Today the trail is busier than I expected. I keep having to move over, slow down, or speed up for other bikers and for pedestrians— young moms with strollers and toddlers, older couples, groups of women in workout gear pumping their arms as they walk, lone runners.
When a group of rowdy kids on bikes starts hanging out right on my tail, I decide it's time to take the road less traveled. There's a smaller trail that breaks off the main route, just ahead. I'll take that one through the riverside nature park; hopefully it will be less crowded.
When the fork comes up, I swerve left. The group of kids follows me, snickering and snorting. They don't try to pass me— they just ride right behind me. Super annoying.
Another fork appears ahead, so I take a right this time, hoping to shake them. But when I look back, all five of them are still following.
This trail is bumpier, with more curves and more dense trees along it, so I can't risk many looks behind; but I take a couple quick glances. There's something strange about these kids. One, a boy maybe seven years old, is riding a pink sparkly bike with tassels and training wheels, grinning like a maniac. Another has the face of a four-year-old, but she's riding a large bike, pumping the pedals with oddly long legs. All of them wear that same toothy grin, cackling and chortling at me.
Those toothy grins remind me of leprechauns.
But I look back again, and they're still human, with children's faces. Nothing green about them.
Maybe I should pull over and let them pass. But I have an odd feeling that if I stop, they'll stop, and nothing good will happen after that.
So I push the pedals faster, harder. They're only kids, after all— surely I can out-distance them. Faster. Harder.
Faster. Harder.
I can still hear them laughing, right behind me. Is it my imagination, or are they even closer now? My heart is pounding from the adrenaline and I'm sweating like crazy. I'm not used to going this far, this fast. I'm going to have to stop soon.
I risk one more look behind, and what I see nearly stops my heart. They are leprechauns— five of them, all greenish and lumpy, with sharp claws and yellow teeth. The horrible creatures are chasing me, and there's murder in their eyes.
Smack! My bike tire hits something— a root or a rock?— and I'm thrown, colliding hard with the ground. Pain flashes through my arm and shoulder from the impact. My tank top is ripped, one strap completely torn through.
Darn it, I liked this shirt.
But I have bigger things to worry about. The leprechauns have hopped off their bikes and pushed them aside, and they're crowding around me. "Korrigan," says one, sneering. I think maybe I recognize a few of them from the mall.
"Kill?" asks one, shrilly, scraping its claws together.
"Master says no," mumbles another. "Says this one is special. Watch only."
"Watch, or wound?" snickers a third. "Korrigan is already wounded. Maybe we add a few more wounds." He comes close, and I scoot backward. Everything hurts from my fall. I glance at the bike; it smashed into a tree after I was thrown, and it looks pretty beat up. No escape that way.
"Get back, you little beasts," I say, as fiercely as I can.
One of them darts forwards and slashes at me, making four little slits in the flesh of my shoulder. I reach for him, but he springs back.
"Master said 'watch only!'" squeals another one. I'm ninety-percent sure it's Soap Bubbles, the one whose nose I broke with the caution sign. He seems scared of me, and the fact gives me the courage to stand.
"Who's your master?" I ask.
"Fear dearg," says Soap Bubbles; and immediately another leprechaun smashes him in the mouth. He wails, green blood trickling down his bumpy, warty chin.
"The Far Darrig, huh? Why doesn't that surprise me? Can't all of you just leave me alone?"
"Special, he says." The one who cut me narrows his eyes. They're a sickly yellow color, with red irises. "But we don't see special. We see only Korrigan-beast."
I step back again, looking around for something to hit them with if they come at me. There's a large tree branch in the bushes, so I lunge for it just as the nasty yellow-eyed one leaps at me again. The branch is in my hands. Whirling, I smack him with it. But I'm tired from riding hard, and in pain from the fall, and the blow isn't strong enough. It barely stuns him for a second. And then he throws himself at me, knocking me over again. He sits on my chest, and the others pile onto my body and arms, holding me down. Yellow Eyes raises his claws, four sharp shears pointing at my throat.
