Children of the Veil (Aisling Chronicles)

by Colleen Halverson

  “What’s she doing here?” he asked.

  Regina stood next to Seamus, her eyes narrowing at me.

  “Elizabeth is helping me with my initiate quest,” Finn said.

  Seamus and Regina gave me matching sour looks, their arms folding across their chests in unison as if they had choreographed it.

  I stared blankly at them, smoothing the lines of my face, but inside my heart pounded at seeing them again. They resented my relationship with Finn and had no qualms about making their feelings known. I hovered at Finn’s side, regretting I didn’t leave back in the alley.

  Finn cleared his throat and quickly filled them in about what we saw at Scáth. “Do any of you know anything about these púcas? There was a whole army of them there.”

  Seamus spoke up. “We’ve heard unusual reports on the south side, but we’ve been patrolling and—nothing.” He shrugged. “Do you think it’s drug related?”

  “Absolutely,” Finn said. “But it is a little embarrassing to have a turf war going on right under our noses.”

  Máirtín piped up from the corner. “Púcas can blend into the population fairly easily. It makes them difficult to track.”

  Finn nodded. “But how did they get here? And what do they want?”

  Silence filled the room.

  “Anyway, that is not why I’m here.” Finn sighed and pulled out the picture of The Children of Lir. “I was wondering if you could look at this picture and tell me if you recognize anyone in it.”

  He passed around the photograph, and each of the Fianna studied it carefully. Seamus and Regina shook their heads.

  Máirtín said, “Is that…Niamh O’Neill in the corner?”

  “Yes,” Finn said. “That Fae we know, but do you recognize anyone else?”

  Máirtín scrutinized the photograph for a long time. Finally, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, no.”

  Finn nodded. Tucking the photograph away, he collapsed into an armchair. “It’s so strange. No one seems to recognize anyone in this picture. There are no records of them, no Fianna who remembers them. It’s as if they just vanished without a trace.”

  “Who are they?” Regina asked.

  Finn quickly retold the story he had told me about the underground band of Fae rebels in London called The Children of Lir.

  “Seems an ironic name, don’t you think?” Máirtín smiled.

  Finn nodded, chuckling lightly.

  “Why? Why is it ironic?” I asked, still lingering in the doorway.

  “I thought you were an expert in the Celtic Revival, Elizabeth,” Seamus said. “How do you not know the legend of the Children of Lir?”

  “I never claimed to be an ‘expert’ in anything, Seamus,” I snapped. “I know it has something to do with a wicked stepmother and some swans…”

  I chewed on my lip, trying to remember all the details.

  “Tis an ancient story,” Finn said, saving me, “with different tellings and retellings. It actually begins with your grandfather, Bodb Dearg. Come, sit, Elizabeth. I will tell it.”

  Regina planted her chin in her hands, looking up at Finn. “Ah, story time!”

  I perched on the edge of the couch, and Seamus exhaled loudly, moving as far from me as possible.

  Finn smiled and began. “After the Celts won Ireland and the Tuatha Dé Danann fled to Tír na nÓg, the Tuatha Dé Danann decided to choose a new king. Several men came forth, but in the end, the chieftains chose Bodb Dearg to be their ruler. This did not set well with Lir, one of the legendary Fae chieftains of the day. To appease Lir, Bodb Dearg sent one of his daughters, Aeb, to marry Lir.”

  “Is this how things are settled with the Faeries?” I interrupted. “Sell off your daughters to your enemies?”

  “Don’t interrupt,” Seamus scolded.

  I flashed him a hard stare, and Finn raised his hand.

  Finn began again. “Aeb, your aunt, had four children: Fionnuala, Aed, and twins Fiachra and Conn.”

  My ears perked up, and I smiled. “I have Faerie cousins?”

  “Had Faerie cousins,” Finn said. “Unfortunately, Aeb died in childbirth with the twins. Not even the Druids could save her. Lir was devastated. To console him, Bodb Dearg sent another one of his daughters, Aoife, to try to lift his spirits, but Aoife was jealous, cruel-hearted.”

  “Hmmm…reminds me of someone we know,” I said, recalling the Fianna Aoife, one of Amergin’s thugs.

