"Never since Maeve's slaughter of her druids have we seen a killing of magic-users on such a large scale," says the old one, Nemain. "They all died before their time." She extends a wrinkled white finger toward me. "Your actions have tangled the web of Fate. Such tangles, so many broken threads! So much time to repair the damage, to work them all out."
"I'm sorry," I say. "But I thought they had killed someone special to me. I acted in revenge."
"The Far Darrig," says the young one with the red hair, Macha. "You thought they killed him."
"Yes." So they know the story already. Heck, maybe they were watching through some kind of Fate crystal-ball TV.
"Your desire for revenge is no excuse," says the old one, Nemain. "So many lives must not be magically ended outside of the provisions of Fate and destiny. You will pay the price."
"As will the Far Darrig, for his slaughter of the leprechaun race," says Badb. "He too has broken our laws."
No.
"What is the price?" I ask, although I think I already know.
"Death!" screeches Nemain, her strong voice dissolving into an old woman's cackle.
Badb holds up her hand. "However, for the two of you we may have an alternative. Isn't that right, Nemain?"
The old woman mumbles. Badb continues, "There is something of greater concern to us. When we spoke with the Far Darrig about his crime against the leprechauns, he informed us of the prophecy of Samhain."
I know what she's talking about. The prophecy that Ainmire, the kelpie, gave us when we visited him at the lake. The old is becoming new. The hidden will leap from their holes, and the hunted will seek for prey. A door will be opened, and can only be shut by blood.
"We have heard rumblings from the Otherworld for months," says Macha, stepping forward. "The Veil between the worlds is very thin in places where it has been strong before. With the right pressure during Samhain, it will fail completely, and the creatures of the Otherworld, the Aos Sí, will run freely in this realm."
"Can you stop this from happening?" I ask.
"We cannot interfere," Badb says, her dark eyes sober. "Our task relates only to the lines of destiny and the management of death. However, the Far Darrig made us an interesting offer— that the two of you would be our eyes and ears, to uncover the truth of this, and to stop anyone from opening a path from the Otherworld. If you succeed, we will spare your lives, and your lines will not be cut until their appointed time."
So they already talked to Kieran; and he, true to his nature, found a way to bargain with them. I can't help but admire his cleverness, even though I'm upset with him for not telling me right away.
"Are you willing to honor this bargain?" Badb asks.
"If it will spare our lives, yes," I say.
"It may spare not only your lives, but many others as well," Badb replies. "Aos Sí in this world would mean a bloody slaughter like we've never seen in all our millennia."
"Too many torn threads! Too many tangled knots!" mourns Nemain. "Who could ever stitch the fabric of destiny back together after such an event?"
"No one," says young Macha, in equally despairing tones.
"We must seal the bargain," says Babd, stepping forward, her black hair flowing around her like a cloak. She takes my right hand, and with her finger she draws a swirl of blue on the back of it, complete with a series of blue dots. "This symbol marks you as Fated," she says. "If you do not complete your task by sundown, at the last light of Samhain, your line will be cut, and you will die, along with the Far Darrig."
"Aislinn?" A startled voice behind me. Ériu. Badb drops my hand and steps back into line with the other Fates.
"Ériu," she says coolly. "It has been a long time."
"Well met." Ériu bows. "What is your errand here? This one is under my protection." She puts her arm around me.
"She is now Fated," says Badb. "The bargain is struck. You must have known this was coming, Ériu, daughter of Delbáeth."
"I feared so. And what of the Far Darrig?"
"The Far Darrig's fate and hers are linked," Badb says. "Their task is to see that no Aos Sí pass into our world during Samhain. If they succeed in this task, they live."
Ériu frowns. "You should have spoken with me first."
"We are the Morrígna. We do not answer to you," says Nemain, shaking her black cane at Ériu. "You should be thanking my sisters for their mercy. It was their idea to give these two little upstarts a chance to live. I wanted to cut that Far Darrig down where he stood. He has been around causing trouble for much too long. And this one— I do not like her. She is disrespectful."