"Stad!" The shout comes from a few feet away. It's the Gaelic word for "stop," spoken with power and the expectation of being obeyed.
Yellow Eyes spits greenish foam in my face and crawls off me, and the others scramble away too. I wipe the spit off my cheek and lie there for a second, too exhausted to get up.
Besides, I know who's standing there, calling them off, and I don't really want to face him right now.
Not that I have a choice.
The Far Darrig takes a minute to chide his creatures in Gaelic, and then I hear the crunch of his feet on the trail as he walks closer. He crouches next to me. Curse his impossibly handsome face. How is it fair that his lashes are that long and that dark?
"You're hurt," he says. "I didn't mean for that to happen."
"Your little beasts caused it," I say. "They freaked me out, and my bike crashed."
He offers me his hand, but I sit up without it.
"What about this?" He touches my shoulder, ever so gently.
"Yellow Eyes over there did that." I exchange a glare with the bloodthirsty leprechaun. "They said they work for you."
"In a way," he says. "We have an arrangement. But just between us, they're tough to control. Wild things, better suited for another century. They'd have been captured and killed off long ago if it weren't for me."
"I think this is one endangered species we could do without."
He laughs. "Maybe so. Still, I need them. They run errands for me, collect information, keep an eye on things."
"In the form of creepy children."
"You've heard of changelings? Leprechauns have that power, to look like human children. Believe me, in the old days they used the skill for much worse."
I stare at him. I still can't believe he's a mythical being from old Irish legend. He seems so real, flesh and blood. Suddenly I notice what he's wearing— a red and black biker shirt, and biker shorts to match. Very tight biker shorts. I glance away, and he laughs.
"You don't like my outfit? Humans wear these all the time out here. For aerodynamic purposes."
"Right." I stare into the forest. "You can go now, creep. And take your little creeps with you."
He sighs. "Normally I don't care what happens when they play with humans, as long as it can't be traced back to me. But you're different. I actually feel bad about this. I just asked them to chase you out here so I could talk to you alone."
"Perfect, let's talk. We'll start with why you killed my parents."
He looks surprised. And guilty.
"Maeve told me. You were the one who did it."
"Maeve!" He spits the word. "She's not telling you the whole story."
"And you will? And I'm supposed to trust you? Your whole thing is tricks and lies."
Sighing, he rises. "Can you stand?"
Mentally, I check my limbs. Everything seems to be working— bruised and banged up, but working. I stand up, unsteadily.
"Good. Now let's go somewhere more comfortable."
I glance around at the forest. "What did you have in mind?"
"There's an overlook a little way ahead, with a bench. You can rest there, and I'll tell you what you want to know."
There's something about his voice, low and smooth, but with just enough huskiness to it; it's incredibly sexy and kind of enchanting. I could listen to it all day.
But if my grandmother is telling the truth, this creature killed my mother and my father in a horrible way. Maybe he's planning to kill me, too. If he is
, I don't think I could stop him. I'm not some chick in an action movie who's had combat training or self-defense classes; I'm a homeschooler whose only exercise for the past seventeen years has been the occasional bike ride. I may be slim, but I have little to no muscle.
If I live through this day, I need to change that.
For now, the Far Darrig doesn't seem hostile. If anything, he's looking at me a little too warmly, his eyes running over my torn shirt, my bare scraped-up legs, with something besides pity.
He makes me feel afraid, vulnerable. Like I might not have a choice what happens to me. I hate that feeling.
"You're very quiet. What are you thinking?" he asks.
"You make me nervous."
"How?" He moves a little closer.
I step back. "Like that."
"You don't have to fear me. You're very valuable to me, you know."
"Special, yes, your monsters told me so. Since when am I special? I thought I was disappointingly normal. Also, if we're going to talk, can they leave?"
He glances at the leprechauns and speaks a phrase in Gaelic. Instantly they disappear, leaving their bikes behind.
