Chapter Nine
It was already late afternoon, and Regan had hardly moved from the couch since her phone call with Jim. She still hadn’t pulled herself together enough to come up with any kind of rescue plan for Fáelán. She still hoped it was all a mistake, and he’d walk through the front door any minute.
A jarring ring startled her out of her lethargy. She grabbed her phone from the coffee table, checked the ID and had to swallow a few times before she could answer. “Hey, Meredith. I was just about to call you.”
“Rae, what’s going on?” Meredith asked. “Grayce and I are both picking up on your distress, and we were supposed to be having our Google Hangout date with you and Fáelán now. We got worried.”
Since the day Fáelán had appeared at her door, Regan had been texting photos to her sisters and keeping them up-to-date, and today she’d arranged for them to meet. “Oh, God. He’s gone, Meredith. Fáelán is gone.”
“What do you mean he’s gone? Start from the beginning. Wait. I’m going to put my phone on speaker, so Grayce can be part of this conversation.”
Regan cradled the phone against her ear. “OK. So.” Tears clogged her throat and filled her eyes. “Just a sec.”
“Take your time,” Grayce said, her tone gentle.
Regan grabbed a few tissues from the box on the coffee table and blew her nose. “Last night, Fáelán told me he loves me, and . . . and this morning he was gone—and I mean really gone. His clothes, phone and car are still here, but I can sense he’s no longer in this world. I talked to his nephew. Jim thinks Morrigan discovered her curse was about to end, and she stole him back to the void.”
“Wait,” Grayce said. “I thought he had five days of freedom. This is only day four, right?”
“It is, but . . . obviously that doesn’t matter.” Regan grabbed another tissue and swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “Besides, the curse doesn’t specify a number of days. I need you two here. Are you close to a computer, so we can book your flight?”
“Yeah. Hold on,” Meredith said.
While her sister went for her laptop, Regan strode over to the kitchen table and grabbed her purse from the chair. She pulled out her wallet and returned to the couch, where her own computer sat on the table in front of her. “I don’t suppose you’ve had any visions that might lead me to Fáelán, have you, Grayce?”
“No, but if something comes to me, I’ll call you immediately.”
“Please do, or maybe when we’re together, we can join forces and make something happen,” Regan said, wishing it was true. Could they combine their abilities in a situation like this? They weren’t facing a spirit needing to be exorcised here. This was completely out of the realm of their prior experience.
The next twenty minutes were spent arranging their flight to Ireland. After that, Regan went over every detail of her last evening with Fáelán. “He said he’d rather remain cursed for all eternity than put me in harm’s way, because my safety is more important to him than his freedom.” She wiped her nose again. “It could be Morrigan took him at his word, and zap, he’s her prisoner again. Only now it’s forever.” A fresh tear slid down her cheek.
“Not only is he gorgeous, but he has a true Celtic heart.” Grayce sighed. “He’s a romantic.”
“Yeah, well,” Regan croaked. “I wish he’d been a bit less romantic and a lot less dramatic. Then maybe he’d s-still be—”
“We’ll be there Monday morning,” Meredith assured her. “Hang in there.”
“Do I have a choice? Go. Pack. Call me when you land, and I’ll pick you up at the Dublin Airport.” They said their goodbyes, and ended the call. Once again, the silence closed in around her, and Regan turned on the TV. Background noise was better than emptiness.
Regan forced herself to make something to eat, and then she cleaned up and moved back to the couch and her computer. How did one defeat a faerie? She typed it into the search bar, surprised when things actually came up. She read the first entry. “To kill a faerie, you must trap it in a microwave oven.” Regan glanced at the compact appliance on her kitchen counter. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”
She scrolled down to the next link. “They can be trapped or harmed by iron,” she read, “but killed only by weapons of their own making.” Great. How could she get her hands on a fae weapon? Even if she did, she’d have no clue how to wield such a thing. Besides, the faerie on the receiving end would surely have a weapon as well. Chances were good it would know how to fight, while she did not. All those years she’d studied yoga, chanted om and namaste she should’ve spent learning martial arts. This was getting her nowhere.
