Blood of the Fae

by Tom Mohan

  Fallon slid her legs over the side of the bed. A tug and slight sting made her aware of the IV sticking from her arm. In the movies, people always ripped them out before escaping from hospitals. She hoped it was that easy. She peeled the tape away and felt a bit lightheaded at the sight of the bruised area on her arm that surrounded the embedded needle. She hated needles.

  It’s coming, Fallon.

  Fully awake and aware, Fallon was certain it was Conall she was hearing, and he sounded…normal. She knew that he and Marcas could communicate in such a way but had never experienced it herself.

  His tone carried a sense of urgency that gave her the courage to grasp the tube above the needle and pull. The sting as the needle slid out brought tears to her eyes, but it was done. She would just have to live with the spot of blood that oozed from the puncture wound.

  The red letters on a digital clock beside the bed caught her attention—10:17 p.m. On a chair beside the bed was a plastic bag with her shoes resting on top. She hoped the bag contained her clothes. Making a nighttime getaway in a hospital gown sounded too much like a slasher horror movie.

  Fallon took the bag and shoes and slipped into the bathroom. She dressed as fast as her battered head and body would allow. The feeling of dread had deepened into a cold lump in the center of her chest. She found herself gasping for breath. Her shaking fingers struggled to tie her shoelaces. She had learned long ago to follow her feelings. At that moment, her instincts were clear—something was coming for her. Something very bad.

  Fallon slipped from the bathroom and moved to the open door. The hallway was too quiet. The normal hospital sounds she’d heard upon waking had been replaced by an eerie silence. She stepped out of the room, ready for some nurse to challenge her, but there was no one to issue the challenge.

  This is completely wrong.

  The icy fear deepened as she slipped further from her room. The light steps of her sneakers on the polished floor sounded loud in the silence. The nurse station in the center of a block of rooms was deserted.

  Movement from the edge of her peripheral vision caused Fallon to turn. There was no one there. Again, she thought she saw something and spun toward it, only to be greeted by empty silence. She jumped as a shadow drifted across her path. There were more of them, ghosts that surrounded her. The light in the hospital had grown dimmer, more distorted, as though it shone through a fog.

  She stepped up to the nurses’ station and peered over the desk. A shadow sat in one of the chairs. As Fallon gazed at it, the muted sound of voices sifted through the stillness. She let her gaze slide around the room, forcing herself to relax and allow her senses to take in everything. One of the shadows brushed against her, so light as to be almost unfelt. A scent lingered as it passed—perfume.

  They’re still here. The nurses are still here, just not completely here. I’m not completely here.

  It’s bleeding through. It’s bleeding through and coming for you. The urgency in Conall’s voice did nothing to relieve her nervousness.

  What’s bleeding through? Conall, I don’t understand.

  Fallon thought she heard a distant sigh, but Conall did not respond to her question. At least she knew he was out there somewhere. She took a moment to observe the dreamlike state she was in. A dream was exactly what it felt like. That sensation of not really being somewhere.

  She hadn’t been to the hospital enough to know her way around. A set of double doors at one corner of the square of rooms seemed like a good place to start. A large button on the wall about five feet before the doors said PUSH. She did, and the doors opened outward. The hallway outside was bathed in the same dim light. She glimpsed a few of the human shadows pass on their way about some business of their own.

  Fallon started down the hallway to her left. She hadn’t gone far when a putrid smell oozed around her, and she gagged. She stopped, not sure where the stench was coming from. She had passed several rooms and hallways since leaving the nurses’ station. She went a few steps further. The smell grew stronger, and she heard a hiss. Her heart pounded, and she struggled to catch her breath. She was on the verge of turning and bolting in the other direction.

  The hissing grew stronger. No, not hissing—sniffing. Not the quick sniffs of a dog investigating a scent but long, slow inhalations like a starving person following the scent of a simmering steak.

  “I know you’re there. I can smell your fear.” The voice came from somewhere around the corner in front of Fallon. It was a woman’s voice, raspy and dry. “I smell your blood, the blood of betrayal.”

