He's actually shaking with suppressed rage. I've hurt his pride, and wounded his heart, and he's angry. Very, very angry.
"You were kind to me, in your way," I say. "But you wouldn't respect my choice; you threatened me. So yes, I hid from you."
"You didn't have to leave as you did. Leave me with nothing, no way to speak to you or see you! We had something together, we had moments— and you pretend it never happened. That it meant nothing. It's cruel, Aislinn."
"Cruel? You're one to talk about cruelty, Fear Dearg, Curse-Maker, killer." I'm angry too, angry at him for pulling me into this again, out of the comfortable life I'm creating for myself. My tone is as vicious, venomous as I can make it. "And you're wrong. It didn't mean nothing, it meant less than nothing to me. Because I despise you."
He looks as startled as if I struck him. The words of the binding spell leave his lips before I can speak, and once the spell has immobilized me, there's nothing I can do about it. I try blinking to the other side of the room, but without effect; his spells must be exceptionally strong.
"No." I struggle to move, but every muscle of my body is frozen. I can only speak. "Don't do this. You know I hate it, please."
"You're pleading, now? Another part of the game?"
In the shadows behind him, in the corners of the room, I notice movement. Leprechauns, watching and waiting. I hadn't seen them before.
"You're an investment of mine, Aislinn," says the Far Darrig. "Do you think I helped you get all those powers just out of the goodness of my heart? I wanted you to be free, yes. But I also need you, with me. Together we can do amazing things. In a way, I have a right to those powers inside you. Without me, you wouldn't have them at all."
"You don't have a right to any part of me."
"And he does? You'll let him hold you and have you— a simple boy, with no power of any kind. Do you think you have some kind of noble, everlasting love for this human? He will be gone before your first century has passed. You need perspective. And freedom from distractions like him." He nudges Zane with his foot.
I can feel what's coming. "You wouldn't kill him. Please. You couldn't be that cruel— and you must know I would never forgive you."
"You're fond of that phrase," he says. "No, I'm not going to kill him, love. You are. It will be a gentle death, much better than he would have in the natural world. He'll never feel it."
He's crazy. He wouldn't really do this. "You said you were sorry— about the pixie, when you made me kill her. Why would you do this? If you care about me at all, please. Please don't."
He's not listening to me.
His hands are on my shoulders, he's forcing me down beside Zane, whispering, weaving enchantment. "He's holding you back from who you could be. You'll understand eventually; you'll thank me for this."
No, no. This isn't happening.
"Speak the spell, Aislinn." His words are warm, comforting, like a red velvet blanket around my shoulders, like velvet cuffs binding my hands to his will. I whisper the spell, faltering over every word.
Zane's Life-Stream unfurls into the air, rich golden light. The end of it dances before me, and I catch it in my hands. I can feel the Far Darrig's magic pressing me, willing me to drain him. Intense, irresistible pressure, so fierce it's almost physical pain.
I'm pushing against the magic, but I'm weak. I can't stand it. I have to give in, or break. My breath hisses between my teeth, fast with panic.
There's a whisper at my ear, Far Darrig reinforcing the magic because he can tell I'm fighting him. I want to scream in his face, but it's all I can do not to pull that golden line into myself and absorb every last bit of Zane's time in the world.
"Do it now," insists the voice behind me.
I switch my gaze from the life-stream to Zane's face. He looks beautiful, so calm, so relaxed. Helpless. He would hate being in this position, being vulnerable this way. He's the strong one, not me.
But now it's my turn.
He can't die, not now, not ever. Because I think I might love him.
He's mine.
Suddenly everything inside me is quiet. Still.
At my core, I am calm. I am myself.
I have a choice, and that choice is my power.
No.
I will not do this thing.
I spread the calmness, the power, out from the center of myself, from my consciousness to my bones and muscles and skin. It washes away the Far Darrig's spell, pushing it off me.
I am nobody's puppet.
Quickly I end the incantation and watch the golden thread curl itself back into Zane's chest again.