  “Shhh…” Seamus shot me a glare.

  I scrunched my nose at him.

  Finn shook his head and cleared his throat. “Anyway, Aoife resented the love Lir had for his children. One day she and a servant took the children out for a walk. Aoife begged the servant to slay the children, but the servant refused. Taking matters into her own hands, she set out to kill them herself, but at the last moment, her heart weakened to the task. Instead, as the children bathed themselves in a nearby lake, she struck them with her magic wand, turning them into swans.

  “Aoife returned to Bodb’s castle and confessed her deeds to your grandfather. He was outraged and turned Aoife into an air demon. As for the children of Lir, your cousins, well, the legend goes they spent three hundred years on Lake Derryvaragh, three hundred years by the Mull of Cantyre, and three hundred years in Erris. Only a true man of God could break the spell.”

  Finn trailed off and took a deep breath, signaling the end of the story.

  “Well?” I asked. “Did someone ever break the spell?”

  Máirtín interjected, laughing. “In the very early years of Christianity in Ireland, many monks claimed to be the ‘chosen one’ who did so.”

  “But you don’t believe that?” I said.

  “No.” Máirtín shook his head, leaning back into his chair. “Nor do I entirely lend credence to the tale. I am sure Aoife just made up a nice story to tell your grandfather to avoid punishment. Knowing his temperament, ’tis quite likely Bodb Dearg locked her up or pushed her off a cliff.”

  “In any case,” Finn said, “it does make for a nice fairytale. Over time, swans became symbolic of the Irish emigration and exile, which is no doubt why your mother’s group took on the name.”

  “Yes, I suppose…” I closed my eyes, the soft couch cushions enveloping me. I longed for sleep, and I held my hand to my mouth, stifling a yawn. I replayed the story Finn told in my mind, thinking of my mother in her white dress, swan-like and graceful.

  My eyes snapped open, and I bolted to standing, the story triggering a memory. “A swan!”

  “What?” Finn looked at me quizzically.

  “There was a tattoo of a swan on that púca’s hand! The big one!”

  “Whose hand?” Finn asked.

  “Phelan. The púca who bombed Orin’s bar.” I paced the room, the tattoo of the swan emerging clear in my mind’s eye. “I wasn’t sure what it was, but…let me see that photograph.”

  Finn retrieved the picture from his pocket and handed it over.

  I scanned the visible hands of the Fae. “Look!” I pointed to the image. “There’s a tattoo on Malachy’s hand in the same place.”

  “Elizabeth, a lot of Fae have tattoos.” Finn’s eyes flitted to the strange black brands around my wrists.

  “I know, but just look.” I gave the picture back to Finn, and he studied it closely.

  He shook his head. “That mark could be anything.”

  Seamus piped up. “I have some digital imaging software. We could take a look. Wouldn’t be but a minute.”

  I whirled on Seamus. “Seriously?”

  He shrugged.

  I looked at Finn with big pleading eyes.

  “Fine,” he said.

  Seamus took us all upstairs into a room with wall-to-wall computers, humming with technology. Surveillance cameras flashed on and off, and others appeared to be coding something.

  Seamus collapsed into a chair in front of one of the large screens. “The picture?”

  Finn placed it in Seamus’s hands, and he set it inside a scanner. With a few cl
icks, the photograph blew up on a large screen. As it came into focus, I zeroed in on my mother, her big green eyes looking innocently at me, her pale face half lost in shadow. My heart lurched at the sight of her, remembering the last time I saw her. Swallowing hard, I shifted my gaze back to Malachy’s hand. With a few strokes of keys, Seamus magnified it.

  “It’s just a big blob,” Regina said.

  My heart sank, staring at the blurry tattoo on the screen.

  “Wait a second here.” Seamus typed something, and the magnified section of the photograph focused. There on Malachy’s hand, unmistakably, was the same swan tattoo I saw on Phelan’s hand.

  “That’s it!” I cried, grabbing Finn’s arm. “That’s it! That’s what I saw!”

  “Are you sure, Elizabeth?” Finn leaned forward, studying the image.

