The Stolen: An American Faerie Tale (4 page)

He stumbled back and stared at her.

“I don't know what, who you are, but just stay back.” She began inching away from him.

He raised his hands and his eyes looked sad. “I'm not going to hurt you, love. If I wanted that, I wouldn't have stepped in, now, would I?”

He kept talking but Caitlin didn't hear it. She tried to speak, but nothing would come out. Tightness in her chest made it hard to breathe, and things started to go black again.

“Don't lock up on me,” Brendan said. “Come on back, love. It's over. You're safe now. They're gone.”

“You—­” She stopped, and looked from Brendan to the knife buried in the wall. With a great deal of effort, she pointed a shaking hand at the blade. “You killed—­”

Brendan made a pained expression, but it was gone in an instant. “Breathe. You've got to breathe.” His eyes seemed to radiate something that was oddly comforting, but the streetlights cast shadows over his face that made his scars more prominent, almost feral.

“I, what just happened?” The logical voice in her head was now out of the closet and ranting.

“Oíche-­sidhe.”

“I'm sorry? What?”

“Dark fae.”

Caitlin blinked.

“Faeries? The sidhe, fair folk?” He glanced over his shoulder. “Though the oíche aren't what I'd call fair.”

“No, that's not possible.” She shook her head and started laughing. “No, there's no such thing as faeries.”

“I think they'd beg to differ with you on that, love.” He stood and offered her his hand. “Come on now, up with you.”

She stared into his eyes and somehow knew he was telling the truth. Her floundering mind seized on this ridiculous explanation as a refuge from the unexplainable events.

“Faeries?” She thought of all the stories her grandmother had told her, but the faeries in those stories were nothing like these. No. Faeries don't dress like Hot Topic refugees. They dance in mushroom circles or drink the bowl of cream left out for them.

This was all too much. Caitlin had to get home, back to the sanity of her life. She looked around. “Damn it, where are they?”

“Where are what?”

Her eyes darted to a glint in the streetlight. She grabbed the keys and got to her feet.

“Would you wait a bleeding minute?”

Caitlin got to her feet and shoved Brendan aside. “Just stay away from me.” She moved on shaky legs to her car. “I have to get home.”

Brendan followed her. “I can help.”

Caitlin unlocked her car, opened the door, and got in. She paused when she saw Brendan, then forgot to shut the door. She tried to put her key in the ignition, but her hands were shaking so badly she dropped them. Brendan bent to pick them up for her, but she got to them first.

“I—­thank you, but—­” She closed the door as she jammed the key into the ignition and turned the engine over.

“Wait, you should ride with me. You're in no shape to drive, and me truck is just—­”

Caitlin put the car in gear, stepped on the gas, and sped away from the curb, leaving Brendan with nothing but the smell of burned rubber.

 

CHAPTER THREE

C
aitlin gripped the wheel so hard that her hands ached as she tore down the street. She reached for her cell phone, only to remember it was in her absconded purse. She cursed under her breath and pressed the accelerator. She had to distance herself from all this; if she could just see Fiona, everything would be okay. The high speed almost caused her to lose control of the small car, but she somehow managed to keep it on the road. She tapped the brakes and slowed down, but no matter how many miles passed, the feeling of dread wouldn't abate.

After what seemed like a century, she skidded to a stop in her driveway and leapt out almost before the car had stopped. She started to push her key in the house's lock, but the front door was open.

Caitlin fought to ignore the knot in her stomach as she stepped into the living room.

The place was quiet and still. She looked around. “Fiona? Kris?”

No answer.

She spotted Kris lying on the floor behind the coffee table. Caitlin ran to her friend and knelt down beside her. She found no obvious injuries, but Kris was unconscious.

“Fiona?” Caitlin called as loud as she could manage.

“Mommy!” Fiona yelled from upstairs, and the tone of her voice froze Caitlin's blood.

Before the sound faded, Caitlin was on her feet and running up the stairs. As she reached the second floor, Fiona's door flew open and the little girl ran out. Before she could reach Caitlin, white hands and arms sheathed in black fabric grabbed her.

“Mommy!”

“No!” Caitlin roared and charged into the room.

Amid the bright colors and stuffed animals, the boy who had attacked Caitlin was placing a stump of wood in Fiona's bed and muttering over it. It shimmered and almost looked like Fiona, but the body was pale and lifeless.

Caitlin tore her eyes away from the simulacrum and saw a second boy, almost a twin of the first but without the black streak on his cheek, struggling to keep hold of Fiona, who was kicking and punching him.

Caitlin lunged for her child's outstretched hand.

