Finn didn’t like waiting, but there was nothing he could do about little Davin until the Druid made his next move. And there was nothing to distract Finn from his waxing, unsatisfied hunger for Ann Phillips, who would remain unattainable until he had fulfilled his promise about the boy.
He considered slaking his desire with one of the accommodating women of Charlestown. There was never any shortage of local beauties angling to get into his bed. The problem was that Ann also lived in Charlestown and might hear of it, and bargain or no bargain, he doubted she would like the idea very much. Nor, truth be told, did he. Somehow—and slightly to his surprise—using another woman as a substitute for Ann felt like a betrayal.
He was beginning to sound like Iobáth.
Scratching his itch with another Fae, however, might be a different matter. Or so he told himself, without any great conviction, on the way to Deirdre’s house.
The reclusive painter was an undeniably carnal Fae. She lived with her human lover on Beacon Hill, in Boston, about a two-mile walk from Finn’s place in Charlestown, and she often welcomed others into her bed. Once, the possibility of finding Miach there ahead of him had kept Finn away, but the sorcerer was besotted with his current human lover and had, according to reliable sources, forsaken all others.
Deirdre’s house was an eighteenth-century gem hidden behind later, grander brick buildings, reached by way of a narrow drive at the end of Pinckney Street. Today the cobbled courtyard was covered with a blanket of sweet-smelling autumn leaves, and there was woodsmoke drifting from the chimneys.
And a tantalizing aroma of pizza. Deirdre’s lover, Kevin, was an excellent cook, and he had used the house’s antique bake ovens to crisp sizzling platters of dough. They ate, all three of them, companionably in her muted dining room with its pale-green walls and polished mahogany table, and then it was natural that they should go up to Deirdre’s light-filled studio and tumble onto the generous window seat together.
The erotic scene appealed to his Fae nature. Long before the printed word or the moving image, they had watched their own kind and humans sporting together. Deirdre’s voluptuousness on its own was a wonder to behold, but Kevin, though human, was her equal in beauty. His athletic body was muscular and tanned, a pleasing contrast to Deirdre’s pale flesh.
The painter looked sexy as hell, golden hair piled on top of her head, a little bit like Ann’s had been the night before. Kevin unpinned it and kissed her.
And that’s when it all went wrong.
Deirdre’s hair fell like silk all around her shoulders, and Finn found himself wishing that she had kept it up. Hanging loose around her face it was undeniably blond and impossible to pretend it was anything else: impossible to pretend that Deirdre was Ann.
Finn felt his ardor cool. Deirdre placed her hand on his knee, an invitation to join their coupling. He didn’t move. She slid her fingers up his thigh, and nothing stirred in him. She cocked a quizzical eye at him even as Kevin kissed a path over her now exposed breasts, suckling her rosy nipples. When Finn did nothing, Deirdre squeezed Kevin’s arm and gave him a look.
Kevin looked over his shoulder at Finn, a smug smile plastered on his handsome face. Then he kissed Deirdre on the cheek and strode, naked, from the room.
“You need only have said if you wanted to be alone with me,” Deirdre said, shrugging out of her long cashmere sweater and reclining naked before him. “Kevin doesn’t mind.”
Finn had never been entirely convinced of that. “Thank you for lunch,” he said, rising from the daybed. “It’s not you, Deirdre,” he said, letting honesty color the cliché. “It’s me. I’m tempted by the ultimate perversion.”
“Bestiality?” she asked with a teasing glint in her eye.
“Monogamy,” he said, wondering how one made a gracious exit after declining a threesome and rejecting one of the most beautiful women in the world.
“Please tell me it is not Aerin.”
“It’s not Aerin. Her name is Ann. She’s a schoolteacher.”
“You’re a fool, Finn MacUmhaill,” said Deirdre sadly. “There’s nothing but heartbreak in loving like that.”
“People who knock about in glass houses,” said Finn, “shouldn’t throw stones. Kevin is human, and you’ve made a commitment to him. Tied your span to his. Even if he lives five times a mortal man’s normal span, it will still end in his death. It will end with you mourning and following him to the grave thousands of years before your time.”
“It won’t come to that,” said Deirdre, rising and stalking naked to the canvases ranged on easels along the wall. Any trace of seduction was absent from her beautiful voice now.
“Kevin won’t have the opportunity to die of old age. None of our human consorts or offspring will.”
The room was always filled with canvases. He rarely stopped to look at them. They were steeped in magic, like all the Fae arts, and Finn mistrusted magic. He liked paintings best when they were pleasing landscapes or rousing battle scenes, but the picture that stopped him cold now was neither. It was a scene of horror, though some Fae would probably call it a terrible beauty.
