

Eire of Hostility

### Book three of the Eire series

## By Gavin Green

Copyright 2014 Gavin Green

Smashwords Edition

Also by the author:

Eire of Intrigue (book one of the Eire series)

Eire of Mystery (book two of the Eire series)

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events are purely fictional. Any resemblance to real people or situations is purely coincidental, and in some cases, wishful thinking.

### Dedication

To all the people I've pissed off; accounts of your indignation and/or loathing have given impetus to many of the confrontational dispositions and dialogues herein. The rest come from my own chafing personality.

Chapter 1

Jack McCarthy lurched suddenly, almost violently, to his feet and yelled at the top of his lungs.

He was formerly stretched out on his old plaid couch in his living room. His wife, Fiona, sat at their small dining room table, inputting data of their stonemasonry transactions into her new laptop. Their children, Ella and Shey, were already asleep in their rooms upstairs.

Jack had been relaxing after a long weekend day checking job sites and continuing an online negotiation with a potential commercial client. He'd finally dragged himself home after helping to finish an overdue residential job with his two main employees, the Gavin brothers.

After a filling meal, Jack spent time with his family and then helped put the children to bed, a routine that he and his wife happily shared. They chatted about common topics while Fiona updated the books and he reclined on the couch with a magazine. His exhaustion outweighed the energy to chat and the house was left with a comfortable silence. Jack's eyes had begun to lose focus, and the magazine drooped on his stomach from a loosening grip.

Without warning, an image of Jane, his youngest sister, flashed in Jack's mind. Her pretty face was set in a rictus of fear, her dark green eyes wide and ablaze with flickering terror. She was in grave danger, alone and terrified. Jack's body sprung from the couch before his frantic mind was aware of it. Along with the sudden jump to his feet, he bellowed her name in a booming, desperate tone.

Fiona hopped in her chair from the shock of his outburst, sending her wavy brown hair into disarray. Receipts flew from her hand. "Jaysus, Jack! What the -"

"Jane!" Jack blurted out again but not as loudly. "She's in trouble, Fiona! Oh God, she's so scared!" He didn't even hear the muffled cries of his little boy upstairs, upset from being abruptly woken.

Fiona rushed over to her husband, grabbing his trembling hands and noticed his eyes welling with emotion. Jack stared into his wife's eyes. "She's lost, Fiona. Jane's lost and alone and running from... I don't fucking know what, but it's bad - very bad!" His strong hand gripped Fiona's almost painfully. Knowing that his innocent little sister was in such a helpless, terrified state made Jack's heart ache. "I have to go get her. I need to go. She's so -"

Fiona squeezed his hands as hard as she could, and then gave a hard yank to get his attention. "Jack! You need to calm down. You can't help Jane if you're a right mess, sure. Ease down, love." She saw her husband take a deep, shuddering breath.

Fiona had helped him in this palliative fashion before, but luckily they were rare, and never with as strong of a reaction as he currently had. They'd chatted about Jack's 'gut feelings' since early in their marriage. It had started with only slight disturbances to him, and apparently only centered on family or those close to him.

Some five years back, Jack had run outside of a building under refurbishment and stabilized a scaffold before Tom Gavin completely lost his grip. A few years ago, he knew that his da was in hospital before Fiona had a chance to tell him. She remembered Jack's frantic cell call from somewhere near Galway on the morning that Brody's criminal cousins made their play.

So it came as no surprise that Fiona received a call from her husband a few weeks back while she sat in the clinic, seeing to a bout of nausea. He joyously knew that she was pregnant before the doctor had a chance to inform her.

It seemed that Jack's intuitions had radar of sorts, as well. He knew without recent radio contact where Tom was on the job site, as well as Liam's exact location in the factory he worked at when the angina hit. Jack's divination had sharpened since; he knew on that fateful morning of the Wagner's lawless visit that his mam had been put into a car's boot, and that Kate stood in the rain out in one of Brody's paddocks.

He was a proud man, her husband, and only spoke to Fiona in-depth of his feelings on the matter. Jack didn't want to have to explain himself if he could avoid not having to; he didn't want anyone thinking him mental. When it came to spikes in events of loved ones, he was a gauge and compass all in one.

Luckily, Jack's normal hot-headed nature had abated over the last few years. Fiona attributed it to yet another child to be raised; everyone else, including Jack, gave the credit to her. Despite his temper, Jack's strong demeanor still drew her to him like a magnet; he said how he felt and left nothing hidden, good or bad. He was smart enough, but Jack led with his big heart more often than he should.

He'd kept those qualities that Fiona adored, but had been tempering them with forethought more and more often. However, when the rare intuitions hit, Jack was always lost to the flood of emotion that accompanied them. Until he could somehow address those visions, his logic took a back seat.

Fiona looked intently into Jack's red-rimmed eyes. "Do you have control, love?" Her voice was soft but the words were meant more as a demand than a question. Jack took a moment, holding in a deep breath, and then nodded while he let it go through his nose. She squeezed his hands once more, but gentler. "Good, now find her."

Jack swiveled both his torso and head to one side and then the other, trying to sense her general direction. He let go of Fiona's hands when he turned all the way around in the living room, retracing short movements in his slowly spinning search.

By the time he turned full circle and faced his wife again, Jack's eyes were wide, his mouth slightly agape. Goosebumps rose on his neck and arms as he stared absently at Fiona. She'd never seen that look on his face in all the years they'd been together; her own skin prickled in response to his haunted, horrified visage.

Jack's words came out as a whisper. "She's not anywhere."

A chill ran through them both. Fiona cupped a hand over her mouth as her eyes lost focus. She had no other logical options but to assume the worst. The sight of her stunned reaction somehow galvanized Jack into action.

While he swiveled again, searching with his 'gut feeling' for his sister, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed. Jane's phone answered with an unexpected busy signal. He then dialed another number and impatiently waited until the call was answered on the fourth tone. "Da... yeah, I know it's late. Look, is Jane there?" He paused to listen. "Not long ago, you're sure?" He listened another few seconds before saying, "It doesn't matter. Stay up; I'll be over in a few minutes."

Jack ended the call and shoved the phone back in his pocket while he reached for Fiona with his free hand. His firm hand on her shoulder brought her widened eyes back to his.

He looked at her with false confidence and said, "I'm going to my da's to make sure. I probably just got it wrong this time, and she's in her room going over Uni brochures... or asleep." A good reason had to be given, if only to quell Fiona's fears. "Maybe she had some brickin' nightmare, and that's what I picked up on." Jack, however, knew he wasn't wrong about Jane being in peril, or possibly worse.

"Do you think that's all it was?" Fiona asked doubtfully.

"Don't worry, honey, I'll get this sorted. Da said she's back at the gaff and grand, sure. Go calm Shey down and keep your phone handy. I'll give a bell as soon as I give Jane hell for scarin' the shite out of me." He gave his fretting wife a quick peck on the lips and then hurried to the foyer to grab his coat and truck keys.

Fiona stood motionless, engulfed in fear. She distantly heard the noises of the front door clicking shut and Jack's truck starting a few seconds later, as well as Shey's cries, which had tapered to sporadic wails and whimpers.

Feeling cold and helpless, Fiona knew that Jack was trying to soothe her fears... and maybe his own in the process. He'd never been wrong about his visions before, ever. Somehow, something went unbearably wrong. She had no answers for the swirling, screaming questions in her mind. It simply made no sense.

As she sat on the edge of the couch, Fiona's mind kept producing hundreds of flickering images of her younger sister-in-law. Jane had a bubbly laugh, and her smile was one of the best features on her cute face. Those forest green eyes sometimes revealed her occasional devil-may-care moments and daring spirit.

Jane had just turned seventeen, but her playfulness and naiveté could make her look younger. Alternately, when Jane was in serious thought or conversation, or especially when she sang, she seemed years older. Her form had become a woman's and attractive, much to the worry of Liam and Jack, but Jane's constantly ponytailed hair and impish grins were a reminder of the young girl residing within.

Fiona's father-in-law, Liam, was protective of his youngest girl, and had lavished her with praise and attention for as long as Fiona knew them. Her mam, Cora, on the other hand, was a daunting presence, even with her own short stature. In depriving Jane of certain allowances and freedoms in order to keep her daughter safe from a sometimes harsh world, Cora's stern sheltering somewhat kept Jane from natural maturation.

In their own ways, maybe both of the parents had a hand in their youngest daughter's lingering emotional innocence. That Fiona knew of, Jane hadn't had the chance to acquire any inner calluses to prepare her for some of the hardships of life. She was certainly not equipped for whatever state that Jack's vision saw her in. Sometimes unforgiving realities slowly eroded adolescent views, and sometimes took it away in chunks. From Jack's horrified reaction, Jane's innocence was being ripped from her all at once.

Trying not to let her mind wander to her darkest fears, Fiona resolved to be strong for her family, and as well for Jack's, if need be. She went upstairs and into Shey's room. In the dim glow of the nightlight, she found her little boy still awake but groggy, fussy from his sudden awakening. Fiona sat next to him on his small bed, easing him with whispered words while she smoothed his soft hair.

She thought Shey looked exactly like his father, except with darker hair. He had even begun to show signs of the same disposition of Jack's bold demeanor - so full of life, just like Jane. Fiona continued to stay with her son even after he'd gone back to sleep, the mere sight of him a reminder how precious and fragile life was. She hoped to bolster her resolve if the outcome was what she most feared, that somehow Jane was dead. Instead, Fiona held a sob in check while she made silent, desperate prayers.

*********

Under a burnt sienna sky interspersed with swirls of copper and vanilla, Saraid stood on one of the decks of her enormous olive tree haven. That particular view overlooked an expansive field of golden, lush grass that flowed in waves from delicate breezes.

In the distance, a handful of colorful tents had been erected. The mercenary fae who had already come to join Saraid in her 'righteous' campaign were allowed to camp and live off her lands while they waited to see if more warriors would answer the call. All of those welcomed knew to stay clear of the imposing tree haven, but otherwise free to hunt and gather as they pleased.

On a few occasions Saraid noticed their huge bonfire, and watched with passing interest when those warrior fae sang and danced around it in the dark of night, cavorting like feral children.

Saraid had very recently become aware that the wisp she had marked, the tiny pink creature that had stayed hidden in Jane McCarthy's fae-bridge, was back in the Lore. That meant Vaughn's dream-crafting was successful, and the girl had completed the bridge. Saraid only needed to capture the human before she found her way back home or was killed by denizens or monsters that lived in the vast neutral zones.

Letting herself be lifted by soft air currents, Saraid floated off of her balcony to the ground far below, letting her sleeveless, leafy gown billow in the warm drafts. Two small female nymphs followed behind her, both with light green skin, wild lime hair, and flimsy gossamer gowns.

Much closer to Saraid's haven sat another tent near a thicket, far apart from the other gathered fae. She glided through the tall grass toward the small red-and-white circular pavilion tent; the temporary residence of the Fair fae named Dahlia. She had been one of the first to arrive, and immediately offered her services as Saraid's champion for as long as the elder dryad wished.

The offer was obviously an attempt to add to Dahlia's own prestige in order to one day claim title. Saraid saw the logic of the tactic, but planned to use any tools to achieve her own goals.

As she approached the lone tent, Saraid saw the Fair fae outside of her pavilion. Dahlia sat on a wooden chair while eating a bowl of orange lore-berries. The female warrior noticed Saraid's approach and stood to greet her.

The Fair fae was a head taller than the dryad, slender and sinewy. Dahlia wore banded leather armor of the roman style that consisted of high hardened boots, long gloves of the same tough texture, strips of leather forming a skirt, and a strapped breastplate that left her arms, neck, and midriff exposed. All of the armor was dyed grape, giving stark contrast to Dahlia's creamy white skin. Conversely, the colored armor complimented her bright magenta eyes and long, lavender hair, which was pulled tight into a braided top knot that fell past her shoulder blades.

After the Fair fae warrior woman gave a deferential bow, Saraid said in her soft, soothing voice, "I have a mission for you, good Dahlia."

Giving another dip of her head, Dahlia replied, "I am prepared for any test to serve, Lady Moon Maiden."

"That is good, for I would trust few others to see to my needs, but you have shown yourself to be a loyal subject. I take it that the two upstart sprite ruffians I sent you to dispatch have not returned to disrupt my gathering war party?"

"No, Lady, and I do not expect them to," Dahlia said with a stern set to her slender facial features. She then held out a hand, where an ironwood sword appeared in her grip. "I ran them both through with this; I expect their banishments to be lengthy, considering their youth."

Saraid nodded. "All the better and well deserved. Now, I have learned of a situation. An unknown fae has delivered a human girl into the Lore, out in one of the neutral lands known as the Forlorn Mists. Do you know of the area?"

Dahlia shook her head once. "I know nothing of it, Lady."

"It is a land of faded color and moody fogs. It is also inhabited by a variety of low-caste and dangerous creatures. I need you to retrieve the young woman before she goes insane or is eaten. Bring her immediately to me."

With her high, thin brows pulled into a frown, Dahlia asked, "If I may inquire, Lady, where is this human's liege fae? Am I to challenge combat for the possession of her?"

"Therein lays a mystery," Saraid answered softly, "for I believe the human has no Lore liege; not yet, anyway. For reasons unknown, the young woman was transported across a fae bridge and left to her own devices. Perhaps it was a punishment of some sort, although the glamour needed to spend for such a sentence seems excessive. The infliction of a well-worded curse would have been more sensible and less costly."

"Agreed, Lady, but why else would she be taken here?"

Saraid interlaced her fingers. "That is what I intend to find out. The reason I have taken interest in this, good Dahlia, is that the human in question comes from the very Eire village that the rebel fae call home: Ballaghadaere. I find it too much of a coincidence. I want this young woman brought to me in reasonable health for questioning."

"Of course, Lady Moon Maiden," Dahlia bowed her head again, "I am up to the task."

Nodding back, Saraid said, "I have no doubt, good Dahlia. These two nymphs will accompany you to find her trail if the human has wandered. I have gathered that the young woman's name is Jane; use that knowledge if it will gain her trust." Saraid held a hand out to her side and made exacting, complex gestures in the air with her fingers. Just beyond her reach, a large glimmering oval portal formed and held its wavering, radiant shape. "I have called a temporary bridge to the general location where she was brought over. Use a bridge of your own to return; you are welcome to let its exit be near my haven."

"I thank you, Lady." Dahlia stepped toward the glowing bridge portal, letting the two nymphs precede her as they disappeared into it. Stopping before she entered the bridge, Dahlia said, "I will move with haste, and return as soon as I am able. Do you have any other requests?"

"Keep vigilance for the denizens of the Forlorn Mists, but that should be obvious. Like all strange humans, her reactions may be erratic. Do whatever is necessary to bring her back here to me relatively whole and healthy. Good travel to you."

Dahlia gave a quick, curt bow and stepped into the portal. It promptly shrank and dissolved after her departure.

Saraid felt that the time of her own banishment was near its end, but not quite yet. It vexed her that she could not go collect Jane McCarthy personally, but there were no other options. Her servant nymphs certainly couldn't be trusted enough to complete the mission; the obsequious Dahlia would have to do.

Whatever the outcome with Jane, Saraid would soon send the gathered warriors into the Verden for a cleansing of the rebel village. Not that she truly cared, but she had called for war. She may as well let the mercenaries have their fun.

*********

With the orange glow from the alabaster table still receding, Enochia pulled the thick black cloth over it. She had just concluded an attempt to see the truer meaning of the door visions she'd been having. There was a large, roughly-hewn set of double doors; weapons flew out when they swung open. A hostile force was coming from the Lore, and fixed on Ballaghadaere.

Enochia knew that if the Circle had called a war party, then she would have been given a message demanding her presence as witness, or defendant, before those warriors might need to be sent. The whole affair felt as if someone was attempting to gather forces for a cleansing, something not seen on this scale in decades.

She had learned that the other door, plain white with mist beyond it, was directly related to Cora McCarthy's youngest child, Jane. Along with the vague sense of danger that that girl was in were glimpses of a fae with dark hair.

The events precluding that door were unclear, but only two assumptions could be made: either Jane was taken or lured to the precipice of the Lore, or she somehow found her way there by her own power. If it was the former, then the mortals of the village would be in turmoil at her disappearance, and glamour would diminish greatly. If it was the latter, that Jane somehow accessed a fae-bridge, then she would soon become a highly sought-after Lore commodity. The young woman would become prey and property of masters beyond her understanding.

Both of the door visions were related, but Enochia saw no common denominators between the two other than the village itself. It was a place to start, but still gave her no answers. It seemed illogical for warriors to assemble for a single commodity such as Jane might be; no fae would willingly share a valued possession.

Perhaps the girl had some extreme measure of defense that had been found by a fae. In that instance, a war party could be sent by that unseen hand to weaken her enough to let the orchestrator of the plot to easily claim the prize. The concept was merely supposition; there was too much Lore activity and an excessive list of variables to see any possible outcomes with clarity. The oracle needed more information.

"Harkin," Enochia called out into her dim and dusty haven, "come join me for a moment, please."

The sallow, mottle-winged harpy came into the doorway across from her, an old text in his claws. At her insistence, Harkin's long gray hair was kept straight and untangled, and his crimson attire free of stains. While still a daunting figure for a low-caste, he also now outwardly reflected the uncommon intellect of his mostly-female race. "You called for me, Mistress?"

"Yes, come in." Enochia gestured to the book he held. "What is that you have?"

Her harpy servant took a few steps into the large, shadowy room. "I found this digest out amongst your piles of forgotten human items. I hope you don't mind that I took interest. I remember its placement and can return it if you found my initiative inappropriate."

Enochia spent a moment in thought, and then replied, "In this situation, I do not take exception. What is it, exactly?"

Harkin glanced at the book and then back to her. "A collection of works, Mistress; the author is named Yeats." He frowned before stating, "There are some insightful lines, but with others this human's mind seems to run askew."

Folding her four-fingered hands in her lap, Enochia said, "Ah, that one. Read for me a short line, Harkin, before I send you on a mission."

Opening the book to the page that one of his claws had held as a marker, Harkin read aloud the last entry he'd come to before he was called for. He cited a short line with a clear voice. "'. . . do not wait to strike till the iron is hot; but make it hot by striking'." Harkin then looked back up to see her reaction.

Enochia offered a simple smile for the choice of quotes. "Perhaps it is advice we should follow under the right circumstances." She smoothly resettled into her Victorian chair. "For now, my good harpy, I believe the iron is already warming. I need you to venture back to the Lore and gather information, particularly those subjects that might intrigue warriors."

"Of course, Mistress; I shall leave immediately."

Before her servant could exit the room, she called to him once more. He turned and waited expectantly. "I applaud your choice of quotes. It has given me drive for my own initiatives."

Chapter 2

The cold night air of late January had begun to whip and rattle the window nearest Brody as he and Kate worked together in their home office. Cozy in fleece clothing and warm slippers, they sat side by side at the long built-in desk. Their stacks of paperwork were lit by two arm lamps that offered an intimate ambiance despite their current tasks.

Brody's day had started with an early church service, then a trip to Simon's new house to meet the delivery truck that brought a few new pieces of rustic furniture. The mover's Sunday rate had Brody biting his tongue. Kate arrived soon after, and then Jane. The house and outbuildings were already in good shape from the paid labor force and construction crew; the trio went about making sure everything on hand was in place and looked as good as possible.

Brody and Kate said farewell to Jane at sunset, and soon after headed back to the cottage. The dogs and mules were given warm hellos, and then leftovers were heated. Both of them wanted to make sure that details were taken care of, and so made quick work of their meal.

The last three weeks had been busy ones. With an upcoming business opening, they both felt out of their depth with some of the specifics, especially Brody. He had initial thoughts that it would be a simple affair after the red tape was dealt with, and pictured himself and Kate overseeing operations casually. He quickly learned to dispel those illusions of simplicity.

The day after Simon returned to Colorado, Kate suggested they get the bigger tasks underway and simply find time for the smaller projects. Brody wanted to get the details involving Gordon McCoy completed first, so as not to waste too much of the old farrier's time. With conference calls between himself, Gordon, and Simon, arrangements were put in place for Brody's cousin to be an apprentice farrier under the old man's sponsorship, as the national rules mandated.

Gordon privately told Brody that if Simon was already a seasoned journeyman in the states, then it was only a matter of going on farrier calls and appointment for a few months. After that, Simon could essentially take over. Brody also needed Gordon to help select a new farrier trailer as well as oversee construction of a forge.

With the guidance of Gordon McCoy and the labor assistance of Jack and the Gavin brothers, the big outbuilding was remade into a metal shop. A large forge was built to specifications, and many sturdy tables were attached to the walls. The men even constructed a bin for ash and a large container for coal; Brody ordered a few hundred pounds of it to get Simon started.

Near the completion of the forge, Jack began going about his work with a silly grin on his face. When asked about it the first few times, he shrugged it off. When it kept up, Brody and Gordon demanded that Jack either explain himself or they'd throw him in the field pond out back. In reply, Jack dialed Fiona on his cell and confirmed his suspicions that she was pregnant. The party that evening at Gil's pub was, in Kate's words, deadly craic.

Keeping almost constant contact with Simon, whether with calls or photos sent with questions, a few issues were settled. Through the dealer that Brody made deals with for both Kate's and Jane's cars, he got another for his cousin. The used, black Ford Kuga SUV was in top form except for a few small dents, and had more than enough power to haul the new farrier trailer.

Simon's rural home was supplied with a few new appliances and 'western' furniture, as well as basic amenities like having some hay delivered and the garden tilled. After filling the small garden shed with lawn equipment and giving the house a shine, Brody and Kate considered that comprehensive chore of Simon's ranch complete.

The location for the future craft, art, and supply shop was an empty building on the edge of the village hub. It was sandwiched between a movie rental place and a delivery alley, and only a few doors down from Doolin's restaurant. The owner of the property only wanted to rent it because of the flat over the shop. Brody had no interest in anything but the main level and offered a low but reasonable cash offer, which was quickly accepted.

The commercial property was sound, but plain; neither Brody nor Kate had the expertise for a fitting décor. And, even with Simon's basic skills, none of them were comfortable staging their own internet marketing platform. They hoped to leave designs of those types in better hands than theirs.

Alana had presented Brody with what both he and Kate considered a magnificent piece of artwork in the form of his shop name and logo: Hammerworks. Simon agreed not to have any lofty or archaic name for their business, and a hammer was the main tool in both sculpture and blacksmithing. They checked to make sure the title wasn't trademarked in Western Europe and claimed it. The internet domain name was available as well.

Brody told Alana that her great artwork would be transferred to the building sign, the heading of the internet site, and present in any advertising. Kate made a note to make sure the artist's name was listed on the site, as well as a link to Alana's own design page.

During lunch in one of the village cafes, Brody and Kate asked her friend Mary if she'd like an upcoming managerial position at Hammerworks. The pay would be slightly higher than her bank position, and they also offered generous profit-sharing. Mary calmly accepted the offer and upcoming position, if only to escape "that bellicose bastard Aidan McNally". Near the end of that lunch, the topic of marketing the new business came up. Mary mentioned she had a friend in advertising up in Sligo town, and gave the couple her friend's number.

After a few phone conversations and one business dinner, Brody and Kate had a contract with a very reputable marketing firm. The cost was high, especially for a small shop in a small village, but the coverage was comprehensive.

Brody and Kate agreed on one of the pitched concepts and an upper-range product-placement package. Websites were created and managed, and ad spots would be going up in magazines, newspapers, and various sites touting the impending opening. A few ads would also be entered into Irish radio and television and incrementally bolstered as time went on.

Photos were taken of everything by the marketing crew; sculptures, Brody's work shop, borrowed images of Simon's wares, and even a few of Brody himself. The marketing rep had even contracted a design company to completely refurbish the empty store, all with Brody, Kate, and Simon's approval.

When remodeling was complete, photos of the store were planned for future announcements. The ads were being translated to most European languages to further their reach. Select ads were even sent to specific, high-profile American markets for internet sales.

While Brody and Kate kept up with the progressive publicizing of the store, they also had to deal with Simon's visa. Most options were detailed and didn't fit their needs, and another visa variable was negated by Simon's misdemeanor record and lack of references. He also couldn't prove his direct heritage to Ireland, so none of the simpler options would work.

One last option occurred to Brody, and Kate verified that it certainly solved the dilemma. They simply commissioned work from Simon, paid in advance for the exact amount needed for an investment into Irish commodities, just as Brody had done. Simon had to handle the actual application from his end, but Brody and Kate guided him through it and cleared the path of some Irish ministry paperwork in the process.

Brody unfortunately found that being an immigrant who was trying to open a business in Ireland was rife with red tape and difficulties. That equated into extra expenses, time, and headaches. At Brody's pleading request - and Simon's via text - Kate agreed to be the sole owner of the store. Brody reminded her that she could pass the official reins back to him when he claimed residency in a few years.

Kate mentioned that Mary used to assist her late husband, an accountant, with some of his work; they were therefore prepared to raise her pay if she accepted the mantle of the legalities as well as daily operations. Considering that Kate didn't have to apply for loans, her paperwork cleared quickly.

Kate's investment strategy for the large sums placed into the Rose Foundation was doing well enough; first quarter profits were a few points over what was mandated to be spent by the foundation for charitable efforts. Those few remaining points were equal to a good yearly salary. Still, her confidence in the matter was a tenuous thing. Only a small part of her international banking degree dealt with stocks.

Kate debated to let Jamal handle those monies as well, meaning almost the entirety of Brody's fortune. She brought the subject up with him, and his reaction was quite casual considering the amounts they discussed. Brody had every confidence in his broker friend; Jamal had done rather well with that money over the last six years.

Nonetheless, Brody was confident in Kate's intellect and suggested that she keep with her strategy for at least one fiscal year to see if it panned out. His nonchalance and trust of her skills lessened Kate's doubts.

Feeling that matters were well in hand, Brody and Kate finally relaxed after weeks of juggling activities. After Simon arrived the next day and was given a few weeks to settle in, more undertakings were planned.

For one, Simon was needed for a photo shoot, something that both he and Brody grudgingly agreed to. Their marketing rep, Moira, bluntly stated that Brody's looks, and Simon's to a lesser degree, was a selling point. Brody made the demand that those ads with him pictured only go to foreign markets; he still wanted a modicum of privacy at home. Kate saw his demand partly as embarrassment, but didn't tease him for it.

Moira then stated that some of the more artistic pieces could go for much more in international fine art circles than their current pricing. Brody allowed to let a few of his sculptures be used to test that theory.

Brody realized that he was spending big numbers for all of the current projects, but he justified it with the fact that they were one-time expenditures. He didn't care if he made anything for himself other than covering supply and utility expenses; he took reward in his creations.

Brody wanted to help the prosperity of the village and the people involved in his ventures, especially Simon. He thought that his cousin had been through enough, and deserved a break. Who better than his only kin to offer it? Brody didn't see it as pity for Simon; he respected the man's strength to go through hellish hardships that Brody couldn't truly fathom.

Besides that testament to Simon's tenacity and endurance, his thick skin hid a good and honest man. Beyond the sarcasm, Brody heard Simon's underlying hope to earn and keep the friendship he was being offered. All that Brody selfishly wanted was his own sense of family, and a continued rapport with a man he admired.

Still, his conscience nagged at him. He wondered if he was coercing his cousin into a radical change for his own selfish wants. He sat back in his office chair and turned to Kate, who was looking at stock reports on her computer. Brody's voice was full of concern when he asked, "Darlin', do you think I'm overdoing it?"

Kate kept her eyes on the screen. "Overdoing what? I might need specifics, love."

Brody sighed, reluctant but resolved to admit his flaws on the matter. "I meant about Simon; you know, getting him to move here, getting him all set up, making plans for him, all that shit."

Turning her head to him, Kate replied, "Brody, he's your family. If I were in your place, and in the... unique situation that both you and he are in, I'd more than likely take the same route and make the same offers." She let her eyes linger on him for a moment, and then looked back to the monitor.

Brody saw that most of Kate's attention was on the stocks site, but he needed to explore his guilty feeling to see if it had merit. "It's just that part of me feels like I'm, hell, I don't know, maybe trying to buy his friendship. I guess I'm worried that he might think that, and maybe you do, too."

Kate sat still for a moment and then exited the site. Letting Brody know that he had her full attention, she turned her chair to face him. "You think you're paying your cousin to appease you? Brody, you big, gorgeous, sweet, foolish man, quit leading with your heart; it leaves no room for thought."

Not sure if he should've been offended or not, Brody's tone was defensive when he asked, "What does that mean?"

Offering a warm smile, Kate explained. "If I remember correctly, you and Simon formed a fast friendship well before any offers were made. It was grand to see how well you two got on, especially just from calls and emails. I'd wager that the bond grew even stronger while on his holiday here. It only makes sense, with so many things in common between you two."

With a reluctant grin, Brody agreed. "Yeah, we did hit it off pretty well. Not as good as you and I did," he said with a smirk, "but there's no comparing the two."

Kate's smile widened. "I'd hope not!"

"But you said we had a lot in common? I can think of a few things right off the bat, but is that what you meant?"

Scooting closer, Kate lifted one of Brody's feet, removed his wool slipper, and rested his big foot between her thighs on her chair. As she began to massage it, she answered his question. "Of course, there are the obvious things like your interests in each other's fields of work, as well as smaller but still relevant agreed views. I suppose I meant the broader observations. You're both American, both without siblings, and the both of you have had hardships... even if yours was, em, conventional in comparison. But I think another thing you and Simon share is loneliness."

Brody frowned at that, but didn't remove his foot from her attentions. "Lonely? Me? Kate, I'm with you, I have the pets, and some pretty good friends I've made here. I'm about as un-lonely as it gets."

Kate rubbed her thumbs firmly along the arch of his large foot. "Yes, you have all that, and me, but I'm referring to who you are, not what you have." She stopped her massage and looked at him. "Here, you have no family, while surrounded by an area of extended families. While you have made loyal friendships and gained respect here, you're still a foreigner with foreign views and opinions. With some, that's an easy enough bridge to cross, but still a bridge."

"Well, hey, I really haven't been here all that long."

"Granted, but I also imagine you miss having an instant camaraderie that no one around here can offer. In your favor, you've built friendships from nothing but goodwill. You've given and gained trust to earn some strong bonds; bridges, as I said. With Simon, though, there is no bridge. He's like-minded in so many basic ways that there is no effort needed. The fact that he's also your cousin, your family, makes the bond all the stronger."

Brody hadn't thought of it from that perspective. While he felt happy to have Simon as a relative as just described to him, he felt lucky and blessed to have Kate and her intuitions. To tease her, he asked, "Did your nimbus give you all this wisdom and insight?"

Kate moved her small fingers to his toes. "I don't need it to see that, love; I'd think it would be obvious to anyone in my position. And remember, Simon didn't need much coaxing to accept your offer, did it now?"

Brody answered with a correction. "You mean 'our offer', darlin'."

With a bright smile, Kate conceded. "Fine, our offer, then; Simon only hesitated because of his humility. He loved it here, Brody, and not just because of you. We both saw how he was after walks through the paddocks, or sitting out on the patio. He looked to be at peace, I suppose you could say. Here, there are no reminders of his past. Here, he has family, friends, and a future. But more than that; he found comfort in the solitude. He'll be happy here, for many reasons."

His concern assuaged, Brody grinned and asked, "So now you're a fortune teller, eh? Then tell me where this awesome foot rub might lead to."

Kate closed her eyes while tilting her head back in glib dramatic fashion, her fingers grazing over the top of his foot as if attempting misplaced phrenology. "I see myself..." Kate opened her eyes and abruptly shoved his foot off her chair, "washing my hands."

They shared a wild, playful look before Kate leapt from her office chair and ran from the room. Brody was immediately after her. The laughing squeals and grunts of the chase that filled the cottage soon had the dogs joining in with loud enthusiasm.

*********

Tilting his head back for another swig from the pilfered bottle of Harp lager, Vaughn followed it with a wipe of his upper lip and a throaty belch. He sat in the cold night air on the roof ledge of a sandwich shop in the hub of Ballaghadaere, letting his booted feet dangle.

After taking another large gulp, he absently noted a young couple passing by the closed shops across the street, the only people to be seen out at that hour. The shop directly across from him had a strange name, Hammerworks, but the interior appeared empty; that was explained by the small sign in the window that said, 'opening soon'. Vaughn soon forgot about the meaningless sights of the village and focused on important matters.

He once again prepared himself to join Jane McCarthy in her dreams. As with most targets, Vaughn was beginning to know the young woman well from her slumbering imagery. He was pleased to find that Jane's wishes and aspirations far outweighed any fears or insecurities; so few vibrant, healthy minds were found nowadays. He intensified his thoughts of her, but found nothing. He knew the girl's sleeping patterns well enough; she normally was asleep by then.

Curious of how long he might have to wait until Jane fell asleep, Vaughn thought to locate her with his uncommon gift. Her current location might give him an idea of how much time he had to find some fun in the quiet little village.

While his left hand and arm cradled the comparatively big bottle of lager, Vaughn held out his right, letting his stubby index finger lazily twirl. He found nothing. Confused and with growing irritation, he set the bottle down, tugged on his tweed vest, closed his bright eyes, and then tried again.

Vaughn's eyes shot open, noting that the finger he used to locate targets was pressed against his own chest. 'The Lore', he thought to himself, 'She's in the Lore. How the fuck did that happen?' He concentrated again to get a better fix on Jane; her actions might give a clue as to who brought her there. Vaughn found her again; she was running erratically, as if around minor barriers or in a dense wood.

The limitations of the gift of locating didn't allow sight of the target's view, but did give an overview of position. Vaughn mentally broadened his scope. His bushy eyebrows knit together; why was Jane in the Forlorn Mists? Even more, if his guess was correct from her chaotic activity, why was she alone?

If it was a punishment of some sort, then Vaughn thought that somewhere nearby was a fae with a cruel sense of justice; whatever the relatively innocent girl did, she didn't deserve that.

He thought back on his recent manipulations of dream-craft; the imagery of a door or two (for purposes unknown) had no blatant connection to the unexpected development. Vaughn nonetheless felt the teeth of guilt gnaw at him. Placed in the Forlorn, Jane could go mad if her mind wasn't strong enough before she acclimated. But before she might prevail and keep her sanity, she could eat poison fruit, be tortured and eaten by ogres, or maybe even bring to life some horror from her own imagination. Jane's end could come quickly and gruesomely.

Telling himself that the main reason for his worry of Jane's welfare was to complete his part of the pact to Saraid's satisfaction, Vaughn stood and hopped back onto the flat roof of the building. 'The doors', he thought. Jane somehow made a bridge, and her doors were portals.

Vaughn supposed it wouldn't do to finally get his target to her destination, only to be devoured before he could get the nod for a title. The necessary extra effort irked him \- in his mind, misplaced anger was better than accepting blame and guilt.

While noisily draining the last of the bottle down his gullet, Vaughn formed a quick fae-bridge portal that would bring him near Jane's last known location. He tossed the bottle away in frustration and stepped up to his portal.

Wiping the few spilled drops of lager from his Donegal beard, he muttered, "Fuckin' eejit women make everything worse, like a fart at a funeral." He took a deep breath, let it out with a resigned huff, and then stepped through the portal and onto his fae-bridge.

Chapter 3

With a heavy stone-head spear in hand, Macklin silently made his way through the pale woods and tall grasses of the Forlorn Mists. His huge pet and companion, Mix, followed casually but quietly behind; surprising for a bear of his size.

Beasts had lately encroached upon Macklin's nearby holdings; something dangerous had driven them from their claimed territories.

First came the pack of gulon; the voracious wolf/cougar hybrid creatures managed to eat part of his porch before he and Mix dispatched them. Next was the swarm of flitters; luckily, the tiny humanoid vermin only did minor damage to his fruit trees before he burnt them out.

Lastly, and unexpectedly, was a leucrotta that came to feed on Macklin's cattle. Those clever monsters were normally aloof and stayed clear of held lands. Being the size of an elk, with a lion's limbs and a badger's head, the fiendish beast put up a fierce fight before it fell.

Macklin decided that a defensive posture wasn't in his best interest; he was a hunter, and was used to action rather than reaction. He'd hunted the Forlorn many times, and knew that the wilder and more dangerous denizens dwelled deeper into the heart of that vast landscape. He enjoyed the challenge of testing himself against such dangers, and welcomed those opportunities when out hunting simple game.

That thrill of facing danger was how he acquired Mix. Back when Macklin first took holdings and began to shape the land, he was prowling the low, snowy mountains on the far side of his new property. An enormous fog bear, Mix's mother, charged from her cave in violent defense of her cub. Macklin was victorious, but nearly bled to banishment from the battle.

Mix was raised as a human might treat a lap dog; other than being territorial, he was merry and docile. The huge, shaggy, omnivorous pet only came along on hunts to guard his master and partake of anything edible.

Cliodhna, Macklin's mater, didn't approve of her son's choice of pets, which fell in line with how she viewed most of his choices. She simply didn't understand her only offspring. She always compared her son's nature to that of a sprite, his sense of honor to a troll's, and his aptitude for hunting to a savage morpher. Merrit Charm-monger, Macklin's sire, was more accepting, and encouraged his son's practice of ranged weapons, carving, and wanderlust.

Macklin partook of the normal festivities when he returned to visit his parents in the tiny hamlet of Aisling-maith, but preferred only small gatherings or his own company. Like other Fair fae, he enjoyed adventure and music, but not the wild revelry that his race was known for. Macklin eventually shrugged off his mater's moments of discontent and went where his passions led, comfortable with his own manner of existence.

As Macklin made his way through the gloomy woods and grasslands of the Forlorn, he found no signs or tracks other than small game. By the spread of their fresh imprints into the soft ground, though, they were moving with haste. However, there was no indication of a normal predator on the prowl; whatever had driven beasts onto his holdings was still in the vicinity.

Macklin was aware that his dark hair and clothes would draw the eye of creatures with intellect, and so willed his appearance to blend. He soon was only shades darker than the surrounding thick vapors and pale flora. Having the limited chameleon abilities of any fog bear, Mix followed suit and turned his brown coat to a faded gray. The huge pet casually sniffed the still air while he chewed on sweet leaves, and gave no indication of imminent danger.

There was a sudden sense of shift in the ether; Macklin knew glamour was in play somewhere nearby. While Mix paused to dig at a honey root, he moved slowly and silently forward through a small patch of woods in the hushed setting. His spear was held at the ready, tense with anticipation. In the clearing ahead of him, there was a shimmer in the mist, and then a Verden-style white door came into being.

Macklin crouched low, shielded from view by thin trees and tall, bland grass. A few moments passed before the door opened part-way, hindered by a thick sward in front of it. A slight figure wavered at the doorway, but ducked and screamed when a wisp flew out from behind it. Not 'it', but 'her'; the voice was definitely female.

The pink wisp shot out and up and spun in a curling, chaotic dance, soon joined by another, yellow, faeling from the denser woods ahead and to his left. Entrancing the female with their 'calls of the heart' glamouring, she stepped out into the Forlorn Mists to follow.

When Macklin saw her, his curiosity and confusion was suddenly replaced with mute delight. The young woman, obviously human, was captivating. Her slender yet curvaceous shape was evident, even under blue denim jeans and brown sweatshirt with a gold harp on the front. Her features were akin to a pixie's alluring beauty, but at normal scale. Silky, ponytailed copper hair bobbed and swung with innocent mischief, and an enchantment-borne smile seemingly lit the gloomy landscape.

Macklin watched as the young woman's trepidation gave way to the beguiling call of the wisps, and she jogged into the woods in joyous pursuit. He only glanced at the door when it began to fade from existence.

Even after the human female was lost from sight, Macklin stayed in in his concealed pose while he tried to organize the numerous questions that came to mind. Who was she? Where was her liege fae? Why was she brought to the Forlorn? How was she expected to survive on her own in the Lore? Or was it that she wasn't expected to? Most importantly, what should he do about it?

Macklin didn't want to trifle with the game of another fae, especially if they happened to be an elder with vindictive tendencies. Then again, he considered it malicious to abandon the attractive woman in the Lore, and even worse in the Forlorn Mists. After short deliberation, he decided to take his chances of possible intrusion. His honor, and the breath-catching effect she had on him, wouldn't allow any less.

Just as he stood and prepared to follow after the enchanting woman, her gasps and sobs of terror were heard coming from the trees. She ran back into the clearing near her point of origin and stumbled to a shaky stop, bending over as she tried to catch her breath.

Macklin scanned her hectic thoughts in hopes of familiarization, to put her at ease when he would speak to her. He only caught fragments of information from her fear-addled mind. Her name was learned, and a vague collection of family whom she wished would come to her aid. Someone by the name of Gideon was momentarily among her jumbled thoughts, and then was gone. There were also a chaotic concept about doors; needing to make another, and two doors in one room. He wasn't sure if she meant portals, but it seemed a safe assumption.

Beyond what he could glean, Macklin felt her fear and confusion. It made his heart ache to see such a lovely, helpless creature in that state, and he yearned to comfort and protect her.

Still aware that there was possible danger in the area, Macklin nonetheless allowed his natural hues to slowly return. He didn't want to cause even more fright to the young woman when he greeted her. He stepped out from the trees and moved away from the drooping branches so that he could be seen from that distance through the mist.

Standing tall yet casually, Macklin waited until she appeared to be in control of herself, and then called to her in a normal tone, knowing his words would carry in the still air and silence.

*

"You must be Jane McCarthy; how nice to meet you."

Jane froze, trying to get an idea of the stranger's intent by his posture. She had just recovered some degree of normal respiration from her harrowing flight through the woods. Her mind and emotions had been led astray by sentient glowing lights, seemingly intent on luring her to an unknown destination.

The alien landscape Jane had found herself in was melancholy and somehow malevolent, seeming to waver and shift in her peripheral vision. She had no sense of direction. And as soon as she had some degree of composure, a misty figure some forty yards distant spoke to her by name. Jane immediately felt that her fate, good or ill, depended on the stranger.

He spoke again as he casually, slowly made his way toward her through the tall grass. "Please, have no fear of me. I beg that you not see my approach as aggression. I only mean to see that you are well and safe." His manner of speech held hints of both nord iron and American.

As the stranger came closer, Jane was able to make out some features of the man. Taller than Jack, he had wide shoulders and slim hips. His long, thick black hair, resting loose down his chest, shone even in the gloom.

The man came within a few strides of her and stopped, leaning nonchalantly on what Jane previously thought of as a long staff; it was actually a rustic spear with a sharpened stone head. His odd clothing was nearly all black and fit him well. He wore a pull-over shirt with loose drawstrings; a wide, gray leather belt; a kilt in black, royal blue, and flat gray tartan; faded black fingerless gloves, and black, well-used bog boots.

Jane's eyes drifted back up the stranger's fine, athletic form and made a quick study of his face. He had a youthful appearance, no more than early twenties if she were to guess. His lightly tanned skin was smooth and shaven, with an angularly defined jawline and high cheekbones. Thick strands of straight black hair fell over his handsome face, but didn't hide his straight nose or gentle smile.

And then her gaze met his; kind and alert under arching black brows. Jane stared into his large, widely-set aqua blue eyes, unaware of her own slack-jawed gape. His pupils were mere pinpoints, surrounded by large irises in shades of light blue and green. The colors undulated and swirled, like the shallow waters of a tropical bay. Jane was transfixed by those exotic, unearthly eyes until he cocked his head to the side with a curious grin.

"Jane McCarthy?" he asked pleasantly with a soft tone in the still air, "Are you well?"

Gathering herself once again, Jane blinked once with a slight shake of her head. Her eyes darted about for a good escape route should his seemingly good intentions run foul. She saw no stick or rock to defend herself with, and so stood her ground... at least for the moment. Her dark green eyes squinted defensively when she said, "How do you know me? Who are you?"

His smile widened, showing strong, straight white teeth. "Forgive me, miss. I am known as Macklin, fae of the Fair." He bowed with a deep flourish, his long hair dipping into the grass, and then stood tall again. "I'm at your service."

Jane's anxiety was on the rise. "Why do you keep smiling at me?" The words came out harsh from her frayed nerves and heightened apprehension.

Macklin's grin drooped into concern. "My apologies, Jane McCarthy; I wasn't aware of my expression. In hopes of not appearing too forward, I find you quite pleasant to look upon. I hope my natural reaction did not greatly offend you."

"Well, em, cheers. Sorry, I just felt like a bug in a jar." She saw his frown at her comparison and decided to move on. "But you keep using my name - Jane. So how do you know me?"

Using his hand in a gesture of obvious explanation, Macklin replied, "I took the information from your outer thoughts, of course. I hope you don't mind."

Jane began to form a frown of her own, and then suddenly tensed. Her eyes grew wide and she let out a wild scream that ripped through the silent landscape.

Macklin flinched and tensed, surprised at her alarmingly loud and high-pitched shriek. He saw that her wild stare was fixed over his shoulder. He turned and immediately relaxed. He turned back to Jane and saw that she was about to bolt.

"Please, calm yourself, Jane McCarthy," Macklin said, putting out a hand to assure her. "This is Mix, my faithful pet and companion. He may appear quite fearsome, but unless you mean me harm, he is as gentle as a stuffed toy." Mix ambled next to his master and nuzzled his shaggy jaw against Macklin's shoulder affectionately with a low grunt. "I give you my oath that he will do you no harm, and will protect you as he would me while in my presence." He threw his left arm around the huge bear's neck and scratched under his ear. "Isn't that right, Mix?" The massive beast only turned his head into his master for continued attention.

From Jane's view, Macklin's 'pet' was easily twice the size she imagined a bear to be. While standing on its four paws - which were the size of platters with claws like hooked blades - the bear's dark eyes met evenly with hers. She could only guess that the long-haired bear weighed over a full ton and was twice as long as she was tall.

Despite the animal's size, Mix wore a tranquil countenance with his body in casual repose. He appeared to Jane to be simply an enormous, tame mountain of fur. As the animal stood complacently, its hair color shifted from dark gray to a medium brown.

"How did it do that?" Jane asked in a breathless hush.

Macklin's easy grin reappeared. "Mix is a fog bear. His kind can blend into earth tones or shades of neutral." While Mix took interest in something to sniff nearby, Macklin took a small step forward. "Again, rest easy; Mix doesn't mean to frighten you. There are other things to concern yourself with." Macklin's face turned calm and serious. "How did you come to be here, Jane McCarthy? Is this punishment by your liege, or were you simply placed here by foul intent?"

Jane's nerves were near their end, turning her fear into anger. "First off, stop saying my whole name! Just say Jane or Miss or whatever, like. And what the fuck is a liege?" She put her hands on her hips as her voice raised in intensity and volume. "Whatever you mean, I don't have one! And for your information, I made my own way here. Now you can answer my questions! Like where the fuck is 'here'! Where is my door! And where in this God-forsaken murk can I find a bush? I'm about to piss myself!"

In her nervous state, Jane failed to notice when Macklin's spear vanished. The Fair fae put his empty hands up in placation, trying to replace the alarm on his face with calm composure in hopes that she would relax in turn. "Miss Jane, you must lower your voice before you attract unwanted attention. This area is not safe." He glanced around them. "There is no shrubbery hereabouts for you to modestly evacuate your fluids. If your need is that great, step behind Mix; he is more than enough cover."

"Evacuate my fluids?" Jane hissed, taking heed of Macklin's warning, but still letting her fearful paranoia vent itself as rage. "And what would you suggest I use to clean up, ya gobshite! I don't think he'd take well to me wiping myself with his fur!"

Macklin nodded once and began ripping a strip from the hem of his shirt. Just as he was about to offer the cloth to her, Jane stomped over and snatched it from him. She continued her hurried pace around the far side of Mix, who took no notice.

There were over ten seconds of uncomfortable silence before Jane spoke again from behind Mix. "I'm sorry for barking at you," she said while hidden behind the hill of hair. "It's just that I've been legging it or on the verge of since I came here, and I'm feckin' scared out of my wits. There are so many things I don't understand, and I... I really need you to help me out, alright?"

Glad to hear Jane's voice was more controlled, Macklin sighed and replied, "Of course I will, but I am curious about a few things myself, if you'll indulge me."

Jane came from around Mix's bulk, pulling her sweatshirt snugly down while the huge bear curiously sniffed at her scent. "Fair enough, I suppose. I guess we both have stories to trade."

Macklin shook his head. "No, Miss Jane, I don't wish to enter into a bound pact for bartered facts. I would hope that we might freely share what we know. Are you amenable to that?"

Frowning in confusion, Jane said, "I don't know what you're talking about. I mean, I tell you things, you tell me things... That's normally how it works, like. We can switch back and forth with questions if you're not going to find that too bogey."

"I find that arrangement agreeable; ladies first."

"Alright; first off," Jane began as she rubbed her arm, feeling the damp, cool air as her adrenaline wore off, "can you explain where the hell I am?"

Macklin nodded with a warm grin on his face once again. "This area of the vast neutral lands is called the Forlorn Mists. It is home to both good hunting prey and dangerous predators alike. My Lore holdings are not far off. Aisling-maith is not too far beyond that, although I usually just gate there. In other directions are either more neutral lands of various terrains, or other fae holdings."

"Fae holdings, is it then?" she asked dubiously.

"Yes, quite," he answered, naïve of skepticism. "And did you not say that you made your own way here? I wonder why you would wish to leave your own land and people to live in this one. Did something bad happen?"

Jane's eyes grew wide with alarm. "Live here? I don't want to live here! I just made another door out of curiosity and was lured out by some fuckin' talking lights!" She saw Macklin's brows lower, his lips pursed with concern. "What?" she asked. "Why do you think I came to this rotten place to live? Nothing bad happened to me." Jane saw his face still wore the same expression. "Tell me what's wrong!"

