Reunion (15 page)

"I fear Pete speaks truly, my lady."

Trása shook her head with determination. "No. Rónán is not to know about this until I'm ready to tell him."

"As you wish," Nika replied with a small bow.

Pete wasn't nearly so willing to comply with Trása's every whim. "And your mer-cousin stays here, champing at the bit? This place drips magic, Trása. You don't think the moment your back is turned he isn't going to dial up your reality on the puddle phone and tell Marcroy where he is? And even if he doesn't
know
precisely where he is, just exactly how long are you going to be able to keep the fact that you have Marcroy's jewel a secret from Ren? Assuming, of course, Ren doesn't spot the
Leipreachán
you had us kidnap, and let loose in
Tír Na nÓg
, as soon as he gets back from wherever he is."

Trása chewed her bottom lip for a moment, something she did quite unconsciously when she was feeling pressured. Pete was certain she didn't know she did it and he chose not to mention it, because he found it a useful gauge of her mood. The Faerie refugees in this realm were - for the most part - absurdly loyal to their adopted queen, particularly the lesser
sídhe
who considered her akin to a goddess. It wasn't a good idea to do anything they might think would be upsetting to their precious Trása. The lesser
sídhe
had limited power compared to Pete, Logan, Trása and even Nika - and none at all compared to Ren - but they were like a swarm of angry wasps when they were annoyed. Had they been standing in
Tír Na nÓg
having this discussion and not just outside it, he probably wouldn't have spoken nearly so bluntly, either.

Before she could respond, however, the hairs on Pete's forearms stood on end and the air about them began to tingle.

"Get back! Someone's opening a rift," he called urgently, although he had no need to tell the others. They could feel the magic building just as well as he could. He grabbed Trása by the arm and pulled her clear of the stone circle as Nika shoved Abbán magically, and none too gently, away from the circle.

The merman landed on the rocks outside the circle with a thud and a loud, indignant cry as the circle stones arced with lightning. "Expecting visitors?" Pete asked Trása as he caught her to stop her tripping.

Trása regained her balance and turned to watch the rift opening inside the circle, her expression concerned. "You don't suppose Marcroy figured out how to follow you back here, do you?"

He shook his head. "The lightning is white. This is coming from someone belonging to this reality. Whoever is opening the rift is using
ori mahou.
"

And wasting precious
washi
paper doing it
, Pete thought, wondering who - of the limited number of people, human and Faerie, in this realm with the ability to fold a rift-opening spell - would chance an unauthorized rift for anything other than the direst need.

Magic was plentiful in this realm, but rifts took more than just magic. They needed a talisman: some tangible focus for the rift, hence the stone circles in every reality and objects like Marcroy Tarth's precious engraved ruby. Nika's reality had used human bones marked with Celtic
runes, and she still carried her talisman - a grotesque, mummified baby's foot tattooed with woad - tied to a leather thong around her neck, which he insisted she remove when they were in bed.

Here, magicians used folding magic, but not the ordinary kind that used
kozo
trees for wielding spells using origami. A dimensional rift needed a spell folded with
washi
paper and there were so few
washi
trees left in this reality, the paper was more precious than Faerie Lord sweat - something Pete was convinced was impossibly rare because he'd never met a
Tuatha Dé Danann
among Trása's refugees prepared to do even a lick of honest hard work.

The rift opened to reveal a picture perfect courtyard, a cloudless blue sky and a garden complete with cherry blossoms and quaint, upturned eaves on the corner of the slate-tiled roofs. Standing on the other side, waiting for the rift to stabilize, was a blond, middle-aged woman dressed in a gorgeous kimono. Beside her was a much younger man. Pete took a deep breath to brace himself. Wakiko wouldn't be coming here unannounced - and, significantly, without Isleen - to do anything other than deliver bad news.

A few moments later they stepped through the rift. With his right hand, the young man crushed the small hexagon he'd folded from
washi
paper and the rift flickered out of existence behind him.

"What's happened?" Pete asked, stepping forward before anybody could start in on the elaborate greeting ceremonies of which these people were so fond.

