Alistair stood before the Unseelie Court atop a grassy hill, Iekika next to him, serious and terrifying, her red eyes stark against her warm, mahogany skin. A natural leader, Alistair was in his element. Since Boris had been captured, the Unseelies had put their trust in him. In the end, although they’d lost the battle with the Seelie Court, they’d accepted him as one of their own.
Bonfires were lit across the vast plain as the Unseelies milled about, waiting to hear what Alistair had to say. A distant radio blaring nearby and the copious amounts of booze being passed around gave the gathering the bohemian feel of a drawn-out musical festival. The lands of the Unseelie Court were not quite as picturesque as the Seelie Court’s, and its inhabitants less genteel, their morals questionable at best. Being a former member of Queen Helena’s court, he found the Unseelies’ way of life refreshingly honest.
Boris’s soldiers, whom he trained at the behest of King Boris, were front and center. When he’d first met them, they were embarrassingly sub-par, inept drunkards, but he’d managed to mold them into acceptable soldiers. They wouldn’t be happy about his news, but Alistair felt he was the best person to deliver it.
He cleared his throat and went straight to the point. “King Boris is dead.”
A deafening silence fell over the gathered crowd. As the Unseelies slowly registered the horrible news, grief and anxiety spread like a current across the masses. Women sobbed and hugged their children closer while soldiers bowed their heads in mourning. Boris was well loved among his people, Alistair had to give him that. Soon there were raised voices, questioning, and indignation. The Unseelies wanted answers.
“Settle down,” Alistair commanded.
“How did he die?” Vincent, one of Boris’s soldiers, called from the crowd.
Alistair readied himself. “King Boris was slain by one of Queen Helena’s men.” Like casting a line out to sea, all he needed to do was wait.
Uncertainty and mourning quickly morphed into blind rage. Guns were fired into the air as battle cries were heard all around. Bloodlust was one hell of a drug, Alistair thought. He simulated grief and addressed the crowd again. “Ladies and gentlemen, please—”
“Death to the Seelie Queen!”
“Vengeance on the Seelie Army!”
His plan was in full motion. “Now’s not the time for talk of revenge. We need to mourn the great king’s passing. We’ll deal with the Seelie Court later.”
“What we need,” Vincent proclaimed, “is to elect a new king and go to battle with the Seelie Army.”
The Unseelie soldiers roared in agreement, while chants of “Alistair” were heard from the crowd. As the calls grew more rapturous, Alistair smiled to himself in quiet jubilation.
“I hereby submit Alistair McCabe to be the new Unseelie King. All in favor, say aye,” shouted Vincent.
“Aye!” the crowd roared. Alistair gave a nod of thanks to Iekika. Desperate times called for desperate measures. The Unseelie Court needed a proper wartime king, and he was more than ready to step up to the plate.
The best part of Clover’s lessons with her mom was that she got to swim. The beach in the faerie realm was the most magnificent she’d ever seen. The white, powder-soft sand was almost luminescent under the sun, while the crystalline water sparkled with every wave that came crashing to shore. Wearing a pair of shorts and a tank top, she braced herself for the day’s lessons. Her joy from swimming had been quick to turn into angst and disappointment as she’d failed, again and again, to swim deep enough into the ocean to cross over to the Land Beneath the Waves.
Despite the many failed attempts, Meara seemed hopeful. “Ready to go for a swim?”
Her steadfast confidence in Clover was encouraging, if not perhaps misguided. Meara had a dignified and calm self-assurance about her, as if nothing were difficult and everything came ridiculously easy, which made it even harder for Clover to repeatedly bomb in front of her.
Clover plastered on a smile. “Let’s do it.”
Together they waded into the ocean and, without further ado, Meara dove in and glided into its depths, her legs transforming into a large fin with every stroke. Clover dove in after her, and instantly her spirits soared. Although she didn’t grow fish scales and flippers, she swam expertly nonetheless, more than able to keep up with Meara as she swam farther into the ocean.
For a moment, all else faded away. The saltiness of the water, the deafening sounds of the sea, and the feel of the water against her body occupied Clover’s senses. She had always loved to swim, but there was nothing like being out in the ocean with her mother swimming beside her. They swam past the waves, where the water was bluer and calmer. Clover marveled at the sights of fish and coral as they both dove deeper and deeper toward the ocean floor. Then, it happened again as expected—her lungs ached, her breathing shallowed, and panic engulfed her. She had to come up for air. Instinctively, she reversed course and started swimming up to the surface.
