"So you found us a secret make-out spot?" I whisper.
He nods. Then his eyes fix on something on the wall, over my shoulder, and he whirls me away from the bricks in one quick motion.
A huge black spider the size of my palm is creeping down the wall, right where I was. Another few seconds and it would have crawled onto me.
"Ew, ew, ew! Oh my gosh! That thing almost touched me! Kill it, please kill it!"
"The Soul-Stealer can't kill spiders?" He's laughing at me. "Go ahead, try a spell on it."
"Um—" I try to remember words, spells. There's one for immobilization, so I use that. The spider freezes in place.
"Good," he says. "Now try this." He whispers a string of Gaelic words in my ear. A few of them are unfamiliar, but I pronounce them as best I can. Nothing happens.
"What's the spell supposed to do?"
"Set the thing on fire," he says. "Just exert your will while you're saying it. Really push the power forward, to your target."
I stretch out my hand; he never does that with spells, but it helps me focus. I say the spell again, willing harm to that spider with all my might— and a split second later, there's a quick flash of yellow flame and the spider crinkles up, its eight legs shriveling and dissolving into ash. It's literally toast.
"Good work, darling," he says. "Now you are Slayer of Spiders."
"Let's get out of here." I transport back to the parking lot, and he jogs after me. "So what are we doing today?" I ask when he catches up.
"Going to see Ross again."
I cringe. "Do we have to?"
"Yes. We need him, and his friends. He's very powerful."
"But he doesn't come out in public. You said he stays in the club all the time."
"Most of the time, yes. But he might come out for something as important as defending the gate— if the right person were to persuade him." He looks significantly at me.
"Are you serious? You want me to persuade him?"
"He likes you better than me."
"Oh, yes. And he promised to show me pleasures I never imagined. Maybe I should take him up on that offer— since you're pimping me out and all." I'm teasing, but he growls and grabs for me. I transport out of his reach.
"I'm not asking you to sleep with him. In fact, I forbid— I mean, I strongly suggest that you don't sleep with him or kiss him or touch him at all, in fact, and definitely don't let him touch you. Or look at you— this is a bad idea."
"No, it's a good idea, or you wouldn't have suggested it. You're right— we need him. Don't chicken out."
He looks unhappy, but we both know it needs to be done.
In a few hours, we're at Ross's club. It looks different in the daytime— less mysterious, just a narrow doorway in a big building. But I know the labyrinth of rooms that lies underneath, and the things that happen there.
"Can we transport past all the— can we just go straight to Ross's throne bedroom thing?" I ask Kieran, hanging back a little.
"That would be rude," he says. "Besides, he's not in that part of the club today. That's his audience chamber, so to speak. We're going to his private quarters, on the fourth floor."
There's no doorman during the day, but when Kieran buzzes, the entrance unlocks. We take an immediate right, and there's an elevator at the end of a short hallway. Last time it was so dark that I didn't notice the exaggerated height of the ceilings, but now the hallways seem incredibly tall. I suppose they're designed like that to accommodate Ross's huge horns.
In the elevator, Kieran glances up at a small camera. "Smile," he says. "Someone's watching." As I smile, he turns his back to the camera and looks intently into my eyes. "Be careful. Do your best not to offend him, but don't do anything you'll regret, either."
"I understand."
"I love you. Even if I don't show it as much while we're with him."
"Me too."
When the elevator opens, the first thing I see is a huge tapestry, depicting a bunch of half-naked women draping themselves over an enormous black goat. Gross.
Two guards flank the tapestry, their pooka horns shorter than Ross's, but still impressive.
"We're expected," says Kieran, and a guard gestures for us to proceed to the right. Ross's rooms are richly, lavishly furnished; he's clearly a fan of Bohemian decor, color, and opulence. Turkish mosaic lamps, their globes crafted from red and blue glass, hang on chains from the high ceilings, and thick rugs cover the floor. Everywhere, I see long couches adorned with rows of pillows, heavy coffee tables piled with statuary and books and curiosities, paintings in ornate frames, and tapestries woven with explosions of color.
