So if I can't pack, and I can't talk to Arden, all that's left to do is to find a safe haven. I can't go to Zane's house. Not this late at night, not without a lot of questions from his parents. They would be totally within their rights to ask questions, and to call Child Services or whoever. But my situation is extra complicated, and I can't risk infuriating Maeve and the other Korrigan by letting someone call the police on them.
There's Laurel— but I don't know really know her home situation well enough to ask for sanctuary. I'm not even sure of her address. And the apartment Arden secured for us won't be vacant till next week. I need somewhere to go until then. As I am, in my pajamas, with no phone, no money, nothing.
There's only one place I know where I'll be safe. Well, reasonably safe. Gosh, am I really considering this?
An image of the downtown loft leaps into my mind. I picture the sofa and imagine myself appearing there. I will it with all my might.
Almost immediately I see the huge loft windows, and the night sky through them. Few stars are powerful enough to show past the city skyline and its lights, but the ones I can see give me a sense of deep relief.
From my vantage point on the couch, I can see the bed at the far end of the room. There's a figure in it, half-covered with the sheet. Softly I stand up and creep over, just to make sure it's not a leprechaun.
It isn't. It's the Far Darrig— Kieran, as I'm trying to call him in my mind. The name makes him seem more human, less mythical being. Right now, with his face relaxed and his dark hair rumpled, he looks younger and more human than I've ever seen him. Fast asleep, with a faint frown creasing his forehead. Bad dreams, maybe.
Should I wake him up, tell him I'm here? I can just imagine the sultry smiles, the tempting looks he'll give me. The comments. "To what to I owe this midnight visit?" or "You just couldn't stay away, love?" etc. etc.
Forget it. I'm going to sleep.
I pad softly back to the sofa. There's a blanket tossed over one armrest, so I pull it over me and move a throw pillow under my head. It's weird to be here, and I don't know how he'll react in the morning; but right now I'm so exhausted I feel sick. Between prom, and the dancing, the new power, and the beating, I'm dead.
It's time to rest.
◆◆◆
When I open my eyes, the sun is streaming in through the windows, and I can tell by the angle of the bright rays that it's late morning. It takes me a second to remember where I am, why I'm here, and what happened last night. When I move my legs, they remind me loudly of the beating. And my feet are killing me, thanks to the dancing at prom.
The blanket has slipped off me in the night; it's puddled on the floor by the couch. The Far Darrig— Kieran— is standing over me with a steaming cup in his hands, frowning. Is he angry that I'm here?
"Who did this?" he says, pointing to my bruised legs.
"Gillian."
"I thought so. She always liked that sort of thing. Do they do this to you often?"
"Last time they did it, I was fourteen." I swing my legs off the couch as I sit up. Grabbing the blanket, I spread it over myself, suddenly embarrassed of the bruises and of the fact that I'm wearing my pajamas and smeary makeup.
"What else did they do?"
"They put that spell on me, the one you did, so I couldn't move. Put me in the dungeon without any light. Then I left."
"And you came here."
"This was the only place— if there had been anywhere else to go—"
"Aislinn." He sits beside me. "Stay. I want you to stay. As long as you need to." He hands me the cup. "Tea. I don't really do coffee."
"What are you, British?"
"Never confuse me with the Brits!" he says in an exaggerated brogue. "It's Irish I am, and that's a fact!"
I burst out laughing and accidentally snort tea up my nose. He starts laughing too, handing me a tissue as I choke and splutter. At first, I'm laughing, and then suddenly it turns into something else. I'm crying in front of him. Again.
He sits silent beside me, waiting. Not taking my hand or drawing me close, just waiting. In a couple minutes I manage to pull myself together. I stand up and walk away from him, embarrassed of how red-nosed and puffy-eyed I must look. I did want him to stop liking me, though; maybe seeing me like this will do the trick.
"Do you need to get in touch with anyone? I didn't see your phone."
