One is a little younger than me, lithe and thin, her red hair in a feathered knot, blue designs covering her face and arms. The second, middle-aged, has heavy curves and thick black hair, which she's using to polish the Audi's hood. The third, an old woman with drooping eyes, wears a bikini like the other two, and it's hard to look at her because she's such a mass of wrinkles and sagging flesh. Macha, Badb, and Nemain. The Morrígna.
I think it's very weird that they're washing Kieran's car— in bikinis, on a chilly October day. Like, really weird. But hey, they're a strange bunch.
Kieran is frozen, jaw tight, eyes horrified.
"What? Kieran, what? You're scaring me."
"They're washing my car."
"I know, it's crazy. Just ask them to stop."
His voice is tense, fearful. "You don't understand. In the old days, when one of the Morrígna washed a warrior's armor or chariot before a battle, it was an omen of certain death. Badb washed Cormac's chariot before the First Battle of Mag Tuired, against the Tuatha Dé Danann."
"Let me guess— he didn't make it."
"No. And that's just one of many stories."
"So since you don't have a chariot, they're washing the Audi?" I smirk. "Come on, Kieran. It's the 21st century. You don't have to believe in all that."
"Don't I?"
I take his hand. He's actually sweating from fear. I've never seen him like this. "Look, let's just ask them, okay?"
We walk forward to the Morrígna, who are busy splashing soapy water and rubbing the Audi with giant orange sponges.
"So, ladies," I say. "How's it going?"
Macha, the youngest, nods to me, but none of them speak.
"Thanks for washing the car," I say. "It kinda needed some TLC."
Macha stares, not understanding.
"TLC means 'tender loving care,' " I explain. "But I'm just warning you, be careful to rinse thoroughly and don't scratch the paint job. Kieran really loves that car."
"Who's Kieran?" says Badb.
"You call him the Far Darrig, or Midir. To me he's Kieran. Midir 3.0, I guess."
I glance at him, and there's a faint smile on his face. Success.
"Anyway, Kieran here is wondering why you ladies decided to wash his car this morning. Not that we aren't grateful— just curious."
"It is an omen, foolish girl," squawks Nemain. Suds drip over her wrinkly cleavage, and her stomach is a mess of lines and grooves. If there's one thing I'm glad of, it's that I won't age for another bunch of centuries.
"An omen of death," says Badb. She doesn't look happy about it. "All the signs indicate that you will fail to stop the opening of the Second Gate during Samhain— which means that you, Far Darrig, and you, Soul-Stealer, will die. And so will countless others."
"We're not giving up yet," I tell her. "And you know, we could really use help from the three of you. I've read the stories. You used to confuse armies and strike terror in the hearts of the soldiers. You even fought on the side of the Tuatha Dé Danann in the old wars. Won't you help us now?"
"Our victory for the Tuatha Dé Danann was short-lived," says Badb. "In spite of our aid, they were driven out, and few of them remain in the world. It is all given over to the lesser Fae races, and to the humans. And look what they've done to it! Sen saobretha. Brecfásach mbrithiom-braithiomh cech fer. Foglaid cech mac."
Kieran translates. "False judgments from the old, false words from law-makers; every man a betrayer, every son a destroyer."
"Mna can feli, fir gan gail," says Nemain. "Women with no modesty, men with no courage."
"I don't know; the world's not all bad," I say.
"You are young," says Macha; and it's ironic coming from her, because she looks younger than me, though I know she's not. "To the young, everything is brighter and more beautiful. There is joy and blessing everywhere. Only with years will you learn the truth. Am I not right, Far Darrig?"
"Not entirely," he says. "Sometimes you can see through the eyes of youth again, find the hope and the beauty in it all."
Nemain snorts. "He's in love. A man in love is nothing but a fool. Listen not to him, but continue washing the chariot!" She squeezes her sponge, and a flood of soapy water runs over the side of the Audi.
