Smoke in Moonlight (Celtic Elementals Book 1) (3 page)

This was different. Yes, it was a dream, only a dream…but Ronan knew better by now than to dismiss dreams.

Dreams were omens. Something was forewarning him, he could sense it. This woman was real—
and therefore dangerous
. She certainly looked beautiful, with a compelling touch of innocence, but she was tied to the terror he had felt. Irrevocably. She could even be the cause of it.

Ronan shook his head, stomping back to the mess of a bed. Ludicrous— being afraid of a woman! He paused at that, before he lay down once more, stretched out on his side, so he could gaze out at the sky. That was a dangerous oversimplification—the knee-jerk reaction of a man. A man who should know better.

After all, he, far more than most, knew exactly the power a woman could wield.

His thoughts jumped to Aine, of course. Then to the bloodlust and madness of the Morrighan…and even to sweet Brigid and her fearful powers, and he wondered. And feared.

Loathing the fear and smell of it on his body.

His own life would mean less to him than a mote of dust but for the others that would suffer if he should perish. He was their only defense. That was increasingly all that held him back from the darkness. And sometimes even that…

His gray eyes sought the stars, his mind unwillingly to finish the thought and acknowledge how very thin
that
particular veil was getting. A gossamer wisp of a thing, really.

Just before he fell back into fitful sleep, Ronan made a decision. One that he despised, but that was necessary. The dream was unmistakably a warning. Whether this lass wielded the terrible power he felt, or if it just followed her, it didn't matter. She was a threat to him, and therefore to those whose lives were in his hands.             

If the woman with the aquamarine eyes came to him in this world, he’d find out who she was and what she served, and if he didn’t like the answer….

He’d kill her.

By dawn, Lacey had decided a better map might be more necessary than backup food. Pink light was streaking the sky, but the sun had somehow shifted to her left. Which should be....south?

She wasn't any great shakes with direction, but she knew the sun in Ireland damn well rose in the east just like the rest of the world. She had gotten turned around in the night and was now headed north, apparently.

Pounding the steering wheel and making inarticulate sounds of rage, Lacey pulled into the first turn she saw, missing in her exhaustion it was much too narrow and hemmed in by trees to turn around in.

"Oh, crap, crap, crap!" She moaned. It was this kind of thing that made for good reality TV. Maybe she should consider going back into producing, this time with her own travel show— 'Lacey's Guide To How to Screw up Your Vacation with No Effort Whatsoever'.

The car began to shake as the ruts in the track grew bigger. With her neck getting pounded and plumes of dust beginning to rise around the windows, Lacey had just decided to brave certain tragedy by trying to back out of this stupid sheep trail to nowhere, when the trees abruptly cleared.

Her jaw dropped and she stomped on the clutch. Ahead stretched the prettiest lake she had ever seen.

Glassy water, gilded in rose and gold by the rising sun, was cupped within a small, velvety green valley framed by tree-dotted hills. Perfect, serene and lovely. It looked exactly like the fairy-tale version of Ireland she had always held in her mind.

"It's a mirage," she whispered as she opened the car door. "A hallucination brought on by exhaustion and lack of food."

But even after she'd rubbed her gritty eyes three times and walked until the incredibly calm water was nearly lapping at her boots, the picturesque vision remained intact.

With a happy sigh, Lacey curled down on the grass and smiled. This was more like it. If she could only conjure up a nice, enormous breakfast to go with her fairy lake, all would be right with the world.

“Well, now. I donna have a proper breakfast, but I daresay ye’d no' be looking down on a bit o’ bread, would ye?”

Lacey yelped and almost jumped into the water, before spotting the young woman sitting on a smooth rock right next to the lake. She was tinier than Lacey—who was barely five feet tall herself—and had dark hair and dazzlingly blue eyes. She was also stroking a large, snow-white goose. She smiled mischievously as Lacey managed to stay on dry land by the skin of her teeth and a lot of awkward waving about.

“Aye,” the woman said without the slightest trace of apology, “I didna mean to scare ye into a swim.”

Lacey arranged her shock into what she hoped was some semblance of a normal expression.

“Ummm, that’s alright, I guess.” She stared at the dark-haired girl, eyeing the large loaf of bread she appeared to be sharing with the bird. “I didn’t see you…and I didn’t actually realize I’d said anything out loud.”

The girl shrugged and tore the crusty bread in half, tossing it nimbly to Lacey, who—of course—nearly dropped it into the damp grass, making the girl giggle and Lacey blush.

