His body was limp, lifeless maybe, sprawled across the sidewalk next to the fence. Winnie sprinted to his side, kneeling down, horrified by what she saw. His throat was shredded, like some wild animal had clawed through it. His blood, a bright, vibrant red with a pearly sheen, flooded onto the concrete.
“Cathair,” she called, desperate. “Cathair, can you hear me?”
He lay motionless.
She leaned down, listening for ... she didn’t know. A breath? A heartbeat? Anything.
She pressed her hands over his throat, as if she could hold in his life. When she applied pressure, a soft moan squeezed out of him.
“Cathair,” she leaned down, her ear next to his mouth.
She felt the faint rustle of breath and nearly sobbed with relief. He was alive.
But he wouldn’t be for long, not if she didn’t get him help. A hospital was out of the question. He wasn’t human, so how could a human doctor know how to treat him? And he was invisible to everyone but her.
There was only one choice.
“I’ll be right back,” she promised.
She jumped to her feet and hurried back inside. For a second she worried that her aunt would freak when she saw Winnie covered in fae blood. Until she realized Aunt Maureen couldn’t see it.
Winnie burst into the house.
“Aunt Maureen, I totally forgot,” she blurted, sounding winded as if she’d just circled the block at a run. “I have a soccer team meeting. Coach wants us to have some informal practices before school starts.”
It wasn’t a complete lie. Coach did want informal practices, and for the team to have a meeting. Next week. But the excuse would work for now.
“It’s halfway across town, and I’m late already.”
“Take the car,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere until this order is ready to go.”
Winnie grabbed the keys from the table and ran.
She pulled around to the side of the house, turned the car so the passenger door was lined up with Cathair’s body, and hurried to drag him inside. She struggled with the dead weight. As she hauled him up, into the seat, his shimmering blood streaked across the sidewalk, up over the edge of the car. If anyone else could see it they would think there had been a massacre.
Maybe there had.
“What happened?” she asked, as she put the car in gear and floored it.
She retraced the route they had walked early that morning—it felt like a lifetime ago now—and headed for the edge of the forest. As she drove, she thought. What would she do when she arrived? Should she try to carry Cathair, who had a good fifty pounds on her, through the forest to the veil? Or should she run to the veil as fast as she could go, and hope the fae guard didn’t kill her the second she crossed over?
It was maybe safer for her to carry Cathair, but it would take longer. It was riskier for her to go it alone, but if the guards didn’t kill her they could probably help get him back through the veil in a fraction of the time.
She glanced over at his slumped form. He couldn’t die. He couldn’t. She wouldn’t let him. His life had to come before her fears.
By the time she pulled into the dirt parking lot, she’d made her decision.
“I’ll be as fast as I can,” she told Cathair, even though he probably couldn’t hear her. “I’ll bring help.”
Hopefully.
14
Winnie locked the car doors, then headed into the forest. Fear and desperation fueled her run. She leaped over exposed roots and tiny streams. This was not the exact path they had traveled this morning, but she knew it was right. She’d run this path in her dreams.
When she started to feel the fear, she knew she was getting close.
She pushed forward, even as her muscles shook and tears pricked her eyes. She had to keep going. She was his only hope.
She couldn’t see the edge of the veil, but she could feel it. Boy did she feel it.
She tried to step forward, to push through the edge, but got stuck. Feet rooted to the ground, Winnie could only stare at the invisible wall she knew was separating her from saving Cathair’s life.
“Come on,” she shouted at herself. “Just a couple of steps that way.”
But no matter how hard she tried, she could not make her feet move.
She couldn’t stop here, couldn’t get stuck so close to help. So close to saving him.
Her heart lurched. She felt so helpless against her fear. She beat at her chest, desperate to pound some courage into herself.
Then she felt the solid outline of the chain hanging around her neck.
“Oh please,” she begged, dragging it out from beneath her t-shirt and lifting the shiny silver whistle to her lips. “Please.”
Sucking in a lungful of air, she sent the piercing wail of the whistle into the forest night. No humans were close enough to hear her. She only hoped that the fae inside that veil could ... and that they chose to investigate rather than ignore. Investigate rather than kill first and ask questions later.
At first she thought she’d failed, that her whistle wasn’t strong enough to penetrate the fae magic. She stood there, alone in the forest, fighting back tears in despair.
Until she sensed a figure at her side.
She didn’t turn immediately. She let the fae study her. As they circled her, she held her breath. Counting the seconds until she could speak.
When the fae guard—a girl dressed in midnight blue, with a nasty looking sword hanging from her belt—stepped close and sniffed at her hair, Winnie knew she needed to take a chance.
“Your prince has been attacked,” Winnie whispered. “He is bleeding to death in my car and—”
The guard’s hand snapped around Winnie’s throat. She couldn’t breathe.
“You are a seer,” the girl said.
“Yes,” Winnie choked out.
“You dare to seek out our veil?” she asked. “You are without intelligence.”
“Your prince,” Winnie repeated. “Cathair. He’s dying.”
