Page 15

Calla

The air stirred, and the mist weaved around me—undulating black motes surging forward, ravaging my body, claiming me. I welcomed them, riding the cresting waves of desire. My clit throbbed, and my sex ached. His face came into focus, sculpted and hard. With each penetration, my core shattered. His need was mine, and mine was his. I sank deeper into dreamland, my whole being tingling for him, wanting what I could not have.

Did I initiate the dream, or did he? What did it matter? Our imaginary trysts were becoming increasingly frequent, and I couldn’t stop them. I didn’t want to. The thing with Colm and me proved an entity of its own. Unstoppable. Inevitable.

The days turned into nights, with the minutes and hours blurring together. Hiding from the outside world was easy when there was no cell signal and endless time to fill each day. I rarely ate and slept a lot. I found myself craving the dream world, hiding from my own. The past consumed me, not my own, but someone else’s.

Branches tapped the windowpanes, and voices called my name. The walls spoke to me.

Orlaith’s vision revealed the woman in the photo as ériu. Her possessions were scattered everywhere in Dermot Sweet’s cottage, each holding a memory. The blanket box at the foot of the bed sat, filled with trinkets, keepsakes, and one baby blue wedding dress.

I refused to touch them. The dreams were enough.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find you, my sweet ériu? That I would let you go?” His voice ran the gamut of human emotions: frustration, joy, and relief. His image taunted me—gleaming black hair swept back from a strong face and the golden diadem adorning his head, glowing like the rising sun.

On the morning of the fourth day, the sun crept through the bedroom window. I peered through my lashes at the puzzle crossing the floor, a tapestry of sunbeams and diamond shapes. The lilac fragrance teased me, and the bees hummed.

All of that I could ignore.

Krrrex-krrrex . Krrrex-krrrex. The corncrake’s incessant call dragged me from the arms of the dead.

I lurched upright, my skull throbbing, my heart pounding. The inside of my mouth tasted like desert sand.

Caw. Caw. Caw. Caw. Ravens took to the sky. They screamed and screamed and screamed.

The curtains moved with the fragrance of spring—soft air filled with sweet honey scents.

I stumbled across the wood plank floor. No one was coming to save me. I was alone, truly alone.

There was a quiet about the place. The cozy room looked the same: tweed pillows tossed over the sofa and the fringed throw folded into an olive-green square.

The chessboard, the black-and-white marble slab, claimed my attention. My thoughts flew across the board. Which army would win? Which royal family would fall? The pawns gave their lives freely. The knights rode gallantly into battle. The bishop protected his king. My inner voice whispered, “Kill or be killed. Defend and protect.” I crossed the bloody field, striking down the enemy king. The walls tumbled and fell. The voice inside my head cheered.

I clawed through layers of doubt, unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching.

I left the slaughter behind and dragged my feet into the shower room, and while I waited for the water to warm, I stared at my reflection in the oval mirror––my ratted hair, my too-bright eyes. My thoughts were mired in a distant place. I shrugged out of the baby-doll nightie and walked into the water spray, lifting my face and relishing the full brunt of the heated water. Rivulets poured over my shoulders, running along the curves of my breasts, down my stomach, and over my hips, pooling on the shower floor, sloughing the dead from my skin.

I summoned the secret I had hidden from my entire life. I reached for it. I strained my brain until my veins pulsed. But I couldn’t remember. I couldn’t find it. I let the water run cold, and only then did my mind awaken.

I returned to the bedroom, wrapped in a towel. Sitting on an ivory-painted stool before ériu’s vanity, I pulled a hairbrush through my hair until my scalp stung. My braid hung haphazard, but I didn’t care. I dug through the closet for a pair of sweatpants and a crop-top hoodie emblazoned with the words boys lie, another prize from the Treasure Chest.

Somehow, a bee had found its way inside. I watched it perch on the windowsill, sunning itself. I even spoke to it, describing where I planned to go and why. The man with the golden diadem had shown me a mountain that touched the clouds. I left the cottage on a quest to discover the truth.

