The Stolen: An American Faerie Tale (10 page)

“I'll ride with you.”

“Magister,” Liam said, “I don't think it's a good idea for you to be without protection. This mess could be the start of a war with the oíche, and you'd make a great target.”

“Follow me then if you like,” Brendan said as he limped toward the door. “But I'm not leaving me bleeding truck here. Besides, I need a clean shirt, and that's where I keep me wardrobe.”

“You follow,” Dante said to Liam. “I'll ride with Brendan.” He watched Brendan limp by. “But stay close.”

 

CHAPTER TEN

E
dward closed the book slowly, as if doing so quickly would cause it to explode, and slid it away. He'd expected to find at least some similarities between cultural faerie stories and fact, but there didn't seem to be any. Shakespeare didn't even get the names right.

He pulled off his glasses, put his head down on the desk, and tried to get a handle on the situation. The twinge of curiosity—­and, he had to confess, excitement—­at the thought of all this happening was gone now. In fact, it was taking a determined effort to keep from curling into a fetal ball and wetting himself.

A sound from the living room brought his head up with a snap. He got to his feet and stopped in the study doorway.

Caitlin was stirring on the couch.

He looked at his watch, then out the large window in the living room. It was still dark and at least a few hours until sunrise. Kris was still sleeping soundly.

“No, no, no. You're not supposed to wake up yet,” he whispered.

Caitlin grunted as she opened her eyes and looked around. She blinked repeatedly and looked around again. Confusion settled on her face as she drew her knees up to her chest.

“What's going on? Where am I?”

Edward knelt next to the couch, taking her hand in his. “Easy. It's okay. I'm here.”

“Eddy?” She shook her head and wiped her eyes. “What? What are you doing here? Where am I?”

“You're at, uh, my house.”

“What happened to your hand?”

Edward moved his bandaged hand away. “It's nothing, I just cut myself. Listen, you've had a, well, a bad night. What's the last thing you remember?”

“Bad night? What are you talking about?” She tried to stand up, but her eyes closed and she started to wobble.

“Don't push yourself.” He helped her sit back down and propped a pillow up behind her.

She looked around again. “Wait, your house? What am I doing at your house? How'd I get here?”

Edward scratched his head. “Well, it's kind of a long story. I think it'd be best, right now anyway, for you to concentrate on what you recall.” He leaned in closer, squeezing her hand. “What can you remember?”

Caitlin put her free hand to her head and closed her eyes. “I, um.” She swallowed. “God, I have a splitting headache. I didn't think I drank that much.”

“Here.” Edward handed her a bottle of water and a ­couple of Tylenol he'd gotten out earlier.

She took the pills and emptied the bottle in a series of deep gulps. She set it down, then held her head. “I feel like I got hit by a—­” She winced. “By a . . .”

“A what?”

She looked at Edward, as if by trying hard enough she'd find the answer in his eyes. “Last thing I remember, I was out with the girls. I don't think I got drunk, but . . .” She ran her hand through her hair. “Weird things had been happening all night. I remember leaving and then, I, uh, I got stopped by a ­couple of kids.”

“Good, go on.”

“They tried to mug me, or something. No, I think they were going to take me—­” Her eyes went wide. “Oh God, Eddy! Fiona!” She gripped Edward's shoulders. “I have—­”

“Breathe,” Edward said, knowing he had to act fast to stop her from hyperventilating and passing out. “You have to slow down your breathing.” He ran to the kitchen and retrieved a fresh bottle of water. “Here, drink this, slowly.”

The bottle shook as she lifted it. After a ­couple of swallows, her breathing began to return to normal. Her eyes were still wide, but her face had turned to stone.

“It's a blur. Eddy, where's Fiona?”

Edward opened his mouth to speak.

“Where's my baby? Something's happened to her. I can't remember what, but I know.”

“Well.” He hesitated. “She's—­”

Caitlin's face went pale. “She's dead. I saw her body—­”

“You what?”

“No.” Caitlin shook her head. “No, that's not right. I mean, I did, but it was wrong. I remember seeing her, but I know . . .”

“She's not dead. They took her.”

“They took her?” She paused, and then her mind engaged. “They took her! We have to call the police. Where's your phone? Wait, you already called them, right?”

“Well, no—­”

“What? Why not? We need to call them, right now. Your phone?” She made to stand again, but her legs gave out and she fell back down.

