Korrigan (Secrets of the Fae Book 1)

by Rebecca F. Kenney

Where's a rock to crawl under when I need one? "Let's go," I snap. "Bye, guys."

  "Friday," says Zane.

  "I'll be there."

  As I hurry the twins away, Gillian asks, "What's Friday?"

  "I'm going to this live music thing with them, downtown," I explain. "Like an outdoor concert."

  "Maeve won't like it, Aislinn."

  "Does she have to know?"

  Gillian shakes her head. "Don't start with this human teenage thing, Aislinn. We can't afford one of our kind being careless. If you aren't going to be trustworthy with your freedoms, you'll lose them."

  "What, you'll lock me up? Keep me in the dungeon full-time?"

  She stops and turns me to face her, her fingers digging into my arm. "Don't push Maeve, Aislinn. You have no idea what she's capable of. Your mother found out the hard way."

  "What?" I gasp. But she's already walking away from me. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Don't make a scene," Gillian says. "Just walk. We're going home."

  I don't speak on the way home. The twins are already over it, jabbering on about what they bought and which brands and the prices and how stunning they'll look and where they should wear each outfit. I hug my bag, thinking about Zane and the green halter top— and the green leprechauns and what Gillian meant when she said my mother found out the hard way.

  When Maeve said she "took care" of my mother and her lover, what did that mean?

  When we reach the house, I jump out of the car, intending to run straight up to my room. But Gillian blocks my way.

  "Here," she says, handing me a box. "Maeve had me pick it up for you. I didn't know which case you'd want, so I got a few options." She hangs a bag over my other arm. "Happy birthday. Remember, now you have something to lose."

  She flounces off, and I stare at the box.

  It's a smartphone.

  6

  THUNDER

  Zane

  Friday night, Frank picks me up. On the way to get Aislinn, we stop by Julio's house, and he bounces into the back seat, just buzzing with energy.

  "You guys ready for fun, fun, fun?"

  "Dude," I say. "Did you down an energy drink again?"

  "Just two, bro," he says. "Gotta keep it light, keep it loose for the girls tonight, yeah?"

  "Girls?"

  "Yeah yeah, Laurel's coming, and Frank's new girl's gonna meet us there with her friend. And then there's Aislinn, but don't worry man, I'll let you have her."

  "Let me have her? Thanks, bro."

  "So are you two like a thing now?"

  "Nah man, we didn't even have a real date yet."

  "Well, you gotta mark your territory, man, that's all I'm sayin'. Cause there's other guys out there who might want a shot."

  I punch his arm, and he laughs.

  It takes years to get to the corner store. Years. Then we're there, and she's by the curb, looking like a million bucks. Maybe a billion. She's wearing that green halter top she bought at the mall— Lord have mercy—and skinny jeans, and her red hair's all twisted up somehow on her head, and there are dangly earrings involved— but mostly I notice her sexy little smile, and how she looks so alive, and the way her green eyes widen and brighten when she sees me.

  "Hey there," I say.

  "Hey."

  "You look— incredible."

  "Thanks."

  "You mind sitting in the middle? We're picking up Laurel, too."

  "Sure."

  "Just a sec." I duck my head into the car, fix Julio with a glare, and hiss, "Hands to yourself!" Then I pop back out and wave her inside with a smile and a flourish.

  When she's buckled in, I slide in beside her. We're shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, and I feel the softness of her arm pressing against mine. She smells faintly sweet, and fresh, and delicious. When she turns to say hello to Julio, some escaped curls from her knot of red hair brush my cheek. I can't help staring at her profile as we drive, noticing little things like the freckles, and the tiny mole on the curve of her chin, and the way her eyelashes droop. She doesn't seem like a magical forest spirit now. She's just a girl. Real. Right here, in the flesh beside me— and the realness of her is even better than first sight.

  Suddenly I realize that I'm not talking. Like, I haven't said a word since she got in the car. Julio is chattering away, and she's laughing at something he said. Jerk.

  I better think of something to say.

  "You guys hear about those babies gettin' kidnapped?"

  It pops out of my mouth before I think.