She and Fáelán had planned to visit the Hill of Tara today. She brought up the park’s website and glanced at the time. It was already 7:00 p.m., and Tara closed at 6:00. She could trespass like she had at Newgrange, but it was pouring rain, and she was still too emotionally wrecked to function well enough to concentrate. The site opened at ten o’clock tomorrow, which was Friday. She’d go to bed early and start the day searching for magic, information and a faerie weapon. Yep. Things looked entirely hopeless.
Friday proved to be the clearest day she’d encountered since arriving in Ireland, which made missing Fáelán all that much worse. He should be with her now, spouting historical facts about the Hill of Tara. Missing him hurt like hell, and she wanted him back, dammit.
Regan pulled in to the car park at Tara, relieved to see there were only two other cars present. That would change. Soon the tour buses from Dublin would arrive, and the tourist attraction would be swarming.
With everything she’d learned about Tara, a fragile hope had taken root. When the wizard Amergin had defeated the Tuatha Dé Danann, he’d banished the fae to dwell beneath this very hill. There had to be a reason why the wizard had chosen this spot. Fáelán’s theories about metaphors embedded into Irish mythology made sense, and Tara had long been recognized as the center of all things mystical to the ancient Celts who’d settled here.
Regan climbed out of her car and followed the path to the small parish church that had been converted into a visitor center. Already her pulse raced in response to the energy and mystical power radiating from deep within the land, and she wasn’t anywhere near the top yet. She paid the admission fee and left the visitor center.
The path leading to the top of Tara ran behind the church and led her past a statue of Saint Patrick, the church’s patron saint. Pausing, she stared out over the rolling landscape spread out under the saint’s benevolent granite gaze. She needed a minute. Strong magic permeated the site all right, along with lines of energy triangulating the area. Ley lines?
Never before had she experienced anything like this, and her fragile hope grew by leaps and bounds. She continued along the path to the summit, drawn by those invisible threads of power. Trust in your abilities.
Regan took in a long, slow breath, released it, and opened herself to the energy coming at her from all directions. This time it worked, and she trembled from the onslaught. Closing her eyes, she tried to separate the threads crossing through her. Would one of them lead her to answers? How would she know? She opened her eyes and started walking. As she grew closer to the top of the hill, the threads of power increased in strength and exerted a pull.
A frisson of fear traced through her. She was caught in a spider’s web of magic as ancient as the earth itself. Whatever this was, she was being drawn in a specific direction, held by a current she wasn’t sure she could escape. Did she want to escape? Not if the pull led her to Fáelán. She came to a stop in front of a mound, a miniature passage tomb with stones guarding the entrance.
These stones bore the same ancient designs etched into the slab of rock guarding Newgrange’s entrance. Every cell in her body tingled, and the hair on her arms and at the back of her neck stood on end. She even had goose bumps on the calves of her legs.
The Mound of the Hostages, she read on the plaque before her, Duma na nGiall, dating back to 3000 BC, built of boulders and covered with earth. Exactly like Newgrange and more than likely built by the same ancient inhabitants. Her heart tattooed against her ribs. This had to be the way into other dimensions and the reason Amergin had chosen this place to banish the fae from the earthly realm.
The Mound of Hostages sat atop the pinnacle of Tara, the place where fae magic and the ley lines of earth’s energy intersected and combined. Those powers and energy combining must form a vortex of some kind, and she’d find it.
An iron gate blocked the entrance into the mound. She needed to find a way around the barrier. Circling the mound, she searched for any sign of a magical door. What was she thinking? Even if she did find a way in, then what? Fáelán had said he focused his will on a particular location and there he’d go. But he had to have already been to the place before the process worked. How many planes of existence were there? Her knees went a little weak, and she trembled. How the hell would she find one Fiann in a haystack of dimensions?
