A branch launched back and smacked Sorcha across the face. She flinched, another twig pulling at her hair until she whimpered. She paused and tried to untangle herself, huffing out a breath.

The trees held fast, tangling her curls around their thin branches and twisting at her scalp. Her plaid stuck on the lower branches and her arms held down by vines.

“I don’t want to let go of my anger,” she growled. “It’s healthy! No man should tell me what to do.”

Anger rose again at the memories. Even her tromp through the woods hadn’t cleared the red haze obscuring her vision. How dare he suggest she still her tongue and then follow up those words with yet another suggestion of marriage? He must be mad!

“Let me go!” she grunted. “I’m calm!”

Another harsh tug made her wince.

Sorcha sucked in a slow breath. Her cheeks puffed as she exaggerated the movement. “See? I’m not angry and won’t desecrate this place with my…” she paused and grimaced. “With my trivial issues.”

How had she forgotten? This was a sacred place, a haven for all who needed it, and here she was waltzing in wearing anger like a cloak upon her shoulders.

She hung her head in embarrassment. “My sincerest apologies. I will not make the same mistake again.”

The trees groaned their approval. She shook her head and her hair slid from the confines of branches and leaves. The curls bounced against her cheeks, untangled and smooth. Her dress fell heavy against her legs, her plaid swaying with the sudden movement.

Her lips tilted in a soft smile. “I have learned your lesson, Danu, and I will remember it.”

Nudging a branch aside, she stepped into the clearing. Green moss carpeted the ground all the way to the stones piled in the center. An artist had carved a triskele long ago; the three linked swirls faintly glowed on the granite. Water bubbled in between the mounds, smoothing the stones into perfect spheres.

She felt the warmth of the Fae here. The lingering effects of magic and nature made the tips of her pointed ears heat.

She pulled the bag off her shoulder and placed her offerings upon the stones. “Great Mother of old, I bring you gifts from those who seek your favor. Aileen, Eithne and Nola leave honey, lavender and sweet mead.” As she spoke, Sorcha placed her hand upon each item. “I have brought you my mother’s pin. It sparkles in the sun and reminds me of this place. I would like to leave it if it pleases you.”

A warm breeze spiraled around her. It lifted her hair and teased the end of her nose. Dust motes danced and butterflies stirred into motion. Their wings flashed brilliant colors as the sunlight played across them.

Danu was pleased. Sorcha tilted her head towards the sun and let its heat soothe her soul. Although she was here, in her favorite place, dark thoughts still shoved to the forefront of her mind.

There were too many things to worry about. The blood beetles. Papa. Geralt. Her sisters. The list went on and on until she was drowning.

“Danu,” she whispered, “my mind is troubled. I do not seek help, as I know you cannot always give it, but if there is a spare moment of your time… listen to my fears.”

The air in the glen stilled as though something or someone was leaning forward in anticipation.

Encouraged, Sorcha sank to her knees and dug her hands into the moss. “The blood beetle plague is spreading ever faster. My own father has contracted the infection. I have the knowledge to extend his life, but I cannot stop him from dying. I fear I am only prolonging the inevitable.

“My sisters will not last long without his guidance. The man who takes his place will be unlikely to view them as people. I do not wish for them to lose their business or their home. They have done what it takes to survive here in the city. There is no shame in their profession, but there will be many who seek to take advantage of us in our father’s absence.

“The Guild members refuse to listen. They sit in their ivory tower and poke at dead bodies while so many people die. They have gone so far as to say that because I am a woman, I do not have as much knowledge as them. I do not have the patience, nor the endurance, to continue. I will say something foolish or headstrong, and they will never listen again.

“Please, great mother of all and protectress of the Tuatha dé Danann, hear my plea for help.”

Sorcha leaned down and pressed her forehead against the soft moss. She held her breath as she waited, but expected no response. No matter how many times she cried out for help, the Fae always ignored her.

It wasn’t in their nature. Even the Seelie court was fickle, their rules keeping them strictly away from humans. The Tuatha dé Danann were separate from those rules. They were the beginning and the end, the start of all Fae. But that didn’t mean they liked humans any more than their brethren.

Her heart thundered in her ears. Was that a giggle in the forest? Unlikely. Although, if it was, perhaps the Fae were listening.

She waited until her knees ached and her back screamed for relief. The moss turned cold beneath her fingers, the water glimmering in bright droplets upon her nails.

“Please,” she whispered again. “Just this once, please, listen to me.”