I know he's talking about Zane, and I'm surprised by how selfless the question is. "Yes, please. And I need to contact Arden, too. She and I were planning to get away; we have an apartment that will be ready for us next week. I just need to let her know where I am."
"Don't tell her you're with me," says Kieran. "Just let her know you're safe."
"I'll need clothes. And I need to make a circle around this building and conceal it from pixies."
"You can do that?"
"Arden taught me how."
He leaps off the couch. "Bathroom's over there. I'll be back with clothes, and— what else do you need? Girl things?"
I smile. "Girl things?"
He actually blushes, just a little. "Makeup, and— other things— what do you need?"
"I'll make a list."
He hands me his phone, and I type in some information about basic makeup, my clothing sizes, deodorant, and a toothbrush. Thank goodness I left my bra on last night when I dressed for bed— one less thing for him to worry about. "I'm guessing you already have shampoo, soap, toothpaste? The Far Darrig has a hygiene routine, right?"
"I'm not a vampire," he growls. "Everything works just like it does with humans. The Tuatha Dé Danann are not so different physiologically."
"All right, then I'll shower while you're gone. And I'm locking the door."
"And you think that in all my centuries, I never had occasion to learn lock-picking?" He laughs at the look on my face. "Relax, love. While you're my guest, I'll respect your privacy."
While I'm in the shower, I give myself a good lecture. I blinked away from here last night to escape all this— the flirting, the banter, the innuendo. And here I am, right back in it again. I can't stay here very long. I'm already forgetting my reason for gathering powers in the first place— I intend to kill him for what he made me do.
Even as I think the words, I realize that I won't be able to kill him. Maybe he deserves it, but I couldn't look him in the face and kill him— the man who told me to stay as long as I need to, brought me tea, gave me tissues, and showed me how to get the power I needed to escape the other Korrigan. How is he the same person who let leprechauns kill my parents, sent me those nightmares, left me to transform in the forest, and forced me to drain the entire Life-Stream from a helpless pixie?
To find out more about Fae powers, to get more of them for myself, I need him— his knowledge, his experience. But I have to keep reminding myself of who he really is, and what he has done.
I finish showering, put my underwear back on, and wrap myself in a fluffy towel. Kieran must have a housekeeper; everything is spotless here.
The clothes and cosmetics are waiting outside the bathroom door when I open it, along with a pair of flip-flops. Thank goodness— I forgot to include any footwear on the list. Once I'm done getting ready, I go downstairs to the lobby. Fortunately, it's a different guy at the desk this time.
Outside, I walk around the entire loft building, speaking the spell for concealment over and over. It takes a while to complete the circle. I hope it worked.
As I come back to the front of the building, I meet Kieran coming back from a breakfast run. He's wearing shorts and a red polo shirt, open at the neck. I try not to smile in response to his grin; he seems much too excited to have me here. Before I eat anything, I insist on emailing Arden from his laptop. I use her secret email, the one connected to her hacker handle, Draíocht. It means magic or enchantment in the Old Tongue.
As I'm writing the email, I especially emphasize my need to get out of my current living situation. Hopefully she'll be able to pack up our things, transfer the money, and get out bef
ore the other Korrigan figure out I'm gone or guess what she's up to.
I send another email to Zane, asking him if we can meet up today. It's Saturday, after all, and he'll be wanting to see me.
In a few minutes, I receive a reply from Arden.
"Everything under control," it reads. "Getting out today. Will send location info when safe."
I bite into one of the pastries Kieran brought.
"Good news?" he asks.
"Yes. I should be out of here by tonight."
He looks a little disappointed. "What do you want to do today?"
"You don't have to entertain me," I say. "And I'll probably be heading to Zane's soon anyway. Here's an email from him now."
As I read the email, I feel suddenly deflated. I forgot Zane had things to do today— an outing with his dad and his brother-in-law that will take all afternoon. He probably slept most of the morning, poor guy, after I forced him to dance so hard for so long.
"Did your plans fall through?" asks the Far Darrig.
"Zane is busy today," I say. "I forgot he had something going on."