As I turn to the Far Darrig, I see admiration— and a spark of fear— in his eyes. He bows his head slightly in a sign of respect, and he backs away. Maybe he thinks I'm going to let him live, even after he betrayed my trust. How funny.
I draw on my training and my powers— the things I have taken from the boy I love and the man I hate. In half a second I'm behind the Far Darrig, a little breathless from the jump, but not too off-balance to smash my foot against the back of his knee. It crumples, and I throw myself at him, knocking him off balance. It's a clumsy landing for both of us, and he manages to flip onto his back; but I stay on top of him and land the hardest punch I've ever thrown, right in his beautiful, hideous face. His head whips to the side; blood sprays from his mouth.
"Aislinn," he gasps. But before he can speak, or make any other sound, I hit him again, and again, and again. Not using my fenodyree strength, because this I want to do all on my own. I'm dimly aware of the leprechauns clustering around us, screaming with fury as I beat their master. If they attacked, I'd be torn to shreds in seconds. Why don't they attack?
Then I realize that as he lies under me, as I beat his face to a bloody pulp, he's holding up both hands, palms out, telling them to stay back. He's letting me do this.
It only makes me madder. I leap off him and scream, clenching my fists. "Get up, you bastard! Get up and fight!"
He climbs unsteadily to his feet, feeling his rapidly swelling face. He spits blood, and a tooth clatters to the floor. Why do I feel a pang of regret for that? He deserves it, and more.
"Fight me, you idiot!" I shriek again. If he doesn't fight, I may explode. "You coward, you sick old man! I hate you!"
More blood dribbles from his mouth, and he wipes it away. "I deserved that."
"You bet you do! You deserve a lot worse."
"Do I deserve to die?"
"You killed my parents."
"They broke the agreement. They were hunting us."
"You let your creatures murder them! Do you know what you did to me? What you took from me?" I'm shaking so hard now, I don't think I could hit him nearly hard enough if he did decide to fight. "Do you know what I've been through?"
"What you've been through? Child, you've lived seventeen years. I've been around for—"
"Centuries, I know! Remind me again, why don't you? Being old doesn't give you dibs on pain!"
"You can't possibly understand!" His tone is fierce, bitter, hollow. "I've lost more loved ones than you've even known in your short life. And the human saying 'it's better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all?' Not true! Your grandmother took from me the woman I loved more than my life— had her killed because I couldn't read the future. Had my remaining relatives killed, too, just to be sure I suffered for tricking her. You want to blame someone for the curse, for your parents' death? Blame Maeve. She's the reason for all of it."
"No!" I say. "She may have been the reason, but you had a choice. You chose to curse an entire group of women because of what their queen did. You chose to ally yourself with these monsters. You chose to do it, so own it!"
Breathing hard, my heart pounding, I stare at his wretched face, swollen and red and lumpy from my fists. A sudden pain in my hand makes me look down; my knuckles are broken open, red and bleeding and bruised from his jaw and cheekbones.
"And you—" The words jerk out of me like sobs. "You betray
ed me. I thought we were friends, and then you— you made me do this. You almost made me kill him."
All the fight drains out of me. My hands fall slack at my sides.
"But you didn't."
The way he says it makes me look up at him sharply. "Don't pretend this was some kind of test. You wanted me to kill him."
"And you resisted my magic. Me, the Far Darrig. Midir of the Tuatha Dé Danann. You were stronger." His blackened eyes are shining with something like admiration.
But I don't want his admiration, or his love, or anything he has to offer.
"Why can't you just leave me alone?" The words escape me in spite of myself, and I hate how weak and pleading they sound.
"Is that what you want?"
"Yes. I want you to go away and never come back. Never come near us again."
"Very well. Slán agat, Aislinn. Go n-éirghidh an bóthar libh."
It's a farewell, a wish for health and safe roads. Then the leprechauns are gone, and so is he, and the blessing hangs in the air, unwanted and unanswered.
