Page 17

Chapter Seventeen

FELICITY FORREST

“Aithreach Decline steals our magic and withers our connection to the world. Even the brightest light fades into oblivion.”

Book of Shadows (Tír na ScáilLost History), Forgotten Tomes Archive

N iall doesn’t say a word, just tightens his grip and hauls me toward the stone cottage like it’s the last safe place on earth. My chest goes tight. I don’t know what’s coming, but the dread curling in my gut says it’s going to be a bombshell.

We reach the door. He pauses, his hand braced against the weathered wood. “You’re not going to like this.”

I scoff. “That’s not exactly breaking news. Maybe just tattoo it on your forehead and save us both some time.”

He pushes the door open. The warm scent of earth and wood smoke greets us. It’s cosy, if not for the tension radiating off him.

I step in hesitantly, my sweater suddenly not enough to stop the chill seeping into my bones. The driftwood mirror by the door catches my eye, its surface gleaming like water under moonlight. I shiver, pulling my sweater tighter around me.

Niall shuts the door with a soft click and turns to face me. “I need you to listen. Really listen. What I’m about to say?—”

“Is going to piss me off. Got it.” I cross my arms, steeling myself. “Rip the bandage off.”

He closes the distance between us, his hands brushing my shoulders. His gaze softens. I hate that it makes me want to forgive him before I even know what he’s done.

“I shouldn’t have used willweaving on you,” he grits out, like a confession he’s forced to drag out.

“Willweaving?” My voice sharpens, and my arms drop to my sides. “What the hell is that?”

“It’s…a kind of persuasion,” he admits, his fingers trailing down my arms to grip my wrists. “I didn’t mean to. It was instinct. I was trying to protect you.”

I yank my hands free, the worn leather of my fingerless gloves dragging against my skin. “You messed with my head ?”

“It wasn’t like that?—”

“Bullshit!” I snap, taking a step back. “You don’t get to decide what I can or can’t handle, Niall. You don’t get to rewrite my mind like some kind of?—”

“I regret it, a stór . I do, but I can’t change it. All I can do is explain.”

“Oh, this should be good.” I gesture for him to continue, my anger boiling below the surface, ready to explode worse than it already is.

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away. “You saw me that night. Truly saw me. As a púca. I thought it would terrify you, so I?—”

“You made me forget ,” I finish for him, my voice shaking. “You violated my mind, Niall. You had no right.”

“You’re right,” he says, surprising me. “I didn’t. And I’ll never do it again. But you need to understand that there’s more at stake here than us .”

Ceangal. It rings through my mind.

“Close your eyes,” Niall demands.

I eye him sceptically. “Why?”

“Do you trust me, Shadow Witch?”

I pause. Well, I did trust Niall. Despite what my half-sister said, I wanted so badly to believe everything would work out. I sigh. “Fine, whatever.”

Niall smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You still haven’t closed your eyes.”

“Right.” I inhale, reluctantly closing my eyes.

When I do, his fingers wrap around my wrist, his thumb brushing the pulse point. His touch is gentle. My heart kicks against my ribs, and the bastard’s thumb presses down, tracing the rhythm like it’s a song only he can hear.

It hits me hard and fast. Images flash through my mind. Niall shifts before my eyes. His body twists into a dark stallion with magic in his veins. I’m on his back, clutching him like my life depends on it as we tear through the night. Town streets blur, fields stretch endlessly, and the world tilts as we reach a stone wall.

It’s raw. Wild. Dangerous. His lips crash against mine in the next flash, searing and unapologetic. It feels like the end of everything. The thought in my head—was it mine? Or his? It’s all-consuming. I hate how much I want it.

And then I’m walking away. Leaving him. Standing there in the field, bare as the night around him. My eyes snap open, breath ragged, chest tight like I’ve run miles. “You…”

Niall, damn him, stands there, calm as ever like he doesn’t have my world falling apart at his feet. “I’m not sorry. I’d be lying if I said I was. You don’t have to forgive me, but we need to work together like the world depends on it because it does.”

“Of course it does,” I shout, holding back the urge to break things or hit someone, mainly him. “Let me guess. The fate of your magical Narnia hangs in the balance?”

