The Stolen: An American Faerie Tale

by O'Connell, Bishop

  I should just stay here, he thought. Away from the pain. Let those who know what they’re doing deal with it.

  He thought of the heirloom bracelet that was on his wrist, or had been before he’d been fricasseed. He hoped it was intact. It was one of the few pieces of his Taid that he had. The quiet spoke to him then, much as it often did when he was in the library or, occasionally, in his office. However, unlike those times, this wasn’t Nghalon; this was his grandfather’s voice.

  “Don’t listen to it, Edward,” the voice said. “It isn’t you thinking these things.”

  What? That doesn’t make sense. Of course it’s me thinking this. Who else would it be?

  “No one is ever prepared, but that doesn’t give you leave to stand aside. You must rise and be counted amongst those who will fight against darkness. If you can act and do not, then you’re giving your consent to the evil. You must not give in to it. Stand apart from the darkness, not just against it.”

  But I failed. I tried, but I couldn’t—­ Wait, why am I listening to this? It’s just some kind of delusion. It’s trying to trick me by using my grandfather’s voice. Even if it is Taid, what does that crazy old man know?

  No, that wasn’t right. His Taid wasn’t a crazy old man. That’s when it dawned on him that he wasn’t alone in his own head.

  “Just stay here, stay in the quiet and peace—­”

  Anger filled him at the very idea of this intrusion.

  The thoughts changed, and the voice was different now, not even trying to hide. “Why fight it? You felt that power. You destroyed those creatures with hardly an effort.”

  Edward remembered the twisted delight he’d taken in their pain, and it didn’t turn his stomach. That was unsettling. But Dante said—­

  “That sad little sidhe can’t stand against you,” the voice said. “You don’t need him. You can do this alone. You can save her and the child.”

  He thought of how happy, how impressed Caitlin would be. She’d love him then.

  “Yes, she’ll see your strength and want to be close to it. Just let the power in. Take it for your own, use it as you want. You can be the master of it!”

  With that kind of power, he could take whatever he wanted. No one could stop him, not Dante, not Brendan, no one. Why should he struggle with these meager pieces of magic, these scraps from the table? He was no dog!

  “That’s why she’s never seen you before. Your weakness distracted her.”

  He thought of how sad and small, how weak he’d been. No, he’d been pathetic!

  “Take the power! You can become a god!”

  Edward sensed movement and opened his eyes to find himself seated at the front of a grand hall. Wizards sat before him; scores of robed and cloaked figures were watching him, waiting for their lord to issue his edict.

  As Edward looked around the chamber, he knew that beyond these walls, world leaders waited for his wisdom and guidance. The most powerful nations would answer his summons and obey his command.

  Caitlin, seated to his left and lovely as ever, stared at him with adoring eyes. She smiled, rose, and walked to him. Slowly, she straddled him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  He could feel her press against him.

  Her lips touched his, and their softness was intoxicating. Her delicate tongue reached into his mouth and found his, dancing with it in an erotic waltz. Her flesh was warm and soft as his hands caressed her sides. Her body pressed into his as she moaned in delight.

  Her kisses moved along his neck and to his ear. “What do you wish of me, my lord?” she asked. “I am yours, take me as you like.”

  “All this can be yours,” a disembodied voice said, and the scene was gone.

  Edward was back in the darkness, though his heart still pounded and he could feel the lingering touch of Caitlin’s body and lips. He drew in a shuddering breath.

  “Take it, you deserve it.”

  There was another voice, barely more than a whisper. It was Caitlin’s. Not the husky seductress from the moment before; this was the real Caitlin, the one he loved. He could see her smile and smell her perfume.

  “Thanks, Eddy, you’re a good friend. The best, actually,” her voice said.

  No, it wouldn’t be me she loved—­

  Again, the darkness changed, but this time he saw Caitlin and Brendan lying together, their nude bodies tangled. Caitlin flung her head back and she moaned in ecstasy, then she threw her arms around Brendan’s neck and kissed him.

  Jealousy tore at Edward’s insides. It churned, a vast and rancid ocean of hate that threatened to drown him. His hands tensed, wanting nothing less than to tear Caitlin away.

  “This is what awaits you should you refuse,” the darkness said.

  Pain and anguish ate its way through Edward’s heart, leaving behind only nothingness. It should be him, not Brendan.

  “Even now—­”

  “NO!” he screamed into the nothingness.

  The scene shattered and evaporated into darkness.

  There was a dampness of tears in his eyes, though Edward wasn’t sure if it was his actual body. He drew in a breath and resolved himself. He knew the truth: all he could do was love her, and that’s what he would do, whether or not she loved him in return. Love didn’t work that way.

  “You’ll fail without it!” the voice said. “She and the child will be lost forever! Their blood, their deaths, will be on your hands!”

  Edward laughed, actually laughed. How many times had he heard that argument from patients? Victims of assault, rapes, or molestations, they all thought they were the reason it had happened to them. But it was the rapist, the molester, or the murderer who was to blame.

