Blood of the Fae

by Tom Mohan

  Manny Lepe listened as Liza’s cell phone went straight to voicemail again. His nightmare had rattled him more than he wanted to admit. He needed to make sure Liza was all right. It had been many years since such dread had filled him. Not since the night Liza was conceived. His abuela had claimed to have these feelings often. Things were different in the tiny Mexican village in which he’d been raised. Such things were not looked at as crazy, like in Los Angeles, but respected as real.

  Manny told himself that Liza could take care of herself. It didn’t help. True, she had done well considering her upbringing, but this was the first time she’d ever traveled alone. Traveled at all, now that he thought about it.

  Manny put the phone down and forced his apprehension to the back of his mind. He knew the area that Liza had traveled to was remote. Not as remote as his boyhood village, but maybe remote enough to have bad cell service.

  The grandfather clock chimed, causing Manny to jump. He glanced toward the clock and was surprised to see that it was already 7:00 p.m. Paulina would be there in a half hour. Less, actually. Paulina’s late husband had been a career Marine. To her, early was on time, and on time was late.

  Paulina was never late.

  Manny went to the bathroom and washed his face before shaving and combing his still-thick hair. He brushed his teeth and changed into a black Hawaiian shirt decorated with colorful parrots resting on palm branches.

  He could smell the enchiladas cooking in his tiny kitchen. He would tell Paulina how he’d worked hard on them all day, and she would know he was lying but play along anyway. Manny prided himself on his self-reliance, but he’d never been much of a cook. The ladies were always bringing him meals, and Paulina would easily recognize Janey Collins’s famous enchiladas. That was no worry. There was no jealousy between his friends. It was all innocent flirting.

  Manny had just finished lighting the candles on the dining table when the doorbell rang. He shoved the BIC lighter into his pocket and wiped his hands on the dish towel he’d draped over his shoulder. He tossed the towel into the kitchen, where it landed on the counter near the sink. A quick glance at the clock on his way to the front door showed him that Paulina was her ever-consistent early.

  Manny opened the door with dramatic flourish and then stopped, mouth open wide. Paulina Hammond always looked very good for her age, but the woman who stood outside his door had gone to a lot of trouble to look even better. Her hair was a lustrous shade of black with only a hint of the gray that was usually present. Her face was expertly made up and looked twenty years younger than the seventy-six he knew her to be. She wore a light summer dress that made her look sexy without being overly revealing for her age. He’d seen the dress before, but this day it looked much better on her than he remembered.

  “Hi, Manny,” Paulina said as she slipped by him and into the house. “I hope I’m not too early.” She giggled like a young girl. “I know I have that tendency.”

  Manny cleared his throat. “Not at all, my dear. I was, um, just taking dinner out of the oven.”

  Paulina’s bright red lips curled into a smile that left Manny feeling like she knew something he didn’t. “Are those Janey’s enchiladas I smell?”

  “I knew I couldn’t fool you,” Manny said. He closed the front door and gestured toward the couch. “Wine?”

  “Of course.”

  Manny moved into the kitchen and retrieved a bottle of Ùnico Cabernet Merlot from Bodegas de Santo Tomas reserve. He wasn’t much of a wine drinker himself, but Paulina loved a good cabernet and he hated to disappoint her. This particular bottle had cost more than he liked to spend. He justified the expense by telling himself that if the ladies of Pacific Colony were patient enough to put up with an old fool like him, they deserved some pampering.

  Manny slid open a drawer and rummaged for the corkscrew.

  “Looking for this?”

  Manny spun around to find Paulina standing only inches away. She was holding the corkscrew up beside her smiling face. Manny pressed himself against the counter behind him. He thought his heart was going to burst from his chest.

  “Paulina! You startled me.” How had she crept up on him like that?

  “You shouldn’t leave your toys lying around.”

  She pressed the tip of the corkscrew into his chest, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make him uncomfortable.

  Something was very wrong.

  Manny willed his heart to slow as he studied the woman he’d known for over a year. She looked like Paulina, but she didn’t.