“I’ve seen it,” she said, pointing to the still-incomplete canvas. “I’ve seen the wall come down.”
There was something in her tone of voice, something about the figures writhing on that wet canvas that chilled him. He did not want to believe her. “So you’re a seer as well as a painter now?”
“I paint possibilities.”
“It’s a pity, then, that you never painted the Druid betrayal before it happened. It might have saved us all a good deal of grief.”
“That’s when it started,” she said, her tone distant, her eyes fixed on some far off point. “When I was chained beneath the earthen mound, with all the Druid corpses. I didn’t have the sight before that. But afterward I saw . . . many things. You and Miach at odds. The birth of your son. And the return of the Druids. The Queen is coming back. I know it. It would be wise to strike a bargain with her, through the Prince Consort, now, if you want to save your schoolteacher and your half-blood children.”
Deirdre might be right about the wall, but she was wrong about the Queen. At least on one score. There was no bargaining with her. The Queen always got the upper hand. If she came back, his children and his children’s children would die. And so would Deirdre’s Kevin, if he was very lucky. If he wasn’t, the Queen would make a pet of him.
“Stay away from the Prince, Deirdre. He can’t be trusted. The surest way to keep Kevin safe is to prevent the Queen’s return.”
He sounded like Miach now. The irony was not lost on him.
“Is she pretty, your schoolteacher?” asked Deirdre, reaching for her palette.
“Yes. Red haired and fiery,” he said.
Deirdre smiled. “Bring her to lunch, then. Kevin and I would love to meet her.”
Finn doubted “lunch” was all Deirdre had in mind, but he thanked her for the invitation and then slipped out of the house, thankfully without encountering Kevin.
Once outside he was glad he hadn’t taken the car. He wanted to walk to clear his head. He needed to think. About Deirdre’s warning, about his troubles with the Fianna, and the presence of this Druid, and Ann, lovely Ann, who his mind returned to again and again.
The walk did him good. The Fae drew their power from nature, but they were attracted by pageantry, ornament, and drama. Boston provided a surfeit of these things. Her Common and her parks, and her myriad private gardens along with her rivers and shoreline, gave Finn’s kind a direct connection to the source of their magic. The architecture, theaters, schools, museums, and galleries supplied them with spectacle and decoration. And the inhabitants . . .
And that brought him back to Ann again.
He was going to woo and win her, as soon as this business with Davin was done. She’d already agreed, readily enough, to come to his bed as part of the deal they’d made about the boy. Finn was going to make sure that when she fulfilled her part of the bargain, she did so gladly.
And Deirdre’s warning about the Prince Consort . . . That had to be dealt with. Finn knew the answer to that particular problem, had known it for some time. That did not make it any easier. He had to ally himself with Miach. He had to bury at last their old enmity. Even learn to accept his son’s choice of wife. Divided, they would never be able to counter the threat the Prince posed, and if the Queen’s lover succeeded in bringing the wall down, Finn would lose everything he loved or might ever love.
Like Ann. He was laying his campaign out in his mind, the seduction of Ann Phillips, when his cell phone rang.
It was Iobáth.
“Your Fianna are out of control,” said the Penitent Fae.
That had been precisely his thought last night as he had followed Ann home, but Iobáth’s accusatory tone made him feel defensive. “The Fianna know their business in Charlestown,” he said. “You’re supposed to be watching Sean.”
“I was watching Sean. He abducted a schoolteacher off the street an hour ago.”
Finn’s blood ran cold. Ann. It could only be Ann. Finn had thought he’d convinced her to stay out of the business with Davin McTeer, but if Sean had gotten wind of her visit . . .
“Where has he taken her?”
“To a warehouse in Somerville. It’s attached to an old box factory.”
“I know it,” said Finn. He ought to. He owned it. The Fianna were out of control. Sean in particular. Stealing his woman off the streets of his town and having the effrontery to hold her at his warehouse.
Then an even more terrifying thought swept away all his anger. “Was the Druid with him?”
“I’m not certain. I saw only Sean, Patrick, the McTeer woman, and the schoolteacher.”
Finn fought his rising panic. “If it is just Sean and Patrick, we can take them. If the Druid is with them . . . ”
“That is why I didn’t intervene,” said Iobáth. “If the Druid is with them, he could order us to lay down our arms and we would obey, slave to the marks they carved on us. And we would be able to do nothing to save the teacher. Should he order us to kill her, we would do it. We need a sorcerer or we gamble with this woman’s very life.”
