by Alex Temples
I glanced around to confirm I was alone, before pulling out my phone and snapping a photo of the page. I turned it and snapped three more photos, one of each of the pages with the strange elaborate drawings in the margins. Tristan and Nia insisted we keep the documents here in the lab for safekeeping, but they’d never said I couldn’t take photos. Nonetheless, I figured I should keep the photos to myself.
My phone flashed and I saw that I had a message from Tristan.
Urgent. Call me.
My stomach twisted at the sight. I jabbed the call button next to his photo.
“Brin?” Tristan’s voice came over the line, crackling.
“Tristan, what’s going on? Is everyone okay?”
More static and Tristan’s voice faded in and out. “Someone…your house was broken into…Oren…hurt.”
“What do you mean Oren’s hurt?”
There was more crackling and the line went dead.
Chapter Ten
I sat in the wreckage of my library, staring at the spot on the wall where its former occupant had hung the painting of his late wife. Oren sat in the armchair behind me, holding an icepack to his head. A group of fae, presumably Tristan’s soldiers, were combing the room for clues.
My entire apartment had been tossed. Around us, ruined books lay in heaps, mixed in with the few other items I’d managed to unpack. A photo of my parents on their wedding day lay on its side, a crack running down the middle.
The corner where I’d neatly set up my bar glasses and the few bottles of wine I’d received as housewarming gifts had been rummaged through. Wine pooled like blood under the table. Another stream ran across the hardwood and stained the pages of a Stephen King novel lying on the floor.
The upstairs was even worse.
They’d knocked Oren out. I glanced at my brother out of the corner of my eye. He was pale and shaken. Dried blood caked the left side of his face where it had run from the long gash in his scalp. Rage blossomed inside me.
Someone will die for this.
Tristan entered the room, casting a concerned glance in Oren’s direction.
“Brin, may I have a word with you?”
I glanced up at him, and then turned to Oren, a question in my eyes.
“Go ahead. I’m fine.” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “I was just going to kick my heels up and have a scotch.” He added casually, staring in the direction of the bar cart. For some reason, they’d left my bottle of scotch alone.
I shook my head.
“No scotch for you. You might have a head injury.”
Oren rolled his eyes and blew out a breath.
Tristan cleared his throat. I gave Oren another look of warning and stood to follow Tristan into the next room.
“What’s up?” I asked, anxious to hear what the fae had discovered.
Tristan frowned. “I know you won’t be surprised to hear we found traces of dark magic. Gethin’s men were here. I don’t know how they found you so fast, unless you’ve been using magic. I’m pretty sure they don’t have the connections we have in the mortal world that would allow them to search mundane records like bank statements and bills of sale.” He said, raising an eyebrow in question.
I winced.
“I suppose practicing a little green magic using the book Nia gave me counts, huh?”
Tristan coughed and I could tell he was trying not to smile. “Yes, Brin. It counts.”
My shoulders slumped.
This was all my fault. Oren could have been killed.
“I didn’t know the magic signature would be big enough for them to locate me.” I uttered, glancing at the ground.
How could I be so stupid?
“It’s okay, Brin.” Tristan reached out and put his hand on my shoulder. “They would have found you eventually anyway. I think they were looking for the book.” He glanced around the empty foyer, looking for answers. Not finding any, he rubbed his forehead, his eyes suddenly tired. “I just don’t understand what they hope to gain from the book.”
His comment reminded me of my discovery at the lab, and I jumped up and headed to where I’d dropped my purse. I dug through my bag, pulling things out as I went. Wallet, keys, a pack of gum, a wad of receipts, two packets of ketchup from the drive thru, several hair ties and a sock all hit the floor. Why was there a sock in my purse? I would clean my purse out when I had a little extra time, I reasoned. Finally, I clawed to the bottom, where I found my phone.
“What are you looking for?” Tristan asked, eying the pile of refuse next to my bag with a skeptical look.
Ignoring his question, I leapt to my feet, heading back into the library.
“Oren, I need you to look at something.”
I marched over to the chair and knelt beside him, pulling up the first photo I’d taken – the one with the cup on it.
Oren glanced down at the page and then up at me. “What is this for?”
I gulped, and briefly I debated lying to him. Then, I saw the look in his eyes. There was something there that told me he knew I’d been holding something back from him. I sighed, looking away at the wall, and then up at Tristan, who stood in the doorway.
Tristan nodded, solemnly and I let out a sigh. Pressing my lips together, I wondered where to start.
“Oren, there are some things I haven’t told you…” I began.
“Why don’t you start with why your colleague, who is supposed to be some sort of lab administrator, is having his goons search your house.” He said dryly.
At least his sense of humor was still intact.
“Yeah, I’ll get to that. I promise I’ll tell you what’s going on, but can you look at something first? I need your unbiased professional opinion on this document.”
Oren considered me for a moment, one eyebrow raised. “Alright, Brin. I’ll play, but I expect a full explanation afterwards.”
I nodded.
He sighed, placing his ice pack on the table and sitting up. “What is it you want me to look at?”
I handed him my phone.
“The first four photos, but especially that last one there.”