Macklin stepped closer and spoke solemnly. "Somehow, you made a fae-bridge, but have no idea how such things work. In the ether, which the bridge passes through, time as you know it does not follow any rules. It can expand or contract at its own whim. If you were to return home, it is possible that little or no time has passed. It is also a possibility that years or even decades have passed. That is why I assumed you came to the Lore; there may be no life that you knew waiting for you if you returned."

Jane's face paled and she began to tremble. Her words came out as mumbles. "But - but I have school tomorrow. I already have my homework ready. I'm going to uni in the fall. I can't be here. I - I have to go. Da will worry after me. I w - want Kate and Jack. I need to -"

Macklin stepped forward and gripped her upper arms firmly. He gave her one good shake and sternly said, "Jane, calm yourself. This cannot be undone. It could very well be that you return soon after you left, as if time passed normally. That is also a possibility of the ether. Losing your mental balance here is unadvised." Jane still looked at him with a vacant stare and trembling lower lip, so Macklin shook her once more and growled, "Jane McCarthy! You will accept what is! Even seers cannot guess time's passing through the ether if the bridge is long-standing. Your passage was a temporary one, so odds are you fret over nothing. Now reclaim your senses!"

After a few seconds, Jane's eyes refocused and her quick breaths evened out. She felt his tight grip on her arms release, but he rested a hand on her shoulder just after. His touch was reassuring and warm. She tried her faltering voice to explain. "But... I've had my play room since I was little. I'd call that long-standing. I didn't know it was whatever sort of bridge you called it. But time always worked normally when I was in it, so maybe it'll be alright?"

Looking into her eyes, Macklin quietly answered, "I do not know, Jane. Your circumstance is not one I've ever heard of before, so I can promise you nothing."

Jane nodded slowly. She turned her eyes away while gulping down some of her fear. After a deep breath, she asked, "So is this the place Gideon comes from? I mean the land of the Other Crowd; the fae place? It's nothing like what I imagined."

"It is called the Lore." Macklin felt a shallow stab of jealousy, an emotion he had rare dealings with, all from another who simply knew her better than he. He chided himself for such feelings but still wanted to know more. "Is this Gideon person of your race, or one of mine?"

Jane studied him a moment, making comparisons. "Not human, sure, although I forget what kind of fae he said he was." For some reason, she didn't want Macklin to think she was spoken for, so she explained further. "He's a quirky lad just over half my height, but I swear could eat his own weight in food. He's got, like, sheep or goat horns, like, and a wooly head of hair. He's got a fierce imagination, but he also told me things about... well, here, I guess. I thought he was just telling more tales for some reason, even though he seemed more serious about the, em, Lore. Although he's a shameless liar, Gideon has just been my friend from time to time, even if his appetite has my mam thinking I have a tapeworm."

Macklin saw Jane's smile for the first time as she spoke her last words, and forgot how he was going to reply. He saw the young woman as radiant; courageous, considering her situation, but equally innocent and adventurous with a healthy dose of beauty. He finally untied his tongue and said, "He sounds to be a morpher." Jane nodded her head in affirmation. "I'm glad he is good company; I envy his friendship with you."

Rose color filled Jane's soft cheeks and she smiled again. She was a bit flummoxed at having such a handsome young man take interest, but she didn't look away. "I suppose you and I are becoming friends as well. You look much more human than he does... apart from those wild, savage eyes, that is."

She'd found herself staring again, but luckily Mix brushed up behind her and lightly rubbed his ear on her right shoulder. It gave her cause to look away from Macklin's hypnotic eyes, lest she embarrass herself further. Denying her fear, Jane reached her hand up and tentatively rubbed the underside of the bear's shaggy neck. Mix reacted to her attention like a sleepy kitten.

'What a brave lass,' Macklin thought. 'Even my mater won't come near Mix, and here's this pretty human scratching him as if he were a pup.' He caught her eyes when he took a step back and held up one side of his mane of hair. The revealed ear was long and tapered, ending with a rounded point. "Not just the eyes are different, wouldn't you say, Jane?"

She smiled again. "No, those certainly are -"

Mix suddenly growled, deep and rough. His massive head was turned away from them, but he continued to stand in place. His coat turned near the same color as Jane's coppery brown hair. She quickly deduced that the bear was sheltering her from some sort of danger, changing his color to camouflage her. She turned back, but saw nothing behind Macklin. The threat came from the other side of his enormous pet.

Macklin took another step back and held out his hand. His spear immediately reappeared in his grip. "Jane," he whispered calmly as he stared beyond her and Mix, "I need you to keep your place, please. I will lose the element of surprise if you attempt to flee or make a loud noise." He took a pose to throw his weapon and waited.

Jane noticed that the stone head of the spear began to glow orange, as if it were a hot coal. She imagined she could feel the heat from it as wisps of smoke roiled off the tip.

Macklin abruptly heaved his spear with superhuman speed over Jane and Mix. She involuntarily flinched and ducked. There was a thunderous roar of pain and surprise not too far behind her. The booming howl was not the cry of any animal Jane knew of, but not quite human, either.

Too curious to stop herself, she spun and looked under Mix's thick neck to see what she was being protected from. When she saw what it was, she also couldn't stop herself from blurting out, "Fucking Christ!"

*********

Big, wet snowflakes began to fall just beyond the overhang that sheltered Simon, but left him vulnerable to the cold wind. He stood with his back against a cement wall, next to large access doors that led to the easternmost tarmac of St. John's International airport in Newfoundland. He shivered into his lined denim coat with a quirley pressed between his lips as he looked out into a midnight sky, away from the illumination of building lights and distant runway strobes.

'Just one more bumpy flight, and that's finally it', Simon thought to himself. The commercially-owned Airbus CN235, the plane Brody had hired to bring him and his heavy personal cargo to Ireland, took off from Denver that morning after everything was loaded and secured. Simon had no reservations or apprehension; he didn't think to look back. There was no one and nothing worthwhile to say goodbye to. The first stop for refueling was in Pittsburgh, and then out to the eastern edge of North American civilization, St. John's.

Simon remained in the cold and lit another hand-rolled cigarette as thoughts of the last few chaotic weeks played out like vignettes in his mind. The frequent contact with Brody and Kate was welcomed, but that whole visa issue was a pain in the ass. He couldn't remember much of one particular call with his cousin, other than both of them finding side-splitting humor of some described scenario; something to do with Irish prostitutes. Simon literally couldn't remember the last time he laughed that hard.

The sale of his house went through quickly enough, but not surprising since he set the list price well below market value. Simon wanted a quick sale and cash in his hand. When it came to packing, he was surprised with the amount of items that he'd made or acquired in six years. Over two dozen heavy-duty totes of various sizes had to be used, as well as constructed wooden crates for some of the bigger shop equipment.

After Simon mentioned the state of some of his furniture, Brody said that new ones would be waiting at the ranch instead of having to go shopping once he arrived. Simon's faith in Kate's taste was rewarded when she sent him a link to a local Irish furniture maker; the living room and bedroom sets were perfect for him.

Remembering the conversations about the Other Crowd, Simon didn't waste his time trying to figure out how he might have pissed one of them off. Rather, he began some special projects with them in mind, pieces that would take time and study since he hadn't dealt with that genre of blacksmithing in quite a while.

Simon thought that someday he might have some answers, but wasn't plagued with the mystery. He didn't let the fire of his hatred for the fae burn him; he just let it simmer in the back of his mind. He simply got back to work, but eagerly awaited a new life in a new land - a life finally free of pain and fear and despair.

Simon grinned to himself, thinking that his new home was also the place where a certain filly lived; the sassy firecracker with wild hair, a devilish grin, and a heavenly caboose. He actually was looking forward to seeing Alana again, something that couldn't be said of almost anyone else he'd ever met. She couldn't cook worth a shit and she drove like a madwoman, but Alana's zest for life sometimes made Simon forget his past; a trait that she and Brody shared, but in their own ways.

Feeling light of heart as he braced himself against cold winter winds, Simon realized that there was nothing he wasn't looking forward to.

Chapter 4

Somewhere in the dreary fae land called the Forlorn Mists, Jane McCarthy fought through her fear and fascination to fully comprehend what she was staring at.

At the edge of the gray clearing, where the dense woods thinned, was a monstrous bipedal creature. It was near eight feet tall, most of that being torso. It was inhumanly broad and thick, mostly muscle but with a rounded belly. Under its matted fur toga was reddish, hairless skin, evident even through the mist. Its ape-like face had various natural spikes and horns.

The monster's wild cry showed a large mouth full of sharp, gapped teeth. Over a baboon-shaped snout were two small eyes set close together under an overlapping brow. Its short, thick tail swayed erratically behind it. In one gigantic hand it held a crude club. The other hand was just dropping a large stone because of the spear that was driven through the thick bicep above it, and out the back of its arm.

Another spear came slicing through the air before the monster could take an advancing step. The stone blade plunged into the hollow of its neck. The reddish humanoid gurgled and dropped its club, vainly reaching for the second spear while its thick tail lashed and curled. As the monster stumbled and reeled to one side, Jane could see the length of bloody wood protruding out of its upper back, as well as the pierced arm that swung uselessly.

After a few clumsy steps on short, stubby legs, the creature inadvertently turned their way once again. As soon as it did, yet another spear struck it in the center of its chest. As it gurgled out a final breath, the monster reached its good arm out and then toppled backward. The mist swirled in the creature's wake. Jane felt the jarring impact in her feet even from that distance.

From her crouched stance, Jane spun to look at Macklin. She saw that he was slumped with relief. "Where in fuck were you hiding all those spears - up your kilt?" she barked.

He frowned at her sarcasm, and then began walking toward the downed monster. Jane followed behind and was about to ask if it was safe when she noticed that the reddish creature was gone. When they came to the spot where it was, all she saw was three darkened spears resting on strewn ash. Macklin reached down and touched the weapons; each vanished in turn. He stood straight and took a deep breath.

Jane placed a hand on his arm. When he turned to her, she said, "Would you mind explaining that whole brickin' thing to me now?"

Macklin nodded with a grim expression. "The creature I attacked was an ogre, distant low kin to trolls. It either heard us or caught your unusual scent."

With an indignant look, Jane said, "Pardon me?"

"Please take no offense. Humans are never in the neutral lands, so your smell possibly caught his attention. Ogres have a good olfactory sense. Luckily, he was alone, so he must be either an outcast or was scouting for food for his clutch. It is possible he will soon be missed."

Jane nodded and then pressed on. "So explain three spears instead of the one that would kill it. Were you toying with it, or torturing it? And why did it turn to ashes?"

Macklin gazed off in the general direction that the ogre came from while he answered. "I had no good target for his heart at first; he was still mobile. I have good aim, but not that good, so I injured his throwing arm. I heated my spear so the wound would cauterize somewhat; ogre blood carries a strong scent."

Jane sniffed the air. "Right, it smells of bad cabbage, like."

"Then I took out his throat to stifle his loud yells," Macklin continued. "I knew ogres were very resilient and it probably wouldn't be enough to banish him, so I waited until he turned and held relatively steady. A fae weapon that pierces or destroys another fae's heart will mean final death, regardless if they are high borne or low caste. The ashes are all that remain."

They both took a moment to look at the sooty remains of the monstrous ogre. Macklin got Jane's attention with a gentle touch to her forearm and looked into her forest green eyes before he said, "It is not safe here, Jane, especially not now. If you will accept, I will guide you to my holdings where your well-being is much more assured. From there, I'm sure we can find a way to return you home. Please accept; do not venture on alone."

After Jane nodded her assent, Macklin wasted no time in departing the clearing. Their walk through the Forlorn Mists was mostly silent except for when Macklin quietly explained how fae weapons could be called for out of thin air.

The actual weapon was pulverized by the owner to its essence, creating a token; easily carried and able to be called back into being by its owner. Unless a fae created their own weapons, they were exceedingly expensive to bargain from crafters, with higher quality going for higher rates. Verden press-forged blades were rare, and highly sought after.

Macklin had reduced weapons of his making, taught by Cherokee warriors who revered him. Of spears, he had three tokens, which to Jane explained his sagging respite after his last weapon was thrown for the kill of the ogre. He only wished he had taken his bow tokens as well.

As they made their way through thickets of slender trees and dense fog, Jane took the opportunity to openly admire Macklin's lithe form and graceful gait while she walked behind him. The muscles of his legs, from what she could see between his dark tartan kilt and mid-calf bog boots, were well-defined.

He occasionally looked back to her to check on her progress, she assumed, and they would share quick, unspoken smiles. She felt secure with the brave, unearthly hunter leading the way, and the giant bear, Mix, close behind her; both moving with whispers of sound.

As the land began to ascend and the mist began to thin, Jane saw azure blue skies in the distance. Once they reached higher ground, the sporadic patches of trees were of different, less ominous varieties. While twisted and gnarled, the trees beyond the foggy lowland had darker bark and offered leafy canopies.

They soon came to a wall of sorts that stretched in either direction into the curving distance. It was made up of dense, thorny brambles as tall as Jane was. She noted with silent wonder that the brilliant blue sky began along the same line as the thorn wall, as if it somehow held the gloomy clouds at bay.

Macklin simply gestured at the hedge barrier as he strolled toward it. A section compacted into itself, allowing their passage onto his holdings.

Jane made only a few steps onto the short grass before she came to a standstill, staring in awe at the idyllic sylvan setting. Thick-bodied hickory trees were set randomly throughout the mostly level ground, their large golden leaves creating dappled shade in the warm, gentle breeze. Scattered bushes were full and vibrant, producing flowers of amazing colors. Butterflies with colors of even greater intensity than the foliage flitted throughout the sublime scenery.

In the distance, a boulder-strewn brook ran lazily in front of a small wood cabin. The brook ran to her left, where it emptied into a large, sun-sparkled lake that curved away behind the cabin. Out on the horizon, a low range of purple, snow-capped mountains completed the tableau.

After a few steps, Macklin looked back and saw Jane's reaction to his property. With a smile, he approached her and offered his hand. Jane silently accepted with a smile of her own. She felt a tingle run through her as his larger hand cupped hers. Macklin led her in the direction of the cabin by way of a winding flat-stone path.

Jane looked for the source of the birdsong overhead, but only saw a handful of small creatures up in the trees. Those little animals were the size of squirrels, but resembled cats; that is, if a cat were to have six legs. She also noticed a few large hares that were striped like zebras, which boldly held their position as she, Macklin, and Mix passed by.

The stone path curved to a wide stone bridge that arched over the clear-watered brook. Jane noticed the many mini-waterfalls the rocks made of the flowing water's course to the lake, their soft babble adding to the sense of tranquility.

The cabin on the far side of the bridge was small, no larger than her play room, but had a deep wraparound porch. The roof was a low-angled A-frame design supported with thick logs and a stone chimney stack. There was only one small window that Jane could see from her angle, centrally set on the side of the little place.

Still gripping Macklin's warm hand, Jane followed him up the two stairs and onto the big porch. The medieval-style door was wide, framed by dark stone. He opened it with a push and let her enter first. Six feet beyond the threshold was a wall of river rock, forcing her to go left or right into the cabin proper. As Jane rounded the thick wall and peered beyond, she froze yet again.

The interior of Macklin's home was vast, far beyond what its cozy exterior could contain. The wall she came around was actually a huge hearth, with another of equal size on the far end of the home, facing each other. Jane guessed it was over twenty strides between the two. The interior was open in a studio style with the pitched roof cresting at least thirty feet high overhead. On the far end was a rustic staircase that led to a loft, partly obscured by the fireplace wall. Jane took a few slow steps in, noting the eclectic variety of furnishings and décor.

All of the chairs and both couches were mismatched, but in good shape. The thick-logged walls were adorned with weapons, banners, animal pelts, a tapestry of middle age design, various animal horns and racks, and a few colorful Indian blankets.

The window, small from the outside, was a huge picture window inside, with its twin across from it in the expansive, rectangular cabin. The view to her left showed some of the grounds and a portion of the lake, but the treetops and sky were cut off by the porch's overhang. The opposite view showed more of the sylvan grounds, bordering an enormous fenced field that held oddly-colored cattle. The low, snowy mountains in the distance seemed less than a day's walk away.

With a gentle hand, Macklin invited Jane to peruse at her leisure. Mix ambled around them and plopped down on a large section of green shag rug in front of the closest unlit hearth. She walked across the hardwood floor set with throw rugs and approached one section of wall decorations. There was a silken, black and tan heraldic banner from the renaissance period next to a felt pennant of a sports club called the Baltimore Orioles.

Jane turned to him with a lopsided grin and said, "You have odd tastes, Macklin."

He didn't try to hide his embarrassment. "Forgive my disparate decoration, Jane. Some items were found during Verden travels and hunts. The rest came from my sire; he deals in glamour-rich lost items. I obviously do not have an eye for design, but each item holds value to me."

Jane nodded with an understanding smile, and then continued looking over all of the odd possessions. She brushed her hand over a hung blanket and considered its design. "What style of pattern is this? I don't recognize it."

From somewhere behind her, Macklin said, "That's Native American, Cherokee to be specific, given to me in the Verden autumn of 1791." Jane turned to look at him with disbelief as he reminisced further. "A few of their braves showed me how to fashion a better bow and fine spearheads. Their tribe referred to me as 'Nunnehi'. For humans, they were a fine people."

"But how can that be? This, as you say, is over two centuries old, yet it looks freshly woven."

Macklin set down a ceramic bowl he was admiring and looked at her. "That is one of the many things that work differently here, Jane. In the Lore, items only age to disrepair if they have no lingering emotional response from their owner. That is, they retain their luster or resiliency if they are thought of fondly here. And, as you can see, I have a collection of cherished objects." He stepped over next to a bulky armchair and held up a pristine, mahogany Neapolitan mandolin by its short neck. "This, for example, is from the early 1700s. I truly enjoy its sound, and I've got a fair hand with it, if I do say so."

Jane's forehead crinkled with a thoughtful frown. "So, does that mean that even Mix, who might have a shorter life otherwise, will live as long as you do as long as you treasure him?"

"Exactly right; as I said, different rules apply in the Lore... and sometimes none at all."

"Well, then," Jane wondered, avoiding any further talk of the incomprehensible Lore, "you've been to the Americas in its early days, sure, and you probably got that gorgeous mandolin from, like, Italy or somewhere. Where else have you been?"

Setting the instrument back against the chair, Macklin answered, "I suppose I should clarify. When I was young, my sire took me with him to many locations so that I could later venture to them on my own. Once we fae go to a place, we can always call it back via bridge travel when we choose. If a fae attempts to bridge to a formerly unknown location, it usually leads to failure, and sometimes disaster. I am barely of the median age, and have not long ago claimed my holdings after enough glamour was accrued. My first lone gate, or portal - or door to you - was in your later 1700s to North America. As for the mandolin, my sire gifted me with it when I claimed my holdings."

With her eyebrows pulled together as she tried to visualize the given information, Jane still pressed her original question. "Then you've only been to North America?"

"No, no, I've visited many locations, but mostly by temporary bridges. I've only acquired enough glamour for two permanent bridges thus far. To answer your question, though, I have visited three locations in North America, one in Northern Rhodesia, if it still called that -"

"I don't think so," Jane interrupted, "not for a while now."

Macklin shrugged. "I'm not too surprised; it was a hectic land then. I've also spent some time in the black forest of Germany, some remote woods in the northwest of Ireland, once to central Australia, and my latest bridge was to Scotland. I visited a lonely old human on his deathbed, and he gifted me with one of his clan kilts before I eased his passing." He pulled at it to admire its weave. "This is the clan Ramsay hunting tartan; striking, is it not?"

Jane took a moment to study it, and also the opportunity to admire his strong legs again. "Yes," she said softly, "quite fetching... and goes well with your hair and eyes." She tore her gaze away to distractedly look at some trinkets that lay on a table in front of her.

Thinking nothing of her reaction, Macklin walked over to what Jane considered his kitchen, although it held no modern amenities other than cabinets and a simple sink. From a crystal decanter, he filled a plastic Christmas cup full of an orange liquid. "Pardon my manners," he said after a sip, "but if the stories are true and you partook of any Lore food or drink, then you could not return home. I'm not sure if that would work in your case, but I thought it best not to take the chance. Please don't think me rude."

Jane hesitated before she replied. "That was thoughtful, cheers. Em, where's your bathroom? I must look a tara mess and hoped to freshen up quick-like."

"Oh, well, that..." Macklin looked uncomfortable as he set his cup down on the wood counter. "You see, Jane, we fae... well, we expel waste in a different manner than humans if we choose. I have no need for a commode."

Completely bewildered, Jane could only say, "Em, right. Do you at least have a mirror?"

Macklin brightened and hastily walked toward a large desk with drawers. "Yes, yes, I certainly do. I even have a brush, if you desire." He dug through a low drawer and produced a small vanity mirror with a pink frame, followed by a fine oval brush with rubies set into the handle.

Jane stepped closer to accept the items, but stopped short before she touched them. The mirror was the cheap variety she might find in a chemist's shop, while the brush looked like it belonged to royalty. Macklin continued to hold them out until she hesitantly took them.

While Jane tried to fix her frayed hair, Macklin offered her a seat on a plush Victorian sofa. As she slowly sat, he took a seat opposite her on a tan leather couch. A shiny mahogany coffee table sat between them, holding a bowl of strange fruit and an archaic, golden music box. He sat on the edge of his seat, put his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands.

When she set the brush and mirror aside, he said, "I suppose you have many questions before you go, so I thought to answer at least a few of them. I also do this for selfish reasons, Jane. Although we met under strange circumstances, I am fond of your company. If your gate takes you back to an unwanted place and time, then only think of my home and another of your gates will return you to my holdings. You are welcome here."

Jane was touched by Macklin's sincere words, and had to look away from his captivating ocean eyes. She focused on her own small, clasped hands and softly said, "Thank you, and that's a grand offer. I hope my bridge takes me home, to the right time, but I'd miss your pure savage property... and you, and even Mix, if it all works out. You've been kind and patient, not to mention saving my arse a time or two out there." She looked up at him with an impish grin. "You're not hard to look at, either, so it won't be as easy for me to leave as I first thought." Jane dipped her head again with a broad smile and red cheeks.

Macklin grinned at the compliment and at Jane's reaction to her own admission. He then took a deep breath and said, "Let's get you some answers before you go, shall we? I wouldn't want you going home more confused than when you were in the Forlorn."

Wondering where to begin, Macklin stared off in thought for a few moments. He finally turned his eyes back to her. "I suppose it is best to first explain how -" He stopped in mid-sentence and quickly turned his head up and away, as if catching a scent. While still looking off in the distance, he said, "There is someone on my land."

"There is?" Jane asked. "How can you tell?"

Ignoring the question, Macklin stood and marched with purpose toward the front door. As Mix got up to join him, he said over his shoulder, "You will be safe indoors, Jane. I hope not to be long." The hunter and his huge pet quickly walked around the hearth wall and out of sight.

As soon as she heard the front door creak open, Jane ignored Macklin's words of caution and followed in his wake; she'd be more anxious to just sit there alone and would rather be near him, even if more danger came for them.

Jane came to the open door and saw Macklin standing on the porch against the simple railing, while Mix was just beyond the stairs on the stone walkway. They both faced the small bridge, not ten yards distant.

Jane looked along with them to the small figure that casually sat on one of the low retainer walls at the apex of the stone bridge's arch. He was roughly Gideon's size, although a bit taller and not as plump. He wore matching tweed slacks and vest without a coat, with a cuffed white shirt underneath. Under his brown bowler hat was unkempt tawny hair and a chin beard. The little man nonchalantly puffed on a cob pipe as he looked back in their direction.

Macklin produced a spear, holding it in his hand like a staff, and called out to the stranger. "You have come unsolicited onto my holdings. State your business or be off."

Seemingly undaunted and unconcerned, the uninvited fae replied with a smooth brogue, "And greetings back, ye haughty young prick. What kind of welcome is that for a poor leprechaun on a mission o' goodwill? Fuckin' tragic, that's what." He then took another deep puff of his pipe.

From near the doorway, Jane mumbled, "Leprechaun?"

Put off-guard by the fae's unexpected reply, Macklin readdressed the little fae with a more diplomatic tact. "I am Macklin of the Fair, progeny of Merrit Charm-monger. If your intention here is peaceful, then you are welcome on this occasion onto my land. To whom do I speak?"

With a crooked grin, the leprechaun replied, "I thank ye fer the consideration, master Macklin. I'd be Vaughn, lately o' Cornwall, soon ta be titled and dream-crafter o' high renown, I am. I've done me a bit o' barter with yer pater in the past, and was a fair haggle, it was. Now that we've got the piss and pleasantries out o' the way, I didn't exactly be comin' here on yer account."

With a frown, Macklin asked, "Then what is your errand of goodwill?"

Vaughn inhaled from his pipe and then took it out from between his lips. Exhaling smoke through his nostrils, he used the pipe to point at Jane. "That young lass, Miss McCarthy; she be o' interest to a certain dryad elder, she is, and would be ta others if they'd be knowin' more about her, I'm sure. Do ya be havin' any idea what this human girl can do, lad?"

"Does everyone in the Lore know my name?" Jane asked rhetorically.

Macklin ignored Jane's comment and answered Vaughn. "I am aware of her gift, yes."

"And what do ye think that makes her, pray tell?"

"Among other good qualities," Macklin replied candidly, "it makes her special." Behind him, Jane blushed furiously.

Vaughn shook his head with a sad, sour expression. "It be makin' her a commodity, ya dense, enamored pile o' shite. I swear," he said mostly to himself, "it's like I be tryin' ta talk to a dog about the stars above, and all he does is bark at the fuckin' sky." Vaughn then directed his words back to Macklin. "While ye've been eyein' up the fine mare and elements know what else, there be a powerful bitch out on the scout fer her, I tell ye true. Now get yer head out o' yer arse and think it through, ya daft boy."

Macklin looked at Jane as she came to stand next to him at the porch railing. "The wisp... The pink one that lured you out," he said quietly. "It came out from your bridge, from behind you."

Jane nodded up at him in agreement. She was growing concerned and afraid again; partly from the conversation between the two fae, and also from Macklin's worried expression.

"I'd wager that'd be an informant, I would." Vaughn interjected. "Soon enough, yer likely ta be paid a visit by Saraid the Moon-floozy, or at least one o' her wick-dipped lackeys."

Macklin asked with alarm, "You mean Saraid Moon Maiden!"

Vaughn shrugged. "I'll be likin' my term better; it's more befittin' the harlot."

Afraid of what the answer might be, Jane still looked up at Macklin and asked, "Who is this Saraid woman?"

"She is a powerful and influential dryad elder. She'll want to use your gift for her own purposes; you'd be a slave, a tool," he answered, and then turned back to Vaughn. "And what is your role in all this, good messenger?" Macklin's question was laced with accusation.

"Ah, what a fine and eloquent thanks I be gettin' fer me troubles." Vaughn said, and then pointed his pipe at Macklin. "Never ya be mindin' me motivation fer offerin' aid, ye ungrateful shit. I'd just be glad fer the counsel, if I be in yer place. I shoulda been expectin' a lack o' fuckin' appreciation from yer sort, I should." He then grunted with contempt and shook his head.

Vaughn's words left Macklin feeling shamed and humbled; he'd been taught better, and knew by the leprechaun's aura that he wasn't misleading him. Accepting the blame for his disrespect, the Fair fae nodded once and said, "I apologize for my implied allegation, and was remiss to thank you for the warning. If you choose, I will recognize a debt owed."

Vaughn stared at him for a few seconds, and then refused the offer with an irritated flick of his small hand as he looked away.

Jane spoke up to soothe the offended leprechaun. "Please, mister lepre - em, Vaughn, don't take Macklin's defense of me as an insult. I've made him keep his guard up since he found me out in that tara foggy place. He's only looking out for my best interests just like you are... for some reason. I can't thank you both enough for that."

Grudgingly placated, Vaughn looked back to Jane. "Well enough, I suppose, young miss. Now ye be sayin' yer farewells and get yerself gone afore trouble comes visitin'." He directed his next words to Macklin. "I'll be keepin' me place if it be allowed while ya see the lass off. I'd be havin' words with whoever might be comin' ta claim Jane as property, and a few other topics at that."

Macklin nodded to Vaughn, and then ushered Jane back inside the cabin. Mix lingered to keep the ornery guest company. The leprechaun eyed the huge animal warily.

Macklin turned to Jane as they stood in front of the nearest hearth. "How do you create your portals?" he asked.

She fidgeted. "I just need to draw a door big enough to walk through, so I'll need something to draw with and a wall or something to draw it on."

With a quick nod, Macklin hurried across the cabin to a tall chest of drawers near the loft stairs. As he began sifting through books, loose jewelry, and small boxes holding various items, Jane stood in place and looked around his expansive home. While Macklin continued his search, she said, "No one is going to believe all this."

Macklin looked up and said, "We fae rely on that, but perhaps I can part with a trinket." He gathered up a few items from the open drawers and came back over to Jane. He set an old leather carry-case and a small box down on a nearby director's chair, and then handed her a bulky instant camera. "I believe it still works," he said, "but when I once took a picture of Mix, his image came out blurry and warped. Try it out anyway, and take them with you."

Jane accepted the camera with a cheerless smile. She moved around the cabin and took photos, setting the developing film images aside as she selected different angles and subjects. She studied the photos after a number of shots were taken, and saw that they were all closer to the appearance of detailed paintings rather than reality. The two images with Macklin in them showed him to be a vague, distorted shape against the background. Only seven shots were taken before the camera ran out of material.

While Jane studied the photos, Macklin grabbed the other items from the chair. He first handed her the small, sturdy box and opened it. As Jane took it in her free hand, she noted its detail. The jewelry box, made of silver and lined with blue velvet, was encrusted with many small precious gems around the sides and lid in geometric patterns. She stared at it, slack-jawed.

Macklin said, "Keep the photos in this."

Jane looked up at him, shocked. "Macklin, I can't accept this! It must be feckin' priceless!"

He grinned with arched eyebrows. "Not so priceless that someone set it aside and forgot about it. Keep it, please. I offer it freely."

Jane set the photos inside of it, shut the lid, and then held the box with reverence and studied its jeweled designs. Macklin waited a moment and then handed her the leather pouch. She accepted it with a curious look on her face.

"It has a few old tubes of paint and a brush or two in it," Macklin explained. "The human artist has passed on, so I'm sure he has no need of it. The name at the bottom is C. Monet, whoever that was."

Jane looked back up at him. "Claude Monet? This belonged to Monet? Holy fuck, Macklin!"

He shrugged. "It was one of the things my sire couldn't barter off, so he gave it to me. You can use the paint to draw your door." He walked over to a large tapestry that hung near to the floor. It was held by ropes at the top corners that rested on a hook above it. He pulled the lower end away from the wall and flipped it over to a blank, tan, ribbed canvas with hints of stitching showing through. He turned back and said, "I hope this will do."

Jane approached and set the held items down on a nearby antique loo table. After applying black paint directly onto the brush, she drew a rudimentary door with lines for hinges. After setting the brush down and picking up her sparkling jewelry box, Jane turned to Macklin.

"Although our time together has been short," Macklin said wistfully, looking down at her with a faint smile, "know that I will miss you, Jane McCarthy." He hesitated before continuing. "Perhaps, if you'd allow it, I could come visit you sometime?"

Jane beamed a bright smile up at him. "I'd like that very much."

There was an awkward silence as their eyes held each other's gaze. Finally, Macklin looked away and gestured to the drawing. "You'd best be off. Keep my offer in mind." Jane nodded as she turned toward the door. "Just think of home, Jane, and your bridge will take you there."

Facing the back of the tapestry, Jane said, "Yes; I'll be going home." She looked over shoulder to him and said, "And just after, I'll think of Macklin of the Fair. Thank you for everything."

Macklin lightly caressed her soft cheek in response. Jane leaned into his touch for a moment and then faced her door once more. After a few seconds of concentration, the simple lines formed into a tangible portal. Jane pushed the door open with her free hand and looked at the darkness beyond.

In an unexpected move, she spun back to Macklin and used her free hand yet again, using it to grab him by his shirt collar. She kissed him sensuously and with quick intensity, and he responded in kind. Just as Macklin was about to place his arms around her in hopes to let the passionate moment linger, Jane broke the kiss and hopped through her gate.

Macklin said a silent farewell as the door closed of its own volition. He stared at Jane's portal until it faded into lines of fresh paint.

Chapter 5

When Jack hastily pulled into his parents' driveway, he saw there was a light on in the front room. Unconcerned that he left his truck door open, he ran across the thick lawn with his heart thrumming like a bass drum. Liam opened the door before Jack could reach it. He ignored his da's questions as he brushed past him and ran for the stairs. Jack athletically vaulted up them three at a time and raced to Jane's door at the end of the hall. He wrenched the unlocked knob, shouldered the door with force borne of panic, and charged into Jane's bedroom.

Only taking two steps in, Jack saw his youngest sister sitting on her bed. Jane jumped in surprise and yelled, "Holy bejaysus, Jack! What the fuck?"

Jack studied her a moment, comparing her current condition to the image he had only minutes ago. Jane had her hair in a frizzy tail, wearing a brown sweatshirt and gym shorts. The journal she had in her lap had fallen to the floor, and the pen she had in her hand had flipped back onto the bed. Jack stood there panting and realized that he must have looked like a madman, but it was worth the embarrassment and explanations he'd have to give to know his sister was safe.

Jane looked flushed and jaded but otherwise well. He wondered how his vision of her being in danger could have been wrong; his 'glimpses' never were before. Mostly, though, Jack had never been happier to be wrong in his life.

"Oh, em, sorry there, sis," he said, fumbling with a reason for barging in. "Everything's alright, then?" He stared hard at her to make sure she was truly there.

"I thought it was until you came busting in like a Garda raid!"

"Yeah, em, right," he panted out, trying to catch breath that was lost more from fear than exertion. "It's just that I had a brickin' dream about you, and it was just so vivid, sure, and I had to make sure you were okay."

"Well, alright," Jane said slowly, "but, like, to come charging in? Honestly, Jack - over a fuckin' nightmare? I almost had to change my shorts!"

Jack hung his head and said sheepishly, "Yeah, well... again, sorry. I'm glad you're alright."

"If it makes you feel any better, I had a bad dream of my own."

"Oh?" Jack thought that maybe he saw her dream instead of some terrible reality, although that had never happened before. And it didn't explain why he couldn't sense her whereabouts, as if she'd fallen off the face of the earth. He then thought it might just be a fluke, or something to do with finding someone when they're asleep. Jack couldn't be sure about any of it, except that his gut feeling had given him false information.

Jane picked up her journal and then explained, "I got in from helping Kate and Brody not long ago and fell right into my pillow. I had some quick dream that scared me awake, and my gut felt sour. Still does. So, like, I appreciate your concern and all, but I might need a clear path to the bog if it keeps up. So, d'ya mind?"

"Oh, yeah, right." Jack backed up and started to pull her door shut. "Get better soon, sis. G'night." As soon as he was alone in the hall, he leaned against a wall and let out a long sigh of relief. He waited until his hands stopped shaking before he went back downstairs.

Feeling clammy and drained but relieved as he reached the bottom steps, Jack noticed his da sitting in a chair near the front door, tamping down a cigarette.

Liam looked up at his son and calmly asked, "Is everything as it should be?"

Jack humbly nodded. "Yeah, she's fit, sort of."

"Good, then start talking, me boy."

*

Jane's mind was racing, her thoughts scrambling for coherency. She checked the wall clock again. It had been less than thirty minutes past that she went into her play room, and then beyond. She'd only returned a few minutes ago. Her jeans and shoes were damp and scuffed, so she changed out of them and into some long shorts. She'd grabbed her journal just before Jack made his startling entrance. Jane still had some of Mix's hair on the shoulder of her sweatshirt, and the lingering tingle of Macklin's lips on hers.

Glancing at her writing desk, Jane was thankful that Jack was short term loopers or else he would have noticed the sparkling jewelry box sitting there. Her play room door was taped to the back of her bedroom door, so that was out of sight and no worry.

She'd never seen her brother in such a state before, and wondered if it was just a bad dream he'd had or some sort of premonition. There was almost too much coincidence that she'd had an unbelievable journey, and then he came busting in with worry right after.

Jane was glad to have a loving and protective brother, but he never understood her like Kate, or maybe her da. With Jack being twelve years her senior, she never had as close of a bond with her brother that other siblings might with each other. She just hoped her bedroom door could handle any more of Jack's vivid dreams.

Trying to commit every second of her adventure in the Lore to memory, Jane again wondered at the time. She must have spent a few hours there, but only twenty or so minutes went by at home. Even though Macklin explained time being fickle over a fae-bridge, she still had trouble accepting the proof of it.

In her time in the land of the Other Crowd, Jane had gotten lost in the woods, nearly wet herself, saw a huge monster, visited an unearthly beautiful land with a magical cabin, and finally met a surly, foul-mouthed leprechaun. To top it off, there was some plot she was the center of, involving some dodgy, intense dryad woman.

But beyond all that, there was Macklin of the Fair. He'd comforted her, protected her, held her hand, gave her gifts, and welcomed her into his world. And by God, he was a fine buck. Jane admitted to herself that if she kissed him any longer, she'd be even more reluctant to return home. She knew without doubt that those wavy-ocean eyes of his would haunt her thoughts and dreams for some time. Alice could keep her wonderland; Jane had Macklin and the Lore.

The memories of every detail were focused on, mostly to suppress the ache of more than likely never seeing Macklin or his home ever again. Jane would even miss tough little Vaughn, who, despite his attitude, was concerned enough to come and warn of her safety.

From how that damned ether played with time, there was no conceivable way for Jane to safely visit there again. There were no guarantees of returning back to the present, in the real world. She wasn't ready to give up the only life she knew, the one with family, friends, places she knew about, and what the rules were. Unless Macklin found a way to make her bridges work so that she could literally have the best of both worlds, then the memories would have to do.

Jane knew she'd bust if she had to keep all that to herself. But who would believe such an outrageous story? Her school mates would either call her a header or think it a pure horse's hoof and chalk it down as a drink-induced dream. She had proof, such as it was, but even her closest friends would never buy it. They'd think Jane's priceless box was a shiny, cheap bauble found online somewhere.

It'd be like when Neal O'Keefe came back from holiday in New York with a knock-off Rolex he'd tried to pass off as real. Jane didn't want to be compared to that gombeen.

Jane's da would listen and laugh at the story of her adventure, thinking it a teen's imagination. Telling her mam was right out; Jane could just picture the scowl and the stern reprimand of wasting time.

Her sister-in-law Fiona would certainly hear her out if Jane was serious enough, but ultimately would think her a flute and still hanging onto adolescence. From what Jane had learned, Kate's friend Fiona had it a bit rough in her own youth, and had to grow up fast. She had little or no time to hang on to fantasies or other open-minded ideas.

The thought of telling Mr. Buckley, Jane's drama teacher, was quickly discarded. He was approachable enough, and doted on her, but his thought pattern was such that he'd think she was coming up with an idea for a spring play.

Jane could think of no one else who would even listen to such a tale and not treat her like a dreamy child, except maybe her sister Kate. Brody might hear her out as well, but she honestly didn't know him well enough. She also didn't want to take the odds of him thinking less of her. At least Kate might take her story seriously, especially if Jane produced the odd evidence.

But there was a lingering doubt about Jane's older sister. On one hand, Kate had always been logical and, well, boring. On the other hand, though, with her new fella Brody at her side, she'd come out of her shell... had essentially come alive. Lately, Kate was full of smiles and warmth, and was surprisingly insightful. If the new Kate listened to the story, she would try to find a way to believe it, if only for Jane's sake. The worst that could happen is that she wouldn't buy it either, but wouldn't give that stare like Jane was mental.

*

That same Sunday night, Kate watched from the couch while Brody put on his big Christmas jumper, grabbed a pint of cream for Liadan, and herded the dogs outside for their last walk of the day. She had just returned her attention to an email from Moira, their marketing agent, listing proposals and upcoming ads for Hammerworks, when her cell rang.

Surprised at such a late call, Kate checked the I.D. and saw it was Jane's number. She answered with, "Good evening, Janie, what's keeping you up?"

"Sorry about the time; I'm not ringing too late, am I?" Jane sounded timid; a tone Kate rarely heard from her little sister.

"Not quite yet; we just had afters, and Brody just took the dogs out for a quick dander."

"Alright, then," Jane said with a sigh. There was a short pause before she went on. "Kate, I need to chat with you about something - a serious something. God, I'll go mad if I can't talk this through with someone, and you're the only one I could think to turn to."

Kate smiled and got more comfortable on the couch. "I'm touched, Jane; that's as nice a compliment as I've had in a long while. But now, you say it's serious?" She thought to play it lightly before hearing Jane out, hoping it would be something simple. "Is it more serious than your music?"

"My dreams of a singing career are nothing compared to this."

Kate's concern was on the rise, but still hoped her sister was exaggerating. "Did you wreck your car or something?"

"No, I -"

"It's nothing to do with that young man, Donal, you were seeing, is it?"

"Jaysus, Kate, no; I'm done with that gobshite."

Taking a deep breath, Kate asked, "Are you in trouble, Janie?"

After another pause, Jane replied with a nervous voice, sounding small and confused. "I really don't know if I am or not, Katie. I know it's too late tonight, but can we meet up tomorrow sometime? Please?"

"Well, by the time you're out of classes, I'll be helping Brody's cousin move in to his place. I suppose it'd be alright if you came there."

Sounding a bit more animated, Jane said, "Em, I'd rather not. How about I come by in the morning? I plan on telling mam I caught a dose; I'll doubtless look it, so it'll be an easy sell. I rarely bunk off, but this can't wait. I'm already ruined with nerves, and I doubt I'll get a wink."

Kate knew that Jane was normally studious, especially about her leaving cert classes. She was proud of her little sister making such good marks, partly because Jane was one of the youngest in her classes. She wished she could see Jane's nimbus to gauge the true weight of her anxiety.

After a moment's contemplation, Kate said, "We have some things to do around the cottage before we go to pick up Simon later in the morning and get his possessions moved. You're welcome to come by any time before we leave, and I'm sure Brody will busy himself with outside chores if you ask. But if mam catches wind of this and eats the head off you, I won't cover with a lie."

"I'm not much bothered with that, either, but I won't knock you up 'til after she's off to work."

"Fair enough, then. I'll see you in the morning."

"Cheers, Kate. You might have a long day tomorrow with all you have planned, so sleep sound. Hopefully one of us will, anyway."

Kate distractedly set down her phone after Jane got off the line. Both her curiosity and concern vied for dominance about what Jane had to say. That her little sister was nonchalant about incurring their mam's wrath put concern in the lead.

*********

The tall, uniform wall of nettles was meant as much as an indication of private holdings as it was for defense, but Dahlia only needed a running start to vault it. The two nymphs that acted as her trackers merely hovered over and set back down on the clipped grass. They had arrived with her in the Forlorn Mists, and the two little green servants picked up a trail quickly. They first alerted Dahlia to signs of a fog bear, something she didn't expect, but along with it were trails of a human and a fae.

After the ashes of someone were found nearby, the dryads followed the recent ether-trail that led away from the area. Dahlia didn't see a human carcass, nor that of a fog bear, so she kept her guard up. The trail eventually led them to the thick, thorny barrier.

Straightening her rich purple roman-style armor back to its precise fitting, Dahlia began to study the grounds of a stranger's holdings. She couldn't see the expanse of the property beyond the mature trees with yellow and tawny foliage swaying in a careless breeze that obstructed her view. The manicured, level ground was also dotted with bushes of various types and sizes. She saw no pattern to it, no geometric design; it was all too carefree and chaotic for Dahlia's rigid tastes. After a few cautious strides, she caught a glimpse of a path of some sort far ahead.

Dahlia wanted to be done with this sidebar quest. Once she was successful reclaiming the prize human, she would hold better leverage to attempt claim of the war party's leadership. Although she didn't know who the other contenders might be, Dahlia intended to test her mettle even against elders, if any showed up to join for the Verden cleansing. She wasn't blind with ambition; she knew the proper steps to take in order to gain both prestige and respect. It all depended on tactics, and on Saraid's nod to let her prove herself worthy.

However, the current mission could only be adapted to, and such conditions made Dahlia wary. She wasn't opposed to confrontation - she in fact welcomed it - but walking into an unknown situation against unknown adversaries wasn't what she preferred. There was no chance for planned strategy; she could only draw upon former combat experience.

Dahlia wasn't much for negotiation; whoever was quicker, stronger, or smarter with a weapon could take what they wanted. Talk usually only delayed the inevitable or negated combat; she was impatient for the former and annoyed with the latter.

Throwing her braided lavender hair over her shoulder, she began walking across the soft turf toward the path ahead. The two nymphs were on either side of her, one step behind. Continuing her even strides, Dahlia looked down to one of her low-caste trackers. The lime-haired nymph looked up at her, and, to answer the silent question, pointed ahead and just off to the right. With a faint nod, the Fair warrior adjusted her angle and marched on.

A moment later, Dahlia heard a quick, whistling noise. Before she could bring a shield to bear, a streaking arrow shot through the tree leaves and stopped with an abrupt 'thud'. Spinning her head to the right, she saw the long-shafted, bone-bladed arrow stuck in and through the head of a teetering nymph; the arrow's black feather fletching was still quivering from the impact. The creature's small body began to disperse even as she began to fall backwards.

As Dahlia willed her shield upon her arm, she heard a distant voice exclaim, "Ha! Nice shot!"

She rushed from one thick tree to another, hoping not to give the marksman a good target while she advanced. She moved far enough up to see a stone bridge and a timber cabin just beyond it. Three trees closer, she could make out two figures on the shadowed porch. One was small, in browns and white, sitting on the railing. The other was tall, mostly in black, with long black hair and a large double curved bow in his hand; his pose showed him ready to fire again.

Spinning nimbly back behind the cover of a rough-barked tree, Dahlia saw the other nymph speeding in her direction. She heard murmured voices coming from one of the two fae on the porch, and then three staccato thrums of a bow string sung in quick succession.

Arrows hit the nymph almost simultaneously in the torso; violet blood shot out of her in the same trajectory as the arrows that pierced her lithe form. The small, green creature stumbled a few more steps from her momentum, looking like a small pincushion with oversized wooden needles sticking through it.

Unlike the first nymph victim, the second managed to crumple to the ground before expiring. Also unlike the other, the second nymph tracker collapsed into dusty ash. One of the arrows must have ripped through her heart, sending Saraid's servant to her final death.

Dahlia began thinking of how to phrase her words for parley. She despising the need for it, but had no other option other than a risky show of bravado,. The least she wanted to accomplish was a safe escape, and then come back later with a plan and reinforcements. Being banished would cause loss of status, and she couldn't afford that in her current circumstances. If she could work her way closer within the bowman's range, there might be a chance to rush them.

Even if Dahlia lost in combat, it would be a contest of melee skill and she might banish or slay one or both of them before she herself fell. It would at least be a worthy attempt, and no reason for disgrace.

Before she could ask for talks to commence, a voice called out to her. "Greetings, pale warrior; you have come unannounced, and are trespassing on the holdings of -"

"Shut yer gob, ye chatty eejit," the other fae interrupted the speaker. They spoke in whispers afterwards.

Once again, the first voice - Dahlia assumed the tall, black-clad one - called out. "You are trespassing on my holdings. If you came with a message, I saw no scroll or sign of truce while you or your unfortunate nymphs took cover. If you retreat off of my property now, I vow to let you escape unharmed."

Behind the shelter of the tree, Dahlia's face contorted into a bitter snarl. The condescending words stirred her anger and offended her pride; she would be no mere messenger and run away. With emotion-induced determination, the Fair warrior summoned her ironwood sword to her other hand and stepped out from the safety of the tree.

Dahlia stood tall and proud and said to them, "I would run you off your own land first. I doubt you are even worthy to face me." She had a moment to take in her two adversaries. The smaller one in tweed and white cotton had a pleasant appearance, although his chestnut eyes held sly intellect and cunning. The Fair fae archer next to him was handsome enough, with his long black locks and bright blue eyes.

Like her, he reacted to the insult; his draw, pull, and release of the next arrow was lightning-quick, just as the bolt speeding toward her was.

In mid-flight, the arrow blackened and hissed, as if it were burnt from within. By the time it reached Dahlia, the shaft was nothing more than dull embers held together by inertia. The bone tip bounced off her leather armor ineffectually.

She casually brushed the soot off of her breastplate, making it plain that the attack was merely a nuisance. Dahlia knew she was lucky to have caught the arrow with her gift of heat, and doubted she could do it again. Hopefully her first cancellation of his dexterous shot was dramatic enough, and he would be reluctant to try another. "I was caught unprepared before," she said evenly, "but that is no longer the case. I have come for -"

A deep, heavy growl sounded from only a few paces behind her. The forgotten fog bear, Dahlia thought. She scolded herself for not keeping all of the pertinent facts in mind. Enough was known about that particular breed to know not to move; despite a fog bear's size and bulk, it could move as fast as she could in a short sprint. It could also rend her wide open with a quick strike of its daunting claws. She silently gave the crafty beast its due respect while remaining silent and immobile, save for her flexing jaw.

"Now that ye be done with yer posturin', ye haughty bitch," the smaller of the two said with a thick brogue, "I'd be suggestin' ye save yer breath while ye still have it, I would. We already be knowin' why you'd be callin', and so friendly-like, at that. If ya get back to that slapper, Saraid, ya just crawl back ta kissin' her manky bare feet and be sayin' that the human girl she be wantin' wouldn't be fer the takin'."

Dahlia boldly wondered aloud, "What is your reason to care for a human so, leprechaun? Have you become overly thoughtful and fond of the mundane folk?"

Vaughn shook his head with a frown, as if speaking to an ignorant child. "If ye were any sort o' wayfarer, ye albino bootlicker, ya'd be knowin' that humans be a grand source of glamour. Ta be takin' one out o' a tight community, such as she be from, sourly be affectin' those near to 'er. And that, ye Lore-bound wench, be makin' glamour all the tougher ta be comin' by. Do I need ta keep explainin' this, or is it gettin' through ta that jellybean head o' yers?"