Ériu's grip on my shoulder tightens. "We thank you for your mercy, great Nemain."
Nemain grunts.
"We must leave you," says Macha. "But you will see us again."
"Wonderful," I say.
"See? Disrespectful." With a snort of contempt, Nemain vanishes, and the other two follow. Ériu and I are alone in the formal dress section.
"I'm sorry if it was stupid to make the bargain," I say. "It seemed like the only way out."
"It was." She looks at the mark on my hand. "I might have been able to convince them to spare you, since you're very young, but I could never have persuaded them to spare the Far Darrig, not after he slaughtered a hundred leprechauns at one time. He found a way out, though, as he always does." Admiration colors her voice.
"Were you two ever together? I mean, he said no, but—"
Ériu smiles. "No, he was never one of my lovers. He and I have been acquainted for a long time, and he is like a little brother to me. A wayward, frustrating, foolish troublemaker of a brother, but still— the closest thing to family I have left. We see each other about once a century, and that's enough."
"But you've seen him a lot more lately."
"True. And I'll be stopping by for the next month to repair that finger he lost. But after that, I'll probably travel again. Maybe Paris— I know it's a human cliché, but I do love Paris. Ask him to take you sometime."
I look down, touching the mark on my hand. "I don't think he would. We're not— he's not really into me anymore, I think."
She laughs, a clear fountain of beautiful sound. "Oh, Aislinn. He's been trying to give you time, to be patient, as I told him to. When he came to me after you beat him up— when he told me how he behaved toward you at first, I nearly refused to heal him. He acted like a monster, unworthy of his race. Trust me, I gave him the lecture of his life."
I smile, remembering how subdued he was on the phone when he asked if we could be friends. "I believe you. And thank you."
"If you're ready for him to make a move, all you need to do is make one yourself. An obvious move, so he gets the hint. Then you'll see for yourself if he's over you or not."
Her eyes are sparkling, like she's excited to be having a girl talk. She probably doesn't get to do this often.
"Hmm, all this is putting me in the mood for a lover of my own," she says. "I've got a few around here who would probably do the trick."
"I didn't need to know that," I say, grinning and covering my ears.
So she's a player, like Gemma and Gillian. And Magnolia and Arden are apparently frigid as freezers in the love department. Are there any Korrigan or Fae who have long-lasting, successful relationships? Other than the man-eating kelpies, of course. Kieran told me they mate for life, which for them is about three hundred years. Seems like a long time to be with just one person, but I suppose with the right one, it could be amazing.
We walk back to the dressing rooms, where Laurel's arms are piled high with things Wynnie wants to purchase. Ériu buys it all without blinking an eye, and we head back to the apartment to watch a chick flick. Of course the entire time, I'm picturing myself in the heroine's role, and Kieran in the guy's place.
Make a move, huh? I'll make a move. It's about darn time somebody did.
2
TIME
Zane
College is like high school on steroids.
More
classes, more reading, more projects. Plus I've got to do all the normal stuff for myself that my mom would have done for me. Cleaning up. Doing laundry. Buying snacks and drinks and actual food, and personal stuff like deodorant and shampoo. It doesn't all just appear in the fridge or cabinets like it did at home.
It's weird, too, because even though I meet people all day, I feel like I don't know anyone. I've always been a guy people knew. At my school, everyone knew who I was. Even in the city, I could hardly go out anywhere without running into one of my boys or a kid from the neighborhood or one of my parents' friends.
Now, I'm nobody. I don't even get to be "the new guy," because there's tons of freshmen guys and girls here. I'm just one fish in a wriggling school of newbie fish, and the upperclassmen barely notice us. We're like little minnows to them. Not a good feeling.
I go from class to class. I get lunch with some guy I sat next to in Essential Mathematics. More classes, a trip to somebody's office to drop off papers I forgot to turn in, and then, finally, back to my dorm room.
