"Later."
"You okay?"
I sigh. "It's grownup stuff."
"I'm fourteen," she says, like that's so adult.
"Yeah, I know. Okay, a friend's relatives just died— not nice people, but you know— family. They, um— they were murdered."
"No way. Seriously?" Her eyes widen.
"Yeah. So I guess I'm mad, and sad, and I can't fix it. So I'm beating this thing up."
"Sorry you're feeling that way. But you know what? One of these days, there's gonna be something else, something you can fix. And you'll get to make a difference then."
Damn, how is this kid so smart? "I swear you got mom's gift," I say. "You're gonna be like a counselor or psychologist or something."
"Sit around and listen to people's problems all day? No thanks. Bor-ing."
"How's your problem? With the guy at school?"
"Did Mom tell you about that? She's so dead."
"Hey, chill. I just wanna say, he's missin' out. You're a great kid— girl."
"Thanks, bro."
"Now go get me one of those fudge pops."
She hops off the chair and grins, tilting her head to one side. "Get it yourself."
Before I head back to the university, I stop at a grocery store and pick up the biggest flower arrangement they have. I don't know what kind of flowers say, "Sorry that the people who beat you and locked you up got shot by a bunch of crazy druids." But I hope it's the thought that counts.
Wynnie opens the apartment door. She has pulled her shiny black hair away from her face, into a ponytail, and with the extra few pounds she's put on since the rescue, she looks less skeletal. She looks great.
"Zane."
I give her my best broad smile. "Hey, I just brought these—"
"For Aislinn." She nods.
"No, for you, too. And for Arden. For all of you. I'm sorry for your loss."
She stares at me. "Are you really this nice? Or is there something you want?"
"No, nothing, I just thought, that's what people do, right? Someone's grieving, you give 'em flowers."
"I wouldn't know."
"Okay then."
We just stand there for a minute.
"Can I put these inside?" I ask.
"Aislinn isn't here. She's out shopping. And Arden's out."
I get it; she's nervous about letting me in while she's alone. Even though she was fine riding in my truck. It kinda hurts that she thinks I might do something to her.
"You know I would never hurt you."
"It's not really about you." She's scratching her arm, the same spot over and over.
"Wynnie, take the flowers. Please."
She reaches for them, and when I give them to her our fingers touch for a second. She flinches and almost drops the bouquet.
Frustration flashes through me. Why can't she understand that I'm not like those other guys?
"I know this isn't about me," I say, as calmly as I can. "But when you do that, it feels personal."
"I'm sorry. This is the best I can do, for now."
She meets my eyes, and I see the shame and frustration in them.
"It's okay," I tell her. "I get it. Friends?"
"Yes."
"All right, girl, I'm heading back to school then. You tell Arden and Aislinn I stopped by with those, yeah?"
"I will."
On the way back, I decide it's time for me to learn more about her kind of trauma. Time to figure out how I can be in her life without freaking her out, how I can help her as a friend.
I got some research to do.
16
TREASURE
Aislinn
When I open my eyes several hours later, in the early afternoon, the first thing I see is Kieran's face. He's sound asleep, dark lashes in perfect semicircles against his cheeks, one arm thrown up behind his head. His white T-shirt has ridden up, exposing a few inches of his stomach. Slowly I reach out and lay my hand against his warm skin. He doesn't wake, so I move my hand a little higher, under the fabric. I will never get tired of touching him, feeling the muscle under the smooth skin. My fingers inch higher, up to his ribs, his chest.
He catches my wrist suddenly, and smiles without opening his eyes. "Aislinn. I thought you were a lady."
"Since when? I'm a hormonal teenage girl."
He starts laughing, and I cover his mouth with my fingers. "Shh! Arden will hear you."
"Let her. I dare the Korrigan to tell me what to do."
"But she's my guardian. I have to show her some respect."
"I could be your guardian." His smile is even bigger now. "Do you respect me?"
