I square my shoulders, chest moving like bellows as I take slow breaths and let magic trickle from my fingertips, the release of power a cool relief.
Before I enter the cave, I inspect the sky one last time. Even though it’s daylight and I can’t see them, I feel the gravity of the stars that have guided my every hunt tethering me, pulling me back to Talamh Cúig for more adventures.
“Another time,” I tell them, and move into the dark cavern, moonstone and water glistening from every surface. The noise of the waterfall increases, drowning out the drip, drip, drip and the erratic beat of my pulse in my ears.
I step into the pool, tiny waves slicking my thighs and lapping at my strange clothes. The curtain of water ahead vibrates and my hand reaches toward the iridescent spray. It doesn’t burn or corrode, so I keep moving, and just as the cold flows over my head, I hear it. I hear the most incredible sound.
A lilting song.
Lara’s voice.
Lara!
I can hear her singing.
Without another thought, I dive through the cascading water into blackness. Black blood. Black heart. Night poison. I’m spinning through its barrenness like a lost comet, mind splintering, body fracturing when light suddenly explodes, setting me adrift on a starry ocean. I float in a sea of softly glowing milk-like liquid. Billions and billions of twinkling lights. A passage, a byway of milky stars.
My muscles loosen, my heartbeat slows as I lose consciousness, and the song guides me forward.
Lara.
Chapter 23
THE CHOSEN
Lara
“It’s been almost five weeks now, Isla. He’s not going to follow,” I say as we climb the steps to the Performing Arts Center where I’ll be singing with the Celtic Chaos choir in about half an hour’s time. “I need to forget him, pretend I never fell into Faery. I don’t plan to sit around and paint pictures or write songs about it forever like Mom did, totally obsessed and only half living in the real world.”
Smirking, she pats my stomach. “Yeah, that might not be so easy to achieve with the little bean you’re sprouting in there.” She claps her hands and rubs them together, her blue eyes sparkling. “Do you think it will take after its dad and be able to do magic? If it can control the weather, maybe we can ask it to pour rain regularly on our roof garden. Save us from having to water it over summer when we’re feeling lazy.”
“Well, really, we can only hope and pray it’s born a bona fide wizard,” I say, sarcasm lacing my words as pain lances my heart.
It’s difficult enough adjusting to the news I’m going to be a single mom, let alone the fact my half-fae baby might possess uncontrollable powers. Imagine toddler tantrums fueled by wind magic—cyclones and hurricanes storming through the house every time I insist the broccoli and peas get eaten. No thanks.
For some reason, Ether’s spell didn’t work on my cousin and, honestly, I don’t like to dwell on why that might be. The possibilities are terrifying.
When I landed back in Blackbrook on a balmy Friday night in the very same alleyway I’d disappeared from, devastated and disorientated, I stumbled across the road to Max’s diner to face Isla at work.
After turning bright red and hugging me so hard I nearly choked to death, she declared that if I’d spent the last six months teaching singing to street kids in Brazil, then she’d been in the Amazon jungle preparing a ballet troupe of talented spider monkeys for an upcoming world tour. She followed that up with a demand to know where I’d actually been and what the flaming hell the guy’s name was, and I decided to go with the unbelievable truth.
I’ve been in Faery with a cursed fae prince called Ever, I told her.
Eyes narrowed, she inspected my falcon-embroidered tunic and fancy hand-made boots and declared that considering my obnoxious obsession with my mom’s paintings and constant dreams about fae hunks, it was probably the truth. My boss, Max, thought we’d lost our ever-loving minds and sent us home to sort out our stories. Or at least my story.
Tucked up in bed with a mug of hot chai, I told Isla the complete tale, and she believed every single word. Amazing. Yet five weeks later, Aunt Clare and everyone else I know still become enveloped in a muddled fog whenever my ‘recent travels’ are brought up, stuttering and frowning in confusion like they’ve got dementia. It’s beyond weird.
Being in the human world again feels wrong. Being without Ever is wrong. Regardless, here I am, and I’ve got no choice but to make the best of it.
Puffing from the climb, we reach the top of the stairs out front of the concert hall, the concrete flowing into a wide plaza dotted with people and abstract sculptures. We turn to take in the view over the city. Skyscrapers glint in the sun and there’s not a cloud breaking up the bright azure sky. Good. I can’t bear clouds, especially dramatic ones. They only remind me of Ever.
“Well, what did I expect?” I say to Isla, adjusting the shoulder strap of my bulging bag. “A fae warrior prince to come strolling through the veil between worlds to live happily-ever-after here in Blackbrook, the capital of frosted donuts, sauerkraut, and white squirrels? Actually, I think he’d really like the squirrels. Can you hold onto my jacket until after the performance?”
“Sure,” she says as I shrug it off and pass it to her. “Maybe somehow you’ll find a way to open the portal and can take your child back to Faery to show him.”
“Oh, great idea. I’m positive his mother would be thrilled to see me.”
We laugh and follow the building around to the stage door.
Isla kisses my cheek. “Good luck. No doubt you’ll see Mom and me staring and crying at you from the second row. We’ll meet you right here when you’re done, then we’ll catch the train to Max’s. He’s devastated he couldn’t come.”
“I know. Hence the celebration dinner he’s hosting. Get some footage for him on your cell, okay? See you soon.”
I show my pass to security and duck through the entrance into a rabbit warren of backstage corridors and dressing rooms, finally finding a door with our choir’s name on it. When I enter, my nerves are swept away by happy chatter and a warm welcome from the other singers.
After sweating through an audition a week ago, I was astounded to get an acceptance phone call from Celtic Chaos’s leader. This is my first paid gig with the popular group, and I hope I won’t let them down.
Forty-five minutes later, I’m standing center stage, sucking back a deep breath, ready to launch into my brief solo and hoping I don’t stuff it up. At least I know my crazy singing magic doesn’t work now I’m back home, so I shouldn’t turn the audience into wrinkled prunes like I did Aer. That’s a plus.
Each seat in the thousand-capacity hall is occupied. Carved plywood panels line the walls and stepped ceiling, enhancing the wonderful acoustics. It’s warm and rich and like being inside a beehive, reminding me of something I might see in Faery—lavish and opulent, but also organic and functional.
I fix my gaze on the crystal lights that drip from the ceiling, every one of them like exploded stars shooting through a galaxy, and sing, my skin buzzing and my heart pounding, and for sixty-three seconds, I forget about draygonets, golden-eyed curse makers, pointy-eared babies. And Ever.