Samhain

by Rebecca F. Kenney

  No, this is too important. I have to take my time; and I can't mess it up.

  On the other hand, we might not have much time. September is just beginning; that's barely two months left before Samhain.

  A few days later, while Arden and Wynnie are out shopping, Kieran and I visit Maureen's house again, hoping she's back from her tour of the ocean. It's early, so we don't knock; we just go around back and head for the beach. Yesterday, while we were at the pool, my fair skin got a little pinker than I'd like, so I made sure to put on makeup with a hefty SPF, along with some sunscreen on my arms. It makes me a little greasy, but better greasy than lobster red and peeling.

  "It's nice of Rick to let us hang out on their beach," I say. "I think he likes us."

  "He has a soft spot for sweethearts," says Kieran, smiling.

  We take off our shoes and walk into the ocean just a little way, just enough to cover our feet. I remember the warning about the strong currents. Right now, though, with Kieran's fingers laced through mine and the ocean stretching away to sky in front of me, and the morning breeze on my face, I feel invincible.

  And then Kieran stiffens suddenly, and turns. "Did you hear that?"

  I listen. There's nothing but the surging and seeping of the waves, and the squawk of a gull overhead.

  "I don't hear anything."

  He's still listening, his face tense and alert. "It's beautiful." His fingers slip from mine, and he walks toward deeper water.

  "Kieran!" I follow him through the surf. "What do you hear?"

  He ignores me, wading deeper, toward the point where the boulders on our right submerge in the sea.

  "Kieran, not too far out."

  Still he doesn't listen. He's knee deep in the waves now, thigh deep. Panicking, I transport right in front of him. "Kieran, stop. You're going out too far."

  Gently he sets me aside, focused on whatever he hears, his eyes glassy.

  Ocean. Merrow. Spell. The pieces come together in my mind, and I reach up to cover his ears. "Don't listen, Kieran!"

  He pushes my hands away. "Stop! I have to listen."

  "Láidreacht!" I use my fenodyree strength to resist him, keeping my hands firmly over his ears. After a minute, his eyes seem to clear, and he looks at me like he's confused. I shake my head at him and mouth the words, "Merrow."

  He seems to understand, and he covers his own ears. "She's somewhere close by," he says. "Go up on the rocks and see if you can see her."

  I transport to the top of the pile of boulders and look around. The blue-green ocean rolls away unbroken except by the pale froth of cresting waves, and the beach on both sides of the rocks is empty.

  Then a flash of something in the water, far out from the beach— something white under the waves, like skin. And then a shimmer of sun on scales as the merrow's tail breaks the surface.

  I point, and Kieran nods. But neither of us can get to her— because he can't swim out there without hearing her song and possibly getting swept away by the current, and I can't swim at all.

  But I can transport.

  I wait until I see the merrow again, and then I transport to the water directly above her.

  Of course I sink as soon as I appear, and I barely have enough time to take a gulp of air before I'm underwater. It's a terrifying sensation, and I nearly forget why I'm there and what I'm doing— desperately I reach out with both hands. She's a slick tangle of arms and hair and tail, but I manage to catch her around the waist and transport her with me to the shallows.

  Gasping for breath, I sit in the surf beside her as she flounders, her tail flapping. Soon the tail divides, and the scales fade, and she's human again. And naked, of course. Why does every Fae transformation end with nudity? It's kind of awkward. Kieran grabs the beach towel he brought and hands it to her, looking away respectfully. The merrow wraps herself in it, waiting for her gills to fade back into her throat before she speaks.

  She's a little shorter than me, beautiful in the way that an older woman can be beautiful— straight features, prominent cheekbones, pure white hair dripping down her back. Her eyes are bright, beautiful blue, and their clarity reminds me of Ériu's eyes.

  "Who are you?" she says. She isn't pleased at being dragged out of the ocean.

  "I'm so sorry for doing that," I say. "It's just, he could hear your song, and I was afraid he would walk into the ocean. And we need to talk to you."

  "What are you doing on this beach, child? It's off limits."