A branch cracked. That was no giggle, nor was it caused by the wind. Sorcha’s spine tensed further, and she squeezed her hands in the moss. Could it be possible? Could this be the moment Danu finally answered her?

Loud thuds echoed nearby, the pawing of a large creature she could not see. Sorcha flinched. The breeze picked up. Its heat scorching along her shoulders and whistling in her ears.

“Women do not belong on their knees, child.”

The voice sliced through her consciousness like a well-sharpened blade. It was the rustling of leaves, the gong of sword striking shield, the crunch of teeth biting through an apple. Sorcha’s hands began to shake as she pushed herself up onto her elbows and lifted her gaze.

Her eyes caught upon hooves that sparkled and faded into human feet. A swath of rich green fabric tumbled down atop them. The tail of a golden belt lashed out and settled against rounded hips.

The woman was tall. So tall she rivaled the surrounding trees. Her mane of red hair hung heavy to her waist, the color so vivid that Sorcha’s eyes burned. Harsh angles defined a face not delicate, but strong. Verdant eyes glowed as she stared at Sorcha.

“Are you hard of hearing, girl? Stand up.”

Sorcha stood, albeit slowly. “You aren’t Danu.”

“Astute for a woman so willing to bow.”

The pieces fell together. The sound of stamping hooves, the red hair, the triskele carved into the stones. Sorcha’s brows drew together. “You’re Macha, aren’t you?”

“And you’re at my shrine.”

Every muscle in her body seized. There were many myths regarding Macha, and all claimed she was dangerous. A sister to the Morrighan, Macha was known for her strength on the battlefield. She would paint woad upon her skin and hack through any man who stood in her way. The fanciful tales claimed she had a steed made of fire and trapped dead men’s souls within her blade.

“I meant no disrespect,” Sorcha said as she dropped her gaze. “Please accept my sincerest apologies. I will leave.”

The blade at Macha’s waist shone sunlight into Sorcha’s eyes. Lifting a hand, she held her breath and stepped backward. Each step brought her closer to freedom and the promise of life. This was no kind Fae before her.

“I did not give you permission to leave, human.”

Sorcha winced. “What would you have me do?”

“You asked for help. I’m interested in providing it.”

“I—” It was bad luck to not accept a Fae’s favor. Except this didn’t feel like a gift. This felt like an offer which would require a price. “I don’t make deals with faeries.”

“Yet you came to what you thought was my mother’s shrine? You begged for a favor just moments ago, but nothing is free. Here I am, Sorcha of Ui Neill. Ask your favor of me, and perhaps I shall be kind.”

Her mind raced through the details she remembered of this Tuatha dé Danann. Macha was a war Fae, but also was known for protection. She had once been a kind and motherly figure before mankind tried to kill her and her babe.

There was a small chance that Macha would help. Sorcha was a strong woman, capable, and frustrated by the limitations men placed upon her. Her frustrations would call out to a faerie such as this.

None of this guaranteed safety. In fact, Sorcha might argue the exact opposite was more likely to happen.

Faeries weren't trustworthy creatures.

“I wish to stop the blood beetle plague,” she said. “If there is a way to save my father, to prevent other deaths, I would like to know it.”

“You are a smart girl. No promises, no questions, just a statement I cannot interpret in any other way.” One of Macha’s brows lifted. “I like you.”

“I did not come here to beg for help from the Fae. Nothing comes without a price and I have very little to give.”

Macha’s gaze turned stormy, and she strode towards Sorcha. Closer and closer she came, growing ever larger until they stood toe to toe. Sorcha’s neck ached as she tilted her head. The faerie was easily seven feet tall and her hair made her seem even larger. The cloud of color sparked with static electricity.

“You want something that you are incapable of without help. You have to ask for it, Sorcha. Ask for my assistance, and I will give you all you desire.”

“I don’t know your price.”

“And you won’t until we strike a deal.”

Sorcha sucked in a deep breath. Their chests brushed, a zing of magic traveling through her and sparking at the points of her ears.

“Will you provide a cure for the blood beetles?”

The soft sigh brushed across Sorcha’s face and smelled of crushed grass. “Yes, I will. And I will do even more. So long as you are on this journey to find your cure, your father will remain alive.”

Sorcha thought she might faint. “Papa?”

“It is the least I can do. I am sending you on a quest, little human. Far from your homeland, from your family, from everything you know. Centuries have passed since I last saw the cure you seek. Even I am uncertain where it lies, although I have my suspicions.”

“If you don’t know where it is, how am I supposed to find it?”