"Leaving you alone a lot, isn't he? Last night, he left you without a ride home."
"Don't do that. You know that's not how it was; I told him to go."
"Maybe because you were hoping to ride with me."
"Whatever you want to tell yourself." I stand up. "I'm going for a walk."
He stands too, blocking my way. "I have a better idea. What if we get you another power?"
I frown. "What kind of power?"
"Sit down for a minute, and let me show you."
Sighing, I sit at the table. He seats himself near me and scoots the laptop between us. "Now most of the old Fae creatures that I used to know are long gone," he says. "It's a good thing, too. It was a fearsome world to live in. Beings like the Oilliphéist— that was a nasty one, a great wormlike dragon— and the Alp-luachra, which would crawl down people's throats and consume half the food in their bellies—"
"Gross! Why are you telling me this?"
He shrugs. "For fun."
"So they're not real."
"Yes, they were real. The old druid I lived with after— after everything happened, he had a theory that there used to be a door to the Otherworld from Ireland. It could be where many of the Fae creatures came from. It's also possible that the Korrigan curse acts like a temporary door in some way, allowing some of those monsters to assume form in our world as long as they have a human host."
"A host like me."
"Yes." His gray eyes meet mine. "I am sorry that you're affected by all this. When I made that curse, I was young, and mad with grief, and the old man was mad with age. We were an unfortunate combination."
"You think?"
He looks exasperated for the first time. "Are you going to let me finish explaining?"
I pretend to zip my lips.
"Very well then. Our options are limited, as far as Fae whose powers might be useful, or at least, not harmful to you. You wouldn't want to drain a banshee, or a cluricaun, but maybe a merrow or a fenodyree would work. I think I have a lead on a fenodyree in Georgia. Ugly brutes, but very strong. Could be useful."
"What about the Tuatha Dé Danann?"
He frowns. "What about them?"
"You said you were one of the last. There must be others. I could drain one of them. Or you."
Smiling, he says, "Darling, you couldn't handle our power. And besides, I gave you some of mine, freely."
"Not everything. I can't turn invisible, or do the voice throwing thing, or give people nightmares. All of that could be useful."
He looks at me, all laughter gone. "You really want to drain me? Take my power?"
I'm not sure that I do, but I nod anyway, just to annoy him.
"Let's try it then," he says.
"What?"
"Come here." He goes to the couch and lies down there. "Try it. I won't resist."
Confused, I follow him. He moves a little so I can sit on the edge of the couch. "Are you sure?"
He nods and closes his eyes. I murmur the spell.
Nothing happens.
Again I speak the spell, louder and more firmly, bending my will to draw out the Life-Stream, one hand hovering over his chest. The most I get out of him is a faint glow through his shirt, as if there is a burning golden furnace inside his ribcage. Not a strand of Life-Stream or power escapes.
"Are you done?" He's giving me an infuriating smile.
"How are you immune?"
"The Tuatha Dé Danann are not your average Fae folk. I told you, we were the god-race of Ireland."
"Where did you come from?"
"Some legends say the Otherworld, but I would guess we originated in a different dimension than the one your Beast hails from." He stands and returns to the laptop. "Are you ready to follow a real lead?"
The video he shows me was taken a few weeks ago. Someone filmed a short, hairy man lifting cars— picking them up and smashing them down onto the pavement. He's clearly angry, just going on a tear through a random parking lot, wrecking everyone's cars like some kind of hairy, tiny version of the Hulk. The video is a little fuzzy, but toward the end there's a close-up of the man's face. It's not a horrible, make-your-skin-crawl face like the leprechauns', but this guy wouldn't win any beauty contests; and he has more facial hair than I've ever seen on a man. Plus, he's roaring like a demon, and I hate to think what happened to whoever filmed him.
And then the video is over.
"That's it?"
"You think a regular man of that size could lift cars like that?" Kieran rocks back on two legs of his chair, balancing with one foot against the table.
"Probably not," I admit.
"All right, then, let's go get him."
"How? Do you know where he lives?"