I pointed to the photos I meant and then went quiet.
He scrolled through the first few photos, and then looked up at me, a quizzical expression on his face.
“This is the Book of Invasions. When did you take these? Did you see it while you were in Dublin?”
I struggled to keep my face neutral, pressing my lips together. Choosing to ignore the first question, I answered the second one, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
“Yes, I saw it while I was in Dublin.”
Oren was examining me carefully, wearing an expression I recognized as belonging to our father. It was his professorial look. I felt as if he were studying me like one of his fossils. It also made me feel as if he’d already uncovered my secrets and was simply waiting to see how far I’d go to avoid telling him what was going on.
“Okay, I took the photos a couple hours ago.”
He frowned then, an incredulous expression on his face.
“That would mean you have the – “
“Yes, we have the Book of Invasions back at my lab.” I admitted.
Oren’s eyes widened. He looked at me like I was someone who had just escaped from a mental institution.
“What the hell are you doing with something like that? I can’t imagine you need an ancient religious text to make a vaccine, or whatever you’re brewing up in that lab of yours.’ Anger was seeping into his face.
I let out a frustrated sound. The last thing I needed right now was to destroy my relationship with one of the few people I had left.
Tristan stepped forward, and Oren stood up.
“And just what do you have to do with this? Are you the reason my sister is robbing museums?” He asked, his voice was filled with anger as he stared at Tristan, a look of warning flickering in his eyes.
“No. Your sister didn’t steal the book. I did.” Tristan said, his voice crisp and clear.
“And if you want to understand why and ensure that your sister, and the rest of your kind are kept safe, you need to listen to me.”
Oren hesitated, his hands fisted at his sides. I saw him weighing his options, but Tristan had pricked his curiosity.
“Safe from what?” He asked, his voice slow and careful
Tristan was quiet for a moment. Then he turned and waved an arm at the pile of books on the floor. They rose, swirling together in a sort of mini tornado, lifted by green fire.
Oren’s mouth dropped open at the display. He looked from Tristan to the pile and then back again.
“How are you doing that?” Oren’s voice was still calm, steady even, and there was something in it I didn’t recognize.
Tristan glanced at him, a look of amusement on his face. His eyebrows knitted together as he considered Oren.
“You’ve seen magic before.”
It wasn’t a question. Tristan’s voice was sure and steady as he examined Oren, his eyes moving up and down, searching for something.
Oren glanced at the floor, looking suddenly ashamed. He glanced up at me, then back to the swirling books. He took a steadying breath, and straightened his shoulders, his jaw set with determination. With a final glance in my direction, Oren thrust his hand forward, and a stream of blue fire poured from his palm.
Chapter Eleven
My eyes went wide, unbelieving. My mouth gaped open as I watched magic shoot flow from my little brother’s hand. The blue magic hit Tristan’s green magic and the books clattered to the floor. I turned to Oren, an expression of disbelief on my face.
Oren let his hand drop and the blue stream died away. He turned to me and took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly and then opening them. I saw in them a determination that hadn’t been there before.
“I’ve been able to do that since my 12th birthday, Brin.” Oren said, his eyes sad.
Tristan stood silently, watching Oren with a very interested look on his face. Uh oh, once again, never good when you’re interesting to the fae, even the good guys.
I took a deep breath in through my nose and let it out slowly before speaking.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I couldn’t keep out the hurt that crept into my voice, staring at him expectantly. We didn’t keep secrets from each other, at least I hadn’t thought we did. Oren and I had always been close. I frowned, struggling to remember his 12th birthday. I would have been 16. I winced. That was a particularly hard year. After getting caught driving drunk, our father had been forced to take a sabbatical from work, spending the better part of three months in rehab. He’d missed Oren’s birthday. My eyes shot to Oren. “Because of dad?”
Oren nodded, just a slight dip of his head.
Guilt flooded through me. I swallowed back the tears that threatened.
“You were trying to protect me.” I said softly.
Again, he nodded, stepping forward and placing a hand on my shoulder. I struggled to keep my voice from cracking.
“You were just a kid. You should have told me.”
Oren shook his head. “No. You can’t protect me from everything, Brin, nor do you need to. Yes, I was a kid then, but so were you. I think I’ve done okay keeping it to myself, don’t you?”
I considered him, hearing the logic in his voice. He had, hadn’t he? He’d kept this from me for almost fifteen years. But how? How could he have magic without someone showing him how to use it? I had never even known the ability was inside me until I’d met Aiden earlier this year.
I glanced then at Tristan. He saw the question in my eyes and stepped forward.
“It’s not unheard of, Brin. Every year we come across at least a handful or mortals who’ve come into their magic abilities, and you know you’re more than that.”
Oren frowned. “Mortals? As opposed to what?”
Tristan and I glanced at each other and then back at Oren. This was my job though.
“We’re part fae, Oren. We both have magic.”
Oren looked at me skeptically. “Fae? Like Tinkerbell?”
Tristan snorted with laughter. “Always. They always go to Tinkerbell. It’s terrible, really. We must fix this reputation we have.”
I sent Tristan a look and he quieted.