The screen door thwacked shut behind me, and all around the croft, calla lilies danced in the gentle breeze. Every time I saw them, chills licked my spine.

A rabbit darted away, leaping from flowerbeds and landing beneath the sprawling lilac tree. Sitting on its haunches within a purple carpet of periwinkle and glossy green leaves, it studied me with its beautiful amber eyes before bouncing away.

Beyond the barnyard, past the sheep pens, along the mud track, a stone hedge snaked the hillside. I would find the stone shieling from Orlaith’s vision on the mountain's summit.

I ducked, hugging my bared midriff against the gusting winds. I climbed upward, following the zigzag trail carved by the black-faced sheep.

I stumbled over the crown and found what I knew had always been there—the skeleton of the same stone shieling. There were boulders, field grass, pink and purple heaths, and heathers. Where once glass panes glittered in the sunlight, black holes stared back. Holly fought Ivy for possession of the tumbled walls. The wooden door had long fallen from its hinges, and the thatch had blown from the rafters.

I stood at the entrance, the gnarled vines holding me at bay—the air shimmered, an unseen force protecting the shadows within. I projected my will, breaking free from the tangle and hurling myself onto the stone floor. The glass shattered, and the shadows moved. My vision came to life.

A man and a woman lay together in a little bed built into the stone wall. But it was not ériu lying in the little bed. It was me. Am I ériu? Are we the same?

She cried out, her ecstasy peaking. She weaved her fingers through his black mane, tenderly caressing him.

I hovered in the haze, a creeper watching, unable to move forward or escape.

The man making love to her was not of the mortal world. I knew him.

Finnbheara––Finvarra, the High King of the Faeries.

My breath came in short, ragged bursts.

Smoke and mirrors.

Shadows and sunshine.

Bees hummed in every bloom—too many bees.

Laughter played through my mind.

His laughter.

Who was he to take such liberties with that woman?

“ériu? Are you awake?” The door burst open, and Orlaith stuck her head into the adjoining room. “Dear gods, it’s stuffy in here.” She lifted the latch, pushing the sash upward. Lightning bolts cracked the sky.

At the same time, a hooded crow landed on the sill, majestic in its grey-black plumage. A screech, a rasping gurgle, rose in pitch, ending with a snap of its hooked beak. Bold, beady eyes pierced mine.

The lump in my throat turned to stone. Running was never an option. Whatever that was, I was part of it. Forevermore.

“Jesus feckin’ Christ. Go away. Go away.” Orlaith shooed the crow away with the flat of her hand. “What is with these bloody birds? They’re everywhere today. It’s an ill omen, let me tell you. ériu, luv? It’s time.”

ériu rested her hands on the lace hem of a black silk nightie, which touched her knees. Her golden hair cascaded over the scooped neckline.

“My sweet, ériu.” He bent his knee before her, his fur-lined cloak pooling on the cold floor. A diadem of gold sat atop his regal head, taming a black mane.

Orlaith seemed oblivious to his presence. They appeared unaware of hers.

“Release me from my vow.” ériu’s eyes blazed, and her words were laced with fury. She stood before him, the lacy hem swishing against her slender thighs.

“How do you ask that of me? Dear ériu. You are mine, and I am yours. I love you, and you love me.” He lifted her fingertips, resting his lips on her knuckles. His silver eyes shone.

“My heart bleeds—for him. He needs me. You, Finvarra, do not. Release me from our bond and let me go.” She extended her arm, touching the gilded broach pinned to his shoulder—tears welling in her blue eyes.

“A vow cannot be broken, my sweet ériu. Come. Let me take you home.” He cupped her heart-shaped face in his hands, wiping her tears with the pads of his thumbs.

“Any woman would be proud to walk beside you. Choose another.” She planted her palms on his gold-threaded tunic, holding him at arm’s length.

“Another? There could never be another like you.” He clasped her hands within his, his full lips lifting into a smile.