Don’t let fear stop you. You’re my daughter, and as sure as I am a merrow, you can breathe under water. You just need to change your thinking.
Although Clover heard Meara’s words in her head, she felt powerless to do anything about it. The instinct for self-preservation was so strong that there was nowhere to go but up. She gasped for air as she breached the surface, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She slammed her palm against the water in frustration, making her eyes sting from the salt.
Meara’s head soon popped out of the water; her long, auburn hair perfectly combed back like she was in a shampoo commercial.
“Perhaps today’s not the day,” Meara said. “But that doesn’t mean we have to head back yet.” She tilted her head toward the horizon, the ocean vast and inviting. “Care for another swim? No pressure, this time.”
It was an offer she couldn’t resist. She enjoyed her time with Meara immensely and couldn’t wait to explore with her. She nodded. “I’d love to go for a swim.”
“Catch me if you can,” Meara called out before she swam to the open sea.
“Two cubes of sugar, please,” said Mary.
Anna dropped two sugar cubes in Mary’s tea and sliced three pieces of apple pie.
Momma Ruth enjoyed being a guest at Anna’s house. It felt like a fairytale-themed bed and breakfast, with its stone walls, beflowered window arrangements, and quaint furnishings. Finn’s mother was the most gracious host and was truly a remarkable woman. She’d also formed a bond with Mary, Scobert’s mother. Although the two ladies looked like they could be Momma Ruth’s granddaughters, in reality, they were much older than she could ever fathom. Nonetheless, they had plenty in common, most of all their steadfast and unrelenting devotion to their families.
“With King Boris dead, the Unseelies are even more volatile, and who knows what Alistair may do. That’s why Queen Helena is concerned for Clover’s safety, now more than ever,” Anna explained to Momma Ruth.
The two women were trying to placate Momma Ruth. She didn’t appreciate the way Helena put Clover on the spot about her training, and the two ladies were quick to defend their queen. Truth be told, she understood where they were coming from, but she couldn’t help it. She was overly protective when it came to her granddaughter, especially since Clover had been through so much.
“Sometimes, I wonder,” Momma Ruth said, “maybe we’re better off returning to Earth. We could go on the run for a while. It’s a big world out there. If we keep moving, Alistair will never find us.” She took a sip of her tea and looked expectantly at Anna and Mary.
“No, dear.” Mary shook her head. “Don’t underestimate our kind. Alistair will find her. That’s why you, Nick, and Clover are safest here.”
Momma Ruth sighed. As much as she loved that Clover, Nick, and Meara had reunited under the strangest of circumstances, sometimes she missed their normal life in New York, which on closer inspection, wasn’t that normal at all. All their blessings could be traced back to a leprechaun, the guy who ran the deli across the street was a mermaid, and their cat could talk to faeries.
Another reason she wanted to go back to New York, one she didn’t readily admit to, was she was feeling less and less like herself in the faerie realm. Ever since Finn used magic to save her life, she’d been feeling stronger, younger, and more powerful by the day. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but its implications frightened her. She glanced at Anna and Mary; ethereal creatures suspended in time. Would this be Clover’s fate, she wondered. Would it be hers?
“I suppose you’re right,” she conceded. “Clover is safer here. Thank you again for all that you’ve done for us.”
“Think nothing of it,” Anna said as she reached out and squeezed her hand. “We’re family now.”
Back on the beach, Clover and Meara lounged on a spruced-up beach blanket made of a velvety, magical, fabric that was as thin as a sheet of parchment, but as comfortable as a plush mattress. Laid out on the blanket was an assortment of nuts, cheeses, fresh fruit, and wine. Meara had changed into a crisp, linen dress and was looking out into the ocean, her legs stretched in front of her, a look of absolute calm on her face. Her long, auburn hair was swept against her right shoulder, still wet from the swim. Looking at her, nobody would think that only moments ago she’d swam to shore as her glistening fin reflected the light from the sun and waves. Sometimes, Clover still found it hard to believe that the goddess beside her was her mother.
No wonder her dad was so crazy about her. With an otherworldly grace that was difficult to replicate, Meara was the type of woman who made other women feel glaringly ordinary in comparison. The only thing Clover had in common with her mom was their piercing, dark blue eyes. Other than that, Clover felt they couldn’t have been more different.
Nibbling on a piece of cheese, Clover wanted to prolong lunch as much as she could. She knew that after they’d eaten, Meara would try to get her to use her powers again. Over the past few weeks, nothing had worked—visualization, chanting, wishful thinking—nada. As much as she enjoyed spending the day with Meara, her persistent ability to prove over and over again that she was insipidly human had started to chafe at her. Had it all been a fluke? Did she really have it in her to perform magic? To swim beneath the waves? She shook her head in doubt.