She returned to the entrance and read more of the plaque. Humans had been cremated here—was that code for sacrificed?—yet she didn’t sense a single ghost, only currents of energy, power and magic, a cosmic layer cake of things she knew nothing about and couldn’t hope to control.
A group of tourists were coming up the hill and heading toward the mound. Regan forced herself to move toward the Stone of Destiny, Lia Fáil. She could almost see the ley lines connecting the mound and the stone. The path was that electrified, and once again she was being drawn in a specific direction. Trusting her intuition, she followed the current, and came to a stop within reach of Lia Fáil. Had this stone really made noise when the rightful kings of Ireland touched its cold surface? Judging by the waves of energy, the vibrations, she believed it was possible.
She’d read that the stone had been brought to Tara by the Tuatha Dé Danann themselves. It had to be the key that would unlock the door to the fae realm. All the energy, power and magic converged here between the mound and the stone, as if this piece of rock was the conduit for everything.
An overwhelming compulsion to touch the stone gripped her. She struggled against the urge. Not now. Not until her sisters were with her, and they’d figured out where Fáelán was and how she might help him. She fisted her hands and held them at her sides. She wanted to step back but couldn’t. Her heart climbed to her throat, and a fine sheen of sweat covered her face and the back of her neck. Regan tried like hell to move away, but the current held her fast. Even scarier, the harder she resisted, the stronger the compulsion to touch the stone grew.
Her hand came up, as if on a string pulled by someone else. Try as she might, she couldn’t force it back down, and she watched in horror as her fingers inched closer and closer to the stone. Sweat dripped down her temples, and she couldn’t breathe.
Her hand connected with the stone. Shock waves nearly knocked her on her ass. The stone was not cold at all, but warm and pulsing with life. She was caught up in a whoosh of movement, and the world flew by in a rush of color. Dizzy and disoriented, she closed her eyes. As quickly as it began, the sensations ceased, and she came to a sudden stop. Regan toppled forward, hitting her shin against something hard. Somehow she managed to stay upright.
Frozen to the spot, afraid to open her eyes, Regan assessed her surroundings. The smell of impending rain filled her nostrils, and the air around her held an unnatural chill. Regan shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “Oh, great. A ghost.”
“Do not fear.” A soft, feminine voice surrounded her, bringing warmth and a sense of peace. Regan cracked an eyelid to take a peek and gasped. She’d landed inside her town house in Howth, and her shin had connected with the coffee table in the living room. “OK. I heard the laughter. You may as well show yourself.”
A young woman appeared out of thin air. She wore a long, flowing gown of pale green, like something found in one of those ancient tapestries from the Dark Ages. Her hair, a shiny light blonde with a hint of red, hung to her waist. Lithe, delicate and so beautiful it hurt to look at her, the being glided closer—did her feet even touch the ground?—and again the sense of peace washed through Regan.
She didn’t trust the sense of peace or the warmth. Nothing about this creature struck her as natural, and her nearness set off Regan’s fight-or-flight instinct. Fear churned through her. This creature had to be fae. “Morrigan.”
“No! Oh no.” The woman shook her head and waved her hand. “My name is Boann. I am Morrigan’s daughter.” Her neon-blue eyes met Regan’s. “And Fáelán is my sire.”
What? “I need to sit down,” Regan muttered.
“Please do.”
How she managed to get herself around to the couch, she had no idea, but she sank onto the cushions, leaned over and put her head between her knees.
“I mean you no harm,” Boann said, her voice soothing and altogether otherworldly.
Prickles of unease crept up her spine. Regan forced herself back to sitting upright. Her mind had completely short-circuited. The Hill of Tara’s force, the way she’d been brought here, and especially the ethereal creature before her . . . it was all too much, too big and impossible to take in. Thoughts and feelings crashed together, until she couldn’t think straight. Regan slid her sweaty hands down her jeans and swallowed against the dryness in her mouth and throat. “What do you want?”