  "Your husband said we could hang out here. We spoke with him yesterday."

  "Hm. You did, eh? Well, then I suppose you're all right, if Rick let you come out here." She hitches the towel higher around her shoulders. "I only sing out in the ocean, or here, where no one can hear me. I didn't know I'd have company. Sorry about that."

  Kieran nods. "I'm confused about something though— how could your song influence me? I'm Tuatha Dé Danann, and the mental powers of other Fae don't generally affect me, just their physical abilities. Pixie magic does nothing to me."

  The old merrow smiles, and her eyes sparkle. "The ocean is older than the land, my dear. The songs of the merrow come from the deep, and no man or Fae is immune, not even the god-race of old. But don't worry, love," she says to me. "I won't take him from you. Though he's quite the looker, isn't he? Reminds me of my Rick when he was young. Of course we were both younger then."

  "You age like humans do?"

  "When we spend time on land, yes. I've been living with Rick for thirty years now, so yes, I've aged along with him. Wouldn't have it any other way. Now if you'll come up to the house, we'll talk about why one of the Tuatha Dé Danann and his pretty lass are so eager to interrupt my playtime."

  "I'm sorry," I say again.

  She waves a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about it. If you hadn't fetched me out, I'd have probably gone back out to sea and stayed away for much too long. What day is it, anyway?"

  "September 7th," I say.

  "Let's see, I left on August 21st— not too bad. The old fellow can't have missed me too much yet."

  "I wouldn't be so sure," says Kieran. "He's a big fan of yours."

  "He's just an old sweet talker," she says, smiling at him as she mounts the steps with support from his arm. "I'll bet you're one of those sweet-talkin' types too, aren't you, lad?"

  "More of the joker type," I say. "And not as funny as he thinks."

  "You wound me, love," says Kieran, glancing back at me.

  Rick opens the door as I reach the top of the steps. His leathery face brightens at the sight of Maureen. "Back again, baby?"

  "You know I can't stay away." They kiss, and I can't help smiling because it's sweet and adorable.

  "You two sit down while I put some clothes on," Maureen says, so we sit side by side on the couch and wait.

  When she returns, Kieran explains everything to her. Everything, down to the last detail of who he is, or was, and why the Fates intend to kill us. If the older couple are shocked, they hide it well.

  "That's quite a tale," says Maureen when he's done. "And if you are the trickster, the Far Darrig, why should I trust you with any information I may have? How do I know you're not the one seeking to open the Gate?"

  "I suppose you'll just have to trust me," he says.

  Maureen looks at me with those clear blue eyes of hers. "What do you think, little Korrigan? Is he trustworthy?"

  I can tell that nothing less than absolute truth will do for her. "When I first met him, I would have said no. But now— he has proven that I can trust him. And if you decide to tell us anything, you can trust both of us to use that information to keep the Gate shut."

  The merrow glances at her husband. He shrugs, palms open. "I like 'em, baby. I say give 'em what they came for."

  She sucks in her cheeks and narrows her eyes, like she's thinking, sizing us up.

  "The second gate is in Bluerock Mountain," she says.

  "What?" I'm shocked. "That's near where the druids' stronghold is— was."
r />   "How do you know this?" Kieran asks.

  "Before I met Rick, I had another lover, a man with druid blood. He was once part of a secret sect of druids assigned to guard the gate. You see, the ancient magic-users who sealed the First Gate in Ireland became the original druids. Since then, it has been the druids' task to guard both gates for all time— especially the second, since it is more vulnerable. Having never been opened, it cannot be sealed permanently as the first one was."

  "If the druids are supposed to guard the gates, why are they trying to open one?" I ask.

  "That I do not know. Over time, maybe, they have changed from watching to wanting, and from securing to seeking. This is a hungry generation of humans, and the young druids are probably no different— longing to have something new, something fresh and powerful."

  "How do we stop them?" asks Kieran.

  "Oh, I can't tell you that," says Maureen. "I'm only two hundred years old. You've lived much longer than I; you should know more about it."