23
MAGIC
Zane
Where am I?
This floor is really hard and uncomfortable.
Beams overhead, broken plaster. Yellow water spots rimmed with black mold on the ceiling.
Ow. How long have I been lying here?
The warm body lying beside me shifts, and Aislinn's face suddenly appears over me, anxious, her freckles standing out more than ever because she's so pale. Is she sick? Scared?
"You're awake! I've been waiting for you to wake up. I guess I fell asleep too." She pushes a lock of red hair out of her face.
"What's—" I try to sit up, but there's this buzzing in my head. Weird.
Wait. Did I hit my head and lose my memory? My name is Zane Percy, I'm seventeen years old, my birthday is September 8, I have parents, sisters— yeah, memory's still there.
"Sshh, lie still for a second."
"Where are we? How did I get here?"
"It's an old mill complex. You were put to sleep. With magic."
Magic. Of course.
Magic?!?!
"Who did it? Was it the weirdo in the red jacket?" I force myself to sit up. Now I start to remember him, Gatsby from the prom, and our little chat. "I'll kill him."
"He's gone, he's gone." She lays her hand on my chest. "Take it easy, you've had a lot of spellwork done to you. I'm guessing you'll feel strange for a few minutes."
I look down at her hand and notice her bleeding knuckles. "You're hurt. What did he do?"
"Tried to make me hurt you." She sighs. "So I beat him up."
"That's my girl."
The ghost of a smile crosses her face. "Can you stand?"
Hell, yes, I can stand. I'm about to run after that bastard and have a nice talk with him...
My legs aren't cooperating. They feel stiff and clumsy. I'll just have to put off chasing down Red Jacket till later.
Aislinn comes close, takes my hand, and puts my arm over her shoulders. I want to protest, but without her support I might fall over.
"Magic is hard on humans," she says. "Don't feel bad."
I grunt in response. Of course I feel bad. I feel stupid and weak, which makes me angry. "Can you tell me on the way? What happened?"
She sighs again. "Fine, but you're not going to like it."
As we shuffle across the big room, she explains what the Far Darrig guy was up to, and what he tried to make her do. How she stopped him.
I'm tracking with her as best as I can, which is pretty good, seeing how I was just magicked into oblivion and can barely walk now.
While she talks, we move slowly into a hallway, then down another hallway. My legs are feeling stronger, but I leave my arm around her shoulders. She won't look at me while she's talking, and every so often her voice breaks and she pauses, like she's pulling it together so she doesn't cry.
Finally we reach a door leading to a stairway. But as she pushes it open, I see three strange people— greenish, with butt-ugly faces and sharp teeth. They creep up the steps toward us, snarling.
"What the—"
"Leprechauns," she hisses. She throws out her free hand toward them and says some words in a language I've never heard.
For a second, the creatures look confused; and then they start dancing on the stairs. It's kinda grotesquely funny, because they're tripping over each other, and tumbling, and bumping down the steps while still moving their legs and arms like they're dancing. I let out some nervous laughter.
"There's no word for dance in Old Irish," says Aislinn, apologetically. "And I'm not great at combining spells with my abilities yet. Had to improvise."
"I'd say it worked okay."
I'm trying to be cool. Chill. Not freaking out because I just met leprechauns and saw my girlfriend enchant them into dancing down the stairs.
We work our way down the steps after them, giving the leprechauns plenty of lead time. They end up vanishing before they reach the bottom. Once we're on the ground floor, we have to walk a bit, down some hallways.
"There's the exit." Aislinn points to two big doors up ahead. Their windows are grimy and yellowed, but daylight shines golden through them, highlighting the floating dust.
Aislinn pulls away from me a bit. "Can you walk okay now?"
"Yeah." But I don't want her to pull away. I need her as close it gets. Need her to know that I'm not going to let all this crazy come between us. Not going to back away just because her life is way scarier than I knew.