Directly after Vaughn's explanation, Macklin spoke up. "I personally deplore the taking of humans as chattel, so after rescuing the young woman I sent her through a portal with no destination in mind. I give my oath on the truth of that." He worded it carefully so that no lie was told - as that came with repercussions of severely bad luck in the Lore - and gave no indication of Jane's gift or her current whereabouts.

Dahlia's stoic expression didn't change, but her thoughts were actively trying to deduce the results of the archer's given information. She would be returning with no prize, but not out of her own failure. There was also sadly to be no combat unless she initiated it, but would likely prove foolish in her current predicament. "I doubt that was wise," she finally said, "as you may have been rewarded for her capture."

"I'll try to cope with the lack of your mistress's good favor," Macklin curtly replied.

Turning to leave, Dahlia looked back at the archer, appraising him. "It is too bad you're such the independent sort, and pass yourself more as a sprite than a Fair fae. In the gathering war party, I'd let you put your skills to use under me."

Before Macklin could reply, Vaughn smirked and said, "If ya'd be anythin' like Saraid, then I'd be sure ye've said that on many occasions."

The Fair archer ignored his cohort and asked Dahlia, "War party? That has nothing to do with the girl you seek, does it?"

Dahlia stared at him as if he were deranged. "Of course not," she answered, "and why would it? A war party gathered to conquer a mundane girl? Get a hold of your wits, archer. We go to cleanse the Verden village of Ballaghadaere, somewhere in the Eire, of rebel fae who thumb their nose at our laws," she said with arrogant righteousness. "Perhaps it is best that you not hope to join, after all. You'd be better off here on your small holdings, with your sour leprechaun friend and your delicate sensibilities."

As she began to turn away again, Vaughn said, "You'll be remindin' yer mistress that she be owin' me a scroll of flatterin' consent fer the pact she and I be makin'. I held me end of the bargain, and now it be her turn. She can be sendin' it along to me own lands so I won't have ta be returnin' ta hers fer it."

With a subtle nod, Dahlia said, "I will mention your wishes, but both of you be warned: she will not be pleased with what transpired here."

Vaughn frowned at her. "The only thing that Saraid might be pleased with around here would be that big wooden dick yer holdin'. On yer ambitious path ta glory, don't ye be thinkin' ta get on her good side; she'll not be havin' one. Now get ye gone afore yonder bear be gettin' a hunger fer a pasty meat snack."

Dahlia eyed them both for a moment, remembering them. S finally turned to look at the huge bear behind her. Mix kept his menacing glare on her, but made no aggressive move. In a circular path, Dahlia gave the beast a wide berth. It turned to watch her as she withdrew.

Twenty paces distant of her former position, and having a better distance from the archer's lethal pet, Dahlia stopped and called to them once more. With a cold smile, she said, "Perhaps the elements will be kind and we'll meet again under better conditions." She then turned her back on the cabin and the watchful bear and strode away from them.

Macklin and Vaughn let the thinly veiled threat go without deigning to respond, and watched her leave. The pale warrior had been out of sight for a minute before Macklin felt that she was no longer on his holdings. He sat back in a rocking chair on the deep porch and said with a relieved sigh, "She's gone."

Vaughn kept his seat on the porch railing but turned to his host. "Well, I can be tellin' ya this fer sure: the elements be havin' a fuckin' wicked sense o' humor."

As Mix came up on the porch and pressed the top of his head to his master's chest, Macklin began scratching behind his ears. Looking at Vaughn, he asked, "And what does that mean?"

"Didn't the lil' toady be sayin' that a war party be goin' ta cleanse a place called Ballaghadaere?"

"Or something near that, yes; I was thinking more of Saraid's designs for Jane at the time and wasn't concerned with it. Why do you ask?"

Vaughn leaned forward on the wooden railing and replied, "I'll be givin' ya three guesses where the lass be callin' home, but even yer hairy pet wouldn't be needin' but one."

Chapter 6

The following Monday started with a thin fog and low threatening clouds. Cora reluctantly let Jane stay home from classes, and called the school for the absence. She then checked once more on her pallid daughter before heading off to work at the library.

As soon as it felt safe, Jane quickly dressed and hopped in her little Fiat. Looking out at the misty conditions and denser patches of fog on her way to Brody and Kate's cottage, Jane couldn't keep her imagination from stressing her already taut nerves. Behind every building and house, and then every clump of trees and large bush, she kept expecting to see tiny dancing lights, or worse, a monstrous ogre to jump out in her path. She couldn't remember the short drive ever taking so long.

As Jane's car rolled to a quiet stop just past the open gate to the cottage, she saw Brody and Kate out on the back lawn with their dogs. The couple was bundled in heavy coats, and their breaths plumed in the cold, damp air with laughter and talk while they tossed Hurling balls for the dogs to play fetch or keep-away with.

Jane watched through her driver's window as Kate leaned back into Brody, and he wrapped his big arm around her while saying something in her ear. Jane never failed to be surprised at the disparity between the size of them, or simply at Brody's size and brawn all by himself. That she knew of, the expat stuck to no rigorous workout routine; his build, however, still somewhat evident through his leather coat, was nonetheless near that of a bodybuilder or fitness expert.

Jane was glad she had Brody and Kate to turn to; she didn't realize what a true comfort they were until that moment. They both treated her as an adult, and with caring compassion. With Brody near, she felt safe and protected; she supposed that was partly from when he saved Kate and her mam from those evil men a few months back. He'd always reacted to her as he would any of his older friends, and the rare moments of awkward conversation were in the past.

Brody had quickly joined the list of those whom she wanted to make proud with her singing; he was one of her most abiding supporters, just as Kate was. She'd always had a calm, composed way about her, but lately she was mixing those traits with a soothing demeanor and profound understanding of people. Almost contrary to that, Kate was also more social, interactive, and as ready with a grin as her big fella was. Jane was happy to see her formerly sheltered sister smiling with much greater frequency of late.

As soon as Jane shut her car door after stepping out, the dogs began barking, either of warning or welcome. Honey and Keller stayed near their master, but strange-eyed Pearl came running to her with a lolling tongue. Brody and Kate followed slowly after, arm in arm.

The couple was smiling as they approached, but those faded to ill-concealed frowns of worry upon better seeing Jane's pallor and nervousness. They both gave her a quick hug in greeting before Brody excused himself to his workshop. Kate took her younger sister by her cold, trembling hands and brought her inside to warm up. Jane weakly smiled her thanks and accepted the offer of warm tea.

After setting a mug with Cinnamon's picture on it in front of Jane, Kate sat across from her at the kitchen table with her own steaming drink. "Something obviously has you shaken," Kate said calmly and with a reassuring smile, "so let's get it figured out."

Jane looked down, letting the hot tea warm her face, and said, "I have no idea where to start, Katie. I've thought about this all night and I still have no clue how to start explaining this."

Kate held her own mug to warm her hands while she replied, "Most people would say to start at the beginning, but why don't you start with the part that's upsetting you the most and we'll go from there." As Jane looked up at her, Kate added, "You know, like eating the beets first so you can get on to the mashers afterwards."

Smiling at the analogy, Jane let her gaze go back to her mug and nodded. She took a calming breath and said, "Someone may be after me."

Kate wasn't prepared for the ominous statement, and so hesitated before responding. "This isn't something the Garda can help with, is it?" Jane looked up at her with a touch of surprise at the insight, but then shook her head. "Then tell me more about it," Kate said softly, "and we'll get this sorted."

With a miserable expression, Jane said, "It's so outlandish, Kate; it's like something out of a daydream and a nightmare all at once. Even with the things I can show you to prove it, you still might think me mental or at least hallucinating. Sometimes I have trouble believing it myself."

Kate took a quick look at her sister's nimbus, and then leaned forward, saying, "Try me; you might be surprised what I'll accept."

Jane looked up with hope slowly dawning in her dark green eyes. Kate thought she saw chartreuse flecks in her sister's eye color, something she'd never noticed before.

Jane reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the jewelry box. Setting it on the table between them, she said, "This was given to me. Take a look inside as well."

With delicate fingers playing over the encrusted gems, Kate looked back to Jane with widened eyes. "These aren't costume gems, are they?" When her sister shook her head in mute reply, she asked, "Janie, have you gotten in with travelers or some such? Was this pinched?"

With a shrug, Jane said, "Not really; it was more like lost then found. It has nothing to do with any gypsies, and I wouldn't think anyone is looking for it anymore." With a hint of sarcasm, she added, "I truly doubt there are any laws covering this sort of thing."

"This must be worth a fortune if these aren't fake stones."

Jane tapped on the box that her sister was admiring. "What's inside is more valuable to me."

Kate removed the seven photos and studied them. Comparing one shot to the next, she said, "These look like photos of artwork - strange artwork. Is that a Mickey Mouse hat on that table?" Jane nodded with an odd grin. Kate looked them over again before she said, "Let's see, then; you have these shots, apparently all from a perspective within a spacious log cabin, and with, let's see, two of those with a distorted figure in the foreground. The subject matter is, em, let's call it eccentric, but the artist had an eye for detail." She looked up to Jane. "What else am I supposed to take from these?"

Jane frowned before answering, "Those aren't photos of art, but that's how they came out when I took them. I'm sure it had to do with where I was."

"And where were you? Wait, wait," Kate said as she put her hand up to signal a stop where the conversation had led to, "let's take a step back. You started with saying that someone might be after you. Then you show me this box that's apparently worth a mint, but say that no one wants it back or is searching for it. Are you sure those two bits of information aren't directly related? Could it be that someone is looking for you to retrieve this jewelry box?"

"I doubt she could care less about the box, even if she knew about it. It's me she's after."

"She?"

Jane nodded. "They called her Saraid. They said she'd be after me for what I can do."

"They?"

After dropping her head with a deep sigh, Jane said, "I suppose I have to tell the whole story. Some parts aren't easy to explain, and I doubt I can condense most of it."

Kate took a sip of her tea and said, "I have a couple hours, two good ears, and an open mind. Go ahead."

Jane looked at her sister's patient, expectant countenance before she began with, "I can make doors that lead to special places." She then took two large gulps from her own mug before she started from the beginning, scantly looking at Kate in the process.

Jane told how she had found a way into a special room, her play room, when she was much younger, just after Kate had gone off to uni in Dublin. She explained how the room worked and how she used it over the years. Then the persistent dreams of 'one room, two doors' began not long ago. She finally followed her own subconscious suggestion and made another door in her play room. That's when the shit hit the fan.

She then described how the lights - wisps, they were called - led her out, as if spellbound, into a strange, desolate land. Jane didn't delve into her own harrowing flight of terror once she regained her senses, but rather kept it simplified. Next came her being found by Macklin and Mix, followed by the monstrous ogre; more detail was given of those encounters to reinforce the story's validity.

Jane mentioned Macklin's beautiful land and magical cabin before describing Vaughn the leprechaun and his warning. She finished by telling Kate about taking the photos before she was urged to return home. Once finished, she kept her eyes averted while the ensuing silence lingered between them, not daring to meet her sister's eyes. She waited for Kate's response without much hope.

Kate's pause after hearing Jane's story was not for effect; she was simply trying to decipher some of the clashing secondary colors in her sister's nimbus. Finally, she said, "A few things are obvious. First, I think you truly believe all that happened." After those words, she saw Jane sink even further into herself. "Secondly," Kate went on, "you took quite a liking to Macklin." Jane sat straighter and looked at Kate with a curious frown. "Lastly, although it scares the hell out of me, I also believe that it all really happened."

A slow smile crept onto Jane's face while she asked, "You do? You believe me? You're not just, like, humoring me, right?"

With a somber expression, Kate replied, "I wouldn't lie to you about this, Janie. Not even a white lie to save your feelings."

Jane's smile came into full bloom, but she had no words for her appreciation. That beaming smile faltered when she asked, "How did you know how I felt about Macklin? I didn't mention any feelings for him."

Kate hesitated once again before saying, "I saw it in your nimbus; your, em, emotional colors. I thought your fae gift might be in your angelic voice, and that may still be true, but I didn't expect... I didn't know what to expect. I certainly didn't see anything of this magnitude coming. This is serious; from what Liadan taught us, I can see why you'd be valuable."

Eyes squinted in confusion, Jane said, "Nimbus? Liadan? You're rambling, Kate. I'm the one who was supposed to be telling the mad tales here, remember?"

Looking away as she nodded, Kate was thinking of how to handle the situation. She first had the idea of having Liadan erase Jane's knowledge of her gift, but decided that not only would it not solve the problem, it was also manipulative. Jack's minor fogging was simply to elude the need for a strange conversation, and she felt no guilt for it. This, however, was far different, far more serious. Removing Jane's memory of her gift wouldn't remove the possible danger she was in.

Taking a simplistic tact to ease her anxious little sister into some form of familiarity, Kate said, "Janie, we've both heard the fables and all the old stories of the Good Folk, or the Other Crowd; namely, fairies - fae. Now you know they truly exist, don't you? Just not in the way the old tales describe, is that right?"

Jane nodded quickly but emphatically. "What I saw is far beyond fucking fairytales."

Kate leaned forward on crossed arms, as if to speak conspiratorially. "Let me tell you now, little sister, some of those tales are pure shite, and others are near the mark."

"No offense, Kate, but how would you know? How could you?"

Keeping her pose, Kate answered, "Remember when I was heading off to Dublin for Uni, and you did all that research for me? You studied the city maps, and made a list of local vernacular, and even chatted up some of your mates who've been there with their parents, and then gave all that to me in a folder the day before I set out?" Jane nodded her head with a soft smile. "Well, Jane, this time the roles are reversed, and it's time I returned the favor."

Leaning forward herself, Jane asked, "How are you going to do that, Katie?"

"You've been there, tricked into visiting the Lore, and you even learned a thing or two about that alien place. I, on the other hand, haven't seen it, but I'll wager I know quite a bit more about it and it's... people than you. I've done my own research, and have instruction from someone in the know. Actually, I have more interactive experience than I'd prefer."

Jane sat back, surprised. "So, you - down to earth, nose to the grindstone, serious Kate - study fairytales in your spare time? I want to believe you, sis, but it seems a stretch. I know that sounds bad, what with the story I just told, but it goes against everything I thought about you."

Kate didn't seem offended. "A year ago, even less, I would have said the same of myself. I suppose I'm asking for the same faith and acceptance that you came here looking for. I'm not letting on to spare your feelings, Jane; I'm dead serious." She saw that her words had quelled her sister's doubts somewhat, and so continued. "There's so much to explain, but it really begins with your grandfather, mam's real da."

"Granda Owen? Didn't he die when she was barely out of the cradle?"

Releasing a heavy sigh, Kate said, "I'm sorry, Janie, but there was no Granda Owen. It was a lie created to shield you - shield all of us - from a fantastical truth. Sometime soon, you, mam, and I will sit down and get the real story explained, as it was to me. You real grandfather is a fae named Aldritch - Aldritch of the Old Wood, so his full title goes."

Jane's eyes shaped with disbelief. "Stop the lights. You can't be feckin' serious."

"My hand to God, Jane, that's the truth of it. Skipping a generation, gifts through Aldritch's fae blood have passed to us. But even from what I've heard mentioned, I've never heard of anything like what you can do."

Pushing her mug out of the way, Jane leaned forward again. "You're saying we're part fairy, and that you have a 'gift' as well?"

Kate nodded. "Mine isn't as tangible as what yours apparently is, but, like I mentioned before, I have nimbus sight. I can see the feelings of others like some fae can, in colors. Right now, you're scared, but you feel safe at the moment. You're beginning to believe me; you want to, but so much has been told and shown to you in such a short time that goes against reality that you're having trouble processing it."

"Well that's about spot on," Jane grumbled.

"There's more, but that's what is important for now. When you mentioned Macklin, your nimbus began to shine with ardor. I know you could say that I merely intuited all that from your reactions, so I have an idea. As the proverb goes, 'I hear and I forget; I see and I believe; I do and I understand'. You've already heard words that are hard to take on faith, as have I. You already understand what you can do with your gift." Kate stood and gestured for Jane to come with her. "Now it's time to make a believer out of you."

Jane got up slowly, following Kate out of the kitchen. "Where are we going?"

Shrugging into her coat, Kate said, "There are no secrets between Brody and me. He has his own perspective on all this. Don't let the dogs out, there's a wee mist on."

As they walked briskly across the drive and onto the new gravel path to Brody's workshop, Jane asked, "Who is this informer you keep talking about?"

Holding her hood in place over her head as the wind picked up, Kate said, "Her name is Liadan; she's one of the Other Crowd. We consider her a friend."

Before Jane could question that outrageous statement, they reached the shed's closed wooden door set at the near end of the stone building. Kate knocked on it once and then entered. Jane followed in and pulled back her own coat hood.

The interior of Brody's workshop was about 12x20, dry and warm from a space heater. Near the entrance, half of the outbuilding's interior was lined with sturdy shelving, starting from near the packed gravel floor to above Jane's head. The shelves were filled with dozens of sculptures that ranged from the size that would fit on key-rings to pieces as big as a microwave. At a glance, there was a variety of shapes, from shamrocks to abstracts to animal busts and figurines.

Brody stood at the other end with a pair of bulky safety glasses on his face and a surprised smile underneath them. The far end of the shop was lined with raw material, from cut blocks of various stone to big, rough local rocks. He stood in the center of the far side, next to a wood stump pedestal with a big block of veined marble on it. Jane didn't see a hoist; she wondered how he got the block of stone onto the pedestal.

Dressed in dusty brown coveralls, Brody stood with a chisel in one hand and a ballpeen hammer in the other. His pleasant expression still showed that he wasn't expecting company. Pulling the strapped glasses down to hang around his neck, he said, "Doing some shopping, ladies? I have reasonable prices, and I'm willing to haggle."

"Not at the moment, love," Kate said with a light grin. She then picked up a smaller piece of gray stone from the floor and handed it to Jane. "That's granite, I believe."

Holding the chunk of hard, heavy stone in her hand, Jane replied, "Em, thank you?"

Kate then plucked it out of her hand. She turned to Brody and offered it to him.

As he accepted the piece of granite from her, Brody asked, "What's this all about, darlin'?"

"Brody, we have big news," Kate said. "Jane has been keeping her own fae gift a secret for years, and it has very recently come to full bloom. However, it comes with a complication."

"Oh, shit," Brody replied. He didn't look as surprised as Jane expected him to. "Is this about the singing?" He looked at Jane and said, "By the way, I've been listening to that CD you gave me for Christmas over and over; my favorite track right now is -"

"Now's not the time, Brody," Kate said politely. "Jane is having issues accepting the whole truth, and you can give her some proof to validate my words."

He frowned at her. "Seriously, Kate? Couldn't we just get Liadan or something?"

"I don't ask this lightly, love. I know you're not one to flaunt your ability, but this is for Jane. She needs people she can trust right now."

Jane stepped closer and asked, "What, now he's part fairy as well?"

"Fae," they both answered in chorus. "And, no," Kate answered, "not exactly." She turned back to Brody. "Please, just show her."

His face set with resignation, Brody took a step toward Jane and held the chunk of granite out in front of him in the palm of his hand. As he placed fingertips from his other hand on the stone, he said, "Our friend Liadan thinks I may have been what they call 'graced' by one of the Other Crowd. I guess it's like they give you some of the special abilities they can do to repay a good deed performed or something. This," he said as he applied fingertip pressure onto the chunk of granite, "is an uncommon ability that she calls the gift of stone."

Jane's eyes widened in wonder as Brody's big fingers began to manipulate the stone like it was thick clay. Within a few minutes of first broad forming and then giving detailed impressions with his fingertips, Brody held a rudimentary sculpture of a large-tusked boar in a sitting pose. "I got the inspiration of this shape from one of the fae we've met, although he didn't look this calm at the time." He offered the newly-formed piece of granite to Jane.

Her eyes kept shifting from the stone to Brody's hands and then back again. Almost reverently, she softly said, "Completely savage. This is... so unreal." As she gingerly held the hard stone in her hand, feeling its new, smooth surfaces, Jane's eyes then flickered between Brody and Kate. "You mean, like," she asked with awe, "you've actually met one, here?"

Kate stepped forward and said, "Yes; I've already mentioned our friend Liadan. But if you meant 'here' as in the this property," she glanced up questioningly at Brody, who nodded, "then, yes, we've met most of them here. As mentioned, there's Liadan, and Oriana, who holds a haven somewhere nearby. Then, of course, is your true granda, Aldritch. He has quite a presence."

"We've also had run-ins with a few others," Brody continued for Kate, "one of which is an instigating little prick named Lorcan. Then came Kazimir; he's a morpher than can turn into a huge-ass boar."

"And an equally large owl," Kate reminded him.

"Yeah, that too, although I didn't see him in that shape; only Kate did. And then we had a little problem with a fae named Devlin."

Kate looked up at him, surprised. "A little problem?" she asked rhetorically. "You very nearly bled to death before you pucked him into submission and beyond."

The figurine in her hand forgotten, Jane listened with awe at their casual comments of meeting, befriending, or fighting fairytale creatures. She finally got her slack jaw to work and almost shouted, "Bled to death? You almost died, Brody?"

"It wasn't as bad as Kate says."

Kate's expression was incredulous as she slowly shook her head at him. "You were covered in your own blood, and your clothes were in ribbons. Brody, you're my hero, mo ghile mear, for so many reasons... and you saved me from Devlin that day, but you also almost lost your life in my defense. Please don't act valiant for me and play it off as something trivial; I've never been that afraid. We were lucky Liadan showed when she did."

Brody grinned at his own confusion. "I don't know what, uh, 'mo gyill uh marr' means, but it sure sounds pretty."

Jane stifled her chuckle and smiled instead to explain. "It's an old Irish ballad; it means 'my gallant darling', or, 'my hero', like."

Brody nodded. "Oh, okay." Putting his big hands on Kate's slender shoulders, he said, "Darlin', I'd do anything and everything to keep you safe. I'd do it all again in a heartbeat for you. You're what kept me alive, Kate; you won't lose me so easily." They stood with loving eyes fixed on each other, and shared an emotional smile. For a moment, all else was forgotten in their mutual gaze.

Jane's voice was hushed once more when she asked, "You're not just letting on, right? You both are really telling the truth, aren't you?"

Brody reluctantly turned from Kate and looked at her sister. "Jane, since I've known you, I've been straight with you, and never pulled any punches when you asked me a direct question, have I?" She shook her head. "And from what I can tell, you and Kate have always been honest with each other, like sisters should. This time is no different." His voice acquired a deeper tone of sincerity. "No bullshit, Jane; we're telling you what we know and what we've seen, up close and personal, and I think you need to know it now, too."

"Let's get on with it, then," Kate said firmly. "Jane, let's see this door of yours."

Brody asked of no one in particular, "What door?"

Jane walked closer to them and found a piece of chalk used to outline designs and cuts onto stone. Breathing deeply, she set the boar statuette down and went over to stand before the closed door of the workshop. Hesitant at first but then with decisive strokes, Jane drew an outline of a simple door.

She turned to them and said, "I have no idea if this'll work with you two here or not. It's never gone off when other, normal people have been in sight. Then again, you aren't really that normal anymore, are you? I suppose it's got sort of a built-in safeguard, my doors, so that I'd never get caught or have to try to explain it."

Turning back to her outline, Jane concentrated on it for only a few seconds. Suddenly, the outline became tangible with dimension; she had created a door within - upon - a door. She turned to them with a broad grin and squealed, "It works! You're both as mental as I am!"

Jane giggled at her own joke; Brody and Kate could only smile weakly as they continued to stare at the door that was created by nothing but drawn lines and a moment's focus.

"Does that lead to the Lore?" Brody asked.

"No, no," Jane said, "It's just my play room. Well, it's really a fae-bridge, but only if I open another door inside of it."

"Oh, right, I forgot; Liadan mentioned something like that." Brody looked down at Kate, and she up to him. They both felt the hair-raising excitement and anxiety of being just a few feet away from stepping beyond the mortal world.

"Come see," Jane said giddily as she put her hand on the imagination-created door. With a simple push, the door swung inward, revealing nothing but a stygian void within.

The couple inched forward, marveling at a portal leading to elsewhere, set upon a common door that led to a soggy paddock. At Jane's insistent and impatient invitation, Brody and Kate slowly stepped hand in hand into the pitch black, unearthly room. With their hands gripped tight, they both waited for something to happen, yet afraid of what that might be. They both felt like children playing a scary game.

When Jane stepped in next to them and shut the door, the room automatically illuminated itself. Brody and Kate stood in place, mouths agape, and looked around what appeared to be a teen's attic room.

While Kate remained silent as her head turned this way and that, Brody murmured, "Holy shit."

"Does that mean you like it?" Jane asked enthusiastically.

Brody glanced at her, but then back to a decoration over her writing desk. "No - I mean, I love this gift of yours, how you made this out of literally nothing, and the room is awesome."

"But?"

Brody turned to Jane with a crooked grin. "But you've got a poster of the movie 'Twilight' on your wall. Is that a joke?"

Chapter 7

Ragnar of the Red Rock stepped out of the dark portal gate and into a thicket of damp woods still in deep shadow by a Verden dawn's overcast sky. He admitted to himself that the temporary fae-bridge created by Aldritch the dryad - a shade path, he called it - was a bit unsettling. Ragnar's own bridges, such as the one he'd created for Aldritch to take in return, were formed as short, cavernous tunnels.

Ragnar mentally shrugged; every fae's style was different in respect to exemplifications for their holdings, and fae-bridges fell within that representation. Ragnar wasn't one to judge.

The meet with Aldritch of the Old Wood had gone well; Ragnar found they were like-minded on many secondary subjects. The primary topic of the latest Circle gathering, where breaches of Enigma were ordered to be resolved - the reason from which Aldritch had requested audience - correlated with Saraid Moon Maiden's drive to cleanse the village of Ballaghadaere.

Ragnar wanted to see for himself the activities, both mortal and fae, of that rural little Eire town, to come to his own conclusions. He and Aldritch also had that in common; investigation before impulse.

Since Aldritch admitted he was under bound oath to clarify the Enigma breaches and petition for appeal, Ragnar informed him that Egon Soulsinger had voiced the call, and he would be the one to see. That option would be much easier than if Aldritch tried to reassemble another Circle of Prudence for the matter. He told his guest that Egon was normally agreeable, but would nonetheless write a scroll of introduction on the dryad's behalf.

Ragnar's closest permanent portal to Ballaghadaere was atop the Ben Bulben rock formation. He could not trust that bridge to bring him near his destination in a timely manner, although Aldritch knew the entirety of northwestern Ireland well. Alternately, he had no knowledge of how to reach the holdings of elder Egon. Ragnar had visited there on a few occasions, so each was therefore able to assist the other with a simple pact and exchange of portals.

Stepping out from the shadows of wet, withered-leafed trees and bushes and onto the sward of the small park, Ragnar studied the northern suburb duplexes of Sligo town. He had asked for Aldritch's portal to lead to the nearest large settlement instead of Ballaghadaere itself, wanting to learn more of Ireland's modern culture while he was there. Hopefully, a ride could be found on the back of a wagon or farm truck that was heading south.

Ragnar also wanted updated information of styles and appearance to create a manifestation that would fit in; the 'When in Rome' axiom had always served him well.

As he strolled unseen through Sligo town and into its commercial sector, Ragnar took mental note of all the changes that had taken place since last he visited Ireland.

It was in the summer of 1951 that he toured rural Clare, Galway, and Mayo counties on foot. Then, poverty was an accepted hardship, and many young adults were emigrating to find work. The people were slightly smaller in stature due to poor diets, but were strong in will and faith. Travel was rare for those farmers, who rarely owned cars; most journeys were to the local market or chemist, made either on a bicycle or on foot.

Ragnar compared those memories to the modern urban sprawl as he stood on a cold and rainy street corner and watched all the cars zooming by. He wondered if progression was necessarily a good thing.

After scrutinizing apparel and customs, mostly by visiting pubs and shops, Ragnar felt informed enough to emulate a modern local. His new manifestation was that of a hitchhiker on tour.

He made himself appear as a stout young man in his twenties, not much taller than the average. Ragnar gave himself a clean-shaven, boyish face that would set others at ease, but by vanity kept his violet-blue eyes. With a hood over his tousled brown hair from a large red rain coat, along with tan trousers, hiking boots, and a small backpack, Ragnar let himself appear in the Verden once again. Coming out of a toilet stall at the Sligo train station, he began walking south through and out of town.

Without even putting out a thumb or sign as hitchhikers might, Ragnar was offered a ride by a passing motorist. The man and his wife, both in their forties, were travelling to Athlone for a family event and going in his general direction.

Because of Ragnar's glamour-laced request, the couple was more than happy to alter their route and take the man - going by the name Ryan Reed - to Ballaghadaere. For their initial generosity and kindness, he offered to regale them with amusing prose and quotes from Wilde, Emerson, and even Charlie Chaplan. They were enthusiastic hosts.

While the couple shared jovial anecdotes to entertain their travelling guest along the drive, Ragnar noticed the passing scenery from his backseat window. Most farms, currently with dormant fields, were now equipped with machinery for their work. Power lines were everywhere, and transmitter towers could be seen in the distance. There also seemed to be a resurgence of wooded land, albeit planned and kept in uniform units of acreage.

Modern vehicles, like the one he was in, were, while small, still filled with many electronic amenities; the informational niceties dulled imagination, but the variety of music coming from the radio balanced the irritating disparity.

By mid-afternoon, they had reached the northern side of Ballaghadaere. Ragnar asked the couple to stop anywhere along the main road they were on, and gave them a touch of unspoken luck for the rest of their journey.

After the pleasant couple departed, Ragnar stood on a sidewalk as soft, cold rain came down. He surmised that any fae who kept to pastoral locations and havens might not be as sociable as those who kept closer to humans. Therefore, he could simply wander about the village for a few days, or however long it might take, until he felt another fae presence or was contacted by one. In the meantime, he wanted to learn more of the humans and their remote village before unearthly warriors marched down the streets in a frenzy.

Keeping with that adage to 'do as the romans do', Ragnar did what any good, sensible Irishman would when coming to a new place. The nearest pub was named Gil's.

*********

Aldritch of the Old Wood stepped from Ragnar's cave portal and onto a snow-pocketed area of neutral land. The leaden sky spat a mixture of ice and snow, driven by harsh winds. Even through the whistling gale, he heard the howls of some unseen beasts; distant, yet closer than he felt secure with.

Not a dozen paces in front of Aldritch stood a large, stone arched entryway. Connected to it was a low, stack-stone retainer wall that stretched off in either direction beyond his vision. Just on the other side of the low wall and archway laid rolling grasslands and autumn-touched primeval forests, all under an indigo sky just dark enough to let the stars show themselves. The holdings of Egon Soulsinger were just ahead.

Hearing the roars of the beasts once more, this time closer, Aldritch shielded himself from the unrelenting precipitation and approached the archway. From the entry and into Egon's land was a uniform cobblestone path that led straight off and disappeared over a gentle rise. The land beyond appeared sunny and warm, stark in contrast to the ugly climate he stood in.

Just beyond the archway, set in the short grass off the path was a miniature wooden chair and table. Asleep and slumped in the chair, snoring loudly, was an old gnome in woodland garb. On the table rested half a loaf of potato bread, a half-empty liter jug of Verden milk, and a rubber mallet. Aldritch could only assume the mallet was either for smashing walnuts or comic defense; considering the wielder, the walnuts had a fair chance.

After clearing his throat twice and barking out a low, blunt greeting, Aldritch was still unable to rouse the little gnome from his stupor. Hearing the loud bellows of the beasts behind him again, he turned to see what came his way and gauge their closing distance.

As Aldritch quickly learned, the pursuers were not a 'they', but an 'it'. Even through the haze of the winter storm, he could make out the silhouette of a gargantuan hydra; nine monstrous heads on serpentine necks, all connected to a tailed, quadruped body larger than an elephant's. Every aspect of it was muscular and swift, voracious and foul. Despite his sudden alarm, Aldritch wondered what fool had enough imagination to dream them up.

A soft-packed snowball struck the tiny gnome in the face. Aldritch must have thrown it harder than intended; the little creature fell from its chair with a cry of surprise. As its true means of defense, the gnome then morphed into an innocuous shrub.

When the low-caste creature continued to remain in that shape, Aldritch impatiently said, "Sentry, I would have genial words with your master. I have a scroll of consent from another of the Circle's latest gathered elders. Do not make me enter this holding unannounced and uninvited; it will go badly for both of us if I do." The shrub shook of its own volition and incrementally began to morph back into its original, drunken shape.

Aldritch glanced behind him and saw the hydra closing in. He doubted there was enough time to gain proper entry before it was upon him. He certainly didn't wish to incur the wrath of a venerated elder on his own land, especially one he hoped to gain favor from; better to face the hydra than that. Aldritch then remembered one of the tools at his disposal. While the frozen storm flailed all around him, he quietly but urgently said, "Lorcan, come to me immediately."

Within two seconds, the little redcap appeared nearby. "I am here, elder; what do - Ah! Damn the sky!" He bent his head to let his hair and porkpie hat shield his face from the whipping snow and ice, and stuffed his hands into his armpits.

"You have a chance to bring your tally of quests from three to two." Aldritch waited until Lorcan looked up expectantly, and then pointed with his staff out into the storm. "I need a distraction."

Lorcan looked out in the direction of the gesture, and his little black eyes sprung wide open. "Are you out of your fairy mind?!"

Aldritch growled, "It is not a request; I command you. And be quick about it." He then turned back to the open archway; the old gnome had retaken his original shape and stood before him on wobbly legs, barely the height of the tall elder's knees.

Aldritch deftly produced a scroll from within his long coat and offered it to the tiny sentry. After the gnome slowly took it from his hand, he looked back once more. Lorcan was using his speed and gift of instant travel to get the hydra's many-headed attention and confuse it. Contrary to the brave act, the little redcap was screaming in terror as he evaded fanged mouths that could swallow him in two bites.

With a high, slurred voice, the gnome said, "My master bids you welcome." The tiny gnome stumbled out of the way when Aldritch stepped under the arch and onto the claimed land.

Knowing that Egon was mentally attuned to his servants, as all fae were with those who served them, the elder dryad took a moment to wonder if punishment was in store for the gnome. Even though the post was perfunctory, Aldritch would still reprimand his own retainers if they were inebriated while on duty. Then again, judging by its white chin hair and heavy wrinkles, the tiny creature was old; perhaps it had earned some allowances. Aldritch gave no more thought of the gnome, or of how Lorcan fared, and began walking down the cobblestone path.

The stroll through Egon Soulsinger's extensive holdings was pleasant enough, if a bit chipper; the ambiance didn't quite fit with Aldritch's normally somber mood. The ancient beech, maple, and oak trees soared overhead, creating broad, shady canopies. There was no underbrush, save for the infrequent bush (or a gnome in the guise of one). Contented birds chirped and sang, large hares and horned deer bounded away at Aldritch's passing, and colorful, miniature faerie dragons gazed at him solemnly from the safety of high branches.

The path did not curve through the land; rather, it was set at rectilinear angles. From that, Aldritch remembered that sprites such as Egon were sometimes influenced by human organizational thinking, rather than the random placement of nature.

Further ahead, Aldritch saw a small Scandinavian-style guardhouse next to a wooden bridge that spanned over a wide, shallow stream. On the path next to the structure sat a handsome, roofless carriage. Harnessed to it was large brown ox that had one golden, curving horn centered between its ears. The driver of the carriage, a young male pixie, was turned in his direction with a genial, expectant aspect.

Without a word said between them, Aldritch climbed aboard and reclined into the soft bench seat. They passed through clearings and patches of dense forest, both decorated with tranquil ponds and scenic cataracts over short cliffs. Along the ride, Aldritch noticed how expeditiously the ox carried them along.

While the carriage carried him smoothly along the angled path, he had time to ponder what he knew of the illustrious Egon Soulsinger. While Aldritch's renown was borne mostly from Verden events, Egon was popular in both realms; the mundane and the Lore. He doubted there was a fae who hadn't at least heard of the great sprite elder.

Egon's Verden acts of righteousness were what Aldritch rested his hopes on. He remembered martial tales told of the wise warrior; of how Egon fought alongside Hannibal's hoard to vanquish an overwhelming sixteen roman legions, or how he advised Sioux and Cheyenne warriors to gather at Little Bighorn to wait for Custer. Aldritch remained optimistic that the virtues that made the fae famous could be called upon.

In short time, the forest gave way to a vast clearing and a panoramic landscape. The cobblestone path led to a large, flat wooden bridge supported by stone pillars. That long bridge traversed part of a large lake and landed on an island within it. On that island stood a small yet majestic castle, built with whitewashed blocks of stone. There was no barbican or courtyard; the open portcullis led directly into the castle's interior. Hanging from the square parapets were banners of a brown, white, and peach design; the pennants that wavered atop the round towers sported the same colors.

On the far side of the lake, to the right, was an immense cliff from which a huge waterfall poured and cascaded. Ranging to the left of that was a community of small, orderly houses and mound homes set into the tree line of more woods; most likely the lodgings of Egon's numerous retained servants.

Near the center of the long bridge to the castle stood four figures; one quite large, two of moderate height, and the last was half the height of the others. They remained in place while the carriage was brought to the near end of the bridge. When it came to a stop, Aldritch climbed out, retrieved his staff, and walked with a casual gait onto the bridge.

Coming closer, he noticed that the large figure was a female troll. She was resting her hands on the pommel of a huge two-handed metal ball mace, the head of which was adorned with many pyramid spikes. Although not hand-forged, the weapon was quite rare and extremely valuable. She wore a chainmail tunic over a full set of dark brown clothing. Her skin was a deep blue, which set off her light blue eyes. Her dusty black hair was short and spiky, and hung no longer than the nape of her neck. Aldritch guessed that the calm female warrior stood nearly as tall as he did. He surmised that she was the high guardian of Egon's holdings, as if he needed one.

The small figure was a youngling sprite, most likely the progeny of the two older fae, male and female, that stood on either side of him. The female, less than five feet tall, was a stunning example of her race. Her shoulder-length vanilla hair was styled into ringlets and highlighted bronze ends. Her oversized eyes matched the bronze coloring but held a luminescent glow. She wore a simple, sleeveless, ankle-length brown dress that accentuated her curvaceous physique.

The male was half a head taller than she, and was also a fine specimen of sprite. Over his bulky torso and slender hips was a white robe that flowed like milk, yet retained its shape. Over that was a long, brown, v-shaped stole. In the center of it was a design of a Greek key in peach within a circle of the same hue. He was clean shaven with a head of short, wavy chocolate brown hair, large coral eyes, and a friendly expression on his handsome features.

Aldritch stopped a respectful distance away and bowed deeply. He noticed that all the others, save the male sprite, bowed in return. The dryad straightened and said, "I am Aldritch of the Old Wood. I seek council with Egon Soulsinger." He looked at the adult male fae. "I presume that is you, elder?"

Egon grinned and gestured to his young progeny. "It certainly isn't him. Greetings, elder Aldritch, and before you must formally and personally ask - yes, you are welcome on my land. Do forgive the attendance; my mate here, Alvara, has spent much time looking after our little one and has had meager time to venture out, other than attending galas and such."

"Of course; I am honored at this reception."

Egon gestured to the female troll warrior to his right. "And this is Marelda, defender of my lands for a time, and soon to be elder." To her, he said, "Our guest has no ill-intent; you are free to patrol the grounds." The female warrior nodded and marched past Aldritch without a glance. Egon then turned to his mate. "Dearest one, good Aldritch is seeking privacy and is eager to get about his own affairs. If you would, please take our boy inside and I will return presently." Alvara curtsied to Aldritch and then ushered the youngling back into the castle.

Egon watched them go and then turned back to his guest with a warm smile. "I would offer you food and drink," the stout sprite said, "but you would struggle with the words to politely decline. I would also offer the comforts within my home, but I believe you would rather not feel the confines of an enclosed space. A dryad to the core, you are."

With shaggy eyebrows raised in surprise, Aldritch replied, "I do not believe I have ever met one with your skill in aura sight, good elder."

Egon's grin grew wider. "I like you already; you aren't one to twist a true statement. But if you do, it is done with wisdom. Now, just as you and my good friend Ragnar bypassed formalities and ingratiating banter, I will offer the same. One of your more blaring colors says that you feel pressed for time; a truly Verden concept. We are alone now, so you may explain whatever awkward scenario it is I see in your aura. After that, we will see what can be done for it."

Without hesitation, Aldritch explained the complicated situation. Instead of embarrassingly admitting his lack of will with Cora's mother, he simply stated it as following his passions. He described each McCarthy's scenario with what he knew, and that of Brody Lynch as well. He then admitted to the final death of magistrate Devlin Ryder, and said that only an elder who allowed that Fair fae such a mantle deserved explanation for his actions.

Aldritch went on to speak of the impending cleansing of the McCarthy's village, but had not yet had the availability to confer with a seer that it wasn't simply a strong coincidence. He ended with a formal appeal of the decree Egon had set, before another magistrate was appointed to mend the Enigma breaches.

Egon leaned on the thick wooden railing of the bridge and stared out over the lake, deep in thought. He finally turned to Aldritch and said, "I concede that the initial judgment was made with passion. However, those with true knowledge of us must be controlled. We can't know of their influence to spread awareness and make believers of other humans. That would be our downfall, Adritch, and we are already in the autumn of our existence."

"Sadly, I agree."

"I respect your concern for your kin, but some measures must be taken. It could be bribes, or a curse, or even holding one hostage! One way or another," Egon barked as he pounded a fist onto the railing for emphasis, his large coral eyes shining with zeal, "the breaches of Enigma cannot go unaccounted for! Your extended progeny is not greater than the whole of the Lore!"

Remaining calm to counter Egon's flaring emotions, Aldritch stayed. With a voice reminiscent of distant thunder, he said, "I understand, good elder. I will seek other council on how to proceed with that as well; I would be conflicted to carry out the proper judgment personally."

Smoothing his milky, flowing robe as a way to compose his feelings, Egon went on in a mellow, musical tone. "Now, as for the elder Saraid's plans to cleanse a location on the Circle's behalf... What of it? She may be using the Circle of Prudence as a crutch of indignation to carry out her so-called righteous crusade, but she breaks none of our laws in doing so. I suspect that any warrior or mercenary worth their ashes would ask for pacts or payments to join. If she has the means to pay them, so be it.

"As you may or may not know, in order to move a large assemblage of fae, a permanent bridge must be built to accommodate them. Her mercenaries will expect that of her as well. Simply because of its nature, that bridge may lead them to your little village immediately, or it might be Verden years before they arrive. Opening multiple temporary portals would be far too costly of glamour. In any case, as the commander, Saraid would have to answer for any future breaches during her campaign."

Aldritch leaned on his staff and frowned. "But is there nothing to be done for her campaign? I am no strategist."

Egon shrugged and said, "If you wish to gather an opposing force to block her actions, or in some way convince her warriors to defect or depart, you are free to do so."

"Do you have no personal feelings or sense of allegiance on the matter, if I may ask?"

"You may ask, and my answer is that I am in allegiance to the Lore itself."

Head lowered, Aldritch murmured, "I do see your outlook, good elder, but..."

Egon stepped closer and said, "I believe that your worry for your kin puts a bias on your perspective, Aldritch. Some fae believe in fair play, while others are not guided by moral standards. We are beings made of elements and dreams, high passions and low, my new friend. Protect your humans if you choose; or their entire village if you can. That decision is yours. In the end, all we have is our desires and our laws. If you can, use one in accordance with the other. Any action within those bounds simply is, and all fae are free to react how they wish. That is the freedom, the sweet chaos, of the Lore."

Aldritch kept his eyes lowered and simply responded in his deep voice, "I see."

"Ah, and now you're disappointed," Egon said as he crossed his arms, "more than likely with me instead of the truth. Were you resting your hopes on the supposed value of my exploits that I might give more favorable council?"

Looking back up, Aldritch replied, "I was hoping to rely on the integrity that helped garner your status, yes."

Egon frowned. "Those deeds - the fall of Troy, the battle of Saratoga, the great ogre uprising, all those and more - were the results of impulse; nothing more. I feel no regret in not meeting your pseudo-human standards, my fellow elder. In fact, I prefer not to live up to any standards other than what I choose at any given moment."

"For long and long, I carried on in such a fashion," Aldritch said remorsefully.

"Ah, you miss the existence you had before you created progeny. I sympathize, but that was of your own doing. The result can be taken away, but not undone."

Aldritch met the other's gaze. "I would not wish for either."

Egon shook his head. "While you may have been tainted with human principles for spending too much time in their realm, I, like all true fae, retain my utter freedom of choice. By definition, that is pure hedonism, but what else is there?" He frowned. "Aldritch, you are trying to apply the madness, the bane, of mundane thought to the liberty of the Lore. That delusion is your error."

Aldritch nodded solemnly. "Perhaps it is, Egon; I am mistaken in my assumptions." He paused, and then said, "I remember what a wise fae said recently; that we are creatures of nature and emotion. Would you not agree?"

"I certainly would; we fae embrace them all."

Looking Egon sternly in the eye, Aldritch said, "One emotion is called compassion. I hoped that you embraced that one as well. I was mistaken."

Pursing his lips together, Egon stared back in silence. Finally, he said in a harsh tone, "Your welcome is worn, elder. I give you leave to create a portal to vacate my lands, but do it soon." He then turned his back on his guest and resolutely walked away in the direction of his castle.

Chapter 8

The cargo plane carrying Simon Rike and all of his belongings was delayed an hour from landing at Knock airport that late Monday morning because of turbulent storms over the north Atlantic. Simon felt obliged to tip the pilots after puking in the small seating compartment.

Even with all of the forms completed and in good order, the process of Simon's official visa still took nearly two hours. After that, the loading of all his personal and blacksmith items into moving vans took well over another hour. The only good thing that came from all the unexpected time taken was that the rain had let up, and even allowed some blue sky to peek through now and again.

Finally pulling up to Simon's new home with the moving vans following, he and Brody were surprised to see a number of cars already there and folks gathered on the side lawn near the centered driveway.

Three people from the labor crew, one of which being the affable Robbie Kelly, were present; they all volunteered to lend a hand. Father Doyle and his old friends Archie Walsh and Flinn Sweeney quickly announced that they were the official foremen and beer testers. Just after, Mary Clarke, who was using up her vacation days before she quit the bank, announced that she was the supervisor and that the old farts were welcome to get rat-arsed out in the horse barn.

Brody and Kate were still distracted from Jane's early morning's revelations, but they still managed to enjoy and appreciate the good company. After they made Jane call them when she returned home, the two discussed how best to help her but admittedly had no idea what to do or where to start. Before leaving to meet Simon at the airport, they even stepped outside and called for Liadan or Oriana, but to no avail.

On the short drive to Knock, both Brody and Kate remembered the saved piece of blade formerly belonging to the fae Devlin, and how it might be some sort of protection for Jane. They planned on getting it to her at the first chance they had.

Simon was a bit stunned; he didn't expect anyone else to be at his new place, let alone folks that he barely knew who came to offer a friendly hand. He was still slowly getting over the fact that he was no longer universally hated. He still flinched when walking into a liquor store, or when a stranger said something innocuous or polite to him. In Denver, the old habits were hard to kill because of the many familiar sights and the bad memories that accompanied all of them.

In Simon's new home, however, everything felt fresh and new; the dawn of a second chance. Mere acquaintances were offering to help, or initiate a friendly chat while they slapped a bottle of Guinness in his hand. He had a nice house, good land, and the best friend and relative he could ask for. It was real. Simon was home.

At one point, while everyone was loading equipment and supplies into Simon's shop, Kate went to go retrieve the broken blade. She brought it to Jane before coming back with deli sandwiches for everyone, and some groceries for Simon's icebox and pantry.

In the meantime, Brody kept noticing that Simon sometimes had a grin on his chiseled face; nothing was said of it; he was just glad to see his cousin happy. He also noticed that Simon would occasionally get anxious being surrounded by people in the cozy house, and would find excuses to step outside rather than let a rude word slip. When the moving was complete, Simon surprisingly announced that drinks were on him that night at Gil's.

After most of the sociable helpers departed, Brody left messages for or had briefs chats with all of the McCarthy's, inviting them to Doolin's the following evening to welcome his cousin to town. He then realized he hadn't asked Simon if that was okay, and went looking for him.

Brody finally found his solitary relative out back by the carport, looking at his new SUV once again. After making sure that the dinner invitation wasn't a problem, he saw that Simon had a strange look in his eye as he leaned against the back of his car, staring out in the direction of his workshop and horse barn. Brody let the silence linger for nearly a minute before asking what was wrong.

Simon turned to look at his big cousin, and then back out onto his property. "Are you kiddin', cuz? There's not a damn thing wrong. It's just that..."

"What? Just spill it, man. "

Slowly shaking his head, Simon said, "I just never shook so many hands or said so many thanks all at once before. I never had cause to. I just ain't used to it, that's all."

"Well," Brody said, leaning on the car next to him, "that won't happen every day, if that's what you're worried about. But when you walk into Gil's tonight, expect a lot of it, especially when you're buying."

They both softly chuckled and then shared a short, comfortable silence as they looked over the property from their view. Simon eventually asked, "This is really all mine, right?"

"Sure, as long as you pay me for it." Brody gave Simon a soft jab in the arm after he said it.

"So, yeah, about that; I hope you won't get offended or nothin', and I don't want to cause a fuss, but I reckon I'd like to call this place my own, free and clear. I don't know how much you paid for it, but I got money from the Denver house gettin' sold off, and I..."

"And you want something that you can truly claim here, and obligated to no one for it, not even me, right?" He saw that Simon was still looking away with an uncomfortable expression, possibly thinking that he wanted to say just that, but with more tact. Brody turned his eyes back to the refurbished property. "Simon, don't worry, I'm not offended at all. I'd want to do the same thing, so I get it. I got the ranch, and this SUV here, pretty damn cheap. We'll get Kate to figure out the exact amount if you want, but I'm sure you can cover it easy. Just write a check whenever you like."