“There are others who know.” Macha cupped Sorcha’s chin, her hand so large it touched both pointed tips of her ears. “You will start by finding my children. Their names are Cormac and Concepta. Use their knowledge wisely.”

“You want me to find two faeries? Here?”

“They were banished from the Otherworld and remain in yours.”

“Glamoured or invisible?” Sorcha asked.

Macha's hand clenched, squeezing Sorcha's jaw until her eyes watered. “Glamoured to look as you do. They will appear as nobles, but they should be the only twins living in the same manor. Find them, and you’ll start your journey.”

“What do I say to them?”

“That I asked you to find them, and that they owe me a favor. Tell them what you seek. They will guide you.”

Sorcha wasn’t so certain that was the truth. Two unknown Fae who owed a favor to a Tuatha dé Danann? Her breakfast rose dangerously high in her throat.

Air filled her lungs as Macha stepped away. The myths had not prepared her for the cold gaze of a Fae. She wanted to flee from that angry look. What had she done? Had she somehow insulted this faerie of war before she had even started?

“Thank you,” Sorcha said, “for my father. He has suffered for far too long.”

“I care little for human life, but I can see how important it is to you. As such, it is my pleasure.”

Though it made her sweat to ask, Sorcha swallowed hard and murmured, “What is your price?”

Endless possibilities unfolded before her. The Fae might ask for a child, for Sorcha’s life, or something as simple as an unnamed favor.

She wasn’t certain how much she was willing to pay. Many faceless infected people may not be worth a life enslaved. But for her father? He had saved her from begging, took her out of the slums and into the city, gave her a life.

How could she say no?

Macha bent and dipped her fingers in the holy water of the shrine. She licked the droplets and smiled. “You will endure hardship, pain, and perhaps even death. I will enjoy watching your struggles as payment.”

“What kind of quest are you sending me on?” Sorcha heard her own voice as though underwater. Distorted and slow, it echoed back upon her.

“One that benefits the both of us,” Macha replied. “You get your cure. I get my children back.”

“What does the cure have to do with your children?”

“Nothing at all. But in finding your cure, I trust you will bring my children back to Tír na nÓg.”

“The land of youth?” Sorcha stumbled over the words. “The Otherworld?”

“I am growing tired of explaining my decisions to you. Leave now, or I will run you out of this shrine and rescind my offer.”

Sorcha scooped up her bag and spun on her heel. She could not risk the Fae changing her mind. This was a chance to save her father! To save everyone!

At the edge of the clearing, she paused. One foot crossed the threshold of the shrine and into the forest beyond. The other remained in the enchanted glen.

She looked over her shoulder at the faerie who watched her with calculating eyes. Macha reclined on the mossy ground, her fingers playing in the burbling water of her shrine.

“Why are you doing this?” Sorcha asked one last time.

“I, too, have been at the mercy of men, more times than I wish to recount. My mother would tell you the best way to answer them is to remain steadfast, quiet, and continue doing the right thing.” Macha’s eyes flashed brilliant green. “I am not a woman, but sword and shield. I will carve my own path or I will force others to create it for me.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

Their gazes met and Macha smiled. “You are the same, little human. They tell you time and time again you are a pool of still water. Yet, we both know underneath the surface a tempest rages. I will enjoy seeing your claws grow.”

Unsettled, Sorcha plunged into the forest. Branches pulled at her clothing and tugged at her hair. She did not let them hold her. This was no longer a safe place, no longer a haven.

Her breath sawed out of her body in ragged gasps. She had made a deal with a faerie. What had she been thinking? Such a contract was binding.

What if she didn’t find the cure? Sorcha stumbled out of the forest and fell onto her hands and knees near the carriage road. Had she agreed to go on a wild goose chase for the rest of her life? Would she spend eternity searching for an impossible thing?

She couldn’t breathe enough air. It stuck in her throat and made her chest ache. Her ribs expanded, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to breathe.

Logically, she knew this was a panic attack. Some part of her mind recognized her imagination carrying her away from sanity. Her body did not recognize this, and vomit rose from her stomach.

She coughed as she expelled her breakfast violently. Mucus hung in streams from her nose and mingled with the drool dripping from her lips.

What had she done?

“Inhale, Sorcha,” she muttered. “One breath. Two breaths.”

In and out, she counted every heartbeat and movement of her lungs. Birds chirped in the trees nearby. Twenty-seven chirps before they stopped. Carriage wheels creaked and stones crunched under their weight.

Her fingers curled in the soil. She would be all right. There was a cure. There had to be a cure because faeries couldn’t lie.