I turn to her, take her face in both my hands. She's so beautiful, even with shadows from the night under her eyes. Those lips are like magnets for mine. When I kiss her, she sighs a little, like maybe with relief, or happiness. I wrap my arms around her. She protected me, and now I'm her shield. We do this for each other.
But we barely have a minute like that before the big doors open, and daylight streams in around three dark shadows in the doorway.
24
PARADISE
Aislinn
As the three figures enter the old building, their shapes and features become clearer. The man in the center is of average height, with a plump, round face and a shiny forehead. His thinning hair is gelled and scraped across his scalp, and he wears thick-rimmed glasses.
The pale woman beside him has her black hair shaved up one side of her head and cascading in a straight purple waterfall down the other. Silver studs and sparkly gems adorn her nose, eyebrows, and ears. Though she seems tall, I'm guessing that without her tall black lace-up platform boots, she'd be about my height.
The third of the group is short and thin, with a wispy goatee, wearing a grungy T-shirt and jeans. I'm guessing he's the pixie who brought them here. "There she is, as promised," he's saying in a whiny tone. "I held up my end of the bargain— I see no reason why I should have to stay for this."
"We might need you again, Rimmle. Do shut up," says the woman in a crisp British accent.
"Aislinn Byrne?" says the man.
"Yes?"
He steps forward and hands me a plain white envelope.
"What's this?"
"An official warning from the Fae Council. We're here to investigate a report of Korrigan misbehavior and criminal acts against other Fae. If we find that these reports are credible, you'll be summoned to appear before the Council. You'll find all the details in there."
I stare at the envelope, then at the man. "What the heck is the Fae Council?"
The woman rolls her eyes. "See, Malcolm? I knew she wouldn't understand. The old Korrigan probably haven't told her anything about us, or about the rules."
She takes the envelope from me and slits it open with a long nail. "Darling, you've been breaking a lot of Fae rules lately! The Korrigan aren't allowed to steal Life-Stream or powers from other Fae."
"Powers?" She knows about the powers. This could be bad. This could be really, really bad.
Purple Hair waves her smartphone at me. "There's a video of you, showing off
some serious pixie skills at prom. The Council is very interested to find out how exactly you managed this."
"I didn't know it wasn't allowed."
"No, no, of course you didn't! I completely understand. It's the old dodgers at the council who don't get it, so we'll just explain it to them. All we have to do is get your side of the story, write up an excuse to hush them up, and you're off! It's really not terrible." She gazes at me for a minute, head on one side. "I have to say you're not quite what I expected. I thought you'd be something more of a badass, but you're a bit vanilla, aren't you? Just adorable." Her eyes flick over to Zane. "Hello, gorgeous! Aren't you yummy?"
Zane takes my hand, a not-so-subtle hint.
"The two of you are a pair? How darling. Oh by the way, you wouldn't happen to know the location of the Far Darrig, would you?"
"Who?"
She smiles. "So cute. The lying. But please don't bother— we know you've been seen with him. There's an eyewitness report from a very angry former fenodyree. And then there's this."
With a few taps on her phone, she plays a video. Zane and I lean in for a better look. It's the Far Darrig at the karaoke bar, doing his version of Michael Jackson's "Bad." It's obvious that whoever took the video was holding the phone down low, to avoid being detected breaking the bar owner's rules.
"Oh no. Uh-uh." says Zane. "No, that's just wrong."
It hurts to see the Far Darrig and to remember how we laughed that night, but I try to keep my face impassive, my voice cool. "I've no idea where the Far Darrig is, and I don't want to know. And I've never heard anything about you, or any Fae Council."
"The Far Darrig likes to pretend we don't exist," she says. "He's a tricky one! And so handsome, too. I'd like to get my hands on that ass, if you know what I mean."
"June," says the balding man. "We're on the job. A little professionalism, please?"
"Right. Well, we'll be around for the next couple weeks, asking a few questions, knocking down a few doors— not literally, of course! Well, if we have to. Where can we find you?"
Korrigan (Secrets of the Fae Book 1) Page 23
