Goosebumps broke out on my arms. “What is this?” I whispered.
The waitress set down steaming plates piled high with mountains of food, but my eyes remained pinned on the photo, studying the downcast slant of my mother’s face.
Finn gestured to the stack of pancakes in front of me. “Eat.”
I shook my head. “I’m not sure I’m hungry now.”
“Eat.” Finn pushed my food closer to me and folded his hands on the table. “I’ll tell you a story.”
I set the picture down, but my eyes never left it as I picked up my fork and speared a bite of omelet, a strand of bright yellow cheese stretching up and into my mouth.
Finn took another sip of coffee then set down his mug. “In the early 1980s,” he began, “Trinity became aware of a secret society of Fae living underground in London. Primarily led by dearg-dubh, the movement included a wide array of Fae, Tuatha Dé Dannan, púcas, elves, even a few wayward leprechauns. They called themselves The Children of Lir.”
“So…a bunch of Irish vampires team up with the Faerie dream team?” I chuckled. “Sounds like a party.”
He shook his head with a grimace. “They fought to restore full rights to the mortal world for the Fae. This picture was taken in early 1988 at the height of the Children’s rebellion.”
I swallowed a bite of pancakes, the syrup gumming on the roof of my mouth. “Are you saying my mom was some kind of Faerie…freedom fighter?”
Finn shrugged. “I do not know the extent of her involvement, but it would explain why Amergin didn’t quite give you a warm reception when you first came to Galway.”
I stabbed at my pancakes, wishing the tiny pieces of blueberries were Amergin’s bright blue eyeballs. He had nearly killed me that night during his interrogation.
“But one thing I do know,” Finn continued, “is that she met your father not long after this picture was taken.”
My gaze drifted back to the photograph, studying every strand of her dark brown hair, the vibrant green of her eyes still bright in the sepia tones invading the glossy surface. I had only seen one other picture of my mom, hidden in my Dad’s drawer. That’s all I had of her—images and spectres.
I arched an eyebrow. “That’s it? That’s all you got?”
Finn let out a long sigh, his shoulder muscles tensing. “There is something else. A fire destroyed all the records about the Children back in Trinity London. No one knows who these Fae are in this picture. But this man—” Finn pointed to a pale man with black hair and black eyeliner setting off his translucent eyes—“this dearg-dubh I know.”
“How do you know him?”
“Because he killed my wife.”
Chapter Three
A piece of pancake fell from my fork. “You were married?”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
Finn shrugged. “You never asked.”
My fork clattered against my plate. “Well, that’s kind of something you tell a person you’re sleeping with!”
The anger I thought I had left behind in the tower in Teamhair came flooding back. Finn had kept me in the dark about so much, and finding out he was married felt like one more barrier between us.
He glanced out the window, crumpling his napkin in his hand. “It was a long time ago.”
“So what?” I bit into a piece of bacon, wiping the grease from the side of my mouth with my thumb. “What other secrets do you have?”
He let out a long sigh. “I hate The Beatles.”
I slouched back in the booth. “Finn!”
He raised his hands in the air in mock defense. “’Tis shocking, I know.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “I’m serious! If we’re going to work together, you need to be honest.”
He raised an eyebrow. “So you agree to work with me?”
I stared down at my lap and let out a long exhale. Finn could be useful, but he belonged to a secret organization that had made my mother public enemy number one. I should have taken the last sip of my coffee and teleported my ass out of there, but sitting across from him stirred up old desires, and not just of the horizontal kind. He made the world make sense again, and I needed his strength, his steady presence. The trembling, sick feeling in my stomach had disappeared, and my spine stood stronger against the duct-taped upholstery of the booth. With him, I knew I would be safe…but then Amergin’s smug face flashed in my mind again, and I shook my head.
“No,” I said.
His chest deflated and he gripped the edge of the table, steadying himself for another lecture.
I raised my hand. “But I might consider moving in similar directions for a while.”
He nodded, his eyes grave. “I have no other secrets.”
“What?”