Simon turned his head to Brody and waited until he noticed and returned the look. "Cuz, I'm all out of handshakes and thank-ya's. They ain't enough for all this anyhow."

"I don't expect it, man. I know you'll help me out whenever I need it. It just turned out that I could help you first." Brody gripped Simon's shoulder in masculine affection and then released it. "I'm glad you're here, Simon. I think it's where you belong, too, just like me."

Simon looked away and said with hesitancy, "Brody, look at this. The house, the stables, the shop... I... Shit, I don't have the words."

Brody looked back out to the property and sarcastically replied, "Good, then you won't have any trouble shuttin' up about it."

*********

Enochia sat at her alabaster table and was about to perform another far-sight reading when her attention was diverted. She looked up and saw a small, simple portal gate - artless to match the limited skills of low-caste - shimmer into existence in her entry hall.

A moment later, Harkin stumbled out of it, with some of his feathers floating through behind him. He immediately fell to his knees with one haggard wing pressed to his chest.

After a few long seconds, the servant found a reserve of fortitude and stood. After he moved to his feet, the door frame blocked Enochia's view to assess his condition. With mild concern, she said, "Harkin, come into the parlor."

"If it would please you, Mistress, I would wish to compose myself somewhat before you take exception to my currently shabby state."

Sitting back in her high-backed chair, Enochia replied, "I take exception to you not heeding my request. Come in here now."

With a slight limp, Harkin stepped into her parlor. His sallow face was bruised and swelling, his long gray hair unkempt. The tip of one of his large bat-like ears was cut off with a clean slice. The ending section and primary mottled feathers of his left wing were ruined and bloody. His crimson vest and trousers were ripped and stained. With all of his injuries, Harkin stood tall and awaited the bidding of his Mistress.

With a mix of emotions - distress and empathy for her servant, anger and wrath for whoever inflicted the vicious damage - Enochia only said, "Explain."

Harkin nodded once and said, "I did as you asked, Mistress, and looked to find the latest talk that warriors might be interested in; it didn't take long to find out. In a small village of free gnomes, I gathered whispers of a call to arms by some influential elder. Those low-caste creatures then directed me to a mercenary lodge not far off, in the area of the neutral lands called the Great Timbers. They said I would learn more there, and they were correct."

"It was in or near the Great Timbers lodge that you were abused?"

"Yes, Mistress; I offer my apologies for not remaining unremarkable enough for notice."

Enochia lifted a hand from her lap. "Not necessary, Harkin. While reckless, it took courage to enter one of those barbaric lodges. Carry on."

After Harkin bowed to the given praise, he continued. "There were over a dozen warriors within, but the conversation between a few had the attention of most of the others. I remained perched in the shadow of a pillar, veiled from the light of a blazing hearth. A dryad elder named Saraid of the Moon Glade was calling warriors to arms for an ongoing injustice. She hopes to rally enough to cleanse Ballaghadaere.

"Near to me was the boar-morpher, Kazimir of the Callous Ruin; he listened intently, though did not interject. Near the hearth sat the stern troll Cadell Arms-Caller; he too heard the conversation but said nothing. Before the topic reached a crescendo, both elders I mentioned wordlessly departed the lodge.

"All but one other was unknown to me, including the three who spoke of lady Saraid's campaign. Of those three, I could glean little. One was a caramel-skinned, white-haired Fair fae named Uther; he was in favor of Saraid, and with fervor. Agreeing with him was a younger troll whose name I did not catch. The last, across from them and apparently not in accord was a recently titled, rangy wolf-morpher named Dorian of the Dread Echo. Passions grew and a short battle ensued."

"I see," Enochia said, "and how did this Dorian fare against the two of opposing view?"

"Apologies, Mistress, but the wolf-morpher was not brought into battle by those two."

Enochia had little interest in the details of skirmishes or wars, but was nonetheless intrigued. "Oh? Then whom did he face?"

"The only other fae I knew by sight, Mistress; Grigori the Glut."

"The Glut?" Enochia asked with uncommon alarm. "You saw him in combat?"

"What I could, Mistress; he was mostly a blur after it began. I'm afraid Dorian never had much of a chance, especially when not given the time to completely assume his beast form. Almost instantly after a severed arm was flung from the fray, Grigori rent the morpher's chest open and devoured his heart."

Enochia was well aware of the infamous name. In the way that some unthinking human parents would speak of a pooka or boogeyman to temper their children, some fae sires and maters scared their younglings with tales of Grigori the Glut. While not militant, the notorious fae had joined in his share of battles and conquests, some say merely for the spoils of feeding. He otherwise kept to himself and only visited remote Verden locations.

Rumors said that the Glut was the instigation behind the gruesome accounts of Sawney Bean, the 15th century Scottish cannibal, as well as fiends Albert Fish and Alexander Spesivtsev. Grigori's own appetites, whether fae, human, or beast, were legendary as well. Enochia considered that abominable fae as a lethal force of opportunism, skill, and malevolence.

Harkin continued. "With nary a scratch on him, Grigori and his gremlin servant left the lodge soon after, saying something to the effect of attempting a pact with Saraid."

Enochia nodded her head in contemplation, and then inquired, "And as of your wounds?"

'Yes, well . . .," the battered servant said with a hint of humiliation, "the remaining fae, Uther and a few others... their emotions were charged after the frenzied fight, and they thought to have some sport with an easy target. Other than a messenger wisp, I was the only other low-caste in the lodge. When I finally had an opportunity, I found a vocal pitch they found upsetting and managed to escape."

She studied the abused but proud harpy for a few moments, and then said, "My own ability in the gift of restoration is rudimentary and would be of little aid, so see to your wounds. You have done well in your duty and by me, Harkin; take as long as you desire."

"Thank you, Mistress." Harkin bowed to her and then limped toward the small, unused room across the entry hall where he was allowed to roost.

Enochia slumped back in her chair and tugged her frayed green shawl across her willowy form. The stakes had risen; even if the local fae chose to mount a defense, their chances were meager. But with Grigori the Glut in the mix, the outcome seemed bleak indeed, if not doomed.

With many possible scenarios and with variable actions of so many key individuals, foretelling the most probable outcomes would take time. Still, for any hope of a positive conclusion, she had to find specific events, however subtle, that might be altered to turn the tide.

Releasing a deep breath, Enochia focused on the grooved alabaster table in front of her and began the tedious search of the key to victory, if there even was one to be found.

*********

Under a clear amethyst night sky, lit by twinkling stars seemingly big enough to touch, Saraid watched glowing wisps dance around and above her while she waited. She sat on a huge mushroom cap with her knees drawn up and her arms casually wrapped around them. Set in a field of oversized daisies, somewhere between her tree haven and the camp of assembling warriors, she was impatient for Dahlia's return.

As she gazed at the bonfire far in the distance with silhouettes moving around it, Saraid listened to harmonious instruments and masculine voices, faintly carried in the still air. She resisted the temptation to join in the revelry; her plans were for a different variety of self-indulgence.

Having time for reflection, Saraid couldn't remember an abduction ever being as troublesome as Jane McCarthy. She had gathered many humans over the Verden centuries, all for decadent purposes; children for their innocence and dreams, and adults for their carnality or talents. Most didn't last long, either slipping into insanity or aging from her eventual disinterest. Others were taken on a whim or for mere erotic diversion, and usually returned to the Verden; those who hadn't gone mad were fogged of their adventure as the law decreed.

Young Jane, however, was a prize that all of the others paled to. Saraid supposed that a greater trophy took more effort to claim, but the gifted girl was worth it.

With heightened senses, Saraid heard the remote rustling of footsteps through the wild field from over her right shoulder. Concentrating, she only heard one set of feet, and not the accompaniment of two dryad assistants - one of whom had been banished back to the haven - nor that of a human captive.

She pursed her lips and waited, irritated, but remained unmoving on her perch. Soon enough, Saraid picked up the scent of Dahlia's stained leather, and knew she was close. The lack of soft, brushing sound as she passed through the daisies, and that of the colorful wisps' departure, signaled Dahlia's proximity.

After a few seconds of expectant silence, Saraid gently asked, "How did you fail me, Dahlia?"

Over her shoulder, Saraid heard the warrior reply without hesitation, "The human was sent through a portal, I assume back to the Verden, before I arrived. She had the assistance of two other fae."

Saraid continued to watch the distant merriment. "And was it those two who attacked my servants, causing the final death of one? I felt her passing not long ago."

"It was one of the two, yes."

"Dahlia," Saraid said with a calm that belied her anger, "I placed two of my own nymphs in your care. That the human could not be retrieved is acceptable if your account is correct, but you returned with less than you departed with, not more. I am displeased."

Dahlia moved forward enough to see Saraid's face in profile up on the tall mushroom. "Elder, I will make no excuses, and consider myself in your debt until I can regain your favor."

After a moment of thoughtful silence, Saraid still kept her view of the mercenary camp but asked, "At least tell me you learned something from your failed attempt. Tell me that the banishment of one servant and the lost existence of another were not in vain."

Dahlia clasped her hands behind her back. "I learned a few minor things, elder. I realized that not all Fair fae are alike in their preconceptions. I was also informed that you supposedly owe a leprechaun a scroll of endorsement for title. Lastly, I learned that fog bears can be trained."

Saraid nodded with a faraway stare. "Many fae can be of one mind on most subjects, Dahlia, but all are individuals. As for the leprechaun, that scroll has already been sent. And, the last - obedient fog bears? While surprising, it is of little import. So, yes, I'd have to agree with you; those were indeed minor and not worth the price paid." With emerald eyes that blazed with ire, Saraid slowly turned her head to look down at the pale fae warrior. "I will have that girl, Dahlia. Just as you consider yourself in my debt, I agree. Tell me my faith in you is not misplaced. Should I offer you another chance to do my bidding, this time successfully?"

"Given the chance, I will not fail you."

Looking away again, Saraid said, "Let us hope so. In yonder encampment is a bauchan named Haas; he is merely an onlooker and allowed to remain for the sake of morale. Fetch him and return here."

"I will search him out, elder."

"I will open another portal for both of you. It will lead directly to the girl's Verden housing; I believe she would seek safety with her family and so more than likely will be there. While you, a Fair fae, cannot enter a home without permission, the bauchan has no such racial hindrances. Tell him only to lure Jane McCarthy out so that you can take possession of her; he deserves no explanation. As before, you are allowed to come directly back to my holdings."

"I thank you for another opportunity, and will successfully carry out this order."

Saraid turned to the female soldier with a look of sour dismissal. "I expect better of you, Dahlia. Another failure might bring disrepute rather than the prestige you seek. Be on your way."

Chapter 9

For a few hours, the Monday evening of Simon's arrival was spent at Gil's pub. The weary newcomer wanted nothing more than to sleep in his new bed, but he was a man of his word and bought a few rounds for everyone in attendance. Besides, he felt that a thank you wasn't enough for the welcome he received. Old Archie and Flinn got the measure of Simon soon enough, and plied him with scandalous stories and dirty jokes.

The laughter and din of conversation quieted when Jane prepared to sing. With Jack on fiddle and ugly Roy O'Neill banging a beat on a bodhran, she strummed her guitar and sang an old folk song of reception and friendship in Irish. As soon as she began, Jane immersed herself in the spirit of the song, and all her wild fears were temporarily forgotten. Simon didn't understand the words, but was nonetheless stirred by the intensity and emotion of Jane's beautiful voice. It was a good ending to a long day.

The last Tuesday of January offered spitting rain throughout the day, turning to a gentle snow in the evening that melted on the glossy streets of Ballaghadaere. Ten people filtered into Doolin's restaurant, in the hub of the snow-quieted village, to gather for a fine meal and wishes of welcome to the newest member of the area. The restaurant had been rung in advance, and the new chef, Jed Gorski, had been personally asked for to prepare the meals. The McCarthy clan and two tall Americans gathered in short order for the reservation.

Simon Rike, normally uncomfortable in a crowd, found that he was uneasy on that occasion for an altogether different reason. He actually cared what the other guests - and certain other members of the community, for that matter - thought of him; a new concept for Simon. The crux of it was his cousin Brody; most folks apparently thought well of him, even though he hadn't been there very long. Because of that, Simon didn't want to offend anyone for his kin's sake. Brody and Kate were also his only links to his new business ventures, at least initially, and he didn't want to lean on them too much.

Most worrying was the thought that others would compare the cousins, and Simon would come up short. Brody had a sociable way about him, a standard that Simon couldn't match. He could only hope the folks of that village didn't use the same measuring stick for everyone.

Cora McCarthy was distracted enough not to ask many questions of Mr. Rike to ascertain his character. While he was yet another Yank, Kate and Brody had vouched for him and his honor. They said he was a solitary sort, which was proved true by his quiet demeanor at the gathering on St. Steven's Day at Brody's quaint cottage. Even so, Jack had good things to say of him afterwards, which didn't count for much in her eyes. But Liam also referred to Mr. Rike as a sound bloke, which carried weight with her.

What had Cora preoccupied was her daughter Jane's recent, elusive, almost paranoid behavior, as well as her daughter-in-law Fiona's almost giddy demeanor, a conduct that Jack shared. Cora waved the latter off as ebullience of pregnancy. She let the men carry on their testosterone-laden blather while she enjoyed her fine meal and kept a wary eye on her youngest child.

Brody truly enjoyed the setting at the large, round table. Cora, while seemingly a tad out of sorts, was pleasant and reserved. Liam and his son Jack were both entertaining, engaging everyone in their stories and conversations, and still after him with laughable mockery to try his hand at golf. Kate sat next to Brody, and he had trouble keeping his eyes off of her. Sitting there, surrounded by love and friendship, with a sparkle in her gorgeous eyes and a laughing smile on her luscious lips, Kate's pure beauty had him staring more than once. Brody felt his heart swell every time she simply touched him or looked into his eyes.

When not looking at her, Brody watched for signs of Simon's comfort level. He was proud of how his cousin was adapting already. He, Jack, and Liam carried on about horses and farming and hunting; Simon fit in better than he yet realized. While the other men chatted about topics beyond Brody's knowledge, he busied himself to help feed Shey, cut Emma's chicken, or give a nervous Jane reassuring winks and grins. He also asked for Jed to come say hello to thank him personally for the fantastic meals.

Kate was in great spirits, all things considered. Her stock market ventures were doing well enough for the Rose Foundation to make some meaningful donations. While getting Simon's finances exchanged and set at the bank earlier that day after getting him a new cell phone, she promised him that she and Alana would show him around the village on the next weekend.

Kate noticed when Brody set the new waitress and the tourists seated nearby at ease with a disarming smile and warm greeting; women seemed enticed of his powerful physique, and men looked relieved that the big man was friendly. Kate felt both proud and possessive of people's reaction to him. She later watched with joy and pride as her man interacted with Emma and Shey. He was a natural with children, and they adored him. Kate dreamed of when she could give Brody babies of their own.

No longer able to think of her little sister as a child, Kate worried about poor Jane after her traumatic experience. Other than the raw iron that Brody had dulled and made into a necklace, they knew of no other protection to offer her. Hopefully Liadan would be around soon enough and could offer otherworldly council.

Jane attempted to enjoy the fancy meal and the lively talking going on around her, but had trouble keeping focus because of her unsorted feelings and consequent lack of sleep. There was a sense of safety being with family, although it was a transparent shield; if some powerful creature from fantasy came for her, then no one, except maybe Brody, could offer protection.

Another emotion in the swirl was Macklin; Jane felt like a woman with him, and the regard for her in those magical ocean eyes was palpable. She felt more secure with him than back at home, but she also needed the familiar solace of her family.

Adding to the conflicting mood was a sad disillusionment; Jane felt betrayed that her happy childhood dreams, the cartoon fables of her youth, had it all wrong. Instead of tinker bells and fairy godmothers, she got malicious wisps, monstrous ogres, and sinister plots. Jane's constant trepidation from two nights before had begun to wear her down.

Just as Jane began to resettle into the relative comfort of her loved ones around her in a festive mood, she glanced at one of the big windows of the restaurant... and screamed.

All of the others at the table couldn't hear it; the pitch was too high for human ears to hear. What alarmed them all was when some of the glasses suddenly shattered, and china plates cracked. At the same time, Jane - her mouth wide open and her eyes filled with terror - leapt from her chair and scrambled behind Liam. It was instant chaos of bursting crystal, tea and wine splashing, and reflex actions all around the table.

Everyone automatically flinched in their seats and pulled away. Jack and Fiona immediately shielded their children with impulsive shouts of alarm. Shey began to wail. Liam let out a loud, swearing exclamation. Cora crossed herself. Simon stood with alacrity and instinctively reached for a nonexistent hip pistol. Brody protectively threw his arms out to shelter Kate on one side and Ella on the other. The few other patrons spun in alarm.

Keeping her wits, Kate glanced past Brody's big arm and saw that everyone seemed unharmed. She also noticed Jane cowering behind their da. Looking in the opposite direction, toward the picture windows, Kate saw a man looking in with evident surprise on his youthful face, and his hands covering his ears. His nimbus was dense with sparkles.

*

Ragnar enjoyed walking through the light flurries in the solitude of the quiet, dark lanes of sleepy Ballaghadaere. As he soon learned, the village was picturesque and welcoming in a relaxed, antiquated fashion. The day before, he'd used a touch of glamour to obtain a room at a B&B not far from the center of town. As the only tenant in tourist off-season, he spent the evening in conversation with the older couple who owned the business.

Ragnar, still using a borrowed name, told of his recent travels to Norway and Sweden, although 'recent' was a subjective term. In turn, the nice couple told him of recent local events, which was quite a compendium considering the rural location and small population. After their pleasant chat over hot toddies, he retired to his room and listened to various radio stations until slumber overtook him.

Despite the next day's cold rain, Ragnar took a long stroll through the surrounding countryside to get a better appreciation for modern life in northwest Ireland. Along the way, he was greeted by two friendly sprites that ventured from their glade, but they quickly moved on.

Compared to Ragnar's last visit, the styles in construction and attire had changed somewhat, as did modes of transportation and communication, but the rustic spirit and vitality of the people remained the same. The few locals that drove by him either honked or waved, and one old gent even stopped to offer a ride. Having seen enough in his lengthy pedestrian tour, and being soaked as well, Ragnar accepted.

The old man was in fact the village priest, but made no talk of his faith. He dropped his passenger off on one of the two main streets of Ballaghadaere, in front of a diner that advertised Irish stew and apple barley pudding. Ragnar hoped they had enough in stock.

After a filling meal, where the serving staff observed with mounting unease his ravenous amount of consumption, Ragnar finally moved on. He stopped in other shops before they closed for the day, mostly just for social interaction and the old-fashioned ambiance of the stores. Even with simple greetings, he felt the warming glamour of contentment of those who crossed his path.

Ragnar realized that he was coming into contact with only a small portion of the community, but was surprised with the overall cheer that pervaded the area. Besides being a thin place for efficient portals, he could see why so many so many fae kept havens there. As the local humans were contented, then so too were the fae that visited regularly; glamour was easily garnered from a happy community. Ragnar wondered how the resident fae would react when winds that whispered of aggression blew through the area.

With night settled in and the light snow illuminated by street lamps, Ragnar ambled across the hushed village square. As he crossed a deserted street, he came to a sudden stop, his eyes wide in surprise. Ragnar felt a presence, a familiar essence of fae - his own.

Only two humans had Ragnar ever given the grace of his own essence. The first was to Erich Olander, a Swedish Viking, in the Verden year of 1020. The other was to the young son of Jerry Lynch, an American laborer, in 1988. He thought of Lynch's boy being nearby, in that specific village and at that specific time, having trekked thousands of miles away from the Midwest of the United States; the likelihood of simple coincidence was almost laughable.

With the theory of mere chance removed, all that remained were questions. Ragnar was immediately curious for the answers.

The only nearby sign of activity was within the wide, yellow building in front of Ragnar. He approached one of the large windows lit from within and saw that only two tables were in use; the smaller of which held four older folks, and the larger was ringed by humans ranging from middle-aged to a small child.

'The big man', the disguised troll thought to himself with certainty, 'that is the child of Jerry Lynch'. Ragnar only glanced at the other patrons to watch reactions; the others seemed to know young Lynch well, and the relations appeared to be easy and genuine. A few questions were answered, but others filled the voids.

As Ragnar continued to watch like a voyeur, he came to wonder if young Lynch was somehow involved in all the interest that the little village was providing.

Ragnar scanned the table once more and saw a young woman - a few seats away from Lynch and facing the window - stare back at him. As if witness to a horror, her eyes went wide and her face went pale. And then she screamed. The power and pitch of her brief shriek, borne of pure terror, was beyond the audible range of humans - but not so for fae. Ragnar clapped his hands to his ears from the unexpected sonic attack.

Glass and dishware shattered on the table. The humans, with their mundane hearing, reacted to only that. In the distance, dogs began a chorus of howls. A range of chaotic movement followed in the restaurant.

Ragnar's mind whirled; the girl had the gift of the siren. Just as alarming, if not more so, she could apparently see through his manifestation. He had little time to figure out how that could be; more eyes turned in his direction. Another woman looked at Ragnar, most likely the gifted girl's sister by the resemblance. She, in turn, alerted the big man, Lynch. Those two shared a quick word with the gifted girl, who hid behind them.

Ragnar shared a moment of eye contact with Lynch; the brawny human then shot from his chair and hurried toward the building's doors with a dark, aggressive look on his face. Another man, the one with straw-blonde hair, followed Lynch with haste. Inside at the table, the older sister of the two kept dark eyes of unearthly recognition locked on him.

Backing to the edge of the wide sidewalk, Ragnar muttered to himself, "Who in the elements are these people?"

From a short distance to his left, a soft, feminine voice replied, "Quite the collection of humans, are they not, elder Ragnar?"

*

In the restaurant, a commotion of movement ensued. Jack checked on his mam, Fiona immediately began soothing her startled children. Liam began to gather napkins to staunch the spilled drinks. Serving staff had begun to hurry over. The table of tourists remained seated, but all turned to the calamitous table in shock.

Just as Brody was about to assist Liam, Kate hastily whispered in his ear, "Sparkles outside."

Brody spun his head toward the picture window, but didn't expect to see anything. Instead, he locked eyes with a clean-cut young man with wet, dark hair wearing a damp red coat. The stranger was slowly backing away from the window with a surprised expression, and was just dropping his hands from his ears.

Brody instantly thought that the normal-looking fairy was playing some sort of a prank; with Jane's nerves already fragile, he didn't think it was one damn bit funny.

Brody's attention was diverted when Jane scurried over to his left side pressed into him, as if taking cover from enemy fire. When he looked down at her - as did Kate, who looked past him to check on her little sister - Jane looked at them both with frightened eyes and breathlessly uttered, "Ogre."

That was enough for Brody; no one, not even one of the Other Crowd, was going to terrorize his loved ones if he could help it. For Jane to go to their world and be scared shitless was one thing, but for the Other Crowd to come to theirs and openly stalk her was another. Without being taught there were repercussions, who knew what they might do.

He squeezed Kate's hand before launching from his chair and toward the restaurant doors. Simon, already on his feet, sped after Brody, ready to share any trouble that might be waiting for his cousin.

Kate pulled Jane next to her in a reassuring hug. She saw that Cora and Jack were watching Brody and Simon hurry away, and that Jack was about to follow. Before he could rise, Kate quickly said, "Don't trouble your temper with it, Jack. Janie, em... she saw two young dossers, probably knackers, breeze in. One, em, threw a rock or some such, and gave her a scare. I'd say it gave us all a shake, right? Brody and Simon have it well in hand. See if you can get Shey to settle like you always do, would you?"

With a disappointed grimace, Jack reluctantly nodded and turned to his son in a highchair next to him. On Jack's other side, Cora helped Liam and a waitress dab up the spill, but looked at her youngest daughter who still clutched to Kate. "Jane, dear," her mam said, "do you still have a dose of whatever had you down this morning?" When Jane nodded against Kate's shoulder, Cora said, "If you're still out of sorts come morning, I'll stay off work and keep you company."

Kate said, "I think that's a grand idea, mam." She looked sternly into Cora's dark eyes. "I think we all should take a day for a nice chat."

*

Ragnar moved to his left, out of direct view of the windows. He glanced at the building once more before turning to the woman who spoke to him. Under the stark lighting of the street lamp she leaned casually against, it was difficult to discern much of her appearance. Petite in her humanly-unseen true form, the female wore a long, dark bundled coat with the hem of a yellow dress hanging below, but still revealed her bare feet. The large hood of the coat left her face in shadow, save for the faint glow of huge, amber eyes. As he regarded her, she manifested herself into virtually the same form.

Hastily, Ragnar asked, "What do you know of all this?"

With barely a shrug, she replied, "In this community, not much escapes my attention. Since you seem to be searching for answers for an agenda that I cannot foresee, then I feel no inclination to assist you. Please take no offense, but it is not your welfare I'm concerned with."

"Then at least tell -" Ragnar was distracted by two figures who came hurriedly out of a set of double doors to his right, some twenty paces away.

"Hey! You! Asshole," Brody barked at Ragnar in the dark, quiet street as he stomped toward him with purpose. He noticed a small figure in a hooded coat - probably Oriana - behind the stranger, but paid her little mind. Simon was only a step behind and flanked his cousin's left side; he saw the broad young fella and the little girl in a hooded overcoat easily enough and wondered why they were such a threat.

Simon's eyes suddenly seemed to lose focus and regain clarity just as quickly. In the harsh light of the lonely streetlamp that cast stark shadows and illuminated the gentle snow, he saw what was truly there.

Stopping a few steps short of his cousin, Simon muttered, "Blue hell..." He didn't even see the after-image of Ragnar's manifestation; standing less than ten paces away was a nine-foot tall, muscular beast in a flimsy garment. It - he - looked vaguely human, but had an odd skin tone. Mustering his resolve to stand with his cousin, Simon moved forward again, slowly turning his fear into anger.

Ragnar thought to end any confrontation before it began as the big man, Lynch, and his friend closed the distance. Besides, he wanted them no closer; he felt a disconcerting sense about the blond man. Holding out a hand for them to stop, Ragnar laced his next words with glamour and said to the big man, "You need to halt and calm yourself."

Brody broke stride and came to a stop. He then blinked his eyes and an angry scowl returned to his face. He took another step toward the stranger and said through gritted teeth, "I got a better idea; how about you get the hell outta here before I beat the fairy piss out of you." His clenching fists made the short, hard sound of grinding stone.

Ragnar smelt the stone dust coming from Lynch at less than ten paces away, but a much more distressing scent came from his cohort. He realized why he felt uncomfortable with the blond man's presence; he had hand-wrought iron on him somewhere.

Simon took a stance next to his cousin. While he kept his eyes locked on the other two, he asked, "Who the fuck is the little girl, Brody? Do you know her? I already know the giant one is one of... them, because he sure as hell ain't human."

Brody edged to the side for a better view and replied, "They're both Other Crowd; fae." He glanced at Simon. "You can see him for what he really is?"

"Sure as shit, cousin." In a deft motion, Simon squatted, tugged his pant leg up, and pulled a blade from his cowboy boot. He resumed a pose of impending action, ready to pounce. The hooded girl and the inhuman giant visibly tensed. With a menacing glare, Simon said, "I got just the thing for both of you shit-heels. Take a break, cuz; I'll beef 'em both up for ya real quick."

Just as Simon started forward, Brody put a heavy hand on his cousin's shoulder. "Hold on a sec, Simon," he said while still looking forward, "the woman's no threat." Looking past the unknown fae, Brody said, "Hello again, Oriana. Don't tell me this ogre is a friend of yours."

"You think me an ogre?!" Ragnar asked indignantly.

Oriana softly replied, "Not a friend and barely an acquaintance, although he is no ogre. If he were one, then there would be no conversation. Battle would have already commenced, and I certainly wouldn't be here."

"Jesus, cuz," Simon whispered, "look at her eyes..."

Ignoring Simon, Brody pointed at the fae-man with a stony, gray finger. "Well, whatever the fuck you are, if you keep stalking Jane or anyone else around here, you'll have us to deal with. Got it?"

"I, Mr. Lynch, am a troll," Ragnar said with dignity, "and I have no idea who this Jane person is. Was she one of the two women with the gift of vision?"

"It looks that way, doesn't it? And that means you people can be seen around here." Brody suddenly frowned. "Wait a minute," he said, "how do you know my name?"

Ragnar ignored the question and asked with interest, "Do you have the sight as well?"

"No, but I trust what my friends tell me. What I can see for myself is that you came around, staring in the window like a pervert, scared the living hell out of an innocent girl, and then somehow broke half the shit on our table. In my book, people who do things like that usually deserve a good ass-kicking. Give me one good reason not to."

Putting his hands up in placation, Ragnar said, "It was not I who destroyed the glass and ceramic; the girl has the gift of the siren as well as vision. I am not here to intimidate or assault anyone. I was drawn to the window because of you."

"Me?"

"Are you not the son of Jerry Lynch, from Kansas City, in the province called Missouri, near the center of the United States?"

Brody tensed. "How the hell did you know my dad?"

The question was answer enough. Ragnar nodded to himself; he had no further questions of the big human, although he had quite a few of them in mind for the one called Oriana. To Brody, he said, "I am glad I was able to meet you, son of Jerry Lynch." He then focused on fogging the big man's mind to forget the encounter... and met with an incorporeal stone wall.

Brody gazed in return at the all-too human fae, "What the hell are you staring at, buddy? Oh wait, I got it; you're trying to make me forget, right? Well, Oriana has told others of your kind that it won't work on me. I guess you didn't get the memo. So unless you're gonna take back your 'grace' or whatever, then you're gonna have to deal with it like every other fae I've met."

Oriana said from beside the troubled troll, "Brody speaks the truth of it, good Ragnar; it has been tried and failed on numerous occasions. He also recovers quickly from the gift of suggestion, as you've seen. Is that another of your traits that he now shares?"

Ragnar was slightly surprised to find that the soft-spoken sprite had moved so quietly; Oriana was much closer, just off to his left, leaning against a water-streaked building wall. He was more surprised with what she said; he didn't realize how much of his abilities he'd invested in the annoyed human that stood before him.

Brody took another step closer and growled, "Let's get right down to it. I don't care if you meant to or not, you fucked with my friends and family. I don't react well to that. But I'll tell ya what; why don't you go ahead and take back your grace. Thanks all the same, but take it, and then wipe our memories clean of you so that you... people can stop bothering us. That way we can be done with you freaks."

Initially thinking that Lynch's heated suggestion would be the best course, and an obvious resolution to the broken laws of Enigma, Ragnar then contemplated the outcome of that action. The cleansing party would still come. Not only fae would be targets, but the gifted human women and the blond man would be, as well. Just by their ability to see fae, and most likely would react to what they saw, they would be in grave danger.

The law of Mortality forbade the killing of humans with no ties to the Lore, but those with vision were exempt from that safeguard. Lynch's gifted loved ones might need all the protection they could get, and he would do much better by them with his own gifts intact. Ragnar looked at Brody and said regretfully, "That wouldn't be prudent at this time."

Shaking his head and pursing his lips, Brody bit back his frustration before he said or did anything rash. Kate's words came to his mind; she'd rather they make friends than enemies. Brody decided to follow her advice, partly because he was starting to feel outnumbered by all the fae popping up around town. But before he could let his anger go completely, he pointed a finger at Ragnar and asked harshly, "What I want to know is how you knew my dad. Did you fuck with him? Did you have anything to do with the wreck?"

Simon saw his cousin's muscles bunching and flexing through his shirt. He stepped up next to Brody, waiting like a coiled spring. The knife in his hand gleamed in the lamp light, as if with equal anticipation.

Ragnar shook his head. "I did nothing unsavory toward your father. On the contrary, I graced his son - you - after he did me a great service, but then declined recompense."

After a moment of uneasy silence, Oriana said, "I can see that Ragnar speaks the truth of it, Brody; on that I give my word. He also has no malice in his aura, although your friend with the dangerous weapon certainly does." To Ragnar, she said, "You, sir, being a troll, are honor-bound to speak the truth and so I ask, do you mean Brody Lynch, the one you graced, or any of his loved ones any harm?"

Ragnar looked at Brody when he answered, "By my word, I do not."

Simon leaned toward his cousin and quietly asked, "Can we really take their word for it?"

Keeping his eyes on Ragnar, Brody nodded. "I was told by a fae I trust that trolls are, like, honorable, and have to keep their word."

"Yeah, but... even to us? Maybe that shit just goes for them."

Oriana interjected with an answer. "Please trust me when I say that Ragnar's true appearance would be unsettling for most mundane folk, as it now is for you, Mr. Rike. The question arises of how Jane mistook you for an ogre, good troll; how does she know what one is? Furthermore, I know her not to have the gift of vision, so how did she see through your manifestation?"

Ragnar looked at her, and she back at him with her hooded head cocked to the side. They shared a gaze that gave Brody the impression that they both realized the answer. There was a meaningful pause before Brody impatiently asked, "Okay, so how?"

"She has obviously visited the Lore, the same as your kinsman, apparently," Oriana said softly, "which makes one wonder who facilitated their travel, and why."

Looking at both of the fae, Brody took a deep breath and said, "Well, I guess we all have some questions, don't we?" He focused on Ragnar and said, "Look, I don't know why you're here, and I don't care, but your real, uh, form apparently scares the shit out of Jane. So keep outta her sight, okay? It'd freak her out, and I'd get pissed all over again, and then you and I would have to have another little chat. So let's just avoid all that, okay? I hate getting all worked up."

Bowing his head informally, Ragnar replied, "While I believe that my true appearance is nowhere near as loathsome as that of an ogre, I understand the girl's misconception and therefore take no offense. It has never been my intent to cause dread to a human. As for your anger, that emotion would be impotent without the gifts I graced you with, so have a care."

"And if it weren't for my even-tempered cousin here askin' me to pull in my reins," Simon said to them as he held his knife out, "I'd be sendin' the both of ya to the bone orchard." He pointed his gleaming blade from one to the other. "I don't give a shit if you're a little girl, or a giant in a bathrobe \- ya both best mind yourselves."

Brody laid a calm hand on his cousin's shoulder and said, "Everything's okay now, Simon." He looked at him solemnly and nodded once in assurance. Simon looked back at Brody, nodded reluctantly in return, and sheathed his knife back in his boot.

Oriana got their attention again when she said, "I believe curious eyes might find us if we remain. Since I now know that you, Ragnar, have no dark designs, I will give you some of the answers you seek. To you, Brody, I can only suggest that you and your kinsman return to your company before they seek you out. In time, if you accept, I will visit with you again for any questions you may have."

"Oh, I bet you will," Brody said sarcastically, "as long as you get something out of it, right? If you'll remember, I don't make deals with you people."

Ragnar looked at Brody and then to Oriana, grinning. "He's no fool, and keeps dangerous company. I am somewhat heartened by those facts."

Oriana stepped away from the damp wall and said to the troll, "Then you may, in turn, explain why that is so. Would you care to walk with me?"

Seemingly oblivious of Brody and Simon, the two fae turned and walked off into the night. Ragnar and Oriana slowly faded from Brody's sight, like an unexplainable magic trick. He was left with a view of an empty sidewalk and light swirling snow lit in the beams of street lamps.

Brody turned to see Simon still staring in that direction. He put his hand on the other's shoulder and said with wonder, "Can you still see 'em, cuz?" Simon nodded quickly, and Brody gave him a quick shake to break the tension. "I believed you before, but now we have proof. C'mon, it's over; you're gonna strain your eyes if you keep glaring into the dark like that."

Simon blinked a few times and gave a slight shake of his head. "Yeah, hey, the girl with the doll eyes is right," he said slowly, "we should get back inside." Even though he made the suggestion, he stood in place and kept staring in the direction where the two fae strolled off.

With a smile of pride, Brody steered his cousin around, back in the direction of the restaurant entrance. Even with whatever Simon saw, he not only stood his ground and faced the danger, but was ready to remove a possible threat for his family. Simon showed a defiant bravery against the unknown and otherworldly, even if it was with a justifiably quick temper. "So," Brody asked as they began walking back, "that Ragnar dude looked pretty scary, huh?"

Simon dusted accumulated snow off his shoulder and replied off-handedly, "Hmm, let me think. I was shoulder-high to his belt, he was near as muscle-bound as you are, I think his skin was sorta light purple, and he had short horns growing out of his head like a fire-and-brimstone demon." He shrugged. "I guess he was a little creepy, yeah."

They both looked at each other with smirks and quick snorts. As Brody pulled one of the doors open to let Simon in first, he then asked him, "One other thing; 'bone orchard'?"

Chapter 10

The pre-dawn sky was decorated with low, puffy cumulus clouds, still mostly dull gray against the violet sky but flecked with a tangerine color from the sun's imminent arrival. It was under those lazy clouds that a shimmering portal appeared on the front lawn of the McCarthy residence. Dahlia stepped out onto the frosted lawn, her creamy pale complexion contrasting with dark roman-style armor and lavender hair in a long braid down her back.

She studied the her darkened surroundings; a house with lights on in front of her, a group of winter-whipped bushes and trees off to her right, a low retainer wall a few paces behind her with a paved road just beyond, and a driveway to her left with rimed vehicles parked on it. The setting was dim and quiet; it would do for her purposes.

Haas the bauchan stepped out of the portal behind her. While not having morpher gifts, the diminutive fae had the elongated, fuzzy ears somewhere between human and hare. Just under two feet tall, Haas had tousled, cherry red hair and mutton chops. His pug nose twitched, and his small, pale blue eyes shifted back and forth quickly. His oversized bare feet tested the ground and then relaxed. He readjusted his simple gray shirt that was tucked into black pantaloons for a more comfortable fit. Confident that no immediate danger awaited him, Haas snapped his red suspenders with his thumbs in a customary fashion and sighed with relief.

Dahlia glanced down at her little travel companion, took mental note of his diminishing level of anxiety, and then scanned the McCarthy house and grounds once more. "And what do your 'expert' senses tell you, bauchan?"

With a high, lilting Dutch accent, Haas replied, "My eyes say that there is one mobile human in the residence. My ears say that there is no one, our kind or theirs, besides us and two other humans inside or on the property; three humans total, but only one prepares for the day."

"Only one of them awake... You're sure?"

"Only one mobile," Haas corrected, and then continued. "My nose says that there are strange scents in the area, but nothing of a boar to be cautious of... as I happened to take from our liege's mind by mistake. My skin says that wet weather has passed, and humans will find the air cold. My mind says that there is an expectant tension here, although that could just be coming from you. My tongue says that I didn't get to eat before we left, so let's get this over with."

Turning back to glare down at him, Dahlia said, "Interesting; I'll need clarification before we continue. For example, tell me more about this boar you 'accidentally' took from the Moon Maiden's thoughts."

Haas looked up at her with a shrug. "Just that there was a large beast that she was wary of, and it was connected to this location. It seems an important piece of information considering our mission here; didn't she mention that to you?"

Dahlia pursed her lips but didn't answer him. Instead, she asked, "What are the strange scents you noticed?"

With a frown, Haas replied, "Without knowing what they are, I call them strange. If I knew what they were, then they wouldn't be strange now would they?"

Leaning down a bit, Dahlia glowered at him. "Don't get snide with me; I'm not in the mood for a glib tongue." She stood straight and said with a wave of her armor-clad hand, "Let's be done with this place; I have more important matters to attend to. There is a teen girl here; go lure her out so that I can take possession of her, and we can be away."

With an appeasing smile, Haas nervously nodded and walked past her. He had gone less than ten feet when he came to an abrupt halt; his strange, floppy ears sprung erect and he audibly sniffed the air.

There was a sudden, hushed whistle; a black arrow embedded itself into the lawn less than a foot in front of Haas. The little bauchan froze. Dahlia automatically willed a shield onto her left arm and sword in her right hand, and then looked at the angle of the arrow's trajectory.

Spinning to her left, Dahlia unintentionally caught an arrow with her shield as it buried itself in the thick wood with a thump. The next arrow immediately after sliced across the side of her neck as it passed by. She ignored the hot pain, crouched behind her large round shield, and peered over it for a look at her attacker.

Not surprisingly, she saw the black-haired archer she'd met recently, standing in the road some fifty paces away. He was reaching for another arrow from his quiver while his enormous pet, the fog bear, began to amble forward in the beginning of a charge.

Dahlia acted decisively. Knowing that if she banished the archer then his pet, by default of being bound to its master, would be returned to his holdings as well. Sprinting toward them with inhuman speed, she hoped to use the bear's accelerating momentum against it; she only had to dodge its swiping attack as they passed each other.

Not five strides into her own attack, Dahlia was struck with a perfectly timed, precisely aimed arrow in her left shoulder when her shield arm was momentarily low. From the lancing impact and numbing pain, she dropped the shield. Without losing stride, she changed tactics. Dahlia corrected her angle to be directly in the path of the huge beast, using it as cover against the talented archer. Putting herself on a collision course with over a ton of fur, muscle, and claws, she raced forward with a snarl.

With less than a second before impact, Dahlia put her secondary plan into play. With her weakened left hand, she directed a blast of searing heat directly onto the bear's snout. It immediately roared with pain, veered slightly to her right, and slowed its charge.

Dahlia leapt forward and used the monstrous bear as a springboard. She vaulted high and far off the beast's back, aimed directly at her opponent. Using her aerial height, she performed a somersault to disorient the archer from having a clear target. He had another arrow nocked as she completed her spin.

Just before Dahlia landed in front of him, the archer released his arrow. She felt searing pain in her right calf, and that leg buckled when she landed. Using her own momentum, she rolled to the side and performed a fluid, sweeping strike with her sword in the process. She felt the grimly satisfying resistance in her swing, knowing her slicing attack had succeeded. The archer stumbled back in surprise, his free hand clutching at the gaping wound in his thigh.

Macklin gasped in shock and pain but quickly tried to retreat to create distance between himself and the pale warrior. He had falsely assumed that his own skill would be deterrent enough to make her depart; he didn't expect the opposite. The thin wound on her neck oozed violet blood, an arrow shaft was protruding from her left shoulder, and another ran through the leather and muscle of her right calf. Still, she was poised for another attack.

In too close of quarters for a bow shot, and without Mix's assistance, he knew he was no match for her in melee. All Macklin could attempt was the unexpected.

The warrior made a feint to one side, and then arced back in from the other. In a panicked defense, Macklin used his free hand to direct a thin, intense beam of heat. The exposed skin of her left upper arm instantly reddened and blistered, and her attack faltered.

Taking advantage of the warrior's hesitation, Macklin swung his stout bow and clouted her in the face. Rather than stumble back, she rolled with the blow, spun with blurring speed, and sliced him again at an angle across his torso. Before the pain registered, the warrior reversed her swing and gashed open his right leg at the knee. Macklin fell to the pavement, his damaged legs unable to support him.

Bloody and maimed, the female warrior stood over Macklin with a humorless grin of victory. While one of her eyes was swelling shut, the other had the wild look of bloodthirsty passion. She stepped next to him and placed the point of her ironwood sword in the center of his chest, resting her left hand on the pommel.

Her wicked smile faltered when two things happened. First, rather than becoming brighter with the coming dawn, the area darkened; the cumulus clouds overhead had suddenly gathered and swelled with the bluish-gray of impending rain. Secondly, Mix roared nearby, somewhere behind the warrior. Dahlia looked over her shoulder to assess the danger.

Macklin felt the heat gathering in the warrior's free hand for another strike on his pet. He used Mix's distraction to use a different token, released his bow, and willed a spear into his hand. From his prone position Macklin had little leverage for a potent strike - not with a sword still pressed to his chest. Still, any attempt was better than laying there and waiting for the end.

With a grunt, Macklin thrust the spear up at the warrior. While her sword tip simultaneously bit into his chest, he buried the half of the long spearhead into her exposed and tender armpit, nearly deep enough to lodge itself. The warrior screeched in pain and stumbled back. The sword, released, ripped at his flesh as it fell away.

While the spear fell from the wounded fae and clattered on the pavement, Macklin grabbed his bow and rolled in the opposite direction. Because of his damaged legs, he quickly went into a sitting position and reached for another arrow. He stopped in surprise and tried to make sense of the unexpected sight before him.

At the near end of the McCarthy lawn were a few dormant trees. They were all unnaturally contorted and had wrapped their many branches around Mix, holding him immobile. Further back, on the lawn, a towering fae in an overcoat and holding a long, warped staff stood over the bauchan that Macklin had first shot at with a warning arrow. Very localized rain was pouring all around the huge fae, and the low clouds belched trembling thunder.

A small redcap with long orange hair and dirty clothes appeared, and moved even faster than he or the warrior could. The little fae zipped near, grabbed up the fallen sword and spear, and returned to stand just beyond the deluge near the tall fae before Macklin could think to target him. The pale warrior, a bloody mess, wavered at the end of her endurance as she too stared at the newcomers.

The tall fae, evidently quite strong in the gifts of climate and flora, looked in Macklin's general direction. "You!" boomed the powerful fae with a deep, menacing voice. He pointed a long finger as he said it, aimed at the warrior. Macklin couldn't see her expression from his angle, but did notice her exhausted frame suddenly tense up. He almost felt scared for her.

With only a split second of hesitation, the bloody, wounded warrior turned to her right, nearly facing Macklin again, and attempted to run. A thick, cracking bolt of lightning nearly struck him, close enough to slam his weary body flat onto the hard pavement from the sheer power of it. The bow sailed away from his slack hand.

Stunned from the impact, crippled from leg injuries, weak from the wound across his stomach, temporarily deaf, and half blind from the lightning, Macklin laid there and let his mind swim. Jumbled thoughts of his cherished home in the Lore flickered and faded. At that moment, it seemed so far away.

Hearing the roar of Mix once again helped Macklin regain his senses; he had to save his pet and companion, and was willing to perish in the effort without regret. However, when he opened his eyes, a towering figure was standing near his head. From his angle, upside-down, Macklin knew the fae to be a huge troll. He had dusty plum skin and a regal, if not somber, aspect on his rugged face.

Ragnar looked down on the prone fae and said with a rumbling bass voice, "Now that your wits have returned, I caution you to keep your place, bowman."

When Mix bellowed again, they both looked over to see the bear struggling against his branch-bindings. Macklin began to rise with his last reserve of energy, hot with anger at seeing his pet restrained. Ragnar placed a huge booted foot on his shoulder and slowly applied pressure. Pushed easily back down to the pavement, Macklin stared up at the troll and began thinking of a worthy curse to bestow.

"As I said," Ragnar stated calmly, "rising would not be wise at this time. Your powerful pet will not come to harm as long as you keep your place. I give you my word on that." Feeling the tension from his foot release, he removed it from the Fair fae's shoulder. Ragnar then looked forward. "Ah, Aldritch, it seems we meet again, under another odd set of circumstances."

Aldritch ignored the downed fae that separated him and Ragnar. He gave a small, formal bow to the troll. "I cannot say I am surprised to see you in the area, good Ragnar, but I must remain wary until I might learn where you have placed your allegiance in the troubles to come."

Both elders turned when they heard the distant squeak of a door. Liam McCarthy stood on his porch stoop with a fresh coffee stain on his dress shirt, looking around and up at the sky with keen interest; fae were beyond his senses, but the lightning strike was all too real.

They watched until then man went back inside. Both of the elder's attentions were brought back to Macklin's when he asked, "You are Aldritch of the Old Wood?" After a solemn nod from the tall dryad, Macklin craned his head back to regard the huge troll. "And you must be Ragnar, owner of the cave of portals. I offer an apology to you for not heeding your first words, good elder." Macklin cautiously lifted his head but nothing else. "My sire has spoken tales of you both during revels. I am honored."

Ragnar casually walked over to the limp form of the pale warrior near the other side of the lane. He crouched next to her, but looked back to Macklin and asked, "You have us at a disadvantage, young fae; name your sire, and then yourself, if you would. And then," he said as he gestured to the warrior, "you might explain who this is."

"My sire is Merrit Charm-monger, a Fair fae of some renown in the land of Aisling-maith. I am Macklin, recent holder of independent lands. As for her, we'd met before under unpleasant circumstances, although I never learned her name."

Aldritch answered. "She is called Dahlia, a mercenary in the current employ of Saraid Moon Maiden." He then gestured nonchalantly behind him. "The bauchan who accompanied her here knew little else, save what their mission was." All three fae looked toward the McCarthy lawn, but Haas was nowhere to be seen. They turned back when Dahlia let out a soft moan and groggily turned her head. Aldritch went on in a low, measured tone. "The warrior was sent to confiscate a human under my protection for Saraid's unknown purposes."

Ragnar waited until Dahlia had the presence of mind to lift her head. She soon found herself staring up at the composed troll. "Greetings," he said calmly. "You may not understand this yet, but your covert operation, and subsequent failure, has swayed my decision of who I'll favor."

Dahlia rested her head on the pavement with a sigh; not for adversely swaying the troll's allegiance, but because she'd failed Saraid yet again.

"Still, as befitting my race," Ragnar went on, "I'll honor you with choices. I could leave you to your own devices, meaning that you'll bleed out into banishment before you gather the strength to heal yourself. Another option is that I could squeeze your head like an egg in my fist, and make your banishment quick. Or, we could make a pact; I remove the arrows and heal you, and in return I will place you in a challenging locale. Essentially, I will place your fate back in your own hands. Lastly, I could leave you in the care of the fae who downed you; Macklin the Fair and the elder dryad Aldritch of the Old Wood."

Dahlia's eyes widened with fear. She lifted her head to glance at the tall fae only a few strides away, and then back to Ragnar. "I - I will accept the offer of a pact."

The troll stood and turned to Aldritch. "Is this acceptable to you, elder?"

