The Solstice Cup (17 page)

Mackenzie didn't see the others dressed in white until they were only a few paces away. They stood in a silent circle around the bonfire, all but camouflaged against the pale, heatless flames. A moment later she was part of the circle, with Breanne beside her. The attendants slipped away.

Even with three layers covering her skin, Mackenzie felt naked under the piercing eyes of the faeries seated above her. She could almost feel their excitement, like static electricity in the air. It took all of her will to keep her expression blank, her feet rooted to the ground.

The drums beat one final frenzied tattoo and fell silent. The hair on Mackenzie's arms rose as a wild, keening cry went up from the faery host. It was a terrifying sound, like a gale-force wind howling over the glens, like a tribe of banshees wailing for a lost child.

Beneath the terrible chorus rose another sound. Out of the corner of her eye, Mackenzie saw Finian step forward into the circle around the bonfire, his pipes under his arm. He played a single sustained note that grew louder and louder until it had eclipsed the faery cry. When the last faery was silent, he began to play in earnest.

Mackenzie's limbs twitched involuntarily as the piper played. The music had an even stronger effect on the young woman in white standing to the piper's right. Her arms rose first to trace strange, jerky shapes in the air. Soon her whole body was twisting and contorting in a painful-looking dance. The movement carried her closer to the flames. Mackenzie didn't want to watch, but she couldn't turn away. She flinched when the young woman crossed over into the fire.

It was a horrible sight. The woman was a puppet to the relentless music. She was a rag doll tossed back and forth by the flames. Her spine arched, her limbs twisted at impossible angles. Her mouth opened wide in a silent scream.

Mackenzie wanted to throw up. She wanted to run to Finian and wrestle the pipes from his hands. Her eyes slid to the piper, less than a dozen yards away. His eyes were closed, his expression unreadable. In the pale firelight, his skin looked gray.

There was a series of long notes, and the fire expelled the woman with a violent crack. Her white cloak had turned the color of ashes, the same color that all the faeries' attendants wore. No one came forward to help her when she fell in a heap.

Finian had to step around the still woman to reach the next person in the circle, a pale young man Mackenzie recognized from the first banquet. The nightmare process was repeated. The piper played, his victim danced, the fire expelled another one of the solstice-bound. It was the same every time. There were three young women between Finian and Breanne, then two, then one.

Under the cover of her cloak, Mackenzie fumbled with the string that secured the mantle around her body. She could feel the knots through the material of her dress. The first knot came undone easily, but the second was too tight. Her eyes remained locked on the piper as she struggled with the second knot.

He had finished with the last young woman.

He was moving.

He was standing beside Breanne.

Mackenzie's movements became more frantic, but it was already too late. Breanne's arms had risen. She had begun the awful lurching dance. Tears of anger and desperation appeared in Mackenzie's eyes. She yanked on the string beneath her dress, stumbling to her knees when it finally broke.

Breanne was inches away from the fire. Mackenzie grabbed the mantle, pulling it so quickly from her waist that it tore her skin. “Stop—can't you see what you're doing?” she screamed at Finian.

She was too occupied with the cloth in her hands to see the piper open his eyes. She didn't see the flicker of shame pass over his face, or see his fingers falter. There was a pause in the music, but Breanne had already crossed over into the pale flames. Mackenzie didn't see Nuala come up behind her either, as she plunged into the fire after her sister.

A jolt of electricity shot through Mackenzie's body when she threw the mantle over her sister's shoulders. There was a delay, like the pause between thunder and lightning, and then the pain registered. Mackenzie's head shot back and her face contorted, but she held on to her sister with a death grip. She held on as a third figure joined them in the flames, screaming with fury.

Nuala was almost unrecognizable in her anger. Mackenzie heard the faery hiss something, and Breanne thrashed and changed shape under Mackenzie's arms. She was a wild horse, bucking and braying while Mackenzie clung to her neck. She was a fox, snapping at Mackenzie's hands. She was an eagle with terrible talons and a vicious beak.

“It's all an illusion, it's all an illusion,” Mackenzie repeated desperately to herself. She buried her face in her sister's shoulder and held on.

The feathers disappeared as Breanne changed again. Her torso stretched, becoming impossibly long. She was a sea serpent, thrashing and flailing. She was a dragon with razor-sharp scales that tore Mackenzie's clothing to shreds. Mackenzie's hands were raw and her muscles throbbed, but she would not let go. Even as she felt Breanne's flesh shift again, even as she heard Nuala howl, she knew she could hang on forever if she had to. She felt a wave of elation. She was going to win her sister back!

And then her sister's voice whimpered in her ear. “Let me go, Mackenzie! Please—you're burning me—
please
let go!”

Mackenzie opened her eyes. Breanne was back in her own body, but naked now. Angry welts had formed where the mantle rested against her skin. They began to blister and ooze even as Mackenzie watched. “Get it off me!” Breanne begged, tears streaming down her face.

Mackenzie felt her own eyes well up. “I can't, Bree. It will be over soon, I promise! You have to hang on!”

