions. She will equip you to make your choice. The decision that must be made.’

  My questions. My choice. My decision. All the words I’d been wanting to hear. And yet, looking at Gabriel, now merely the size of a larger-than-average mortal man, I felt a slither of fear. Of pain. He turned his eyes deliberately away from mine, and even that tiny separation stung.

  It looked like I was on my own.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I don’t know what I expected Fionnula the Fair to look like, but an ageing blonde bombshell complete with Marilyn curves definitely wasn’t it.

  She was fair, I’ll give her that, but I suspected her golden sheen had more to do with Loreal than luck. Her eyes were a piercing shade of blue, and she had a way of blinking very slowly as she spoke, making everything she said seem outrageously important.

  Fionnula lived in a whitewashed stone cottage in a tiny fishing village between Dublin and Skerries. The coastline was wild and wet, the dark grey waves of the Irish Sea crashing up and over harbour walls and promenades, like probing fingers trying to grab the car and drag us into the abyss. I looked silently out of the window as we drove, taking in the shops and cafes and stands offering boat tours, the tourist facades fading as we headed further north.

  Gabriel had the radio on to drown out any attempt I made at small talk, and Morrissey was drawling out ‘Everyday Is Like Sunday’ as we crawled our way through coastal towns that looked closed down. I was sure they were pretty in summer; now life seemed cold and hard, with heavy October sleet drenching the streets and people scurrying round with umbrellas bent backwards by the wind.

  The cottage was miles away from anything other than a postbox, up a potholed drive and in the middle of dense forest. We arrived in darkness, greeted by the hoots of unseen owls and the plaintive lowing of cattle in the fields beyond.

  I felt about as happy as the cows as I unpacked my backpack and followed Gabriel to the front door. He’d been playing it strong and silent for the whole journey, giving his full concentration to changing gears and braking round the winding cliffside roads that had led us here.

  Carmel had been in the back, trying to keep up a one-sided conversation, but Gabriel’s face remained as set as the slabs of stone that had been used to build the cottage walls.

  The door had opened without him knocking, and she’d emerged. Fionnula the Fair. Wearing a pair of mulberry-coloured skinny jeans and a low-cut top with ‘Eat Me’ printed across the front in tiny cherries. My first thought was ‘ugh’. My second was that I knew her, somehow. That her face was familiar, half recognised.

  ‘So this will be the Goddess, now, will it?’ she said, walking out to greet us. The rain was heavy, but it seemed to bounce off her do, a lacquered bonnet of platinum blonde.

  ‘This is Lily,’ said Gabriel, lifting my bag easily out of my hands, and walking inside. Strong, silent and severely lacking in social skills.

  ‘Don’t you be worrying about him, now,’ said Fionnula, smiling as he strutted away. ‘He’ll just be in one of those huffs that kings are always so good at. He’ll get over it, so he will. Now come in, get yourself nice and dry.’

  I was expecting something rustic, maybe a blazing log fire and pictures of hay wains on the walls. Possibly a spinning wheel, complete with magical golden thread. At the very least, a mysterious black cat padding around the place.

  Instead, the interior of the cottage was like something out of House Beautiful: all glowing white walls and polished chrome; central heating and warmth; a dining kitchen with gleaming black granite surfaces.

  ‘Excuse the mess,’ she said, gesturing around her picture-perfect home. Gabriel had said exactly the same about his spic-and-span apartment. These people clearly took their cleanliness very seriously.

  �
�Wow,’ said Carmel, dumping her own bag and sinking down into a tan leather sofa, ‘this is excellent. It’s so warm in here.’

  Fionnula turned her attention away from me, and gave Carmel an appraising stare. She blinked, very slowly, her eyes a flash of blue under the fashionably dim ceiling lights.

  ‘And who would you be?’ she asked, lipsticked mouth curved.

  ‘I would be Carmel,’ my friend replied. ‘I’m Lily’s … champion. Don’t ask me where that word came from; it just popped out. And I think … it should probably have a capital “c”, just for effect.’

  ‘Are you, now?’ asked Fionnula. ‘You don’t look the Champion type to me.’

  ‘I know,’ she replied. ‘Weird, isn’t it? But that’s the word that came into my head, so I suppose it must be right.’

  Fionnula blinked, again very slowly, and put out a hand to stop Gabriel as he made to leave the room.

  ‘A moment, if you don’t mind, Cormac Mor?’ she said, the way she used his title implying complete disrespect for it.

  He stopped and nodded, apparently used to the sarcasm.

  ‘Surely you have people better suited to being the girl’s Champion than … that? What about Finn, or even one of Donn’s bloodsuckers? If you think she needs protection here, at least be serious about it.’

  I noticed Carmel’s eyes narrow, but she stayed silent – on the outside, at least. Inside, I knew she’d be storing up the insults, filing them away in her ‘people who aren’t very nice’ box. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Fionnula the Fair found her freezer switched off at the wall on the day we left, or her Touche Éclat mysteriously relocated into a cowpat.

  Gabriel cast his eyes over Carmel, a slim, dark-haired girl wearing Karen Millen jeans, and shook his head.