“Easy. Normally, I'd agree with you.” He was struggling to find the right words. He'd told ­people their worldviews and concepts of reality were wrong before, but Caitlin wasn't one of his schizophrenic patients. “Under typical circumstances, I would've been the first to call, you know that, but this isn't typical. Caitlin, they can't help us.”

At the sound of her name, she seemed to snap out of it a little more.

“The things I need to tell you, well, they relate to that. I promise you, we're going to get her back. In fact, Brendan is already out there, trying to find her.”

“Who?”

“Brendan, do you remember him?”

“No—­” She furrowed her brow. “Wait, I know that name. I, I can't place it though.” She put her hand to her head. “Jesus, did they drug me?”

“Sort of.” Edward gently touched her cheek and turned her face to look at him. “Brendan? Do you remember him? He helped you when you got attacked?” he said.

“Big Irish guy with scars?” She started to laugh. “No, he can't be helping. Eddy, he said they were—­” She shook her head and laughed again. “He said they were faeries.”

Edward cleared his throat. “It turns out he was telling the truth.”

“What? No.” Her smile faded. “No! This is a joke, right? Where's Fiona?”

Edward looked down.

She scowled. “No! There's no such thing as faeries!” Shaking hands went to her face and through her hair. “That's insane, faeries aren't real! Eddy, this isn't funny. Where's Fiona? Where is she?” Tears began to run down her cheeks.

“Brendan's out looking for her—­”

“Some stranger is looking for my little girl and you're okay with that? Are you insane? What is going on?” She pushed him away. “Tell me, damn it!”

“I would've gone, but I had to stay here and look after you and Kris.” He looked at his watch, then back up at Caitlin. “And, well, he knows more about all this than I do.”

“He knows more about this? What's that mean? He knows more about what? Kidnapping little girls?”

“No! Faeries, he knows more about faeries.” Edward lifted his hands. “Caitlin, please, focus on what I'm saying, this is important, okay? I know it's hard to believe, but tonight you were attacked by faeries. Oíche-­sidhe.”

“What the hell is that?” She covered her ears. “No! Stop it! Just stop, we don't have time for this! We have to—­”

“Caitlin,” he said with more force in his voice. He pulled her hands from her ears, then held them tight. “This is me, okay? Are you listening?”

She swallowed and looked at him. Anger still burned in her eyes, but she squeezed his hands, and not in an attempt to break them.

“Everything that can be done is being done,” he said, never breaking eye contact. “I swear to you, if I thought we could do anything more, we'd be doing it. I'd be doing it. Now, please, this might really help. I need you to think back, concentrate. The kids, was there anything strange about them?”

“Why?”

“Just humor me.”

Caitlin sighed. After a brief pause, her mouth closed and she blinked.

“What is it?”

“Their eyes.”

“What about them?”

“They were all black.” She gestured around her face. “No whites, no iris, nothing, just all black.”

“Good, anything else?”

The color started to drain from her face. “Their teeth.”

“All of them were pointed?”

She nodded.

“Pale skin? Angular features? Very pretty? Too pretty, in fact?”

“How did you—­”

“Oíche-­sidhe.” He swallowed. “Dark faeries.”

“They were after me.” She put her hands to her mouth. “No, they weren't. Dear God in heaven, faeries took my little girl.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I remember. I fought them, but I couldn't stop them. They took her.” She hugged herself and looked at him with pleading eyes. “Eddy, they took her from my arms.”

“I know this is hard—­”

“You know?” Her eyes turned to steel and bored into him. “Really? How's that? Has your daughter been taken? Was it by faeries?”

Edward winced. “No, but—­”

“No!” she shouted. “She's my daughter, not yours! I'm all she has and I need to find her.”

“You're not all she has,” Edward said in a whisper, but Caitlin didn't hear him and stood up. “Wait! Where are you going?” Edward grabbed her shoulder.

“Don't touch me!” She turned on him, pointing a finger. “Stay here if you want. Trust Brendan if you want. I'm going to find my daughter!”

“No! You can't leave.”

“Oh, really? Watch me.” She started walking to the door.

Desperation ran through Edward. When her hand was less than an inch away from the doorknob, he felt a flood of power rush through him.

“
Peidio
!”

Magic enveloped Caitlin and she stopped, frozen in place, hand hovering above the knob.

Heart-­stopping dread clawed at his stomach. “Caitlin?”