  Fallon took a step back. Her mind screamed at her to turn and run, but something held her in place. A shadow passed over the corner in front of her, a real one not one of the ghosts of the real world. Still, Fallon’s terror held her fast. She wanted to gag from the stench as it washed over her, cloying and heavy. She could barely breathe, and what breath she did take brought the stink inside of her. She heard footsteps now, slapping like waves against a pier.

  It came around the corner. Fallon’s mind could not comprehend what she was seeing. The face was that of a crone, ancient and wrinkled. Matted gray hair full of sticks and dry leaves clung to her head. Her clear, brown eyes took Fallon in with one glance. She smiled, showing sharp, dirty teeth.

  But it was what was below the crone’s head that caused Fallon’s heart to flutter in her chest. The woman wore hides of rotting flesh as clothing, human flesh, as though she had stepped into someone else’s skin. Maggots crawled over the flesh, burrowing their way into it as they feasted.

  “My, you do look pretty enough to eat.” The woman grinned. Fallon could see pieces of meat stuck in her sharp teeth.

  “Who are you?” Fallon’s words came out as little more than a whisper.

  “I am known by many names. Your kind call me Black Annis.” The woman stepped closer, her bare feet slapping the tile floor.

  Fallon felt a wave of dizziness. She had heard of Black Annis—one of the most feared fae of legend. “You can’t be here.”

  The crone cackled. “I can’t, can’t I?” She looked around at the pale walls of the hospital. “Well, you seem to be mistaken about that because I am very much here, and I am very hungry.”

  Fallon struggled to calm her mind, to think. Her body trembled, and her breathing was shallow and rapid. Terror seized hold of her. She was frozen in place, an easy kill for this monster. The small part of her mind that still functioned screamed that this was not right.

  That Annis was there and a serious threat was not in doubt. What was wrong was Fallon’s helplessness.

  Remember who you are, Fallon. You’re a Finn. Act like one.

  The thought gave her something to grasp, to hold against the tide of fear that spilled out of the creature before her. Black Annis moved within inches of Fallon. She raised one hand and ran a long, claw-like fingernail along Fallon’s cheek. The nail sliced Fallon’s face, and warm blood flowed from the wound. Annis licked her lips, her blue tongue darting from side to side.

  Anger flared within her, not at her own danger, but at the complete wrongness of all that this monster represented. It was an aberration, something that should not be. Her trembling slowed as her breathing came back under control.

  Black Annis smiled. “Ah, there she is. You do have some spirit in you. I will feast on your strength as well as your flesh. Feed your anger, girl. Feed your anger.”

  Fallon’s anger intensified to rage and disgust. Who was this monster to treat her this way? She was a Finn, and the Finns held charge over such as this. The fury pushed the fear aside. It gave her strength that she had always kept buried. After all, she was the funny one, the nice one everyone loved to be around. She was tired of living in the shadow of her family, tired of being the normal one. She was tired of taking everyone else’s crap and pretending it didn’t bother her.

  This isn’t you, Fallon. You are not anger. You are not rage. Be who you were created to be.

  Fallon didn’t know if the thoughts were
her own or came from somewhere else. Who was she? Who was she created to be? She had always considered herself the least of her family. Everyone else had specific purposes to keep the power of Tír na nÓg in check—her only purpose was to wait for her soulmate to show up. She would not come into her power until that happened. She felt the familiar surge of self-pity that she’d learned to hide with humor and sarcasm.

  That’s not true. You have power. You have the greatest power of all.

  There was truth in the words. Fallon allowed the truth to spread through her. Her anger began to subside. She saw the look on the face of Black Annis and fought against her own feeling of satisfaction. Satisfaction was not needed here. Like anger, it was a mirage. No, she needed something else, something she had been born with, something that made her who she was. “You’ve never known love before, have you?”

  The creature flinched. Annis’s eyes squinted as though she were trying to see inside Fallon’s mind.