Aldritch leaned on his staff and regarded Ragnar for a moment. He then said to Dahlia, "Face me, warrior." She painfully rolled to her side and sat up. "Know this: the last fae who attempted aggression against my claim was given to Ragnar as a bowl of ashes."

Dahlia hesitantly looked up at Ragnar. He nodded to confirm the statement.

"Because of his lenient offer," Aldritch continued, "I will refrain from doing so again. However, I inflict upon you the curse of protection; if you ever take action against anything or anyone I place under my safety, whether known or not, your vassals shall turn on you and your peers will shun you. Your name will be driven to notoriety. As balance, if I act in aggression against anything you lay claim to, I will be rebuked. Let it be done and so."

Immediately after, a silent wave of energy passed through both Aldritch and Dahlia as the elemental invocation placed a link between them, and then ebbed into the ether. The tall dryad then looked up at Ragnar once more. "Please remove her from my sight."

With a nod, Ragnar made a deft, complex gesture. A stone-lined portal appeared next to him. He then easily picked up Dahlia by the back plate of her cuirass and carried her punished body through it; she was too weak to protest her disrespectful treatment of being hauled like baggage. The portal gate immediately closed in on itself after their departure and disappeared with a soft pop.

Macklin had propped himself onto his elbows but nothing more; he didn't want to test the limits of one elder's advice and another's patience. While Aldritch stared at the spot of the troll's portal, apparently deep in thought, Macklin began willing his wounds to slowly close and mend. He didn't accomplish much before the brooding dryad elder turned and looked down at him. Not knowing what reaction to expect, Macklin met his gaze and hoped his dread wasn't evident. He was therefore surprised when Aldritch bent and offered his large hand.

They clasped at the wrists and Aldritch pulled him to his feet. "Here," the elder said as he offered his staff, "lean on this while you see to your wounds."

Macklin nodded his appreciation and gripped it with both hands. Aldritch turned and, with a flick of his hand, released the bear from his confinement.

"Thank you," Macklin said with labored breath. It seemed the act of healing his wounds was more painful than when he received them. He saw his pet jogging over in their direction with teeth bared, and so held up a hand and said, "All is well, Mix; he means no harm."

Aldritch turned back and placed a firm hand on top of his staff to steady it as the Fair fae's wounds knitted. "Your pet's confinement was only done to ensure my own safety."

Macklin nodded as his huge pet ambled next to him and huddled close. The young fae offered Aldritch his staff back and leaned against the bear for support as his strength returned.

"Had I not restrained your curious pet," the elder said as he leaned on his reclaimed staff, "I believe you would have been victorious in your battle against the warrior. Without knowing the motives for either of you, I erred on the side of caution."

Still leaning against Mix, Macklin said, "I understand, elder, and hope you now know my motives were ultimately in your favor, even though I was unaware that they might be. I came to warn one of the residents of impending danger, one that she was unaware of, anyway."

"Odd behavior for a Fair..." Aldritch commented.

Macklin shrugged. "I didn't expect combat to be necessary when I arrived. I now must admit my confusion; I don't know if I am in your debt or not. Your lightning saved me from a true death, but if Mix here weren't restrained, as you said, I wouldn't have been in such peril. I bow to your wisdom on the matter, good elder."

Aldritch pondered Macklin's words for a moment. He then looked down to the redcap behind him and said, "Go retrieve this fae's weapon, and be slow about it." Lorcan, who had been hiding behind the elder's long coat, frowned at no one in particular and then began to trudge back to the McCarthy lawn.

Regarding the young fae before him once more, Aldritch recognized admirable traits in Macklin in a very short period; courage, respect, humility. Still, it was best not to voice his opinion and foster vanity that was normally inherent in the Fair race. That aside, he thought compliments were best used in reaching a goal, and otherwise used by fawning fools and desperate lovers.

"The facts you speak of negate each other in finding ground for a debt," Aldritch finally said. "However, your deference clouds you to another view of events." Macklin looked up at him with a confused expression, and so, with a deep breath of modesty, Aldritch explained. "Had you not intervened, the warrior and her cohort would have succeeded in their plan. I am therefore in your debt."

Completely bewildered, Macklin hesitantly asked, "You are?"

Aldritch glanced over his shoulder to check the redcap's progress, and then faced Macklin again. Sighing, the elder said, "As fae are attuned to their holdings, I also have chosen attunement with this location. And, as some fae are attuned to their servants - as possibly you are to your pet - I am attuned to the humans who reside here, and a few others besides. The reasons for that are my own, and I warn you not to attempt to glean them from my mind."

"No, elder, of course not," Macklin said earnestly.

Finding the next words that would not expose his secret, Aldritch let out a huff of breath and pressed on. "Those attunements I have are triggered by heightened emotions such as what violence emanates. Had you not caused those feelings of fear, rancor, and bloodlust, then something valuable would have been taken from me, and used for possible reasons that anger me to think of. For that, Macklin, I admit a debt to you."

Macklin looked away with a stunned expression. "I didn't think... that is, that you -" He then looked up and met the elder's gaze. "I realize you didn't have to bring that to my attention and acknowledge it. I am honored to be placed in your confidence, elder. For that, I absolve any debt you feel is owed."

"That is... generous of you."

With a crooked grin, Macklin replied, "Generous had nothing to do with it; your offer scared the glamour out of me! I simply wanted nothing to do with it. Holding leverage over a powerful and eminent fae that I have the highest respect for is not a position I would be at ease with." Still grinning, he added, "No offense meant, elder."

"No offense is taken, and I respect your candor. There is a question I must ask, and perhaps that candor will continue." Aldritch paused before asking, "Why exactly are you here? I understand that you came to give some warning to one of the McCarthy's, but why you; why one of them?" When he saw that Macklin was about to reply, he held up a hand and said, "Keep in mind that answering is a choice with no pressure set upon you. After all, I wasn't quite forthcoming with my own reasons."

Macklin nodded and replied, "If I were not inclined to be forthcoming, I would simply say so, elder. But I will repay the honor you've shown me by giving an explanatory answer." He turned to give Mix a few pats on his furry back as the bear wandered off to investigate a scent. Facing Aldritch again, he said, "I suppose not all fae would view this in a positive light; some might call it unnatural or decadent..."

"We are fae, Macklin," Aldritch said somberly. "Decadence is acceptable by many."

Macklin nodded, and then stated, "I find myself attracted to the human female, Jane McCarthy, and feel no shame for it; quite the opposite, in fact. I know that she also tends to a flame with my name on it." After his bold declaration, Macklin tentatively asked, "Is she one that you're attuned to?"

Aldritch had a higher respect for the Fair fae, mostly for the fact that he had no reservations about voicing his interest in a human. He himself had always felt a certain level of disgrace for his own relations with the human woman named Orla Gilroy, Cora's mother. The young fae's audacity was given merit. To answer Macklin, Aldritch simply said, "Among others, yes, she is."

Macklin's expression turned troubled. "I am glad she has such a protector as you. Should you wish it, I will try to find solace in that circumstance and disturb her no further."

Ignoring those words for the moment, Aldritch asked, "Since you made mention of her reciprocated feelings, has the girl simply become enamored of your manifestation? While in most cases that may seem acceptable, in this one I would take exception."

Shaking his head in adamant denial, Macklin answered, "No! No, not at all, elder; Jane has only ever seen my true form. I would not deceive her."

Looming over the nervous fae, Aldritch boomed, "You have broken the law of Enigma?"

"No, elder Aldritch, I swear it! No manifestation is needed in the Lore, and so she saw me as I am. She was not led or abducted; it was her own gift that brought her there. That is how we met. I looked out for Jane and saw her safely returned."

"What... gift might that be, good Macklin?"

Macklin was about to reply when he and Aldritch noticed a middle-aged man come out of the McCarthy house with a fresh shirt and trousers on. The human looked to the clearing sky and colorful dawn before getting into his vehicle. As he pulled out onto the lane, the man unconsciously swerved around the two fae, and then gathered speed as he drove away.

Turning back to meet Aldritch's impatient stare, Macklin sighed. "I suppose you need to be told a tale."

"I suppose I do."

*

Not too long after Liam had gone off to work, Cora sat at her old computer in the small den. She was once again browsing scenic vistas in the Greek islands and making notes for when she and her husband vacationed there.

Her internet surfing was also a distraction before she went back up to Jane's room. Even if her youngest daughter was still asleep, as she was earlier, Cora would wake her and get to the root of why Jane was a bundle of nerves. She doubted that the girl could have slept through that rare lightning strike -and so close to the house! So hopefully she and her daughter could get right down to a bit of a chat before Kate came over later in the morning.

Just as Cora was logging off, she heard a knock at the storm door. Coming to it, she saw a young man out on the path just beyond the stoop, standing in the morning sunshine. He appeared moderately tall and fit, and somewhere in the age range of a uni student.

The lad had shiny, thick, shoulder length black hair; it fell around a handsome, shaven face. His vivid blue eyes showed a hint of nervousness. Under a blue and black plaid flannel jacket was a black t-shirt with a white Celtic symbol of family. He otherwise wore blue jeans going to fade, and blue and white runners. Out on the cold, damp lawn behind him, laying in content repose, was a giant brown Newfoundland dog.

Hesitant about strange men knocking on her door, Cora did not open it to ask his business as most folks might. Her kidnapping a few months back was still fresh in her mind, and she thus had little care if her justifiable reactions seemed rude.

She glanced past the lad to the driveway and road, but saw no other cars. Thinking he was a local bloke that she was somehow unfamiliar with, Cora's tension eased somewhat. He kept his place with a pleasant expression, but said nothing; she admitted to herself that at least the fetching young man was taught manners, and not to speak out of turn. Still, she would rather he had a proper haircut instead of a thick mane.

Stepping closer to the glass door, Cora asked loudly, "Yes?"

The pleasant expression remained. "Good morning," the young man said with an odd inflection to his Irish vernacular, "might I have a moment of Jane's time, if she is available?"

'And who -" Behind Cora, there was a stomping of feet coming down the stairs, and then Jane was brushing past her as she tossed a bulky necklace away carelessly. Flinging the storm door open, Jane, wearing an open fuzzy periwinkle robe and matching slippers over baggy gray sweatpants and sweatshirt, ran through it and leaped with a squeal at the young man.

Macklin caught Jane and held her tight, keeping her fuzzy slippers dangling off the ground. His grip on her was strong, but hers was almost desperate as she squeezed herself to him with her face buried in his neck. He felt her heart pounding even faster than his own, and pressed his face into her untied coppery brown hair. They clung to each other while Macklin spun her in slow circles on the lawn, unaware he was even doing so. They didn't speak; just the presence of the other was enough for both of them.

With a voice laden with surprise and castigation, they both heard Cora say, "Jane McCarthy!"

Jane reluctantly released her clutch and slowly slid to her feet. With her hands gripped on his coat as a measure of reality, she looked at the scowl waiting for her. "Mam, this is Mac..."

"Mac O'Malley," He said to cover Jane's hesitation, "pleased to meet you, Mrs. McCarthy."

Cora wasn't going to let the young man's charming smile win her over so easily. She stepped onto the stoop and held the door open with her shoulder; her crossed arms stayed in place. Cora's visage softened when she looked at him and said, "Thank you, Mr. O'Malley." That appearance turned stern once again when she looked at her daughter. "I think you have some explaining to do, Jane."

"Actually, Cora," said a soft, deep voice from her left, somewhere out on the lawn, "I believe that is my responsibility."

Both of the McCarthy women's heads spun in that direction. Jane gasped and huddled herself tighter against Macklin. Cora stood, staring past the open storm door, and silently mouthed her father's name.

Aldritch stood along the side border of the front lawn in the morning shadows of a scots pine tree. His long, damp flaxen hair was pulled over his skull and down his back, which gave his lean, strong facial features more prominence. Even in the shade, traces of moss could be seen on the lower parts of his russet trench coat, as well as his gnarled staff. He held himself in a pose that, while naturally intimidating, was trying to be anything but.

"There are words to be said between us," Aldritch said in the uncomfortable silence. "I owe you that much, at the least. Perhaps you and I might adjourn to a less conspicuous location?" His request was to Cora alone, and said with a tone that excluded company. Macklin and Jane understood immediately, although they weren't aware of the connection between the two. What Cora McCarthy and a giant fae could have in common was beyond either of them.

Cora stared at Aldritch for another few moments, and then her eyes flared open in realization that her daughter and a stranger were still present. She worriedly glanced at them and then back to her true father. "But... what about -"

"There is no need for concern," Aldritch said as he stepped out from under the needled boughs of the tree. He walked toward them and explained. "The young man is from the same place as I, and he has told me interesting things about Jane." Aldritch looked at Jane and gave a nod of recognition; she responded with a flinch. He overlooked his granddaughter's fearful reaction.

"My Jane... How is she... Why are you letting her see you?" Cora stammered.

"Jane could see me in any event. She also has a better understanding of the fae, in some respects, than most others would presume to. Whether in his company or mine, her welfare is paramount." Aldritch stopped when he came close to the three, hunching over to diminish his own imposing figure. Holding his staff casually, he asked, "Am I welcome in your home?"

Nodding her head before she found her voice, Cora replied, "Y-yes, you are welcome here... I would - forgive my manners; please come in."

Aldritch held the door open so that his daughter could step back in, and then looked at Jane. "You are said to be a young lady of unique talent and energy; I look forward to meeting you again soon."

Jane's grip on Macklin tightened. He looked down to catch her eyes. When she peered up at him, he gave a reassuring smile and said, "As before, Jane, I will let no harm come to you -"

"Promise me," Jane said urgently.

"What?"

"Promise me! You keep sayin' that you'll protect me, like, so swear to it!" Her tone was both pleading and demanding.

"Jane, I - I don't -"

"I've been goin' mental since I returned home, and my nerves are in flutters! So damn it, Macklin, you promise me you'll look out for me." Jane's lower lip quivered as raw emotions came forward. "I - I'm alone in this. I need someone who understands, someone who won't see me as a freak or use me like a slave. You used that word before - 'slave'. It's plaguing me! Sleep is torture, I can barely keep a bite settled, and now I'm seeing fuckin' monsters in my own village! So I want your word that you'll help me, like you said." With her eyes searching his, Jane added with a desperate whisper, "Please."

The young fae's expression turned from encouragement to concern. He glanced up at Aldritch, who gazed back at him with an arched eyebrow. Macklin looked back at Jane and said, "You don't understand; an oath sworn by a fae... it carries power..."

"Promise me!" A single tear leaked from the corner of Jane's eye; she quickly wiped it away to keep her distressed and almost defiant gaze on him.

Macklin looked into her forest green eyes flecked with lighter hues. He also peered into her outer thoughts. In both was frantic fear and confusion, along with an aching vulnerability. He couldn't resist, and kissed Jane gently on her soft, trembling lips. He pulled away and quietly said, "I vow, Jane McCarthy, to watch over you and stand against any aggression on your path."

Gripping one of his hands in both of hers, Jane whispered, "Thank you."

"Jane," her mother called to her from the doorway, "will you be alright with... your friend for a spell?" With a simple gesture to the giant fae next to her, Cora added, "He and I will have a chat, and then you and I will have one of our own."

When Jane didn't immediately respond, Macklin peered down at her worried expression. Her outer thoughts were awash in concern for her mother being alone with the intimidatingly huge, dank fae with the twisted staff. Macklin took Jane by the shoulders to get her attention. "Jane," he said with a smile, "neither you nor your mater need be afraid. You are among friends."

"As a matter of clarification," Aldritch said, "excepting you, Macklin, she is among family. As you would learn of it anyway, I am her grandsire."

Fear turned into shock as Jane's head snapped back to the giant fae. "You're... Aldritch?"

Cora stared at her daughter. "You know him?"

"Kate told me."

"The revered dryad Aldritch of the Old Wood is your grandsire," Macklin said with admiration. "You must be proud."

"I'm not sure what I am," Jane responded with a bewildered tone.

Cora kindly said to her daughter, "I'm glad you turned to Kate. Perhaps while you show your friend and his dog about the village, you can pop by and say hello to your sister, and you might explain how our plans for the day have changed somewhat. But first, young lady," she went on as her tone hardened, "you go upstairs and make yourself presentable; I won't have a daughter of mine traipsing about looking like a rotten traveler."

Jane looked up at Macklin with that spirit in her eyes that he remembered and was drawn to. "I'm sure we can somehow fit Mix in the back of my car," she said with enthusiasm, "and I can show you around. While you're in my land, I give my word to teach you everything you want to know, if I can. A promise for a promise sounds fair, right?"

Giving her a grin and a wink, Macklin replied, "I'll hold you to it. Now do as your mater bids; I'll be waiting here."

After Jane hurried between the looming Aldritch and her mother, she located the discarded necklace Brody and Kate had given her and then ran up the stairs with renewed vitality.

Cora turned to her unearthly father and the young man. "I'll just go put the kettle on for tea. Mr. O'Malley - Mac - I'll expect you to keep up the same manners you've shown thus far, and keep your word to my Jane. Aldritch, perhaps you should step in soon before you catch an eye."

"Wise words, Cora; I'll step in presently." When she nodded and headed off to the kitchen, Aldritch turned to Macklin. Not wanting to witness the same anguish he selfishly subjected on Orla Gilroy and their offspring, Cora, Aldritch thought to have such offenses end with him.

He reached a long arm out, rested it on the young fae's shoulder and said, "Even if the elements did not bind oaths to us, I am confident that you would not break yours. With that being said, if you pursue Jane's heart only to treat it as a possession or bauble and then abandon it in the course of your oath, then you will face my wrath." Upon those words, Macklin blanched; Aldritch realized he'd been too blunt, as usual. With a softer tone, he simplified his meaning. "Try to learn from my mistakes to avoid your own, and no one's suffering will come from it."

Chapter 11

The Puerile Expanse was one of the largest and most amenable areas of neutral lands in the Lore. Easily transmutable by a visitor's wishes, it was normally a vast land of gently rolling green hills, babbling brooks, and blue skies. It was generously dotted with talking trees of limited intellect and ample shade, as well as candy shrubs and enormous flowers with emotion-inducing fragrances. Golden-brick lanes led to a number of inhabited, low-caste communities that took on the architecture of various European hamlets.

Throughout the Puerile brimmed activity and life; colorful birds sang; white unicorns danced; herds of six-legged deer ran; faerie dragons flew like kites. Those aerial creatures decorated the skies along with happy cloud faces. Large hares greeted visitors and then dash off; rocks mumbled to each other and told silly jokes and rhymes; low-caste wisps, gnomes, pixies, and nymphs frolicked up on hilltops and down in shady glens. It was a place where childhood dreams and whimsy came to life.

It nearly made Saraid sick. Because of her mature preferences, the Puerile Expanse was all but insufferable. She realized the value it might have to the young at heart and those who wanted an escape into innocence, but she found the air of juvenile fancy overtly cloying. It was, however, the only safe route to her destination.

Other neutral lands could have been taken to the holding she was traveling to, but the Red Falls and the Valley of Dying Echoes were uninviting, to say the least. To Saraid, the Puerile, while a vast dichotomy from the other routes of choice, had its own mawkish hazards. She didn't even consider it hypocritical that she had those opinions while she rode a giant, saddled peacock.

Nearing the far border of the Puerile Expanse, Saraid rode into a dense tree line; the talking plants warned of her going any further. Further in, the vibrant flora gradually changed into twisted, dead trees and wilting vegetation; the sky ahead was a blanket of low, bruised clouds.

Beyond the drab trees was a wide strip of dead earth and then an imposing wall, built high of stone blocks and jutting spikes. Over a dozen harpies sat perched on the seemingly endless and forbidding wall, as well as one other that stood at an open iron-gate entrance. All leered at Saraid with ugly, hateful grimaces.

The visiting elder couldn't be sure if the faint rancid stench that permeated the thick air came from the harpies, or from the holdings beyond. Saraid dismounted her tense steed, and when her sun-kissed bare feet landed softly on the hard ground, she instantly felt the lifelessness of it through her toes. She had finally reached to the holdings of Crios Kaltaugen.

Saraid remembered that Crios preferred that his title, Kaltaugen - which meant 'cold eyes' in the old Germanic tongue - be stated in that coarse language; he said it sounded more poetic. Crios was a morose sort, but then most Drommen were. He had taciturn tendencies in social settings, but sometimes either offered cryptic statements or was blunt and abrupt.

Saraid also knew Crios had a cautious penchant for perversion, and possibly dabbled in variant forms of haruspication. Despite his social and personal proclivities, working in the seer's favor was his exceptionally powerful gift of far-sight. A scroll was not even sent for the meeting, presuming that Crios already knew of the impending visit. Only his indulgences and morbidity kept many would-be clients from seeking him out.

A beautiful, melodious voice came from the foul harpy at the gate. "Ah, lady Saraid of the Moon Glade, we thank you for bringing us fresh meat. We will tell our master of your thoughtfulness. If you choose to wait until after we feast, you may have the bright plumage."

Most all of the harpies were staring with drooling avarice at the oblivious, giant peacock.

Saraid studied the servants of Crios before responding. All of them along the wall appeared to be female, and wore uniforms of sleeveless, dirty beige tunics. Their long, wild hair ranged from gray to pale red to steel blue. Dark, red-rimmed eyes sat deep in their long, scowling faces, and burdened with hefty or hooked noses. Large, bat-like ears only added to the harpies' revolting visage. Their feathered wings, some in the midst of molting, varied from charcoal to dull white.

The speaker at the gate was about four feet tall, average for her race. She had tangled white hair, with feathers to match in color although tipped brown. To Saraid, a harpy's repugnant appearance and demeanor far outweighed its usefulness as an intelligent and capable servant.

"I would prefer that my steed remain untouched," Saraid said to the gatekeeper in an even tone. "As I'm sure your master already knows, I have come for a brief audience and will soon be on my way."

A mocking grin spread on the white-haired harpy's cruel face. "So you don't want to use up any precious glamour to simply port yourself home, Moon Maiden? Just a trifle of your reserves isn't much to ask for bringing a gift that may sway our master to greater insights, no? Ah, but wait - we hear that you must hoard your glamour for a bridge to come. A battle bridge, is it not?" The harpy shook her head with false sorrow. "The machinations of the high-borne come with a high price, it would seem."

Not showing her temper from being nettled, Saraid stepped forward and said, "Will your master see me or not? I'm sure he can be enticed into a pact."

With a lower leg that was an eagle's claw, the gatekeeper harpy gripped the metal gate and slammed it shut; the echo rang up and down the walls. "He may at that, lady, but we must first be enticed to pass your request along with good favor. Were you expecting us miserable creatures to simply cow to your power and coo at your shallow beauty? While on master Kaltaugen's land, and until he gives his nod of approval, you will see to our needs or be on your way. But please, take no offense; we have respect for your standing and gifts."

"Then why do you treat me so?"

The harpy grinned, showing her pointed teeth. "Simply because we can, lady Saraid; isn't that obvious? Great individuals will always be outnumbered by the lesser masses; if those masses congregate with a common cause, they cannot be stopped. If it helps, consider the analogy of a proud rock being swallowed by a swelling river. We, good dryad elder, are that river."

Biting her tongue and trembling with the restraint not to attack, Saraid growled, "Very well, have your meal. Now grant me entrance!"

Swinging the gate back open, the white-haired harpy said, "Of course, vaunted elder; our master awaits your sublime presence." The other harpies on the wall began laughing and scoffing at Saraid as she stepped through the gate with fists clenched.

Saraid stepped into a land that was perpetually on the cusp of dusk. The air was cool with a breeze that reeked of decay. The dark, looming clouds overhead hung low and pregnant with an impending downpour. Occasional lightning flickered deep in the distant stratus, momentarily highlighting their bruised colors; remote rumbles of thunder soon followed.

The geography was a littered wasteland; the dry, cracked earth held rock formations and sudden chasms, along with random pockets of twisted, lifeless trees. Scattered about, half-buried in the hard ground, were the husks and bones of strange beasts. The wind that whistled through those skulls and ribcages came across as a discordant choir of moaning despair.

Many more harpies, near and far, perched on jutting rocks, monstrous bones, and Verden debris, watching her every move.

The gatekeeper led Saraid twenty or so paces onto the dead, hard-packed land, where another harpy had taken roost on a broken, rusted swing set. It was a rare male of their low race, larger than the gatekeeper and with a mass of pale blonde hair, dull yellow wings, and a solemn expression on his unfortunate face. The gatekeeper asked of him, "Where would our visitor find master Crios, Linos?"

The harpy named Linos stretched a long wing out toward the desolate landscape and pointed a radius claw in a specific direction. With a raspy hiss, he said, "Out beyond that mesa is where he currently lounges." He set his sunken, baleful eyes on Saraid. "I shall watch your progress, and will come to warn you of any dangers you might place yourself in the path of."

Eyebrows arched, Saraid said, "I am a dryad, Linos; we do not lose our way on any terrain."

He leaned forward and asked rhetorically, "No offense meant, lady Saraid, but has any other terrain tried to open up and swallow you whole, grind you into a pulp, and then spit out what it can't use?" He gave a look of half-hidden contempt and then stood. "Just make your way, elder, and I will attempt not to wound your pride if I see you need guidance. Our master awaits you." Linos bowed and swung a wing in invitation. "Proceed at your leisure, Moon Maiden."

Saraid began her long trek. There was no path to follow, and she had to reorient herself after venturing around a large rock outcropping and an extensive pile made of rusty bicycles, broken garden tools, ladders in disrepair, and a plethora of children's discarded toys. The view was otherwise unobstructed, but Saraid took care to avoid any unnatural land formations.

She eventually made her way over the rough terrain to the far side of the craggy mesa, and took in the new tableau. The parched land stretched out flat before her; the moody skies ahead flickered and roiled. In the distance were three tall buttes that formed a spacious semicircle around a low hill. On that rocky knoll, strewn with thirsty scrub, sat a simple A-frame building with a small belfry; Saraid was too far off to determine details. Down in front of it, on the flatland, sat a vague figure at a small table.

Stopping to think, Saraid set her determination to get results she would be satisfied with, especially after having to put up with Crios' taunting servants. She looked over her shoulder to see Limos descending toward her. She decided to have a minor curiosity resolved before she completed her journey.

Landing on a small boulder a respectful distance away, Limos asked in a raspy tone, "Is there a problem, elder?"

"No; as you can see, I can traverse your master's holdings without a guide. Still, while I have your company, I have a question for you."

Limos glanced in the direction of the buttes and comparatively tiny structure, and then back to her. He impatiently hissed, "If you must, lady Saraid."

Crossing her arms, Saraid commented, "You seem more... respectful than the other harpies at the border gate. In my centuries of existence, I have had few encounters with your kind but never was treated with such insolence. Is the difference between your conduct and theirs a matter of bravado or hierarchy within your ranks?"

"Neither of those, elder; harpy behavior is a matter of intellect and gender." When Limos saw the dryad's frown, he went on to explain. "Where we are found lacking - adapting gifts and manipulation of glamour - we excel in mental capacity compared to other low-caste fae. With that intellect, we garner a greater self-realization. In that, we harpies recognize that we are truly hideous creatures. While most males of my race either accept it or think little of it, most female harpies are acrimonious, sometimes violently so, about their ugliness and denial to vanity. Seeing a fae of your beauty is a reminder of what they consider a cruel twist of fate; a cosmic injustice, if you will. Given that situation, would you not be bitter as well?"

Deciding to ignore the question - and unsure if it was rhetorical or not - Saraid remarked with a pleasant grin, "With that insight, I pity the plight of you and other males to endure such scorn."

"Male harpies don't face the same hostility that others might; we bear the same burden. It does, however, make breeding a challenge." Limos abruptly took to the air. "If your query has been satisfactorily answered, elder, then my master still awaits us. If you walk directly toward him from your position, there will be no further dangers to be wary of. I will fly ahead to announce your presence, and will see to whatever is needed."

Saraid watched Limos fly off toward his master. As she walked, she entertained the thought of acquiring her own harpy; they were much more tenacious and clever than the nymphs she controlled. By the time she could see the setting before her clearly, the idea of a harpy retainer had been discarded; Saraid did have her reputation to think of, after all.

The building up on the knoll was a dilapidated school house with no bell in the belfry. More harpies perched on the low-angled spire and roof ridge, as well as high above on the edges of the formidable buttes. From the crooked door of the shabby building, a curving path led down around rocks and arid shrubbery. Where that path ended sat Crios Kaltaugen.

Dressed in layered robes of gray and black, he reclined in one of the two chairs of an abused wicker patio set. His overhanging hood was up, but his wide, lipless mouth could be seen. The other chair sat on the near side of the small wicker table, and was being held by Limos to seat her. The straight line of Crios' unsettling mouth bent into a grin as Saraid took the offered seat.

"Well met again, Saraid," Crios began with his soothing voice, "welcome to my holdings. I'm told you gave my guardians a donation to their well-being; very generous of you."

"Yes, well, I hoped that it might show my respect, so that our discussion might go smoothly."

Crios' strange grin grew wider. "I admire how half-truths roll so smoothly off of that wicked tongue of yours, Saraid. But please, let it go no further than that; I caution that if you were to practice your wily gift of persuasion on me..." Crios glanced meaningfully at all of the harpies in the vicinity, "let's just say it would be unwise."

Saraid smiled demurely. "You think that I cannot parley without influence?"

"There is no need to use your skills of negotiation, either, good dryad. I already have a notion of what you seek, and I know my price for the information. Bargaining is not necessary."

"Very well," Saraid said with more disappointment than surprise, "how shall we -"

"I ask for ten female nymphs to be placed under my charge," Crios stated abruptly, "and, to be clear, not wild nymphs. I want servants that are currently under your tutelage, those who have learned to adapt your methodologies of... entertainment."

That the venerable deviant would make such a request didn't surprise Saraid, but the amount did. "Ten nymphs, you say? That is a lavish number, Crios. Perhaps we can -"

"Ten; that number, all female, all in good health, or we have no pact, Saraid."

Making it appear as if the decision was difficult, Saraid finally sighed and said, "Agreed, seer."

As the wide grin returned, Crios leaned forward, rested his elbows on the tatty wicker table, and pressed his long, blue-gray hands together as if in prayer. "Good, very good, and now to your request; I know that you seek someone with an uncommon ability. From there, you must offer more specifics."

"I seek those who have the gift of locating." Saraid had learned from the bauchan, Haas, what transpired at the McCarthy place before he made his escape. Kazimir of the Callous Ruin wasn't present, but more than one other fae was there in his stead. And quite a unit of protection Jane had gathered; Aldritch of the Old Wood at the vanguard, Ragnar of the Red Rock overseeing, and the young Fair fae with the fog bear who had formerly downed two of her nymphs.

A locator was desired to find Jane when the girl might be alone or vulnerable; eventually, she would be. Since Saraid doubted she could coerce the churlish leprechaun Vaughn into another pact, another fae with that rare gift was sought.

"Ah, a locator," Crios said, "and so it is said, 'It is necessary to keep one's compass in one's eyes and not in the hand, for the hands execute, but the eye judges'. Rather apt, I would say."

Not sure how the obscure quote applied, Saraid said, "How exactly does that -" She stopped in mid-sentence when Crios pulled back his heavy hood. He was thin, almost emaciated; his bone structure protruded under a thin mask of pale, blue-gray flesh. His overly wide mouth made the skin wrinkle in his sunken cheeks. A thin neck supported a long, tapered skull. He had no hair whatsoever; not stubble, or eyebrows, or even lashes. Large eye sockets were recessed, adding to an already ghoulish appearance.

Crios' eyes, however, were captivating. Where the whites - the sclera - of his large eyes should have been was a deep indigo. His irises were crystalline white, with a tiny blue pupil dotting the center. There was no defining line from the indigo sclera to the white irises; the colors minutely veined into each other, like rime creeping onto a dark window. Saraid then had a better grasp of how his quote applied.

With those eyes that would even unnerve a sprite, Crios looked up at the clouds. Saraid looked up as well, but then back to him. The seer's mouth moved with small gestures, as if he were having a silent chat with himself, or perhaps divining information from the sullen sky above.

With his strange eyes still searching, Crios said, "Out of hundreds of high-borne fae, there are five with the gift of locating."

"Very well; I would -"

"Out of thousands of low-borne fae," Crios continued, cutting off Saraid's thought; she assumed that was all he would offer, "there is one with the gift of locating."

Saraid suffered the pause, wondering if the seer was finished. He wasn't.

"Out of the billions of humans on the mundane realm, there are three with the gift of locating."

Surprised, Saraid contemplated that last fact; a human with the gift of locating could be some innate ability, an alteration of the senses, or most likely related to fae in some way. Then again, she had found a human who could make portals, so a locator was well within the realm of possibility. Saraid ultimately thought that the origin of their gift was inconsequential as long as they employed it for her.

Saraid turned her eyes back to Crios to find his own strange eyes on her once more. "I suppose the easiest target would be best," she mused, "tell me more about the low-borne."

Crios nodded and said, "She is a pixie named Treva, in service to Egon Soulsinger, currently living in the lake village on his holdings. Would you care to know more?"

Frowning, Saraid replied, "There is no need. Tell me of the humans next."

"I thought as much." Crios took a few moments to stare off beyond Saraid's shoulder, as if he were reading the information from the air. He looked back at her and said in a quick monotone, "I have only been able to glean general information and vague location. Natalia Kolchak; she is seventy-one years old, living in Yokutsk, a city in the Siberian province of Russia. Corlan Molloy; he is fourteen years old, living in Levi, a town in the state of Minnesota, in the United States of America. Jack McCarthy; he is twenty-nine years old, living in Ballaghadaere, a village in the county of Roscommon, in Ireland."

Saraid attempted to hide her emotions. In her ruse to gain Jane's confidence, the girl mentioned her brother Jack at some point of her meaningless blather. The dryad clucked her tongue rather than letting a grin dimple her smooth cheeks; what a talented clan she had found. Not only would this Jack prove useful in his own right, but if there was resistance then he could simply be dangled as bait. Saraid thought that with all of the obstacles laid in her path, fate was finally granting her easy passage; she felt that she'd undeniably earned it.

After a second of silent patience, Crios asked, "Do you have the knowledge you seek, Saraid?"

Meeting his gaze, Saraid answered, "Yes, I am satisfied. I consider this a bound pact, Crios, and ten of my servants shall be ordered to report to you indefinitely when I return to my holdings."

Crios pulled his hood back over his bald head. "I am pleased that both parties benefit. At your leisure, you have my grant to create a portal if you choose."

Saraid nodded first to the seer and then to his servant, Linos. The harpy understood her signal and pulled her seat back. She stood, smoothed her gauzy dress, and then summoned a portal.

After she had exited and her portal closed, Crios wondered why Saraid simply didn't ask if there was another port-maker to be found, like the one she was ultimately after. One of the paths of his far-sight had shown a copper-haired girl resentfully employing her gift for the covetous dryad's benefit, but that was only one possible outcome of many. Crios had sensed another one with that special gift, but happily kept that to himself.

*

On a whim, Saraid directed her fae-bridge to open to a recent location. She stepped out at the dead tree line, just beyond the walled borders of Crios' holdings. As she'd hoped, there were harpies beyond their master's domain as well, still feeding on the carcass of her giant peacock steed. Over twenty of them had gathered. Their claws were bloody, their faces smeared red, and their beige tunics stained with gore. Saraid was happy that so many had joined in the feast on unclaimed land; for what she had in mind, all of them were welcome.

One of the harpies noticed the beautiful dryad standing in repose not far off, and soon most of them were glaring at her. "Ah, lady Saraid," said the white-haired gatekeeper from within the group, "your present was delicious. Have you with your lofty standards come to frown on our lack of table manners? Or maybe the lack of cutlery draws your condescension? We'd be glad to give another demonstration of how we can do without forks and knives." The other harpies tittered and licked their bloody lips.

Ignoring the obvious threat, Saraid softly said, "With all of your touted intellect, can harpies bestow curses? No? Perhaps I can give a demonstration of my own." While the harpies gave curious looks both to her and each other, Saraid took a deep breath and loudly announced, "For all harpies that can hear my voice, I afflict you thus: unless the intent of another is to harm you, your cohorts, or your master, any foul words you might offer to any creature will cause you racking pain. To give a second attempt at the same target of your ire will be debilitating. A third foolish attempt to verbally harm the same target will be the literal death of you.

"In balance, should you have a true word of consolation or appreciation for any other besides yourselves - in essence, kindness - then beauty shall come to you in small doses. Your hair may straighten and shine, or your plumage may become a magnificent pair of wings, or your countenance may even become alluring. Beauty in all of its forms, that which you despise, has become your judge. Let it be done and so."

There was an uncertain pause as the harpies felt a breeze of glamour pass through them. The gatekeeper stood straighter and scowled at Saraid. "Do you think that your pathetic words -" The harpy suddenly seized up, then doubled over and then screamed with pain as she helplessly fell on the peacock's carcass. The others backed away in alarm as the gatekeeper groaned and writhed with her stained wings wrapped around herself.

Still flinching from the pain of that scream, Saraid quickly made another portal; the harpies would soon realize that they could still attack a target without insulting it. With one foot on the fae-bridge, she looked at the crowd of nervous harpies and said in parting, "Ladies, you still have the option of cutting out your own tongues to avoid a painful, lingering death. That, or embrace that which you hate. Farewell."

Chapter 12

Kate walked out into the cold but sunny late January morning. She watched her breath plume for a few exhales before scanning the property for Brody, shading her eyes with a hand to her brow. He was over by the donkey shelter with his broad back to her, giving Pepper some wanted attention. All of the dogs were nearby him; the donkeys had finally become tolerant of their presence after weeks of warding them off.

As Kate walked in Brody's direction, Sugar brayed a hello from a nearby paddock, alerting Brody of her approach. Bent and casually resting his forearms on Pepper's haunches, he looked over his shoulder at her with an inviting smile, and then turned his view back toward the lake.

Kate slowed in her strides to study the man who had given her his cherished home and his formerly wounded heart. Brody wore his new field coat and muck boots, as well as his stylish ivy cap. In that restful, reflective pose, he looked so relaxed, so at peace. The troubled or sad look that used to sometimes haunt his grey eyes had become increasingly rare, and his often-offered smiles to everyone seemed more genuine. Even with the supernatural events around them, Brody was truly happy. Kate wasn't narcissistic enough to think she was the only reason for that, but she hoped she was one of the main ones.

Just after they arrived home from dinner the night before, Kate rang Jane for a private chat. Her shaken sister described seeing the opaque outline of a backpacker, and occupying the same space was a purple, nine-foot tall monster in a toga.

Kate told Jane that what she saw was a troll \- they were normally honorable fae - and it was she who actually shattered the glasses with her silent scream. It took a small while to further soothe the scared young lady, but Jane eventually sounded more of her normal self as she begged off the line to get some needed sleep. Cora rang soon after, wanting information, but Kate put her off until the three of them could have a proper chat in the morning.

From the wild event at the restaurant, she and Brody later found themselves finding humor in specific aspects of the encounter, and of things Jane said. Brody admitted his initial anger and defensiveness, but was mollified to finally find out where his own gifts came from.

Kate remembered snuggling against her fella's warm, muscular form in bed and worried that his ire at the Other Crowd might have been refreshed, but he was soon breathing deeply in a sound sleep. She remembered waking to his lips before he left for the morning chores. She fully woke a short time later, wanting more.

Leaning on Pepper, which the donkey was content to allow, Brody looked like a powerful and rugged noble in farmer's clothing. Kate put her arms around his waist from behind and felt the firmness of his physique. She waited for the noisy honking of ducks overhead to pass before she spoke. "Thank you for the morning kiss; it was a great way to wake."

Brody took one of her hands and kissed it before pulling her arms tighter around him. "Mm, this feels good; just stay up against me for a minute."

Kate rested her head against his back and said, "I'm glad you like hugs as much as I do."

"I sure as hell do, especially when you're not wearing a bra; I love feeling you against me."

Kate's fair complexion turned a deeper red than what the chilly temperature had caused. "You cannot feel... me, through my jumper and your coat! Stop it."

Brody chuckled and replied, "Oh yes I can; you're either very cold or very horny."

Kate let go of him and swatted his rear before he turned to face her. "Don't get ahead of yourself, you randy goat" she said with a smile, "there's quite a chill in the air, that's all."

Pulling her close for a proper embrace, Brody said with a smirk, "Darlin', don't worry if it's both; I think I can kill two birds with one stone."

Feeling more amorous than coy, Kate asked, "What, here? Out in a cold field?"

"No, nothing so romantic," Brody answered as he leaned down to taste her exposed neck, "but the shed has hay and blankets." He grabbed her curvy hips and pressed his body against hers insistently. His breath was hot and ardent on her skin. He stopped nipping at Kate's neck to lick her earlobe and then whispered in her ear, "God, I can't get enough of you. I had the urge all through dinner last night to pull you in the bathroom and attack you. And in bed last night you seemed tired, so I was happy to just hold you close. I'll always want you but... damn, I need you now, Kate - right now."

His last words were a lusty growl in Kate's ear, and she heard herself moan softly. Her short breaths were coming out in frosty puffs, but she only felt the gathering heat between them. Her lust for him matched her love, and she was heartened that he felt the same; Brody's frequent attentions kept Kate filled with desire, confidence, and a giddy joy.

After passionately pulling his coat and shirt open to graze her teeth on his firm chest, she panted, "Hurry... we need to hurry. Jane will be by sometime soon."

Brody pulled back. "Wait, what? I thought you were heading out in a while."

Gripping Brody lasciviously with one hand as she undid more of his shirt buttons with the other, Kate said with detachment, "Mam rang; change of plans." A few seconds after they continued their exploration of each other, Kate whispered huskily, "Brody... show me those blankets..."

Sometime later - they weren't sure how long \- the couple was nearly caught in a compromising situation. Fortunately, they were both in a position to see Jane's little car come down the lane. As their visitor rolled onto the driveway, the lovers tugged up their trousers and stepped from behind the half-wall of the donkey shelter. From where they were, two paddocks away from the cottage, Brody and Kate had the opportunity to make sure their clothes weren't in disarray without being obvious.

As they went to greet Jane, Kate smoothed her long hair while Brody simply tucked his under his cap. Still warm from their lusty exertions, they strolled close to each other with satisfied smiles; the adventurous and erotic start to their day had them in great spirits.

They saw that Jane had a passenger in the front, and something large in the back of her small car. The doors opened; she hopped out energetically with her ponytail bouncing.

Brody and Kate were about to call out a greeting as they approached when all three of the dogs, who walked along with them, suddenly became more alert than normal. Pearl, always happy for company, tentatively wagged her tail at seeing Jane but kept her place. Honey bristled and moved in front of her master, remaining ready and cautious. Keller lowered his ears and growled from deep in his throat as he stepped in front of Kate. Their unexpected reactions caused Brody and Kate to stop short.

Brody muttered under his breath, "What the hell?" He and Kate shared a curious glance before he asked her, "Any insights on this, darlin'?"

They both caught the movement of Jane's passenger as he slowly got out of her car. The young man with long black hair gazed all around the property with an innocent aspect. Meanwhile, Jane opened the back hatch, and a very large and shaggy Newfoundland-breed dog lumbered out of the cramped space.

Speaking quietly, Kate said with a restrained tone, "There seems to be a sparkling man and his sparkling dog out and about with my little sister."

With a pluming sigh, Brody whispered, "Oh, great, another one." He took Kate's hand in his and asked, "How about a closer look? Do I shake his hand or kick his ass?"

Kate grinned up at him, and then quickly viewed the fae's nimbus. "Curious... cautious, and... hmm, that's odd; he's happy."

"Why is that odd?"

"I've never seen a fae displaying that color before; friends and townsfolk, yes, and plenty of it, but never one of the Other Crowd. I wonder why that is."

Brody shrugged. "Maybe it's because of me; I've been irritated or worse when I met most of 'em. Sorry about that, by the way; I'm working on it."

Kate squeezed his big hand. "I know you are, love, but that very well could be it. With this newcomer, though, I see no reason to be annoyed at all, do you?"

Smiling warmly, Brody replied, "No, I don't. Besides, I'm getting tired of being on my guard all the time. Let's go say hi."

They both calmed the dogs as best they could before stepping in front of them. Brody and Kate slipped through a paddock gate and shut it to keep the dogs at bay. They turned to see Jane, her new fae friend, and his dog coming toward them. Jane had a beaming smile, the young man in blue and black walked next to her with an amiable expression on his handsome face, and the big, dark brown dog behind them simply looked happy to be out of the car.

"Here now," Kate said with a grin to her sister as they all gathered, "it looks as though the spring is back in your step, Jane; fair play."

Jane smiled and shivered, both from the cold and from exhilaration. Preoccupied with her own agenda, she was oblivious to Brody and Kate's flushed skin and slightly disheveled appearances. "You have no idea, sis. Em, Brody, Kate, this is my friend Mac." She turned to him and gestured first to her sister. "Mac, this is my older sister, Kate."

Macklin bowed to his female host and said, "A pleasure, Lady Kate; I see you and Jane share an uncommon beauty."

Kate nodded her head in return, and then asked, "Mac? Do you mean Macklin, as in, the Macklin who rescued my sister?"

"This is him!" Jane said with glee. She then calmed her tone to finish introductions. "Mac, this is Kate's big fella, Brody Lynch."

Macklin began to bow to him when Brody offered his hand in greeting. "Thank you for what you did." The poised fae looked him in the eye, nodded, and then grasped his wrist in the archaic style of meeting. Brody glanced at their unexpected mutual grip before he released it.

"My apologies," Macklin said, "I didn't mean to offend with my reception. The last man I shook with was Elliot Ramsay, an elderly Scotsman who kept to old traditions."

"No, no, it's fine; it's just that not many folks shake hands like that anymore." With a smile, Brody added, "I think I like Mr. Ramsay's way better." He looked down when he noticed the big, barrel-chested dog leaning in to sniff at his crotch; Brody's dogs subsequently growled and barked in defensive response. He ignored his own pets for a moment and asked, "And who do we have here?"

"Oh, sorry, that would be Mac's pet, Mix," Jane said. She reached out to pet him and hesitated, as if unsure where to touch. She slowly found a place behind his ears, which the big, happy dog leaned into.

Frowning, Kate asked, "Problem, Jane? You looked as if your hand would miss. Mix looks a big enough target, and friendly, too."

Jane managed to smile bashfully while she fumbled with her explanation. "It's not that; I just... The truth is that I... I sort of see both of him."

"Pardon?"

"Just like how I saw the, em, troll last night. I can see the real thing, although it isn't really real when fae are, em, what's the word... manifested, like. So I had trouble making sure I was petting the manifested Mix. I'll get better at it."

Scowling, Brody said, "Say what?"

"Yes," Kate said, sharing his confusion, "you'll need to go over that again."

Jane took a deep breath to try a better explanation. "Like how last night that troll looked nothing like the lad he was manifested as." Jane noticed that Brody and Kate still had uncertain stares. "I mean, like, the Mix you see is nothing like how he really looks back at his home. Here, Mac made him appear as a big dog. In reality... no, wait, that's not the right word at all; that's like the opposite of reality. I mean, back in the Lore, Mix is a huge bear, five times your size, Brody. But," she added quickly when their eyes widened, "he's just a big, mellow softy at home, the same as here. Who he is on the inside doesn't change. Don't worry; I was confused when Mac first explained it to me, too, while I was showing him around the village this morning."

Macklin seemed on a different train of thought, and changed the topic completely when he said, "It bothers me to see your own fine pets in a state of unease, especially on their own land." He looked at Brody. "As I'm told you have an understanding, I have a touch of the gift of fauna; I can offer simple messages or emotions to animals."

"Oh, right," Brody said, "like what Oriana can do." He noticed Mac's questioning expression and explained, "She's a sprite who lives around here somewhere."

"I see; for sprites, that gift comes much more naturally." Macklin glanced at the fretful dogs and then back to Brody. "As I said, I think it unfair for your pets to be distressed on their own land while guests walk about freely. They feel trespassed upon, and cannot protect you as they would wish. To settle any unsaid concerns of your own, I vow that Mix and I come here in peace and goodwill. With your consent, I would like to pass that sentiment along to your fine pets."

Brody became cautious. Kate saw both his reaction and his nimbus; she faced Mac directly and said, "In the past, the dogs have been manipulated with a fauna gift, more than once and without our permission. I ask for your word that you'd do as you requested and nothing more."

Macklin glanced at Kate, and then back up to Brody, hoping to make them understand the sincerity of his intention. "I vow to only soothe your pets' worries, letting them know that we are friends; Mix and I will react to them with the same respect that their masters would offer."

Brody looked at Kate; a moment later, she looked up at him and nodded, signaling that the fae was being honest. Brody then nodded once to Mac as a sign of permission.

Resting a hand on Mix's head, Macklin faced the dogs in silence. Within a few seconds, all of them relaxed, but were still anxious to be near their master and take in the new scents. Kate walked back and opened the gate, and the dogs sprinted out. While Pearl only wanted Jane's attention, Honey and Keller began trading sniffs with the big dog that made them look small.

Brody and Kate took quiet pleasure in seeing their pets in a calmer state. They glanced at Jane, who was kissing Pearl on the nose, and then over to Mac, who was gazing at them with a strange grin. Frowning, but with his own smile, Brody simply asked, "What?"

Macklin shook his head once and then answered. "It feels very strange to be completely open with humans. I am of course breaching the Enigma, but as I am to understand that you two are immune, in one way or another, to your memories being altered - as Aldritch has explained - then I am not sure if I am to be held accountable or not. In any matter, there is a wild freedom to it that I am unaccustomed to. I would suspect that most other fae would feel the same."

Slightly confused, Brody said, "Well, uh, good, I guess, right? Hey, let's all get out of the cold and we can all talk a bit more over breakfast before I have to take off later. I don't know about anyone else, but I'm starving."

"I've worked up quite an appetite as well," Kate said with a smile.