  Frank frowns at me in the rearview mirror. "Dude. We're trying to keep the mood light here."

  "Yeah, dude," Julio chimes in. "What's with the downer? Can't we just be chill?"

  "I saw it on the news," Aislinn says. "Scary."

  "Yeah." I look down at my hands. I've got nothing else to say. Freaking idiot.

  Then we're at Laurel's townhouse, and she's swaggering down the steps, all sultry hips and red lips. We dated about a year ago, but she broke it off. Says she's not interested in getting serious before college. Just wants to have fun.

  "What's the point of a high school romance?" she told me. "Two people go all ga-ga for each other, and then they graduate and go their separate ways. No high school heartbreak for me. You're sweet, but I'm just not into doing the whole serious thing."

  I was bummed, but not heartbroken— I think my mom was more torn up about it than me. Laurel and I decided to stay friends, and it's worked out so far— although I think she and Mike have a thing that's more than a friendship. Couldn't swear to it, though. But he'd probably be coming with us if he didn't have to work.

  "Hey cavemen," Laurel says, swinging herself into the front passenger seat. She turns and waves perfectly manicured fingers at Aislinn. "Hey boo! Good to see you again."

  Laurel's good people. Once she's in the car, everybody talks more easily, even me. Somehow Laurel gets Aislinn to tell us some more details about her life, her studies, the music she likes, the TV shows she watches. All the questions I should be asking.

  Apparently, Aislinn and I share a love of TV shows about anything super-human. Vampire slayers, teenage werewolves, vampire brothers, human brothers hunting monsters— you name it, she's seen it. We're deep into a discussion of our shared love of Marvel shows and movies when we arrive downtown. I barely notice that we're walking up Main Street, arriving at the stage area, getting spots for the concert— because the whole time I'm talking Luke Cage, Johnny Blaze, and Black Panther; and she's just as into it as me, with all these clever comments and insights into the storyline and the characters. And the whole time I'm just thinking, I've never talked this much with a girl, or enjoyed it this much.

  "A'right, a'right, nerds," says Laurel finally. "Can we get a little quiet up in here? The music's gonna start."

  "Sorry, Laurel, we'll be quiet." Aislinn gives me this "sorry-not-sorry" look with a sparkle in her eye. And that's it. I'm hers now. Probably forever.

  She shows me her new smartphone, and I enter her number in mine; and even though I usually hate selfies, I let her take one of us. It looks weird, so we take a few more until we get one that pleases her. Then the bass rolls and the concert gets going.

  I never had a better Friday night. The band is lit, and the crowd is hot, and the beat is strong as thunder, and we're moving with it. She's sitting next to me on a bench at first, but after a while some of the other couples start dancing, so I pull her up with me and we dance. When she starts to move, I notice her wince a little.

  "Is this okay?" I ask. "With your leg, I mean."

  "Sure," she says. "It's totally fine. I'll sit down if it starts really hurting."

  There's a night breeze on our faces, and a glow from the street lamps and those round yellow lights strung building to building. I can smell cigarette smoke and a hint of booze from the adults with wristbands, and the aroma of sizzling food from the restaurants bordering the square. Her fingers are thin and soft in mine, and she's close, so close, moving in that slow
swerving way, and I can hardly stand it.

  When the song ends, I need a minute.

  "I'm gonna grab us a couple sodas," I say. And I dash away, into the crowd, heading for a fast food restaurant a few shops down from the square.

  I need to cool off. Get myself under control.

  I realize once I get to the restaurant that I never asked what she likes to drink. But then I remember the Diet Coke she bought at the corner store, so I fill her paper cup with that.

  Less than ten minutes have passed since I left her, but when I reach the others, she's gone.

  "She got a phone call, man," says Julio. "Her family wanted her home right away. She went to the bus station."

  "Dude! You let her go alone?"

  "I let her? Man, I said 'wait till Zane gets back, he'll walk you over there,' but did she listen to me? Oh no. No, I'm not takin' the heat for this one, man. She just left a few minutes ago— you can probably catch her."

  "Is the bus even running this late? It's nine-thirty."