I can't help it. I know I shouldn't. But I laugh anyway, partly at Nemain and partly because my nerves are shot at this point, and if I don't release some of the stress I'm going to explode. Peals of laughter burst from my throat, and I cover my mouth but I can't stop.
Nemain looks furious, and Macha just seems confused. But Badb's eyes have the slightest twinkle, the faintest creases at the corners, as if she's right on the verge of smiling.
"Stop. You're going to make the Fates angry," Kieran hisses in my ear.
But I can't stop, so I let him take my hand and lead me up the stairs to the apartment.
Arden meets us at the door, and the look on her face kills my laughter. "Have you seen Wynnie?" she says.
"No," I say. "We've been at training."
"Did you see her when you left this morning?"
"I transported out to meet Kieran in the parking lot, really early. I didn't go into the living room. Is she gone?"
"Yes, and I have no idea where. I haven't seen her since dinner yesterday. I thought she was hanging out with you two in the evening."
She wasn't, because Kieran and I were very busy; first we had training, and then later another long make-out session behind the strip mall. His back to the wall this time. And no spiders.
"No, she wasn't with us." I push past Arden into the apartment. "What about her phone, her things?"
"Her shoes are gone, but everything else is still here."
"So no one has seen her since yesterday evening?" Kieran asks.
"No."
We all look at each other, fear and tension like an electric charge in the air.
"Do you think the druids got her somehow?" I ask. "Or maybe she ran away. Oh my gosh, Arden, we have to find her!"
"You can find her, Aislinn," says Kieran.
Of course, my pixie powers.
"You two go in the Audi and start looking," says Arden. "I'll wait here in case she comes back."
We don't waste any time. Kieran dashes down the steps and waves the Fates away from his car. "Go, go!" he cries, grabbing the bucket of water and splashing it over the remaining suds. He yanks open the door and jumps in. I transport into the passenger seat, and we're roaring out of the parking lot the next second, zooming past the shocked faces of the Morrígna.
It takes half an hour to track Wynnie. Even though I'm holding her image in my mind, I keep getting a strange sensation, like something is interfering with my power, partially blocking my ability. Eventually, we pull up at the side of a narrow country road, at the edge of an open field. I picture Wynnie again, holding her face in my mind.
"Kieran, something's wrong."
"Come on."
We run into the field together. The grass, slowly turning tan under the threat of fall, stretches far away to the red and gold trees.
And in the center of the field, a massive, hulking beast lies on its side in a huge circle of bare earth.
Dark lines scar the ground under and around it— runes or wards burned into the soil. Big rocks, large as a man might lift alone, stand at intervals along the perimeter of the circle. There are deep tire marks, too, and chains hanging from the beast's legs and protruding from the center of its body. It looks as if someone had the creature bound between massive vehicles, controlling its movements. Now the chains lie useless, crumpled, on the grass.
The beast is black, monstrous, with a burly, furred body covered in dark spines, and three massive bearlike paws. Six eyes, all of them blank and glassy. A smashed-up snout, like a wrinkled bat's face. There's a gash at the side of its enormous neck, and a flood of dark red blood has matted its fur and pooled on the ground below. Judging by the ragged wound, and the spattering of flesh and blood and hair, someone cut its throat open with a chainsaw.
All this passes through my mind before I realize what this creature is. Who it is.
Because I've seen it before, in the druids' dungeon.
Wynnie's beast.
"Kieran," I gasp. "Kieran, Kieran!"
The druids took her; they must have stripped her Life-Stream, like they did mine. They chained her up, and when she transformed they killed her beast. Killing it apparently keeps it here, corporeal, in this world; and they cut off its leg afterwards.
"Bone of the Demon," Kieran says. "For the Gate ritual."
They must have done the whole thing at dawn; it's mid-morning now, and they're long gone.
Wynnie.
Suddenly I remember what it's like to transform; it's not so much a bodily change as a wrapping of my body within the dark matter that forms the beast. But that means—
"Kieran, she's still inside!" I scream.
I transport to the Audi, grab my knives from the back seat, and then flash back to the field again, right next to the creature. Its belly is immense; even when it's lying on its side, it's still taller than me.