“You said I need to be honest.” Finn stared out the window. “I don’t like to talk about Charlotte. My wife. I should have told you.”
“No, it’s…I mean, I’m sorry.” My cheeks burned, and I picked up my fork and shoveled more of the omelet into my mouth. More eating, less talking.
“Like I said, it was a long time ago.”
I chewed, glancing at the dearg-dubh in the picture. “What happened? How did she…?”
Finn picked up the photo, his mouth set in a grim line, his finger running along the faded edge. “Charlotte was Fianna. One night in New York, we raided a lair of dearg-dubh holed up in an old button factory.”
He set the picture down and pointed to the pale figure in front. “His name is Malachy Moray. He set off an explosion, killing Charlotte in the process. I thought there would be no way he could have survived, but then I came across this photograph buried in the vaults of Trinity London.”
“So how do we find him? If the identities of these Fae are lost, then…?”
He squared his shoulders. “There is one dearg-dubh who might have answers.”
“You mean Orin,” I said flatly. “I’m not going back to Tír na nÓg.”
He nodded. “We don’t have to. Orin has business in Chicago. We can head there tonight after we meet with the lawyer.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “Orin and I didn’t exactly part on good terms.”
“What do you mean?”
I sighed. “He was the one who gave The Book of Arranmore to Dr. Forrester. He started this whole thing. He enchanted the manuscript in order to find my mom.”
Finn knitted his brow. “Why would he do something like that?”
“Because…” I pushed my plate away, wiping my mouth with my napkin. “Because he’s in love with her.”
“I see…” Finn frowned into his coffee cup. “Orin might be the only person we know who could have some insight into the whereabouts of Malachy. I have never trusted that dearg-dubh. If I could find another way, believe me, Elizabeth, I would take it. But I know the secrets to your mother’s past lie with him.”
I shredded my napkin in my palm. “And my dad. That was where I was going to go today, to DC, to see him. Before you showed up.”
Finn nodded. “James Tanner is certainly someone worth investigating. After we talk to Orin, we’ll make our way there.”
“Sounds like a plan.” My eyes drifted toward the window. The morning had started bright, but now a light snow drifted outside, powdering the freshly shoveled sidewalks. The details of Finn’s story swam together, and I glanced back at my mother’s face in the Polaroid, half in shadow, half in light. Who was Niamh and how had she and my father gotten together? What was her role in the Children of Lir? It seemed like every time I discovered some new clue to her past, it only unlocked another mansion of secrets. I drained the last of my coffee, the stale taste coating my teeth. My hand palmed the porcelain slope of the handle, slender and too small for my fingers.
“So who doesn’t like The Beatles, anyway?” I gave Finn an accusatory stare. “The White Album? ‘Hey Jude’?”
Finn laughed under his breath. “I am more of a jazz man, myself. Miles Davis, John Coltrane…”<
br />
“A jazz man? You?”
Finn shrugged, taking the last swig of his coffee. “Why does that surprise you?”
I blinked rapidly, tapping on the table. “I don’t know. Jazz is so…free. And you’re so…”
He arched an eyebrow. “I’m so…what?”
I wanted to say not free, but I shook my head. “Nothing. I just didn’t expect it.”
Our gazes locked, and the air between us grew heavy. I became painfully aware of the vicinity of his long legs beneath the table. He shifted and his shin grazed over mine, sending a flurry of sparks up my limbs. His face didn’t change as we touched, but he didn’t move away, either. Everything in my body yearned for him, a heady, feverish feeling taking over me even as a voice in my head screamed at me to walk away.
The waitress set the check on the table, and I jumped.
Finn cleared his throat and reached for it, pulling his wallet from his trousers.
“Seriously, you don’t have to pay for my breakfast.” I grabbed his arm, and my body rebelled against me, responding to the feel of his firm muscles beneath his coat sleeve.
He blinked hard and then glanced down at my fingers, giving them a platonic pat. “It’s my pleasure.”
I sat up. “I mean it. I don’t want to be in your debt.”