“To help you . . . and my sire.”
“Fáelán never mentioned he had a daughter.” That too caused a swirl of conflicting feelings. Why had he kept that from her?
“He has no notion I exist.”
“Ahh . . .” Regan frowned. “I can’t . . . I’m having trouble . . . processing.”
“Take a moment to gather your wits, so that we might speak.” Boann glided toward the kitchen. “I’ll make tea.”
Hysteria bubbled through Regan, bursting forth in a bark of laughter. “You’re going to make tea? Like . . . like that’s going to make all of this seem . . . normal?”
“Would you prefer coffee?”
“I’d prefer a Xanax, if you really want to know the truth.” She plowed her shaky fingers through her hair.
“That I cannot give you. Would you prefer I bespell you into a calmer state?”
“No! Oh, God, no.” She leaned back, closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “Tea would be great. Chamomile.” Regan focused on the ordinary sounds of an extraordinary being making tea in her kitchen—Fáelán and Morrigan’s daughter no less, half Tuatha Dé Danann, half human.
“Does your mother know you’re here?” She snorted. Even to her, the question sounded ridiculous. Boann wasn’t some teenager who’d snuck out of the house to party with friends.
Regan opened her eyes again as Boann set a teapot and two mugs on the coffee table. Then she kind of floated over to the chair across from Regan and sat down.
Regan’s ability to think was coming back to her in small increments. To buy time to recover, she poured tea into the mugs. Lifting hers, she sipped while stealing peeks at the fae princess. Boann had Fáelán’s mouth and chin, and her fine, straight nose was a smaller version of his. Morrigan had kept Fáelán’s daughter from him, and knowing him as she did, Regan ached for the new hurt this would cause him when he found out.
Boann reached for the second mug. She leaned back in the chair and wrapped both hands around the ceramic cup. “To answer your question, nay, my mother does not know I am here, and she must not learn of it. I have masked my whereabouts from her.”
She canted her head and scrutinized Regan. “Normally, I would not involve myself in the affairs of mortals, but because of the innocent new life you carry, I find I must intercede.”
“What are you talking about?” Oh, and just when she’d recovered her capacity to think straight, there it went again.
“New life has quickened within your womb. You and Fáelán have conceived, and I—”
“You can’t possibly know that.” She stiffened, and hot tea spilled onto her lap. “I haven’t missed . . . Fáelán and I only spent a few days together.” She couldn’t be pregnant. Could she? They’d had unprotected sex once. She hadn’t actually counted days on her calendar, but she’d been pretty sure she’d been in the safe zone. Oh, God, was it true? Am I ready to be a mother? Morrigan lied, why wouldn’t her daughter do the same? “I don’t think so, and anyway, it’s too soon to know.”
“Nay, ’tis not too soon.” A pitying look flitted across Boann’s features. “The moment conception takes place, a new and unique ripple enters the astral plane. Mortals have lost the ability to detect such things, but at one time, you too would’ve known the very instant a new life began within you.”
“I need a minute.” She couldn’t deal with this additional stressor. Regan’s hands were shaking. She set the tea on the table and lowered her head between her knees again.
“I understand. While you gather yourself together, I’ll explain a little about what is going on. My grandsire King Lir is aware something is amiss with Morrigan. Our actions send energy trails through the astral plane, and when we do wrong, the vibrations alter. Our energy patterns are as unique to us as fingerprints are to your kind. ’Tis how we identify ourselves and others.”
So what Jim had told her was true. “How can you help, and why would you want to? Why did Morrigan keep you a secret?” Regan asked, coming back up to face the faerie. Could she trust her, or was Boann here to lure her into danger? This might be part of Morrigan’s plot to test Fáelán–or to torture him.