  Paulina licked her red lips and took the wine bottle from his hand. “Let me do that,” she said.

  Manny nodded. “Sí, if you wish.” He watched her back as she left the kitchen. What is wrong with me tonight? Paulina has always flirted.

  He took a set of hot pads from the counter and opened the oven. As he bent over to remove the enchiladas, a loud pop from behind startled him. He flinched. The edge of his right hand brushed the hot oven rack. There was a brief sizzling sound, and he jerked away. “Ouch, carajo!”

  “What’s going on in there, Manny?”

  “Nothing, nothing. Just pulling the enchiladas out of the oven.” Manny took the hot pan and placed it on top of the stove. He then took a few seconds to run some cold water over the burn. He dried his hand and inspected the angry red welt. Painful, but he’d had much worse. He carried the pan of enchiladas to the dining table. Paulina had poured two glasses of the wine and was sipping from hers.

  “This is very good, Manny. You always did know how to pick a good wine.”

  Manny shrugged. “Mrs. McCarthy has a love for wine. I have seen this bottle often in her cellar.” He pulled Paulina’s chair out.

  “Why thank you, sir.”

  Manny helped her slide her chair in before seating himself across the small table.

  “You seem tense tonight,” Paulina said. “Is everything all right?”

  “Sí, yes. I have not been able to reach Liza in Missouri, but I’m sure everything is fine.” He looked at Paulina through the flames of the candles. She was smiling again. The flickering light glowed red in her eyes.

  “Oh Manny, you pitiful thing. Liza is far from fine.”

  “Paulina? What do you mean?” But he knew it was not Paulina Hammond that sat before him. He thought of the stories his abuela had told. Fear washed over him like a wave of the sea.

  “Your precious Liza is not who you think she is.” Paulina crossed her arms on the table and leaned toward him. “Or, perhaps, you do suspect?” The glow in her eyes grew deeper. Dark shadows stretched from her body, swaying in the candlelight.

  Manny’s mind told him to get up, to get away, but his body would not listen. Her eyes held his. In the edges of his vision, he could see the shadows as they stretched toward him.

  “You aren’t Paulina.” The words came out in Spanish.

  “I’m afraid Paulina has had a bad night.”

  “Why?”

  “You are nothing to us, old man. Liza, however, is very special.” The voice was no longer that of Paulina. It was harsh and deep. She stood and walked toward him, her gaze never leaving his. “Liza needs to discover her true identity, but you’ve made her into a timid mouse. She needs an emotional push to help her become her true self.”

  She passed behind him, finally breaking the grip of her stare. Manny tried to stand, but a strong hand gripped his shoulder and forced him back to his chair. Fingers of iron clamped tight against his collarbone. He cried out, but only a whimper escaped his dry lips.

  The fingers squeezed tighter, and Manny heard a snap as his collarbone shattered. His mouth opened wide as pain shot through his body. Cold sweat broke out on his skin.

  The fingers moved from his shoulder and wrapped in his hair. They jerked his head back so that he was staring up at the person he had thought to be Paulina. Her face seemed to stretch and move, like a nest of snakes undulating beneath the skin. Manny’s mouth opened wide in a silent scream as the corkscrew rose ju
st above his right eye. It hovered there, the sharp tip gleaming in the candlelight.

  “Goodbye, old man.”

  Manny’s vocal cords finally opened as the corkscrew came down.

  Ruth Yoder could not rid herself of the deep feeling of dread that had been creeping into her mind all afternoon. She had nearly fainted at the news of Dadai Thomas’s murder. Such a sweet man he had been. All of the Old Ones were, even if some of them did everything in their power to convince folks otherwise.

  Ruth had been around the Finns long enough to know the importance of the Old Ones and their powers. Will four of them be enough? She doubted that she was the only one wondering that right then. She knew Jim Murphy would be doing something to protect the remaining Dadai, but the Mill didn’t have much of a police force and they still had a murderer to catch.

