Reunion

by Jennifer Fallon

  "Do you have legal representation? You'll need it if the Gardaí lay any further charges relating to Hayley's disappearance."

  Darragh shook his head. "I don't, but I'm sure there are plenty of inmates who could recommend a good lawyer." He smiled. "Lawyers and their comparative worth are something of an obsession in here."

  Annad Semaj smiled, but it didn't touch his eyes. He seemed sad. "Well, it's a relief to see you're surviving so well. You certainly look none the worse for your experience."

  "Good genes," Darragh said. The comment reminded him he had been here far too long. When he arrived in this world, he had no idea what genes or DNA were.

  "Can I get you anything?"

  Darragh didn't hesitate. "I'd like an electric razor, actually."

  Annad seemed surprised. "Really? Are you allowed an electric razor?"

  "They're certainly preferable to the alternative."

  The psychologist nodded. "Yes, I suppose they are, in this place."

  "Will you get it for me?"

  "I don't see why not," Annad said, after thinking it over for a moment.

  Darragh had to force himself to hide his relief. "I have a particular model in mind, if that's okay?"

  "Really. You've researched this? Which particular razor do you want?"

  "A Remington Titanium 700. I'm not that hung up on the brand, but I really want the titanium."

  Annad Semaj studied him curiously for a moment longer and then nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

  "Thank you, doctor."

  There was an awkward silence as Darragh waited for Annad to say something else.

  "Um ... if you don't get many visitors, would you like me to come back next week?"

  "If you want."

  "Good. Well, I'll see what I can do about a razor for you and I'll see you in a few days then." Annad replaced the handset and rose to his feet, watching Darragh closely.

  Darragh smiled at him through the glass and turned to knock on the door to let the guard know he was finished. As he turned back, he saw the doctor tap the glass and point to the handset again. He picked it up at the same time as the psychologist.

  "I'm curious," Annad said into the telephone, his eyes fixed on Darragh to gauge, no doubt, the reaction to his question. "Why does it have to be titanium?"

  "How else am I supposed to contact my brother?"

  Darragh watched Annad Semaj smile uncertainly as he replaced the handset. Behind Darragh the door opened. Annad watched as the guard led him out into the hall, his expression one of puzzlement and concern.

  Darragh smiled to himself, certain Annad would do as he asked, if only to discover what insane plan he had in mind and how he intended to contact an alternate reality from his prison cell with nothing more than an electric razor.

  Chapter 17

  Trása's clever if somewhat devious plan to surprise Rónán by rescuing Darragh and bringing him home disintegrated like the crumpled piece of washi paper in Daibbido's hand. There was no chance, now, of interrogating Plunkett before Rónán woke and no chance of getting rid of Abbán by tossing him back into the sea before Rónán realized he was here.

  The news that Isleen had broken through the magical bonds Rónán had placed on her mind to prevent her ever learning what the Matrarchaí had in store for her future was bad enough. That she had gone looking for Teagan made everything else pale into insignificance. In light of this, plus the gift of Marcroy's jewel, perhaps it would be enough to make Rónán forgive her for ignoring his rule about contacting anybody in her reality. With Marcroy's jewel maybe they could find Isleen; maybe they could return to their home realm. Darragh was probably waiting for them ...

  He wasn't though, Trása knew that for certain. She'd tried time and again to contact Darragh by scrying him out - or using the puddle phone, as everyone from Rónán, Logan and Pete's reality insisted on calling it - but she couldn't locate him. That meant he was either in a realm without magic, or he was dead.

  He clearly wasn't dead. Even across realities, if one Undivided twin died, the other would follow within a day or so, and Rónán was alive and well, so there was no chance Darragh was dead.

  That meant he was trapped somewhere her scrying couldn't reach him, and most likely, that meant a realm without magic.

  Logically, he was still trapped in the reality where Rónán had grown up.

  Trása knew Rónán had figured that out, too, but was reluctant to do anything about retrieving his twin. He had his reasons, she knew that, but Darragh had spent his every waking moment searching for Rónán when their situations were reversed. Rónán had found a way to be okay with doing nothing.