  "But I don't." He's frowning, frustrated. "I never studied the Gates, not even when I was playing druid."

  "Then I suggest you find some lore on the subject," Maureen says. "There's a Fae book shop in Charleston that may have something. I'll write down the address for you."

  "One more thing," I say. "How did Ross know that you could tell us the location of the Gate?"

  The old woman smiles. "As I said, before Rick, there were other lovers."

  Rick grunts, displeased. "Yes, I've heard about Ross. So big. So very big."

  "Hush," says Maureen. "You're much nicer than him." She pats her husband's arm. "Also the horns were a problem."

  She writes down the address of the book shop, and we stand to leave.

  "Be careful, you two," she says. "Take care of each other."

  We say our thanks and goodbyes and get back into the Audi.

  Kieran slams his door shut with unnecessary force and sighs.

  "What is it?" I ask. "Why aren't you happy? We came away with some good information."

  "Aislinn, this is ridiculous. The druids know all the answers already. They know what they need; they probably have the spell, and they have the location of the Gate, because they've been guarding it all these years. We're so far behind the game here. I'm not used to being on this end of things, with the mystery and the not knowing."

  "Not fun, is it?"

  "No. And now it's looking like our best shot is to either find and kill all the druids who might possibly be involved, or recruit some Fae to help us guard the Gate till Samhain is over."

  "The second idea is actually pretty good," I say. "We could totally recruit."

  "It won't work," he says. "The Fae fear me, and they run from me. They do not follow me."

  "But you have me now," I say. "And some of them like me— the pixies, Ross, the kelpies."

  "As if one pooka, a handful of kelpies, and a bunch of pixies could hold off a bunch of magic-wielding druids."

  "You forget about the Korrigan," I say. "And we have you— you're powerful, more powerful than you like to show. And me. Remember what I did to the druids last time? I'll just stand in front of the gate, and the mere sight of me will be enough to send them screaming away." I'm kidding. Partly. We both know there's a bit of truth to it.

  "Besides, there are only a handful of the druids left, right?" I say.

  "We don't know that. There could be a lot more, besides those who were there that night."

  "Fine. I'm done trying to cheer you up. We're all gonna die, and monsters are going to overrun the world. We should just give up now and go barricade ourselves in the hotel room till it ends. Is that what you want to hear?"

  "What would we do, while inside this barricaded hotel room?" There's a playful gleam in his eyes, and the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

  "Oh my goodness, we could do so many things," I say, pretending not to know what he has in mind. "Watch TV. Jump on the beds. Pull all the feathers out of the pillows. Practice making animal shapes from hand towels. Turn the air conditioning up really high and pretend we're at the North Pole."

  "Or we could turn the heat up instead," he says.

  "Hush," I say. "Let's go check out the book shop."

  Charleston is a strange medley of modern ugliness and old beauty. Huge warehouses, metal fences, shabby apartment buildings, and all the mechanical parts of lower-working-class daily life sprawl at the edges, while in the city's center, marching in neat rows down to the sea's edge, stand the luxurious homes of the privileged few. I love the old houses, the majesty and the detail of them, and their Old World charm, and the sea air wafting through the streets— but I can't quite forget the dull brick buildings just a short drive away. There, the less fortunate families crowd together in shoebox-sized apartments, their weather-beaten air conditioners rattling, trying to keep the oppressive Southern heat at bay.

  On a pretty street lined with leafless trees, the Fae book shop sits shoulder to shoulder with an upscale clothing boutique and a vintage toy store. Its pale pink stucco front features tall windows adorned with wrought iron railings, and a sign for "The Faerie Tale Book Shoppe." Four steps lead up to the paneled wooden door. When we walk inside, it smells like pages, and ink, and tales of the past.

  The shop appears to be empty, although I can't see all the way to the back because of the long, narrow rows of shelves. At the front, there are racks with new releases, mostly fiction, with a few biographies.

  Kieran touches the cover of a biography about some politician, a senator I think. "I know him. His wife is a selkie."