The boy trying to restrain Fiona muttered something and a cold shiver passed over Caitlin.

Fiona's tear-­streaked face went quiet and her body went limp.

“No! My baby!” Caitlin screamed.

The boy on the bed, who'd just turned around, said something Caitlin couldn't hear. She felt another wave of cold, but it vanished in an instant, and she drove her fist into the faerie's face.

“Son of a bitch, I'll kill you!” she said. Bone cracked under her knuckles and the oíche released Fiona as he spun and fell to the floor.

Caitlin grabbed Fiona and turned to run from the room.

“
Codail
!” a soft voice said into her ear as the voice's owner threw dust into her eyes.

Caitlin shook away a wave of dizziness and drove an elbow into the ribs of whoever was behind her. She heard the person grunt, stumble back, and hit the wall outside the room.

“Sleep!” the one on the bed shouted, and threw more dust at her.

As Caitlin took a step forward, her leg went out from under her. She drew Fiona close and turned so the child fell on her rather than the other way around.

Sprawled on the hardwood floor, her body wasn't responding to her commands, and her eyes grew heavy as she watched the boy casually climb off the bed. He smirked as he pulled Fiona from her arms.

Inside her mind, Caitlin screamed that he was supposed to be taking her, not Fiona. She willed her body to grip her child and pull her back, to stand and fight. No sound came from her and her body didn't answer.

The boy snickered as he lifted one of Fiona's arms and waved it at Caitlin. “Bye-­bye, Mommy,” he said, his words soaked with derision.

“No,” Caitlin managed to say. In a final push of will, she reached with one arm for her child.

The oíche slapped her hand away and it fell to the ground.

Tears poured from her eyes.

The oíche she'd punched gave her one last look before picking up a pink blanket from the bed and stepping over her. The one holding Fiona kicked Caitlin in the stomach before following his compatriot out of the room.

Her eyes closed and darkness overtook her.

 

CHAPTER FOUR

Brendan sprinted down the street to his truck. As he opened the door, Riley came running around a different corner. The elf stopped when he saw Brendan.

“What the hell's going on?” Riley asked. “I thought—­”

“Plan's changed, boss,” Brendan said as he climbed in and started the engine. “The fecking oíche made a move we weren't expecting.”

“Brendan, wait, what are you—­?”

The old truck bounced over the curb and sped off. Thankfully, the streets were nearly empty. It was late enough to avoid ­people heading out for the evening and early enough to avoid them going home, and thanks to Riley, there wouldn't be a copper for miles. Brendan rolled down the window where he'd seen Caitlin last. He focused for a moment, then his senses came to life and he sniffed the air.

Nothing.

“
Dar fia
!”

He began to fear he'd truly lost her trail, when, beneath a mix of exhaust, damp asphalt, and cooking food, he found her scent. It was faint, but it was there, and it was Áine's.

The truck came to a stop in the middle of the road as his breath caught in his throat. He inhaled again, desperate for more, but the scent was gone.

Then he realized what he was doing. Cursing his stupidity and the delay it was causing, he leapt out and redoubled his focus as he turned in all directions. After a few seconds, he found Caitlin's scent again, and while it was so very close to Áine's, it had more powder and flowers to it. It was not Áine's. He reminded himself of that repeatedly as he got back in the truck and sped off.

He tore around corners and through the vacant streets. Soon the city shifted from businesses to houses, and Caitlin's scent was diluted amid the smells of a thousand homes. He stopped the truck, clenched his shaking hands into fists, and closed his eyes. The garbage left out for pickup in the morning wasn't helping.

A breeze blew in the open window from the south, bearing the faintest hint of her. His eyes opened, and he turned his truck in that direction. The streets all began to look the same, and her scent again became more sporadic.

“
Go hifreann leat.
You won't win this time.” He spotted her car in his peripheral vision and sped down the street.

The car was parked in the driveway of a modest home, driver's side door still open, as was the front door to the house.

He parked behind the car, shut off his truck's motor, and opened the door with one hand as he grabbed a knife with his other. As he passed her car, he closed the open door and looked around.

Nothing was moving; no birds, no insects, nothing. He hated the suburbs.

He crept to the open front door. Caitlin's scent poured through it and into the night air. He took a deep breath and moved closer. As he did, he smelled it. Just beneath Caitlin's was the scent of the fae. It was strong, which meant they'd just left or were still here. The combination of familiar smells stirred the sleeping monster inside him, but he pushed the beast back down.

He stepped to one side of the doorway and turned his head so one ear was angled in. He heard a slow, steady heartbeat just inside. At the sound of the soft, even breathing, his heart sank.