But it wasn't over soon. Breanne writhed in Mackenzie's arms, and her cries became more desperate. Mackenzie closed her eyes, but there was nothing she could do to escape her sister's screams. They ricocheted back and forth in her skull. They pierced her brain so she couldn't think. They went on and on until Mackenzie couldn't take them anymore. She couldn't hold on. She had to let go— Mackenzie heard a new sound just as she was about to release her sister. Finian was playing across a great distance, his music rising steadily until it was as loud as Breanne's howls. The pipes didn't block out the agony in Breanne's voice, but they softened it. Just enough— Mackenzie tightened her grip around her sister's shoulders. She gritted her teeth and held on.

Everything fell silent.

The world went black.

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

M
ackenzie was on her back in a boggy field, staring up at a leaden sky. She blinked as the first raindrop hit her face.

“W-we're soaked. We're completely drenched,” she heard Breanne say through chattering teeth. “What happened? Did we go swimming with our clothes on?”

Mackenzie sat up carefully. “I don't know. I think we fell into a stream.”

“I must have blacked out,” said Breanne. “I had the weirdest dream.”

Mackenzie swiveled to face her sister as the images in her head came into focus. She seized Breanne's arm. “You're okay! We made it back—both of us!”

“Back? Back from where?” Breanne asked warily.

“From the world below! From Nuala and the other faeries! We're
here
, Breanne! We're safe!”

Breanne shook her head and pulled away. “Uh-uh. No way was that real.”

“It
was
real,” Mackenzie said as she struggled to stand up. “Maigret, Finian, Nuala. You were there— you know what I'm talking about. I can see it in your eyes!”

Breanne was still shaking her head and looking at Mackenzie like she was crazy as she got to her feet. “I had a dream,” she insisted. “A really weird dream.

You heard me mumbling or something, and now you're trying to mess with my mind.”

“It wasn't a dream—I can prove it.” Mackenzie ran her hands down the sleeve of her jacket, and her voice faltered. “Except…I don't get why we're wearing our old clothes. This isn't what we were wearing when we left.” She undid the wet jacket with some difficulty and slid one of her arms from its sleeve to inspect her sweater. “It doesn't make sense. I had to tear a piece off this sleeve to weave into your mantle. It was the only way I could free you after you drank from the solstice cup.”

Breanne's face was flushed. “I don't know what you're talking about.
You
don't even know what you're talking about.”

“Why are you so afraid of the truth?” said Mackenzie.

“You said you could prove it. So—prove it.”

Mackenzie turned away in disgust. Her expression changed when she spied something sticking out of the mud a few feet away. She dropped to her knees, and within seconds she'd dug out a hollow piece of wood. The slender tube was already crumbling. The finger holes were barely discernible.

“Here—here's the proof,” Mackenzie said triumphantly, holding it out.

Breanne snorted. “What's that supposed to be?”

“A piece from Finian's pipes! Don't tell me you don't remember Finian, because I know you do. Hey, where are you going?”

“To the farmhouse,” Breanne said without looking back. “By the way? You've totally lost it.”

Mackenzie watched her sister for several seconds before calling to her. “Hey! Breanne!”

“What?”

“You're not limping!”

“So why didn't you let me go if I was screaming in pain?” Breanne asked later.

“Because I knew it was an illusion,” said Mackenzie. “You weren't really being tortured.”

“But how could you know that? How did you know you weren't burning my skin off with that mantle thing?”

“It had to be an illusion,” Mackenzie said with a half smile. “You said ‘please.' If you'd really been in pain, you would have been swearing at me.”

It was ten thirty at night. The two sisters were in their beds in the guest room of the farmhouse. They'd found their way back just before dark, fifteen minutes before Uncle Eamon returned in his Land Rover. Aunt Joan had been beside herself when she'd seen the state of their clothes. They'd had to endure a tongue-lashing for leaving Cushendun and traveling cross-country on their own, but their only “punishment” was a mandatory half-hour soak for each of them. While Breanne sat in the bathtub, and Mackenzie sat beside her in an old washtub filled with heated water, Mackenzie told her sister everything that had happened after Breanne had drunk from the solstice cup. Breanne had remained skeptical throughout the evening, though she couldn't deny that her leg really was better.

Breanne shifted in her narrow cot. “So according to your version of events, what happened to the piper guy?”

“I don't know,” said Mackenzie. “The solstice fire must have destroyed Finian's pipes when it transported us back here. Maybe the fire set Finian free too, sent him back to his own time. I hope he's all right, wherever he is. I would have let go of you if it hadn't been for his music at the end. He saved us, whether you believe any of this or not.”

Breanne remained silent for a few seconds. “Look, I don't remember anything about solstice cups or evil faeries or any of that other stuff. But I do know you went into the water after me. So you can stop working the fantasy angle. I'm grateful, already.”

Mackenzie's smile was hidden in the darkness. “So what are we going to do to kill time tomorrow?”

“I don't know. There's this cool ring somewhere out there that keeps slipping through my fingers. Want to look for it with me?”

“You're a real comedian, you know that, Breanne?” Mackenzie was still smiling as she drifted off to sleep.

A
CKNOWLEDGMENTS

I couldn't write without the time, space and encouragement my family so generously provides. I am especially grateful to my husband, Bern, who helped fulfill a childhood dream when he applied for a teaching exchange that made it possible for our family to live in Northern Ireland for a year. For keen eyes and a clear voice, many thanks to my editor, Sarah Harvey.