As a group, they all walked back to the cottage. After Kate opened the front door, she and Jane followed the dogs in. Brody held the door open for Mac, who abruptly stopped on the welcome mat. He looked up at Brody and formally asked, "Am I welcome in your home?"

Brody somehow knew that the question wasn't just said out of manners or etiquette; it had meaning. He replied with words that suddenly came to mind. "As long as you mean well here and would come to the defense of those offering sanctuary, you are welcome."

He had no idea where those words came from, but they felt ceremonial and proper. And, he thought as he followed Mac inside, it sounded sort of cool.

Chapter 13

Set in a craggy, desolate landscape of wind-whipped stone and towering cliffs, jutting up above a low cloud bank, was the snowy peak of a great mountain. Closer to the summit, small pockets of deep snow had melted away around small, rocky fissures that commonly released steam from within the bowels of the mountain. On this occasion, though, more activity was found on that lonely peak, beginning with an echoing roar of fury from deep within those fissures.

A soot-stained armored hand grasped frantically for purchase from within one of the small chasms, and found grip on a firm outer edge. Bloody and smeared with grime, Dahlia squeezed her battered upper body through the tight opening. When she saw that her escape route ended at a small plateau, she gave herself a moment of panting respite before pulling her legs free.

Her hair was in disarray and half of her long braid had been burnt away. Her leather armor, scored and punctured, was filthy from black ash. Her skin, too, was grimy with the wet soot, which covered many of the areas where her flesh had been broiled.

Dahlia thought back to when Ragnar of the Red Rock led her through his fae-bridge, which appeared as a curving cave. Before they exited his bridge, he allowed her to recall her sword back to her hand from where it was left on the McCarthy lawn. Ragnar was also considerate enough to see to most of the wounds she'd received from her battle with the Fair archer.

She had to remember that the troll's assistance was only him being fair-minded; he was, after all, taking her to her own possible demise. At least he'd made sure she had a fighting chance; his honor would allow no less.

Brought into the far reaches of an enormous cavern, Dahlia thought the transition from the fae-bridge looked organic. Closer to the outer confines of the immense interior were dozens of natural pillars made from connecting stalactites and stalagmites. Indirect light filtered in from far ahead by means of tiny gaps in the domed ceiling and upper walls.

The bedrock floor of the cavern, interspersed with short stalagmites and acres of uneven ground, was expansive enough to also contain a pond and a lake; both were fed by a stream that led off to the far side and then blended into the distant darkness.

While moss covered much of the lower reaches, rock dust and grimy soot layered the higher elevations. Along those darkened walls were escarpments, landings, short walkways, and shallow crevasses. Among it all, though, was strewn the bones of countless beasts.

The only thing Dahlia had to do, according to the sworn pact with the illustrious troll, was to leave the location by any means but a portal. It sounded acceptable until he mentioned that the cavern was in fact the lair of Serafeim, an infamous dragon created and kept strong by the imaginations of human teens. It came as little surprise that Ragnar could build a portal there; the huge warrior must have tested his mettle against the beast a time or two. He sincerely wished her well and then departed back through the portal that brought them there.

Even though she saw no sign of the beast, Dahlia remembered keeping to the upper shelves and rocky terrain to her right and moved with stealth and care. Fear kept her paranoid of any movement. Further in, she could discern that the stream's passage was also Serafeim's entry into the lair. That realization, plus that there was no sight of the dragon, caused her caution to waver. One misstep, snapping a bone hidden under inches of soot, turned her fear to terror when the dragon rose out of the lake.

Serafeim was gargantuan. Such was its displacement that when the red dragon burst forth from the lake, its water level dropped by nearly half. The winged monster came directly at her.

Dahlia couldn't recall many of the details after that, mostly running and fire. She was buffeted into rough walls by whipping wings, slapped to the ground by swiping talons over half her size, and seared by indirect gouts of flame when she hid behind pillars or other natural formations.

The power of the dragon's incendiary attack was such that it superheated the packed soot in a few spots; she was spattered with what could only be compared to burning pitch. The black substance, still licking with flames, stuck to Dahlia's skin in places. She had little time to scrape the gummy embers off where it landed on her exposed flesh.

The clout of an enormous wing tip turned out to be her salvation. Thrown up and into a wall yet again, her hand instinctively grasped and found a grip of a fissure lip that she couldn't have reached otherwise. With renewed hope, she pulled herself into the snug, crooked passage and struggled up the uneven incline.

Dahlia's wounds began to become apparent; gashes stung from the grime in them, fractured bones ached, and most of her skin was alive with burning pain. Behind her, Serafeim roared in fury at being denied a small meal. The rock-framed glimpse of sky ahead promised deliverance; she fought back her own agony and continued to crawl.

Just as Dahlia pulled her legs free of the fissure and dropped the few feet to the snowy ledge, a pillar of intensified flame shot through the opening. The heat of it instantly blistered the back of her legs. Weak and hurt almost to the point of banishment, Dahlia knew that if she stayed long enough to heal even a few of her wounds, she would be cooked alive. Disabled and vulnerable, she would only be able to watch as Serafeim came from its lair and devoured her. Reaching inward for reserves she wasn't sure she had, Dahlia hastily created a portal and rolled into it.

Shaped as a long marble hallway with columns, and thin stained glass pentagonal windows, Dahlia lay prone on the floor of her fae-bridge. It offered escape, but no sustenance for her depleted energy.

She could have decided to return to her own holdings to gather her strength, but her ambition overcame wisdom. She thought that going home for even a short time would result in missing out on the war party altogether, let alone vying for the chance to lead the charge.

In porting directly next to Saraid's haven, however, Dahlia would have to face the elder again with yet another failure. She hoped that her valiant efforts against overwhelming odds would play in her favor, but doubted that outcome.

After a destination was chosen, Dahlia crawled out. She was at her own campsite, an equal distance from both Saraid's tree haven and the war party tents. It was nighttime, and someone had rekindled her campfire; the orange flames threw flickering light on her own pavilion and the tall grasses just beyond. The fire also cast light on a small figure in front of her. Dahlia looked up to see Haas, who had an impatient expression on his cherubic face.

Holding out a scroll, the bauchan grumped, "Hurry and accept this; I'm missing out on a party."

*********

Near noon of that cool, bright Wednesday, Liadan hovered around the property of Simon Rike, which she considered partly hers as well since her new haven rested adjacent to his back lawn.

Earlier, an older man - named McCoy, by the sign on the door of his truck - pulled onto the property with a horse trailer and was promptly greeted. The two men led a tall, white horse out of McCoy's trailer and over to the stalls. Afterward, he and Mr. Rike went into what Liadan thought of as the 'bad building'; that ironworks shop was filled with hand-wrought iron, and she could barely come near it.

In the few times Liadan had gleaned any thoughts from Rike, she began to get a sense of him. He was a formerly solitary fellow, but had lately begun wishing for some social interaction. The problem was that old fears and lack of public skills left him uneasy. Rike still enjoyed his privacy, however, and he was sometimes found far out in his fields at night on long strolls.

Otherwise, the man was usually to be seen in some type of labor, whether firing his iron or any of a number of minor chores around the house and property. He was a worker, and content with his toils; Liadan respected that.

Most of the thoughts gleaned from Mr. Rike's busy mind were bright, hopeful, and imaginative. Mr. Lynch and his lady Kate were foremost in his mind, while secondary personalities played their own fond roles... chiefly a woman named Alana. Other thoughts, while few, were dark indeed, and mostly had to do with the fae as a whole. Rike wasn't discriminating in his loathing; even the recent encounter with Ragnar of the Red Rock was tainted with violent wishes.

Deeper in the man's mind, Liadan found that he had been an abductee, and possibly cursed; a foul combination. For all of his peccadillos, she didn't think they warranted such punishments.

While removing some rot from Mr. Rike's picnic table, Liadan saw another vehicle drive onto the property. Brody Lynch stepped out, heard the clanging of hammers from the 'bad building', and went to meet with the other men within. It wasn't long before Mr. Lynch stepped back out and made his way over to Rike's house. Just from a quick gleaning, the big man also seemed to have a number of topics swirling around in his head.

Curious, Liadan wiped her hands on her apron and melded through the walls of the stone home to learn more of what was on Mr. Lynch's mind.

Liadan found Lynch in the spare bedroom, which was still filled with unopened boxes. His initial thoughts were on finding select pieces of Rike's work for consideration by a woman named Moira. After finding a buried steamer trunk, Lynch's mind turned toward Kate, always his Kate. He dug through Rike's smaller work and jewelry, constantly wondering 'what she would think of this one', or 'would that look good on her'. Ah, Miss Kate had him by the hairs.

Lynch's own creativity led to ideas of incorporating his cousin's skill with his own stone pieces, and many possibilities began to vaguely form. All the while, a strong band of pride and respect for Rike's proficiency with metal could be seen in his bright aura.

The next big topic that stirred in Lynch's head was yet another newcomer fae named Macklin. That one had apparently offered vows, the most important of which was to protect Kate's sister, Jane. Lynch had notions that Macklin was either very curious about even simple things, or that he has some affliction called A.D.D.

In either case, Lynch admired the fae's manners and temperament, plus the fact that Macklin had done Jane some great service already. He wondered - should Macklin become a common sight - what sort of cover story he could create for the likeable fae.

Mr. Lynch carried a box full of his cousin's creations out of that room and into the kitchen. While he helped himself to a bottle of juice from the icebox, his thoughts turned to Rike himself. There was concern about his adjustment in a new place, as well as a stronger worry about his cousin's mental well-being and if semi-seclusion was healthy for him.

Lynch took a few minutes to empty a box of cups and dishes, and stacked them in a shelving unit. As he did, he wondered if the ranch was going to be too much work and responsibility for a single person to handle. Liadan sat on the toaster and took a moment to consider if Mr. Lynch's concern's held water.

She let her tiny form appear in-realm when the big man had his back to her. "How do ye fare today, Mr. Lynch?"

He jumped and spun around as if stung. "Holy shit, Liadan," he exclaimed, "don't do that! You nearly scared the piss outta me!"

"I apologize, Mr. Lynch; that wasn't me intent."

She watched him take a deep breath before he said, "Didn't I mention before that you can just call me Brody? The other sounds too formal."

"That ye did, sir," Liadan replied with a dimpled smile, "but I'm of the habit of courtesy."

Brody conceded with a nod. "So what are you doing out this way? I mean, good to see you and all, but I just wasn't expecting to see you here."

Liadan licked her thumb and rubbed at a spot on the toaster. "As the fates and someone's crafty planning would have it, me haven is hereabouts."

"Oh, crap," Brody said with alarm. "Are we... I mean - is my cousin moving in here ... Uh, are we invading your space or something? I'm guessing you were probably here first."

Waving his worry off with a casual hand, Liadan replied, "Ye need not trouble yourself with another thought about it. I find it good that Mr. Rike has come to take possession; his fondness for the property enriches its value to me, it does. And, that besides, me haven is well hidden. Now," she went on as she wiped her thumb on her apron, "I can tell from that crease ye had in your forehead that ye might be having other worries about your kin, as well."

"Well, of course I do. He's my friend and the only family I've got; what did you expect?"

"I'd expect ye not to fret so. Mr. Rike is made of tougher stuff than ye might give him credit for; he takes some comfort in solitude, he does. And, as I said, I have a place nearby and would be happy to see to any minor chore he missed, although he's thorough. As for your thoughts of him being lonely, I can say that he plans on taking in some horses or some such. Does that settle ye any?"

The tiny fae saw a crooked grin appear on Brody's face before he said, "I think you just tipped your hand a bit, Liadan. Have you been getting into Simon's skull?"

With a solemn shake of her head, she replied, "Not in the way ye might be thinking, sir. I merely glanced at a few thoughts that were at the top of his mind, no more. We do share a space, he and I, and getting to know his measure seems only prudent, don't ye think?"

Brody shrugged. "That makes sense. So he's really happy here, right?"

"Oh, to be sure," Liadan said with a nod, "although he's working on an excuse to beg off your invitation to join in on the bingo gathering this evening."

Chuckling and shaking his head, Brody replied, "That's fine, I guess it's not his thing." He looked off for a moment before he met her gaze again. "Uh, this might be a weird question... Damn, how do I ask this? You've said that you've been around here for a while, right?" When Liadan nodded, he asked, "So, if you know about a lot of the people around here, then you probably know who Jane McCarthy is? Kate's little sister?"

"That I do, but not personally. I heard the lass singing old Irish ballads at one of your public houses not two nights past; a truly gifted voice, she has."

"You don't know the half of it," Brody muttered. "She's recently, uh, met up with some Fair fae named Macklin, or just Mac when he meets anyone out of the loop. Even though the only other Fair fae I knew was Devlin, I stayed open-minded. He seems like a good guy... fae, whatever. I remember you saying that oaths made by your kind held some type of power, like it was backed up by more than just your honor."

She nodded. "That they do."

"However that works, he made a promise to me and Kate that he meant well. He also made some vow to Jane to watch over her. Those things are good to hear, but I really don't know much about him." Brody put his hands in his coat pockets. "I don't know how many fae are running around out there, but you wouldn't happen to know him, would ya?"

"I can't say that I do, sir. But that he made such oaths, especially the one to Jane, should give some account of his heart."

"Why is the promise Mac made to Jane more important than the other?"

Liadan cocked her head to the side, at first expecting Brody to understand the ramifications that were plain to her. "Mr.... Brody, to go back on a vow is to face the consequences of its reversal. If this Macklin swore an oath to be Jane's protector and then knowingly acted against that oath, then he would be submitting himself to the lack of self-defense. Only fate and the elements would know what that might mean exactly, but I would hazard a guess that he would lose any worthy friendships as well as any martial skill or fae gift that he considers protection. He would be defenseless, alone, and easy prey."

Brody's eyes widened. "Well, hell, I had no idea. That's some heavy shit."

"Ah, but there's more, ye see, and this next part be just as vital." Liadan scooted off the toaster and stood on the soapstone countertop with her hands clasped casually behind her. "It might be making a difference how it was worded, but this Fair fae still made a vow to watch over Jane. Unless he gave some time factor or set of circumstances, then Macklin has committed himself to the young lady until her time comes to an end, he has. Excepting tragedy, be prepared for him to be nearby for a very long time."

Leaning against the opposite counter, Brody pulled a hand out of his pocket and absently rubbed his chin as he stared off, digesting Liadan's words. "Well hell," he said softly. He shifted his eyes back to the tiny brownie. "Okay, wait a minute. From what I can tell, Mac seems like a fairly young guy. I don't know how that works out in the Lore, but here, as you probably know, sometimes kids go off half-cocked." Brody saw Liadan cock her head to the side with a frown, so he reworded his slang. "I mean, uh, they act without wisdom. So while I'm glad that Jane's got someone looking out for her, I don't want Mac stuck in a situation he can't get out of. Is there anything he can do?"

Liadan pursed her lips. "Unless Jane releases him from his oath without any prompting, then no - he will be dedicated to her welfare for the rest of her life." Pausing for thought, she said, "I have questions of me own, if you would, sir." After he distractedly nodded, she asked, "Is Jane so truly taken with Macklin that she would wish this? And also," she added, "why would Jane need such protection?"

Brody shook his head, bewildered. "Hell, I don't know about that first part, Liadan. Jane is only seventeen, so it could turn into the real deal, or it could just be a crush, or maybe she's just fascinated with the fantasy of it all."

"Or whatever event drew them together was dramatic; many folk would be making more of simple feelings in that circumstance," Liadan offered.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Brody sighed, then checked his watch before he addressed the second question. "Jane has a gift, and from what we were told by Macklin, it's very special. It's the kind of thing that some fae might come after her for." He glanced at his watch again and then grabbed up the box of Simon's wares. "Tell ya what; me and Simon have an appointment to keep right now, but when you come around Sunday night Kate and I will tell you all about it, okay? I wouldn't mind your take on all this."

"That sounds a fine offer, and I'll visit with you then. Now get about your business," Liadan said with her dimpled smile, "I have me own chores to see to, and I'll not need you men in me way."

After one quick step to exit, Brody stopped and turned back to her. "Oh, hey, about that... If Simon's story is true - and I believe him - then he's been to your Lore. From the reaction he had recently in meeting a fae, it backs up his claim. I guess it means he can see you." He hesitated with the uncomfortable words to come, "As far as I can tell, you have as much right to go where you please as anyone. But, Simon... he's still pretty pissed about what someone did to him, and I don't blame him. But he may see you as a potential threat no matter what. So, maybe, you could kinda, I don't know, keep out of sight until we can all talk? Is that fair to ask?"

With a gentle tone, Liadan replied, "No offense taken, sir. If that be the case and Mr. Rike's eyes have viewed me realm, then I'll keep me self scarce until we can have that chat. I've watched the man practice his skill with throwing a blade; I'll not want to draw his ire. Nor do I want to put me self in a spot where I might have to hurt a human."

"I appreciate that. Hey, how about I have him over Sunday night as well? We can get it all figured out then, okay?"

Liadan nodded. "That'll be fine, sir. Now, if ye don't mind," she said with a smirk that dimpled one plump cheek, "ye just tracked grit on me clean floor. Scoot."

As he started to leave, Brody glanced back once with a strange grin on his face. After one more wavering step, he paused and laughed to himself.

With a stern glare, Liadan crossed her arms and said, "Finding humor with me words of counsel, are ye now, Mr. Lynch?"

Turning back to her, Brody answered, "No, no, don't get me wrong; it's not that at all. Your advice and your friendship mean a lot to me. Please don't take this the wrong way, but," he explained as his grin reappeared, "it's just that, I don't know... it's freaky, talking to a tiny magic woman who kinda reminds me of my grandma."

Chapter 14

A soft but bitterly cold wind whispered through the forest of snow-bend pines and evergreens that stretched to the frozen shore of a vast lake. Within that forest and along the shoreline was a wide growth of white birch trees. Under leaden skies, those stoic trees barely cast a shadow onto the thick layer of snow, and their bark blended into it well.

Centered in that thicket of tall trees, trunks and branches had been unnaturally bent to form a bench. Various cured animal pelts and furs lined the large seat, and remained remarkably free of wintry accumulation. It was there, in another of her Verden havens, where Saraid slouched with a troubled expression.

She stared absently out onto the rocky shore; its boulders layered in ice. Her view then went out onto the frozen, fractured waters beyond. Saraid had claimed that remote section of forest along the northern border of the immense body of water before it even had a name. The lake came to be called Kitchigami for a time, before more modern explorers named it Lake Superior.

The small section of woodlands that she claimed as hers was within what the humans had recently started calling Pukaskwa National Park in the Ontario province of Canada. Saraid wasn't concerned with meaningless human claims; in that place, as in many around the globe, she ruled. Harmless people were allowed to hike through her havens, but those humans intent on hunting or deforestation were met with severely bad luck. Those were her domains, and no transgressions were brooked under her reign.

At that moment, though, Saraid felt thwarted. Her own attempt to claim Jane McCarthy was met with unexpected opposition. Dahlia, her willing retainer, met with two counts of failure as well. She assumed that Jane's brother, one of those named as a locator, would be protected as well. The idea of abducting him for both leverage and as a useful tool to find his own sister was briefly considered. Saraid ultimately let the notion go; she had no one else trustworthy to send for the mission, and it would probably be too dangerous to deal with his capture personally.

Other locators could be had, but there was now a personal investment in the McCarthy's; the reward would be all the sweeter once she had them both. Overall, Saraid was resigned to wait until during or after the cleansing of the Ballaghadaere fae to retrieve her prizes.

Just as Saraid began to contemplate other strategic variables, she became aware that another fae had come upon her vast holdings. It was two fae, in fact, and in a location far from the gathered war party. She allowed her permanent bridge portal to open and floated through, wondering who was making an unrequested visit to an uncommon area of her lands.

A primeval forest awaited Saraid as she stepped onto the distant area of her Lore holdings. The thick canopy far above hid the sky from her view, but allowed enough light in to view her dim surroundings. She stood in a clearing free of the huge oaks, as well as the tropical underbrush of elephant plants and giant ferns. The dark earth under her bare feet was cool and firm.

Some thirty paces off sat a tan marquee tent with a campfire in front of it that threw pale, flickering shadows off into the forest. Set away from the main tent was a section of canvas, propped by sticks; two creatures huddled under it in the shadows. A large fae stood next to the crackling flame before her, waiting patiently.

Saraid walked in her visitor's direction, trying to place him by his appearance. He was a broad and bulky troll, somewhere near seven feet tall. He wore a beige robe, highly detailed with dark green stitching and a simple tower shield symbol on his chest. The loose sleeves were tucked into long, brown leather bracers, and he held a stone goblet in one of his unadorned hands.

Under bushy green brows, the troll's pale blue eyes were only a shade lighter than his skin tone. He had seven horns growing from his jawline; short near his pointed ears, and successively larger to the spike jutting from his chin. His head was shorn except for a long topknot of sea-green hair. His rough features were not aesthetic, but they did contribute to intimidation.

As Saraid came forward with confident strides, she did not sense any pressure against her mental defenses. She did feel, however, that the troll's own guard against her wiles was already up. She had no gift to see the fae's intentions, but knew his powers were weakened while on her property. Nonetheless, it was best to present a strong first impression.

With a flick of the dryad's nimble fingers, huge tree branches bent to her will and swung in low all around and above them in an ominous display, set to pummel at her whim. With an attempt to appear nonchalant, Saraid came within a few strides of her trespasser and said, "You are intruding; speak your business now, and try not to bore me." The thick tree branches creaked in closer about the troll. "I detest bores."

The troll regarded the heavy, looming branches, and then casually took a sip from his goblet. Afterward, he gave a small bow to Saraid and replied in a smooth baritone, "I do not think that what I have to say will waste your time. On the contrary, I think you'll find my words to be of service. Forgive my unsolicited venture onto your holdings, Lady Saraid, but I believe I may be of aid to you, and to all righteous fae involved with your mission. I am Cadell Arms-Caller."

Saraid recognized the name, but not with any story or achievement tied to it. She nodded to his simple introduction and took another step closer. "You are welcome on my land, elder Cadell, but only as long as I feel entertained by your presence." She glanced at the tent when a muffled noise came from within. Saraid looked back at the troll and raised one thin eyebrow. "I see you certainly waste no time in making yourself comfortable on my holdings. And I find it a bit rude that not all fae trespassers do not present themselves and ask for pardon."

"If you'll note, good elder, you came here by means of one of your permanent bridges which will sometimes allow the ether to play with its passage of time, as I'm sure you well know. My cohort and I have been here long enough to scout the area and lounge. My servants," Cadell gestured to the creatures cowering under the tarp to his left, "were ordered to set camp and gather only fallen wood."

Before Cadell could explain further, the large tent flap was pushed open and three figures stepped out close together. Two smiling, green nymphs were on either side of the short but brawny fae between them, his strong arms around both of their slender shoulders. With a lecherous grin, he kissed one nymph on the neck while he fondled the breast of the other.

Both nymphs immediately stopped their giggling when they saw who had arrived in camp; they straightened their simple, revealing gowns and hurried over to take their places behind their apparently displeased mistress.

After giving her own servants a stern glance, Saraid looked at the other fae while he calmly tied his baggy, drawstring trousers. He wore no other clothing other than those faded black pants. At just over four feet tall, the fae was bulky with muscle. His large hands and feet all had short, thick, black claws instead of nails, and the dark hair on them matched his hairy chest and stomach. He had a wide face, made even more unusual by a large, broad nose and small, dark eyes. His face looked ready to smile, but only with the type of grin one might see right before they die. The fae's hair was thick and shaggy black, with bold white stripes running through it.

"Lady Saraid of the Moon Glade," Cadell said, "this is Fergal, a morpher of some renown in certain circles." Fergal bowed to her with a leering smirk, but let his troll cohort continue with their conversation. "I hope you don't mind; your lovely nymphs came to ask our business on your behalf, and decided to keep us - or at least my associate here - entertained for a time."

"Not at all; I'm glad you've thus far enjoyed your stay." Saraid turned to her servants and quietly said, "You two will immediately find your way to the holdings of Drommen elder Crios Kaltaugen, and with the message that more nymphs are to come. Now be gone."

Once the alarmed nymphs hovered away, Saraid turned once more to her guests. Cadell was imperiously wagging his fingers to his servants to come forth, and Fergal was stoking the fire. As the servants approached, Saraid noticed that they were human; a male and female of middle years in makeshift canvas togas, with bent backs and the fire gone from their dull eyes.

They retrieved a simple wooden table and two sturdy beach chairs from within the tent. Before one of the chairs could be set on her side of the table, Saraid waved the miserable servant off. She instead willed a section of thick tree root up from the ground and primly sat on it with her legs crossed and her hands on her knees. While Cadell sat across from her and Fergal reclined in the other chair to the side, the servants brought out a carafe of spiced mead, as well as food to be cooked over the fire.

While Cadell poured a drink for Saraid in the stone goblet that the female servant had just set on the table, he said, "I've talked to a few fae who share your fervor on the matter of the rebels, to see what course of action you've organized. Forgive my presumption, elder, but thus far it sounds as if you simply plan to let loose a war party like a pack of wild beasts, razing anything in their path."

Saraid kept her pose, leaving the goblet untouched. "And you take issue with that? It is a cleansing, after all; there is no need to be gentle. Other than heeding the law of Mortality, I see no reason to alter such a simple, effective tactic. We will be thorough as well as fervent."

After looking over to see the servants preparing a skinned faerie dragon carcass to set on a spit over the campfire, Cadell turned back to his alluring host. ""Ah, so you plan to lead the party into the fray?"

Smiling pleasantly, Saraid replied, "I will be... nearby. I will give the warriors directives, and let them do what they do best."

Both Cadell and Saraid waved off the servant who offered fruit from a wooden bowl. Sitting back in his chair with goblet in hand, Cadell asked, "What exactly should the party expect? If I were to join your cause, I'd want to know what kind of opposition to anticipate. Assuming you already have reports of how many opposing fae to expect, do you know their abilities? What about their strengths and weaknesses? How many are elders?"

Saraid narrowed her gaze at Cadell. "Who are you to ask? You've not joined the war party, yet you expect me to offer up information? Restrain your self-importance, elder."

"I ask so that I might offer military counsel. The size of your assembly thus far would normally be enough to dominate the field, but they are mostly fae of median age \- some of those just barely. And then there are the humans to consider; is it a jovial place that offers copious glamour to the outlaws? Or are the resident fae weak from meager supplies of good emotion?"

Saraid finally reached for her goblet. After a sip, she replied, "I am not concerned with casualties, just as long as the criminals have met justice. If I am the only one to walk away from that unlawful village, then so be it."

Cadell smiled at her flippant egocentrism. "I admire your dedication. However, you and your party are going in blind. By now, I'm sure at least some of those defiant fae have learned of your plans. Without forewarning, you have no idea if they have banded together to lie in wait for you, or perhaps rallied for their own reinforcements. As a warrior myself, I know that good judgment comes from bad experiences, and most of that comes from bad judgment." He smiled at his own version of wit. "But I am also a tactician, Saraid; as such, I can see that you may just as easily be defeated. That would serve no one... except for the outlaws, of course."

Scowling with annoyance, she said, "I presume you have a point. Get to it quickly; my boredom is gathering."

Frowning, Cadell said, "My point is obvious; a clear victory would only serve you well, along with any returning warriors. I can offer you a much better chance of that outcome."

"So, you wish to make a pact."

"Of course; why else would I be here?"

"And you can gather all of that information you think is so vital?"

Cadell leaned forward and refilled his goblet. While he poured the mead, he wondered aloud, "I'm beginning to wonder why you don't think it's as important as I do." Deciding that she wasn't going to answer, Cadell sat back and crossed one leg over the other. "There is something else besides the actual battle tactics, something I believe you'll need assistance with."

With a loud sigh, Saraid rested her bare feet up on the table. "Quit parceling your offer out. State your full proposal or be gone."

Their attention was diverted when Fergus asked in a raspy voice, "Anyone else want some of this?" Both Cadell and Saraid looked over to the beefy morpher as he reached out to tear a half-cooked leg off of the roasting carcass. After he sat back and took a large bite with his pointed teeth, Fergal glanced at them. Still chewing, he said, "No? Fine, it's your loss." He ripped off another chunk of pink meat and managed to say, "Carry on," around the food in his mouth.

Cadell turned back to Saraid. "Your first issue is your lack of information, which we've covered. Your second issue - the one I was about to mention - is the matter of transportation; namely, fae-bridges. On your own, you would have to make a large, permanent bridge to bring the party over to the Verden."

"I'm well aware," she replied with a hint of irritation.

"The problem," he continued, "is when would you get there? You might show up without a moment lost, or you could arrive centuries later. And what other choice is there? Making temporary bridges for every member of the war party?" Cadell shook his head. "No single fae has that reservoir of glamour to create so many in an immediate chain."

Saraid reluctantly nodded her head. "I admit that matter has perplexed me. Unlike with most things for us, time is an important factor in this case." She didn't want to arrive when the McCarthy girl was old and weak, or possibly dead for decades.

"Of course not," Cadell agreed. "You want justice meted out promptly, as do we all. If other elders joined in your effort of portals, however, one large temporary bridge exit is feasible."

Sitting up in a more formal posture, Saraid said, "I wasn't aware such a thing was possible."

"It's rare, and the requirements are... taxing, but it can be done."

Saraid hesitated. "First tell me of how you propose to gather information, and what to do if the community is contented."

Gesturing with his free hand to the morpher, Cadell said, "That is where Fergal comes into play. He only retains gremlin servants; they can cause minor forms of mischief in the area for long and long. They also can gather information while they play their games. Meanwhile, Fergal will visit the area as well. He is quite adept with causing bad luck on objects; like a badger's bite that infects the victim, he will wear them down. The curses are only temporary when not on a living target, but a continuous flow of misfortune will surely lower human morale over time."

Saraid glanced over to the morpher again. Fergal, chewing the last bite of nearly raw flesh, wiggled the leg bone at her and smiled suggestively.

Cadell brought her attention back to him when he said, "As for your fae-bridge... that is essentially a matter of cooperation. First, exorbitant amounts of glamour must be at the ready, as you might guess. What is needed can be gathered while Fergal does his work. Secondly, and most importantly, a covenant must be agreed to by a number of elders; all must be in accord of wishing many temporary portals to converge at one exit. With pacts in place and glamour at hand, we elders will send your war party forth."

Wary of what the troll nonchalantly explained, Saraid asked, "What sort of pacts? And what other elders would choose to join me in this? It is rare for more than two fae to be completely of the same mind on most important matters."

Cadell shrugged and replied, "This is where the pacts, and who might aid you, merge. I am one of those elders, of course. Of the two elders currently in your war party, one has conceded to assist - depending on your agreement to his pact, of course. Fergal here is not an elder, but only because he has not been granted title."

"Damned Circle is biased, that's what it is," Fergal interjected with his hissing, raspy voice. He sat on the edge of the oversized beach chair with his elbows rested on his knees, letting his big hands dangle. "Just because I've worked against one or two of them before gives the Council no right to deny me. I'm more than worthy of title."

Turning to his cohort with a mixed expression of humor and surprise, Cadell said, "You made the prize cattle of Jaeger Heart-Bow think they were vicious carnivores long enough for them to eat each other. Another of your curses had the male spriggan guards of Ragnar Red-Rock losing their facial hair and sprouting large breasts. I believe you even afflicted Talise Night-Pearl in such a way that after every time she manifested, she felt compelled to bring you a basket of a specific fish and then service your loins."

Fergal grinned, showing a few of his pointed teeth. "The fish was called grevenche; Talise only escaped her curse because the tasty little things went extinct. More's the pity."

"And whose fault was that?"

"Don't take that tone," Fergal said defensively. "It's not my fault she was so sociable and kept on manifesting. And for that matter, none of those afflictions you mentioned were really my doing. Some other fae offered pacts for my services; it was nothing personal." He sat back and interlaced his clawed fingers on his hairy chest. "Well, not most of them."

"Those elders have all taken a seat in the Circle," Cadell said. "I can see why they might be biased, but your claim for title was refused because you had no endorsements." He turned his view back to Saraid. "You, good dryad elder, are well known and well respected in the Circle. You could offer that endorsement, personally. That would ensure your side of the pact with this fine morpher. In turn, he will make himself available to assist our bridge creations."

Saraid stroked her flowing green and white hair while she commented, "Good Cadell, I've seen you in attendance at a Circle gathering before. You know as well as I that calling for elders who will agree to sit in is a lengthy process; even more so for the simple task of awarding titles. It would take long and long, and I am eager to be underway."

"That is where we are in luck, and in more ways than one. I was recently approached by a leprechaun wishing to gather elders to grant him title. He even had a scroll of endorsement from you. He accepted my terms of a minor pact for my acquiescence. The little fae has other elders at the ready. Only one more seat needs to be filled - a seat you could take. Once we are all assembled by means of the leprechaun's legwork, then we will title three fae."

"Three?"

Cadell smiled, which only made him look more sinister. "We will title the leprechaun first, and then Fergal, and finally a sprite. This last fae spends much of her time in the Verden, but proved to be worthy of title. More importantly, she is of the same mind as you and I; she is no warrior and therefore will not join the war party, but has offered succor if her title is granted. Like Fergal, your side of a pact with her would be complete. With this newly titled sprite, that would make four elders and you. Five elder fae should be enough for our convergent bridges."

Twirling long strands of hair around her small finger, Saraid said, "That sounds acceptable thus far, but you haven't yet mentioned your own requirement for a pact, Cadell."

After letting her attempt at coy seduction linger for a few moments, Cadell replied, "While I'm aware that some are more than satisfied with your erotic reimbursements, my interests are a bit more pragmatic. My services require a payment of property; a small percentage of your holdings will be named to me and removed so that I might expand my own lands. One third of your vast estate will suffice."

As all fae knew, the barter of property was simplistic. If Saraid agreed and the pact was fulfilled, then a large, random portion of her holdings would simply disappear. Cadell's land, in return, would expand by the same amount. Saraid could eventually rebuild the expanse of her holdings, but it was a long and tedious process of accumulating glamour to create it.

Saraid jumped to her feet. "One third?! That is ludicrous! Your brazen greed offends me! For simply bettering my odds, you demand a king's ransom! You're a troll; where is your honor!"

Cadell crossed his arms in a casual yet obdurate pose. "My honor has nothing to do with it. I am providing a needed service. Think of where you would be without all that I am offering. And, considering both the size of your holdings and what you have to gain from your victory, my offer is quite fair."

Resting her hands on her curvy hips, Saraid frowned at him. "Besides seeing justice done, what else might I gain?"

"Spoils of war, of course; for any fae under your command that might perish, you would be able to vie for the rights of their holdings and Verden havens with that fae's murderer. It is usually a matter of who finds and claims it first, although the other may still challenge for ownership if they choose to. But, once you make the primary claim, the challenger would be at a disadvantage on your land. Do you understand now?"

"I am fully aware of the advantages of ownership, troll," Saraid hissed. "Before you condescend again, remember where you are and who has the advantage here."

Putting one hand up in placation, Cadell said, "I meant no slight, Saraid. I was merely informing you of combat aftermaths that you might not have been aware of."

She took a moment to regain her composure before saying, "Very well, then; your information is welcome. There is work to be done. I think we should proceed with our plans."

Cadell stayed seated and clasped his hands together. "Does that mean you agree to my terms?"

With a frustrated glare, Saraid snapped, "Yes, yes, we have a bound pact." She turned quickly to the slouching morpher. "And you, Fergal; we have a bound pact as well."

Standing with a pleased expression, Cadell said, "Then let us get to our business. Fergal, gather your servants for their enjoyable toil ahead." The short, bulky morpher smiled and offered them both a small bow before he jogged off. Cadell turned to his host. "Lady Saraid, I appreciate your hospitality, and will remove myself as soon as my servants break down camp. If you would allow a portal on your land, I will return to my own holdings to begin my own harvesting of glamour. Expect scrolls from my messengers as well as Fergal's, unsavory as they might be. You are a generous host, and I have enjoyed our time together."

Saraid watched the pathetic humans move back into view as they removed the roasted faerie dragon from over the fire, and began taking the furniture back into the tent. She looked up at Cadell and replied, "As have I, good troll. Your portal is granted, and at your leisure." She then turned and began walking out of the clearing.

When a question came to mind, Saraid stopped and turned around. Cadell was just about to enter his tent when she called out to him. "Elder Arms-Caller, I am curious."

Cadell watched his human servants for a moment as they scurried about before he turned to Saraid and called back, "Yes, Lady Moon Maiden?"

"The sprite we are to title and add to my ranks... who is she?"

Giving a small shrug, Cadell answered, "A small lady of quiet disposition, strong in sight and beast affinity. She takes the name of Oriana. Is there an issue?"

Not recognizing the name, Saraid gave a quick shake of her head. "No, I wouldn't think so."

Chapter 15

"Quit lazing about, would you? I'm missing the revelry."

Dahlia weakly raised her head to Haas again. If she weren't in such agony, she'd pound him into banishment. The odd-looking bauchan stood there impatiently with a scroll in his hands. He constantly looked back over his shoulder into the dark night, peering in the direction of the distant war party encampment.

Dahlia looked down at her gloved hands to focus enough strength to stand; she didn't want to appear weak, even in front of the worthless little fae. She slid a knee underneath her body and struggled to push herself into a seated position. With arms almost locked, Dahlia's elbows trembled and gave; she crumpled back onto the ground with an exhausted and painful grunt.

Haas looked back down at her. He cocked his head to one side; one floppy ear lay against his cheek, and the other drooped from the side of his head to his shoulder. He shuffled a small step to his left to better see the Fair warrior in the fire light. "You look like ogre shit. Why do you look like ogre shit?"

Lying on her side, Dahlia managed to say, "I only... wish it was... ogres." She coughed once; after the searing pain in her ribs passed, she tasted a bitter liquid pooling in her cheek.

After cocking his head to the other side and inhaling deep through his pug nose, Haas said, "My nose says burnt flesh and leather, rock dust, blood, and moss. My ears say your breathing is labored and wet. My eyes still say you look like ogre shit. My brain says you were fighting a dragon, and not very well. Why were you messing about with a dragon?"

Through gritted teeth, about the only thing that didn't hurt, Dahlia asked, "And what... does your... breath say?" She felt her own blood leak out over her lip and down her chin; her arm was too weak to wipe at it.

"My breath?"

"Yes... your breath; when I gather... enough energy, I'm going to... choke it out of you."

Haas took a small, involuntary step back. "There's no need for that," he said. "Lucky for you, my heart says to offer a bit of healing... unless you intend to follow through with your threat."

Dahlia closed her eyes and continued to lay prone. "No, I would... accept healing." She hated that she didn't even have the energy to articulate her meaning well. She opened one eye; in her swimming vision, she saw Haas hurry to set the scroll down next to her pavilion and then jog back over to her.

"I'm not great at this," the bauchan said as he pressed his hands down on parts of her exposed torso, "but I think I can at least stop you from spitting up blood."

Haas mended Dahlia's ribs and damaged organs, and then helped her to the bed in her tent. He managed to heal another severe wound before she was able to see to her own injuries. He found the scroll and set it on a table near the bed. His good deeds done, Haas thought better than to demand a debt from her; he'd earned it but he wanted little to do with the intense fae.

Haas was about to depart, but his curious mind itched with a question. He turned to see the pale warrior slowly sitting up and breathing hard after she closed a gash on her thigh. Taking a small step back toward her, he asked, "If you'll pardon the interruption, my mind is asking... how did get yourself into a dragon's lair? And, for element's sake, why? The last I knew, you were battling another fae in the middle of a lane in some Hibernian village."

Dahlia swung her battered legs off the side of the bed, and then glared at him. "Fair question, but the answer is inconsequential. What I wonder is, how much of a coward are you? I was left to fend for myself after you scampered off when more opponents arrived."

With an incredulous expression, Haas retorted, "The fae that nearly reduced you to dust with a lightning bolt was Aldritch of the Old Wood! Did you expect me to stand in his way on your behalf? Nothing personal, Dahlia, but you're not that important, and I am no fool. Nor am I a coward; I simply had the wisdom to leave while I could. Apparently, you didn't." Haas spun and marched to the tent flap, and then stopped once more. He turned his head and said, "You're welcome for the healing. Don't worry about a debt; I want nothing from you."

The bauchan departed before Dahlia could form a reply. She sighed and returned her focus to healing a deep burn on her arm. As it began to fade, she noticed the scroll sitting nearby, waiting for her. Groaning, she leaned over and retrieved it. The stamp on it bore Saraid's mark. Dahlia removed the parchment from the wooden tube, unrolled it, and began to read.

Dahlia,

I hope this note finds you in good form. As you might guess, I have important matters to see to that have forced my brief departure. This note will have to suffice in place of the conversation we might otherwise have.

In my absence, I grant you the availability to what my entire holdings offer, save residence in any of my havens or use of my servants. Gather from my fields and livestock at your leisure. Glamour may be harvested as well, but only when in need. Until I return, do as you will.

From speaking with your travel companion, I learned of yet another fiasco that would have aided our designs. Do not despair; I do not account the failure to you. You have been steadfast and faithful, both to me and to our cause. It is with those good sentiments in mind that I offer that which you seek.

The war party currently has a leader. I grant you the opportunity to challenge for ranking. But not just rank - you may challenge for leadership of the party. The current commander has been made aware of my benevolent offer on your behalf, and waits for you at the encampment.

May you fight valiantly and justify my generosity.

Saraid

Surprised, Dahlia set the note down and stared off. Finally, Saraid had seen the efforts she had put forth, and realized her value. With her faith in her mistress renewed, Dahlia set about regaining her strength as quickly as possible by means of gathering glamour from the rich land, healing her remaining wounds, feasting heartily, and resting.

Under a hazy steel blue morning sky, Dahlia strode from her tent in the direction of the encampment. Her armor, while clean, still bore the burns, holes, and rips of her recent conflicts. Undaunted, she walked into the camp as if she was already in charge.

There were two dozen or more fae assembled, but only a few were up and out of their tents at that early hour. Flipping her lavender braid back over her shoulder, she approached the two nearest fae.

The two males sat near each other in compactable canvas chairs outside of their close-set tents. They were both in casual attire as they tended to their respective weapons. The nearest was obviously a sprite; he had overly large, cream-colored eyes under unruly, light brown bangs. He was rewrapping the leather handle of a large club that had landscaping spikes driven through it.

The other one was a long-legged Fair fae with angular features, caramel skin, and flowing white hair. He was sharpening his stone throwing blades when he noticed Dahlia's approach. They stopped their hushed banter and waited.

When Dahlia was within a few paces, the sprite asked with a slight French accent, "Another warrior to join the cause, are you?"

Before she could respond, the Fair fae said with a smirk, "I'd rather hope she's come to offer all of us some personal entertainment. Some of us are becoming... restless."

They both chuckled at the milky-haired fae's words before the sprite spoke again. "So, which is it; aspiring warrior or tent wench?"

Dahlia kept a neutral expression when she asked, "Might I know what you both go by, please?"

"What for?" asked the sprite.

"I make it a habit of at least knowing the name of those I drive my blade through." Dahlia's large ironwood blade immediately appeared in her hand.

Both of the fae grinned at each other before turning their eyes back to her. "There is no need to be so offended," the sprite said. "We were merely creating some levity while we waste away here." He set his club aside and relaxed into his chair. "If it will soothe your simmering mood, I am Renard, and my friend here is Uther. You'll find this war camp to be a gregarious one. Find a seat, join us."

"I must decline; I have come here for a specific purpose. Perhaps we will visit later when my business is concluded."

"And just what is your 'specific purpose' here, o nameless one?"

Dahlia gave the lighthearted sprite a stern look before answering, "I am Dahlia. With Lady Saraid's allowance, I have come to challenge the current commander for leadership of this party. I doubt that would be either of you two."

Renard laughed at her insult. "You have the measure of us, good Dahlia; Uther and I are just along for the adventure." He relaxed further while he continued, "So you're the one; I believe the whole camp has been waiting for you to arrive." Renard turned his head to Uther and said, "Would you mind telling his servant that the challenger is here? And alert the camp, as well."

The lanky fae grinned, nodded to his friend, and stood. Before Uther departed, he looked at Dahlia and said, "So you are the entertainment after all."

Renard patted the canvas arm of the empty chair. "Have a seat; it may be a short while before the commander is ready."

The sun was a bit higher in the grey-blue sky, and all of the other warriors were up and expectant, before Dahlia was approached by a gremlin.

At only three feet tall, the low-caste creature was mildly revolting. It was presumably male, naked except for a dark loincloth. He had skin that was a sickly greenish gray with splotches of black, and all over his body were bumps and thorny spikes. The creature only had three toes on each foot, and the same for his hands. Atop his lean, wiry body was an elongated bald head. The alien features resembled that of a predatory amphibian, but his deep-set eyes were those of a feline. The lumpy ears that protruded out to the sides of his head seemed too large, as did his snake-like jaw.

Jagged teeth showed in the gremlin's overly wide mouth when he stood in front of Dahlia and said with a croaking voice, "If you are challenger, master awaits you. Follow."

Dahlia trailed after the loping servant out into the low-cropped grazing fields nearby. She ignored the warriors who followed behind while they whispered and laughed amongst themselves; she was focused on the lone figure ahead that waited for her.

Dahlia stopped when she was ten or so paces away from the commander. While the other warriors formed a wide circle around them, she studied her opponent.

He was shorter than she expected, being just over a foot taller than his gremlin servant. Under an impressive suit of hardened bone armor, combat boots, and black work gloves, his skin was a mottled gray. His unarmored head was as intriguing as it was sinister. Between two thick and ridged impala horns was a mohawk of crimson hair. Tufts of the same color grew from the base of his strong, angular jaw under small, pointed ears. Under a thick crease of brows sat sunken black eyes, separated by a long nose with a bone ring pierced through the nasal septum. The thin lips of his wide mouth formed a natural curl at the corners, as if he was constantly grinning. The commander, apparently a redcap, stood stoically and stared at her.

The gremlin servant stood off to the side and loudly croaked, "Combatants, give names and reasons; challenger first."

Dahlia planted her feet in a wide stance and announced, "I am Dahlia of the Fair, favored by Saraid Moon Maiden." She willed her gear; a sword appeared in her right hand and a shield was instantly strapped onto her left arm. "I have come to challenge for leadership of the war party."

The commander rolled his shoulders and held his hands out away from his him. With a gravelly tenor voice, he made his own announcement. "I am Grigori the Glut." A short-handled metal sickle appeared in one hand, and a stainless steel meat cleaver in the other. He smiled, displaying an expansive set of thin, sharp teeth. "I am here because I have not yet dined this morning; I'm sure your beating heart will be delicious."

If it were possible for Dahlia's fair skin to pale any further, it would have. As it was, her involuntary expression told enough of her dread. To her, Grigori wasn't just famous, he was a legend; a fae's nightmare. The laughter of the surrounding warriors was a distant echo; in her mind, she was screaming, 'Saraid, you devious bitch, you led me to my own death!'

*

While he stood behind some thick troll, Lorcan watched the pasty-skinned warrior named Dahlia step forward to meet her own bloody end with courage. He'd bring this story as well as other information back to Aldritch as ordered, but he had his own agenda while he was there.

He scanned the crowd, but didn't see the elder Saraid in attendance. It was a small matter; she would be about soon enough. Lorcan planned to request an audience with her, and discuss how he might rid himself of the annoying and humiliating burden of his current servitude. Until then, there was entertainment to enjoy.

And my, oh my, what a show it was. Lorcan had heard that his fellow redcap Grigori could turn butchery into a performance, but the act of eviscerating the absurdly overmatched Dahlia was pure art. The slaughter was too quick for his liking, but he did enjoy watching the pale warrior laying there like a gutted fish staring up at her slayer while the Glut bit into his bloody meal.

*********

Under a blue but chilly sky, Brody and Simon met with Moira and another member of the marketing agency at the storefront of Hammerworks. Shortly after they entered to view the handsome remodeling of the interior, Mary Clarke arrived. She was introduced as the impending manager of the store, and they all took a few moments of amiable chatting before other matters were seen to.

Brody, Simon, and Mary moved to a corner of the store and discussed employee options, while Moira's assistant took dozens of pictures of the renovation. Mary quickly realized that her busiest times there would be during tourist seasons, but the clear majority of sales would come from the internet.

In the back, Brody showed everyone the restroom and spacious kitchenette; he asked Mary to use store funds to stock it as she saw fit. Across from the kitchenette and next to the back door was the larger of two offices, which he and Simon would share. The smaller office, closer to the store showroom, was for the manager.

Mary looked around her office with a smile. Looking over the desk, chair, shelving unit, and file cabinet, she mentioned under her breath that while it wasn't big enough to accommodate her steamer trunk of sex toys, it would do nicely.

Simon took an instant liking to Mary's pleasant demeanor and undercurrent of saucy playfulness. To him, her personality landed somewhere between his mother and one of the nicer prostitutes he knew from his former life; both were confident and lively, knew their work and took pride in it, and deserved respect.

To Mary, Simon seemed like a respectful, if reserved, bloke with old-fashioned tendencies. As she'd noticed when she'd met him before, his face usually remained placid while his hazel eyes were those of an enthused child.

A cloth tarp and lighting was set up to take photos of the newer examples of Simon's wares. Moira clicked away at her laptop, noting descriptors for each piece and adding all of the crafts to the growing catalogue of available pieces. Mary and Moira, friends for a number of years, then discussed pricing; both Brody and Simon interjected, requiring the store prices to be lower for residents and whim-shopping tourists.

Brody proudly pointed out details of the many metalwork creations to the assistant while shots were taken from different angles. Simon leaned against a nearby wall and fidgeted, uncomfortable with the praise on his behalf. Mary was about to compliment his skill, but saw the man's embarrassment and didn't want to add to it.