My roommate isn't back yet. Just as well, because I want to be alone.
I take a second, just laying on the bed, looking up at my posters of boxer Deontay Wilder, Black Panther, the Flash. Got a new Star Wars one, too, and Overwatch. I wonder for a second if I should have inspirational posters or motivational sayings or some crap like that over my bed instead. Seems like that would be more adult. And that's what I'm doing now, the adult thing.
It's time to grow up.
The door opens, and there's my roommate. He's a really skinny guy, hair as blond as my friend Frank's, but in a buzzcut instead of boy-band style. He wears oversized clothes, usually black or gray— I don't think I've seen a bright color yet. His side of the room is mostly posters about loving animals and not eating them. Which is cool, but I'm not about to give up burgers and steak and bacon. That's just me.
"Yo, Ben," I say. "How's it goin'?"
"Good, you?" He drops his books on the bed and roots around in the fridge for one of his green smoothies. Now that I might try sometime. Looks healthy, and that's part of being an adult, right? Trying to stay healthy, get those vitamins in.
Ben sits on the edge of his bed, watching me. I'm pretty sure he wears gray eyeliner around his eyes.
"So Zane, we haven't talked much yet," he says. "What's your family like?"
"I got my mom, my dad, coupla sisters. One's married, with a baby, little Dallas. The other's fourteen, she's at home."
"Got a girlfriend?"
"Not right now. There was a girl, Aislinn. We broke up a couple months ago."
"Yeah? Was it serious?"
This guy. With the questions.
"I guess, man. I don't know. It was for me. But I'm good now, it's cool. We're friends."
Ben raises his eyebrows. "Friends with your ex? Okay."
"Yeah man, it's how we do in the 21st century," I say. "I'm friends with both my exes. One of 'em goes here; her name's Laurel. Haven't seen her around campus yet, but she's somewhere."
Talking about Laurel opens something inside me, something I've been trying to ignore. A gap. Since we were in elementary school, she's always been there. She was my friend for a long time before we tried the relationship thing. Damn, I miss her.
"So what else do I need to know about you?" asks Ben.
"I like to run." From monsters in the forest. "I do some boxing, wrestling." And I fight druids. "Play a little ball sometimes. Love me some superheroes." I know people with real powers. "That's pretty much it." Not.
"Okay. Well, I'm into animal rights." Ben gestures to his posters. "So, if you don't mind not cannibalizing our fellow creatures in the room when I'm here, I'd appreciate it."
"No bacon cheeseburgers or steaks in the room. Got it."
Ben doesn't look amused. "Would you like it if somebody zapped you in the brain with a bolt gun, drained out your blood, and sliced off a nice cut of beef from your bicep there?"
"Damn, dude."
"That's what they do to cows. Wanna know what they do to pigs? Scald them alive. Sure, they stun most of them first, but some of them are still conscious when—"
"Hey, Ben, let me stop you right there."
He stops, frowning.
"Let's make a deal. I won't eat meat in our dorm room, and you won't talk to me about how the sausage is made."
He doesn't look happy about it, but he nods. "I still plan to convince you before the year is out. I'm an ambassador of mercy."
"Respect, man," I say. "You give it your best shot."
3
VELVET
Aislinn
I'm wearing The Dress. For him.
Its strapless sweetheart neckline shows off more cleavage than I normally do, and the skirt comes to the middle of my thigh. I have some little bike shorts on underneath, but still— there's not much skirt there. I felt sexy in it at first, and now I just feel exposed and silly. Maybe this was a mistake.
"Aislinn, he's here," calls Arden from the living room. I don't answer, because I'm starting to panic.
A second later Wynnie pops her head in. Her jaw drops when she sees me.
"Don't let him— just get in here!" I pull her into my room and shut the door. And I lock it, just in case Kieran's in the living room and decides to get curious.
She's staring at the dress.