It was as if someone had pressed the pause button. There weren't even the telltale signs she was breathing. Not even her eyes moved.

He started pacing. “What have I done? I'm so sorry, Caitlin. I, I didn't mean to, I just—­” He pointed to the door. “You can't—­”

A glance at her eyes told him that although they didn't move, emotion and consciousness were behind them.

He put his hands behind his head, trying to figure out how to undo what he'd done. Of course, he'd first have to figure out what it was he'd done. Dedicated focus, and he'd botched a scrying spell. Panic, and he'd hexed Caitlin into a statue.

Well done,
Nghalon said.

“Shut up! That's not helping.”

There is a practical side to consider. You kept her from going outside. The minor consequence of her entire sense of reality collapsing, then being frozen by her friend the wizard . . . well
. . .
that doesn't even merit considering.

“Knock it off,” he said and looked at Caitlin.

She couldn't move, but the look in her eyes made his heart twinge and he felt his resolve harden. “I'll figure out what I did and undo it. But first, you need to listen.”

With Caitlin like a statue, and a literal captive audience, he recounted the events of the evening; meeting Brendan, bringing her and Kris to his house for protection. He told her everything.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I'll fix this. The paralyzing thing, I mean. Wait here.” He winced. “I mean, I'll be right back.” He went into his study.

It took the better part of half an hour, but he found what he needed. A section of an old book, in Latin no less, explained the deconstruction of magical effects. He returned to the living room and lifted his hand. Reaching out with his magical senses, he felt the spell surrounding her. Slowly and carefully, he began to pull it apart. After several tense moments, he heard a faint popping sound.

Caitlin jerked her hand back from the handle.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. It was an accident,” he said as he stepped close, reaching out a hand to touch her shoulder. “You see, there's wards, and if you—­”

She punched him in the face, really, really hard.

Edward fell back and landed on the floor, glasses askew. Caitlin's fists were clenched, and her eyes burned with anger.

“You son of a bitch.” She took a step forward.

Edward backed away as he straightened his glasses.

“Listen very carefully. You're going to answer some questions,” she said. “If I find out that you or that Brendan guy had anything to do with this, I swear to God, I will kill you both.”

Edward wiped blood from his nose, then looked up at her. “I'd help you do it.”

 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

E
dward felt the heat of Caitlin's stare as she sat in a chair and held a mug of tea, still full.

At the far end of the couch, Edward held an ice pack to his face and avoided looking at her. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you before. It's not something that comes up in casual conversation.”

“Wizard? Like robes, towers, all that?”

Edward shrugged. “The only robe I have is a bathrobe and I don't have a tower, but otherwise, yes. I don't have much practice, which should be abundantly clear. You told me you were having nightmares and strange things were happening. I just wanted to help, so I, uh, used a protection spell.” He didn't mention the debates he'd had about whether or not he could pull it off. “Anyway, when the spell tripped, I didn't know what it was. As soon as I figured it out, I went to your house as fast as I could—­”

“I suppose that explains how you always manage to show up or call just when I need you.”

Edward looked down. “Actually, that was the first time I ever did that, or anything like it.”

She looked at him. “How long?”

“I don't know. I guess it took me about twenty minutes to—­”

“No. How long have you been a . . .” She swallowed. “A wizard?”

“Oh, right.” He chuckled a little. “You wouldn't care about—­”

“You're not exactly what I would've imagined a wizard to be, if I ever imagined them being real.”

He smiled, but there was no joy in it. “Join the club. Brendan wasn't impressed either. I'm not very good. Turns out, learning magic isn't something that you can do without—­” He let out a breath and his voice became shaky. “If I'd just known it was the protection spell, maybe I could've gotten there sooner and done something.”

There was a long silence.

Caitlin shook her head. “It's not your fault, it's mine.”

“What?”

“I used to see them when I was little.” She took a drink from her mug. “Faeries, I mean.”

“Caitlin.” He reached and she didn't pull away; she just shook her head. “Lots of kids believe in faeries and monsters under the bed, but—­”

“No. I saw them. I used to play with them. Mom always told me I was just imagining it, but not Nana. She always smiled and made sure I put a bowl of cream for them on the doorstep.” Caitlin snorted. “I grew up and just convinced myself that my mom was right. That Nana was just humoring me.”

“You're still not being fair to yourself.”

“Nana used to tell me the stories she learned in Ireland. They even have stories about children being taken, like that poem by Yeats.”