"What is that, what they do? Some kind of teleportation?"
"Essentially. They disappear in one spot and reappear in another of their choosing, or mine."
"Okay." I'm feeling a little weird, dizzy. Maybe I hit my head after all. And my right shoulder still hurts. "Which way to the bench?"
"This way. I'll carry you if you like."
"You wish."
He smiles, then walks back along the trail a little way to where his own bicycle stands against a tree. Then we go forward together, him pushing the bike and me trying to stay straight and not wobble.
"You asked about your parents," he says. "They are one of my greatest regrets."
I bite my lip, hard. I could say a lot of harsh things right now, but then he might get angry and withhold the information, or hurt me.
"I was in Texas for a while," he continues. "Your parents were in the same city, recently married. You were an infant then. I didn't even know they were around until the leprechauns brought me reports of a Korrigan in the city. She killed three of them when they were out hunting for Life-Stream."
"Wait a minute." I stop walking. The pieces are coming together in my mind. "Your creatures, the leprechauns— they're the ones stealing babies, aren't they? Back then, and now? Here?"
"The leprechauns covet gold in all forms, and the golden Life-Stream is the most coveted of all," he says. "They don't need it to live, but they do love to gorge themselves on it. I keep them in check, though. They're only allowed a few feasts every month."
"You let them take babies and drain them? Kill them?"
"Just a few," he repeats, seeming confused that I'm still on the topic. "They're human babies. There are far too many of them anyway. You humans overpopulate the world, and then you fuss about missing a few mewling babes? I'll never understand it."
I can't even speak. He's a monster. Why am I here with him?
But with my bike broken, this far away from home, I don't really have a choice.
"You're repulsed," he says, frowning. "I'm sorry if I disgust you, but after centuries of watching humans be born, and grow, and die, and decay, and then multiply, over and over and over, they don't seem as important to me. Their lives are so short, so full of struggle. I suppose it seems harsh to you, but I cannot mourn them."
I grit my teeth. "Just get on with the story."
"After your mother and father had killed several of the leprechauns, the creatures were crazy with rage. Their numbers, as I told you, are small. So they demanded revenge. They listen to me, but only to a point. There wasn't much I could do to stop them. But I did find out that they had a child, and I sent them a warning; so when the leprechauns arrived at your parents' home, you weren't there. They had sent you to a friend's house for the weekend."
"So you're saying I owe you my life? That I should be grateful?"
"No," he says. "Of course you wouldn't be grateful for your parents' deaths. And I expect you to blame me, even though I wasn't the one who carried it out. However— you are alive. And you wouldn't be, if I hadn't warned your parents."
"Why didn't they run? Why would they stay and be killed?"
Tears are coming, in spite of my will to be cool and calm. We're at the overlook now, and he leads me over to the bench to sit. "I suppose they hoped they would have a chance to kill more of the creatures, and maybe even kill me. You probably don't know this, but your father was one of a bloodline of powerful druids, descended from the old ones in as straight a line as can be had in these times. But he was young in his magic, and I think he wasn't as strong as he hoped. Still, your parents killed another dozen of the leprechauns before they were overwhelmed."
I take a deep breath, forcing all the knowledge he's just given me into the back of my mind. I'll have to process it later. Right now, I need to get out of here, away from him. Sure, he's being kind and gentle now, but he has a crew of green demons at his call, and by legend he's a trickster. A liar. Not to be trusted.
He leans back against the bench, putting his arm along the top, right behind my shoulders. "This is pleasant," he says. "Being out here, talking. My leprechauns aren't great conversationalists, as you can imagine. And I don't talk to humans much anymore— never about Fae matters. There's no spell to erase memories, unless you want to wipe the person blank, and that's never pleasant afterwards. So I have to be careful what I say. With you, it's different."
There's a long, sturdy branch leaning against the bench, probably something a hiker picked up as a walking stick. I'm just about to grab it and hit him in the head when he says, "Are you all right?"