His lips twitch. “Again. It’s called Tír na Scáil . And yes, there’s a prophecy. Our bond?—”

I throw up my hands. “Oh, fantastic. I’m the key to saving your world? Or do I get to play the sacrificial lamb?”

“Felicity,” he says, stepping closer, his voice dropping. “It’s not only my world. It’s about yours, too. The balance between them is fragile. And our bond?—”

“Could destroy everything,” I finish bitterly. “What a surprise.”

“It could also save it,” he says, gaze locking onto mine. “If we figure this out together .”

Our bond could save everything. It’s suffocating. Then I see the fear in his eyes. His hands tremble ever so slightly. He’s as terrified as I am.

I take a shaky breath, my anger giving way. “So what do we do?”

Niall exhales. “We start by trusting each other.”

Trust. It’s a loaded word, wrapped in barbed wire, but right now, it feels like the only rope keeping me from drowning. “Are there more secrets you haven’t told me?”

“There’s something you don’t know about the courts,” Niall says, his voice careful, like he’s stepping over broken glass. “They weren’t always seven.”

I blink. “What?”

“There used to be eight.”

A cold shiver works its way down my spine, an instinct deeper than fear. “And what happened to the eighth?”

“No one knows,” he says, but there’s something tight in his voice. Like he does know. Or at least, he has a damn good guess. “Or no one will admit to it. Their magic vanished. Their lands became the in-between. Some say they were slaughtered in the last great war. Others whisper that they went into hiding.” His gaze sharpens, locking onto mine. “The magic that crawled out of your skin, the shadows that wrecked that bedroom? That wasn’t just Crimson Court. I’ve fought their kind. I know the feel of it. Yours isn’t just bending to your will—it’s claiming space, taking what it wants. Your draíocht is older.”

A lump forms in my throat. “So what are you saying?”

He doesn’t look away. “I think you might be a descendant. And if that’s true? Then we have bigger problems than the bond, a stór .”

“Like?” I whisper.

His fingers trace my collarbone, then drag lower, his touch grazing the mark above my heart. It burns—not painfully, but like a whisper of something ancient that recognizes his touch and answers. Niall frowns, rubbing his thumb over it like he’s trying to read it. “This?” His voice is rough, like he doesn’t quite believe what he’s about to say. Then he pushes back his hair, exposing the ink curling over his throat.

I stare. A raven, ink-black with silver edges, its wings curling over his skin.

Something about it makes my pulse stutter. “What does that mean?”

Niall doesn’t answer at first. His jaw works, his fingers pressing harder against my mark like he’s trying to undo it. “That’s not—” He cuts off, exhaling sharply through his nose. “That’s not how it’s supposed to work.”

A sharp prickle crawls down my spine. “What’s not?”

“The bond.” His voice drops lower, and something in his expression flickers between disbelief and vulnerability. “When we claim a mate, our mark appears on them. But this?” His fingers brush his throat again, his lips pressing into a thin line. “This is your mark.”

I go still. “That’s…bad, isn’t it?”

His silence is answer enough.

I swallow. Hard. “Okay. Say I am some lost descendant of the eighth court. Say that’s why the bond isn’t working the way it should. What the hell does that mean , Niall?”

His amber eyes darken. “It means you’re not just bound to me. You marked me back.”

The air shifts, heavier, charged with something I don’t understand but feel all the way to my bones.

“And if that’s possible,” he continues, voice rough, “then we don’t just have a bond.” His fingers tighten slightly on my skin. “We have a war coming.”

I can’t help but wonder how my half-sister fits into this twisted encyclopedia of the enchanted, or worse, what my family might have known and kept from me. “And what? I’m supposed to accept that you’re some fae prince and if we don’t play nice, the world goes up in flames?”

He sighs, dragging a hand through his hair in a way that would be annoyingly attractive if I weren’t already pissed. “My world is real. And it’s falling apart.”

I swallow hard. “So, what? I’m a…what, a key to Armageddon?”

Niall steps closer, his amber eyes locked on mine. “It’s bigger than you or me. This is about the survival of the fae, the Ironlands, and the fragile balance between our worlds.”

