Chapter Five

The Faerie market of London hummed with magic. Malachy had explained to me once how these markets existed all over the world, all manner of Fae going about their lives just under the noses of humans. The Fae used spells and enchantments to disguise themselves and their enclaves from attack, and despite the occasional wayward dearg-dubh or hobgoblin making spectacles of themselves, they existed peacefully in the shadows, unbeknownst to humans.

I zipped us right in the middle of the market, a cavalcade of sound immediately invading my ears. Swirling colors and dazzling lights flashed in the catacombs as all manner of supernatural creatures hawked their baubles, potions, books, and secret concoctions in a whirling bustle of movement. Despite the busy atmosphere, a pall of tension hung over the crowd, and I heard whispers of a dark cloud in the sky. The black hole had appeared in the mortal world, it would seem. The mortal realm and Tír na nÓg existed on other ends of the galaxy even though they were connected as parallel worlds. Now we had something else that connected us—an ever-expanding abyss of dark matter.

Joy.

Eamonn pointed out Morven’s plain-looking burlap tent in a shadowy corner of the market, and we edged through the throng. No one paid notice to our weapons or Eamonn’s long Druid robes, and, for a moment, I basked in the anonymity.

The problem with being a Faerie princess leading a rebellion was that every move you made was under a microscope. Everything you wore. Even the way you did your hair. With my hood up, the world of the Fae slipped past me: dearg-dubh, leprechauns, púcas, goblins all in the same steampunk uniform of leather and studs. As the Irish people had immigrated to England during the Potato Famine in the nineteenth century, the Fae sort of, kind of followed in their wake. The Fae fashion remained in that century, all corsets, leather, monocles, and top hats. A sea of steampunk splendor.

I had once tried to form an alliance with the leader of the Fae Underground, but he wanted no part in our crusade. The man may have been small-minded (and a total asshole, to be quite honest), but I still felt responsible for the Dickensian figures shrugging past me as they made their way through the crowd. What would happen to them if the Fir Bolgs succeeded? Without the source of magic to sustain them, would they all wither away? The burden of their existence weighed heavy on my shoulders, and it seemed impossible that only a year or so ago, I never knew such worlds existed. But there I was, the sparkly device heavy in a pouch around my neck, the entire magical universe hanging in the balance.

Finn’s eyes scanned the mass of supernatural bodies, his muscles tense as he strode beside me, ever vigilant and alert. With a sweeping motion, he glanced inside Morven’s tent, double-checking for secret ninjas or Fir Bolgs, and then he nodded, gesturing for us to enter.

Morven’s tent stood barely eight feet by eight feet on the outside, but on the inside, we were greeted by a long room with high ceilings, rows of shelves containing crumbling volumes, bottles and vials of various sickly shades of green on every surface, and skulls of all shapes and sizes lining the walls. Candles illuminated the spelled chamber, wax dripping to the floor in bulbous yellow waves.

Shouting at the other end of the room signaled Morven’s presence, and I spied a flash of red robes through the haze. He paced, arguing with a diminutive figure about three feet tall with large pointy ears and a twinge of green at its temples, soft and veiny like the lines on a leaf. Morven’s own scarred face was flushed, the runes across his cheekbones scarlet as if they had been drawn in blood. Both of them spoke in a strange, guttural language, their shouting growing louder.

Morven whirled around. “We’re closed, dammit!” His eyes widened when he spotted us. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered beneath his breath. He raised his hand toward the elf-like creature and said something in a low voice. The tiny figure shook his head and vanished in a wisp of what I would describe as…Faerie dust.

“Who was that?” Finn said.

“What was that?” I blinked, studying the drifting sprinkle of light in its wake.

Morven sighed. “A very old friend.”

“He didn’t look very friendly,” I remarked.

Morven nodded at me. “Neither do you.” He peeked around my shoulder. “Nice spear.”

“Thanks,” I replied. “I like it more than that pistol you gave me.”

Morven swallowed hard, the scar on his jaw rippling. “I suppose you’re here about the black hole?”

“We’re here to hopefully find some answers,” I replied. I eyed the ceilings and the flap of the door behind us. “Is this place secure?”

Morven snorted, but he raised his hand, the electricity of his deep magic hitting me deep in the chest. He had warded his tent. “What is it, Princess?” he asked.

I reached into the pouch and pulled out the sparkly. “What can you tell us about this?”

The Druid swept across the floor, squinting at the luminescent device in my hand.

“May I?” he asked, and I placed it in his palm.

He shot toward his desk, his robes a bright flash of red as he grabbed an eyepiece and studied it.

“The Fir Bolgs had it,” Eamonn said in a wavering voice, his hands clutching his robes nervously. “Our intel says they plan to use it to break off their own dimension, to sever Tír na nÓg from this universe.”

“Oh, aye,” Morven said in a low voice. “This will do it.” He glanced up from his eyepiece and stared down his nose at Eamonn. “Did you do this protective spell around it?”

Eamonn nodded, his eyes widening.

“Nice work,” Morven said in a gruff voice.

A flaming blush crept up Eamonn’s face, his features relaxing and breaking into a small smile.

I cleared my throat. “Eamonn said the thing began to glow and hum last night. It had a Tree of Life symbol on it, but now it’s transformed to the Aw…Aw…?”

“Awen,” Eamonn piped up.

“Yes,” I said. “The Awen symbol. Like it’s entered a new stage or something. Does that mean anything to you?”

Morven nodded slowly, gazing up at the ceiling. “The power of the Morrígan has been unleashed. The universe is out of balance.” He held up the device. The glowing had stopped, the wires plain metal and dull. “The very presence of this object in our dimension has disturbed the order.”