  “Yes, I’m absolutely sure.” It was a small tattoo, but the same Celtic knotwork formed the swan’s long graceful neck. It sloped around Malachy’s thumb, and its tiny wing stretched across the back of his hand, the tip just touching his middle knuckle.

  “So what does this mean?” Regina stared at the photograph.

  Finn straightened, crossing his arms decisively. “It means we need to find this púca.”

  Finn and I walked through the hallway, leaving the rest of the Fianna behind.

  “So I think tomorrow we should start by questioning Orin on Phelan’s whereabouts,” I said, my mind brimming with plans.

  “We are not going anywhere.” Finn led me down a corridor to my old room. “You are going to stay here at Trinity and I’ll take Seamus along to question Orin.”

  I stopped, grabbing hold of Finn’s coat. “I don’t think so. Don’t forget, I’m on this quest, too.”

  “I know, Elizabeth. It’s just that—”

  “And besides, Orin’s probably back in Tír na nÓg by now. How are you going to find him?”

  Finn sighed. He knew I had a point. “Very well.”

  I smiled, triumphant. We arrived at my door, and I leaned against the threshold, staring up at him. Finn had insisted I sleep here tonight, promising he’d be right next door in case anything happened.

  “This is kind of fun.” I leaned against the door jamb.

  “What is?” Finn studied me.

  “You know, looking for clues, going after bad guys…”

  He flashed a sad smile. “Just like old times.”

  I shrugged. “Something like that.”

  He leaned in toward me, heat radiating from his body. “You should try to get some rest.”

  “Yeah.”

  He reached his arm across my waist, and I braced myself for a kiss. Fumbling with the doorknob, he pushed the door open and I stumbled backward.

  “Oh, right, of course. Sleep.” I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear and flashed him an awkward wave. “See you tomorrow.”

  The door clicked shut behind me. I walked around the room, memories of the first time Finn brought me to Trinity flooding back as I traced my hands along the heavy cherry wood furniture. After throwing my clothes on the floor, I slipped into the same cotton nightgown from the night before and crawled into bed. I closed my eyes tight, willing myself to tune out the images of Finn’s skin pulled taught across his chest, his dark hair falling across his cheek bones, the curl of his lip as he leaned down to kiss me. Like so many nights, I buried my head in my pillow and let out a small moan, cursing myself for hanging on to him like that. I jumped out of bed and pulled the copy of Yeats poetry out of my coat, then read through it again until I came to his inscription.

  Love always, Finn.

  I flung my arm across my eyes.

  And what does “always” mean? Does he love me now?

  I drifted in and out of sleep with my fingers folded inside the book, tracing his name over and over again until I slipped into oblivion.

  …

  “Elizabeth, wake up!”

  Fingers dug into my shoulder, and I screamed, slapping at the iron grip holding me down. My lungs constricted from lack of oxygen, and I let out a choked cry.

  “Wake up!”

  Finn’s face emerged through the darkness, and he smoothed the sweaty hair away from my forehead.

  “Oh God,” I breathed, my shoulders shaking violently. I buried my face in my hands. My cheeks felt wet, like I had been crying.

  “It was just a dream, Elizabeth,” Finn whispered, folding me into his arms. “You’re all right now.”

  A dream. Yes. Dark hands brushed against the corners of my mind, threatening to pull me back under. A small sob escaped my throat. I didn’t want to go back there. I couldn’t go back to that horrible place.

  “You’re here in Trinity. You’re with me,” Finn spoke against my neck, gently brushing away the sweat and tears with his thumb. “I am not going to let anyone hurt you.”

  We sat like that for a long time, with me tightly bound in his arms, his hand grazing against the side of my face until my breathing slowed. He went to lay me down against the pillow, and I clutched at his shirt.

  “Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”

  Finn paused. His eyes glimmered in the shadows, tendrils of his silky hair brushing against his strong jaw.

  “Please,” I whispered.

  “I will,” he said. “Of course I will.”

  He stretched out beside me on the bed, a deep sigh emanating from his broad chest. The proximity of his body sent waves of tension through me, and it took all my strength not to rest my head against his shoulder. I wanted to mold my skin to his, release everything into him. But I remained still, staring at the tin ceiling.

  “Do the nightmares come often?” he said, breaking the silence between us.