  Ruth’s mind spun. A murderer in Halden’s Mill. Who’d have ever thought such a thing?

  As she passed the picture window in the dining room, something caught her eye against the backdrop of the forest. She stopped and stared at the trees but saw nothing unusual. Just my nerves getting the best of me. She continued to the living room where she’d left off her dusting. Most people hated dusting, but she found a therapeutic rightness in making something clean that was once dirty. Not that the Finn house was ever dirty. No, she thanked God for the fine job he had provided her.

  As she made her way back to the dining room, the wall of trees across the field drew her gaze. Again, she thought she saw something. Again, there was nothing.

  Somewhere in the house, a door closed.

  “Jacob. Is that you?”

  The house remained silent. Only the ticking of the clock on the wall made any sound.

  “Jacob?” Ruth went to the kitchen where she could see the front door, the kitchen door out to the back deck, and the length of the downstairs hall all at once. The doors to the den, bathroom, and bedroom that she and Jacob sometimes used were all open.

  Nothing moved.

  She heard a creak from above. “Mr. Finn? Mrs. Finn? Are you up and about?” Again, no answer.

  Ruth went to the front hall and climbed the stairs to the second level. At the top, she gazed down the hallway. The first door on the left was the room Liza was using during her stay. The door was ajar, and light from the afternoon sun shone through the crack. A bit further down was the bathroom, and across from it was Fallon’s room. The master bedroom lay at the far end. The door was closed as was usual when the Finns were in the Mist.

  Ruth decided to check on Mr. and Mrs. Finn while she was up here. She made her way to their door and was reaching to open it when she heard that same creak, this time from behind her. She spun around, certain someone would be there, creeping up on her. The hall was empty. She hurried to the stairs and peered down. “Jacob?”

  Ruth had an eerie feeling that someone was toying with her. Never before had she felt the slightest bit uncomfortable in the Finn house. She knew what they did and what really lived in the woods behind the farm, but never had it felt so threatening. She wanted to chide herself for being a silly fool, but the fact was, someone was killing the Old Ones. Conall was going insane, or worse.

  Nothing felt right anymore.

  Below, she heard another sound she couldn’t quite make out. She hurried down the stairs, hoping to find Jacob, or Fallon and Liza. The front door was still closed, but she felt a breeze from the kitchen. She headed that way and found the sliding door leading to the back deck now open. She moved to the door and peered out. There was no one in sight.

  Ruth opened the door wider and stepped out onto the deck. A strong breeze had come up, blowing from the west. Above her, the wind hissed through the leaves on the two maple trees that shaded the backyard.

  Across the field, the forest swayed in the wind. Something else moved there as well. Ruth squinted, trying to focus. Whatever it was kept far enough back in the trees to prevent her from getting a clear view. She remembered something and hurried back into the house to the dining room. Fallon’s camera with the zoom lens was on the small table by the window where she’d left it after taking pictures of a herd of deer that had passed through the field some days ago.

  Ruth snatched up the camera and went back out on the deck. She held the camera to her eye and focused the powerful lens on the forest. There was definitely something going on there, but she was still unable to make out what it might be. She snapped a few pictures, hoping to be able to zoom in on it.

  She strode back inside where the sun’s glare would not black out the viewing screen and brought up the first picture. What she saw caused goose bumps to prickle her arms and the short hairs on the back of her neck to stand up.

  She glanced up from the screen to the scene outside and then back at the photo. She flipped through a few pictures to make sure she was looking at the ones she’d just taken. There was no mistake. Even the date/time stamp matched. The pictures she saw were of the forest, there was no doubt of that. However, where the sun shone in a clear sky in her reality, angry, dark clouds covered the horizon above the forest in the pictures.

  But that was not what frightened her most. Clearly visible in each picture were two bright green globes that moved in each frame as the blurred image she had seen with her own eyes had. She shivered and set the camera down hard on the counter, unable to shake the image of huge, green eyes watching her from the depths of the trees.

  From Tír na nÓg.