Both Brody and Simon were uneasy when Moira reminded them of an upcoming marketing photo shoot, and that they should bring a few different outfits each. When the cousins awkwardly explained that they had no real fashion sense, Mary rescued them; she and Kate would pick out their clothes. Mary wore a matronly smile when she said that she would choose their underwear, and Kate could deal with the rest.

Glad to be free of the subject of being photographed, Brody and Simon escaped back to their office and talked about projects that involved both of their skills, mostly pertaining to jewelry. While that conversation was productive, it was also to cover both of their discomfiture of soon having to pose like puppets in front of a camera.

While they explored the storage garage across the small alley behind the store, Brody asked how things went with Gordon McCoy that morning. Simon said that aside from sometimes using Irish words, the old farrier was a little reserved and gruff. But that actually set him at ease; he'd probably come off with a similar personality to Gordon's customers, and it should be an easier transition because of it. Simon then mentioned that Gordon seemed to at least consider his work adequate from shoeing his big, cremello Connemara stallion.

With a smile, Brody mentioned that while Simon put the horse back in its trailer, he and Gordon had a quick chat. He said that when he asked the old farrier of his cousin's skill, Gordon told him that, "Aside from making introductions and sponsoring him for the IFA (Irish Farrier Authority), the lad is gairmiúla and doesn't need me for a thing." Having no idea what that word meant, they both agreed it sounded encouraging.

After saying farewell to Moira, her assistant, and Mary, the cousins remained in the store to decide how to make best use of the new display cases and sturdy shelving units. The topic turned to their respective thoughts for the basic operations of the store and website; Simon let a bit of his excitement and relief show, realizing that he had plenty of time to conduct his new farrier business as well.

Brody reminded him to come up with smaller, Irish-based creations for the upcoming St. Patrick's Day holiday. Bringing his thoughts back to the shop itself, Simon asked if the single lock on the door was enough for their good location. Brody explained that there was no need for worry; except for his own recent actions, the village saw virtually no crime. Simon noticed his big cousin's mood sour with his own words, so he changed the subject by offering to buy them lunch at the sandwich shop across the street.

At a corner table in the small seating area of the welcoming little eatery, Brody finished a bite of his roast beef sandwich and said, "So, hey, Sunday night, come on over for dinner."

Simon swallowed his mouthful of his ham and crisp on brown bread and replied, "Sure thing. Wait - I shouldn't-a said yeah so quick. Who's cookin'?"

"I am, jackass. And just for that, I'm making boiled cabbage just for you."

"Oh, that's rich. You hate that shit as much as I do, cuz," Simon said with a smirk. "So go ahead and stink up your whole house; me and your dogs can eat on the patio." After a swig of juice, he asked, "So, is this you and Kate bein' friendly as usual, or are ya puttin' on another shindig?"

"Well," Brody started just before he swallowed another bite, "I'm gonna have someone else there, too." He saw the hopeful look in his cousin's eyes and quickly added, "No, it's not Alana."

As he lowered his sandwich, Simon asked, "You're not trying to set me up, are ya?"

Brody waved him off. "No, no, it's nothing like that. Well... not exactly."

"Wanna start over? This time, get it straight in your noggin first," Simon said mockingly.

After he took a sip of his drink, Brody explained in quieter tones, "Okay, I'm having someone else over Sunday night, and I want you to meet her. She's... um..." He glanced around the nearly empty seating area. "She's one of... them."

Simon grinned. "What, Polish?"

"No, smartass," Brody whispered as he leaned forward, "One of... them," outing emphasis on the last word.

It took less than a second for Simon to catch on. He dropped his sandwich onto his plate and leaned back, shaking his head. "No way in hell, Brody. Forget it."

"C'mon, Simon, work with me here. She's that friend that Kate and I mentioned before. She's nice, I promise. Just give it a shot. We won't be hanging out all night or anything."

Simon leaned forward again and kept his voice low to match Brody's. "Do I have to remind you what one of them bastards did to me? Get it out of your head, cuz; it's not gonna happen."

Brody looked down and nodded. "No, I remember, man. It's just that... not all of 'em are bad; freaky as all hell, yeah, but not necessarily bad."

"Are we still talkin' about this? You're ruinin' my lunch," Simon said with a hard tone.

Matching his cousin's stern attitude, Brody said, "Look, they're here whether we want 'em to be or not. Kate and I at least made friends with one who's been nice, and maybe saved my ass."

Simon's voice had venom in it. "Damn it, Brody, what did you do to me?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you gettin' me to move out here. Alright, yeah, the country is as pretty as a picture, the folks are ace-high, and they know how to have a hog-killin' time of it. You even set me up like a boss out here. For all that, I'm grateful - more than you know. But now I find out that the place is fucking infested with the things that made my life a goddamned nightmare!" Simon realized that his voice had risen in volume, and returned to a whisper. "I know you didn't do it on purpose. You couldn't know I could see 'em."

"You never mentioned before that you could," Brody stated defensively.

"Hell, I didn't know I could; I sure didn't see any out in Colorado. But now, knowin' that I can, I'm lookin' over my shoulder all the damn time! Seein' a giant purple man and a girl with big ol' doll eyes near 'bout spun my head! All a' them fantasy movies ain't got shit on this place."

Brody adapted a softer tone to counter Simon's temper. "Okay, I admit, I don't know what that's like. You'd have to talk to Kate or Jane for that. All I do know is that I had your same 'fuck 'em all' attitude. That is, until Kate helped me see that they're not all like the one who screwed you over. That friend of mine, Liadan... she explained a lot of things to us, and it helped us to not to go bat-shit over the whole thing."

Simon shook his head. "That's where it's different, cuz. The world I knew got ripped away and the one I landed in wasn't exactly a wet dream, so I almost did go bat-shit a couple times. You and Kate might've been thrown for a loop, but that's it. My life got fucked with, and I got a legitimate beef."

"Yeah, you do, man; I'm not tryin' to make less of it."

Simon took a deep breath and let it out. "I know; I know you're not. This whole damn thing gets me riled pretty quick."

"I don't blame you. It's just... Some of the stuff we told you, it came from Liadan, and I think that her sharing all that shit she didn't have to... Well, that makes her good people in my book. Besides that, she healed me up in nothin' flat - which still blows my mind - and it puts me in her debt, as far as I'm concerned. It's just like with the McCarthy's and the guys at the pub; I'm trying to introduce you to good people, Simon. I want my friends to be your friends, too. Liadan is no different." He saw his cousin's incredulous stare. "Okay, yeah, she's different, but you know what I mean."

Simon took his eyes from Brody's and stared out the picture window. After a long silence, he still kept his absent gaze out to the street but said, "Fine, I'll go, but don't expect me to act like a thoroughbred about it. And I don't care if she's green with polka dots or purple and nine feet tall," he turned his head back to face his cousin. "If she gets near me, I'll put her down."

Smiling, Brody replied, "I understand, and it won't be a problem; Liadan is very respectful. Oh, and no need to worry about another monster troll or anything; she's only about a foot tall."

"Aw Christ," Simon said, slumping in his chair, "do any of 'em come in normal size?"

"Well, maybe besides Oriana... uh, no, not that I've seen. But if it helps, Liadan kinda reminds me of my grandma, except for the blue hair."

Simon rolled his eyes. "Oh sure, that helps a heap," he said with a sarcastic drawl. "I'm not sure I could forgive myself for knifing your grams."

Chapter 16

At about the same time the cousins were having their lunch, another strange chat was being had less than half a mile away in Cora McCarthy's sitting room.

"And so, in all ways that I am aware of," Aldritch explained, "Jane would be safe on her bridge, the place she calls her 'play room'."

He, his daughter Cora, his grandchildren Kate and Jane, and the young Fair called Macklin sat in the cozy room, decorated with roosters and hens. lamps were turned on after the drapes were pulled for privacy. Aldritch glanced at each one in turn after offering some insights of fae-bridges.

The sisters, sharing the small couch, were visibly nervous but highly attentive; Cora appeared to be curious but confused, seemingly out of her depth; Macklin, who occasionally sipped tea from Cora's fine china cup, sat near Jane's side of the couch on a padded chair and kept an interested expression throughout their conversation.

After the sisters and the dark-haired Fair arrived, Cora offered everyone a seat, as well as tea and soda bread. For individual reasons, it was an unsettling gathering... except perhaps for Macklin, who kept gazing around the well-appointed room with open curiosity.

The talks between the five of them had begun with both Aldritch and Macklin speaking of an impending battle, although they had no idea when it might happen. To soothe the growing fears Macklin saw in the human women's auras, he explained that fae wars on Verden ground hardly ever affected the normal population. The extremely rare gifted or informed human might, however, be vulnerable simply because of their connection to the Lore. To clarify, Kate said that included all of the McCarthy's except for her da, Liam. It did, however, include Brody and his cousin, Simon. Aldritch confirmed her words.

Cora asked why they didn't know when this war might take place; she was puzzled by the fae's lack of planning. Her tall father sat somewhat comfortably in Liam's normally-oversized reading chair and explained. Most fae were creatures of whim and impulse, only seeing time as yet another element of life, and therefore given little or no consideration in most circumstances. To the folk of the Lore, time simply didn't matter in most cases. For many, ambition was just as much an abstract concept; most fae lived in the moment, and were content.

Some others, though, did on occasion maneuver and scheme for selfish or hedonistic pleasures, and this was one of those times. Cora still couldn't come to grips with the outlandish concept.

Fae gifts were then discussed. Kate wondered why they were all so radically different in each of the McCarthy grandchildren, and how gifts differed from a grace. When Macklin asked how she knew of fae-graces, she explained Brody's gifts and wondered if they correlated to the grantor of the grace, a troll named Ragnar.

Aldritch and Macklin shared a surprised look; it further explained the renowned warrior's presence in the area of late. Aldritch then gave his best guess for Kate's first question: no one really knew. It was a whim of the elements that they had gifts to begin with; how it might chaotically come to fruition possibly had to do with the personality or emotional needs of the individual human. As for graces, any proffered gifts were always those of the patron fae. Considering the strength a huge troll might possess, that made sense to Kate.

Just after that, Jane asked what something called the gift of the siren was; she'd been told she had it by Brody from the fae she thought was an ogre. Macklin said that it was a gift normally found with low-caste creatures called harpies; it was an ability of vocals, sometimes to cause harm, and other times to lull a victim into a temporary bliss. Both Cora and Kate saw how that made sense, knowing of Jane's beautiful singing voice.

Macklin went on to say that not much was known of the gift of the siren because not only were harpies foul creatures, but also because fae took no concern in science or documentation. It was yet another random aspect of the Lore, of life and dreams, that fae accepted without consideration; it simply "was".

They had eventually come to the current discussion of Jane's rather unique gift. Cora was initially worried about any adverse effects the ability might have on Jane over time. Her youngest daughter, who sounded more like a woman than a girl then, told her mother that she'd been employing her 'door' for nearly ten years without issue.

Macklin pointed out that knowledge of Jane's gift had gotten out, and now there was an issue, albeit an external one. Aldritch interjected, explaining how fae-portals worked, and that Jane could find sanctuary within her 'play room'; no one, human or fae, could enter as well without her consent and presence.

"You said in all of the ways that you were aware of," Kate wondered aloud to her enigmatic grandfather. "Is there some small nuance of portals you might be unfamiliar with? I mean no insult, but this could be very important - vitally so."

Both Kate and Macklin saw Aldritch's emotional colors darken. While Kate sank back into the cushions of the couch, Macklin moved forward to the edge of his seat to distract the elder dryad's glare from the woman.

"Lord of the Old Wood," he said genially to Aldritch, "she is only asking for Jane's sake. She seeks assurance that her sister, your granddaughter, will come to no harm in the events to come." Macklin then turned to Kate. "In having committed myself to Jane's welfare as well, I thank you for your concern that harm cannot find her... no matter whom it may offend."

"Your point is taken, young Fair," Aldritch with a deep tone, "but do not press your position with me." His eyes lingered on Macklin, and then scanned the others. "I have earned respect, whether you realize it or not. Dissent and doubt amongst my own human kin is not something I will allow." He fixed his gaze on Kate. "My words could have been heard with a twinge of doubt, but that doubt is yours, not mine. Under the conditions I have stated, Jane and all those she is able to welcome in will be safe from intrusion. Does that satisfy you now, Kate McCarthy?"

From the corner of the couch, Kate answered quietly, "Yes, sir."

Jane felt the heat of anger rising up her neck and flushing her cheeks. She had just watched the huge fae intimidate her sister - his own granddaughter \- even after Macklin took up for her. In a matter of seconds, that arrogant alien brought Kate back to the shy, fragile girl she used to be.

It made Jane sick to see her sister revert to her formerly insecure self, but it also made her blood boil. Kate had just begun to bloom into a beautiful flower, becoming a woman that everyone else was happy to know; Jane was proud to claim Kate as her sister. But with only a few threatening words, while he sat in her da's chair like he was doing it a favor, that damned fae made her sister wilt again.

Without thought, Jane stood up and faced the big, weird-looking man who claimed to be her granda; the same fae that normally scared her merely with his presence. She pointed a finger at Aldritch and yelled, "How dare you bully my sister! She's looking out for me, another one of your supposed kin, and you get all bent like you got sand in your growler! You're not the fuckin' Pope, so get over yourself, ya fuckin' hardchaw! Do you think being some grand fae gives you the right to be a prick?! If this were my gaff, I'd toss you right the fuck out!"

Macklin took Jane by the shoulders and gently sat her back down. She crossed her arms and added with a snarl, "You're lucky Brody isn't here, sure. He'd puck you right in the gob for eatin' the head off Kate like that."

With a wild mix of emotions he was unaccustomed to, Aldritch simply sat there to internally debate his best course of action. The audacity of the human girl to deride an elder of the fae enraged him. That anger was tempered by the possibility that he had in fact overstepped some bounds of etiquette while a guest in that home. Aldritch felt sorely tempted to bestow a curse on the girl for her vicious tongue, but reminded himself that he was there to look after his kin, and perhaps mend some neglected bonds of blood.

He thought beforehand that something like this might happen, though; humans, even those of his line, were just too strange to for him to fully comprehend. Verden affairs were best left to sprites and brownies and such. He had contacted his half-breed daughter; perhaps it was best to look after Cora and her children remotely until after Saraid's war party had come and gone.

Kate glanced around the room quickly, getting a brief look at everyone's nimbus. Her mam sat there with a stunned expression, shocked at Jane's words. Her colors were conflicted between wanting to appease her newly-found father, and defending Jane's heated reaction.

Aldritch, who hadn't destroyed them all as of yet, was a swirl of dark moods mixed with a slow influx of guilt, with a little grudging respect thrown in to his glittery pattern.

Jane's colors were a mix of fear, defiance, and hot anger; Kate felt lucky to have her for a sister.

Macklin's nimbus was one of an unexpected wary curiosity, emotions that didn't correlate with everyone else's current mood. Confused by the brown and murky turquoise patterns, she looked to study the handsome young fae's expression for a possible explanation. Kate saw that Macklin's head was turned toward the kitchen, in the back of the house.

Loud and angry barking suddenly came from the back lawn, getting everyone's attention. Macklin moved with inhuman speed and was at the sliding glass door before the McCarthy women could get to their feet. Aldritch waited until they jogged after the young Fair, and then hastily made a portal and stepped into it.

When the women came into the kitchen, Kate and Cora stopped short when they saw that Macklin somehow had a large spear in his hand as he stared out onto the back lawn. Jane stepped forward until she was just behind her dashing, sworn defender.

Kate and Cora saw Jane's body jerk with alarm when she followed Macklin's gaze. "Holy fuck, Macklin; what is that?" they heard her mutter.

Hand in hand, the other two women approached at an angle to see what was going on outside. All Cora saw were dormant plants, sunshine, and Mac's big dog standing in the middle of the lawn, growling at... nothing. Kate saw Mix, thankfully still in his shaggy Newfoundland form, focused on a vague sparkling that seemed about the size of a child. Before she could discern its colors, Kate then saw another nimbus come from behind the garage; by its size and the way it moved as if it had something in its right hand, she assumed it to be Aldritch.

"What's going on?" Cora asked of no one in particular.

Macklin turned to her. "Matron McCarthy, there is an unexpected visitor on your lawn; a messenger, I'd guess. My pet Mix is guarding him, and your sire is speaking with him presently. Still, I'd ask you to stay indoors as precaution."

Cora stared at Jane's long-haired suitor, then to the view of the lawn beyond him, and finally spun to peer back into the sitting room where her father had just been. Wild-eyed, she turned back to Kate with silent questions coming from her open, trembling mouth.

It hurt Kate to see her strong-willed mother reduced to a fearful, bewildered woman. Being told of fantastical people and events was one thing, but to witness them - like a man who moved like lightning, and her inhuman father who disappeared at will - was quite another. Kate turned her eyes away from that lost, haunted stare and instead looked at Jane, who was still gawking at the back lawn through the patio door. "What is it, Janie?" Kate asked quietly, "What do you see out there?"

Without turning away, Jane answered slowly. "It's a man, or at least I think it is... but it's also a bird. A bird-man, ugly, and twice the size of an owl, but looks more like a vulture. He's wearing clothes, red clothes... and he's handing something to Aldritch." She turned her head quickly to her sister with an excited look in her eyes. "Christ on a bike, Kate! This is so wild!"

Kate understood her adventurous sister's exuberance, but couldn't quite share the feeling. She was positive that her mam didn't.

*

Aldritch stepped up behind the harpy; the low-caste creature was wary of the young hunter's pet, but kept his place despite his fear. A moment later, the manifested fog bear moved back a few paces, presumably from a mental command by his master. Aldritch had seen the sallow creature before somewhere, but couldn't place him. He planted his staff and said, "Were you sent, harpy, or are you here of your own foolish volition?"

The harpy turned to him without looking up and bowed low. "I am Harkin, good elder, sent by my mistress, Enochia of Eight. She sends a message, if you would receive it." The messenger still kept his head down, but held up a scroll case and waited.

Taking the scroll from the servant's clawed hand, Aldritch saw the seer's mark on the case. He turned away and faced the rear hedges of his daughter's lawn while he pulled the note out.

Good Aldritch,

Forgive my servant's intrusion upon your gathering, but I have learned of events to come that will affect you all, and others besides. Know that I offer what I have gleaned without expectation of debt or pact. This pertains to all who share my fond feelings of the folk of the area, fae and human alike, and I would wish my comrades to be prepared. Pass the knowledge of my confirmed vision to those with an empathetic heart.

Come the next Verden autumn, the night that the northern lights can be seen from the village shall mark the eve of the full attack; the attempted cleansing of Ballaghadaere.

Guard valiantly, and may the elements preserve your kith and kin. Farewell.

Enochia

*********

The following Monday morning found Brody in his sculpting workshop, its stone walls and shingled roof providing a warm shelter from the cold rain and harsh wind. His morning had begun with a simple breakfast, over which he and Kate perused the gratifying feedback of Rose Foundation bestowment recipients and organizations. While Brody read some of the letters that offered thanks or updates, Kate noticed that he absently rubbed the pliant yet durable woven wristband she'd given him as a Christmas gift; it warmed her heart that he cherished it.

After Kate had given him a review of how her stock portfolio was faring, Brody gave her an affectionate kiss and then bundled up, hurriedly checked on the donkeys, and finally jogged to the warm shelter of his shop.

He wanted to spend a little more time working with the few large blocks of new ores he'd ordered - varieties of both obsidian and serpentine stone. With the ideas Brody had gathered from Kate, Simon, and the internet, he wanted to add a wider selection for the online catalogue. He already had rough designs for animal heads, desk plaques with individual names written in a Gaelic font, small garden statuettes, more abstract sculptures, tablets with Irish phrases chiseled in, and personalized busts.

With the large amount of malachite he'd ordered previously, more Irish trinkets - mainly four-leaf clovers and smoothed pieces with harps carved into them - could be shaped quickly. Simon was to receive some of the smaller works to form them into various pieces of jewelry and ornaments. From larger pieces of limestone, granite, and local rock, Brody had various other projects planned, including his valentine's gift to Kate.

Another reason for the venture out to the shop, perhaps the primary one, was to have some solitude to process all of the information he'd received over the last few days. The night before, after Liadan and then Simon said their separate farewells, the couple stayed up late in front of the crackling fireplace while they discussed the many recent events. Brody had the feeling that Kate wanted some time to herself as well to consider options and outcomes that he honestly might not come to.

Brody knew he didn't have Kate's rational acumen; his mind played checkers while hers played chess. Without it needing to be said, they both wanted space to come to their own conclusions, and then talk about them again over a meal or while they snuggled under blankets.

The primary subject on Brody's mind was the warning that had been passed down from Aldritch. When Jane and Mac came over the day before last at Kate's invitation for afternoon tea, the whole story of their strange, unnerving day with their grandfather was told again by Jane. Kate had informed Brody almost immediately after she was told three days prior, and so was already aware of it, but got a different perspective.

Neither Kate nor Jane would refer to Aldritch as 'granda'; they considered that a term of affection, and they had none for him. Hearing that only added to Brody's mistrust of their grandfather, whom he considered unreliable. While Jane had her doors to escape into, would the imposing fae only look after his daughter, Cora? What if she was left without defense? And for that matter, what about his own kinsman, Simon? Brody couldn't think of a way to keep everyone safe all at once and be rid of the threat forever.

After scouring the internet for possible future aurora borealis sightings, the best guess for the 'fae invasion' was in early October. Kate and Jane were told that most normal folk wouldn't even be aware of fae battles going on around them; Mac stated without embarrassment that he was too inexperienced to confirm or deny that. It was quite clear, though, that the McCarthy women, Simon, and Brody would be susceptible to attack, especially since the invaders would presumably be told of them. They, the informed humans, would be considered walking breaches of Enigma, and would most likely be sought after for 'rectification'.

Brody was resolved to stay; nothing was going to scare him away from his home. Defending himself and Kate against a fae didn't worry him much, as he'd done it once before against Devlin. But how was he going to keep her safe from a horde of the fantasy creatures?

Brody thought that, other than direct lineage, Cora had no real involvement. Without inherent gifts or fae-sight (from having been in the Lore, like Simon and Jane), she posed no threat or interference other than what she knew. Privately, Kate also mentioned the look on her mother's face she saw that day: scared, confused, helpless, and worried for her children. It wrenched Kate's heart to see the formerly proud and resolute woman succumb to a situation beyond her control and comprehension.

Even if it meant that Cora would revert back to her hard ways, Kate wanted to have her mother's memories taken away so that she would be free from danger come autumn. That decision was solely up to Kate and Jane, and they both wanted time to think it over.

Three days earlier, on a Friday evening at Gil's pub, there was the Ballaghadaere version of brilliant craic. The place was packed, full of laughter and talk, interspersed with short sets of live music. Pulling two tables together, the McCarthy clan plus Brody, Simon, Alana, and Mac all enjoyed the evening's loud merriment.

Jane introduced Mac around to everyone she knew; the young fae's bright eyes were filled with wonder and good humor for everything he saw and everyone he met. Cora was noticeably quiet and reserved, at least until Archie and Flynn began telling the group scandalous stories laced with bawdy humor. Alana wasn't as much of a social butterfly that night, and spent more time chatting with Simon. Brody shook hands with a number of people, some of which he was barely acquainted with; he caught Gil, Archie, and Flynn with knowing grins on their wrinkled faces on more than one occasion.

A number of local musicians sat in to play tunes that night. The piano, bodhran, accordion and flute all sounded well together. Jack's fiddle and Jane's rhythm chords on her new guitar were nice additions to some lively songs. When Jane began to sing, though, her voice almost made the music sound bland.

Later on, Jane fetched Mac's mandolin from her car and had him join in on a rendition of 'mo ghile mear', dedicated to Brody and Kate. The song after that featured string instruments; the skill and passion of the newcomer and his mandolin stunned and delighted the crowd. Everyone agreed that Mac played like a prodigy; most of them had no clue that he had hundreds of years of practice.

After giving Jane and Mac their due praise, Kate brought up the topic of her parents' Christmas gift - a vacation in Greece. She strongly suggested that late September or early October would be the best time to go. Cora, knowing why Kate was nearly insisting on that time frame, was of mixed emotions. She didn't want to leave her children at such a dangerous time, even if she was powerless to help. Brody told Liam that autumn was a perfect time to go; it was still warm, but past the tourist season.

Others joined in on the conversation, and supported Kate's recommendation. Most didn't know her real motive; they just thought it was a sound plan. Liam thought it was a great idea, and had his wife half-convinced by the time they said their farewells for the evening.

Over Saturday's afternoon tea - what Brody considered a snack before dinner - more than one important topic was broached. After the solemn young fae and Jane told them of Aldritch's dire warning, he gave Mac a walking tour of his property.

During the time that Mac was outdoors, Kate spoke to Jane privately about the power of fae oaths; she passed along the information Liadan had given to Brody about them. She wanted her little sister to fully understand the ramifications. Brody also used his tour as an excuse to make sure Mac knew what he had committed himself to.

They all met again in the kitchen of his cottage to discuss it openly. Mac realized the weight of his pledge, and was more than willing to keep it. His words made it easier for Jane; she didn't want to appear selfish or possessive, and hoped he would stay near her by choice. With that settled, Jane and Mac stuffed Mix in the back of her car and zoomed off for more sight-seeing.

On Sunday, just the day before and right as mass had begun, Liam asked Brody to have a pint with him after services. While Kate went to her mother's for lunch, he and the sage, middle-aged gent strolled over to a quieter pub in the village. Thinking the reason might be to try and get him to go golfing yet again, or maybe even to talk about Cora's strange behavior, Brody was surprised when he began talking of Jane.

Liam mentioned his idea of letting his youngest daughter take some time after her leaving cert in June to perform in pubs and music events around the island before going to Uni. He knew she was young, but was taken with Mr. O'Malley. The young man was mannered and a talent unto himself, but not much was known of him. If he proved himself a gentleman, Liam would allow the pair to travel about and turn some heads. But he wanted them chaperoned. With Brody and Kate's schedules being flexible, it was a hope that they might consider doing him that big favor if it came about.

Last but certainly not least, Brody thought with a wry grin, happened just the night before. The dinner that he had invited Liadan and Simon to... Hell, he didn't know what to expect. He and Kate were nervous for their meeting; they were both afraid that Simon might try to stab the little fae, or that Liadan might somehow get offended and do some sort of bad magic.

After a big steak dinner for three, the tiny fae arrived with a knock on the front door. As expected, the tension was thick. Even the dogs were on edge. To Liadan's credit, she stayed well away and offered to answer any questions Simon had. As a sign of respect, he stayed civil.

Brody told both his cousin and the brownie of the 'invasion' to come; while discussing that, Liadan mentioned that any fae who fled would be forfeiting their havens and bridges. She would be staying. As she left, Liadan bid everyone a good night; Simon reciprocated with a nod. When he left for home an hour later, Kate said she noticed a lighter nimbus compared to when he arrived. Brody was simply relieved that there was no bloodshed. It was a start.

Chapter 17

In a neutral land of the Lore called the Toxic Vale sat the latest destination of the Circle of Prudence. High up on a prominent escarpment, under prevailing dark clouds that were kept unsettled by softly moaning breezes, a dozen fae had gathered. The Circle pavilion, made of gold-veined white marble, elegant with its tall pillars and high circular dome, was a stark contrast to its surroundings. The land it sat on was barren except for patches of grass that the bedrock allowed, and offered a panoramic view of the green and orange scrublands far below.

Nine seats of various design and size sat around an inner ring of the large pavilion structure, filled by fae elders of even wider variety than the chairs. Among the attendants were dryad Saraid of the Moon Glade, troll Cadell Arms-Caller, and sprite Egon Soulsinger. They and the other six elders spoke in hushed tones until the commencement was to begin. Just beyond the pavilion stood three fae who waited to be judged and titled, if all went well.

Standing between the other two aspirants, Fergal lifted his head and inhaled deeply through his large nose. "Now I know why it's called Toxic Vale," he rasped quietly. "This place reeks."

"It only be havin' a stench that yer oversized snout could catch, morpher," said Vaughn from Fergal's right. "That's not why they be namin' this land that ta begin with, ya chunky eejit."

"Watch your words, trickster," growled the burly, coarse-haired fae. "I'm just saying that the name fits the odor."

Before Vaughn could offer another casual insult, Oriana leaned in from Fergal's left and said with a gentle whisper, "Can you not tell with just your nose, good morpher?" The trivial topic was a diversion from her melancholy thoughts. She thought it a shame that a Circle gathered for only one subject at a time; to speak in the defense of Ballaghadaere would take a completely separate assemblage of elders.

"Ha!" interjected Vaughn as he leaned forward and glanced at her. "A badger-fae, this one is. Just as his namesake be, his sight be shite, and those wee pointy ears catch little on the wind, I tell ya." He caught Fergal's scowl. "Now don't be takin' on so," he said airily to the increasingly riled morpher, "I'm meanin' no offense, and just be sayin' how the facts lay. Yer grand honker more than makes up fer lack o' other senses, common included."

Oriana took a moment and let the tense moment linger before she said, "There are no birds riding the currents, nor is there wild cattle grazing in the valley below. They stay clear of this land, Fergal, for nearly every plant is poisonous in one fashion or another. That is why it is so named the Toxic Vale. Had you thought of it, you would have realized that your keen sense of smell already told you everything I just said. Take heart; I'm sure you would have known the dangers of this land before most."

Fergal, who stood almost a foot shorter, looked up at Oriana with a proud bearing from the placating words and nodded at her assessment. Vaughn saw the morpher's reaction to the comely sprite's buttery words; with a grin, he rolled his eyes and looked away.

An elder merrow - aquatic fae, cousin to the Fair race - approached the three aspirants from within the assembled Circle. The elder was tall, in a short-sleeved white robe over pastel green skin, long seaweed hair with goatee, and angular features. He stood motionless and regarded the three. After an uncomfortable silence, he slowly said, "The Circle will hear your petitions now. Who shall be first?"

Both Oriana and Fergal glanced at Vaughn, knowing he had made most of the effort to gather elders. The leprechaun saw the morpher and sprite look his way out of the corner of his eye, but continued to face the merrow elder and said, "Now that I gathered the Circle together, I'm in no elemental hurry. Even though I'll not be havin' the morpher's grand ugly nose, I can still be smellin' the eagerness - besides other foul odors - comin' off the daft bugger in waves, I can. Fergal should go first, mostly so I can stop breathin' through me mouth."

The elder nodded, and then turned to retake his seat. Fergal leaned near Vaughn and snarled before he made his way to the center of the pavilion.

As Oriana looked around the desolate plateau, she let a crooning wind die out before she said, "I thank you for that."

Vaughn looked over at her, confused. "Fer what?"

Turning to him with a serene expression, she gazed at the acerbic leprechaun with her huge amber eyes and replied, "Your words angered Fergal. His mental defenses, although suspect to begin with, faltered when you provoked him. It allowed me to retrieve some very intriguing information." She saw the surprise on his face, and so asked, "Was that not your intent?"

Vaughn smirked and shook his head. "That was me just bein' me, lass. You be makin' it sound as if we already be in league. That I be knowin' of', I've never crossed paths with ye before."

"True, we have not met, although I believe we have mutual affiliations and interests."

"What are ye goin' on about? What affiliations?"

Oriana straightened her long coat and clasped her hands together. "Are you not friends with the Fair fae named Macklin?"

"Macklin?" Vaughn said with evident surprise. "I'd not be thinkin' the lad be gettin' about that much to be havin' his name passed around. And I be thinkin' 'friends' might be a strong word."

"Whatever word you might choose," Oriana replied softly, "he thinks well of you. As for his socializing, Macklin has met a number of fae recently; some renowned fae, actually. He and I have never actually met, I admit, but I was in a position to glean many thoughts from his open mind. Forgive my assumption, good leprechaun, but since Macklin thought of you fondly, and also because you aided the human Jane McCarthy, I was under the strong impression that we share some common goals."

Vaughn planted his fists on his hips and said with a scowl, "Now look here, the last I be seein' o' that fool fae is when I be openin' a gate so he could go be tendin' ta that gifted lass. And never you be mindin' how I be knowin' where ta send him. Tis not like we be chummin' up and harvestin' glamour together, now is it? I'll not be knowin' what yer goals be, nor do I think I'll be wantin' ta. You'll not be aware of me own goals in any event."

Oriana slightly bowed her head. "You are correct; I do not know your motives for a certainty. Your defenses are strong, and I could glean nary a thought from you. However, your aura has given me further clues. Your disdain of Fergal is evident. That, coupled with your recent activities, has led me to fairly clear conclusions." She shifted her hands behind her and clasped them again. "Why did you not attempt to test my own mental defenses? I would have allowed you access if you had done so."

Vaughn leaned forward with a ready retort, but then hesitated. He clamped his mouth shut and decided to take the sprite up on her offer. After a few moments had passed, he asked, "Yer own grand walls wouldn't let me be seein' much... but I'll be recognizin' that ye let me be havin' a peek." He tipped his bowler hat to her and then asked, "Who be the fae named Enochia? And why do ya be allowin' me glimpses of humans I be knowin' nothin' of?"

"I am here as an agent of Enochia. Along with others, we stand against the coming attack of Saraid's war party. Some of the humans I let you see are fae-gifted, just as Jane McCarthy is. I am told they will play pivotal roles in the events to come." Oriana took a small step closer. "I do not know your mind, good Vaughn, but I do know your heart by your aura's reactions to my words. I thought you were acting on our aligned opinions when you offended Fergal."

Wanting to take the focus off himself, Vaughn tried to act nonchalant when he asked, "And what little nuggets might ye be gatherin' from his dirty mind, pray tell?"

"He has plans to plague Jane's village with misfortune before the war party arrives."

"Sly bastard," Vaughn said with a mix of respect and loathing. He then looked Oriana sternly in the eyes and said in a harsh whisper, "Ye get this straight, 'ere and now. I don't know you, now do I? I'll not be knowin' yer Enochia friend either, or any of yer rare gifted humans. I be owin' the lot o' ye exactly zilch. If that eejit Macklin be gettin' himself in a tight spot, then that's his hole ta dig, it is. And as fer the Jane girl, I'll be thinkin' she has her own ways ta get herself out o' a corner. I keep me self ta me self. I'll be hopin' ye fare well and all, but that be where it's endin'. Leave me out of it."

Oriana took another look at the cantankerous leprechaun's aura before she nodded her understanding. There were only a few moments of uneasy silence between them before the elder merrow came to call for the next aspirant. Vaughn immediately stomped forward as he followed the tall fae into the pavilion, which allowed Oriana to release her suppressed grin.

*********

Jane struggled to open her umbrella in the cold and heavy February rain as she ran out of the school doors and toward the car park. Only a few other students had made it to the exit before her on that wet Wednesday afternoon; she darted past them with a smile on her face.

Under a large black umbrella, Macklin stood next to her little car, watching with a crooked grin as she ran toward him. Jane stopped just before she collided into him; they gave each other a quick peck on the lips and said simple hellos with twinkles in both of their eyes. They then hurriedly jumped into her Fiat, both to escape the rain and to avoid any hoots or calls from the other exiting students.

"So," Jane said while she caught her breath and started the car, "care to go sightseeing again today? It's supposed to keep lashing for a bit, so that might slow us up." Before Macklin could offer a response, she looked into the back of the car and said, "Hang on, where's Mix? I gave you my spare so neither of you would have to stand outside when the weather is pure shite. You wouldn't need a brolly then." He just sat and smiled at her, so she added, "Well?"

"I'm just waiting for you to run out of breath," Macklin said with that same smile. "I can explain it all, but let's get away from your classmates and any prying eyes first. Turn left, that is... north, when you leave the lot. I'll direct you from there."

Jane slipped her car in gear and said, "Alright, we're moving, so tell me what's going on if you please, Mr. Macklin O'Malley."

"To begin with," he said, "remember to keep calling me simply Mac; my given name is a bit off for your society, and I don't want to stand out any more than I already might."

"I know, I know; I'm working on it," Jane said with a grin as she pulled out of the school car park. "It's just that your full name is so... charming, like. Macklin, Macklin, Macklin; see, it just flows out, like a fine wine... or a big cup of Lyon's, maybe."

"I'm glad you like it, but just Mac for now, please." He wiggled his fingers in front of the heater vents, amused by yet another Verden gadget, and then quickly regained his train of thought. "I've had a very interesting and informative day today while you saw to your studies. I spent a good part of my time visiting with your sister and her mate; they were very helpful. Oh, just ahead, turn on that lane."

"Where are we going? We're still in the village," Jane asked with a casual curiosity.

Ever since the week before, when Aldritch told them that danger would visit in autumn, Jane gradually became her formerly spirited self. She knew roughly when bad things would come, and there wasn't much for her to do about them until then. Besides, she was told that her play room would keep her hidden and safe. There was no reason why she couldn't harbor others in there with her. It wasn't a permanent solution, but she had no other concept of how to deal with any danger, other than meeting it head-on.

Macklin - Mac - had told her that direct confrontation wasn't a wise idea for most humans, as well as many fae. October was months away so why worry about it, she thought. Crying into her pillow with fret and fear wouldn't change anything. Until then, Jane had her family and she had time. Most importantly, she had Mac.

"The white house with the tan brick," Mac said as he pointed to the right side of the lane of little houses, "pull into the drive."

Jane turned in and stopped just off the lane, even though the paved driveway led back to a small garage on the small residential lot. To the left of the drive sat a bungalow, square in shape. From her vantage, Jane could see that the short front lawn and front of the small house were well maintained. "Am I supposed to know whose gaff this is?" she asked.

"I would hope so," Mac said as he handed Jane her umbrella, "because I just moved in."

"You did what?" she exclaimed as she turned to him; he was already stepping out of her car. They raced the short distance through the chilly rain and into the bungalow. Once inside, Jane tried once again to get answers. "Alright," she said as she shrugged off her wet coat, "what's this about? You're not squatting, are you?"

Mac grimaced as he took her coat to hang on a peg. "What does that ugly word mean?"

"It means I'm asking if you're legally living here, or maybe you decided to just use this place for a while," Jane's eyes noticed the lack of furnishings, "because it's currently vacant."

Before Mac could answer, Mix sleepily padded out from the bedroom and bumped into both of them; it was the pet's version of a warm greeting. They both gave the big animal some affection in return. Jane was still scratching Mix behind his floppy ears when she turned to Mac with a questioning look.

"Oh, right," he said, understanding her expression. "No, I'm not entering without permission. Look, I even have a key," Mac explained as he pulled the metal key from a pocket and held it by its plastic casing. Putting it away, he said, "I suppose it would be prudent to use it now and again. All the same, this is property that your sister's mate, Brody, owns. Among other things, he made this available to me."

Jane squinted in confusion. "Among what other things? Why do you need this? Except for Kate - and Brody's cousin, so I hear - no one can see you come and go. If I have it right, you can also go anywhere you want, so why would they set you up in your own little gaff?"

Mac gestured to the small dining area, where a rickety card table and two wooden folding chairs sat. "Let's sit and I'll explain everything."

He began telling of Kate and Brody looking for him that morning; Kate saw Mac's aura on the school grounds and called for him. Mac gave Jane a quick reminder of how fae-sight differed from the gift of sight; they both could detect even hidden fae, but Kate could only decipher emotions by colors and intensities, whereas Jane could only see the true form of a manifested fae. He remarked that Jane's sister must be proficient with her gift, being able to recognize a being by their aural pattern. Mac hadn't mastered his own gift of sight to that degree yet.

Kate invited Mac back to their car; her affable mate awaited him, as well as warmth and the smell of dogs and leather. She and Brody were happy with themselves for correctly guessing where Mac might be, but made little mention of it. They assured him that she, Jane, would be safe in a crowded school, and that they had matters to speak of with him. Mac said he was initially reluctant, but decided to trust the couple as she did.

Once back at the cottage, Brody and Kate took turns explaining to Mac the need for a cover story and some items that he might need for practical purposes. Essentially, they offered to provide rationale for his continued presence.

Mac needed a simple and fictitious background; a reason for him coming to Ballaghadaere, and an explanation for whenever he might show himself ambling around the village. Mac, admitting his ignorance, said that those were logical aspects of Verden existence he hadn't thought of. He further agreed that those questions might need to be answered sooner or later, since he might become a common sight.

With Mac's public image in mind, Brody made the first of many contributions. After the fae explained that he could alter his manifestation to anything he was familiar with - which currently was only the outfit they'd seen him in - Brody gave him clothes. They certainly wouldn't fit him, but he could study and emulate them for his own appearance; it would seem odd for him to be always being seen wearing the same items. After Brody's graces came to fruition, his already-considerable physique slightly expanded to accommodate his great strength. The apparel that no longer fit was offered.

He and Kate then regarded Mac's true form and said with strange grins that they admired his kilt; the young fae admitted to Jane that he was confused by human humor. She replied off-handedly that they were just envious that he could look so good in it.

Mac went on with the retelling of his morning. While he sat comfortably in the couple's living room, with a large fire in the hearth and their faithful pets lounging nearby, the generous humans had more gifts for the appreciative fae. The simpler items consisted of a leash for Mix, a set of plastic cups, plates, utensils, and housewares, as well as some spending cash. Mac had no concept of currency besides Lore barter; he showed the folded wad to Jane, who said with wide eyes that it was plenty.

He then mentioned that Kate gave him a box of foods that required little or no cooking; the flavored oatmeal and some of the soups looked unappetizing, but Mac said he'd try them. The couple also gave him a plastic cell phone, and had hand-written directions for its use; they even had already set a few vital numbers to speed dial. Mac showed Jane the phone as he talked about it, an older style flip phone that had no external metal that would irritate his skin.

When Jane suggested that some of Mac's money be used to at least buy a proper table, he said there was no need. Basic furniture sets - seating, dining, and bedroom - had been ordered by Brody and Kate, and would arrive by the weekend.

Mac told Jane that the topic led to Kate asking if fae actually slept, and more questions then followed from both of them. Yes, fae slept, sometimes for a blink, and other times for Verden days. No, fae had no use for toiletries; bodily evacuations weren't necessary, fae had no dental issues, nor did they sweat. Food wasn't a necessity, but many fae preferred it to subsisting on glamour. And, yes, fae were much more resistant than humans to temperature and weather conditions, especially so in their true forms. Just as Mac saw in Jane's aura, so too were Brody and Kate envious of those innate fae advantages.

While Mac got two pears from the icebox and offered one to Jane, he mentioned the last things Kate and Brody had given to him. They said with store-bought items out of the way, the more important gift was given: a cover story.

First was Mac's background. In an earlier chat, the fae mentioned that he had visited a Verden location to hunt mundane game - a place now called Ard Forest Park, up in County Donegal. Brody said to use that; Mr. O'Malley, whose parents had moved south to Cork once he was finished with secondary, sold off his cattle to travel a bit. Kate said that a simple story was best. Jane saw through the words her sister used; she really meant that an uncomplicated lie was the easiest to tell, but decided that Kate's phrasing sounded more tactful.

After taking another bite of his juicy pear, Mac explained that Brody said he'd hired him if anyone asked. Brody would say - if it ever came up - that Mr. O'Malley came with good references and had a variety of skills and experience. The job entailed anything from assisting with the donkeys to helping deliver supplies to Brody's new business venture. Even though Mac offered to do those chores, they weren't actually required; it would simply explain his infrequent but continued appearance around the village.

Jane was truly impressed after hearing how much Brody and her big sister had done, knowing the effort and costs were partly for her sake. The other part was gratitude for Mac's protection, and his oath. She thought it was a right deadly thank you.

Jane noticed that Mac had a troubled look after he finished his story of a surprising morning. "Mac," she said as she leaned closer, "did I miss something? It sounded like you had a brilliant day so far."

"Yes, I did," he replied as he put his hands over hers, "but I didn't exactly tell all of it. There was a bit more, but I'm not sure what to make of it."

Jane set her half-eaten pear aside and placed her other hand on top of his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Then tell me, and maybe I can help. It's the least I can do."

Mac looked into her honest, forest green eyes, and noted the gold flecks in them. He gave her a half-hearted smile, but then looked down to their joined hands. "It was after I was presented with so many gifts. Your sister patted my hand, gave me a warm smile, and then walked off to one of the rooms down their hallway. Left alone with Brody, I was curious about his grace, so I asked him about it. He led me out to his covered patio and picked a loose stone from the low retainer wall that surrounds it."

"Did he make a shape out of the rock, like he did for me?" Jane asked with keen interest.

"No, but I would rather have seen that." Mac held his pear core in his free hand and looked at Jane. "Brody held the stone in his fist like this for a moment. Even from under the material of his sports jersey, I saw his large forearm muscles bulge. Then the color of his hand turned grey. I quickly realized he had the gift of stone, as you already know; it is a rare and potent ability among fae. Brody then simply crushed the rock in his hand, pulverizing it to small gravel in one quick, powerful squeeze."

"Savage," blurted Jane in an awed tone.

"When Brody's hand began returning to its normal color," Mac continued, "he looked at me while he dusted his hands together. I saw unwillingness and regret in his aura, but also resolve. He told me that because neither your sire nor brother knew who I truly was, then it fell to him to say some difficult yet necessary words. He first told me that he liked me, even though we hadn't known each other long at all. I returned the sentiment, and meant it. He is an admirable human. He also said that you and I look good together, and that gifted sight wasn't needed to see that we make each other happy."

Jane's beaming smile added to her slight blush. "That's nice to hear. I do hope I make you as chuffed as I am. I hope you never regret the choices you made for me."

Mac held her hand firmly and matched her warm expression. "Jane, if you could only see my aura right now, it might hurt your lovely, dancing eyes."

Jane's cheeks reddened to a deeper shade, but she said, "I still haven't heard anything that would cause the frown I just saw."

The reminder made Mac's grin droop. "Brody then told me that if I hurt you or force you into anything, or break my oaths despite their own penalties... he would... He said it would make him 'stone-angry'. It was an obvious reference to the crushed rock at his feet." Mac let out a sigh. "Jane, I normally have nothing to fear from humans, but Brody wields the power of a venerable troll. By his aura, I knew that he was both rueful and forthright with his warning. How can I make him see that I have nothing but respect and affection for you?"

Rubbing his hand, Jane answered with a wry grin, "My sweet, magical man, you shouldn't take it too deeply to heart. Brody is just watching out for me, as you are. Be yourself and there'll be nothing to worry about. Then again," she said with a smirk, "if you fuck up, you better leg it."

Chapter 18

At the rain-soaked ruins of Moylaira castle, some six miles north of Ballaghadaere, a Lore portal formed and opened. Fergal, the squat and burly morpher, stepped out from a dank and muddy fae-bridge. Although not of his making, the bridge appealed to him; it resembled an underground burrow, complete with bugs and exposed plant roots.

Fergal thought that the fae who created the portal - some little redcap named Lorcan - didn't offer to assist for the good of the war party. When Fergal first visited Saraid's war camp, he immediately took notice of the pungent little fae with the wild orange hair, ugly hat, and dirty clothes, mostly because he was trying not to be noticed.

With a toothy smile, Fergal remembered that Saraid was irritated to have to spend more glamour to make a portal for him. He found it humorous that the annoyed slut elder would have to do more than lay down or bend over to accomplish her goals. Besides, the stupid wench was familiar with the village, not him.

Just as the vexed but sexy Saraid was about to create a portal so that the morpher could get to work, the little redcap stepped out and offered to make one in her stead. Fergal remembered that Saraid, Cadell, and Lorcan had a quick, private chat before the little redcap finally got around to it. Whatever Lorcan's deal with Saraid was, it was none of Fergal's affair; he had business to attend to and couldn't care less about the machinations of some smelly redcap.

As he straightened his set of urban camouflage clothes, Fergal reminded himself that he was now an elder. And justly so; elder Fergal of the Foul Trench would become known to all fae. It mattered little to him that many of his 'brother and sister' morphers mistrusted and disliked him; he was simply misunderstood.

Dragging his thick, clawed fingers through his black-and-white striped hair, Fergal glanced around him and noticed that his gremlin lackeys had yet to show up via their own remedial portals. It wouldn't be long, though; they only needed to get a fix on their master's location and then follow. Fergal had long ago decided that gremlins were vile and stupid, but they made excellent servants to a fae of his interests and gifts.

While Fergal waited for his lackeys to arrive, he looked around the area Lorcan had sent him to. He stood in the grassy center of a long-ruined fortification. It sat on top of a low, barren hill, with moss and creeper vines throughout the crumbled battlements. Most of the stone walls of the square structure were still evident, but just barely in some places. The moody clouds above moved swiftly, and the smell of a recent rain was in the air.

A trio of middle-aged women - tourists by their cameras, German by their talk - had just begun to descend the soggy hill, apparently finished visiting the site. Other than the retreating gabby women, the area was quiet and no strange scents filled the air. Fergal was alone, and no unwanted fae knew of his arrival. Perfect.

As the first of his lackey's portals began to form, Fergal walked forward to watch the tourists stroll downhill toward their car. Grinning, he thought there was no time like the present.

The morpher pointed a clawed finger and squinted with mental effort; the nearest woman slipped on the wet grass and her elbow landed on a loose rock. When she bellowed, her friends turned quickly in surprise. One of those two middle-aged frauen held car keys in her hand; when she spun, the keys flew out of her hand and landed somewhere in the tall grass. And then the skies began to pour rain on them in gusty sheets.

Fergal watched with a wicked grin while the humans were squawking and shuffling about like panicked hens. His thirteen misshapen lackeys gathered around him to chuckle at the women's misfortune; the one with a bloody arm was helped up by one friend, while the other was on her hands and knees frantically searching for her keys. All the while, a cold deluge soaked them to the bone. If Fergal had decided to press their bad luck, one would have a broken arm, the other wouldn't find her keys, and they'd all get illnesses from the weather after they had to walk a long way in it way for help.