The room tilts, and I grip the back of a chair to steady myself. “No pressure.”

His grimace is almost apologetic, but not quite. “I believe there’s more to you than meets the eye, Shadow Witch. I know I’ve broken your trust, but we need to figure this out together.”

“More than meets the eye?” I echo, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

Niall doesn’t flinch. “Your connection to the shadows says you’re one of us, or at least part of you is. If you let me, I can help you find out the truth.”

Curiosity claws at me, battling with my frustration and the sting of betrayal. I can’t help myself. “Fine. But if you ever pull that memory-wipe stunt again, we’re going to have words. Loud, magical words. I may not know how to use my shadows unless I’m…y’know, very happy, but once I do, I’ll make you regret it.”

Niall laughs darkly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Understood.”

The fight in me fizzles out when another thought hits. “But you’re not the one who attacked Mr. Archer’s worker,” I say, my voice wary, laced with suspicion.

“It wasn’t me. We were alerted beyond the Veil when it lifted prematurely. We don’t interfere with the human world until Samhain. I was sent here to find out why.”

I chew on that for a moment, staring down at my sandals like they might have the answers. Niall wasn’t supposed to be part of my investigation. He was supposed to be a distraction. Now, somehow, I’m part of his mess. “Why do you think the Veil thinned early?”

“The people here used to believe in us,” he says, his voice soft but edged with frustration. “Now they don’t. The Veil only lifts once a year, but something has changed. The construction site, the superstitions, and people talking about us again are all connected. I just don’t know how yet.”

I narrow my eyes. “So you’re saying the Veil lifted because people believed again?”

Niall shrugs. “It’s possible. But there’s one thing I do know…”

“And that is?”

His eyes hold mine. “You can’t write the truth.”

I blink. “Excuse me? Why the hell not?” My voice comes out sharper than I intend, fueled by indignation. This is my job. People might dismiss our magazine as a tabloid, but I take my cases seriously. I find the truth. I write about it. That’s what I do.

“You’re not ready for the consequences. Your readers aren’t ready either. If you publish the truth, the Ironlands won’t be the only place in danger.”

I scoff, crossing my arms over my chest. “You’re asking me to…sit on this?”

“Maybe not forever. Let me show you. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Before I can ask who, or why the hell I should trust him after everything, Niall turns to the mirror. He mutters something in Irish, his voice low and lilting, like he’s coaxing a spell from the air itself. “Beannachtaí mo chara. Maelíosa…”

The mirror ripples like water, a sight so strange I almost step back. Then, a young woman appears, her face framed in the sort of effortless beauty that probably makes flowers wilt out of jealousy. Behind her, the tower from the photograph looms, looking every bit as ominous as you’d expect from a fae backdrop.

“This is my twin sister, Maelíosa,” Niall says, his tone softer than I’ve ever heard it.

“Pleased to meet you,” I manage, defaulting to politeness because that’s what you do when a mirror starts introducing people.

Maelíosa grins, the kind that promises both kindness and trouble. “And you as well. It’s good to see my brother has finally found someone willing to put up with him.” She leans closer to the glass, as if sharing a secret. “And don’t worry, I have many embarrassing stories about Niall. When you visit, we’ll have a proper chat.”

Despite the absolute absurdity of the situation, I laugh. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Niall groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can we focus, Maelíosa?”

“Oh, come now, brother. Let me have some fun. You deserve?—”

Niall cuts her off. “Felicity needs to know the truth about us.”

“We’re almost extinct,” a male figure with pointy ears steps into view and announces, more excited and peppy for saying such a thing than he should be.

Before he can say anything else, another male fae appears and clocks him on the back of the head with enough force to make me wince. “Shut it, Finn.”

Finn whirls around, murder in his eyes. “Do that again, Kieran, and I’ll introduce your ribs to my dagger.”

“Try it,” Kieran snaps, flipping a blade into his hand so fast I barely catch it. “I’ll carve ‘Extinct’ on your tombstone myself.”

“Enough!” Maelíosa snaps. She doesn’t even look at them. She waves a hand like she’s swatting flies. “If you two can’t behave, I’ll send you both through the Veil and let the humans sort it out. Now, shut up and let me finish.”