  “They’ll die—­”

  “Then I’ll spend the rest of my life searching out those who did it, and kill them myself.” Edward said. “You’re right, neither of them may come home, but now that’s not something I can control. I’ll do my part to help, and I can only hope.”

  He felt the frustration of this intruder as Edward fought back the fear and dread growing inside him. Then it all became clear.

  “You’re not offering me power,” he said. “You’re asking for it. That wasn’t me at all, it was you.”

  Edward’s anger flared. Whoever this was had used him, and he’d nearly fallen for it. No, he had fallen for it! Edward reached out, using the rage as fuel for his own power. His magic drove out into the darkness, and he felt something. No, someone.

  “What are you doing?” The voice was tinged with fear now.

  Edward seized the intruder, this violator of his mind. Edward dug his magic into the essence of this trespasser, like claws, holding him fast.

  “Let’s see how you like it, anghenfil.”

  Edward pushed deeper and drove his magic into the interloper’s mind. There was no doubt now—­it was the other wizard.

  “This will end badly for you, Edward Hunt—­”

  Edward used all his anger, his fear and pain, to drive his power deeper until he found what he was looking for. It was soft and seemed to pulse with an inner life. His first instinct was to withdraw in disgust, but he fought the urge.

  It was so cold that it burned and seemed to draw the heat from Edward. Hardening his resolve, he tightened his magic around it and pulled. Edward’s prize held fast, but he felt it begin to tear loose.

  The intruder’s scream filled Edward’s head, but that only drove him on. With a final pull of his will, the piece ripped free.

  Edward drew it close and felt something warm seep from it. Then, after a moment, he withdrew from the darkness, returning to the world.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-­THREE

  “Faerie blood?” The world was spinning around Caitlin, and she clung to the only thing that seemed real: Brendan.

  “Aye,” Brendan said. “I sme—­ sensed it on you earlier,
but I just passed it off as lingering fae magic from the oíche.”

  Closing her eyes, Caitlin focused and the spinning slowed. “So, what does that mean? I’m not—­” She stumbled, as if her mouth didn’t want to say the words. “I’m not human?”

  “Not mortal is a truer way of saying it. But even that’s not entirely true.”

  Caitlin opened her eyes as she felt Brendan pull back. She searched his blue eyes for comfort or something to make her life normal again. It wasn’t there.

  “You’re still you.” His words were soft. “You’re still the same person you was before. This doesn’t change nothing.”

  “Doesn’t change—­” She stared at him. “Are you kidding me? How can this not change everything?”

  “I mean, it doesn’t change who you are. You’re still—­”

  “Could that be why they took Fiona? I mean, if I’m a—­” Again, her mouth struggled with the words. “Changeling. If I’m a changeling, she is too, right?”

  “It might at that,” Brendan said. “She might be, and if she is, like as not that was the reason they picked her.”

  While there was some sick sense of comfort in finally knowing why, she still felt the rancid touch of guilt. “Does that mean I’m not Caitlin Brady?”

  “What?”

  “Was I left behind when the real one was taken?” Caitlin’s heart stuttered.

  “No.”

  The reply brought truckloads of relief, but then she considered the alternative and felt cold again. She wracked her brain, thinking who in her family could’ve been fae. The problem, of course, was that she didn’t know much of her family.

  “Come on.” Brendan led her back to the truck. “Let’s get you sat down.”

  Question upon question unfolded in her mind. Did Nana know? Was that why she’d told her all those stories?

  Brendan helped Caitlin into the passenger seat and closed the door. She was only dimly aware of him getting in the other side. The engine started, and soon they were moving again.

  Caitlin let the gentle breeze blow over her face as her breathing returned to normal.

  “You still with me, love?”

  Brendan’s voice seemed to be more real now, as if her whole life up until now had been some kind of dream and she was just now waking up. “I’m just trying to get a handle on all the thoughts in my head.”

  “I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s really not as important as all that.”

  She knew he was lying, but she decided to take refuge in the lie rather than calling him on it. “How many are there?”

  “Changelings, you mean?” Brendan considered the question for a moment. “Well, it’s not that they’d make a large collection, but it actually isn’t that uncommon. I’d say odds are anyone with Irish, Scots, Manx, or even Welsh blood has some fae mixed in there as well. Even the Nordics dealt with the fae.”

  “Really?” Caitlin asked. It sounded like he was telling the truth, but something didn’t mesh. “You’re leaving something out.”

  His expression told her that her instinct was right.

  “Damnú air!” He punched the steering wheel. “Never any use at cards either,” he muttered.

  “Just tell me. I can handle it.” She braced for the worst.

  “Oh, aye, I can see that. Sound job you’re doing so far.” He glanced at her, but her glare made him turn away. “I’m just saying you’ll take it arseways.”

  “Brendan, please, tell me.”

  He sighed. “It’s true plenty out there have fae somewhere in their family tree. But the blood loses its potency after a generation or two.”

  He looked at her, probably judging her reaction. She could see where this was going.

  “After that, they wouldn’t have no sign.”