“I do not want this.” She enunciated each word, her nipples peaking against the delicate silk.

“You would deny your rightful place among our people? You would deny your king?” He released her and paced back and forth, his deer-skin riding boots silent on the stone floor—regal in every way.

“They are not my people. And you are not my king. You are Tuatha Dé, banished beneath the mounds by my people. My people. Remember who I am. I am ériu, Princess of the Dead.”

“You are a rare joy, my sweet—a refreshing pleasure—but this folly has continued too long.” He wagged his ringed finger toward her. “I offered you everlasting life, and you accepted. You came willingly, and you were never forced. How soon you forget, dear ériu.” He closed the distance between them and wrapped one arm around her narrow waist, pressing her against his noble frame.

“I loved you then.” She whispered soft, honeyed words.

“You love me now.” He lifted her hands, twirling her around the little room. “You are my consort. You are my love. Come. Let us dance. Let us make love.” He sighed a sonorous breath, swinging her backward and into his chest. He explored freely, smoothing his palm over her flat belly and heavy swells.

“No longer.” A sigh left her lips, and she moaned, bowing into his touch. Taking ownership of his hand, she guided his fingers lower.

“You are mine, ériu. It is as it should be.” He dragged his other hand through her hair, turning her face toward him.

”You are Tuatha. One day, death will find you. Perhaps your soul will live within the House of Donn. Or not. You may pass through the gates of hell as others have. Some willingly. Some not.” She hissed a ragged breath.

“But that is not today, my sweet.” He dropped a kiss on the corner of her lips. “Look at me, ériu. Only I can give you what you seek.” He dragged his lips across her tear-soaked face. “Children. Yours and mine. Our line will be strengthened––our immortality ensured.”

“I am promised to another.” Her voice sounded hollow.

“You are promised to me, my love.” He met her lips, swallowing her sighs.

I squeezed my eyelids shut.

“Thank goodness. You’re up! Here, let me help you. You’re going to miss your wedding. Dear gods, you’re flushed. Are you feeling all right?” Orlaith placed the back of her knuckles over ériu’s forehead.

“I’m fine, Orlaith. I need to shower.” ériu dropped her head, hiding behind a curtain of blonde hair. She twisted her fingers into rumpled silk.

The air sparkled as two planes of reality became one.

“Hurry. Hurry. The day is slipping by. Dear gods, listen to those birds.” Orlaith clucked her tongue.

Beyond the window, a vast flock of hooded crows crowded the sky and blocked the light.

The Sluagh––the unforgiven dead, here to feast on my soul? How did they find me?

“I will come for you, ériu, before day’s end.” Finvarra’s voice rang out. He urged the black stallion onto his hind legs, the horse’s nostrils fiery red. Tossing his flowing mane, the crazed horse kicked his forelegs into the air, taking Finvarra into the ether.

“Orlaith, lock the window.” ériu rose to her feet, then fell backward.

“Look at that, will ye?” Orlaith gazed through the window.

“What should I do, Orla? I don’t know what to do.” Her wild eyes searched the room.

Her heart beat with mine.

The winds moaned—the windowpanes rattled. Flapping wings darkened the sky. The Sluagh? Finvarra?

”We must fly, ériu. It’s your wedding day. Look at ye. Flushed so.” She plunked her hands on her hips. “Wedding jitters. It’s plain to see. I’ll be along with your dress.” Orlaith left the bedroom, returning one moment later with a simple blue gown.

The pieces fell into place. It was a love triangle of mythic proportions. ériu and a Faerie king. ériu and a sheep farmer, a man named Dermot Sweet.

Lightning struck the clear blue sky.

I huddled into a ball against the tumbled walls and buried my face in my hands, unable to stop the tears from falling.

“Calla? Calla?” The echo of his voice pierced the fog, waking me from my fever. He knelt before me, his gaze searching. He was flesh and blood. He was whole and sound.

“Colm? What are you doing here?” I wiped my face with my sleeve, unable to process what had happened.