Now it was up to her, as it always had been, to save her people. Her family. She could find the one thing that would save them all and kill the blood beetles. Her life had meaning again, other than just being the midwife who serviced both a brothel and the entire town.

“Is that Sorcha?” The sound of the carriage paused. Hooves stamped the ground, making her flinch. “Sorcha, darling, what are you doing? It is not safe to be on the road in the twilight hours!”

The shrill voice made her wince. “Dame Agatha. It is so good to see you again.”

“Well, I should hope it would be under better circumstances than finding you on the side of the road! Get up, child.”

The words were too similar to the faerie’s. Sorcha pushed back onto her haunches, wiped her hands against her plaid, and staggered to her feet. Panic fled to the back of her mind, resolve and purpose taking its place.

A red carriage had paused in front of her. The wheels gleamed with gold paint, along with the emblem of a rose. A delicate flowered curtain drew back from the small window and framed Dame Agatha’s aged face.

“How are you feeling?” Sorcha wearily asked her least favorite patient.

“Well, I was just about to call upon you, Sorcha. I have exciting news!”

“You’re to be blessed with a child?”

“Again!”

“Again,” Sorcha repeated with a sigh. Her lie had been the truth after all. “Congratulations are in order, then. I suppose you’ll be stopping by the brothel soon?”

“Oh goodness, no, I’ll need you to come to me!”

Dame Agatha had never come to the brothel for any of her treatments. She considered their home to be a den of miscreants and thieves, no matter how many times Sorcha assured her it was the safest place in Ui Neill.

She wiped her mouth on a sleeve, trying her best to ignore the acidic taste of vomit on her tongue. “This is not your usual carriage, Agatha.”

“Oh goodness, no. A dear friend loaned this to me. I’m going to visit them! Certainly, you’ve heard of the MacNara twins. Lovely folk.”

Sorcha froze. “Twins?”

“Oh, you haven’t heard of them yet? They are new to this area, but the nicest family you’ll ever meet. So giving! So progressive!”

She glanced towards the forest. “Thank you, again, for making this easy on me.”

Movement stirred branches nearby. Sorcha thought she saw a flash of unnatural green and the glint of fiery hair.

“Agatha? Might your friends have need of a midwife?”

“Well I don’t see why not! You know I love having you meet my friends, Sorcha. Not your sisters, of course, I’m certain you understand why. Do come with me! It will be so refreshing to have a new face at these boring social gatherings.”

Sorcha looked down at her earth stained dress and the dried crust of vomit on her sleeve. Her sisters would be far more presentable, even after a hard day's work. It was a shame Agatha would never realize that.

“It would be my honor, Agatha.” Sorcha stepped onto the footrest and opened the carriage door. Black cushions and waxed wood covered the interior of the impressive carriage.

“You can tell me what you think of names for this newest little one!”

“Ah, how many is it now?”

“Nine, child. You should know, you’ve delivered them all!”

“Right,” Sorcha said as she settled onto the seat across from Agatha. “My apologies, I lost count at seven.”

“Truthfully, so did I. What do you think of Derval?”

* * *

Their carriage ride was dreadfully boring. Sorcha kept a smile plastered on her face and showed more teeth than was necessary. Agatha continued to prattle on without caring if anyone was listening. By the time they reached the stately manor of the MacNara twins, Sorcha was certain they had debated every name under the sun.

She was ready to get out of this cramped space. The scenery passed by at a slower pace than Sorcha could have seen if she was walking. The company turned out to be less than agreeable, and the destination could not live up to the promised entertainment.

But she would be a fool to not take this opportunity while it lasted.

They slowed to a stop, and the driver struck his hand against the ceiling. Sorcha opened the carriage door and stared up at the splendorous home. White marble gleamed in the splashed pink of the setting sun. The house was four stories high with rare glass windows. Twin staircases rose from the ground, meeting in a half circle that led to the red front door.

“My goodness,” Sorcha whispered.

“It is quite a sight, isn’t it?” Agatha said as she stepped out of the carriage. “They are impressive people with more wealth than they need. If they continue spending it on such things, I say let them keep it! Give us plebeians more sights like this. It does a body good to see real beauty.”

Normally, she wouldn’t agree. But the stately manor might change her opinions if it was as beautiful on the inside as it was on the outside.

Agatha smoothed a hand down the silk of her gown. It was an unusual choice for dealing with nobles partial towards velvet and embroidery.

Did the other woman know the twins weren’t human?

Tentatively, Sorcha asked, “Agatha, why are you meeting with the MacNara twins?”