  “Not every night,” I lied. Again.

  “Are they always the same?”

  I threw my hand over my eyes and swallowed the lump in my throat. “Can we not talk about it?” I said in a tight voice.

  “Come here.” Finn took hold of my shoulders and drew me against his chest. “I’ll watch over you.”

  I rested my palm against his cotton shirt, listening to the steady beat of his heart. We fit so perfectly together, the sound of our breathing falling into sync as we settled beneath the blankets. I curled up closer against him, sinking into a gentle sleep, and for the first time since I could remember, I did not dream.

  Chapter Seven

  Finn, Seamus, and I stood in the hallway, morning sunlight pouring through the window. Finn had insisted we bring Seamus along, just in case we run into trouble in Teamhair. Both men wore their full Trinity leather gear, and I thumbed the hem of my sweater, feeling a bit underdressed to travel to Tir na nÓg.

  “Are you guys ready?” I asked, the power already pooling in my limbs, seeking out their energies.

  Seamus gave Finn a shifty glance. “We could wait until Orin returns to Chicago, you know.”

  “We’re not waiting.” I raised my chin. “If you’re nervous about traveling, you can stay here.”

  The Fianna arched an eyebrow. “I just don’t want you dumping me in a bog somewhere.”

  “Let’s not necessarily rule that out.”

  “Enough,” Finn growled. “Are we doing this or not?”

  In spite of spending the night curled up together, Finn had woken up in a dark mood, avoiding eye contact with me and leaving to get dressed before I could even whisper a “good morning” to him. My heart had leaped into my throat when I watched him close the door, leaving me alone and twisted up in the sheets. We could express emotion in books, in the darkness, but as soon as the light hit us, we returned to this horrible awkward silence. The strain of it was already exhausting.

  “We’re doing this,” I said under my breath, closing my eyes. In the shadowlands, a rush of energy surged through my body, and I collected Finn and Seamus, wrapping them in the fold of my magic. I sought out Orin’s energy, his unique genetic code, his imprint on the universe that only he possesses. My spirit locked on his orb, and I pulled us into that space
. The Veil folded around me, and with a slight push, welcomed us to the other side.

  Before I opened my eyes, I breathed in the sweet, floral smell of Tír na nÓg. Weakness flooded my limbs, and Finn’s arm stretched across my shoulder. I opened my eyes to find his face close, his warm breath on my neck.

  “I’m okay,” I whispered. “It will pass.”

  We stood in an opulent room, a great bed in the middle, overflowing with red silk bedding. Beaming sunlight poured through the windows, radiating through Orin’s pale skin. His translucent eyes flashed open and bore into me.

  “You have no right to bring them here,” he snarled, nodding toward the Fianna warriors flanked at my sides. “You have no jurisdiction in Tir na nÓg. Article 37b of the Trinity charter clearly states—”

  “We’re not here to arrest you, Orin.” I stepped forward.

  “Is this about the púcas?” He snatched a robe on the side of his bed and threw it around his shoulders. “I told you, I do not know anything about them.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Do you think you might remember if those púcas had something to do with my mom’s disappearance?”

  He raised an eyebrow at me, and his eyes shifted to Finn.

  “It’s okay.” I raised my hand. “You can trust them.”

  “Can I, Princess?” He sneered. “I know Amergin hunts your mother.”

  I shrugged. “Keep your enemies closer, Orin.”

  The dearg-dubh planted his feet on the floor, his long robe billowing around him before he tied it around his waist. Pulling himself up to his full height, Orin met Finn’s eyes with a withering stare, his muscles rippling beneath the thin fabric draped over his solid body.

  Finn crossed his arms around his chest. “King Bodb Dearg personally asked Amergin to seek out Princess Niamh.”

  Orin shook his head. “A fool’s errand…for a fool.”

  I raised my palms. “Okay, unless you have a better idea on how to find my mother, aside from enchanting another evil book, you’re gonna answer my questions.”

  Orin gave me a deep bow. “Of course, Princess. I serve at your pleasure.”

  I took a deep breath. “On the night of the attack, there was one púca. You called him Phelan. He had a tattoo of a swan on his hand.”