"Láidreacht!" I cry, and I'm ripping at the monster's stomach with the knives, dragging them through fur and trying to slice the thick skin. But even with my strength, it's like trying to cut through a steak with a hairpin.
"Kieran!"
He's next to me, both hands splayed against the beast's side, whispering urgently in Gaelic. There's a cracking sound, and a rivulet of golden light runs from his fingers down the center of the creature's stomach.
Again he speaks, louder this time. More golden light floods out of him, seeping into the monster's flesh, running along its belly. He's panting, the muscles of his neck standing out with the strain of the spell he's performing.
A horrible tearing, ripping, and snapping— a rush of blood and dark fluid that drenches both of us. Kieran roars with the effort of his spell, trying to make the opening wider, and I help him with my magical strength, seizing both edges of the growing crack and prying them apart. Pulse after pulse of magic flows through my arms and hands, draining out of me.
I can see something in the gloom and gore of the creature's insides. I'm holding its stomach open with all my might, my muscles straining, my head pounding harder and harder. Kieran reaches inside with both hands, and he's pulling, pulling—
The dark matter holding her in place, keeping her sealed inside, gives way, and Wynnie's naked shape slithers out onto the ground. I let go, and the beast's belly collapses in on itself.
Kieran falls.
He's white, dead white. The tips of his fingers still glow golden with the force of the power he used, and I can see a faint glow from his chest, too. I hope he didn't use too much of his energy.
Wynnie. Is she alive?
I wipe the grime from her face. She's so still.
Cold, no breath.
But that's how it is inside the beast— it keeps you barely alive, in a state of deep unconsciousness. She might still come around.
"Wynnie," I whisper. "Wynnie, please wake up."
I pump her chest several times with my hands— I'm not sure how to do it, but I hope the action will get her heart going again. I can't feel a pulse. I can't feel any breath. There's no movement, nothing. When I pull up her eyelid, the dark eye underneath doesn't shift. It's static, blank.
"Wynnie." My voice breaks.
And then I look at Kieran again. His chest is barely moving. Whatever he did to save her, it almost killed him. I crawl over to him— I can feel myself weakening as my energy wanes, too.
"Why'd you have to be so damn noble?" I whisper.
Summoning every bit of my remaining strength, I drag Wynnie's body right next to his. I lay down between them, one arm over each. The grass feels cool and ticklish and soft against my cheek. I have to sleep, now.
But no— we aren't safe. I need to take us somewhere we can be safe.
A safe place.
A place flashes into my mind, and without thinking it through, I transport.
20
SOMETHING
Zane
"Zane Amari Percy!" My mother's voice rings out through the house, sharp and urgent.
Oh damn. I'm in trouble.
Why did I think coming home for another weekend was a good idea?
I jump up and run. Sounds like she's in the basement.
My mother is standing up against the TV— it's on, but she has her back to it. And on the floor, in a crumpled heap of legs and arms, are Aislinn, Kieran, and Wynnie. Wynnie is stark naked, covered in some kind of dark slime, and the others look like they're soaked in blood.
"Oh, f—"
"Zane!" Mom cuts me off. "Aislinn and these two just— appeared. They appeared, son. Right here, in the TV room. Now would you care to explain why you never told me that your ex-girlfriend is a magic-user?"
"How— how do you know it's—"
"She's the only one conscious— at least, she was a second ago. I'm not stupid, son."
I nod, swallowing hard. "Yeah, she— she can transport herself to— different places."
"She ever done this with you?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She stares at the three unconscious bodies. "All right. Let's get them some help first, and we'll talk later. Help me get them on the couches."
Quickly throwing a blanket over one of the couches, I lift Aislinn onto it while Mom wraps Wynnie in a second blanket. We lift her onto the other couch. Kieran we leave on the floor, but Mom piles pillows under his head and puts a blanket over him.
"Is he breathing?" I ask, cause it sure doesn't look like it. Mom pulls a DVD out of its case and holds the shiny side near his lips. The faintest bit of condensation shows up.
