The Dark Divide

by Jennifer Fallon

  When she finally reached the main house, she leaped the short distance to the veranda, unbothered that it was completely dark now. She stopped, stretched her spine out luxuriously, and decided the first thing to do was find the kitchen, and after that, a comfortable place to sleep for the night. Somewhere warm, soft and not likely to be disturbed by dogs.

  Trása didn’t get more than a few steps before she was forced to abandon her plan for a meal and a snooze. A familiar voice reminded her of why she had come.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Aoi,’ she heard Rónán saying as she rounded the corner. He was talking to a young woman with the most startling blue eyes dressed like a geisha without the white make-up. Had she not been weeping, Trása thought with feline disdain, the geisha girl might have been quite pretty. ‘I didn’t realise it was a crime to wield magic without the permission of the Konketsu.’

  ‘It’s not just that,’ Aoi sniffed. ‘You have confirmed for the Tanabe that we are harbouring a Youkai. The wrath of the Empresses will be terrible.’

  What’s he done now? Trása wondered as she sat down to watch. The young woman seemed very upset. Why do they think Rónán is one of the Tuatha Dé Danann?

  ‘Look, I said I was sorry,’ Ronan repeated. ‘If I’d known waving a bit of magical fire around was going to cause this much trouble, I’d have let them storm the gates.’

  ‘We can fix the gates, Renkavana,’ Aoi sobbed. ‘We cannot fix this.’

  With that rather melodramatic declaration, Aoi turned on her square wooden heel and fled inside, something that lacked a certain amount of grace and dignity accompanied, as it was, by the clacking noise of her geta against the wooden decking of the veranda, and that she stopped to remove her shoes before she ran inside.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ Rónán muttered in English as he watched her leave.

  If Trása had been capable of it, she would have smiled. Rónán was learning, she gathered, that not everyone appreciated magical intervention. She was mildly impressed to discover he’d found something magical with which to intervene. Perhaps his brother’s memories were beginning to make sense to him, although by the sound of it he hadn’t done much more than make a bit of fire. She did wonder how he managed to escape the woman in the red kimono, and whether he’d used magic for that, too. It seemed unlikely. Perhaps Aoi had helped him? If she had, she was regretting it now.

  Rónán watched Aoi leave and then turned and stepped off the veranda, following the raked path until he reached a small hut some distance from the main house. As he entered the hut, which seemed little more than a bedroom and a small washroom, Trása slipped in behind him onto the woven matting, waiting until he had closed the sliding door before rubbing up against his leg to tell him she was there. She hadn’t meant to announce her presence quite so affectionately — her feline instincts had taken over before she had time to consider the implications.

  Smiling, Rónán bent down and scratched her under her jaw, sending a delicious thrill down her spine. She started purring, rubbing harder against his hands, astonished at how good it felt to be petted like that.

  ‘Hey, puss,’ Rónán said, squatting down beside her. ‘You’re a friendly little thing, aren’t you?’

  ‘Mmmmm,’ she said to herself, forgetting her words were nothing more than a rumbling purr.

  ‘Like that, do you?’ he asked, still scratching her under the chin. She turned her head sideways to enable easier access to that annoying spot just behind her ear that she could never quite reach. ‘Glad somebody around here appreciates my efforts.’

  His words jerked Trása out of her feline bliss and back to annoying reality. Enough of this nonsense. She hissed at Rónán and moved away from him, resuming her human form as she went.

  ‘What the fuck!’ Rónán jumped back in fright as Trása morphed from a house cat into a full-grown person.

  She rose to her feet, naked and annoyed. ‘Yell a little louder,’ she suggested. ‘I don’t think they heard you in Antarctica.’

  Rónán seemed a little taken aback by her sarcasm. And her words. ‘You were listening in,’ he accused. ‘When I was talking to Hayley back at St Christopher’s. That’s exactly what I said to her.’

  ‘I was standing guard,’ she corrected. ‘Your voice carries. So does Hayley’s, by the way. Pass me the blanket.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The blanket, moron. It’s cold in here. I’m freezing.’

  ‘I thought Faeries didn’t feel the cold.’

  ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’ she asked, looking at him oddly.