I'm about to be flippant with my answer, but then I think of who he is— his sense of fun and adventure, his affinity for science, the strength of his love, the way he has persevered through centuries without totally losing himself. And I can't tease him about this. "I do respect you."
"You mean that, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Come here."
I nestle against him, my head on his chest. But the second I do, the weight of last night descends on me, like a crushing blanket. "I'm going to text Zane," I tell Kieran. "And tell him what happened to the others."
"If you think you should."
He's never talked to me about how much I text Zane. He was so incredibly, murderously jealous at first, and now he's trying extra hard to be understanding of our friendship. While I text Zane, and a few minutes later when Zane calls back, Kieran is quiet, listening.
"Are you okay?" he asks when I end the call.
"I think so," I say. "You know the other Korrigan and I had a complicated relationship. For today, I just want to try not to think about it."
His phone buzzes, and he takes it from the nightstand. "A text from Lydia Cavanaugh," he says. "You remember her, right?"
Lydia, the pixie who hosted the first Fae party I ever attended. Blond, breezy, chatty Lydia. I also remember her hipster husband George, with his dark-framed glasses.
"Looks like you may get your wish— a distraction from last night's events," he says. "There's another pixie dance this evening at Lydia's, and she's going to give us time to speak to everyone about Samhain."
"So we're going to be recruiting?"
"Yes."
"What should I wear? And don't say something sexy like you always do."
His smile crinkles the corners of his eyes. "Then don't ask."
I sigh. "Seriously, this outfit has to make the right impression. I need help deciding what to wear."
"This is not my area of expertise, love. You've got two perfectly good females right here in this apartment who can help you choose."
"Oh, yes, I'm sure they'll be so helpful. Wynnie has been in a dungeon for decades, and Arden is into the crisp professional look most of the time. Not really what I'm going for."
"How about Laurel?" he says. "She seems to have a sense of style."
He's right, of course. After I transport him outside to the Audi, I flash back to my room and text Laurel immediately.
It takes a couple of hours and a Sunday afternoon trip to the mall, but I finally have the right sort of outfit— some tight-fitting pants that Black Widow or some other super-chick might wear, and a dramatic military green shirt to go with it. I look feminine, but also strong, sexy and powerful. It's perfect. And what's even more perfect is the admiration in Kieran's eyes when I appear in the driveway of Lydia's mansion that night.
He's wearing dark jeans and a crisp red collared shirt, open at the neck. "I thought I should stay with my classic color," he says. "For effect."
I can't answer, because the sight of him has just wrecked my power of speech. Destroyed it.
"What?" he asks. "Does it bother you, the red?"
"No," I manage. "You're just—" You're a knockout. A freaking angel, if angels have dark wavy hair and unbearably beautiful faces. "You look handsome."
Satisfied, he smiles and offers me his arm like he sometimes does, like it's a habit formed in
previous centuries, and he hasn't quite shaken it off yet. I hook my arm through his, and we mount the steps to Lydia's huge Southern mansion.
I remember the first time I was here— the laughter and the dancing, the strange and beautiful feeling of not having to hide my magic, even in the middle of a crowd. I've been to one other pixie dance here since then, alone, not long after our encounter with the druids; and the pixies seemed so happy to see me again. A few threw me nervous looks— they probably heard about the mass Life-Stealing I did— but for the most part, their welcome seemed real. Enthusiastic, even.
By the time we reach the door, Walter is holding it open for us. "Far Darrig," he says, bowing his head. "Soul-Stealer."
I don't protest the name tonight. It's how the Fae around here refer to me and my abilities— somehow the title has stuck, and I can't change it now.
"How are you, Walter?" I ask.
"As well as can be expected," he says. Then, in an undertone, "Ms. Lydia told me about your purpose here tonight. We pixies are not militant by nature, so I hope you have a good speech planned."
"Thank you, Walter," says Kieran, moving us through the doors. He glances down at me. "Don't let him make you nervous."