Another guard, standing in a doorway, motions us forward. We move through the living space to a room where huge patterned pillows are scattered around low tables. An eating area, maybe. There's another guard. What do they do all day? Stand around the house and wait for visitors? That must be a boring job.
The next room is a lounge, with three massive TVs, a wet bar, and a wide, L-shaped sectional draped in colorful throws and pillows. Two of the Lianhan Sídhe are sitting on the floor, playing chess. They smile and flutter their long fingers at Kieran, and he bows to them.
The beautiful oak doors at the opposite side of the room are closed. "Ross is in the bath," says one of the Lianhan Sídhe. "He'll be with you shortly."
Kieran and I sit on the couch. I try to look relaxed and at home, like he does, but my heart is beating fast. The Lianhan Sídhe look so beautiful, their shapely thighs barely covered by short skirts, their cleavage on full display in shimmery, silky tops. Why did I wear old jeans with holes in the knees, and this stupid grey jacket? If I'm supposed to persuade Ross to help us, I should at least look decent. Kieran should have given me time to change into something less grungy. I frown at him, and he frowns back, confused. I pull off the jacket. I'm wearing a tight-fitting T-shirt underneath, with a superhero slogan on it. Very human, very teen nerd. I'm going to die from embarrassment.
As I'm debating putting the jacket back on, the double doors swish open. Ross strides into the room, magnificent, gleaming, his skin damp, a thick towel wrapped around his waist. His sweeping black horns catch the light as he seats himself on the sectional near me. Very near me.
"Far Darrig, good to see you. Soul-Stealer," he says, putting one gigantic muscled arm along the back of the sofa behind my shoulders. "A pleasure to see you again. I hope you're back to take advantage of my offer."
I'm a little overcome by the size of him. Not even Zane has such shoulders, such a massive chest, and such crisply defined abs. There's so much of Ross, and so little clothing. It doesn't excite me, though; if anything, it's embarrassing.
It dawns on me that Ross did this on purpose. He knew exactly when Kieran and I were arriving; Kieran told me we had an appointment. He timed his bath for precisely this hour.
I think I'm being seduced. And right in front of Kieran, too.
I glance at Kieran, and I see immediately that he knows it. His eyes have gone cold and hard. Does Ross know how dangerous the Far Darrig can be when crossed?
Forget the persuasion or seduction, forget the banter and innuendo that are sure to come. This is a game I don't intend to play.
I tuck my legs up on the couch and face Ross, looking into his eyes as openly and honestly as I can. "Your offer was kind, but I'm only interested in the Far Darrig that way. But I think you're cool, so if you like, we can be good friends. I always have room for more of those in my life."
Out of the corner of my eye I see the Lianhan Sídhe staring, open-mouthed. I don't suppose many women flat-out reject Ross like I just did. I can't help thinking of the way I rejected Kieran at first, the way I offered him friendship instead. This is different, though. I'm not attracted to Ross, not at all; but there's something hearty and bold about him that I like. We could actually be friends.
Unless he takes great offense at my rejection.
He stares at me, and then he starts to laugh— a big, contagious laugh. "I like you," he says. "You
say what's in your mind. Very well then, let's talk about friendship. I suppose, as a friend, you want a favor?"
I take my time explaining the situation to him, and I tell him everything, right down to the design of the cave where the Second Gate is located and every word I can remember of what Malcolm said that night at the stone circle. I tell him about our recruitment efforts, and the training. The only thing I leave out is the exact location of the Heart of the Earth.
"So you see how desperately we need you— all of you," I say, nodding to the Lianhan Sídhe. They've been listening too, and in their eyes I see an alertness, an intelligence that reminds me they are women of power in their own right. They may choose to be with Ross, but they are not slaves.