“ ‘The Stolen Child.' ”

Caitlin stared out the window and let out a long sigh. “The poem makes it sound so magical. I guess it's not like that.” She scrunched her face. “I should've known.” She looked up at him. “And you should've told me.”

There was no anger in her eyes, just sadness. Edward wasn't sure which was worse. “You're right, I should have, and I'm sorry, but would you listen to yourself? Because your grandmother told you stories about faeries, you should've seen that they'd take Fiona? That's absurd.”

Their conversation continued, and Edward just let her talk. He did his best to reassure her and get her thinking clearly, making sure to give her plenty of space and time. He took every shot from her, too. He deserved each one.

Eventually, the turn in topic told him she was as coherent and in control as anyone could expect under the circumstances.

“Why did they take her?” she asked.

Edward felt a twinge in his chest.

“Why'd they take my baby?”

“I don't know.” Edward tapped his knee. “I did do some research though. Apparently faeries enchant a stone or stump of wood to look like the child—­”

Caitlin looked like she might throw up.

“What?”

“It was that piece of wood in the bed; it looked like Fiona, but like she was . . .” The heat in her eyes vanished. “If I'd been just a few minutes later, I would've thought that changeling was her. I'd have buried it and never known . . .”

“Don't go down that path. You did get there in time, that's what matters.” Edward's mouth continued without consulting his brain. “And not that it's important, but a changeling is a half human, half faerie.”

“What?”

“Nothing, it's just that what you saw is called a glamour child. Sometimes they'd leave a changeling, though. I guess the term got applied to both.”

“Oh. Well, did you learn anything useful? Say, like how we could get her back? Or maybe how we could find where she is?”

He swallowed. “It was really just an explanation of types of faeries, their courts, things like that.”

“Oh, well, that's great. At least you can write a dissertation about them.”

He looked away and muttered a curse to himself.

She began pacing. “When's Brendan supposed to get back?”

“I don't know. Soon, I think.”

“You think?” Caitlin sighed. “And we can't leave?”

“Not a good idea.” Edward folded her blanket and draped it over the back of the sofa.

“Well, I'm not going to just sit idly by. You're a wizard, isn't there something you can do? Call her back, or find her, or something?”

Edward covered his bandaged hand with his good one.

“What is it?”

He explained his botched attempt earlier, omitting the glowing eyes from his story.

“So, why didn't it work?”

“I must have screwed it up somehow.” He ran his good hand through his hair. “It might have been what I used, but I don't—­”

“What are you talking about?”

“I needed something of Fiona to track her down; hair, fingernail clippings, blood, whatever. I didn't have any, so—­”

“Can you use mine?” Caitlin asked. “Genetically, half of her blood is mine. Wouldn't that work?”

“I don't know.” Edward thought about it for a moment. “It might. I mean, there's a bond between you—­”

“So, we'll try?”

His stomach twisted and his hand started to throb.

Caitlin stepped toward him.

He flinched and took a step back.

She closed her eyes and took a breath. When she opened them, the remaining traces of anger were gone, and all Edward could see was fear and desperate hope.

“I'm sorry, Eddy. I shouldn't have snapped like I did,” she said.

“Well, if ever there was an excuse to lose your temper—­”

“But if you think that means I'm taking no for an answer,” she said, her voice soft, “or that I'm just going to sit here till Brendan gets back, you're wrong.”

He wanted to tell her that he couldn't, that he'd tried and failed, and that he'd seen something that terrified him to his core, but a tear fell from Caitlin's eye and he tried to look away.

She put a hand on his face and looked him in the eye. “I'm truly sorry about before. But Eddy, she's my baby, and I need your help.”

He swallowed.

“Please.”

C
aitlin watched Edward draw the circle while she chewed on her nails. She could see the fear in his eyes, and it worried her. She'd never seen him scared before. He'd always been her rock, there for her when she'd needed him most. She stopped pacing as she realized just how many times that had been. She thought of when she was pregnant, her ankles swollen to the point of excruciating, and she'd panicked about being a single mother; he'd rubbed her feet and assured her that everything would be okay. And all the times she'd gone by his office after work to find him still there, staring out his window, not a scrap of work to be seen. He'd been waiting for her just in case she'd needed him. He was always there waiting, and she knew he would be, though neither of them ever said it. Neither of them ever had to. She closed her eyes as her heart twisted. So many times and he never once seemed hurried or tired. He always greeted Fiona with a huge smile and a giant hug. Never once did he ask anything of Caitlin.