“You shall not speak the name of a fae,” the girl spat. “You should not even—”
“Hold, Regan,” another magical voice said. “Let her speak.”
Regan released her neck. Winnie took only long enough to gather breath. “Please, you must hurry.” Her voice cracked as emotion and fear boiled through her. “He needs help.”
The other fae, a tall, dark boy around Cathair’s age with short black hair, speared her with silver eyes. “Take us to him.”
Winnie turned and ran, back through the forest, faster than she ever had in her life, and by the time she emerged into the open of the isolated parking lot she felt like her lungs were breathing fire.
“Here,” she said, forcing her exhausted feet to the car, relieved to see the two fae guards still at her side.
She unlocked the door and opened it, revealing Cathair’s bleeding body.
The boy leaned into the car, lifted Cathair as if he were no heavier than a baby. Then the two guards turned and went back the way they’d come.
Winnie sank to the ground, back against the car tire, and held her head in her hands. She hoped they could save him. She feared she would never see him again.
The sun had long since set and her tears had long since dried, when Winnie felt a presence beside her. She looked up and saw a breathtaking fae woman with silky black and silver hair that fell to her waist, a diaphanous gown of grays and blues swirling around her and bright amber colored eyes. Cathair’s mother. Queen Eimear.
Winnie pushed to her feet, transfixed.
“You saved my son,” the woman said, proving Winnie’s guess true.
“Then he’s alive?” she asked, desperate for news. “He’ll be okay?”
“He will be.” The queen stepped closer, looked deep into Winnie’s eyes. “You are the girl. The one he visits on his la ainmhi.”
Winnie nodded. Her heart thudded.
She remembered Cathair saying his people drew power from negative emotions like
fear. The queen must have been getting quite a boost from her at the moment.
“And you are a seer,” Cathair’s mother mused. “Interesting. That makes things vastly more complicated.”
Winnie stood motionless as the queen studied her. She sensed the power in this woman, knew that if she decided Winnie must die, it would happen this very instant. Knowing that her own fear might fuel the magic that could kill her did nothing to ease her panic.
The queen’s unreadable face shared obvious features with Cathair’s. The high cheekbones, the slashing brows, and of course the golden eyes.
“You know of the betrothal?”
Winnie nodded.
“And our clan’s… situation?”
Again, she nodded.
The queen tilted her head, studying Winnie further.
“You know more than a human should,” she finally said.
Winnie sucked in a breath, more than half afraid of the fate the next sentence would seal. But the queen said nothing. Without another word, she turned and walked away.
What just happened?
Stunned, Winnie stared into the forest, into the space between two trees where the queen had disappeared. That had been more anticlimactic than she’d imagined. Or, if she was honest, than she’d been hoping for.
She’d expected… something.
Then, from the space between the trees, another fae appeared. And not just any fae, the guard who had carried Cathair away.
“I am Tearloch,” the fae said, “Captain of the Royal Guard.”
“Hi. I’m Winnie,” she replied lamely.
“The queen has instructed me,” he began.
Oh no, this is it, Winnie thought. The queen had told him to come back out here to kill the human who knew too much. Some thanks for the girl who’d saved her son’s life.
Well Winnie wasn’t going down without a fight. As Tearloch approached, she backed toward the car, keeping as much distance between them as possible. If he reached for her, she would pull out some of the Tae Kwon Do moves she’d learned in the self-defense class Aunt Maureen made her take.
She tried not to laugh at the thought of using her non-existent fighting skills against a trained fae soldier.
Tearloch stopped, frowned. Finally he shook his head and finished his sentence, “the queen has instructed me to escort you safely home.”
Winnie’s first reaction was unparalleled relief—she knew her martial arts kicks would have been a joke against this lethal fighter.
Her second was despair. The queen was sending her home. The message was loud and clear: Winnie would never see Cathair again.
15
Cathair felt weakness like never before. His limbs were heavy, leaden, and he couldn’t seem to open his eyes. With every breath, his throat felt like he had swallowed flame.
Something moaned. With horror, he realized the sound had come from within him.
“Hush, sweetling,” his mother’s voice cooed. “Rest. When you wake again the magics will have healed.”
He couldn’t remember his mother ever cooing. As the queen, her role required strength and certainty. She carried that requirement over into the rest of her life.
But despite the warnings in his mind, the desperate feeling that something was very wrong, he couldn’t make himself rise. Couldn’t pry his eyelids open. Couldn’t remain awake…
This time when Cathair woke, the leaden feeling was gone and with tremendous effort he managed to open his eyes.
At first he thought the view that greeted him was the night sky—all midnight blue and silver stars. As his eyes focused, however, he realized the sky and stars had been painted on. His bedroom ceiling.
Turning his head, he saw the dark silks that covered his bed.
“He wakes.” The smile in the queen’s voice was unmistakable.
His mother rose from the chair beside his bed and leaned over him. As she brushed the hair from his forehead, he swore he saw the glisten of tears in her amber eyes.
Memories came back to him in flashes. Leaving Winnie. The wolf. Dying on the sidewalk.