  ‘I remember when we were back in the warehouse in Dublin. It was icy in there and you were hardly wearing anything. You claimed you didn’t feel the cold.’

  ‘I was trying to distract you with my feminine wiles,’ she said with a shrug.

  ‘That’s bullshit.’

  ‘It was Plunkett’s idea. Can I have the blanket or are you not finished staring?’

  Rónán did as she asked, passing her the soft woven blanket from the futon against the far wall, although not as hastily as he once might have. Trása wondered if that was the influence of Darragh’s memories too. The boy she had been able to divert with her enticing bare midriff back in the other reality would have blushed himself crimson at the sight of her naked body. The young man standing before her now seemed much less naïve. Given it was little more than a month since the incident in the warehouse, the change in his demeanour was unlikely to be the result of anything else.

  Once she was covered, she glanced around the hut, pursing her lips thoughtfully. ‘So … you’ve found yourself a cosy little niche here, haven’t you? How did you get away from Madame Butterfly and her henchmen?’

  ‘How do you know who Madame Butterfly is?’

  ‘Well … I don’t, really. I just heard the name on TV in your reality. How did you get away?’

  ‘Long story,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Tír Na nÓg.’

  ‘So there are Faerie here?’

  ‘Not so’s you’d notice,’ she said, pulling the blanket a little tighter against the chill. ‘I think there are some lesser sídhe around, but I haven’t been able to find any to talk to yet. I was on my way to trap myself a Leipreachán when I saw the fireworks over this place and decided to see what all the fuss was about. What did you do, Rónán?’

  ‘I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘Your girlfriend was crying and wailing like you’ve destroyed their whole world.’

  ‘Aoi’s not my girlfriend,’ he said impatiently. ‘I’ve been here two days. Her brother is the Daimyo. And all I did was scare off Chishihero when she came here looking for you and me. The trouble seems to arise from the fact that I used magic to do it. Apparently that’s a capital offence around here.’

  Trása couldn’t resist smiling. ‘You mean you committed a capital crime without my help? And all this time you’ve been acting like you’d never do anything the slightest bit naughty unless I set you up first.’

  Rónán didn’t seem to appreciate the irony. ‘Yeah … well, the only thing I’m sure about, Trása, is that we have to get out of here. We need to find a way to open that rift again. Time is running out.’

  Trása’s smirk faded at the reminder. Not only would Rónán and Darragh die in a few days if they didn’t stop the Druids transferring the power of the Undivided to the new heirs on Lughnasadh, if the boys died Trása would never be able to return home unless she fancied a short and unwelcome life as a barn owl.

  ‘Do you know how we can open it?’ she asked.

  ‘They don’t use jewels here,’ he told her. ‘They use something called ori mahou. It means folding magic. Apparently the magic comes from the kozo trees they make the paper from.’

  Trása nodded. It made sense. There could not be this much magic in a world unless there was something constantly replenishing the supply. Magic trees would do it. ‘So we just need to learn how to fold whatever it is that they fold to open rifts here, ge
t enough magic paper to work the spell and we’re home free.’

  Rónán shook his head. ‘You make it sound simple.’

  ‘In theory, it is,’ she agreed. ‘Bet it isn’t, though.’

  ‘Would the lesser sídhe know how to do it?’

  Trása shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Then you should probably find one and ask him.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Now who’s making things sound too simple?’

  CHAPTER 19

  Kiva Kavanaugh’s house was huge. It wasn’t as big as Sí an Bhrú, of course, but scores of people occupied Darragh’s home. Sí an Bhrú was a community. Amazingly, this house was built to accommodate only two people — Rónán and his adoptive mother, Kiva.

  Darragh had watched as the housekeeper, Kerry Boyle, had driven away earlier, clutching a purse and a list scrawled on the back on an envelope. Perhaps she was going shopping. Whatever the reason, she might be gone for some time. He didn’t know where Kira might be. Of Patrick Boyle, Darragh’s rescuer and the eileféin of Amergin, the Druid who had betrayed the twins so heinously in their own realm, there was no sign.