"You speak to me as if I'm already on your side, little one," says Ross soberly. "But I must tell you, I understand Malcolm's view of things. You see these?" He points to the horns. "Someone like me has a few choices. Go out into the world, like this, and be feared and ridiculed and probably captured and subjected to experiments— that's option one. Option two, file my horns and pretend to be human. I've chosen option three— living in my own safe space, where I can be who I am, without mutilating myself to fit in with the current order of things. So you see, I have a stake in this. If Malcolm opens the gate, he may usher in a new age of magic, one where I can walk freely with my head held high."
My heart sinks as he's speaking, because I've given him everything. Everything about our operation, our fledgling attack plans. I've failed Kieran, I've failed everyone, all because I was too proud or too stupid to go along with the game. My eyes sting, filling with tears, and I look down to hide them.
"Pretty little Korrigan," says Ross, putting a huge hand under my chin and tilting my face up. "Don't cry. Your trust won't be wasted. I said I understand Malcolm's purpose; I didn't say that I agree with his methods. Releasing beasts from the Otherworld is a foolish plan, one that will end in many Fae dying as well as humans. Obviously, he cares about no one but the druids. He would probably sooner cut off my horns as relics than have me as an ally. Too many Fae that I know personally have been mutilated by those magic-users over the centuries. No, I won't be joining forces with them. I'd like to help you, and your Far Darrig." He glances at the Lianhan Sídhe, and they both nod. "All of us will be glad to join you in defending the gate. And I for one will be eager to see your full power on display."
"I'll do my best to give you a good show," I say, smiling.
After excusing himself to dress, Ross calls in more of his Lianhan Sídhe and we talk strategy and battle ideas. Then he insists that we stay for lunch, which is a sumptuous meal served in huge bowls and platters, out of which we all eat.
"I'm an admirer of Middle Eastern culture," says Ross. "The communal feast— it's a powerful thing. There's a special magic in dining with allies and friends." He hands me a piece of flat bread and shows me how to scoop the food from the dish with it. As we eat, he and Kieran joke and laugh, and I realize why they're friends; they share a love of other cultures and the same sarcastic, slightly twisted sense of humor.
When we finally walk out of the building into the afternoon sunshine, I feel richer. Safer. More optimistic about the future.
Kieran faces me. "Again you surprise me," he says. "I was worried at first, but you played the right cards at the right moments."
"I wasn't playing," I say. "I was just being honest with him."
"A bold move," he says. "Better than I could have planned. You're a perceptive woman, and a wise one."
No one has ever called me a woman before, and I'm strangely please by the sound of it. That's how he thinks of me— not as a girl, but as a woman. An equal to him, worthy of his admiration and respect.
Is it possible that I love him even more now?
19
RISE
Aislinn
Over the next few weeks, our group of allies practices, over and over, alternating mornings and evenings. Kieran and I attend almost every session. At first, even with the dance magic carrying me through most of the session, my muscles are so sore afterward that I hate the thought of training again. But after a week or so, I can feel a change in my arms and legs. My thighs and my calves are stronger. My arms look toned, and there are the faintest outlines of abs developing on my stomach. I'm stronger, tougher— and it feels amazing.
But it's not enough to dissolve the knot of fear growing in my stomach, the chill of anxiety I feel whenever I see anything related to Halloween, to Samhain.
Unlike Christmas, which was always dreary and depressing for me, I always had a fondness for Halloween. When I was little, Magnolia would buy me a Halloween costume and take me to a neighborhood nearby for trick-or-treating. And then Gillian would confiscate half the candy, claiming that it wasn't safe or that it was bad for my teeth. Even so, I loved the holiday.
But this year, seeing the decorations popping up in yards everywhere just reminds me that I'm going to die soon. And Kieran is going to die soon.
Attendance for our training group stays strong; in fact, more Fae come to every week. At one of the night training sessions, Eric announces, "We'll start training with weapons tomorrow morning. Knives, mostly— but if you want to bring another kind of weapon, feel free. Just be sure you spread out a little more than usual; we don't want you slicing each other up by accident, yeah?"
"Weapons?" I say to Kieran as we walk back to the Audi. "Do I have to?"
"You'll need them, love. The druids and their allies won't come armed with magic alone."