“Yes. Kind of like Tinkerbell. I mean, the magic part is the same at least. Obviously, we’re not four inches tall.” My attempt at levity fell flat as Oren just stared back at me, digesting something I’d said before.
“Did you say…we?”
Ah, so he’d just heard that part. Very good. I nodded. For good measure I raised a hand. With a flick of my wrist, the ivy plant in the corner sprouted new leaves. Tendrils shot out of the dirt, running rapidly down the bookcase until they touched the floor.
“Woah!” Oren shouted, jumping back.
“Oh, come now, you weren’t at all startled by Tristan’s little tornado, and you’re afraid of a little green magic? I gave him an amused look and he relaxed, moving forward to examine the plant.
“Green magic, huh? You can make plants grow?”
“Yep. I mean, there’s some other stuff I’ve learned as well, but we won’t get into that now.”
Oren glanced up at me. I knew by the look in his eyes we were going to be okay. We’d get past this. The shame I’d seen before was gone, replaced with a look of relief.
“It’s not just you. Mom is fae. She passed down her abilities to us.” I said.
A single tear ran down his cheek. I realized what I’d just revealed when his face twisted in confusion. I’d said is.
“Shit. I didn’t mean to say that.”
This day had already involved too many surprises, and now I’d brought the big one out of the closet. I sunk to the floor with a groan, exhausted and completely unprepared for this moment. Part of me knew I probably shouldn’t tell him about our mother at all. Especially because there was a good chance she’d die during this battle, but seeing the look on Oren’s face made up my mind.
I turned to Tristan. “Did they smash my teakettle?”
He smiled, a chuckle escaping his mouth. “No. Your teakettle is safe. I think I can rustle up some chamomile.”
I nodded appreciatively as Tristan turned towards the stairs.
Turning to Oren with a smile, I patted the floor next to me.
“You are going to want to sit down for this one.”
Chapter Twelve
An hour later the three of us sat at the small table Tristan had managed to salvage from the wreckage of the library. I clutched my fourth or fifth cup of tea, staring eagerly at Oren as he studied the photos I’d taken of the manuscript. He’d accepted the news that our mother was alive quite a bit better than I’d anticipated.
There were lots of questions, many I could not answer. Tristan had filled in some of the blanks for both of us, with the little information he knew from Aelwen. He’d also explained Oren had the right to be educated in the use of his magic, should he so choose. That had peaked Oren’s interest, but he’d remained silent until I’d begun asking him questions about how he discovered his magic and what he was able to do with it.
He’d been relieved to talk about these things. He hadn’t understood where his power came from. He figured he was a monster, like Carrie in that Stephen King novel, able to move things with his mind and make some flashy fireworks. He’d become interested in history, in Irish history specifically as he’d searched for answers as a teenager. He was a man now, and stronger than I’d thought. After discovering he could learn to control and direct his magic, he’d bombarded Tristan with questions.
I watched him with a renewed respect as he used his fingers to zoom in on a portion of the photo.
“I think you’re right Brin, these look like hidden drawings, something slipped in by the artist for the eyes of a specific audience, or even something added later by another individual.”
He squinted, zooming in and out in an attempt to focus on something.
“What does that say?” He ask
ed, pointing to tiny letters barely visible, running along the rim of the glass.
Tristan leaned forward to get a closer look.
“From the mighty hill sprung forth the army of light who defeated the demons. Never could they fell Colm Cille, he who protected us all, and from her womb Leabhar Cheanannais was born. Evermore the guards await their enemy, bowing only to the worthy.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I asked, baffled.
Tristan considered the tiny letters. “Colm Cille is St. Columba. Leabhar Cheanannais is the Book of Kells.”
Oren brightened. “Columba was an Irish abbot of the 6th century. He’s credited with spreading Christianity throughout much of Scotland and is both a Christian Saint, and one of the 12 apostles of Ireland. He founded an abbey, if I recall, on one of the outer islands.
“What does he have to do with the Book of Kells?” I asked, staring at the page, as if willing it to give me answers.
Oren frowned. “Nothing that I can think of. The Book of Kells wasn’t created until around 800 A.D., centuries after Columba.”
Tristan cleared his throat. “Columba, the great fox, he was one of ours.”
I snapped my head around to look at Tristan. “One of ours? Do you mean he was- “?
“Fae.” Tristan finished. “Yes, Columba was fae, from one of the royal lines.”
I stared at Tristan, waiting, but he didn’t say anything else.
“Fae? Hmm.” Oren had a contemplative expression on his face. “A fae living among mortals? Why?
Tristan smiled. “He was a protector, a guardian of sorts. Druidry was on the way out at the time. Times of shifting religious beliefs have always been quite volatile. The Crystal Court, those ruling the realm of fae, would have wanted to make sure the transition went as smoothly as possible. It’s not unheard of, for a fae to be sent to your realm to intervene in mortal affairs.”
He looked pointedly at me and I pursed my lips, thinking of Aiden.
“So, Columba was one of the good guys, spreading Christianity instead of Druidry? That seems counterintuitive for the fae. Wouldn’t they want people to follow a religion that focused more on nature and less on deities?” Oren asked.