“Oh,” she lifted a hand and fanned her face. “They invited me to their manor, so of course I said yes. It’s good to meet one’s neighbors.”

“They are hardly our neighbors, Agatha. They live half a day’s ride from us.”

Sorcha noted the way Agatha’s eyes slanted to the side. The other woman pressed a hand against her throat as though she might still the pulse fluttering there. “Can you keep a secret, dearest?”

“Yes,” Sorcha said, but she already knew what Agatha would say.

“The gossips aren’t always right, but it’s said the MacNara twins have some… gifts. I know in my progressed age that having a child will be difficult. But I already love this one as much as the rest, and I want it to survive.”

“You want to make a deal with them.”

“It’s not a deal with the devil, my goodness! They’re blessed.”

“They’re faeries, Agatha.”

A measured stare filled the silence, stilling Sorcha’s bitter tongue. “They are not faeries, Sorcha. There’s no such thing as faeries, but there are blessed people.”

Blessed? Sorcha wanted to smack some sense into the woman. Faeries were not blessed creatures hailing from the Heavens. They were earthen spirits making deals which required payment. Why couldn’t Agatha see the truth in these thinly veiled secrets?

For all she wanted to get started on this journey, Sorcha didn’t want Agatha’s life to hang in the balance. They shouldn’t stay here. Surely the cure could wait until the new babe arrived. The thought left a foul taste upon her tongue.

“It’s a bad idea to make deals with things you don’t understand,” Sorcha said. “Perhaps we should go.”

“Nonsense. We’ve made it this far, and I refuse to turn back.” Agatha lifted a hand when Sorcha opened her mouth. “I won’t hear any more of it, Sorcha. I’ve made my decision. You can come with me or not, though I will be sorely abused if you do not come with me. I invited you, and here you are. I’ve never known you to be a woman who goes back on her word.”

So, she was frightened to go on by herself. With a lifted brow, Sorcha reached out and took Agatha’s arm. “All right. Let’s go.”

The unrecognizable footman stayed with the carriage. As the women crested the stairs, the hair on Sorcha’s arms lifted. She glanced over her shoulder at the footman who had eerily not moved in the slightest.

“Sorcha?” Agatha asked.

“Everything is fine.” At the last possible second, Sorcha swung the hag stone around her neck into her hand. She lifted it to her eye and blinked.

He sat perched upon the carriage with natural grace, his long legs covered by fine, black cloth and a stately jacket pressed into crisp folds. She might have thought him human if he hadn’t been missing his head.

“Dullahan?” she whispered.

She dropped the hag stone and rushed after Agatha who was already entering the MacNara estate. The inside of the building was as stunning as its exterior. White walls gleamed with gold filigreed wallpaper. A grand stairwell of white marble and light gray swirls spiraled from the ground floor and higher.

A butler greeted them and draped Agatha’s pale blue cloak over his arm in a swath of color. His mustache twitched when Sorcha walked through the door, her slippers trailing mud across the pristine floor.

“Sorcha, isn’t it lovely?” Agatha’s voice echoed in the room. “They are gracious hosts to allow us entrance to such a grand palace.”

“Hardly a palace,” she responded. Although the home was beautiful, it was lacking a certain human touch. There were no portraits, no artwork, nothing but blank walls and empty space. In fact, it looked as though no one lived there at all.

The butler grunted his disapproval.

“Agatha, please don’t go anywhere without me!”

The Dame’s heels clicked upon the marble floors. Sorcha’s own feet remained silent. Her leather slippers hardly touched the ground as she raced to the other end of the room. Snagging onto Agatha’s sleeve, she steered her back towards the foyer.

“Dearie, you’re far too concerned about my well-being. I may be in the delicate stages of pregnancy but I assure you, I have carried many a child to term.”

“I remember, Agatha. I helped you through each one.”

They passed by the stairs just as a voice slithered through the air. “And who, may I ask, are you?”

The overwhelming scent of oranges filled the air. Sticky and sweet, it coated her lungs with citrus.

Sorcha glanced up at the head of the stairs. A woman stood there, far too beautiful to be human. Unbound golden curls fell in waves to her waist. A red silk dress caressed her body as she shifted, the deep V between her breasts leaving little to the imagination. Gold chains laced across her body, dipping down her torso, and framing her shoulders.

“Oh, my,” Agatha murmured.

Sorcha swallowed hard. “Agatha, perhaps you should tell her why we’re here.”

“I know why the old woman is here,” the MacNara twin said. “What I don’t know is why you’re here.”