  “Like being able to find four-­leaf clovers like they were grains of sand?” She didn’t need to see him nod.

  “Those are few and far between.”

  She swallowed. That meant it was one of six ­people; her mother, her father, or one of her grandparents.

  “Jesus, love, it ain’t cancer.” Brendan laughed. “You’d like as not never have known if I hadn’t just done that.”

  “I just need to get my head around this. Okay?”

  “Aye.” He shrugged. “But it’s really not as bad as all that.”

  “Even so,” she said. “It’s kind of a lot to take all in one day.”

  “Aye, fair play that, I suppose.” He paused for moment. “But there is something you should know. A changeling has to make a choice. Either they choose the fae side, or they choose the mortal.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “They have to decide which they want to be. If they choose the fae, then they show signs. They stop aging around adulthood, or younger. They might get points to their ears, things like that.”

  “And if they choose mortal?”

  “They grow up like anyone else. You get little hints of it, like finding four-­leaf clovers and seeing through glamours.”

  “And seeing faeries,” she said.

  “Aye, that as well.”

  “But I didn’t choose.”

  “You weren’t aware of the choice,” he said. “You thought you were mortal and grew up as one. You made your decision without ever being aware of it.” He gave her a quick glance.

  “What?”

  He let out a breath. “Well, crossing into the Tír might affect you strangely.”

  She sighed. “Of course it could.”

  “I can’t say how, because I don’t know. It’ll work to our favor though. I was worried how we’d handle crossing with you as a mortal. It’s not a place friendly to such, but that’s not a problem now.”

  She answered mechanically as her mind began to work. “That’s something, I suppose.”

  So Brendan, you’re not mortal? What are you then? she thought.

  They drove in silence, and Caitlin was left to wonder about how all this would affect Fiona if—­no, when—­Caitlin got her back. She would find a way to use it to Fiona’s advantage. A thought came to her, and instead of considering it, she pushed it aside . . . well, she tried.

  What if her faerie blood was Dusk Court?

  The minutes crawled by, and the road unfolded before them at the same lagging pace. They drove, winding back and forth between trees nearing the peak of their change. The approaching sunset turned the sky to painted flames, almost as if it was trying to outdo the trees. Caitlin’s whole world had changed, yet the rest of the world was exactly the same.

  Anger flared in her heart. How dare she spend a moment wallowing in this when her child was out there? And how much farther did they have to go?

  Brendan apparently read her mind. “About an hour or so to go still, I’m afraid. And we have to make a quick detour as well.”

  Caitlin mumbled a complaint under her breath.

  Brendan turned off the country highway and down a local road.

  “Where are we?” Caitlin asked. It was clear they were well off the beaten path.

  “The detour.” Brendan turned into the dirt parking lot of a small general store. “Look, love. I didn’t mean to downplay it all to you back there.”

  Caitlin didn’t look at him. She didn’t want to think on it anymore. Why couldn’t he just let her be?

  “Is it the realization, or the fact that someone in your family was untrue to you, that’s nibbling at you?”

  She gave him a withering glare but didn’t answer.

  “If it’s the second, there’s something you should be considering. The one you get your blood from might’ve been trying to spare you. Or maybe they just never got the chance to tell you.”

  Her eyes went wide in realization.

  “What is it?”

  Closin
g her eyes, she focused on the few memories she had of her father and tried to picture him in her head.

  One by one, the pieces fell together.

  How could she not have seen it before? That was why her mother had always looked so heartbroken when Caitlin had asked about him or about his illness, and why her mother had never wanted her to hear Nana’s stories.

  “I think it was my father.”

  “What happened to him, then?”

  “When I was really little, he got sick.” The scent of the hospital came back to her. She still hated that smell and questioned the psychology of tormenting herself with it every day.

  “He died. That’s why I became a nurse.” She shook her head. “Wait, can faeries even get sick?”

  “Not in the sense you think of, no. But if he was called by one of the courts and didn’t answer? Well, the longer he resisted the call, the weaker he’d get. That’d be easy to mistake for sickness.”

  “He didn’t want to leave Mom.” Caitlin could see her mother sitting at her father’s bedside, his hand in hers. A ­couple of tears rolled down Caitlin’s cheek, and she wiped them away.

  Brendan sat in silence.

  “Nana’s stories must’ve been too painful for Mom to hear. They reminded her of Dad. Which means they all knew.” Caitlin closed her eyes and had clear memories of her father for the first time in a very long time. Sitting in his lap and looking into his radiant blue eyes, eyes just like Dante’s.

  “I can remember him.” Caitlin smiled as tears continued to roll down her cheeks. “He’d sing to me.” A sob escaped as the sound of his voice came back to her. “I remember he was almost enchanting in the way—­” Her smile vanished.

  “Mo mhallacht ort.” Brendan looked away from her.

  “He’d enchant you with his music. Never a whole gallery full of ­people, but—­”

  “I know where your mind’s leading you, and it’s the wrong path, love.”

  “What are you?” she asked. “Not mortal. That would cause problems crossing into Tír na nÓg. That’s what you said, right?”