  Whenever Trása pressed him on the subject he wouldn't say whether his nightmares had returned. All he would say were things like "all in good time", or claim Darragh would be living it up in the other realm pretending he was Ren Kavanaugh, settled into the lap of luxury with Kiva: wintering in St Tropez, summering in Spain and doing the red carpet awards circuit in London, Hollywood and Cannes.

  They'd find out soon enough, she supposed. She hadn't been able to save Darragh directly, but with Marcroy's jewel they could finally return to the realm where Darragh and Sorcha were stranded.

  With Marcroy's jewel, they could finally bring them home.

  But the news Wakiko brought meant that Darragh's return was no longer a high priority. He's been gone ten years, she could almost hear Rónán saying. A little longer won't make much difference.

  She wanted to weep with frustration. They were so close ...

  "How did she break through the spell?" Trása asked, pushing aside her disappointment to deal with the matter at hand. "Rónán said it would take someone with the same sort of power as him to unravel the memories."

  "Isn't that the point, though?" Pete asked beside her. "Potentially, Isleen and Teagan are as powerful as Ren. That's why Delphine blocked their powers until they were old enough to deal with them in the first place, and why Ren reinforced the block after she died."

  "Teagan was always the impatient and curious one," Wakiko added, as if that somehow mitigated the disaster. "With her gone, I never thought to worry about -"

  "We knew Isleen was looking for a way to break through the bonds," Daibbido said. He was a Tanabe so, on principle, Trása distrusted him, but he'd done nothing so far that she could fault and he'd been Wakiko's right-hand man since the harakiri suicides seven years ago, which had been prompted by Teagan's abduction. "I believe she asked Renkavana outright if he would release the bonds only a couple of months ago. I would have said something had I realized she'd find a way to undo them on her own."

  "Would you?" Trása asked. "I thought the Tanabe would be thrilled by the prospect of the Matrarchaí returning to this world and elevating your family back to where you think you belong."

  "I am the personal aide of the Imperial Regent, Ojōsama," he reminded her. "How much higher do you think I can climb?"

  "It's not Daibbido's fault," Rónán said, making Trása jump with fright. She hadn't realized he was behind her.

  She thought he was still sound asleep in the bower back in Tír Na nÓg.

  It was very rude of him to just appear out of thin air like that. Not to mention just plain showing off.

  "Renkavana," Wakiko cried and ran to him, throwing herself into his arms with a sob. "Isleen's gone! What are we going to do?"

  "Let's start by not falling to pieces," Rónán said, gently but firmly pushing Wakiko away. Trása was surprised by her outburst. She was usually much more in control, particularly in front of Daibbido.

  Rónán was dressed in nothing more than loose cotton gi trousers, his chest bare despite the chilly winds here on the cliff top outside Tír Na nÓg. Before Trása could offer any sort of explanation about why they were here or what else might be going on, Rónán turned to Pete. "What's with the pissed-off looking merman?"

  Pete hesitated and glanced at Trása. Rónán turned to her for an explanation. He seemed angry, but she would have bet mon
ey his rage was directed at himself and his failure to protect Isleen. He'd been just as hard on himself after the Matrarchaí took Teagan. "Trása?"

  She took a deep breath before she answered. "This is Abbán. My cousin."

  "You mean your cousin's eileféin, don't you? Because Abbán is back in your home realm."

  "No," Pete said, "she means this is her real cousin."

  Rónán was silent for a moment. Trása wished she could tell what he was thinking. "You've been back to our home realm," he said after an uncomfortably long silence. There was an accusation in his tone that gave Trása chills.

  "No, she has not," Nika said, always ready to defend her adopted queen. "The Lady Trása promised she would not go back. My queen would not break her word." Trása was normally quite chuffed by Nika's stubborn insistence she was a queen, but this was not the time to be throwing around titles she didn't have any right to. "My queen sent us. That is to say, me, Pete and Logan."