"No." The Far Darrig grabs his keys from the bowl by the front door and winks at me. "You're going to find him. Can you drive?"
"No. Not even a little bit."
"I'll teach you; it's not hard. We'll take country roads. It's Georgia— you'll be fine as long as we stay away from the big cities. I'll drive till we get out of town."
That's how I have my first driving lesson— in the Far Darrig's Audi, out on a narrow country road on the way to Georgia. I skid off into the gravel and grass a few times, but mostly I do all right.
"Try to think about the man's face as you drive," he says.
"How can I do that when I'm thinking about staying on the road?" My hands are gripping the wheel so hard that my fingers have gone red and white.
"Relax. If you come to a turn you like, take it. He's out here somewhere, trying to stay off the radar. Probably doing farm work or lumber work, maybe road construction. We'll find him."
Finally Kieran realizes that I'm about to burst from the terror of driving his very fine car while trying to locate a fenodyree or whatever the heck it is. He takes over, and I serve as navigator.
The pixie instinct is the most amazing bit of magic I've ever experienced. After three hours of driving, we arrive at a lumber yard. They're closed, according to the sign, but we park anyway and I get out. Keeping the man's face in my mind, I start walking.
The buildings are plain, warehouse-style affairs, with hardly any windows. There's no landscaping, either— just flat, patchy grass all around a basic rectangular parking lot. We walk around behind the building, to another stretch of parking lot. There are trucks here, and in the back corner, a small mobile home.
"Amazing!" Kieran smiles at me. It feels good, to know someone is proud of me and what I can do. "Let's see if he's home."
His long legs carry him to the door in about two seconds. In answer to his knock, a gravelly voice says, "Go away, we're closed."
"Not here to buy lumber, mo chara," says the Far Darrig, tacking on the Irish for 'friend.'
Standing there, looking around at the barren land and windowless warehouses, I feel suddenly sorry for this creature. If I take his power, he won't be nearly as strong
, and his life will change. He may even lose his job. But then, he also won't be able to go smashing up people's private property— at least not on the same scale.
"Kieran," I whisper. "What happened to the leprechaun?"
His silver eyes dart to mine, then away. Something bad then.
"Tell me!"
"I called two of the leprechauns to take him back to their haunt. They did, but they said he would be killed by the others."
"Because he lost his powers?"
"Now isn't the time to talk about this," he hisses, just as the mobile home door opens. A stout, extremely hairy man stands in the opening.
"Ye're Irish, eh?" he says. "Got roots there meself."
"Indeed?" says the Far Darrig.
"Yes, and you look— familiar." The Fae creature frowns, eyebrows bristling together into a hedge of hair. Suddenly his eyes widen. "Fear dearg!"
"Dul a chodladh," says Kieran softly, and the fenodyree's eyes close in sleep. He topples forward, but Kieran pushes him backward just in time, so he falls into the mobile home instead of out of it.
I follow him inside, and we shove the bulk of the man far enough in so we can close the door. The ceiling is so low, Kieran has to bend over just to fit. It's stuffy in the small space, and filthy, crammed with salvaged odds and ends, old cans of food breeding roaches, and sweaty, grimy clothing hung over every available surface. I almost retch, and I cover my nose against the smell. "How does he live in here?"
Kieran is right next to me in the small space, and when he moves I can smell fragrance, like a fresh breeze. Instinctively I turn my face toward him for relief from the stench.
"Easy," he says, teasing. "No time for that now. My spell won't last long on one as strong as him."
Quickly I draw out the fenodyree's Life-Stream, separate the reddish power stream from it. But I hesitate. "It will be like the others, right? I can control when I use it? I don't want to be unusually strong all the time."
"You should be able to tap into it with your will, or a quick spell," he assures me. "Think of it as an extra layer of protection."
I do want to be stronger. Although I kind of wanted to get there on my own, rather than taking the strength from someone else.
"What are you waiting for?" Kieran moves restlessly. "He'll wake soon."
Korrigan (Secrets of the Fae Book 1) Page 19