"I won't." I'm already nervous.
Music is surging through the doorways to our right, the arches that lead into the ballroom. We step through, and immediately I'm at home. Everything here is warm bright light, smiling faces, movement and music. The familiar tingle of magic runs over my skin.
I don't need to be nervous yet. For now, I just need to dance.
The song is a desperate, quick-paced Latin hit, pulsing with passion. Kieran towers like a giant over the pixie dancers, but he's so lithe and quick in his movements that he fits in anyway. Dancing with him is exhilarating. He's fierce and wild, and he's got these bad-boy dance moves he's polished over the years that set me on fire. So I give it right back to him, the heat and the swerving hips; but I restrain myself just a little, because we're in public, and we're taller and more noticeable than everyone else here.
Once, when I'm dancing with my back to his chest, he says softly, "We should try this in private sometime."
Yes, please. I spin away from him and move backward through the crowd of pixies, my eyes challenging him to follow me. He does, looking like a man enchanted, and when we reach the edge of the room I pull his face to mine and kiss him. A few whistles and cheers ripple through the pixie crowd.
"You're good," he whispers into my hair. "Getting them worked up, making them feel good about the two of us. It's a smart move."
"None of that was for them," I say, and I give him my best sultry look. His eyes widen, but before he can touch me I move away, back into the maelstrom of dancers.
It's fun, playing with him like this, feeling the power I have over him. I could get used to it.
But tonight isn't just about fun. I also have a job to do. An army to build.
And a few dances later, when everyone is taking a break to get drinks and chat, Lydia comes to my side. "Well, Aislinn, it was a real pleasure watching the two of you dance tonight," she says, fanning herself with her hand. "Such passion the two of you have! I love it. Are you ready to speak to everyone?"
Ready? No. I'm seventeen. I've never spoken to a crowd in my life. In fact, I feel suddenly breathless and dizzy at the thought of standing on the DJ's stage, talking to all of them.
Kieran must notice my distress, because he takes my hand. "Courage, love. I'll be right there. We're doing this together."
Lydia leads us toward the stage. Heart pounding, I try to remember the words I want to say, the speech I prepared.
But the phrases that seemed so smooth when I practiced them earlier sound flimsy and weak now. And as I stand, mic in hand, and I look out at all of them, talking and laughing together, I realize that what they really need to hear is something much different than anything I planned.
"Hello, everyone!" Wow, my voice sounds so incredibly loud. "It's been a lot of fun here tonight, right?" The pixies cheer, faces turning toward me one after another.
"You know, you're lucky, having this community, this family. Among the Fae races, the pixie culture is unique— just so warm, friendly, and fun. My personal favorite."
They cheer again; I have their attention for real now.
I let the smile drop from my face. "But what if all of this were destroyed? No more gatherings, no more dances. Homes wrecked, families slaughtered."
As I pause, I see confusion flit across their faces. "This is a real danger, because at this very moment, there is a secret sect of druids who are planning to open the Second Gate to the Otherworld. They have the ritual they need to do it. They are collecting the necessary relics. And when Samhain comes, they will unleash a storm of demons upon our world.
"You all know who I am— you call me Soul-Stealer. But I was first Korrigan. Have any of you ever seen a Korrigan in beast form?"
Fearful looks, a shaking of heads. Quickly I describe the beasts I've seen in my nightmares, the ones that prowl the Otherworld. Monsters without reason or sense, except to kill and to eat, and to destroy.
"The Far Darrig and I—" I reach for Kieran's hand; "we're trying to stop this from happening. We have a piece that the druids need, a relic we've hidden from them. But we can't rely on that to prevent the opening of the gate. We need to get ready to defend the gate itself. And we need all of you to help us do that."
"How do we know this is true?" calls someone in the crowd. I've seen him before; he's one of those who looks at Kieran with suspicion and fear.