"It's Isleen," Wakiko said, her eyes red-rimmed from crying, Pete noticed, now he was close enough to see.

"Is she all right?" Nika demanded, a little impatiently.

Wakiko glanced over her shoulder at Nika and shook her head, her eyes welling up with fresh tears as she turned back to face Trása and Pete. "She's broken through the
Comhroinn
," the young woman said.

Pete looked to Trása for an explanation. She had gone quite pale.

"How bad is it?" Trása asked.

"Bad," her mother Wakiko said. "She remembers it all."

"Everything?" Trása gasped.

Wakiko nodded. "Everything Delphine imprinted her with. All the dreadful secrets Renkavana locked away in her mind to protect her. She remembers them all."

Pete swore under his breath before asking, "Where is she now?"

Wakiko shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. She opened a rift and left, claiming she was going to look for Teagan and her true family."

"Her true family?" Nika asked. "Are you not her mother?"

"She means the
Matrarchaí
," Pete explained, afraid to even guess how much trouble this turn of events was about to unleash. "Jesus Christ, she knows everything there is to know about us and this reality and now she's gone looking for the
Matrarchaí
."

After years of having no visitors at all, Darragh received two in as many days. The day after Eunice Ravenel came to see him the Gardaí psychologist, Dr Annad Semaj, came to visit.

The doctor had aged somewhat since Darragh saw him last. His temples were grey and there were a few more lines on his face. Seeing him after so many years drove home to Darragh how long he'd been here in this reality. Annad Semaj's face was a billboard advertising how abandoned Darragh was starting to feel.

He took his seat in the glass cubicle and picked up the telephone handset. Dr Semaj did the same on the other side of the glass.

"Hello, Darragh."

"Doctor."

"You're looking well."

Darragh spared the doctor a wry smile. "It's all the fresh air, good food and exercise I get in here."

Annad smiled. "Well, you
are
looking well. You've hardly changed at all."

"To look at perhaps," he agreed with a shrug. "I am not so sure I remain mentally unaffected by this lengthy incarceration."

"Did you want to talk about it?"

Darragh shook his head.
What would be the point? Nobody here but Ciarán believes what I have to tell them
. "I'm fine, thank you. But you must have something you wish to discuss with me or you'd not have made the journey here."

Annad nodded and shifted in his seat. "I heard Hayley's family are going to have her declared legally dead."

"I know. I received a visit from the family's lawyer yesterday. She wants me to confess to the crime."

"Are you going to?" Annad asked the question like he knew what the answer would be, but he felt the need to ask it anyway.

"Of course not. I didn't kill her."

"Do you think Ren killed her?"

"No."

"She's not been seen or heard of in ten years."

"Because she's not here," Darragh reminded the psychologist. "She's in another-"

"Reality," Annad finished for him with a resigned smile. "Still sticking with that? I'm impressed by your recall, lad. Thought you might have forgotten about that story by now."

"There is a very wise judge I like watching on television," Darragh explained. "She says that if one tells the truth, one doesn't need a good memory."

"Fair comment," Annad agreed, "but do you realize what declaring Hayley dead would mean to you, Darragh?"

Darragh glanced around with a shrug. "I am incarcerated in a maximum security prison for allegedly kidnapping Hayley and for conspiring to murder Warren Maher. This country does not condone capital punishment. What more can be done to me in this realm that has not already been done?"

"If Hayley is declared dead, they can go ahead and charge you with her murder," Annad explained. "That's another mandatory life sentence and the judge can rule your sentences be served consecutively, rather than concurrently, if you're found guilty and still showing no sign of remorse. You could be in here until you're fifty, lad."

Darragh shook his head, refusing to believe it. "Rónán will come for me."

"You've been saying that for ten years, Darragh," the psychologist reminded him gently. "Don't you think it's time to consider the possibility your twin brother might
not
be coming from another reality to magically whisk you away from this one?"

"No."

"I see." Annad studied him closely for a moment in silence, cradling the handset loosely. "How are you coping in here?"

"Well enough."

"Do you have many visitors?"