Knife at the ready, he scanned the room. Several crayon drawings hung on the fridge door in the kitchen to his right. A living room with children's toys scattered about was to the left. The couch, chair, tables, and large wooden television stand showed no signs of struggle.

On the far side of the room lay a woman with brown hair, facedown. She was the source of the breathing and heartbeat, but she wasn't who he was looking for. He rolled her over. She was a young girl, and pretty.

“Fecking slumber,” he muttered. He saw the stairs and could hear another heartbeat and slow breathing. He took them two at time without making a sound.

Upon reaching the second floor, he found to his right an open door leading to the bathroom. To the left, the hallway vanished around a corner. Halfway down was a second open door.

You're too late. The oíche are long gone, else they'd have been on you before this.

“Shut it, you.” He tucked the knife behind his back.

It was a child's room with soft pink walls and white furniture. Stuffed animals were everywhere. When he saw the stump of wood tucked under a blanket on the bed, he gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay calm. At his feet lay Caitlin, one arm outstretched.

He sighed and put the events together as he rolled Caitlin onto her back. “I tried to warn you, didn't I?”

Well, doesn't this all seem familiar—­?

“Come on, then.” He carried her down the stairs to the living room. There, he laid her on the couch and put a pillow under her head, then set the other girl in the chair.

Running a hand through his hair, he paced and considered his options. There weren't many, and those weren't appealing. He was too far outside Boston to know anyone he could ask for help, and that meant—­

His head jerked around as he heard a car racing down the road. He peeked out the door. The car was heading this way, fast. The headlights prevented him from seeing the driver.

“
Damnú air
!” He went into the kitchen, found a shadow, and ducked out of sight.

Tires screeched as the car came to a stop. A door opened and slammed closed, then someone ran up to the house.

Brendan drew the knife out, slowed his breathing, and readied himself.

A tall, thin man, who couldn't be much into his thirties, stepped inside. He was well dressed, with tousled brown hair, an immaculately trimmed goatee, and wire frame glasses.

“Oh my—­Caitlin?” He knelt beside the couch, shook her, and touched her face. “Wake up. It's Edward.” He slapped her face gently, then shook her again.

Brendan studied Edward, then glanced around the room at the pictures. They were all of a little girl, or Caitlin and the child together. Ignoring the stabbing pain in his heart, he turned his focus back to Edward. Whoever he was, he wasn't important enough to be in any of the photos.

Edward passed a hand over Caitlin's face and muttered something.

Brendan's eyes went wide as he smelled magic. While Edward focused, Brendan moved silently.

“Who did this to you?” Edward wondered aloud, and ended the spell.

“Faeries,” Brendan answered from right behind him. “Oíche-­sidhe, if you're wanting to be exact about it.”

Edward jumped and spun around at the same time, or he tried to. His knee caught the couch, and he fell backwards. His shoulder slammed against the coffee table and his head hit the couch, bouncing him back. He settled on the floor, looking up at Brendan with huge eyes, glasses askew.

“Graceful that was,” Brendan said. “But there's something I don't understand here, boss.”

Edward began inching away on his backside. “Who, who are you?”

Brendan ignored the ammonia-­like smell of fear that was filling the room. “How is it you didn't sense the fae slumber right away?”

“What did you do to them?” Edward's face hardened. He moved to his knees and drew a hand back.

“It weren't me, you
gobdaw.
Now, answer the bleeding question. What kind of fecking wizard doesn't recognize a fae sleep?”

“What?” Edward blinked at him. “How did you—­”

“I'm not asking again, who the bloody hell are you?”

Edward gnashed his teeth. “
Tân
!” A small ball of flame appeared in his shaking palm. “No,” he said. “Who are you?”

Brendan couldn't help but chuckle. “You'd best be putting that out, boyo, unless of course you mean to be burning the place down.” He stared hard into Edward's eyes.

Edward flinched and the flame snuffed out. “Crud.”

Brendan sheathed his knife, grabbed Edward by his shirt, and lifted him clear off the ground. “I didn't do this. Would I just be sitting here having me a cup of tea if I had?” He pulled Edward close. “Now, answer me question. Who are you?”

“I, I'm a friend of Caitlin's.” Edward nodded to the couch. “I'm a doctor. I work at the hospital with her.”

“And what are you doing here?”

“She'd told me she was having night terrors. I placed a protection spell on her earlier tonight, just to be safe. I came over when it was triggered.”

Brendan studied Edward for a moment, then set him down.

Edward straightened his glasses and looked down at Caitlin. “So, who did this?”

Brendan rolled his eyes. “I told you already, didn't I? It were oíche-­sidhe.”