  Darragh limped across the lawn from Jack’s place and let himself in the back door. It was a keypad lock, but thanks to the Comhroinn he had his brother’s memories and knew both the code and how the lock operated. He stepped into the kitchen and glanced around. It was a large room, not dissimilar in layout to Jack’s kitchen next door, with its white cupboards, black granite counter tops and shiny stainless-steel appliances. This kitchen was much cleaner than Jack’s, however. Kerry Boyle was a better housekeeper than Jack O’Righin and his once-a-fortnight cleaning lady, Carmel.

  The house was silent but for the inevitable hum of electrical appliances on standby. Darragh found it odd that the people of this realm didn’t notice the sound. It was quietly driving him mad, and among the many reasons he couldn’t wait to get home.

  Not that he was going to be able to get back to the reality where he belonged any time soon. He’d had no luck connecting with his own realm. Darragh had suspected, even before Sorcha went to such pains to set up the paraphernalia required to contact their own realm, that it wouldn’t be enough. Even with the combined magic of both Darragh and his brother Rónán, in the park, they had barely made contact the last time.

  On his own he had no chance.

  Sorcha would find it hard to accept that when she returned. She was determined to get home and did not want to entertain — even for a moment — the possibility that they were stranded here until someone came to get them.

  She would have to accept it now, Darragh thought, as he gingerly limped through the kitchen into the hall. It was deserted and silent. The whole building evoked a wash of confused emotions. He stepped onto the floral carpet runner to muffle his footsteps and slowly headed toward the stairs. Although he knew the layout of the house and was familiar with every room, the room he really wanted to see was Rónán’s.

  The stairs were wide, the banister made of polished oak. Darragh marvelled at the cleanliness of it. Sí an Bhrú’s floors were made of stone and compacted earth. Even when it was clean and tidy, spiders nested in the shadows, worms burrowed under the floors and all manner of insect and rodent creatures who shared the world with men, occupied the nooks and crannies of his home.

  This place was sterile. Heartless, even. There was something missing. Something only the presence of other creatures could provide. It was as if the house, magnificent as it was, lacked a soul.

  Darragh stepped onto the landing and looked around, sweating a little from the pain of climbing the stairs. To the left were the marvellous double doors to the master suite where Kiva slept. Inside — so his brother’s memories informed him — was her large four-poster bed, her endless wardrobe, her closet devoted to shoes, her ridiculously decadent black marble bathroom, and her Japanese meditation room. Even Rónán’s memories couldn’t provide a reason for the latter, but it was there, and Darragh didn’t feel the need to visit it. He turned right, down the silent, echoing hall toward Rónán’s room.

  He hesitated before he opened the door. His ankle was throbbing, but he was more afraid of what emotions might overcome him, standing in this place that featured so prominently in his brother’s life.

  And then he scoffed at his own foolishness and opened it. Every step Rónán took in Darragh’s realm would be the same for his brother. If Rónán could cope with the experience, so could he.

  The room was exactly as Rónán’s memories recalled it. The wide bed, with its soft goose-down quilt, in the black and white geometric pattern Rónán favoured after finally convincing Kiva’s decorator he had outgrown the dinosaur theme she was so fond of. Darragh realised he could name most of the books on the shelves, all of the computer games and if he’d been brave enough to turn on the computer and try his hand at the internet, he knew Rónán’s Hotmail password.

  Leaving the bedroom door open, Darragh limped further into the room. He slid open the wardrobe doors to find Rónán’s school uniforms hanging neatly at one end, still in the drycleaner’s plastic covering. Beside them was a large selection of more casual clothes.

  Darragh studied the clothes for a moment and then smiled and began to peel off the dirty hoodie he wore. It belonged to Warren’s teenage son. Like his stolen jeans, it had never fitted properly. Here was a whole wardrobe full of clothes designed to fit him perfectly. He pulled out a pair of Levis, a red and black checked shirt, and a comfortable-looking leather jacket that his borrowed memories told him was one of Rónán’s favourites. Once he’d dressed in the clean clothes, he turned his attention to Rónán’s shoe collection, settling on a pair of thick woollen socks and well-worn, calf-high, tooled-leather Western boots.