"I don't suppose Arden's kitchen knives will do."
He laughs. "Come as you are tomorrow. I'll furnish the weapons."
The next morning, right before training begins, he presents me with a wooden box, inlaid with a shiny mosaic of a red dragon. When I open it, I can't help gasping.
Inside, edge to edge, lie a pair of daggers. They're plain, not showy, with simple black grips and shiny silver blades. I pick one up, wrapping my fingers around it. I'm not experienced with weapons, but by the solid heft of this knife, I'm sure it's far better quality than the average display-in-your-man-cave-so-you-look-tough kind of blade.
"Kieran, they're beautiful."
He grins with pleasure. "There's a belt to go with them."
Why am I so excited about this? I'm smiling like am idiot as I buckle on the pliable leather belt and slip the knives into their sheaths. "They're awesome. Thank you." I pull his face to mine and kiss him.
"Hurry up, lovebirds," says Eric, strolling past us. "Time for class!"
Behind him walk several unnaturally beautiful women— the Lianhan Sídhe I've seen with Ross. They all wear knives at their hips, too.
Once the lesson begins, it's clear that the Lianhan Sídhe are more than stunning Fae with a talent for seduction. They're swift, lethal warriors, and the knife-wielding demonstration they give us leaves me breathless and terrified.
"Think of the knives as extensions of your hands," says one of the Lianhan Sídhe, a tall woman with hair in two tight auburn braids. "Always keep the knife forward, your body behind it. Know where it is, and don't lose control of it."
After several sessions with the Lianhan Sídhe, my knives begin to feel like a part of me; though the idea of facing an enemy who is also holding a knife still terrifies me. Will I really be able to cut someone? How will it feel, sinking a blade deep into flesh?
I refuse to talk to Kieran about my knife-wielding fears. I won't be a silly seventeen-year-old girl who can't hold her own, can't defend herself. He needs to see that he doesn't have to protect me. So I train, and I sweat, and I push down my fear of the knives until they become part of my deadly dance.
But the days pass too quickly. And we only have a week left till Samhain.
As I walk through the ranks of Fae doing Capoeira, without weapons this time, I can tell that they're getting better— much better. Even the merrows and selkies are holding their own.
Over these weeks I've gotten to know many of them by name.
It hurts me to think that soon, some of them will probably be dead.
"When you're doing this on Samhain, you're going to be wearing wards as protection against the druids' spells," I remind them. "If you choose an amulet instead of a blood ward, you'll need to make sure no one pulls it off your neck. And keep in mind the ward only offers limited protection. If more than one spell comes at you, one is probably going to get through, so don't rely on the wards alone to keep you safe."
I look at each face, saying their names in my mind, wondering which ones will be gone forever by this time next week.
Kieran's arm slides around my shoulders. "You look like despair itself," he whispers. "Try to be cheerful for the troops."
"Sorry. Just thinking about what could happen."
"We're doing really well here, Aislinn," he says. "With your powers, and mine, and their skills, I think we're going to make it through this."
Eric turns off the music and calls, "All right everyone, good job today! See you tomorrow."
After a few goodbyes, I transport Kieran and myself to the park not far from my apartment. I'd like to be alone with him for a while, just the two of us, before he drives home.
We appear in a clump of bushes and have to stagger through them, breaking twigs along the way. Kieran takes my arm to help me out. "You're really getting muscles there," he says. "I like it."
"Yours aren't so bad either." I pass my hand over his shoulder and bicep. "Lovely."
We walk for a while in the clear light and crisp air of early morning, talking about everything except Samhain— yet somehow, everything we mention seems connected to it, like the tendrils of a web all leading to a giant, dark, bloodthirsty spider. When we talk about movies each of us wants the other to see, or books we want to read, or favorite foods we want to have again, there's always the underlying sense that our time is short. That we might not get to enjoy all those things.
Finally we head up the street to the apartment complex, where Kieran parked the Audi.
In the parking lot of the building, three women are washing his car.
Samhain Page 18