The smell of rain intensified, and Boann’s eyes took on a definite glow. “’Tis a long story, but one you must hear, for I am at the crux of my sire’s curse, and oft my mother and I quarreled over his fate.”
Her voice carried a deep sadness, and Regan didn’t doubt the truth of her words. Her defenses lowered the tiniest bit.
“When a Tuatha Dé Danann woman becomes pregnant, she bonds irrevocably with the sire of her babe. Unbeknownst to Fáelán, I was conceived during his brief tryst with my mother. ’Tis why she became obsessed with him, and why she remains so today. When Fáelán rejected her, Mother’s obsession and disappointment turned to rage. She set out to punish him for his impertinence, and she kept me a secret from him out of wounded pride and spite.”
“But . . . Morrigan deceived him from the start. None of what happened can be laid at his feet.”
“Aye.” Boann sighed. “Morrigan’s wishes were thwarted by a mere mortal. To her, that is all that matters.”
“Why did you wait until now to help him?” None of this made sense to her. “Couldn’t you have ended his curse yourself?”
“Nay. ’Tis not possible for any of us to end a curse or an enchantment laid by another. Otherwise I would’ve done so eons ago. Even so, ’twas I who returned his island to him after my mother abandoned him to the mist.”
Again Regan sensed a deep sadness within Boann. “I’m sorry you never got to know Fáelán. He’s . . .” Her eyes filled. “He’s funny, smart, honorable and—”
“Oh, I have come to know him a little, though he’s been unaware.” A wistful smile played across Boann’s features, and her eyes ceased glowing, softening to a clear blue. “Despite my mother’s edict that I not reveal myself to him, I oft posed as a servant and brought him his meals. I also watched him through a scrying bowl.” Her smile grew. “’Twas amusing, seeing him pretend to hunt and fish, and to watch him train so intensely, as if he fought a real foe instead of a tree. He’s quite determined. My sire’s mind is exceptionally strong for a mortal.”
Her heart broke for Boann, who obviously longed for a relationship with her dad. Regan propped her elbows on her knees and rested her forehead on her hands. The mother of all headaches throbbed painfully at the back of her skull, and she really, really wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for a week. Rescue Fáelán first, and then you can sleep all you want. “So, if you can’t end his curse, how do you propose to help?”
“There was naught I could do until the terms of my sire’s release came to pass, and Morrigan reneged on her oath, which is against our laws. ’Twas wrong of my mother to interfere with a mortal, and her deceitfulness in masking her true identity makes her actions all the worse. That she hid all of this from my grandsire will go against her.”
“So, your king doesn’t know you’re part human?” Regan asked, her head still in her hands. “That seems—”
“Of course he knows, but that minor transgression was ignored. To conceive at all has become rare for our kind. Because of me, my grandsire was willing to overlook Morrigan’s involvement with a mortal. Morrigan hid all else from King Lir. I am bound by laws of kinship, and because of that binding, I could not bring any of this to my grandsire’s attention. Fáelán is not one of us; the fae court would not view Morrigan’s keeping me from him as a wrong done against me. On the contrary, they would view it as appropriate. ’Tis you who must plead your case to my grandsire. You must go to King Lir’s court.”
“Me?” Regan squeaked.
“Aye, for ’tis you, my sire and your unborn child who have been grievously wronged by Morrigan’s machinations. My mother has broken more than one of the covenants between our kind and yours, which gives you the right to seek redress.” Boann lifted her chin, and the gesture gave her such a striking resemblance to Fáelán that Regan’s breath hitched.
“As to my motives,” Boann continued. “I grew up without my sire. He was forbidden to me, and I from him. I will not allow my half sibling to suffer as I have.”
How could Boann’s mother be so cruel? A lump rose to her throat, followed by a rush of anger. If what Boann had told her was true, Regan’s child might also suffer the same fate because of Morrigan. Not if she could help it, dammit. “I hope we have the chance to get to know each other better once all of this is behind us,” Regan said, pushing herself to standing.