He had been so certain he was dying. The wound had been fatal—healable if he had not been so very far from the veil. Far from the only magic that could heal a magical wound. But somehow he was alive. Somehow he…
“She saved me,” he echoed, his voice rough, scratchy.
He knew it had to be true. Winnie must have found him, must have gotten him back to the veil. He could not imagine the kind of terror she must have felt.
He closed his eyes, knowing that her fear probably saved his life.
“Aye,” his mother replied. “She approached the veil, at great risk to herself. It is only chance that Tearloch found her. Another guard…”
Cathair filled in the rest of the sentence. Another guard might have killed Winnie, not knowing her death would have been a death sentence for the prince as well. But she was not out of danger. If his mother viewed Winnie as a threat to the clan, or as a threat to her son, there was no telling what she might do.
“She is brave,” Cathair replied vaguely.
“Her bravery is not in doubt.” The queen sat on the bed next to him. “She knows much about our world.”
He considered withholding the truth. But as he had told Peter recently, his mother knew when others lied. She had a sixth sense for falsehood. There was little point in even trying.
“She is a seer,” he said. When his mother began to reply, he added, “And a dreamer.”
The queen jerked back. “Truly?”
Cathair nodded, his chest tight.
For several long moments she was silent, thinking, her thoughts a mystery. When she finally spoke, Cathair feared the answer.
He need not have worried.
“I have heard prophecy of such a one. The daughter of two lines.” The queen gazed into the blazing hearth. “She is said to be quite powerful.”
Stunned by both his mother’s words and their gentle tone, Cathair could think of no response. Only questions. Winnie had been prophesied? She was descended from two lines of fae magic? Did Winnie even know this?
“But that is a concern for another day,” the queen finally said, rising and turning to face him. “We have more pressing issues. How did you come to be injured? What attacked you?”
His jaw clenched as he remembered the attack. “‘Twas a wolf.”
“A wolf?” his mother scoffed. “No mortal world wolf could—”
“A wolf as black as midnight,” he explained. “With lavender eyes.”
“No.” The queen clutched at her throat. “It cannot be.”
As fae, Cathair was very nearly immortal. Within the human realm, he was susceptible to few wounds. One delivered by a magical weapon. One delivered by a creature—animal or human—enchanted by magical spell. Or one delivered by one of his own kind.
There was no doubt which kind of wound he had sustained.
“Mother,” he said, his voice full of strength despite his body’s weakness, “I am not mistaken.”
The queen stiffened. Her despair melted away, burned off by anger. He saw fury in her eyes that could have cowed the darkest of evil.
She turned in a swirl of gowns and stormed from the room.
He understood her fury. Among his kind, the animal form chosen for la ainmhi reflects at least some features of the fae’s true form. Like his owl with feathers the same color as his hair. Like his mother’s caramel-feathered hawk. Like her advisor’s lavender-eyed wolf.
Left alone with his thoughts, he found himself thinking not of Ultan’s assassination attempt, but of Winnie’s courage. Of the bravery that had saved his life. Of the love he felt for her and knew she must have also felt for him.
Walking away from her would have been the greatest regret of his life. Thankfully he still had time to repair things between them.
By the time his mother returned, he had made his decision.
“The traitor fled,” she growled as she swept back into the room. “It
is rumored he seeks asylum within the Deachair.”
Cathair processed the information. In collusion with the Deachair? He should not be surprised. Ultan had been in close talks with them for years, working to secure an alliance between the clans. Perhaps in the process he had forged a better alliance for himself.
“Good,” he replied.
“Good?” His mother looked at him like he’d lost every last shred of rational thought. “How on earth could such news be good?”
“Because we can use that as excuse when I call off the wedding.”
“When you call off the—“ Her question cut off abruptly. She stopped and considered him for a long moment. “I see. So you love her.”
It was not a question.
Cathair nodded. He had been prepared to walk away, for the good of the clan. But his near-death had brought life into perfect clarity. “As you have always shown, what is best for the clan is the strength of its leaders,” he said. “And I will be stronger with Winnie at my side.”
He was not defying his mother so much as making sure she understood that he would not yield. Surely she would respect that.
The silence stretched for so long that he began to worry his mother might never respond at all.
“You are wise beyond your years,” she finally replied. “Besides, it would not do well to go to war with your bride’s clan.”
“Is war inevitable?”
“Even now, the Moraine army is readying itself for an assault on the Deachair palace.” The queen paced to the door, ready to return to her leadership duties, but then stopped. Without looking back, she added, “Go, find your love. When you return, you will both be needed.”
The certainty of war could have made him doubt his decision, but it did not. Instead, it only solidified it. He knew in his heart that with Winnie at his side, both he and his clan would be stronger for the union.
He threw off the covers and made ready to go back into the human world once more.
16
Winnie watched the wolf slink away from the palace, slipping into shadows like ink into blackness. Like last night on the roof with Cathair, she felt herself both within and above the dream world. She was aware it was a dream, and also aware that she was not entirely in control of it.