"No," I say. "Not for years. I'll send you the therapy bills, okay?" I stand up, and take the stick, weighing it in my hands.
"You're going to attack me?" He smirks, making me even more furious. Still, it would be a pity to smash that beautiful face.
And then I have an idea. Quick as I can, I throw the branch at him. It whirls through the air, and he puts out both hands to catch it; and I leap for his bicycle, which leans at the back of the bench. In two seconds I'm on it, kicking it off, pedaling away as fast as I can. I don't look back, but I can hear him laughing behind me— a real, delighted laugh— and I smile in spite of myself.
Who's the trickster now?
By the time I reach home, I'm exhausted. I hide the bike in the forest before walking the rest of the way; maybe the Far Darrig can send his little demons to retrieve it. Or not. I don't really care if he ever gets it back.
Even though it's the middle of the day, I take a long, long bath and enjoy the hot water soothing my tired, bruised body. The cut on my thigh is healing nicely, so I bandage it again and add a few bandage strips to cover the claw marks on my shoulders.
This whole getting wounded thing is becoming ridiculous. Having days is proving to be a lot more dangerous than I thought. Starting tomorrow, I'm going to work on getting stronger, learning how to defend myself.
If I want real agency, a choice about what happens to me— if I want to escape my parents' fate— I need to be stronger.
After the bath, I'm so sleepy I can barely keep my eyes open. I lie down on the bed, rubbing the ruby necklace between my fingers.
When did I fall asleep? I'm not sure, but I have a vague sense of unreality. Something is pushing at my mind; and suddenly I'm walking down a long corridor, lined with doors on either side. I just know that through those doors lie my worst nightmares— scenarios where beasts and monsters peel off my skin and rip my body apart. I start to run, and run.
At the end of the hall there's an archway, draped in white, gauzy curtains. I run through them, desperate for the sunlight I can see beyond.
I'm in a garden now, sunlit and quiet. Enormous trees throw heavy shadows over lush, deep grass. I walk through it, feeling the coolness beneath my feet. That's not enough, so I lay down full-length in the grass and look up at
the leaves quivering in the breeze overhead.
Something grazes my neck. I glance over, and it's the Far Darrig, brushing aside a stray strand of my hair. His long, lithe form is stretched out beside me like he belongs there— and I'm not the least bit frightened. In fact, it feels perfectly comfortable to be there with him. We don't speak at all.
I don't know how long that part of the dream lasts, or when we transition from lying next to each other to him leaning over me, looking into my eyes with his silver ones. He's so beautiful it almost hurts, but at the same time he looks alien, Fae, otherworldly.
I find myself staring at his mouth, remembering the kiss in the alley. That kiss had a purpose, to transfer power— but it seemed like he enjoyed it, too. I wonder if he would like to kiss me again. His eyes keep darting to my lips. I stay very still.
The dream version of him leans over, closes the distance between us, and his lips meet mine. He's kissing me. I don't know if I made it happen by thinking about it— surely not. It's just a dream; it's not like I have control over it.
The kiss is so delicious and dreamlike I don't want him to ever stop. I want it to keep going on and on—
"Aislinn!" It's Arden's voice. She's standing in my bedroom doorway. "Are you all right? You were making— weird sounds."
Flushed and disoriented, I sit up. "Yes. I'm fine, just having a— nightmare."
She frowns. "Really?"
"Yes."
"Do you have them often?"
"Yes. They're terrifying. This one was— a little different though."
"I don't need to hear about it," she says, and walks away.
Thank goodness she woke me up when she did, or my dream could have gone from PG to PG-13 really fast. If I'm going to have any steamy dreams, I'd rather Zane be the star.
Zane. I should call him as soon as he's out of school; he could help me with my new resolution to get stronger. Even though he's not body-builder ripped, he has some delicious muscle definition going on.
Korrigan (Secrets of the Fae Book 1) Page 9