“Mayhap ye didn’t. I’ve got good ears....and Americans think much too loudly.”

Lacey gave her a sharp look, while trying not to shove the whole of the loaf into her mouth. It smelled unbelievable and tasted better.

”How’d you guess that? Oh duh, my accent, I suppose?”

“Oh, aye.” The girl nodded, but Lacey had the strangest impression that she was lying. And what an odd thought that was.

But the woman was an odd sort of person, somehow. Lovely enough, with that delicate pearlesque skin that only the true Irish could boast, and the goose certainly seemed devoted to her. Its’ feathers were pressed into her dangling legs and it showed not the slightest trace of fear as she stroked it. Lacey had always found animals to be a much better judge of character than herself, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Perhaps it was just that this woman seemed to be a bit of a prankster. Lacey had never had much use for that sort of humor. It always came off as somewhat cruel.

That was unfair though, Lacey scolded herself. After all, the girl had shared her food. She straightened her shoulders and resolved to be nice.

“I’m Lacey Ryan, from Minnesota. I guess you’re from around here.” Lacey looked around for a house or a plume of smoke or any signs of life, but there was nothing in view.

She frowned suddenly, remembering she had no idea where here was. The woman eyed her with that smug smile, but didn’t say a word. God, she hated to sound more stupid than necessary, but there was no help for it, that girl looked like she could keep her mouth shut for an eternity.

“Ah, you couldn’t tell me what the name of this lake is, could you? I sort of stumbled across it accidentally.” That was really lame, but it sounded marginally better than
‘Where the hell am I?’
             

The young woman stroked the goose slowly while its’ bright dark eyes stared unblinkingly at Lacey. “Aye, Lacey from Minnesota. 'Tis Lough Gur and 'tis my home, for I am Aine. But ye won’t find what ye’re looking for here.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to snap out a disagreement, but she bit it back. Lacey decided to go with the flow as per usual. ”Where can I find what I’m looking for, then?” She asked with forced sweetness.

With a laugh, the girl called Aine stood up and brushed bread crumbs from her long grey cloak. “Walk back past tha' track ye came in on and then ‘round the lough tha' way,” she pointed, ‘until ye come to another, wider track. After a mile or so, I daresay ye’ll find what ye seek.”

Lacey stared at the girl, her hands on her hips. “Well, I can’t take my car that way, I’ll have to try and back out or something. I can’t just leave it here.”

Aine shrugged and stretched, grinning lazily. “Ye must be stronger than ye look, then. To move a car with three flat tyres.”

With a gasp, Lacey whirled around. The sight was not pretty, three puddles of rubber sat beneath three dusty white hubcaps. What kind of Irish luck was this, anyway?

Maybe she was wrong and her Ryans weren’t Irish at all, but descendants of some awful pillaging English land baron and this was karma’s way of biting her ass. She turned slowly back to the goose girl, completely speechless.

The woman shook her short, dark locks in what might have been sympathy in anyone else, but in her was faintly mocking. “Tsk, tsk, Lacey from Minnesota, don’t look so glum. Help is right around the corner. Perhaps.” Aine murmured the last like an afterthought, though clearly intending Lacey to hear her.

Lacey stamped her foot in frustration. “This is unbelievable! “She fumed.

Aine was already picking her way down the lake shore, the bird gliding in the water beside her, but she glanced back over her shoulder, flashing that irritating smile. “Aye,” she agreed. “But life often is.”

Lacey glared after her, wanting to say something mouthy about trite Irish platitudes, but before she could think of anything suitable, the woman Aine and her goose had vanished behind a copse of trees. Sighing huffily, Lacey turned on her heels and stamped over to her sickly-looking car, unable to resist giving it a kick and a curse after removing her carry-on, purse and jacket.

She trudged along the shore line until she found the road Aine had indicated. It was wider than she expected, but still more like a dimly lit green tunnel with dense growth on either side and stretching high overhead. Lacey gave one last, longing look at the lake, before stepping beneath those over-hanging branches. She looked up at the thick trees blotting out the sky.

“Well, at least it’s not nighttime,” she muttered, repressing a cowardly shudder.

Aine moved quickly along the pebbly shore line, her lips curving in a secret smile. Being a goddess had it good points, and messing with humans was high on her personal top ten. Unfortunately, this whole situation was a tricky one. She had to be careful, very—

Aine jumped as a dark shadow spilled onto the ground in front of her, fast obscuring the lough in a black fog that
coalesced into a demonic form that would have had any human falling to their knees in terror
. It was grotesquely misshapen and enormous, rapidly growing larger than the trees. It had too many eyes and too few limbs and smelled like a dank cave. One red eye swiveled down to glare at Aine, pulsing wetly in its’ socket.