Finn stood up from the table and leaned into me, planting one hand on the edge of the booth and the other on the table. He caged me in, the stubble on his jaw brushing against my cheek before he whispered in my ear, “You don’t owe me anything.”
A nervous laugh escaped my throat. “You’ve saved my life like a million times.”
He looked down at me, his gray eyes dark. “Let me buy you breakfast, Elizabeth.”
“Okay,” I breathed.
He turned abruptly and went to the cashier to pay. I watched him as he folded his wallet back into his pocket and straightened his leather trench coat. Every movement so precise, so careful. Not like me, barreling through life without a plan, without direction. Like a bull in a china shop, Dad would say. Finn had files, photographs, connections. And I had—what? Some busted up X-Men powers and a father who hadn’t spoken to me in over a year. Finn was playing for the other team, but something in the set of his shoulders, the assurance in his stare drew me to him again, made me want to take his hand and follow him. In spite of my better judgment, I knew Finn was the only one who could drag me out of my drunken miasma and help me find my mother. I had to trust him, at least for now.
And if he happens to accidentally take off his pants, who am I to judge?
I coughed, pushing that wonderful image into the secret red room of pain in the back of my mind. All pants aside, I was ready to start this quest, and I had to stay focused.
He held the door open for me, his hand brushing against the small of my back. “Come,” he murmured. “We don’t want to be late for the lawyer.”
Chapter Four
The frigid air took my breath away, and I wrapped my scarf tighter around my neck. Finn trudged through the snow, his eyes squinting against the freezing wind.
“So…” I said. “Why do you think the Fir Bolgs are after me?”
“Do you know about the Fir Bolgs?” Finn dodged a puddle of slush as we crossed the street.
“I know they were the First Men of Ireland, and I know they were banished to the far reaches of Tír na nÓg. Other than that…the mortal records are pretty skimpy.”
Finn nodded. “The Fir Bolgs have absolutely no say in the Faerie realm. There are occasional rebellions, but King Bodb Dearg is quick to squash them. What that Fir Bolg was doing here is a puzzle to me.”
Snow collected on Finn’s shoulders, and I resisted the urge to brush it away with my gloved hand as I half jogged to keep up with his long strides.
“Do you think it might be Edward Thornton?” I said.
Edward Thornton was the leader of an occult group obsessed with the Faerie world. He had been working with my sociopathic Fomorian ex-husband, Bres the Beautiful, in order to gain access to the mysterious Tree of Life. He had escaped the last battle at the seat of the Faerie realm, the city of Teamhair, and no one had seen him since.
“Doubtful.” Finn shook his head. “The Fir Bolgs do not have the political clout Bres did, and Thornton is attracted to power.” He ran his fingers through his hair, his hand settling on the back of his neck. “No, I think there is a far more complex plan at work here.”
We walked up to the Forresters’ rambling Victorian. A shiny red BMW hummed up to the curb, and a tall man in a suit climbed out of it, flashing us a toothy smile.
“You must be Finn and Elizabeth,” he called out to us as we made our way across the street. “I’m Bill Brenson with Brenson and Associates.”
“Finn O’Connell.” Finn gave the man a firm handshake.
Bill glanced at the two of us. “So you two know each other?” the lawyer asked.
In the biblical sense?
I nodded, suppressing a smirk.
“Yes,” Finn replied.
“Excellent!” The lawyer beamed at me, and I smiled back weakly.
Bill pulled a briefcase and a larger duffel bag out of his car. “I have the keys to the house. We can meet inside.”
I swallowed hard, eyeing the stained glass front door. The thought of going in there made my chest tighten. No Moiré inside to offer me a cup of tea, no Dr. F inside to lend me a copy of his J. M. Synge plays. Just an empty house, dark and abandoned.
Finn followed Bill up the steps but turned back when he realized I lingered on the sidewalk. His heavy hand squeezed my shoulder, and he stooped to meet my downcast eyes. “We don’t have to go inside,” he whispered.