  Ruth hurried to the stairs and took them two at a time. She was going to have to bring the Finns back. She reached the end of the hall, opened the door, and slipped into the room. Moving to the bed, she glanced out the window at the forest. The wind was blowing harder, and she thought she could see a darkness hovering over them. She turned toward the bed and froze. Even her heart stopped for what should have been a couple of beats.

  Cullen and Ana lay on the bed, but they were no longer touching. They lay completely apart. Separated there meant separated in the Mist.

  “Lost,” Ruth whispered.

  • • • • • • •

  ANA FINN DARTED from the cover of the forest and raced across the shadowed clearing. She could hear the chattering of the wraiths behind her, like hyenas but with an eerie intelligence behind their screeches.

  Lights flickered and danced around her as the sprites came out to investigate this newcomer to their world. Ana fought to stifle the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. She had to keep her wits, or she would not last an hour in Tír na nÓg. At least she was not completely in the land of the fae, not physically, at least. At the moment, she only had the sprites and wraiths to worry about. Only they could harm her in her current state.

  The sprites were not much of a threat. The wraiths were a different story. They would drain every drop of her life force if they caught her.

  She was still trying to figure out what had happened. She and Cullen had been walking the Mist when he’d vanished. All contact with him was severed. Nothing like this had ever happened. For a moment, her mind had gone completely blank. Then her senses had kicked in as the gray textures of the Mist had become more alive, more colorful, more Tír na nÓg.

  She’d spun in circle after circle, looking for any sign of her husband. The sprites arrived seconds later, dots of light flickering in the trees around her. When the first wraith had screamed, an ancient, deep-seated terror filled her. It had come from far away but was enough to warn her to silence. Sprites were known for their curiosity and pranks more than for violence. Would they tell of her presence or merely observe?

  Ana felt a pull on her spirit from the fae world. A part of her wanted to see it as it truly was, to experience the legendary beauty and life of Tír na nÓg. Even though she knew the lie that hid among that truth, the pull was strong. Tír na nÓg had a life of its own that was so much more than any human could experience in their dark world. A life of light and power. Such power, beyond imagining.

  She shook her head and focused upon who she was. She could no
t allow the power to draw her in. Tír na nÓg was not a land of light and life but of darkness and death. This knowledge had been passed down through generations and was embedded in the Finn consciousness. Her bonding to Cullen had made her as much a Finn as if she had been born one.

  Are you so certain, Mist Walker?

  Ana stopped and spun around, seeking the source of the voice.

  Join us, Mist Walker. Join us and live.

  Wraiths. They were still hidden but growing closer, taunting her until they could catch up. The fact that they were doing so told her she had some sort of chance. They would not be trying to convince her to join them if she was simply prey. Was it possible that she was as much a mystery to them as they were to her—maybe even more so?

  Ana took in her surroundings. She had no time to consider such things at the moment. She needed some sort of plan to survive and find Cullen. She sensed the wraiths coming from her left, so she sped off in the opposite direction, praying for something to give her hope.

  When Liza and Fallon left Brianna’s house, Jacob was waiting in the driveway. He waved as they approached and gave Liza a smile. She smiled back.

  “Hey there, Liza, Fallon. How’s Brianna? Did she have any light to shed on all that’s been going on?”

  “You could have come in,” Liza said.

  Fallon gave Jacob a friendly punch in the arm. “Jacob doesn’t like Brianna’s house. It scares him.”

  “Ow! I’m not scared. Well, not much, anyway.”

  “Uh-huh, right,” Fallon chided.

  “Hey, you’d be kind of nervous around Brianna if you’d grown up with the stories my grandpa used to tell about Tír na nÓg and this place.” He gave the house a quick glance, then looked away. “I think I’d like Brianna well enough, but this place gives me the willies.”

  “So, what’s next?” Liza asked.

  “We have to find a way to get Mom and Dad together with the remaining Old Ones. Brianna can probably do a conference-call thing from here. The only problem is, most of the Old Ones—actually all of the ones still alive—hate telephones.”