  "Really?" I take a closer look. "So is everything in here Fae-related then?"

  "Written by Fae, or about the Fae, I'm guessing," he says. "Although a human wouldn't know it. It's clever, really."

  A slender woman with shoulder-length black hair approaches us. "May I help you find something?"

  "This place is adorable," I say. "Do you own it?"

  "Yes, I am the owner. My name is Ikumi." She peers intently at each of us in turn. "You are both powerful Fae. I haven't felt such power in this shop for a long time."

  "You're Onmyōji?" Kieran asks, and I hear the excitement in his voice. "You can sense magical power?"

  "Yes, and yours is— significant," she says, reaching toward his chest for a second. Then she draws her hand back. "If I may?"

  "Of course." He steps forward.

  When her palm touches his chest, he lights up from the inside, glowing golden. She gasps, a sound of pleasure and surprise. "Amazing." Her eyes close, like she's enjoying the sensation sweeping over her.

  I'm not thrilled about what's happening; it seems a little too intimate to me. "What is Onmyōji?" I ask.

  "A magical sensitive," she says, removing her hand. "Spiritualists and diviners. We follow the ritsuryo system of ancient Japan."

  "The Japanese version of the druids, without the blood rituals and sacrifices," says Kieran.

  "May I gauge your power as well?" asks Ikumi, with a hungry look in her eyes. I wonder what she gets out of it, besides the apparently thrilling sensation.

  "You don't take any of it, right?" I ask.

  "No, I only feel the energy, I don't absorb it."

  "Then I guess it's all right."

  She touches me, right over my heart, and immediately my entire body suffuses with golden light. I'm looking down at my hands, at my fingers of yellow fire, my golden arms, the light from my body shining through my clothes. I look up, and Kieran is watching me with this expression of pure adoration and wonder on his face. Ikumi is overcome, bending over slightly and clutching her chest. She breaks the contact a second later and I'm normal again, just plain me.

  "You are a goddess," says Kieran to me.

  "Your power is astounding," says Ikumi. "But not all of it was yours to begin with."

  "I'm called Soul-Stealer," I say, embarrassed by the title. "I can take powers and Life-Stream from other Fae, and from druids or humans."

  Ikumi bac
ks up a step. "I have heard of you. You're not what I expected."

  "I'm really not dangerous to anyone, unless they're threatening people I care about," I say. "You don't have to worry. We're just here for some information."

  She nods. "What can I do for you?"

  "We're looking for any old books or texts you may have about the Second Gate to the Otherworld," I say. "Or about druids, or the amulet of Cathbad."

  She raises her eyebrows. "Dark topics, all of them. Come with me."

  We follow her along a narrow aisle, all the way to the back of the store. There's a circular wrought-iron staircase, twisting down and down to a lower floor, a basement, which is unusual for this area. Once we're down there, the chaos of the books becomes overwhelming. There are books on shelves, books in tall teetering stacks, books piled on small tables and under overstuffed armchairs. Ikumi squeezes through it all, moving quickly and deftly, till she reaches an old trunk. A key from a chain around her neck unlocks it.

  "I keep some of the old texts in here," she says. "There are more on the second floor. I'll get them while you look through these."

  There's barely enough space on the floor for me and Kieran to sit side by side in front of the trunk. Once we each have a lapful of papers, I feel like we're surrounded by words, buried in them. The tall towers of books seem to be bowing, bending, closing over my head.

  The panic hits me unexpectedly, like a blow to the chest. Suddenly, my heart is pounding, pounding against the tightening confines of my lungs and ribs, knocking like a man trying to escape a coffin. My hands tremble, sweating as a flood of heat washes over me. I can't breathe. I can't breathe.

  I can't move. I'm locked in place, terrified. What's happening to me?

  "Aislinn?" Kieran touches my shoulder. I'm breathing fast, hands clenched around the papers in my lap.

  "I can't be here," I whisper. "I can't be down here. I have to get out."

  "Muirnīn, try to breathe slowly," he says. "Transport if you need to. I'll meet you outside."