“I invited her!” Sorcha felt the Dame tremble. “I assumed your hospitality would stretch farther than just my presence.”

“You were wrong.” Concepta’s hand curled around the railing of the stairwell. “But you have done it, nonetheless. I’ll speak with your friend alone.”

Agatha spluttered, “Well I never! She is my companion and you will not separate us.”

“Ivor, please show our guest to the blue room.”

“I absolutely am not leaving without Sorcha.” The butler walked up and placed his hand against Agatha’s spine. “Take your hand off me, sir! Sorcha? Sorcha!”

“It’s fine, Agatha,” Sorcha replied. “I don’t mind meeting with the lady MacNara. Please rest your feet in the blue room, I’m certain Ivor won’t mind providing you with tea and biscuits.”

The unimpressed stare the butler gave her suggested that he had not, in fact, planned on providing tea and biscuits. Sorcha narrowed her eyes.

He sighed. “It would be my pleasure, Dame Agatha. Please follow me.”

They filed out of the room. A flash of silk was the last bit of her wayward patient she might ever see.

Sorcha sighed again. Faeries were proving to be even more difficult than the stories had claimed.

“Well?” Concepta asked from above. “Are you coming or not?”

“Are you in a rush, Fae?” she asked as she made her way up the steps. “One might think an immortal would be more patient.”

The faerie bared her teeth. “And one might think a weak little mortal would know how to watch her tongue.”

Sorcha reached the top of the stairs and shrugged. “I’ve never been good at that.”

“You should learn.” Concepta lunged forward, anger turning her eyes from crystal blue to raw amber. Sorcha gasped as the faerie’s hand wrapped around her throat. She gripped the other woman’s wrists, but couldn’t break free. Concepta shoved her backward until Sorcha’s spine hit the wall with a harsh crack, her eyes losing focus as pain bloomed behind her eyes.

She blinked. There was something off about the faerie’s face. It twisted and warped in anger, shimmering with sparkling light in one moment and lined with rage the next.

The snarl that tumbled from Concepta’s mouth wasn’t human. Guttural and raw, it vibrated in Sorcha’s ears.

“You reek of my mother, human.” Concepta’s lips brushed Sorcha’s ear. “Are you another of her pets? What foul poison have you come to spread?”

Black spots crept at the edge of her vision. Her mouth gaped open, and a wheeze escaped her lips.

“If you cannot speak, I’m afraid I’ll have to tell my mother you died without ever delivering her venomous message.”

Sorcha pushed her thumbs into the sensitive tissue of Concepta’s wrists. The pressure points allowed her the barest breath which she used to whisper, “Your favor.”

The faerie’s eyes widened. “What did you say?”

The grip upon Sorcha’s throat lessened enough for her to cough and gasp, “Your mother said you owe her a favor.”

“And she’s using it for a little human?” Concepta shook her head. “Good guess, but not very believable.”

“She said you knew how to cure the blood beetle plague.”

“She said what?”

“Faeries can’t lie,” Sorcha rasped. “I know this as well as you. Tell me how to cure it!”

Concepta released her and backed away. Her laughter sounded like hammers striking metal. “Oh, this is a pleasurable thing! You simply must meet my brother. He will like you.”

There would be bruises on her throat. Delicately, Sorcha probed the muscles of her neck. They throbbed as if a noose had tightened across her airways. Faeries were strong, she noted, far stronger than any human.

She coughed. “Please.”

“Yes, yes.” Concepta waved a hand in the air. “Fine, then. Come meet my brother first. He’ll want to know what’s going on.”

Was this it? Would she finally be able to save her father? Hope raised its head, filling her chest to the brim with happiness as fragile as a dandelion seed. It couldn’t be this easy.

Could it?

The image of her Papa, skin moving with beetles, propelled her forward. The hallways were blank sheets of paper. White walls, white floors, gold filigree but nothing that suggested anyone lived here.

“Is this a new home?” she called out.

“No.”

“Do many faeries live here?”

“Yes.”

Odd, but Sorcha could see the sense in it. What faerie would decorate a human home with images of their family? A headless portrait would look out of place if not simply morbid.

She kept a hand around her neck as they twisted through empty room after empty room. A breeze trailed by. The distinct outline of a hand tugged at her gray skirt, pulling her forward.

Twin doors stood open at the end of the hallway. Beyond that, an oasis grew. Vines tangled from a ceiling which looked like a giant birdcage. Hydrangeas bloomed and filled the air with their sweet scent, although they were not in season. An ornate fountain spewed mist into the air, white lilies twirling at its base. Brightly colored fabric spilled across the ground and was dotted with pillows.