Edward's eyes went wide, and for a moment he stopped breathing. “They took Fiona, didn't they?”

Brendan muttered something under his breath. “Aye, they got Caitlin's purse—­”

“Her purse?”

“She likely had something of herself in it.”

Edward just stared.

“To get past the hearth protections?” Brendan said.

Another blank stare.

“Bloody hell, what kind of wizard are you?” Brendan asked. “You don't know a fae slumber, you don't know the oíche, and you don't know the hearth protections. What is it you do know, then?”

“Is, is that really relevant right now?” Edward stammered as he looked away.

“Aye, a bit, don't you think?” Brendan took a step forward, forcing Edward to take one back. “Where'd you learn your craft, then? A fecking mail-­in course? Or did an uncle leave you his magic books?”

Edward blanched and looked away.

“Ah, bloody hell. That's it, isn't it?” Brendan laughed. “Jesus, man. What're you thinking, getting into this business?”

“It was my Taid, I mean, grandfather,” Edward said. “Besides, I wasn't even sure there were other—­” He waved his hand. “Others like me.”

Brendan nodded. “Oh, well, that makes all the difference, then.”

“Is the sarcasm really necessary?”

“You needn't worry, amateur night is over.” Brendan moved toward Caitlin. “Stand aside, bucko.”

Edward put his hand out to push Brendan away, but Brendan caught his hand and twisted it around. Edward fell to his knees with a cry, and Brendan held him there, on the edge of breaking his arm.

“I'm getting these two out of this house before the dark faeries what made off with the child decide to come back and collect them as well.” He pushed Edward face-­first onto the floor. “I suggest you get your arse out of here as well.” He picked up Caitlin. “Or don't. It don't bother me a whit, either way.”

“Wait,” Edward said from the floor. “Please, I can help!”

Brendan closed his eyes and sighed. “I've got no time for someone stumbling about. This is a dangerous business, and if I'm to get the
girseach
back from those dark bastards, I can't be spending time handholding the likes of you.”

“But—­”

“Look, I can see she's a friend, and I respect your wanting to help—­”

“We can take them to my place, they'll be safe there.”

Brendan looked away and drew in a long breath.

“I have wards around my house.” Edward waited for Brendan to look back at him. “Those I can do very well.”

Brendan sighed. What else was he going to do? Leaving them in a dell somewhere wouldn't work. The oíche weren't the most nature-­bound fae, but plenty of the Rogue Court fae were, and some of them were friendly to the oíche.

“Please, I really can help.”

Brendan looked him in the eye again.

Edward gritted his teeth, but he didn't flinch.

“How far is it, then?”

“Not far.” Edward got to his feet. “It's just outside of town. We can be there in twenty minutes.”

“All right, then.”

“I'm Edward, Edward Huntington,” he said, offering his hand.

Brendan looked down at Caitlin's limp form in his arms and raised an eyebrow. “You think maybe we should hold off on all the pleasantries till we get them out of here?”

Edward lowered his hand.

Brendan nodded at the dark-­haired girl. “Get that one and put her in your car. I'll follow you with this one.”

Edward nodded and went over to Kris, who was still sleeping.

Brendan looked outside. No neighbors were nosing about, so he carried Caitlin to his truck and secured her in the passenger seat. When he finished, he saw Edward carrying the other girl. His face was red and he was sucking in sharp, short breaths.

“What've I gotten meself into?” Brendan watched Edward struggle. “A wizard what's useless as a chocolate teapot and as strong as a nine-­year-­old girl.” He opened the passenger door of the black luxury sedan parked in the street, then took Kris from Edward's arms and buckled her in the front seat.

“All right, then,” Brendan said. “You're leading the way. If you get stopped, just tell the coppers you're taking her home after a few too many down at the pub.”

“I'm sorry, did you say ‘coppers'?”

“Aye, the fecking constables, man.”

Edward opened his mouth.

“The police?”

“No, I got that, I just—­”

Brendan swore under his breath and started walking back to his truck.

“Wait. Can I at least know your name?”

Brendan eyed him.

After a moment, Edward winced. “Right. Wizards, names, all that. Sorry.”

As Edward walked around the car, Brendan let out a deep sigh. “So, not completely clueless, then?” Edward stopped, and Brendan held out his hand. “Brendan Kavanaugh.”

“Thank you, Brendan.” Edward smiled as he shook Brendan's hand.

After a few seconds, Brendan looked down. “Are we done holding hands?”

Edward winced again and let go. He muttered something as he got into his car.

Brendan shook his head as he walked to his truck. “Let's just hope Merlin doesn't get lost on his way home.”