"He's alive, barely," she says. "I can't see anything wrong with him, though. No wounds."
"Looks like he used too much magic. Aislinn, too. But Wynnie— I don't know what's wrong with her."
Mom does the CD test to Wynnie, too. Her breathing is even fainter than Kieran's, but she's alive.
"Well, with none of them wounded and all of them unconscious, I suppose we got to wait. Which means you've got time to explain just exactly what in heaven and earth is going on here."
Here we go again.
It's a lot to tell. I keep it simple, just the basics about the Korrigan and how they treated Aislinn. I tell Mom that Aislinn, Kieran, and Wynnie are in some trouble with other magic-users— nothing specific about the druids because that would be a hell of a lot more complicated, and Mom doesn't need to know all of it, especially not the danger we're facing with Samhain.
By the time I'm done talking, Wynnie's breathing is stronger.
When I'm done, Mom says, "That is quite a tale, boy. You kept all that from us?"
"Yes, ma'am," I say slowly. If she knew what else I'm keeping—
"I'm gonna let you live," she says. "But only on the condition that you never, never, I mean ever, keep that kinda information from your Mama ever again. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, ma'am." Lying to my mother. I'm going straight to hell, for sure.
"Don't you keep saying 'yes ma'am' at me."
"Yes, ma— I mean, okay. Mom, you don't seem as shocked as I thought you'd be."
"Honey, I already knew magic was real. All your Gram's hoodoo— that's legit. This Irish brand of magic isn't the only one, and they don't have the only creatures, either. You should have heard my mother and grandmother talk— in Africa they got the Inkanyamba, the Popobawa, the Grootslang. Talk about your vampires— the Impundulu and the Adze are so much worse."
"But you hate all this. Hoodoo, magic."
"I do. Goes against my religion. But what I don't do is turn away helpless people when they appear in my house." She moves a lock of hair out of Aislinn's face, gently. "The Good Lord made her come here for a reason. I guess she knew where she could find some help."
; Just then, Wynnie sits bolt upright, wrapped in her blanket. And she screams.
The next second, Kali is running down the steps. "What's going on?"
I can't deal with my little sister right now. I move toward Wynnie, reaching out to her. She turns to me, terror in her eyes, and I'm sure she's going to scramble away, avoid contact like she always does.
But instead, she takes one hard look at me and throws herself into my arms.
She's sobbing so hard I think she might break in half. I just hold her tight, like I'm holding her together. "Hey girl, hey, hey," I say in my best soothing voice. "It's okay, you're all right. You're alive, you're safe. Hey, shh. It's okay."
I keep going with nonsense like that, cause it seems to be working. She's calming down, slowly. At the bottom of the steps, Mom is saying something to Kali— not sure what she's telling her. Which one is the bigger sin in my mother's mind— telling Kali about magic, or telling her a lie?
After a minute and a wide-eyed stare, Kali goes back upstairs.
"What'd you tell her?" I ask.
Mom's face is stiff, her mouth primmed up. "That your friends are in trouble and sick, and they need to rest here a while."
Nice. The truth, sort of.
"She bought it?"
"Of course not. She's a smart one; she's gonna know there's more to it than that. I'll go get some water for her." She nods at Wynnie. "You got this?"
I nod, and she goes upstairs.
"Wynnie, can you tell me what happened?"
"The druids took me," Wynnie says, through her tears. Her breath comes in jerks and gasps. "From the park. I was talking a walk alone, for the first time, and—"
She chokes up. Damn. Right when she decides to be brave and venture out on her own for the first time. That's messed up.
"They did a ritual and took my Life-Stream. Then there was this big circle, and they chained me to these trucks— and then when my beast came at dawn, they killed it. I could hear it roaring while it died, and this bubbling sound. And then there was a horrible sawing, and then nothing. Darkness. And then I was here." She glances at Kieran and Aislinn, and there's something in her eyes that's deeper than gratitude. "They must have pulled me out of its body."
Samhain Page 19