People stretched out upon the cushions. They held jeweled goblets in their hands, red wine pouring down their cheeks and onto their chests. Harp music gently wafted on the breeze from a musician in the far corner.

A man stretched out near the fountain. His sculpted chest was bare to the sun, skin slicked with oil and well-tanned. Silk pooled around him, pants or skirt she could not discern. Red rubies wrapped around his throat and dangled on his forehead from a golden headpiece. A chain stretched from his ear to a piercing in his nose.

The tingling sensation of magic pricked her skin. Sorcha clutched the hag stone at her neck.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Concepta said.

“Why not?”

“You don’t know what kind of Fae live here, little human. If you peer into our world, you will run from this place screaming.”

“As you are Macha’s children, I assumed you were of the Seelie court.”

“You know very little of our kind. Seelie or Unseelie is not a breed.” Concepta flicked a glance towards her. “It’s a choice, whether you want to follow the rules or you don’t.”

She watched as the faerie picked her way through the lounging people. She draped herself across the fountain next to her brother and dangled her fingers in the water. Sorcha thought she looked very much like her mother. It didn’t seem like a safe observation to voice.

“Brother,” Concepta said. “I brought you a gift.”

“You know I dearly love gifts,” Cormac murmured. “But human playthings break so easily.”

His gaze felt like a physical touch upon her skin, lingering on the swells of her breasts and the apex of her thighs. A slow smile spread across his face, teeth stained green by the viscous drink he nursed.

“I am not here for your entertainment,” Sorcha replied. “I was sent by your mother.”

“And Concepta didn’t kill you yet? You must be a very impressive warrior.”

“I am no fighter, lord MacNara. Macha said you owe her a favor and I am here to collect.”

He tsked. “Oh, sister, this is boring. Take her away.”

How could he say that when he hadn’t even listened? The glee in Concepta’s unnatural eyes suggested she had known this would happen.

Her father needed her. Her sisters needed her. Gods above, the entire world needed help and Sorcha had the rare opportunity to do so!

The faerie woman moved to stand up.

“Wait!” Sorcha shouted so loud that even the music stopped. “I was told you know how to cure the blood beetle plague. I will do anything for your knowledge.”

Cormac leaned forward and pointed a jeweled finger at her. “Anything?”

It was a sharp question, capable of slicing through flesh and bone. Was she willing to do anything?

“Yes,” she said firmly. “Anything.”

Concepta trailed a finger down her brother’s arm. “I told you she wasn’t boring.”

“We’re going to help her?”

“Yes.”

“Even against our better judgment?”

“We have better judgment?”

Their hands met and fingers intertwined. “It’s against the rules, sister.”

“I like to break rules.”

“It will cause trouble.”

“For us?”

“There are always ripples.”

Concepta lifted their hands and pressed a lingering kiss against his knuckles. “Then we will ride the waves they cause. I think this one will be worth the trouble if she succeeds.”

“What makes you think she can?” Cormac cast a disbelieving glance at Sorcha. “She’s just a slip of a girl.”

“I am strong,” Sorcha interjected. “I have brought countless children into this world. I know the cruelty of man first-hand, and I fear very little. There is much for me to lose if you don’t help me.”

The words seemed to catch Cormac’s interest. He canted his head to the side and asked, “Like what?”

“My father.”

He snorted. “My father was a king among mortal men, and he did little for me. Try again.”

“My sisters. They live with my father, and if he dies of the blood beetle plague, they will become ill as well. I will not watch them die.”

“You love your sisters?”

“More than I can say.”

“In that, we see eye to eye.” He released his hold upon Concepta’s hand to trail his fingers through her golden curls, dragging a thumb across her lips. “Fine, we will help you.”

“You know how to find the cure?”

“Our mother does not lie. We know how to cure the blood beetle plague.”

Her heart stopped. The relief surging through her veins made her knees weak. “How?” she whispered. “Please tell me how, and what I need to do.”

“Oh, it’s not as simple as just telling you. We don’t have the cure. We only know where it is.”

“Is it an object?”

“In a way,” Cormac chuckled and his sister kicked her feet into the air. “The cure comes in the form of a person, at least for you.”

“A person?”

“One simple being whom you will return to us.”

Concepta rolled to her side. “You’ll bring him back to the mainland, and then you’ll have your cure. Eventually.”

“Why would I bring a person here? What does that have to do with the blood beetle plague?”

“You don’t need to know the information. All you need to do is travel to Hy-brasil.”