Sunlight rained through the open rafters. Living, breathing vines slithered through the arched door, hiding the entrance to another world. Buzzing bees left their hives swarming overhead.

He seemed not to notice. He looked just as he had the day we met, dressed in khaki-colored cargo pants and a neatly buttoned shirt. The only difference was a blue ball cap turned backward, embellished with a blue and white maple leaf, a tuft of copper hair poking through.

“Looking for you. We had a date, remember?” He scooped me into his arms and sat in the tall grass, his long legs stretched out. He pressed his lips to my head, his arms encircling me. Safe. Warm. Protected.

“A date?” I floundered through those seconds, nestled in his arms.

His nearness brought me back to the evening in the pub when he had taken full advantage of the melee, the jostling crowds, and the roaring clamor. It was dangerous and exciting. He made me forget the world existed, taking me to the point of no return in a shattering, life-altering moment. The way he stroked my thighs—in plain view, for all to see. My core clenched, sending heat coursing over me. Lusting over the man had given me something to focus on instead of the past and the visions that came with it.

“You stood me up.” He held me close, his breath tickling my hair.

“I did? I’m sorry.” I ran my palm down his bristled cheek, taking comfort in his strength. That last time we spoke, I snubbed him.

“Brandy’s? Three days ago? I waited, but you failed to arrive.” His chest rumbled, and his voice soothed. “I called, but you didn’t answer.”

“You waited? You called?” I swallowed my confusion. Was that what I hungered for? A man who showed no fear of me?

“Saoirse hasn’t heard from you in days. She came by, but you didn’t answer the door. When you missed the ceilidh last night, I thought I should check on you.” He caressed my hair as a lover might.

“She came by?” The warmth in his voice touched my heart. Sure, he made me feel things others could not. But could I trust him with my heart? Not yet. Not yet.

The ravens took flight, leaving the tall grass and scattering through the blue skies. Screaming. Screaming. Screaming.

“Like I said, you owe me a raincheck.” He stroked my cheekbone with his thumb like one would caress a panicked bird.

The sigh that left my lips broke the heavens. The bees stopped buzzing, and the wind gurgled and sighed. I wanted more than anything to feel his touch. I squirmed in his arms until I could better face him.

“Calla.” He kissed the corner of my mouth, coaxing my lips to part. His tongue roamed freely—deep licks that awakened my wanton desires.

My breasts grew heavy, straining the lace fabric of my bra. Heat bloomed in all the right places.

“Mo grhá.” His voice growled and purred, intense and dreamy at the same time. His eyes blazed, dark and dangerous. His length was hard beneath his cotton pants, demanding against my backside.

“I want you, Colm.” I whimpered, my breath a hollow moan in the wind. Only he could ease the ache.

He planted one kiss after another along my nape, dragging his lips across my throat and igniting a fire that could not be quenched. His hand slid beneath my hoodie, roaming across my bare skin until he found my breast.

“You are beautiful.” He brushed his lips across my temple, squeezing the heavy globe, pinning the arrowed nub between his extended fingers.

I exhaled a shuddering breath, leaning into him and rocking against that hard staff.

“And this.” He slid his free hand beneath my waistband, gliding over my hip and clasping my bottom with five calloused fingers. He squeezed and squeezed again, imprinting his palm into my flesh. Swift heat settled in my core.

I braced myself, curling my fingers into his packed muscles.

He snarled low in his throat, sliding past the corded thong and teasing my heated entrance with his fingertips, parting the swollen cleft and eliciting a flood of wet heat.

I stifled a cry—every nerve ending on fire. I couldn’t get enough.

He kneaded the heavy swell, making my soul ache. But what he did with his fingers had left me breathless. He entered my sex knuckle deep, stroking the roof of my vagina with exacting pleasure. And then filled me, plunging two thick fingers deep within.

“Do you like that, mo ghrá ?” He growled, licking the seam of my mouth.

I could only whimper.

“Show me what you like.” He closed his mouth over mine, flicking my tongue with his own.