The two men glare at each other like they’re one insult away from redecorating the room with blood, but they back off. Barely.

“Apologies,” Maelíosa says, as though this level of conflict is completely normal. “We’re close to losing everything.”

My lips part. “Losing everything?”

“Humans stopped believing in us long ago,” she says, matter-of-fact. “Without belief, we’ve grown weaker. Each generation loses a little more. We’re fading. Soon, there won’t be anything left of us.”

I open my mouth, then close it again. “But surely you can’t…fade away?”

Maelíosa’s gaze hardens. “It’s called Aithreach Decline . A fae illness caused by disconnection from your world. Physical symptoms first, then fatigue, frailty, and loss of the glow in our skin. Then comes the rest, infertility, memory loss, madness.”

Niall’s voice is quieter now. “It’s not a kind way to go.”

“Isolation was supposed to protect us from the Ironlands,” Maelíosa continues, her voice sharp as a knife, “but it’s killing us. Slowly. And yet, what else can we do? Come out to humans who’d sooner put us in cages than try to understand? You’re a creative people, I’ll give you that, but not particularly gentle when faced with things you fear.”

I flinch. She’s not wrong. But still. “You think hiding is better? Pretending the world doesn’t exist?”

“We tried,” Niall says, his voice heavy. “It didn’t end well.”

My mouth is running ahead of my brain, fueled by sheer disbelief. “So what, you’re telling me is that you’re fading out of existence because we—what? Don’t clap hard enough like in Peter Pan ?”

Niall chuckles, though there’s no humour in it. “Not quite. But close enough.”

Maelíosa sighs, brushing her hair back from her face. “It’s not only about belief. It’s a connection. Our magic is tied to yours, whether you like it or not. Without humans, we lose our anchor to this realm. And without us…” She trails off, her eyes darkening. “Let’s just say there are creatures on our side of the Veil you don’t want crossing over.”

“And yet you protect us,” I say, my voice quieter now.

Maelíosa gives me a tired smile. “Because that’s what we do. Even when it costs us everything.”

My mind races. My half-sister. My parents. The bond with Niall I didn’t choose. How the hell do I fit into this mess?

“I have to go,” Maelíosa says suddenly. “Go n-éirí leat,” she murmurs something in Irish that sounds both like a blessing and a warning. Then she’s gone. The mirror stills, returning to an ordinary pane of glass.

I stare at it, trying to make sense of what happened. “Your sister speaks Irish.”

“Aye,” Niall says, as if this explains anything. “We brought the language here. It spread throughout Ireland.”

“Of course you did,” I mutter, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re welcome for all the Guinness ads, by the way.”

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. “You have to understand. What you write…it matters. It could draw attention we can’t afford.”

“And you waited until now to tell me this because?” My tone is too clipped, but I’m too overwhelmed to care.

“Because I didn’t think it mattered.” He steps closer, his voice softening. “Not until I met you. You made me care, Shadow Witch. For the first time in longer than I can remember.”

My breath catches. I hate myself a little for it. “I need space. Time to think.”

He doesn’t argue, but his eyes stay on me. “Don’t take too much time, love.”

“Stop calling me that,” I snap because it’s easier than admitting how much it hurts. “I can’t do this right now.”

-I need your help. We need your help.- He nudges me with his mind.

-Get out of my head!- I scream at him mentally.

He nods, stepping back. “Whatever you decide, know this, our worlds are tied together. If one falls, the other won’t be far behind.”

A raven lands with a heavy thunk on the tree branch outside the window. Its beady eyes lock onto mine through the glass, and I swear it leans forward like it’s trying to figure out how many secrets I’m carrying and whether they’d make a good snack. It hasn’t blinked once. It doesn’t feel like Liora. Her feathers are midnight black but hold an almost iridescent blue-purple quality.

-Ravens are usually Crimson Court business. But if it’s watching you that closely, I’d say it’s personal.- Niall gently touches me with his mind this time.

Everything feels connected. I don’t know what scares me more, the decisions I’ll have to make or the fact that I’m starting to think I belong in this madness.

* * *

To be continued…

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OF VILLAINS & VENDETTAS