Fergal instead turned to address his revolting gremlin crew. "My bastards and bitches," he said almost affectionately to them in his raspy voice, "to the south is the village of Ballaghadaere. Soon it will be visited with a lingering tide of woe. We will not bring it to ruin; that would cause too much attention. Instead, we will keep moving around the area, infecting it with accursed luck. Do not focus long on any one thing; spread the wealth randomly, and with various strengths, so as not to cause suspicion. Should you be met by any local fae, leave with haste. I hold you to the law of Mortality; let no action cause the direct demise of a human. However," Fergal said with a devious leer, "you certainly can't be faulted for any indirect deaths. Remember, be creative and have fun. Let's go to work."

As Fergal stepped back from his lackeys, he changed his shape into that of a huge jackdaw. The Verden rain had no effect as he took flight. The gremlins spread out, unfolded their bat-like wings, and quickly followed after their master. They all began to spread their aerial formation and separate, eager to afflict subtle havoc throughout the rural region ahead of them.

*********

On a dreary Saturday morning, just a few days before Valentine's Day, Simon had visitors at his ranch. Plans for that morning had to be changed when he somehow broke the key off in his car door when he was shopping the day before. He'd planned on doing some of the driving for the day's chores, but everyone adjusted without complaint. Brody had arrived first; they had time to chat about supernatural subjects before more expected guests arrived.

Soon after the steady rain dwindled to a mist, two ladies from a pet rescue organization pulled up in front of his place. Brody, having known them from getting his dogs and two of his donkeys from their organization, introduced them to Simon. As he'd recently spoken to them expressing interest in both a dog and a pair of horses, the organization asked to do a home inspection to make sure all animals could be accommodated. While they all walked the property, the ladies asked questions to validate Simon's equestrian knowledge, and were very satisfied with both his answers and the stables.

Just as that meeting was being concluded under a big tree in the side yard, Kate's new car pulled into the drive. She and Mary were introduced before the ladies from the pet rescue went on their way. Even though expected, Simon was glad to see Brody's gal and their store manager show up. They offered to help pick out clothes for the Hammerworks photo shoot up in Sligo town that day, something neither he nor his cousin were looking forward to.

Their marketing agent - and Mary's friend - Moira had formerly told them with blunt honesty that their blatant masculinity was a selling point. Simon and Brody hoped to make sales based on quality, but Moira said it was her job to use any tools available to get their business recognized. It made Simon feel like a parading whore.

When the rain began in earnest again, they all hurried inside. Simon hung his guests' coats as they took notice of the personal touches he'd made after moving in. While Kate showed Mary the rustic furniture she'd ordered for him, the older woman commented, "What a handsome home this is. This setting certainly sends a statement, Mr. Rike."

"I'd rather you just called me Simon, ma'am," he said as he sank into a plush cushion on one end of the couch. "I reckon 'Mr. Rike' is a shade formal for lady that'll be seein' after my wares. And what do ya mean, 'sends a statement'? Did I miss somethin'?"

Mary leaned and ran her hand along the grain of the wooden coffee table. "First, thank you, Simon; I'm glad we'll all be on friendly terms. Now, as for the furniture... I mean that it's rather telltale, don't you think? Rawhide seating, sturdy woodworks, iron décor. It's rather obvious you're gay."

"What!" Simon bellowed. Brody and Kate had to turn away and hold their hands over their mouths from laughing out loud.

Mary kept her serene composure. "You must admit, this manly furniture is overcompensating a bit - like a spade to the forehead, really - but all that matters is that you like it."

"Wait a damn minute! I am not a... I don't fancy men!"

Slowly striding the few steps over to him, Mary said, "Now don't get ill-set, dear. It was bound to come out soon enough; I have sense about these things. Besides, I think it's rather quaint."

"No, really, ma'am; I'm not -"

"It'll be quite novel, having our own resident homosexual." Mary sat down next to Simon, on the edge of the center cushion. "We haven't had a gay here since, oh, back in '82, I believe it was. Lovely host, he was, and could make the lilies in his flowerbed bloom in winter. A shame when he was run out of town, what with all the threats and the fire. Oh, but he was a bit of a crusty, though, at least on the inside; no long hair or dirty clothes, and only one known piercing for that one. Not much of an activist was Richard, although he'd rant a bit given the chance. Still, I'm sure it had something to do with that whole mess, so don't you get in a fuss about it."

"A crusty?" Simon asked, now equally bewildered as well as defensive. "Blue hell, Mary, I ain't one of them bugger boys, alright? I'm as straight as a gun barrel, so let's just get clear on that."

Mary patted Simon on the knee with a motherly smile. "Whatever you say, dear. I can keep my lip bitten, so you just go about playing with your gun barrels or however you people phrase it."

Brody and Kate couldn't hold their laughter in any longer. Mary gave the stunned Simon a wink with another light slap on his knee, and then stood up. His expression started with outrage until an open-mouthed grin began to form. "Oh you sonsabitches," he said while Brody and Kate were still chuckling. "That's how it's gonna be, huh? Fine, but don't let that bullshit slip; I'll have to go makin' little half-Irish bastard kids all over the country to live that down."

Simon showed Kate and Mary to his wardrobe so they could arrange some outfits for him from the meager selection. He then sat with Brody out in the sunroom and talked about the pets he hoped to get later that day; it was a welcome diversion for both of them, rather than discussing the photo shoot beforehand. Simon only had a pet when he was young, a mongrel that ran off after a few years; the experience averted him to animals as well as people.

But he was starting fresh, in a new place with people - one, at least - that he trusted and loved. He thought that overcoming insecurities was working out well so far, so getting back up on that horse was worth a shot.

"Have you decided what you like from the information on the pet rescue site?" Brody asked.

Simon wiped his mouth after a swig of juice and replied, "It's tough to tell from a computer, but they had good basic information, I guess. I'll know better when we get there."

"Yeah, I figured so, but I wondered what looked good to you just from the pictures."

"Aw hell, cuz," Simon said as he began to roll a quirley, "I ain't worried about how they look too much. I know horses better than dogs, so that'll be the easier part. I wanted one horse for ridin' now and then, and another, maybe older one, just to let her graze. It kinda bugs me to look at that website anyway, knowin' there's animals kept in a pin 'cause nobody wanted 'em."

Brody smiled as he looked over to his cousin. "If I didn't think you felt that way, I wouldn't have suggested a pet in the first place. Now what about a dog? You like mine well enough; did you want one like one of them? I mean, what are you looking for?"

Simon sealed his cigarette and lit it. "For starters, I don't want nothin' that's so small I might step on it, or too big for the house. I don't care if it's a girl or boy, or what it looks like. I got an idea in my head how I'll know. But, uh, I mean... how do you make sure your dogs ain't gonna wander off?"

"I was a little worried about that, but it turned out easier than I thought. First off, Honey and her kids don't have a lot of wanderlust to begin with. Then I kept walking the boundaries with 'em, to let 'em know what's theirs. I'm also there a lot, like you will be, and I guess that helps with bonding." Brody leaned over and took Simon's bottle of juice for a sip. "Don't worry about it, cuz; a dog wants to know who the alpha is and where their meals come from. Besides," he said as he handed the bottle back, "there's not many distractions around here; it'll wanna stay close if it's happy and safe."

Simon only had a few moments to ponder Brody's assurances. Kate and Mary stepped into the sunroom with them. He looked up at them with a worried grin and said, "That didn't take long."

Kate grimaced, but tried to replace it with a grin. "Your selection is rather, em, limited, but I think you'll get by with what we found."

"Kate," Mary said as she handed Simon a small duffel bag, "there's no need to spare the man's feelings. It's plain from the look on his face that he knows how sad his wardrobe is." She turned to Simon. "Honestly, dear, there are more choices out there besides denim and plaid. I think I even found a pair of briefs made by Levi Strauss in your unpacked luggage."

"Mary, I think you've teased him enough for the day," Kate said with a grin. To Simon, she said, "Don't you worry; I imagine the photographer won't want either of you men in anything fancy. If you're of the same mind as Brody, you want to come off as respectable. Moira assured me you will be."

While Simon grinned with his appreciation, Mary said, "Ah, which reminds me. Brody, when we were picking out clothes for you earlier, I accidently came across your undergarment drawer..."

"Oh hell," Brody muttered.

"I'm sad to say," the older lady went on, "I didn't find any of the edible underwear that Kate has whispered about in salacious tones. What I did see was all disappointingly respectable, except of course for that pair of leopard-print briefs..."

Simon barked out a laugh. Brody grinned and shook his head.

". . . but I didn't find that much of a scandal, since I already own three pair just like them."

It was good for Brody and Simon to start their travels for the day with a laugh; it raised their spirits and put them in a better frame of mind. Even though the rain had started up again as the cousins drove up to Sligo town, they simply slowed down while the sky poured, giving them more time for animated conversation.

They were both glad for Mary's teasing nature, and looked forward to her running the store for them. Simon said the old broad would keep them on their toes; Brody was already aware of that fact and wholeheartedly agreed.

The photo shoot at the marketing agency went better - or rather, less embarrassingly - than either Brody or Simon anticipated. They both found it tedious to keep changing outfits and then repeatedly refusing offers for make-up, but the requested poses were simple. Moira and the photographer kept imploring them to display their "virility". The cousins had no idea how to do that, other than looking slightly pissed-off. That apparently worked.

Simon asked for some shots of them smiling as well; he knew all about negative imagery affecting a business, and wanted an equal amount of welcoming photos. After the cousins made final selections of shots to be used, they politely left as soon as possible.

Half way to the rescue organization in County Longford, the heavy rain relented to a soft drizzle. By the time Brody and Simon arrived there, the low clouds had moved on to reveal a vibrant blue sky. The good turn in weather allowed Simon and the handlers to let chosen animals out onto the grounds.

In the meantime, Brody arranged payment for any chosen horses to be delivered since he had no trailer; that situation was discussed and agreed to beforehand over the phone. Because he had no clue about horse gear, he asked assistants to gather up any available equine supplies that Simon might not have already ordered online the day before.

Simon wanted two horses that already grazed as a pair, with one of them healthy enough for riding. From the small stable, two horses were walked out. Charlie was a chestnut-colored welsh, docile and past his prime; right behind him was Banjo, a large buckskin Connemara only a few years old. Simon greeted and then inspected both geldings, and found them to be in good shape for their respective ages. He told the handlers that he'd be happy to have them.

When selecting one of the many dogs available for a new home, Simon quickly pointed out a few to be seen outside; he wanted away from the kennels before he was tempted to take them all home. He went out to a fenced area and asked for a dog to be brought out and unleashed.

The first few random dogs to be introduced in that way first exulted in their temporary freedom as expected, but then either ignored him or kept a wary distance. The fourth dog, though, gave an eventual response that Simon was looking for. It was a male lab/staffie mix, a handsome dark brindle except for a white patch on his chest. That one ran and sniffed like the others, but then smelled Simon and finally sat next to him. He was chosen.

The rescue employees explained that the selected dog was probably about a year old, found a few months before as a stray in fair health. Simon discarded the name the handlers had given the dog and renamed him Gunnar. He'd learned when he was a teen that his mother had lost a child before him, and that his father would have given that name to their first boy.

Gunnar was a powerful dog, but gentle on a leash and knew a few simple commands. He was also housebroken, which would save Simon some time. Brody saw that Gunnar was a jovial dog, active but attentive, and took to his new master immediately; he predicted that dog would make Simon happier than expected.

A couple hours later, Simon was back at the ranch with his new pets. The rescue folks had just departed with their empty trailer, and the horses were out in the west field grazing. Brody watched his cousin interact with Gunnar, and it appeared to be a good match. He watched as the dog was more interested to stay on the lawn unleashed with Simon than explore beyond the low retainer wall out front, which helped to put him at ease.

They all walked out into the fields to see how Gunnar reacted to the horses; the dog understandably kept his distance. While Simon stroked Charlie's nose, he said with a smile that with so many irons in the fire he was going to be a busy man.

As they stood in the cool sunshine out on Simon's property, Brody's cell phone rang. Kate sounded upset while she explained that an unexpected visitor came around after she and Mary had returned to the cottage.

The local veterinarian had to treat some sheep on the far side of the lake, and stopped by to check on the donkeys for any similar symptoms. Cocoa, who spent more time near the water's edge than the others, was showing easily missed signs of lethargy and reduced grazing. The vet, who was still there, suspected surface water contamination. Brody left Simon to his new pets and hurried home.

The veterinarian, who had been to Brody and Kate's place twice before, stayed until he showed up. It was pointed out that for some reason the migrating ducks were flocking to a steep elevation on the northern slope of the lake. That odd fact, plus the excessive rain of late, made the vet assume that concentrated fecal run-off was making animals sick. There were no dead fish in sight, but they could easily have swum south. The cottage water ran off a separate well, and so was unaffected.

Cocoa was given preliminary oral treatment until his stool could be tested. The vet suggested trough water only, and to somehow block the donkey's access to the lake for now. Before the vet left, he said to keep a closer eye on all of the donkeys and to call if there were any changes in their behavior. Mary, who was still there, saw the anxiety on the couple's faces and made her own exit to let them care for their animals.

The rest of the day was tense for Brody and Kate, filled with restless activity and frequent ventures out to check on Cocoa and the others. Instead of blocking all paths to the lake, they ushered the donkeys into the paddock that had no lake access; fortunately, it was a large parcel of land and close to the cottage. With amazing strength, Brody dragged a stone trough to that field and then refilled it with a hose.

Kate made calls to environmental agencies about the lake water; they said they'd already spoken to the veterinarian about it and would be out Monday morning. The couple remained distracted late into the evening; the dogs sensed their anxiety and remained close but subdued.

They were both up before dawn on the following Sunday morning and immediately went to check on the donkeys. They found Cocoa in worse shape; he seemed unwilling to move much, and disoriented when he did. They didn't care if the vet was awake yet or not; Kate called him. He was already up and somewhat expecting their call, saying he'd be over soon.

Kate refused to leave the paddock until the vet arrived, so Brody retrieved heavier coats and breakfast bars. They both waited through a cold and foggy dawn, doing their best to comfort Cocoa and the other pets.

When the vet arrived, the sick donkey was re-examined. The trusted doctor then calmly told Brody and Kate that even though there wasn't time for a definitive diagnosis, it looked probable that Cocoa had hepatitis from the tainted water. From the advanced symptoms, the vet nearly guaranteed significant liver damage; that type of sickness tended to work quickly in livestock.

Kate silently fretted while Brody asked about treatments. The prognosis was poor, and the animal was suffering. It would be more humane to put Cocoa down.

He pulled Brody aside and quietly offered to take the donkey and painlessly euthanize him on his own property; it wouldn't do for the teary-eyed Kate to see her dead pet hauled off by a removal company. Since burial of livestock wasn't allowed, Brody reluctantly agreed. After a gentle explanation to Kate, she saw the logic of the offered plan.

They stayed in the field until the vet returned with his horse trailer; Brody had him pull into the field so Cocoa wouldn't have to walk far. They both said their goodbyes before the unsteady donkey was loaded into the trailer and taken away.

Brody led Kate back inside, where she sat at the kitchen table and held the mug with Cocoa's picture on it. Keller and Pearl stayed close to her while she cried, nuzzling their heads on her lap, either for support or in empathy. With Honey pressed against Brody's leg as he stood nearby, he hoped the dogs would be a healing presence for Kate.

The sad experience was yet another area that Brody and Kate hadn't ventured into together yet, and he wasn't sure of the proper reaction. After letting her have a few minutes to herself, he decided to sit with her and at least offer a hand to hold, an ear to listen, or a shoulder to lean on. Kate gave a tear-streaked smile to Brody's company and then they both sat next to each other in silence for a while.

Brody was much more experienced in loss and mourning than Kate, and used that familiarity to try and ease her pain. He asked if she wanted anyone over for moral support; she thanked him with a kiss for the offer, but asked only that calls be made to explain why they wouldn't be seen at church services. After Brody saw to Kate's request - made beyond earshot - he busied himself with indoor chores so that his own sadness wouldn't dig up old memories.

It was later that day when Brody, Kate, and the dogs heard motorboat engines. They all stepped out and looked to the shoreline from the sitting area made for Kate on their first date. Up the incline came Liam, Jack, Simon with Gunnar next to him, and the village butcher Brian Madigan.

They all had rifles in their hands and stern aspects on their faces. While Liam gave his daughter a quick hug, Simon explained that the McCarthy men decided to do some indiscriminate duck hunting, legal limits be damned. They called him and Brian to join them; the butcher was an avid hunter, and owned the boats.

Simon said with some pride that Gunnar liked swimming in his pond; having the webbed feet of a pure Labrador, he thought his new dog might be a natural retriever as well.

There was a lot of distant gunfire that afternoon, made as an act of retribution for the demise of a loved one's cherished pet as well as for the good of lake fishing revenues. Brody and Kate learned later on that there was a mishap for the hunters; Liam stumbled and accidentally shot a hole in the boat he was in. He and Simon pulled it ashore at the northern end of the cottage property and continued to hunt from there.

They all visited the cottage again before dusk with an overabundance of kills. Jack mentioned Simon's good aim, and Liam said that with a little training Gunnar could be a fine hunting dog. Brian said that they all were welcome to some duck at his shop once he cleaned and prepared them; Brody countered by offering to host a big duck dinner the next weekend for everyone present and their families. After handshakes all around, the men returned to the one good boat to go home.

The next day, the county environmental office issued a public report that Lough Gaell was did in fact have contaminated surface water. Siting the occurrence stemmed from unfortunate ecological factors, officials stated that natural lake flow and rain water would dilute and disperse the biological pollution. The report surmised that sanitary levels would return to acceptable levels within a week.

Even with that information, Brody and Kate took no chances. Rolls of plastic mesh safety fencing were bought and placed across any open access or path through treed areas to the lake.

Brody stood in a soaking rain after he tied off the last section of the fencing to a tree trunk, and stared at the lake. He sighed at the simple beauty of it as sheets of rain swept across to the far shore. It was calming. It was scenic. It was a display of nature's elegant splendor. But the lake's serenity now seemed to mock Brody with its covert perils.

Although graced with amazing gifts, he was powerless against the fickle whim of nature. He stood in the downpour, alone with his frustration and guilt for the inability to protect his loved ones, and hated the lake for the pain and anguish it had caused.

Chapter 19

Jeweled rings with bands fashioned out of soft stone and supple wood sparkled on Oriana's fingers while she strolled in the sunshine. Gone was the long coat of her Verden aspect, although she still wore a simple, flowing yellow dress that undulated in the gentle Lore breeze. Her charcoal black hair with its streaks of gray and blonde was loosely pulled into a bun, letting the nape of her neck enjoy those soothing winds.

Oriana walked through a long meadow surrounded by an inviting Lore forest; a number of the large trees greeted her as she passed. Just ahead was the location that Enochia had given her directions to, a placid pond at the end of the clearing. On the rocks and boulders surrounding its far side would be the creatures she sought.

Whether the meeting was fruitful or not, Oriana would soon have to depart for Saraid's holdings to meet her recently sworn obligations.

As she moved closer, Oriana was soon able to discern the vague shapes across the wide pond. At the same time, a distant, soft crooning reached her ears as it echoed across the calm water. She slowly walked along the bank, kept shady by stretching boughs, and listened to the beautiful yet lamenting tones of the singers ahead.

Oriana approached the boulders but stopped a respectful distance from the creatures perched on them and in the trees nearby. The sad tune died out as they took notice of her.

With her huge amber eyes that saw many things at once, Oriana guessed there to be near a dozen creatures in their group. They were harpies, but only by their basic structure. Most had exotic looks to some degree; some had captivating eyes and striking wings, others had lovely faces and flowing hair. All females, a few only had one beautiful aspect while others had many. As they lounged on the rocks, Oriana could easily tell that most of them had shapely feminine features under simple dresses.

She had never seen a harpy with appealing characteristics before. Although vaguely explained by Enochia what happened to these harpies, the sight still made the newly-titled sprite pause.

One of the harpies stood up gracefully on a boulder, facing Oriana. The low-caste fae had long, wavy, milky white hair and full white wings tipped in gold. With a voice like smooth honey, she said, "We beseech you, good sprite; please do not gaze upon our unnatural forms."

"I apologize," Oriana replied, "but I have never seen harpies such as you."

"And we hope you never will again. If you are choosing this remote site to recline, lady sprite, we will remove our abnormal selves from your view."

Oriana noted the overall color of emotions from the harpies. The speaker's aura, more so than the others', was awash with racking despondency. "I would rather you all stayed, please. My reason for venturing so deep into the Puerile Expanse was to find you."

"Us, lady sprite?" the white-haired harpy asked. "Why would you seek such wretched, cursed creatures as us?"

Oriana stepped closer and replied, "From my vantage, I see no wretched creatures. I see an alluring collection of harpy women."

The harpy dipped her head in sorrow. "And that is our curse, lady sprite. With every heartfelt word, we grow more 'alluring', as you say. It further separates us from our own kind, and the expectations of any future masters. I daresay we cannot even claim to be harpies any longer. We are shunned by our own race." At those words, many of the other harpies bowed their heads in shame and grief.

"You had a master recently?"

The harpy with the flowing white hair, the apparent leader, nodded. "We served the Drommen elder Crios Kaltaugen. After we were afflicted by another elder, his holdings were no longer considered hospitable. Not only did we fear that our master might send us to the everlasting dream for our blooming mutations, we developed a damnable appreciation for aesthetics. As you may or may not know, elder Kaltaugen's land is a horrid place, and it made us even more miserable than we are now. For those reasons, my sisters and I defected from his control."

Oriana leaned against a nearby rock in a casual pose. "Then the loss is his if he cannot appreciate your new, fascinating forms and transform a section of his holdings to your liking."

"Your words are kind, lady sprite, but we would not expect any high-borne fae - let alone an elder - to satisfy the unnatural desires of their servants."

After a moment's pause, Oriana asked, "Might I have your name, please?"

"I am called Galatea."

"Galatea and fetching harpies, I am elder Oriana Solemn Sight," she announced to them as she looked around. After they all nodded deferentially, she continued. "I do not see you as abnormalities. Here in the Lore, I believe nothing to be abnormal. In my eyes, you are the first of something new, something unique. If you were truly unnatural, as you claim, the elements would already have done away with you."

The harpies glanced around at each other, but said nothing.

"Being a new derivation of your race," Oriana went on, "you are free to make your own rules of conduct. New beauty has not dimmed your senses or dulled your wits. You all once saw through baleful eyes; now learn to appreciate what a misguided curse allows you to see."

"Is that why you sought us out, elder?" Galatea asked with a hint of acerbity, "To teach us?"

Before Oriana could reply, another harpy hovered closer from her tree branch perch. "Do you take the role of some virtuous crusader who feels the need to reach down and save the wretched low-caste?" she hissed as her flaming red hair billowed from the gusts of her beating wings. "You deign to assume that we cannot -"

"Be careful of your words, Fiamma," Galatea said as she turned to look up at her comrade.

"But Gala," the airborne harpy growled as she stared at their visitor, "this patronizing elder..." Fiamma's expression immediately turned from anger to horrified realization, and then to shocking pain. Her eyes sprung open wide, and she made a sound somewhere between a gurgle and a scream. Her body trembled, and then coughed up gouts of violet blood. Her flapping wings faltered; she dropped hard to the ground below, barely missing an outcrop of rock.

Oriana cocked her head to see the condition of the fallen harpy, who convulsed with whimpering moans on the soft grass. She noticed that no other harpy came to that one's aid, so she regarded Galatea once more. "Would you like me to heal her?"

"It would do no good, elder. Injury borne of the curse can only be repaired by the owner of the pain, as it was self-inflicted. We learned that quickly; it only took the death of two of my sisters to be sure." Galatea then crossed her shimmering wings in front of her in a defensive posture. "While too passionate with her opinion, Fiamma raised a worthy point. Is your intent to save us from ourselves, elder Solemn Sight?"

Oriana shook her head. "Not at all; I came to you to offer a pact. I believe it would benefit many, as well as yourselves, if you agreed to it. What I have in mind would certainly raise your esteem in the eyes of some fae who might appreciate a new breed of harpy."

"And you think us unable to find a new master on our own? We are still harpies, no matter our appearance; we are capable enough on our own if no high-borne will have us. We are also patient enough to wait and serve for any who someday would."

"I did not mean to cast doubt on your abilities or your intentions," Oriana replied. She saw that Galatea spoke more out of pride than confidence. Appealing to the harpies' lack of a master was obviously not the best tactic. The auras of the creatures around her matched their downcast airs, but there were still pulsing colors of spite and vengeance. She thought playing to that emotion would be better served. "Harpies were ever known to be adept and clever; I am sure you would all do well with your choices. However," Oriana said after a meaningful pause, "I also see an opportunity for you."

Galatea cocked her head in curiosity. "You are here to offer us advantageous prospects, elder?"

Oriana smiled demurely. "I am not so selfless. There is a benefit to me as well, but... would you not take action against the one who afflicted you, albeit indirectly, if the chance was given?"

Eyebrows rose from all of the harpies, even from prone Fiamma, who had healed herself enough to comprehend the conversation. "You have our attention, elder Solemn Sight," Galatea said cautiously, "but we would wish to hear more before we bind ourselves to a pact."

"The elder who cursed you - Saraid the Moon Maiden - forms more than one plan for her ambitions. One of her schemes is in play, and would best be served with... disruption. Not only could you foil one of her tactics, but you all would earn the respect of appreciative fae in the doing. Furthermore, you would have free reign to vent your aggressions how you would see fit. Of course, only specific targets are to be sought, and directed by a fae who would oversee your activities for the benefit of many."

The harpies glanced at each other as grins began to form on their exotic faces. Galatea helped the smiling Fiamma stand, and then regarded the elder sprite once more. "Those terms sound agreeable thus far, and we... thank you for the magnanimous offer of retaliation, kind elder. We were... rash to doubt you."

At the utterance of those words, Galatea's dark eyes seemed to expand while their color turned to vibrant gold; the power of the curse in action. She blinked once, and then said, "Where is this to take place?"

"In the Verden, at a location I am well familiar with. I would therefore ask that you temporarily place yourselves under my control; where I would go, you may then follow. After the destination is reached, your servitude to me would end. I offer my word on that. Another fae will be near; he will see to your task."

Still grinning, Galatea nodded and asked, "It will not be you that oversees our progress, good elder? Should I infer that our presence is an acquired taste?"

Oriana was glad to see the swift change of aura colors from all of the assembled harpies. At least for the moment, they were not fixated on their affliction and how to acclimate to their mutating natures. "Take no offense, fair harpies, but I would be hard-pressed to keep up with airborne creatures. Besides that, I have other tasks to see to. The fae I have in mind to direct you will be much better suited for such activities." With a faint grin of her own, Oriana added, "Moreover, I think you all will get along famously."

*********

Tuesday, two days after the loss of Cocoa, the cloudy morning matched Brody and Kate's somber mood. She shuffled quietly around the kitchen while he once again glared out through a window to the windswept lake. Brody admonished himself for letting the sour mood linger; he decided it was time to change the gloomy atmosphere of the cottage.

He went to Kate with a smile, wrapped his big arms around her from behind, and in a soft tone reminded her that they still had pets that adored her and wanted some attention. Kate set down her coffee mug and conceded his point with a half-hearted smile. To Brody, it was an acceptable start to what he hoped would be a good day for them. He thought of a couple ideas that might keep Kate's mind occupied and hopefully elevate her mood.

With playful enthusiasm, Brody goaded Kate into joining him outside for a stroll through the paddocks. Wearing their new wellies and raincoats, the couple went out into the blustery morning with the dogs running around them. While they brushed the dampness from the donkey's coats, Brody continued to keep conversation light and jovial. His forced disposition wasn't as infectious as he'd hoped, but Kate seemed distracted enough to flash a pretty smile now and again.

After they played fetch with the dogs using a stick, Brody and Kate slowly walked hand in hand back to the cottage. Along the way, he suggested that they put off their obligations for a while and replace them with ideas that she might enjoy. It seemed to work; Kate began animatedly talking about their new plans, and Brody was inwardly grateful for her renewed enthusiasm.

After showering together, they sat down to a simple breakfast before starting their busy day. Brody opened the Rose Foundation website on Kate's tablet and found one of the charities they were currently sponsoring. It was a modest children's care center run by a married couple near Sligo town, the same folks that Brody had visited on his own a few months back.

As with most other agencies they patronized, there was a standing offer via email to visit and see how the Foundation's contributions were being put to good use. Kate smiled as she typed her request to accept that offer. Returning to the site after they'd dressed, the couple found a response. A Mrs. Elizabeth Shanahan replied that she would be overjoyed to have them visit, and perhaps join in some children's games if they were so inclined.

The spotty showers on the drive north to Sligo town didn't affect Kate's growing ebullience. She reminded Brody that it was poor form to be empty-handed guests, so they found a toy store in town and eventually had the SUV loaded.

Once they were in the area of the Shanahan's home, Brody recalled the route. They parked in front of the semi-detached house; a woman stood at the glass door while children played in the house behind her. Liz, as she later asked Brody and Kate to call her, stepped out to greet them. The plump woman remembered Brody from his first visit, and finally had the opportunity to thank him herself for the generous vouchers he'd given to her and her husband.

Brody excused himself while Liz explained to Kate what she and her husband, Luke - who was currently at work - were trying to do for children in the area. Brody soon returned with boxes full of small educational and outdoor toys, much to Liz's elation and the kids' excitement. Liz then began talking to him about what the Rose Foundation monthly donation was able to afford them; interactive games, field trips, updating their mandatory supplies, and so on.

While Liz talked, Brody noticed that Kate was a natural with children, just like she was with Jack's kids. Mrs. Shanahan's words faded into the background; Brody's attention was focused on his beautiful woman as she sat on the living room carpet and showed those little girls and boys their new toys.

After a time, Kate was worried that they'd overstayed their welcome, even though Liz assured her otherwise. In the dining room, Brody was uncomfortably coerced into playing tea-time with three little girls and their dolls. With an amused grin, Kate let him suffer a few more minutes before she rescued him and said they had to go.

There were thanks offered from young voices, some prompted and some not, when the couple reached the front door and said their farewells. Liz thanked them once again, and hoped they could return when Luke was home. Children yelled their goodbyes and Liz gave a happy wave as the couple pulled away from the Shanahan home.

While they drove to a nearby cafe for lunch, Kate grinned and said, "Those little girls didn't seem afraid of the big Yank in the least. I daresay they had the handsome bloke well in hand."

Brody couldn't suppress a smile, but tried to grimace when he replied, "Okay, fine, whatever. It's tough to say no to kids when they start acting cute and all. Just don't let this get back to... hell, anyone. I'd never live it down."

Kate stopped giggling long enough to say, "But it was so adorable!"

"And no using that word - anything but 'adorable', okay? Christ."

Brody and Kate stopped back at the cottage to see to the dogs and then freshen up before heading out again. Gil Collins' pub only had a few patrons when they arrived, so they took two seats at the bar next to the ever-present Archie and Flinn. It was a night when musicians usually gathered, so a crowd was expected soon enough.

Brody and Kate ordered some pub grub to finish off their appetites and to help soak up the effects of alcohol. Eventually, the pub began to fill with familiar or well-known faces and the atmosphere became more festive.

At one point, Brody was taken off-guard. He was standing near the bar with his cousin Simon, listening to a story Flinn was telling, when a friendly voice called to him from behind. He turned to see Ned O'Hara, St. Niall's secondary math teacher. Ned stood with a few other guys Brody was acquainted with. They all had pints in their hands and keen looks on their grinning faces.

Brody greeted them all, and then said to the middle-aged teacher, "What can I do for ya, Ned?"

"Ya see now, me and the lads here were goin' on about that bad business out at your place back in October..."

The topic made Brody instantly tense; he thought the story of the Wagner's was over and done. He didn't want any of the negative reactions to be refreshed, but the men who were asking didn't seem upset. Brody quickly reminded himself that any small town was likely to hold onto its stories, but hopefully he wasn't going to be compared to his criminal uncles. Still, he remained cautious when he replied, "Uh, yeah?"

Ned saw the big Yank's smile drop to a stern line, so he kept his genial smile to assure the big bloke he meant no offense. "Right, well, Sean here," he gestured to one of the other men, "he's got kin working up at the courts in Sligo. Word got back that your uncle, the one who lived, finally healed up enough to get sent back to the States to answer a lot of questions there."

"Is that right? I hadn't heard that. Then again, as long as that prick rots somewhere, I couldn't care less; the farther away from here the better."

"Cheers," the men replied. Then Ned asked, "What we were wondering, though... just how bad did ya pan out the auld knacker ta put him in his desperate state? Multiple surgeries, from what we're told."

"Well... I -"

"Too much wasn't enough as far as we're concerned, just so ya know. The fucker deserved all you gave out. So, did ye use the gun butt, like, or maybe a field rock? How long before he cried mercy? And did ya go after the others in the same fashion?"

"Um..." Brody was confused by the open talk of the violence at his home, and uncomfortable telling how he stopped his criminal relatives. "I, uh... The other two were shot, so I really didn't do much there. And, um... gun butt? See, it all happened kinda fast, and I -"

"One punch," Flinn said from next to Brody. "Just one, lads; shattered the man's face from jaw to eyeball. From how I hear it - and by Cora McCarthy, who saw it all and doesn't flower a tale - this laoch ollmhór put the bastard out afore his arse hit the turf. What's more, Lynch was bloody from a bullet at the time."

Brody suddenly wanted to go home.

"And," the elderly man held up a finger for emphasis, "he pulled his punch, no less. Could have killed the man with that one puck if he chose ta, but we have here a God-fearing bloke and didn't want the Almighty takin' exception to an otherwise well-deserved sin." The men laughed. "Don't let his humility put ye off; me young mucker did right by Kate and her mam." Flinn shook his skinny fist. "One punch, lads. Now, who's the first to shake that hand?"

The men laughed again, and Brody half-heartedly grinned along with them and Flinn. He wished the old-timer hadn't used so much dramatic flair to tell the story, let alone his exaggerations. Hopefully Ned and the others knew Flinn well enough to take just the truth out of the story. Overall, he was glad the old gent stepped in to retell the tale; he just wasn't expecting to feel embarrassed by the end of it.

When Ned and the other men turned to chat with the nearest table of locals, Flinn tapped his glass of Guinness with Brody's and said, "Now don't let all that wind go fillin' yer head."

"How do you mean?"

"Right about now," Flinn said with a wide grin that made his wrinkles deepen, "they're sure to be callin' ye a jammy overgrown cunt. Take nothin' by it; after a few more rounds, I'll probably be sayin' the same thing me self." He gave Brody a wink and a friendly slap on the shoulder before moving off.

Brody stepped back over to Kate at the bar and waited until he had her attention. When she leaned into him for a hug, he quietly asked in her ear what "jammy" and "lee-ukh aulmore" meant. Kate grinned, looked up at him, and said "jammy" was slang for lucky, and "laoch ollmhór" translated roughly to 'huge hero' or 'giant warrior'.

He scowled and turned his head away, hoping the moniker wouldn't stick. Kate knew the compliment she interpreted would be at odds with his modest nature; she waited until he looked back at her and saw his unease. She realized it was a role he filled unwillingly, but Brody had earned that description more than the others could even imagine.

While Kate had his attention, she arched up to give her fella a kiss, and then thanked him for a great day; she said it was just what she needed, and maybe he did too.

Kate soon resumed her conversation with two older ladies next to her at the bar. Brody vaguely remembered Iris and Deirdre, Kate's former neighbors; they were making a rare appearance at the pub to hear Jane sing other tunes than hymns at mass. Until Kate's younger sister arrived and performed, the ladies were content to sip at their Guinness's and gossip. Just from what Brody overheard while ordering a drink, he found himself chuckling at their old Irish parlance.

"You know auld Mickaleen from a time ago?" Deirdre asked Kate in conspiratorial fashion. "I'm sure you might. He's of the Patrick Dugan's - a sound lot, sure, not the Joe Dugan's from half on to Boyle; balbháns to the last, they are. Mick was the one who resettled down in Ballintober when work ran dry and the wife ran off, you'll recall. Don't know what he saw in that wagon to begin with; she'd a face that could turn milk.

"Mick has the brother William that was a madman with the drink; still behind the lock over in The Joy with all those jackeens, that bowsie is. Mick was the one with the daughter, Lydia. Plain as porridge that wee lass was a pure header as soon as she knew to use the jacks, but didn't. The poor lamb. Used to live near the Gallagher's out on the Healy road, they did. Ah jaysus, you must remember him, yes?"

"Em... I believe so," Kate replied, completely baffled, but agreed to satisfy her old neighbor.

"Well, he died."

Gil's pub soon filled with townsfolk, plus a few new faces. They'd apparently heard about Jane's exceptional voice, and some new young local with skill on the mandolin. Some of the village musicians were already present and began warming up when they saw Jane and Mac arrive.

Jane was all smiles and energy as she greeted her family and friends; Mac followed her and said gracious hellos to anyone he was familiar with. Brody noted the Fair fae's new manifested outfit from his offered clothes. When the players began to gather near the piano, Brody and Jack made room at the bar for their respective women. More room was going to be made for Simon, but he was seen in a back booth, deep in spirited conversation with Kate's friend Alana.

Jane's first few songs were amazing as usual, and Mac's skill on his mandolin complimented her voice beautifully. Brody and Kate mentioned to each other that they almost wished the other musicians weren't playing; Jack on the fiddle, as well as the others, sounded sloppy and amateurish in comparison.

During the first break, Kate renewed Brody's old offer to have Jane record a few tunes in a studio up in Sligo town; she could begin handing CD's out at future impromptu shows. Jane admitted that with all that had been going on lately, she'd forgotten all about that offer.

She gladly accepted, but then questioned if Mac's skill was able to be taped; snapshots of him certainly didn't work. Mac ventured that because his mandolin was a Verden instrument, there shouldn't be any issues recording its sounds. Kate suggested they test that theory sometime.

After the second round of songs ended, Gil thought that Kate was in good enough spirits to offer his condolences for her and Brody's donkey. The reminder sobered her somewhat, but she thanked Gil for his kind words.

That topic led to other recent stories of bad luck and mishaps around the area. Accidents ranging from minor car wrecks, to fires from faulty wiring, to sheep lost to rare badger attacks were mentioned. Brody found the news troubling, but Kate told him later that sometimes luck got washed off with too much rain, like they'd been having of late.

Brody was surprised to hear Kate brush the bad news off with a folksy reference, what with her being so smart and logical. But then he reminded himself of the strange world they were inadvertently a part of; he thought maybe it was an old wisdom he should take more heed of.

The next day Kate was invited to spend time over at her mother's, and Brody invited Simon and Gunnar over to the cottage. Brody made sure his dogs got along with his cousin's energetic pet while Simon saw to the donkey's hooves. Simon mentioned that he had another farrier call to go on with Gordon in the afternoon, so they immediately went to Brody's workshop.

The two proceeded to delve into projects for the Hammerworks opening, primarily jewelry with cut stones. Simon had a box full of metal settings, from simple iron brooches to intricately-detailed silver claddagh rings. Brody shaped small stones with his graced gift to fit specific cabochon shapes into Simon's many designs. Before heading out with Gunnar, his cousin said he'd set and secure them all before the shop opened.

Two days later was the Valentine's holiday, which began with dismal weather. It was just as well that the cold wind blew spitting rain that next morning, for the couple planned to spend the day at home anyway; Brody and Kate were out again the night before at the weekly bingo games and were both beginning to miss the cottage.

The first part of their romantic day was spent lounging in robes in front of a blazing fire, where they casually discussed the future of their shop. Brody said he only had the common sense he'd inherited from his parents, plus a few business ideas he picked up from Don Keller. He told Kate that he was lucky to have her intellect involved in it as well, but felt blessed to have all of her other qualities to himself. To her blushing joy, she spent the rest of the afternoon in his safe and warm embrace, being told in soft whispers what those qualities were.

Before dinner, Brody set up his gift to Kate in the far corner of the living room. He'd sculpted a sectional tree branch made of fitted limestone, carved to look realistic and set in a sturdy base. On each section were protruding smaller branches with naturally-shaped holders, in which large sculpted flower heads would universally fit.

Being made of different stone types, those flowers varied in kind and hue; multiples of blue and white marble, striated green malachite, veined tan and black obsidian, red granite, and yellow limestone. Brody said Kate deserved flowers every day, and that was the only permanent solution he could think of. She spent a long time rearranging the stone flower heads, standing back to appreciate the placement of the various hues, and then changing her mind.

Kate spent parts of Valentine's Day in the kitchen with preparations, and for dinner Brody was treated to a feast of some of his new favorite dishes. A large shepherd's pie with extra ground beef topped with Irish champ was served. There was also freshly baked soda bread on the side, and Irish cream fudge as a dessert.

A short time later, Brody was slouched on the couch, rubbing his stomach and thanking her yet again for the meal. Kate grinned mischievously and said she had another gift for him. Brody sat straighter on the couch when she brought him a wrapped box.

After he opened the gift, there was a moment of silence. He then began laughing out loud, with Kate joining in.

Brody held up the leopard print mini-briefs with his fingertips as if he might catch something infectious from it. Still grinning, he looked at Kate. "What do you expect me to do with these?"

"I expect you to wear those for me tonight," she replied with a smirk. "Just once, please? In return, I promise I'll do my best not to show Mary any of the pictures."

"What pictures? You never said anything about me posing in this thing!"

Kate scooted closer and said sweetly, "But I had alterations made yesterday, and it'd be a shame not to have some mementoes since I know you wouldn't ever wear them otherwise."

Brody glared at her. "What kind of alterations?"

"Turn them around, love," Kate said while trying to stifle a chuckle.

He rotated the small garment, and then muttered, "Oh you gotta be fucking kidding me."

Kate was laughing loudly again as Brody stared at the bright yellow stitching on the rear. It spelled out 'Adorable'.

Chapter 20

Aldritch of the Old Wood sat on a low retainer wall, troubled with his predicament. While low, moody clouds blew by overhead, he looked once again at the front of the modest two-story home of his male grandchild, Jack McCarthy. There were questions Aldritch had no answer for, and concerns that he was doing what was best to protect his human relatives. There were also issues of trust concerning certain fae, but he had no polite way of knowing true intents by his own means.

Those types of topics normally never disturbed him. A storm was coming, though, and not only was it a storm Aldritch had no control over, it most likely had aims for his kin. There was only one option available for his concerns.

Using a temporary shadowy gate, Aldritch traveled to a small, boggy patch of land just outside the village of Ballaghadaere. He took a few long strides through wild, pale grass and knelt next to a large puddle. After a moment's search, he found what he was looking for.

Aldritch captured the raft spider between his large cupped hands and held them to his lips. Between his thumbs, he whispered, "I request audience with Lady Enochia." He repeated his request three more times as dictated by the rules of affinity, released the arachnid, and waited.

An image not of Aldritch's making formed in his mind's eye. It was an outer door made of rotting wood held with rusty strap hinges, and a circular knocker painted blue, chipped and faded. With the image came a sentiment of allowance and welcome.

With that door in mind, Aldritch formed another shadowy portal and made his way to it. He stepped from his gate to just in front of the old door, which was attached to a small, old stone bungalow, apparently abandoned for years. The grounds were overgrown and deadened, surrounded by rolling derelict fields in all directions.

The weather was the same as his former location, so Enochia's haven was likely somewhere near the village. It was a fair guess that its location would soon be forgotten by exiting guests.

Just as Aldritch was about to use the knocker, the door was pulled open by a surly-looking harpy in crimson attire. The low-caste servant bowed to him and then spread a wing in invitation to step inside. At the archway to the left of the entry hall, the harpy formally announced Aldritch's presence and then stepped aside.

The tall dryad ducked under the cracked plaster archway and into Enochia's large parlor. Surrounded by shadows and dust, the reserved seer sat at a round table that was covered with black cloth. Candlelight flickered from a few nearby tables and book shelves, barely illuminating her dark robes and the old green shawl draped over her shoulders. Enochia nodded to Aldritch and gestured to the large chair that her harpy servant was placing at the table across from her.

After leaning his staff against a wall and taking his seat, Aldritch waved off the servant's offer for refreshment. While having her plastic cup filled with loreberry wine by the harpy, Enochia said to her guest, "It is good to see you well, elder Aldritch. I hope the elements are being kind."

He nodded. "And you as well, good seer; your acceptance of my request is appreciated."

Enochia gestured for her servant to leave. When he stepped out of the room, she took a sip of her wine and spoke in a tone that matched the somber ambiance of her parlor. "Your mind whirls with mysteries and worry. Let us see if I might calm that storm somewhat."

Aldritch sighed heavily. "And what do you wish in return, if I might be so direct?"

"There will be no debt owed, elder." When Enochia saw his surprised reaction, she explained, "The questions you wish answered may well affect other fae of the area, my own self included. There are many routes our futures may take, but the information I give - and what you do with it - will bring the routes from many to a few. In most of the possible outcomes, my fate is hinged on yours. In essence, then, I would be giving myself answers as I give them to you."

"And what do you see as most likely to happen come the cleansing?"

Enochia shook her head with a wry smile. "Aldritch, I may be a seer, but I cannot foretell everything. There are too many players in this game, too many variables to account for. I see many of the same outcomes for particular instances, yes, but those can be altered by a mere shift in the wind. To be plain, good elder, I did not take you for one to accept a broad fate by another's words - not even mine, not completely. You've come with specific questions, and I don't believe that was one of them. It is in the details where I might be of some assistance."

"Very well," Aldritch said in a low and grim timbre as he rested his elbows on the table and clasped his large hands together. "To begin, I am not sure what you already know and what you don't, so I may sound redundant in building my questions."

"Do not concern yourself with that triviality; please continue."

"My offspring has three children. Kate is gifted and is aware of the Enigma. Jane, the youngest, meets that same description and more. But as for the eldest child, Jack... Is he gifted as well?"

"Yes."

"Is he aware of the Enigma, and therefore in danger as well?"

Enochia shook her head once. "Yes and no; let me explain. Jack calls his gifts 'gut feelings'; he knows they are beyond the norm, but he does not want to be thought of as different. He keeps them a secret, or plays them off as good fortune or a parlor trick if someone were to notice his abilities. Now, as the female McCarthy's are fully aware of us, that fact may place Jack in danger as well. Cora is in breach, and her daughters are the embodiment of it. If her son displays gifts but claims ignorance, Saraid's war party may well consider him a target or threat anyway. Jack could be a viable target, just for the sake of the warriors being thorough."

Aldritch stared off absently and nodded his understanding. He looked back at the Drommen seer, noting her wild blue hair and contrasting calm demeanor. "Enochia, about our pact... I have made some attempts to reconvene a Circle, but the duties of watching over my human kin have taken precedence. That is not to say that I -"

Enochia held up a four-fingered hand to halt his explanations. "I realize that you have made efforts, and that they may have been in vain. Nonetheless, it was worth the try. Among others, I believe you contacted the elder who initially called for the breach to be seen to, yes? I was unable to decipher who that elder was."

"It was Egon Soulsinger, and I did meet with him. I failed to sway him."

"Ah, I see. Aldritch, in my view you have kept your end of the pact. I consider it complete; you may now look after the welfare of your humans without that plaguing your honor."

Aldritch sat straighter and said, "But if the war party does not arrive until autumn, as you said, then I might still be able to assemble elders for a Circle of Prudence to hear my appeal."

Enochia pursed her lips and collected her thoughts before replying a few moments later. "At a glimpse, I see two probabilities that would work against you. The first is that you simply would be unable to gather enough elders in time. The second is that preemptive strikes may be made against your kin without your protection before the war party arrives. I am no strategist, but that seems logical. Again, these are not facts, but they are probable."

"I appreciate your candor, good elder." Aldritch placed a hand to his face and rubbed his chin when he asked, "My redcap retainer, Lorcan... I suppose he should not be trusted to oversee either of the opposing tasks in my stead?"

Slightly cocking her head to one side, Enochia answered, "He should not be trusted to gather fruit, let alone any see to any matter of grave import."

"Would it be fair to at least ask if he will be a help or hindrance when the war party arrives?"

"That depends on you and your integrity, elder. All redcaps are the children of spite and malice, and you hold one by the tail. It might be best if you were to kill him, but I think your sense of justice would need blatant validation for that. Lorcan could also surprise you. Depending on whatever treatment you have shown him, he might somehow assist you... but for a price, of course. Your time together should give you your answer."

Aldritch clasped his hands together again, resetting his thoughts along with his movements. "Kazimir of the Callous Ruin has been to the area of late. Has he committed himself to this confrontation? If so, then who has he sided with?"

"Kazimir has made no pledge to take part for either side; perhaps he could be swayed."

A long moment passed before Aldritch leaned forward and said with restrained emotion, "Enochia, both my human child and her son are at risk, both now and especially when the cleansing comes. I do not make a habit of commanding the mundane, let alone my own kin, so I will not direct their activities. They will be going about their own lives, uncommonly crossing paths or spending much time together. How am I to protect them both?"

Enochia took a sip of her wine, and then looked into Aldritch's mint-green eyes. "Perhaps you can't," she answered candidly. "Perhaps you're not meant to. To be brutally honest, one of them might have to be victimized while the other remains untouched. You might have to accept that someone of your blood may somehow become a casualty of our machinations."

The intensity of Aldritch's disquiet was evident by his creased brows and pursed lips. The unexpected rumble of thunder outside was another indicator. "Is that what you've seen as a likely outcome?"

". . . Yes."

###

Author's note: The fictional village of Ballaghadaere (pronounced Bala-dare) is closely based on Ballaghaderreen (pronounced by many as Bala-hadreen), a quaint little town in northern County Roscommon, Ireland. Lough Gaell (pronounced Gail) is actually Lough Gara, a lake near Ballaghaderreen. Moylaira Castle is actually Moygara Castle, the ruin of which is near both Ballaghaderreen and Lough Gara. Names of locations have been changed for the hell of it; this is fiction, after all. Also, I didn't want to take the chance of stepping on any Irish toes, which I'm told is very bad luck.