“I hope so as well.” Boann rose from her chair.
“So, what do we need to do now?”
“I will take you to Prince Mananán, my uncle. He has a magical boat, Ocean Sweeper, which will transport you to King Lir’s kingdom, and there you must present your case at his court.”
Panic sent her pulse pounding. How could she, a mere human, face a faerie king? “Will you come with me?”
“Only as far as I am able. Your cause will be better served if I return home as if naught out of my ordinary routine has occurred. There I can distract my mother and hide your actions, so you will have the chance to present yourself to King Lir.”
Another wave of panic swamped her as new worries flared, clamoring for attention. “If I do manage to reach your grandfather’s court, how will I get back? What if my presence in the faerie realm is unwelcome? What if your mother somehow catches wind of this?” By the time she’d voiced her newest fears, more surged to the front of the line. So many things could go wrong.
“I cannot offer you any assurances, Regan. I wish I could. I’ll do my best to keep my mother’s attention away from you.”
“Do your best, because I’m completely defenseless against your mother. Though I can feel magic all around me, I can’t use it in any practical way. I’ve tried to . . . to somehow tap into the power I sensed at Newgrange, and again at Tara. I failed at Newgrange, and at Tara the magic controlled me, rather than the other way around.”
“’Twas I who took you from Tara.” Boann moved to one of the windows and thrust her hand into a beam of sunlight. “You believe magic is outside of you, that it is something to be caught in a glass jar like you humans do with fireflies? Come,” she commanded. “Watch.”
Regan moved closer. Was it her imagination, or were the dust motes gravitating toward Boann’s palm?
“Magic exists within all sentient beings. It is innate to the Tuatha, and to humans.”
Sure enough, the dust began to coalesce, becoming more and more dense by the second. Regan blinked, rubbed her eyes and looked again.
“Do you really think you could perceive magic’s presence if you didn’t already possess its essence within yourself?” Boann asked, keeping her gaze fixed upon the emerging shape.
“Hmm.” That hadn’t occurred to her, but it made sense.
The faerie held out her hand and presented her with the finished product, sliding it from her palm to Regan’s. Regan studied the shape, the long ears laid back against the fluffy form, its tiny feet peeking out under its chest. “A dust bunny.” She shook her head. “Cute, but not much help against an angry faerie princess. I can’t imagine Morrigan running away in terror from”—she lifted the bunny—“this mighty beast.”
Boann chuckled, and the sound splintered apart, appearing throughout the room as tiny bits of light in rainbow colors. “I meant it only as a demonstration. You possess magic, Regan. Your mistake was to look for it from without rather than within. Magic is everywhere, and using it is simply a matter of exerting your will.”
“Can you teach me?”
“Alas, there is no time.”
Regan’s desperate hope dissolved, and at the same time, the dust bunny in her hand fell apart and drifted to the floor.
“See?” Boann pointed to the pile of dust. “You did that.”
“Not consciously.” She swiped the remnants of dust from her hands.
“Aye, well . . .” The faerie glided to the door. “Mayhap your abilities will be greatly enhanced whilst you are in the fae realm.”
“I have a few things to do, and a few things to gather before I go anywhere.” She grabbed her phone and texted her sisters that she might not be there when they arrived. If she didn’t answer her cell phone, they were to take a cab to her town house, and she told them where to find a key she’d hidden outside her front door. “I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”
It took her ten minutes to put everything in place. Regan stuffed her phone into her day pack, right next to the police-grade stun gun her parents had insisted she take with her when traveling alone. She tossed in a couple of protein bars and two bottles of water, then zipped her bag shut and slung it over her shoulder and across her chest. Squaring her shoulders, she faced Boann. “OK. I’m ready.” What the hell was she doing? Facing impossible odds against any chance of success was insane, yet when Boann reached out her hand, Regan took it. The crazy rush and whoosh took them away.