  Trása wanted to slap her for being so forthcoming.

  "Typical Faerie, you see. Can't break a promise but she can always find a loophole."

  "Shut up, Pete."

  Rónán wasn't amused. "So the Leipreachán who woke me up complaining he'd been kidnapped from his own realm and dragged here against his will is the real Plunkett and not his eileféin from another realm?"

  Trása nodded. Do something Rónán, so I can tell what you're thinking. Yell, scream, rant ... just do something.

  But Rónán did nothing that gave away his opinion, which was a thousand times worse. "I see. Who opened the rift on this side?

  "Abbán opened it from the other side," Pete told him. "Trása scried him out on the puddle phone a few weeks ago."

  "How did he open it?"

  "With this," Pete said, handing the large ruby to him. "Apparently, it's Marcroy's very own stone."

  Ren studied the gem for a moment in the palm of his hand and then closed his hand over it.

  "You do realize this means we finally have a way back into our world," Pete pointed out. "That jewel is the same one they used to open the rift into our realm."

  "Through Ren's realm, though," Logan reminded him. "Will it even work from here?"

  Rónán didn't answer Logan's question. Perhaps he didn't know the answer.

  "So, what we have," Rónán said instead, looking pointedly at Trása, "is a pissed-off Tuatha Dé Danann prince looking to retrieve his priceless, stolen rift-opening gem, in addition to an aggrieved Leipreachán storming around Tír Na nÓg. Oh, did I mention the angry merman, on top of a mischief-making Empress twin going rogue?" Rónán fixed his gaze on Trása with such intensity she wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole. "Anything else I should know about? Any other grand plans you've got underway while I was sleeping?"

  "I'm sorry, Rónán. But you said yourself it would be seven years before we could get back into that realm. And it has been ..." Her voice faltered under his withering stare. "I was just trying to help."

  "Don't ever turn on me, then," he said. "I'm not sure I'd survive it."

  Trása couldn't tell if he was joking.

  "Does Marcroy know you have his jewel?" Rónán asked, turning to Abbán.

  The merman nodded his head, his eyes wide. It occurred to her that in her realm they would have assumed Darragh and Rónán were long gone.

  Shit, Trása thought. Abbán wasn't supposed to know they're still alive. Maybe Rónán is right. Maybe I should have just left well enough alone.

  "How long before you're supposed to return the jewel?"

  "You're ... alive!" Abbán finally blurted out, looking completed flabbergasted. Not surprising, Trása supposed. It was unheard of for the Undivided to survive the transfer of power to their heirs. Everyone probably thought Rónán and Darragh long dead. For that matter, he might not even realize this was Rónán, and not Darragh.

  "Clearly," Rónán agreed, a little impatiently. "How long before Marcroy expects you to give it back?"

  "I don't know ... he had me open a rift to send the human girl home, but he never said when he wanted me to give it back. How are you still alive?"

  "Magic," Rónán said. "What human girl?"

  Abbán shrugged. "I don't know. Some human girl he found a while back. She's not of our realm. Marcroy tired of her, I suppose, and so he sent her home."

  "Marcroy finds human girls amusing," Trása explained, acutely aware of Marcroy's carelessly cruel fascination with innocent young women too foolish to realize he was not the enchanting Faerie Prince they thought he was. "Particularly if they're young and naive."

  "He had this one in Tír Na nÓg for quite a while," Abbán added, nodding in agreement. "She didn't realize how long she'd been there, I suppose. I only met her the once when I took her to the stone circle to open the rift. Pretty little thing she was. But boring. Kept going on about how the magic in our realm cured her blindness."

  Trása felt Rónán tense beside her. "What was her name?"

  "Who? The human girl? I don't know. Why would I care? She was Marcroy's pet, not mine. How can you be alive, leathtiarna? The new Undivided have been in power long enough to become men."

  Rónán didn't answer him. Instead, he turned to Trása and said in a flat, emotionless tone. "All this time, it was Marcroy who had Hayley."