"One a day, lately."

"And your cellmate? Does he give you any trouble?"

"Not since I dislocated his shoulder when he tried to make me his girlfriend."

It was true. Before Ciarán had been assigned to his cell, he'd had some trouble, but he'd taken care of it and nobody had bothered him much since then. If he tried to explain that his current cellmate was from his own realm and was also waiting to be rescued, he'd just bring Ciarán unwanted attention.

A brief smile flicked over Annad's face. "You've learned to look after yourself in here, then?"

"I knew how to look after myself before I got here," Darragh reminded him with a shrug. "It has been necessary to show a few of my fellow inmates that I am not interested in their ... activities, but the message gets through after a few ... effective demonstrations."

"Ah. Well, that explains what you're still doing here in Portlaoise and why they haven't remitted any part of your sentence for good behavior."

That option, Darragh knew, was one he had forfeited years ago. But it had been worth it. "I have learned, doctor, that in prison, as in great literature, it is much more effective to show than tell."

"I don't see any tattoos," Annad remarked, looking at Darragh's hands and the open neck of his prison-issue shirt. "Does that mean you're not still affiliated with any of the prison gangs?"

That was a harder question to answer. Darragh had been able to avoid the hard-core gangs because of his connection to Jack, but his position here wasn't so cut and dried as to whether or not he belonged to a gang. "I have ... friends, I suppose you could call them," he conceded, "who look out for me when I need someone to watch my back."

"Do you have legal representation? You'll need it if the Gardaí lay any further charges relating to Hayley's disappearance."

Darragh shook his head. "I don't, but I'm sure there are plenty of inmates who could recommend a good lawyer." He smiled. "Lawyers and their comparative worth are something of an obsession in here."

Annad Semaj smiled, but it didn't touch his eyes. He seemed sad. "Well, it's a relief to see you're surviving so well. You certainly look none the worse for your experience."

"Good genes," Darragh said. The comment reminded him he had been here far too long. When he arrived in this world, he had no idea what genes or DNA were.

"Can I get you anything?"

Darragh didn't hesitate. "I'd like an electric razor, actually."

Annad seemed surprised. "Really? Are you allowed an electric razor?"

"They're certainly preferable to the alternative."

The psychologist nodded. "Yes, I suppose they are, in this place."

"Will you get it for me?"

"I don't see why not," Annad said, after thinking it over for a moment.

Darragh had to force himself to hide his relief. "I have a particular model in mind, if that's okay?"

"Really. You've researched this? Which particular razor do you want?"

"A Remington Titanium 700. I'm not that hung up on the brand, but I really want the titanium."

Annad Semaj studied him curiously for a moment longer and then nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, doctor."

There was an awkward silence as Darragh waited for Annad to say something else.

"Um ... if you don't get many visitors, would you like me to come back next week?"

"If you want."

"Good. Well, I'll see what I can do about a razor for you and I'll see you in a few days then." Annad replaced the handset and rose to his feet, watching Darragh closely.

Darragh smiled at him through the glass and turned to knock on the door to let the guard know he was finished. As he turned back, he saw the doctor tap the glass and point to the handset again. He picked it up at the same time as the psychologist.

"I'm curious," Annad said into the telephone, his eyes fixed on Darragh to gauge, no doubt, the reaction to his question. "Why does it have to be titanium?"

"How else am I supposed to contact my brother?"

Darragh watched Annad Semaj smile uncertainly as he replaced the handset. Behind Darragh the door opened. Annad watched as the guard led him out into the hall, his expression one of puzzlement and concern.

Darragh smiled to himself, certain Annad would do as he asked, if only to discover what insane plan he had in mind and how he intended to contact an alternate reality from his prison cell with nothing more than an electric razor.

Trása's clever if somewhat devious plan to surprise Rónán by rescuing Darragh and bringing him home disintegrated like the crumpled piece of
washi
paper in Daibbido's hand. There was no chance, now, of interrogating Plunkett before Rónán woke and no chance of getting rid of Abbán by tossing him back into the sea before Rónán realized he was here.