Clover heard Meara’s voice in her head. You worry too much. Magic isn’t planned or orchestrated. It just is.
It hadn’t been the first time that Meara spoke to her telepathically, but had she been listening to her thoughts, too?
“Sorry,” Meara said sheepishly. “Didn’t mean to get in your head.”
Too late, Clover thought sarcastically.
Meara chuckled despite herself.
“Mom! Stop it, please.”
Meara’s otherwise composed demeanor changed as she averted her gaze, focusing instead on a seashell nearby.
Guilty for her curtness, Clover tried to make amends. “Sorry for snapping at you.”
“It’s not that.” Meara turned to her. “You called me mom. It was nice.”
Not having realized she’d even said it, her cheeks warmed.
Meara reached for her hand. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. You can call me anything you want.”
The moment Meara touched her, a stream of consciousness entered her mind, markedly different from brief messages delivered telepathically. This time, it was as if she were in her mother’s head, feeling as well as hearing her innermost thoughts. I hope I didn’t turn her off. What kind of mother am I when I can’t even talk to my own child? She has so much power in her. If she only knew…
She pulled away and brought her hand to her mouth. “Wow.”
Meara grinned from ear to ear. “You read my thoughts. You used your powers.”
“Can all faeries do that?” she asked, suddenly mortified. If Finn had been reading her thoughts all along, she’d die.
“Some can,” Meara said. “There are different types of magics. Sometimes, the Fae can control minds, like Alistair did when he made you believe he was Finn. Faeries who are related also have strong telepathic connections, but the ability is innate to merrows, born of our need to communicate while in the water.”
“I don’t want to read people’s minds and I don’t want it done to me, either.” If she was being completely honest, it freaked her out to no end.
Meara nodded encouragingly. “I promise to never breach your mind again, except to communicate. If you choose to not use this power again, that’s completely fine. It’s really not the point, you see.”
“What is the point?”
“The point, my child, is that you can.”
With Clover busy with lessons and with nothing pressing to attend to at court, Finn lounged on the deck of his lakeside cabin, a beer in one hand and a large, old, untitled tome in the other. The book was held together with rope, uneven pages sticking out like some disorganized, overstuffed filing cabinet. The book was Anna’s–a compilation of the oral histories of their people, passed down from generation to generation. Finn flipped through it, looking for information on Cuchulainn, the greatest known commander of the Red Branch Knights, infamous and eulogized as a demi-god by the Irish since the time of the Roman Empire.
What the folktales never mentioned was that Cuchulainn was a great faerie warrior, believed to one day return from the grave to stand alongside a worthy faerie warrior of his equal. Alistair had always believed himself to be that warrior. Over the course of Finn’s apprenticeship and later partnership with Alistair, one name had come up over and over as the epitome of soldierly excellence. Cuchulainn, the fallen warrior who would one day fight alongside Alistair, proving once and for all that his abilities equal that of the greatest faerie warrior in millennia.
It all sounded pretty absurd; all things considered. Finn had seen ghosts, ghouls, banshees, headless horsemen, you name it, but even among the most powerful of the Fae, he’d never seen anyone rise from the dead. The only person known to have done that was Jesus Christ, and Finn wasn’t even sure if he actually had. The thing was, Alistair had been a firm believer in Cuchulainn’s legend, and with all that’d happened, Finn wondered if Alistair was crazy enough to attempt to bring him back. Or perhaps he was the crazy one.
Finn slammed the book shut in frustration. He was grasping at straws, no doubt about it. In the two weeks since Alistair got away, he’d been looking over his shoulder, anticipating his next attack. He figured if he could somehow predict Alistair’s next move, then he’d be at an advantage. The man was, after all, his mentor. He was probably the only one in the whole realm who knew him best, which meant he knew exactly how dangerous he was. The thought of Alistair getting near Clover set him off so much, he hardly knew what to do with himself.
“Finn! Are you out back?”
Hearing her voice still made Finn’s heart beat just a wee bit faster, especially since he hadn’t expected to see her so soon.
“Hey, you,” he called as Clover came running to him, her cheeks flushed and sunburnt. She got on her toes and hugged him tight, the scents of juniper, jasmine, and seawater enveloping him. He rested his hands around her waist, pulled her closer, and kissed her. She felt so incredibly good to him, it was almost impossible to describe.
“I have good news.” Clover beamed. “I was able to use one of my powers.”