Blinking hard, I stared down at the cracks in the sidewalk. “I’m okay. It’s just hard being here again…”
“We can go back to the diner.”
“No, let’s get this over with.” I shrugged past him and followed Bill into the foyer.
“It’s freezing in here!” The lawyer rushed into the hallway, rubbing his hands together and blowing into them. He pushed a few buttons on the thermostat and musty warm air emanated from the vents near my feet. Beyond that damp basement smell, I breathed in the familiar scents of orange polish and old books. A thick layer of dust muted everything, like a photograph out of focus. All the jewel-toned walls Moiré loved appeared faded in the thin winter light bleeding through the sheer drapes.
“So, let’s take a seat in here.” Bill gestured toward the bright red fainting couch, and he settled into Dr. F’s creased leather chair.
“The will is pretty straight forward,” the lawyer began, unsnapping his briefcase and handing us two copies of the last will and testament. “The dispersal of property and assets are clearly outlined there. To you, Finn O’Connell, the Forresters left all their monetary assets. You can see the sum on line two.” I looked over at line two, and my eyes bugged out. I knew that being a part of the Fianna had its perks, but now Finn was pretty much set for life.
“To you, Elizabeth Tanner, they left this house and all the contents of the library.”
“Excuse me?” My mouth dropped open.
“Please see line three there.” He tapped on the paper.
Sure enough, there it was in black and white. I was a homeowner now. A real grownup.
“But I can’t, I mean…I can’t pay property taxes on this thing!”
“It looks like the Forresters took care of that, too. Please see line four.”
I skimmed through the writing, but my eyes blurred with all the technical legal-speak.
“What does this mean?” I asked.
Bill smiled. “It means the Forresters set up a trust through our offices to pay for this house as long as you remain owner of the property, of course. I suppose you could sell it if you wished, but—”
“No!” I shouted, much louder than I meant to. “I…I want to keep the house.”
“Excellent.” Bill shuffled the papers in a stack on his knee. “So there’s just on
e more matter to attend to.” He reached back into his briefcase and brought out two copies of another form. “When Moiré became sick, she came to me secretly, insisting Kevin could not know. I thought it odd at the time, but…” Bill chuckled beneath his breath. “I’m paid very well not to ask questions.”
He gave Finn a conspiratorial grin, but Finn stared back at him blankly.
Bill cleared his throat. “Anyway, she had me draft up this will, which I would only present to you upon Kevin Forrester’s death. It seems she left something for each of you.”
He reached inside the duffel bag he had set down beside his chair. “To you, Finn O’Connell, Moiré left this copy of Thomas Moore’s Irish Melodies.”
Bill handed over the book, and Finn let it fall open in his hands, the molding paper crackling like an eggshell. He studied an engraving, his finger tracing a woman playing a harp.
I leaned over. “Why do you think Moiré wanted you to have that book in particular?”
“I don’t know.” Finn frowned, shutting the book and then placing it in his coat pocket.
“Well,” Bill said brightly, “I’m sure she had her reasons. So, Elizabeth, to you Moiré left a…” Bill squinted at the will “…a gay bulge.”
“A what?” Finn and I said in unison.
“Um…this thing.” Bill pulled out a long, narrow case from the duffel bag. “It’s some sort of antique weapon. She said she thought Elizabeth would like it.”
My skin prickled, the will shaking in my hand. Why would Moiré give me a weapon?
Finn looked down at Moiré’s will and then back to the case. “Do you mean a Gáe Bulg?” he said, pronouncing it “guy-bohlg” with a hard G.
Bill smiled as he unlocked the clasps holding the case closed. “Yes, that sounds right.”
He brought the open case toward me. Nestled in midnight blue velvet lay a staff with one long spearhead and shorter barbs below it. It was the kind of weapon that, once it entered a person, it damn well wasn’t coming out without serious internal damage.
“Whoa…” I made to pick up the wooden shaft of the spear, but Finn grabbed my wrist. “Hey!” I shouted, but he flashed me a dark warning stare.
Children of the Veil (Aisling Chronicles) Page 3