"The Soul-Stealer and I have been bound by the Fates to accomplish this task, to keep the gate from opening," says Kieran. "And if you want proof, here's the mark of the Fates." He whispers something in Gaelic, and as we raise our arms, the swirling symbols on the backs of our hands glow vivid blue.
Gasps and murmurs ripple over the crowd; and I realize that if they didn't believe us before, they do now.
"We have to keep that gate from opening," Kieran says. "Is it dangerous? Of course. But without you, without other Fae helping us, we'll all be overrun and killed anyway. So you have nothing to lose."
He's painting a bleak picture, and the pixies look terrified.
"Don't forget, I'm the Soul-Stealer," I say quickly. "I've faced them before— killed dozens of them. And you may have forgotten that the Far Darrig is one of the Tuatha Dé Danann. He's more powerful than he chooses to appear. So if you lend us your numbers to defend the gate, we'll do our best to protect you, and see you through the battle."
I'm not exactly promising that they'll all come home alive, and they know it; but at least I'm letting them know that we value their lives.
"We're working on plans for the defense of the gate," I say. "And we'll also be training and practicing over the next several weeks, until Samhain. If any of you have experience with strategic planning, we need your help right away. The rest of you, give me or the Far Darrig your contact information before you leave tonight, and we'll be in touch."
That's all I have to say, so I pull Kieran off the stage. Lydia nods to the DJ, and he starts up with a boisterous, militant song, one that must be meant to get everyone in the mood for war. Maybe it's the music, or maybe our joint speech worked better than I thought, or perhaps they've already heard the rumors of Samhain. Whatever the reason, by the end of the evening, we have a long list of names and email addresses, and a couple of consultants for our strategy sessions.
The crowd trickles away, and just as we're about to leave, two more pixies come up to us. They're short and thin, like most of those in the crowd. Though they aren't identical, they definitely look like brothers— similar lumpy noses, big smiles, and nut-brown hair. They introduce themselves as Tom and Eric.
"We have an idea," says Tom. "Something that might help you with your whole defense-of-the-gate plan."
"We'll take anything," I say.
"Have you ever heard of Capoeira?"
"Sorry?"
> "Capoeira," says Eric. "Dance-fighting. We grew up in Brazil, and we both learned it there. It really goes hand-in-hand with our pixie abilities, our love of dance. If it's a fight you're preparing for, we can help you teach your recruits some skills."
Excitement thrills through me. I'm always ready to learn something new, especially if it makes me stronger, more able to protect myself and the people I love. "Yes, absolutely!"
"Great! We need to start training everyone right away, though; this isn't something you can learn overnight, even if you have magical dance abilities," says Tom.
"You find a time and place for us to train this week, and we'll get everyone there," Kieran says. "Thank you. And we'll be happy to compensate you for your time— it's only fair."
"We won't say no to that," Eric says. "Thank you, Far Darrig."
"Call me Kieran."
They look surprised, but they nod. "Kieran. We'll be seeing you both soon."
Eric hands us a card; apparently the brothers have a martial arts academy in town, and Capoeira is listed as one of the styles they teach.
After they leave, I look up "Capoeira" on my phone. It's an Afro-Brazilian martial art, developed by slaves during the 16th century. With Capoeira, the slaves could pretend they were simply dancing while they were actually learning a complex fighting style. It was a matter of survival for any slaves who managed to escape and needed a way to fight off those who came after them.
"You look very serious," says Kieran.
"Just learning about the history of Capoeira. Slaves used it to defend themselves." I turn off my phone. "I feel like it's important to know where it came from, you know? To respect the origins of the art."
"True. There are so many rich cultures in the world— I can't wait to introduce you to a few of them, once this is all over. And there I many I haven't even explored myself. Lots to learn." He's got that gleam in his eyes, the eagerness for something new. It's a passion he's ignited in me, too.
Lydia comes up to us with her husband George. "A very successful pitch, Far Darrig," says George, wiping his glasses and setting them back on his nose. "Very successful. You did well, my dear," he tells me.
Samhain Page 16