  Fallon let the new feeling flow through her. She imagined it as a warm liquid cascading from her heart, through her body, radiating from her in an aura. She still fought revulsion at the thing before her, but the part of her that was of ancient times knew the truth of the matter. “You have spent your life living in hate. Only love can set you free of such a dreadful existence.”

  Annis took a step back, her face scrunched. “You know nothing of our existence, girl.”

  Fallon allowed a smile to cross her lips. “You’re right. I know nothing of your existence. But I sense a beauty that you have kept hidden, hidden even from yourself.”

  Annis’s hand flashed up, razor claws bared to strike. “I will rip your pretty face from your head and suck your brain out through your eyes, girl.” Yet, she did not strike. She hesitated, and Fallon let the warmth of love flow from her. She envisioned it crossing the distance between her and Annis, forcing herself to see this creature for the beautiful creation it was. A creation that had been distorted and warped through the centuries but was still worthy of awe and love.

  Annis hissed. Her hands covered her face as though warding off a physical blow. She took a step back, then another. “This isn’t over, girl. The barrier weakens. I will feast on your heart and silence your weak words.”

  The creature threw her arms wide. She turned her face toward the ceiling. A shriek tore from her throat and pierced Fallon’s ears like an ice pick. The shriek faded to a moan that matched the sound of the wind. The next moment, she vanished with an explosion that knocked Fallon to the floor. For a moment she lay there, stunned by what had happened. The warm feeling faded, leaving her cold inside. Around her, the dim corridor of the hospital was still blurred by the nearness of Tír na nÓg. She had chased off Black Annis but was far from safe. She felt invisible eyes watching her and sensed the malice behind them.

  Fallon climbed to her feet. Which way to go?

  She closed her eyes and sought the familiar sense of her family. She did feel it, distant and weak, but there. The closeness of Tír na nÓg was like a wall of dark syrup between her and her world.

  She opened her eyes and started in the direction from which she’d felt the pull. The sounds of hissing and claws scraping the floor threatened to push her into a panic, but she kept her mind on her family as she moved through the mingled worlds.

  Fallon’s concentration slipped as a sudden feeling of terror washed over her. She became aware of something behind her, something huge beyond comprehension. It radiated hatred and power. It was coming up fast, like a locomotive about to crush the life from her. She wanted to look back but didn’t dare. She sought the warm feeling of love that had seemed so natural before, but her terror was like a steel wall before it. She broke into a run, sprinting through the endless corridors. The hissing that surrounded her turned to gleeful laughter as the thing closed in on her.

  A familiar voice forced itself through Fallon’s terror. Fallon? Where are you?

  Conall? No, Marcas. She was sure of it. She latched onto the voice and sprinted toward it. There, ahead of her, the dim, red glow of an exit sign shone like a beacon in the Mist of the worlds. The thing behind her closed the gap, its nearness flooding her with feelings of dread and terror. Her breathing was hoarse and ragged, and her strength was fading.

  The exit seemed to move farther away, growing more distant with each labored step she took. She could feel the beast’s hot breath on her back, smell the putrid air as it blasted her from behind. Then the shape of a door appeared beneath the sign. She prayed it would lead her out of that horrible place. She stumbled, her legs like jelly beneath her. When she cried out, the sound of her own desperate voice seemed to lose itself in the heavy air.

  The door in front of her opened, and a silhouette filled it. Fallon didn’t stop to wonder if the image was friend or enemy. She put every last effort into making it to that door.

  As she drew closer, the form took on a familiar shape. She felt a wave of relief, and then there was a whistling sound like something swinging in the air behind her. Searing pain slashed across her back. The impact drove her forward faster than her legs ever could, and she tumbled into strong arms and out into the cool night air.

  Liza walked through the brush on leaden legs. She had regained control of her body but felt no inclination to try to escape. Jacob seemed to know that. He kept a light hand on her elbow as he led her along but made no effort to restrain her. She had no place to run, nowhere to go. Everyone she knew had either abandoned or betrayed her.