  Julio shrugs and goes back to dancing with the friend of Frank's girl. I hand off my drinks to Laurel and dive back into the crowd to find Aislinn.

  7

  TROUBLE

  Aislinn

  Gillian told on me.

  That has to be it. The reason why, on the best night of my life, I got an all-caps text demanding that I come home immediately or risk severe consequences.

  "Screw you, Gillian," I whisper.

  I'm following my phone's directions to the bus station, but my thigh muscles are aching where the leprechaun cut me, and I can't stand the thought of walking all that way. It looks as if I can trim some of distance by cutting down a side street; so I turn right where I'm supposed to go straight. I take another turn, or two, or three. My phone recalculates, and recalculates again, and then freezes.

  "Crap." I poke at the screen, willing the app to fix itself.

  Okay, Aislinn. Just retrace your steps.

  I'm standing in an alley, well-lit but definitely very alley-like. Garbage bins, puddles of stagnant water, bits of litter, and a couple of very large, scuttling roaches. Weathered brick walls dotted with narrow dirty windows rise on either side. There's one bright streetlamp near me, and another one a little further down that flickers every so often as if it's trying to make up its mind whether or not to go on shining.

  I choke back a nervous laugh. This is just the type of place where stupid girls in movies usually get jumped by the bad guys. Just my luck. After a super-fun night with a super-hot guy, I'm lost in the back alley with the roaches and the lovely aroma of mildew and rancid trash.

  Delightful.

  "Aislinn."

  I nearly jump out of my sandals. It's Maeve's voice behind me, but when I spin around, there is no one in the alley. I scrutinize each doorway and window, heart pounding.

  Weird.

  Again, from behind me, in Maeve's crisp tones— "Aislinn."

  Again, nothing. My heart is thumping so hard I think it might explode out of my chest like some kind of alien fetus.

  What the heck is going on?

  "Aislinn."

  I whirl, and this time I see it— or him?

  I notice the red jacket first, and it sends an odd chill down my spine. The flash of red at the pond. The nightmares.

  The Far Darrig.

  When I was young, Magnolia told me of the Far Darrig— the Red Man, the trickster, the Fae being who could mimic any voice. Thanks to her description, I had always pictured him as a hunched figure with gnarled features, sharp teeth, yellow diseased splotches, and beady eyes. Something old, something ugly.

  Well.

  The man standing not five steps away from me is nothing like my imaginary Far Darrig.

  He is young— or at least, he seems young at first glance. There's something old about his eyes, about the wry twist of his mouth. But the planes of his face are smooth— cheeks slightly sunken under high cheekbones, jaw square and clean-shaven, lips thin but sensual, parting over white teeth as he half-smiles at me. His brows are straight and as black as his wavy hair.

  His jacket is bold, brilliant red, but the shirt under it is black, and he wears dark jeans. He's tall and long-limbed, less muscular than Zane, but lithe like a cat. He stands, hands on his hips and feet apart, with the flickering streetlamp casting a hazy glow around him.

  I suddenly realize that I am not breathing. I suck in a lungful of air.

  "Sorry about that," he says. "I couldn't resist. You're just too deliciously jumpy." This time he speaks in a youthful male voice— the smooth, mocking voice from my dream.

  Wake up, Alice.

  He paces slowly, circling me, and looking me up and down. When he flashes me a beautiful smile, I swear my heart skips a beat. But I'm scared, too— really and truly terrified, because no handsome face could erase the terrible tales I have heard of him, or the horror he has put me through in those nightmares— if he is who I think he is. I step back until I feel something behind me— a dumpster? A wall? I seem to have lost all sense of direction.

  "Who are you?" My voice doesn't sound like it belongs to me.

  "Aislinn, Aislinn," he says, his voice low and caressing as he steps closer. "I think you know."

  "Fear Dearg," I say breathlessly in the Old Tongue.

  "Good girl. I see Maeve has taught you well— or was it Magnolia?" He smirks. "She was always the storyteller."

  "You— you know them?"

  "Know them? Darling, I made them."