He knew that. The terrifying thing was that there were only two sorcerers with the skills and power to fight a Druid: his son, Garrett, and his mortal enemy, Miach. Finn did not know if either would deign to help him.
“Watch the warehouse,” said Finn. “I’ll get us a sorcerer.”
He took a deep breath before calling Miach. Pride would not serve here. He would have to humble himself. He dialed.
“I need your help.”
There was a long silence on the other end. Then Miach said, “You tortured my oldest friend, Finn. You encouraged your son to break his vows to my granddaughter. Why, pray, should I help you?”
“Because we have a rogue Druid in Boston. A Druid who is inking the Fianna in my son’s absence. A creature who has placed a binding geis on a seven-year-old child. Sean Silver Blade and another of my band have abducted a schoolteacher who threatened to expose their abuse to the authorities, and they’re holding the girl at one of my warehouses. The Druid may be with them.”
“So two of the Fianna have abducted a young woman. Since when do you check the excesses of your followers, Finn MacUmhaill?” asked Miach, the disbelief plain in his voice.
Since I’ve actually met one of their victims. “If you won’t help me, Miach, then do this for the girl. She was your grandson’s teacher last year.”
Finn recognized the feminine voice in the background. “You mean Ann Phillips?” asked Nieve, Miach’s granddaughter and Finn’s daughter-in-law. Miach must have him on a damned speaker phone.
“Yes,” shouted Finn. “It’s Ann fucking Phillips, and I need a sorcerer to cast a silence on the Druid so we can get her out before Sean hurts her. Did everyone catch that?”
More voices, muffled by distance, then finally Miach said, “Give me the address. I’ll meet you there.”
“Send Garrett,” said Finn, praying his son would agree. “The Fianna won’t like it if I show up with our oldest enemy and demand they hand over a human they think has defied them.”
“I’ll come.” Garrett’s voice. Finn felt his chest tighten. It had been months since his son had spoken to him. “But I’m coming for Ann’s sake. Not for yours.”
It hurt, but his own pain was a luxury he could not afford until after he saved Ann.
“Meet me at the Commerce Center warehouse.”
There was more low talking in the background. Then Garrett said, “If you think I’ll have to cast a silence, then I should drive rather than pass to the location to save my strength.”
“Drive, then,” said Finn, “only come quickly and meet us outside the old box factory.”
Finn passed to the corner opposite the factory. There he found Iobáth waiting for him across the street from the warehouse, perched on the roof of a long row of garages.
“No one has come in or out,” said Iobáth. “Where is the sorcerer?”
“On his way,” said Finn. “About the girl . . . ” he began, but he didn’t know how to go on.
“She was pretty enough,” said Iobáth, “but nothing to warrant the interest of Sean Silver Blade and friends. Why did he take her?”
“Ann Phillips is little Davin McTeer’s teacher. She discovered the Druid tattoos on the boy and threatened to call child services. I persuaded her not to.”
“Then why did they abduct her?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she made trouble at the school. Maybe Sean blames her for the boy’s artistic tendencies.”
Iobáth raised one pale eyebrow. “If the boy has an artistic nature, he likely inherited it from his father. Sean was a notable poet before the fall.”
“I know,” said Finn. The Druids had made Sean a killer. Or perhaps the Fianna—perhaps he—had helped with that. It made no matter now.
“I have an interest in the girl. I have had an interest for some time now. We met under trying circumstances, but I was planning on renewing our acquaintance once Garrett and I were reconciled, and my own house was in order.” Literally and figuratively.
Iobáth looked at him, gray eyes unreadable in the flickering street light. “If you come between the Fianna and an interfering human woman, you may never get your house in order.”
He knew it, and yet he found that he didn’t care as much as he thought he might. “I’m going to save the girl,” said Finn.
“That is just,” said Iobáth. “But it may also be wrong. The Fianna are the only truly organized band of fighting Fae left this side of the wall. Fragmented, many will flock to the Queen’s banner when she returns, and half-bloods like your grandchild will be at her mercy.”
“You believe that it’s inevitable? That the wall will come down?”
“I pray to Dana that it doesn’t happen, but I prepare each day for the possibility. If you love this girl, this Ann, then consider carefully your options here tonight. If the Queen comes back, she will want vengeance on all the Fae who fought to keep her imprisoned, all those who did not actively, single-mindedly labor for her release. She will take that vengeance out not just on you, but on your children and consorts as well. On their own families and friends. Ann will suffer even as Conn’s daughter suffered, and if the Fianna are broken, splintered, scattered to the four winds, you will be powerless to stop the Queen from taking, from tormenting and destroying, everything you love.”