“Can you dismantle the thing?” Finn asked, edging beside me. “If it’s so dangerous, we need to destroy it. Immediately.”

Morven let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “There’s ancient magic in this, Fianna. The likes I have not seen in an age.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Morven placed the sparkly back into my hands and waved over at the fireplace, inviting us to sit. “Let’s talk about it over some tea.”

I bit my lip with impatience. We didn’t have time for tea or storytelling. We had a black hole threatening to tear apart the sky and suck us all into a vacuum. With a small sigh, I dropped into a creased leather chair and stared into the peat fire smoldering in the garret. Morven brought over a teapot and four cups and poured, taking his time, his face a mask of stony concentration. Grasping his tea with both hands, he studied me for a moment, his dark eyes endless and heavy with an emotion that almost looked like worry.

“So what can you tell us about the bomb,” I pressed, uncrossing my legs and leaning forward.

Morven paused, taking a long sip of tea. “It combines Druid, Fae, and Fianna energy, which is a powerful trinity, to be sure.” He glanced toward the smoldering fire, and setting his cup down, he stoked it with a poker. “When we created the Veil centuries ago, we combined our magic to create that barrier. That was the last time I saw the Fianna magic drawn into the magical trifecta. It is a dangerous energy. Wild.”

“Is that because it derives from the Morrígan?” Eamonn asked.

Morven nodded. “The creator of that device layered Bel’s manna, Fae enchantments, and Fianna energy. That alone could be powerful, but it’s—”

“The blood!” Eamonn blurted. His face grew an even brighter shade of red as Morven gave him a pointed stare. “Sorry. I mean, I’ve been studying the Fir Bolgs’ weapons, and it’s the blood that gives it its power. That is, I think that’s it.”

“What is the significance of the blood?” I asked.

Morven paused for a moment. “Two reasons. One, because the last time the Morrígan had a physical presence in this world or in the Fae world was during the time of the Táin Bó Cúailnge.”

“The legendary cattle raids…” I whispered. The Táin Bó Cúailnge was an ancient Irish legend I had pored over many times in graduate school, and it definitely remained one of my favorites. Basically, the story is this. A badass queen named Maeve gets jealous of this King Conchobar and his magical bull. Also, he sexually assaulted her, so she was mad as hell about that, too, for good reason. She steals his bull, but not after having one of her many warrior boyfriends defeat the legendary Celtic demigod Cuchulainn. Eventually, she loses the bull and the big battle, but not before placing her mark on history as one badass bitch you don’t fuck with.

“Yes,” Morven replied. “The Morrígan was able to take the form of the bull. That’s why Maeve coveted it so much. All that power…”

“But those events happened several millennia ago,” I said. “How could her blood be here? Now? Where did the Fir Bolgs find it?”

“That is the question, isn’t it?” Morven sighed. “Danu imprisoned the Morrígan from this plane of existence long ago. The Morrígan became pure spirit. Yet, during the age of heroes, she found a way to take physical form, placing her magical essence in the form of that bull.”

“Donn Cúailnge,” I said. “The Brown Bull of Cooley. The bull that began the Ulster Cycle.” I laughed out loud. “I always thought it was so silly. All that fighting for a bull.”

Morven nodded. “Aye. But a bull that gives you unlimited power? One single drop of its blood turns its possessor into a veritable god. That is certainly worth fighting for.”

“How did the Fir Bolgs get their hands on it?” Eamonn asked.

I leaned toward Finn. “The Fianna worship the Morrígan. Could it be they had a vial of blood lying around?”

He took a sip of tea and shook his head. “I was a part of all the inner workings of the Fianna. If the Fianna possessed such a powerful substance, I would have known.”

“Could it be any Fianna blood? Could it possess some kind of magic?”

Eamonn waved the question away. “I’ve compared Grainne’s blood with what’s in the Fir Bolgs’ weapons. They have some similarities, but they’re definitely very different.”

Morven pointed at the device in my hand. “Whatever is in there is pure Morrígan. The Fir Bolgs have found the substance from so many centuries ago and used it to create a weapon that calls to her power. They are fools to unleash such a force. No one can control it.”

I glanced down at the device, so small in my hand. “I was hoping the black hole was a coincidence.”

“I am afraid not.” Morven leaned back in his chair. “The ancients told of a great war between the Morrígan and Danu that almost destroyed the world. It seems we are at war again.”

My fingers clutched the device, the smooth metal edges biting into my skin. “Finn’s right. We need to destroy it.”

“The only thing that will destroy it is the Morrígan’s essence itself,” Morven said. “I can do it, but it will take deep magic to dismantle such a creation.”

“So we need to get ahold of the Morrígan blood,” I said, mentally checking boxes. “It’s probably being stored at some government facility, wherever they’re manufacturing the weapons.”

“But where?” Finn asked. “How? Even with your Aisling powers, you can’t just teleport in and snatch it. It will be heavily guarded. We will need information. Intel.”

“I can ask my dad,” I said, my cheeks growing hot. “He probably knows something about it.”

Finn frowned. “Probably isn’t enough. We need to act fast. We don’t have a lot of time.”

“If only we had a time machine,” Eamonn said, shaking his head. “We could go back in time and steal some blood from that bull, the Donn Cúailnge.”

“That’s not helpful,” I snapped, shooting to my feet and pacing the floor.

Morven cleared his throat. “Actually, we do have a time machine.”

I whirled on him. “What are you talking about?”

The Red Druid opened his arms wide. “We have a time machine.”

I glanced around, throwing my hands in the air. “Where?”

“It’s you, Elizabeth.”