  He smiled as he studied himself in the full-length mirror of Rónán’s bathroom, amazed at how well the boots fitted, despite his swollen ankle. Darragh found many clothes of this realm a little silly, but to see himself dressed like this …

  On impulse, he opened the drawer under the basin. There were scissors in there, he knew. Pulling them out of the drawer, he faced the mirror. But for his longer hair, he and his brother were identical. On a whim, he began cutting his long brown locks, snipping them to the length of Rónán’s more closely cropped style. When he was done, he gathered up the strands of hair from the floor and flushed them down the toilet.

  ‘By Danú,’ he said aloud as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. The haircut was a little ragged, but it was near enough to Rónán’s style. He couldn’t help but grin at the young man staring back at him. ‘I’m Ren Kavanaugh. It’s uncanny.’

  He held up his right hand. The tattooed palm, in his reflection, was now his left. It truly was as if he was standing here, looking Rónán in the eye.

  ‘Wait until we meet next time, brother,’ he told his reflection, thinking of Rónán’s reaction the first time they’d met in Breaga. ‘What the fuck, indeed.’

  ‘Kerry! Is that you!’ a voice called out behind him. ‘Why is the door to Ren’s room open? I told you, nobody is to touch his room until … Oh, my God!’

  Darragh froze as Kiva appeared in the mirror behind him, standing in the door of the bathroom.

  There followed a moment of stunned silence as Kiva stared at Darragh in disbelief. And then, before Darragh could say anything or offer any sort of explanation, Kiva threw herself at him and hugged him so hard he could barely breathe.

  ‘Oh, my God, Ren, you’re back!’

  She squeezed him tightly for a moment longer, while Darragh tried to figure out something to say, and then she stood back and held him at arm’s length, studying him through tear-filled eyes.

  ‘Oh, my God, Ren! I thought you were dead,’ she said, sniffing back her tears. ‘The police thought that O’Hara character had arranged to have you killed. Oh, my God! And then they said you were back, and that you’d been to see Hayley … and now she’s missing …’

  ‘I’m sorry … Mum,’ Darragh said, feeling awkward and
at a complete loss as to how he should deal with Kiva. He hadn’t expected to encounter Rónán’s mother from this realm, and his brother’s memories of her were of surprisingly little help, full as they were of conflicted and ambivalent emotion.

  ‘I know you are, sweetheart,’ she said, smiling through her tears. She reached up to touch his wounded face. ‘I know you never meant any of this to happen. Oh, my God … But don’t worry, darling, I’ll call Eunice. We can sort this out. If she can arrange for you to surrender to the —’

  ‘No!’ Darragh said, pulling away from her, desperately trying to claw through his brother’s memories for clues about the best way to deal with Rónán’s mother from this reality. ‘No police. Call them and … I’ll leave … and … you’ll never see me again.’

  ‘Okay … okay … I won’t call anyone. I swear.’ She tried to hug him again. ‘Just promise me you won’t run away again.’

  ‘Very well,’ he agreed hesitantly, letting her embrace him, figuring that was slightly less off-putting than her constant repetition of the phrase ‘Oh, my God’.

  ‘Are you hungry, sweetheart?’ Kiva asked, letting him go, searching his face for something Darragh couldn’t fathom. ‘Let’s go down to the kitchen. Kerry’s out shopping, Neil’s at school and Patrick has taken the car to get new tyres. We’re all alone, I promise.’

  Darragh nodded, unable to think of anything else to do. Until he could escape from Kiva’s well-meaning, but smothering, ministrations, he had no choice but to play along with the notion that he was Ren. She clearly hadn’t spotted the difference between him and his brother. Patrick had spotted it almost immediately. That said much, Darragh thought, about the relationships Rónán had with both his mother and the man who had saved him from drowning when he was first tossed into this realm.

  Kiva took Darragh by the hand and led him downstairs, almost as if she was afraid he would disappear if she let go. She was alarmed by his limp, but he assured her there was nothing to worry about. Darragh let her rattle on nervously as they walked, not sure of half the things she was speaking about. She talked of school friends he could barely recall, friends of hers he didn’t give a fig about, news that meant nothing to him. Perhaps she was afraid to be quiet for fear of the awkward silence that was bound to fill the space between them.