  “You should be proud,” Jacob said. “The Prince has waited centuries to meet you.”

  Liza remained silent.

  “Admit it—since the moment you arrived, you’ve known this was where you belonged. You felt the power as much as any of those drawn here. But it was different for you because you are actually a part of the power. It flows through you on this side.”

  Liza walked on in numb silence. Around them, the sounds of crickets filled the night. She could not deny that she felt more alive than she ever had back home. She was comfortable here, like she finally fit in. And why not? She was the Princess, after all. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

  “How did you know about me?” she asked. “How did any of you know where I was?”

  He pulled her to a stop and turned her toward him. “Brianna always said she could feel you out there.” His voice was surprisingly soft and gentle. “She didn’t know that you were the one, but she knew you were there.”

  “It happened when Marcas met you in California. The two of you coming together opened a gap in the Mist and pulled one of the fae through. That was what Conall came across. And it wasn’t some random fae who came through but one of the Prince’s top followers. Apparently, that’s all part of some fae legend, that one of them would be chosen to come out and seek the Princess and deliver her to her Prince.”

  “Conall did kill the Old Ones, then.”

  Jacob started walking again, pulling her along with him. “That’s the beauty of it. Conall didn’t kill anyone. He was strong enough to resist.”

  Liza looked up at him. “If Conall didn’t kill them, who did?”

  “Are you really that stupid? I did! I’m the grandson of an Old One, so they all trusted me. Invited me right in without suspecting anything. The Rakshasa helped, but it was me who got it done.”

  The image of Dadai Thomas crucified on the wall flashed through her mind. “Why?”

  “You don’t get it, do you? There’s a whole world right here in front of us that most people have no clue exists. A world of magic and power. A world beyond anything even those of us who know of it could ever imagine.”

  They had been walking parallel to the forest. Liza could feel it call to her. Part of her wanted to dash into the trees and lose herself while the other part wanted to run the other way and never look back. She did neither. According to Nidawi, Jacob’s vision of the future was not a foregone conclusion. Liza herself would play some part in determining how this would all end. The very idea t
errified her but, at the same time, gave her some comfort. Maybe she wasn’t helpless.

  Liza felt a subtle shift in the forest around them, as though they had passed over a threshold. The air smelled of must and decay. The night sound of the crickets faded to the background, blanketed by the heaviness of the air around it. Once again, Jacob brought her to a halt.

  “You feel it, don’t you?” It wasn’t a question. He knew. “They told me that as long as I was with you, I would be able to pass through.” His voice was raw with emotion, and his hand trembled on her arm. “You will see things you’ve never seen before, Liza. We both will. Then I will deliver you to your Prince, and we will both live lives of beauty and power.”

  Jacob turned toward the trees they had been skirting and led them into the deeper darkness. As before, Liza could feel eyes on her and sense movement all around. A feeling of excitement permeated the forest, a feeling that carried with it a hush of anticipation. A gray mist rose up around them as they moved deeper into the trees, obscuring everything below their knees.

  Jacob moved with caution, but Liza could have run with ease over the hidden ground beneath. Her steps were sure where his were hesitant. The balance of power was shifting. In this place, she belonged and he was the stranger.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” Jacob said. “The Prince needs you alive, but he doesn’t care what shape you’re in when I deliver you. You are still half human. There are many creatures in this forest who would love to tear you apart for that reason alone.”

  “And you have the blood of an Old One,” Liza responded. “I think you need me more than I need you.”

  Jacob’s hand tightened on her arm, but before he could respond, a light appeared some distance through the trees before them. Jacob stopped and waited. Around them, the forest had grown ominously still. Not a breath of air stirred. Liza could hear her own nervous breathing. Her small confidence was beginning to erode as the reality of where they were settled in.

  As the light drifted toward them, Liza became aware of a multitude of creatures surrounding them. She could feel their anger, their excitement, and even their amusement. She wondered how much the denizens of this shadow world understood.