Iobáth was probably right, but Finn would not, could not allow himself to care, not at this moment.
“The Queen is on the other side of the wall, and Ann Phillips is in danger now. I won’t sacrifice her to keep the Fianna together for the remote possibility that they are necessary to stop the Queen.”
“And no doubt this woman’s touching gratitude will allow you to bed her,” said Iobáth. “For a celebrated warlord, you were ever one for short-term strategies, Finn MacUmhaill. Do whatever it takes to win a promising Fae to your banner today, and Morrigan mind the consequences tomorrow.”
“So you think I should let you go in there and save the girl?” asked Finn. The thought set his teeth on edge as he pictured Ann rushing into Iobáth’s cold embrace.
“That would be the politic choice,” said the Penitent Fae.
“Fuck ‘politic.’ ” He was going to save Ann Phillips himself. He could win the Fianna back later if he had to.
A little silver BMW rounded the corner and disgorged a passenger. Garrett. The car sped off, but not before Finn glimpsed the curly black hair of his daughter-in-law, Nieve, in the passenger seat and the long blond tresses of Miach’s human lover, Helene, in the driver’s seat. Miach would not come himself because to set foot in Finn’s territory uninvited was an act of aggression, but the sorcerer’s granddaughter had some claim to being part of the Fianna by marriage, and Helene . . . well, Finn had possessed Miach’s woman for a short while, even had her inked with his own mark, though he had never truly wanted her. She had been a pawn in the game between them. Some enmities died hard.
Iobáth grasped the well-worn hilt of his sword. Finn had only a short blade strapped to his hip. He hoped he wasn’t going to need it. If there was a fight, Ann might get hurt. He had to do what he did best: win Sean over. It was something he’d always been good at, very good at. Or at least he was good at convincing Fae to take up arms. He had less experience convincing people to set them down.
Finn and Iobáth passed to Garrett on the street. “This is Iobáth,” said Finn, by way of introduction.
“I know who he is,” said Finn’s son, sounding more and more like Miach every day. “The question is: What is he doing here?”
“My penance,” said Iobáth.
“It’s been two thousand years since the fall,” said Garrett. “Isn’t that enough?”
“It will never be enough,” said Iobáth.
“All because you turned one half-blood girl over to the Queen?”
“Garrett,” warned Finn. If his son alienated Iobáth, there would be no hope of making this Fae his right hand. And there were his son’s life and limbs to worry about as well: Finn recognized suddenly that the only thing he understood about Iobáth—really understood about him—was that he was very, very deadly with a blade.
“He was born after the fall,” said Iobáth. “His curiosity is natural. And his suspicion is justified, though he is the first I’ve allowed to question my motives in two thousand years.”
“I apologize on my son’s behalf,” said Finn. “This rudeness is Miach’s influence.”
“Certain, the MacCechts were always great questioners,” mused Iobáth. “If more Fae had possessed questioning minds, our history might be very different. And so I’ll honor your inquisitiveness with an answer, young MacUmhaill. I should be penitent because I handed over one half-blood girl to the Queen. That alone was sin enough, but the truth is that Conn’s daughter was not the first, and I had no way of knowing that she would be the last, or that Conn’s vengeance would lead to the old world’s destruction. But to my shame, my everlasting remorse is not over one half-blood girl. It is over that particular half-blood girl. Now I’ve made my answer: make of it what you like.”
Iobáth unsheathed his sword and strode, his long white-blond braids swinging, as to an unheard drumbeat, toward the warehouse.
Garrett stared after him, mouth agape.
“I summoned Iobáth here to be your right hand,” said Finn, “and the first words you speak to him are an insult.”
“I can’t have a right hand,” said Garrett. “I’m married. To Nieve. That’s not going to change.”
“You need a swordsman to protect you while you cast. Even if Iobáth won’t take vows and become your right hand, in the old way, he could help make sure that you don’t get yourself killed in Miach’s crusade to stop the Queen.”
Garrett sighed. “We’ve been over this before. I love Nieve. I knew the risks when I married her. I knew then that I would never be allowed a right hand.” He nodded toward the warehouse, where Iobáth stood beside the door, listening, then said, “Do we have a plan?”
“I expect we might have made one, if you hadn’t antagonized our only ally.”
“So what’s the plan now?”
“Go in. Get Ann out. Cast a silence charm if the Druid is there. Heal anyone left alive if there isn’t.”
“And when the Fianna take Sean’s side against you tomorrow?”
“We’ll leave tomorrow for tomorrow.”