  I should run. I try to move, but I can't— not a muscle. He's right in front of me now. He places one hand on either side of my shoulders, against the wall behind me, and bends his face toward mine. I can see a light dusting of freckles across his cheekbones. His gray eyes are luminous, with almost a silvery shine like wells as deep as time and brimming with magic. I am losing myself in them. My skin is prickling, buzzing with the spell I'm under, but I barely notice.

  "Please," I say, but I'm not sure what I'm asking for.

  He stares at me, or into me, for a long moment. Then he steps away, looking frustrated.

  "Too easy," he says. "Always too easy. I thought you'd be different, but you're so—human. Not a shade of magic to fight back with. In all these years and generations, nothing. The demons steal your form but give no powers in return."

  He walks a few steps away, then circles and strides back. I still can't move, bound by his spell.

  "Do you hate it?" he asks me. "Do you hate being so powerless when you're in this form? No special abilities, no supernatural skills?"

  "I've always wanted to be normal," I say.

  He snorts in disgust. "Normal! Why? What is normal? Who is normal? Do you want to be average, mediocre, helpless? You should long to be a goddess! Or a superhero— that's who you humans worship now, yes?"

  "Um, no," I say. "We worship pop stars and movie actors."

  He stares at me, grins, and suddenly the faint buzz of the spell dissipates. I feel shaky and weak, but I can move again. I can run.

  But I don't.

  "Why are you here?" I ask.

  "I came to see you," he says. "I've been waiting for you to come of age, to see if there was anything different or exciting about you. But here you are, just human and useless. Not a shred of special power about you."

  "I'm sorry that I'm such a disappointment," I snap. "You're not exactly what I pictured either. I thought the Far Darrig would be—" I pause.

  "Old? Strange? Cruel?" he says. "Trust me, love, I'm all three."

  "I thought you'd be uglier."

  He laughs, beautifully and hollowly, and the sound bounces off the alley walls and echoes more times than it naturally should. I shiver.

  "I was born this way," he says. "And by good fortune I got to keep my face when I became who I am. One of the few advantages of immortality. I'm fairly tired of the look, myself— gets old after several hundred years."

  He studies me again, head tilted to one side. "You amuse me, little one," he says.
"And you're decent to look at. A nice form, too." I shrink backward as his eyes run over me. "I think I'd like to play with you a while, just the two of us, before we let the old ladies know that I'm back. Let's try a little supernatural power, shall we?"

  Closer he steps, reaching out his hand. "A little taste of my gifts, just for you."

  "No, thanks," I say. "I don't want it." I move to run, but not fast enough. The spell seizes around my body again, and I'm immobilized. I feel helpless, and I hate it. Rage rises in me, and as he comes closer, I spit and curse him with the worst words I know.

  "I love that fire in your soul, muirnīn," he says, using an old Irish word for "darling." His face is close to mine again, and he's looking at me with the confidence someone who has gotten his way for a very long time.

  "I'm not your darling."

  "I can't give you anything new— yet— but I can share one of my little talents." He steps swiftly toward me and touches my forehead with the first two fingers of his right hand. He mutters a few Gaelic words.

  Then his lips close over mine so fast that I can't twist away. I feel heat flooding over me, and power flowing like a current between us. Mixed in with my fear and fury is a sudden craving for something I never knew existed. Something dark and fierce.

  The kiss breaks off, but the Far Darrig isn't done with me yet. His fingers trace my lips, then move to my neck, my collarbone—

  "Aislinn?"

  My heart stops. It's Zane's voice. I hear quick footsteps, and the Far Darrig is yanked away from me by strong brown hands.

  "Get off her!" Zane's voice is a growl, a fierce threat.

  But as much as I appreciate his defense of me, I'm terrified for him. The Far Darrig is capable of anything.

  "I'm okay," I gasp, running to Zane. "He's just, um— he's drunk, that's all. Let's go."

  Zane's eyes are blazing, and I can see the muscles of his arms bulging. The man in the red jacket leans against the wall and smiles, waiting.

  "Please, Zane. Please. It's not worth it. Let's go." I wrap both hands around his bicep and lead him out of the alley.