"It's too much, isn't it?" My voice is a fierce, frantic whisper.
"It depends on what you're going for," she says. "And I am probably not the best one to ask. I can barely handle a guy looking at me at all."
I stare at myself in despair. I look beautiful— I have my mother's long, red, curly hair and my own delicate features and clear skin— but do I look too sexy?
Quickly I grab a tote bag and stuff a simple sundress and a cardigan in there. Just in case Kieran reacts badly to the dress, or in case it's not right for where we're going. Then I pick up my clutch purse and take a deep breath.
Makeup is good. Hair is good. I pull the dress down a bit to cover more thigh, and then I scooch it up a little further over my boobs. Darn it. What I gain tugging it one direction, I lose in the other.
"Just go," says Wynnie. "Be brave. Breathe."
"Is he in the apartment, or in the parking lot?" I whisper.
"Parking lot, I think."
"Good."
I walk out of the room, holding my head high. Arden raises her eyebrows. "If I were your mother, you wouldn't be allowed out in that."
"But you're not my mother."
I leave the apartment, bags in hand, and stalk down the stairs in my heels, very carefully. Kieran is standing with his back to me. It's August, and the sun doesn't set till about 8:30, so it's still bright outside, and hot. He's fanning himself lightly with a magazine.
For a second I admire the breadth of his shoulders— not quite as big as my ex Zane's shoulders, but still— they're really good shoulders to have. He's tall, but graceful, too, the way he leans lazily on the car. The curve of his back to his waist, the way his jeans fit, and those long legs— it's all making my heart race, and I haven't even seen his face yet.
He hasn't seen me in the dress yet.
I let the bag scuff against a step, making a small sound; and as I intended, he turns around.
His jaw actually drops, and his silver-gray eyes widen. Frozen, he stares at me. I can't hide my triumphant smile. Calmly I open the car door for myself and slide into the seat, careful not to let the dress inch up too high. He comes to himself in time to close the door for me, and then he walks around and gets into the driver's seat without a word.
His cheeks are faintly flushed. Is he really blushing? Oh my gosh. That is too cute.
As he turns on the car and backs out, he keeps stealing glances at me. Still, he doesn't speak.
Finally I have pity on him and start the conversation. "I see we have matching tattoos now," I say, comparing my blue swirl to the one on the back of his hand.
That distracts him. "They already talked to you? I
asked them to let me explain it first." He shakes his head.
"It's okay, really. And I get that it was the only way."
He nods. "I guess we're both on the Fates' list of troublemakers now."
"Rogues and rebels, that's what we are."
Glancing over, he grins— and then his eyes do a quick sweep of me before he looks at the road again.
"So where are we headed?" I ask, hoping it's going to be a long drive.
"Atlanta. About three hours away."
"What's in Atlanta?"
"Information, I hope. I have an appointment to meet an acquaintance of mine."
"And why couldn't you meet him or her yourself? Not that I mind coming along— I've missed our little outings."
"Me, too. To be honest, asking you along on this one isn't just for the pleasure of your company, though. I think you might sway this person to share a little more information."
"How? With my winning personality?"
"I was thinking more along the lines of your reputation, as Soul-Stealer and Druid-Slayer."
I narrow my eyes at him, sure that he's teasing me. But one look at his face tells me he's serious. "People know about that?"
"The Fae gossip chain is quick and ruthless. I'm sure there are many different stories of how it happened, but yes, everyone knows."
"They're scared? Of me?"
"The fenodyree, the banshees, and the dullahan get along well with druids, so they'll be either frightened of you or spitting mad. Others, like the pixies, selkies, merrows, and cluricauns detest the druids. Their friends and neighbors have been captured and chopped up for relics one too many times. So they'll be grateful, but cautious."
"And this person we're going to see— what kind of Fae is it?" I ask.
"He's a pooka, a big one. You remember them? They can take the form of a goat, and even in human form they have these horns that just keep growing and growing."
Samhain Page 2