  "You don't know that ..." Pete began, but before he could finish his sentence, Ren waned himself away from the stone circle, vanishing before their very eyes without another word, taking Marcroy's precious rift-opening jewel with him and leaving Trása to deal with the problem of Abbán and with no indication of what they were supposed to do about the missing Empress Isleen.

  Chapter 18

  "Why didn't you tell this police doctor who came to visit, about me?" Ciarán asked Darragh after he'd finished telling him the details of his latest visit with the Gardaí psychologist, Annad Semaj. "I could reassure him you are not insane. And that I am also from another realm. Perhaps then the authorities here will realise their mistake, let us out of this dreadful place and we can return home."

  That was three days ago and, with this morning's mail, a parcel had arrived - already opened by the guards to check for contraband. A shiny new Remington Titanium 700.

  It was after lights out and the only illumination in the cell came from the corridor outside. Ciarán and Darragh spoke in whispers and in their own language, to avoid disturbing their neighbours as much as to keep their discussion private. The prison was silent, but for the distant sound of doors clanging shut as the guards did their nightly rounds, and the soft but persistent sobs coming from one of the cells a few doors down. Darragh didn't know who was crying, but tears were not an uncommon night-time sound in this place. Although whoever it was would deny it in the cold light of day, even the toughest men, in the darkest hours of the night, could be crushed under the weight of the demeaning and soul-destroying environment of hopelessness that pervaded this place.

  Darragh could only hear Ciarán, not see him. The warrior lay on the bunk below pondering the arrival of the doctor's gift and the implications for Darragh if what he said were true about another charge of murder being laid against him once Hayley Boyle was legally declared dead.

  Darragh smiled in the darkness at Ciarán's optimistic suggestion that he introduce his cellmate to the psychiatrist and explain who he was. "If I tell them my cellmate is also from another reality and is willing to swear to it, they will just think I talked you into believing my delusion and we'll both wind up in a psych ward pumped full of psychotropic medication."

  "I would like to show these people how wrong they are," the older man grumbled.

  "Wouldn't we all." Darragh lay on his bunk, folding his hands behind his head. The ceiling was close enough to touch if he reached up, and if he leaned out of his bunk he could touch the wall on the other side of his cell. "And to that end, I've decided to contact Rónán."

  His announcement was met by a stony silence.

  "Did you hear me?"

  In the
dim light, Ciarán's face suddenly appeared beside Darragh's top bunk. It was astonishing how quietly a big man like him could move. "What do you mean, you're going to contact Rónán?"

  "I'm going to send him a message," Darragh explained softly. "Ask him what's taking so long. I asked Dr Semaj to bring me some titanium, because that's the only metal in this magic-depleted realm that seems to have the same properties as airgead sídhe."

  "You can contact Rónán? With titanium?"

  "There is a way, yes."

  Ciarán's eyes were intense, even in the dim light coming from the hall outside. "All this time. All this time we've been trapped in here you've had a way to contact the other half of the Undivided, and you've done nothing?"

  Ah, Darragh thought, that's not the reaction I was hoping for.

  "But ... but, why?" Ciarán seemed lost for words.

  "Because like you, old friend, I believe that if Rónán was able to return to this realm to help us, he would have."

  Ciarán was disgusted. "I cannot believe you have had the means to call for help anytime these past ten years and not availed yourself of it before now. Why, Darragh? Do you like it here?"

  I should have known he wouldn't understand. Darragh sighed. "Getting a message to Rónán is neither simple, easily acquired, nor a particularly effective method of communication and it's liable to have me back in that psych ward I mentioned, if they notice what I'm doing. I learned my lesson the last time. I'm not fond of tranquillisers, straightjackets, large doses of antidepressants or padded cells."

  "Then do it," Ciarán hissed, not understanding the references to tranquillisers and padded cells. "Do it now. Call your brother and demand he come for us. Do you realise how long we've been here?"

  "I've been incarcerated longer than you, Ciarán," he reminded him. "Of course I realise."