"What do you think you’re doing, little sister?" The voice issuing from the creature sounded like it came from a throat that ate fire and brimstone for breakfast. Aine waved an irritated hand and glanced over her shoulder, relived to see the small headland concealed her and the monster from Lacey's view.

"Damme, Aillen! Have a care, ye fool!" Immediately, the shadowy form begin to shrink and take on far more normal proportions that it had previously. Until an unremarkable man with smooth walnut hair and pale blue eyes stood in front of her. Unremarkable that is, except for the voice that still issued from his thin lips, the same demonic growl that had addressed her before.

"Consorting with mine enemies? Sounds like you are the fool here, Aine!"

Her bird began to swim in agitated circles, stirring calm waters of the lough into masses of overlapping rings. The man gave it a glance, his expression one of disdain.

She ignored this and laughed, her blue eyes purposefully merry. Time to pull out all the stops.

Curtain up.

"Are ye really so blind as all tha'? Tha' woman is yer best chance yet at eliminating Lugh's pet werewolf." Her tone dripped with unfeigned bitterness on the last words. The
faoladh
were her servants—hers! Even after all these years, it rankled that the sun-god had been able to play her little trick to his advantage. She could have done so much if Ronan Fitzpatrick had truly become hers, as he should have. But no, Lugh just
had
to interfere….

Aillen was giving her an impatient look. "Make your point and be quick about it. My seers tell me the woman can break your curse, baby girl. I need that curse broken, I need Ronan Fitzpatrick off my back before I can move forward. You know how badly I
need
that—yet you failed to mention the details in
your
report."

He enjoyed watching her anger flare. Aine had been getting far too placid these last few centuries, rather like her damn lake.

"Did they tell ye she can also break
him
?" Aine smiled grimly as her brother's face took on a considering look. "Oh yes, think on it with whatever brain cells ye have left. 'Tis a two-edged sword, is it no?"

Aillen winced at the mention of the word 'sword.' The only thing her brother feared in this world was the
claíomh na gréine
—Lugh’s own sword. But her words did have appeal. He hadn't thought of it in that light. She was right, it could be so
satisfying.
If they worked together…

Her smile widened at his calculating expression. "I'll monitor the situation, coax it along, perhaps. And when the moment is right.... Aillen, consider the sweetness of having yer foot on Ronan Fitzpatrick's throat, as his has been on yours all these years." She laughed again, the sound a light chilling trill. "He might even beg."

Aillen's hands clenched at that tantalizing thought, his curiously sharp nails digging into his palms. Thick drops of blood began to dot the grass beneath them, withering the delicate green stalks where they fell, to leave patches of smoking blackness.

"Fine. Play your games, sister mine. But if they don't work out...it's been a long time since I've tasted the blood of a sibling. And I've been told yours is especially sweet." His lips drew back as his form faded, giving her a glimpse of jagged, monstrous teeth. Like the Cheshire cat, that menacing grin was the last thing to vanish.

She let out her breath with a whoosh, collapsing to sit on the grass with her jaw on her knees as she watched the goose flap over to her, spraying her with water, its’ eyes dark and worried.

"Peace,” she murmured and stroked its head.

But if her brother found out the
real
game she was playing, Aine knew that peace was one thing she'd never, ever find again.

The sun shining in the grove was welcome, if a little fierce, after the dusky light of the woods. Lacey blinked dazedly. Children were racing around a wide green lawn banked by enormous flower beds. In the distance she could make out a low, sprawling house, sparkling white in the sunshine. The children were shouting to each other, but Lacey intent on the house, didn't notice when a large ball zoomed toward her knees.

"Oh!" she exclaimed once, before something small slammed into her mid-section, taking her breath and knocking both her and her pint-sized assailant to the ground. Lacey had barely time to shake her ringing head before a grimy hand was shoved in her face. She followed it to a sheepish-looking and also grimy face, framed by an explosion of bright curls.

"I be sorry, miss!" The little boy waved his hand at her impatiently. "Canna ye get up now?" She got the point belatedly and grasped his hand. He was more help than she'd have figured, a strong little boy—and that was very good—considering how exhausted she was. It was a real effort to maintain her feet, once she'd gotten back on them.