She opened her eyes and watched him. He was perhaps a hundred and sixty pounds soaking wet, a definite bookworm, and deathly afraid of spiders. He was terrified, but it wasn't stopping him, because she'd asked. She let out a sigh. He was still waiting for her, and she knew he would for as long as she needed him to.

When the circle was finished, Edward went to an old trunk and began gathering items.

“How long—­”

“I know this isn't easy, but you have to be a little patient, okay?”

She shook her head and closed her mouth.

Edward walked to the desk, arms full of various items. “What about Kris?”

Caitlin glanced out the study door. “She's still sleeping.”

“No, I mean, what about when she wakes up?”

Caitlin looked out again at her friend, then at Eddy. “I have no idea. It's not like we just explain it to her.”

Edward stopped, arms still full, and nodded, a smile edging across his face. “I don't think I can take another punch.”

Caitlin put her face in her hands. “God, I can't believe I punched you. I'm so sorry about that.”

Edward set the items on the desk and wrapped his arms around her. “I deserved that—­”

“No, you really didn't,” she said. She pressed her cheek against his chest and realized it felt different than the other times he'd held her; it wasn't just comforting, it felt right, as if she was meant to be there. She felt some of her fear melt away, not much, but some. She pulled back just enough to look up at him.

He swallowed.

Had his eyes always been that pretty shade of green? Almost like summer moss. She shook her head, then hugged him tight. “Thank you, Eddy.”

“For what?” he asked.

“For this, and for everything else,” she said.

He stroked her hair and hugged her back. “We'll get her back, I swear to you.”

She nodded and just hugged tighter.

“We'll figure out what to do about Kris when the time comes. Right now, maybe we focus on one problem at a time.”

She stepped out of the hug and turned away to wipe her eyes. “Can I help with anything?”

“Not really.”

Arms wrapped around herself, Caitlin watched him work as the seconds ticked by and she tried not to think about Fiona surrounded by prepubescent Goth monsters. Edward's voice snapped her out of her daze.

“It's ready.”

“What do I need to do?” she asked, stepping forward.

“I need blood or hair.” Edward pulled a slender knife from a drawer.

Caitlin took the blade from him. “Which, and how much?”

“Not much. I think blood would work best, but—­”

Caitlin dragged the blade across the palm of her left hand, leaving a short and shallow cut. “Where do you want it?”

“Um, okay then.” He handed her the crystal. “On this, please.”

She flexed her hand a few times until a reasonable amount of blood collected, then she wiped it over the outside of the crystal and handed it back. “Is that enough?”

Edward nodded, passing her a monogrammed handkerchief for her hand, then took the crystal at the ends with his fingertips. With his free hand, he poured a clear liquid from a delicate bottle into a small silver bowl and set the bowl inside the circle.

“I'm going to need to concentrate, okay?”

Caitlin nodded and took a ­couple steps back.

After taking a slow, deep breath, he placed the crystal into the bowl and whispered something in a language she didn't know. Welsh, maybe? She flinched when his body jerked and straightened. She took a step forward but drew up short when his eyes opened, then rolled back into his head. Then his lips began to move as if he were speaking.

Seconds passed, then minutes. Caitlin watched in silence and focused on keeping her fear at bay.

After several torturous minutes, the crystal began to spin inside the bowl and stopped, pointing at her. Edward sucked in a breath and the crystal spun again. His hands pressed onto the desk harder. Color drained from his face, his jaw clenched, and sweat started to bead on his forehead.

She didn't know what to do. Would it be dangerous to interfere? Would it be worse not to?

Edward's eyes went wide, his body stiffened, and then he went limp.

“Eddy?” she whispered, rushing forward and catching him by his shoulders.

He lifted his head and took several shuddering breaths as his body shook.

“Did it work?” she asked, still in a whisper.

Edward ran his hands through his hair. He didn't look at her.

“Eddy?”

He licked his lips and shook his head. “No.”

His voice was hoarse, and his words came so slow it made Caitlin nervous.

He swallowed. “I didn't find her. I'm sorry.”

Caitlin stared at him. His eyes didn't have their usual brightness and warmth. It was the spell, right? It had just taken a toll on him. They hadn't actually changed color . . .

No, it had to be her imagination.

Or was there really someone else looking at her from behind his eyes?