“The cursed isle?” Sorcha blinked. “It can only be seen every seven years. I don’t have time to wait seven years!”

“Then it’s lucky for you that the time to see that isle is actually…” Concepta looked up at her brother. “Now?”

“In a few weeks.”

“In a few weeks,” she repeated. “And then you can see the isle. You can get our faerie, by whatever means necessary of course. Bring him back, and you’ll have your cure.”

Sorcha shook her head in confusion. “You’re not making any sense. Do you have the cure or not?”

“We do.”

“Then why aren’t you giving it to me now? Your mother said you owe her a favor!”

Concepta’s eyes sparked yellow again. She lifted herself into a crouch upon the stone lip of the fountain. “Are you saying I’m a liar?”

“We both know faeries can’t lie.”

“My mother’s favor saved your life. You owe us another, which means you will bring back that pathetic excuse for a Prince! And if he screams or cries when he sees me I will bite off his tongue with my teeth!”

A harp string snapped. Sorcha startled at the sound and turned to see all inhabitants of the room had fled. The musician was the last, the fabric of her dress caught on her own instrument.

Sorcha’s teeth chattered against each other. “What are you going to do to him, if I bring him back?”

“That is none of your concern,” Cormac said. “Do we have a deal?”

She was making too many deals with faeries all in one day. Her gut screamed that this was a bad idea. Macha was one thing, the revered Tuatha dé Danann valued female life and strength. These two? Some thread in their mind had unraveled, leaving gaping holes where insanity grew.

She watched Concepta crawl into her brother’s lap and stroke the flat planes of his chest.

“She will say yes,” Concepta said.

“Will she?”

“She can’t let go of a future where she is the ‘hero.’ So many people have told her ‘Sorcha, you are just a woman. You cannot do what you think you can do.’”

“Humans are idiots.”

“Humans are more than idiots. They are good only to feed the earth when they die.”

Sorcha swallowed. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Concepta’s head snapped around, glaring over her shoulder with cat-like eyes. “You’ve hurt people your entire life. A stillborn child you couldn’t save, a screaming pain-filled night of a woman who did not desire a babe, a changeling you left near the woods!”

“I did what I had to do. I have never killed anyone.”

“But you will. Someday, everyone does. Whether by choice or not, we’re all killers. It’s far past time for you to accept that.”

Sorcha straightened her spine. She was no murderer. If this woman wanted to prove something with her cruel words, then all she managed to do was set Sorcha’s resolve. If she had to choose between an unknown man and her family, Sorcha would always choose her family.

“All right. I’ll bring him back.”

“Alive,” Cormac added.

“Alive and well. I will convince him to return and I won’t force him.”

Concepta giggled. “You can try. I don’t think he’ll come back at all. Still, it will be fun to know someone is bothering him. You’ll leave now.”

“Excuse me?”

“Now.”

Ivor the butler appeared at her side. Sorcha squeaked when he grasped her arm. She stared down at the normal human hand and couldn’t shake the feeling that there were only three fingers touching her bicep.

“Wait!” she cried out. “I have to say goodbye to my family.”

“You’re boring me again,” Cormac grumbled. “We said you will leave now.”

“I need my things.”

“What things? You won’t need things where you’re going.”

“Personal items, clothing, a promise that I’ll return! I cannot leave without letting them know where I am going!”

Ivor pulled at her arm.

“Stop it!” Sorcha screamed and raked at his hand with ragged fingernails. “Let go of me you brute! Have some pity! I don’t want my sisters to think I’m dead!”

Cormac lifted a hand. “Wait.”

The butler froze, and she heard the jarring cough of his breath.

“Say that again,” Concepta ordered.

“I don’t want my sisters to think I’m dead.” Tears burned in Sorcha’s eyes. “They’ll worry about me, and I cannot abide that.”

Cormac trailed his hand along his sister’s jaw, caressed his hands down her flushed skin, and followed the “v” of her silken dress. She smiled and closed her savage eyes. “We will allow you to say goodbye. We know the rarity of a blood bond and cherish the love that blooms between siblings.”

The pull on her arm returned, and Sorcha did not look back upon the twisted twins who had freed her. She had a chance to do something right and help those in need.

As she stumbled down the steps, Ivor shoved her into the carriage with Agatha who was pale as snow.

“Are you all right, my dear?” she asked.

“No,” Sorcha replied. “But I think I will be. We’re going home.”

She glanced out the window and watched the rolling green hills become a blur. The faerie carriage sped towards the city with unnatural speed.