“That’s awesome! Which one?”
“I can read minds! I read my mom’s accidentally, and I really don’t want to do it again, and I asked her not to read mine if she can help it, and I just feel so psyched right now—”
“Slow down, slow down,” Finn said.
She inhaled once and exhaled in one long breath, looking up at him eagerly. “I was just so happy to have made some progress, and I couldn’t wait to tell you about it.”
“Of course, and I’m so proud of you. I always knew you had it in you.”
Clover smiled mischievously. “Shall I try to read your mind?”
“At your own risk,” Finn teased.
She traced her fingers up his chest and draped her arms around his neck. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day.” She kissed him with an urgency which Finn was more than eager to reciprocate. When she slipped her hand under his shirt, her cool touch created goosebumps against his skin. He held her tighter out of sheer impulse as she kissed his neck and mildly toyed with the top button of his jeans.
“Slow down, slow down,” Finn said as he gently pulled away, struggling to catch his breath.
With mouth parted and breathing hitched, she looked at him questioningly. “I thought you wanted to.” Then she stepped back and looked away.
Of course, he had wanted to.
“I did,” Finn said. “I mean, I do. Believe me, I do, but I don’t want you to rush into it. We can take our time.”
Clover turned beet red as she looked down at her feet and shrugged. “Sure. Whatever.”
How stupid was he? The last thing he’d intended was to hurt her feelings. “Clover, please. Don’t get me wrong, I—”
“No. I understand. Listen, I better get back to Anna’s. I shouldn’t have dropped in unannounced anyway.”
“Wait. Don’t—” Before he even finished his sentence, Clover had already walked away from him.
Safely ensconced in her bedroom, Clover grabbed her pillow and heartily screamed right into it. Beyond humiliated, she wanted to crawl under the covers and hide. Suddenly, she needed more than ever to speak to Andie, her best friend. When she and Momma Ruth disappeared into the faerie realm months ago, they’d left letters to close friends saying they’d gone on vacation. A letter had gone out to Andie, but Clover knew she never would have bought it. It wasn’t like her to just leave like that. Andie would have known that something wasn’t right. She felt bad for abandoning her best friend like she did, and she wished there was a way to see her or at least talk to her. She needed her now. Andie had more experience with dating and men. Clover, on the other hand, had very little forays into the love department. She tried to imagine what Andie might have said to her if she were there. “Chill out” was a prime candidate, or “who cares that he told you to slow down while you were laying the seduction on thick?”
A knock on the door interrupted Clover’s thoughts.
Momma Ruth poked her head into the room. “Can I come in?”
“Of course, Momma.”
Momma Ruth sat beside her on the bed. “I saw you walk in. You looked upset.”
Clover rubbed her eyes, as if the act might clear her head. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
“Don’t lie to me, young woman.”
Clover considered her grandma’s order. On the one hand, she really needed someone to talk to. On the other hand, did she really want to have the relationship-slash-sex talk with Momma Ruth at that moment?
“I just get so confused and overwhelmed sometimes.”
“Tell me,” Momma Ruth said soothingly.
“It’s just that everything is new all of a sudden. With dad back in my life and meeting Meara for the first time, discovering my powers, falling in love with Finn—it’s just been a lot, you know? It’s not just that either. I’m scared.” She took Momma Ruth’s hand as she tried to hold back her tears. “I’m scared all the time that Alistair will come back, and I won’t be ready for him. I’m scared that Finn doesn’t feel as strongly for me as I do for him. Mostly, I’m frightened for all the people I love. I don’t want any of you to get hurt.”
“That certainly does sound daunting, doesn’t it? It’s not too late to make a run for it.”
That was certainly not the response she’d been expecting. “What?”
Momma Ruth wiped a tear off Clover’s cheek. “Oh, sweetie. These are all valid worries, but none of them insurmountable. You have all the time in the world to get to know your mom and dad better. Same goes for your powers. Don’t feel pressured to learn everything all at once. As with everything that requires honing, it will take some time. As for Alistair, if and when he comes for you, you won’t have to fight him all by yourself. You’ve got a whole village of people who care for you and who’ll protect you. Don’t you worry about us because we can take care of ourselves.”
Her grandmother always knew just the words to make her feel better.
“Thank you, Momma.”
“Now, what’s this nonsense about Finn and his feelings for you?”
Clover suddenly wished she hadn’t mentioned anything, but she was certain Momma Ruth would wheedle it out of her, so she figured she’d just be honest.
“I feel like he’s not really that into me.”
Momma Ruth cocked an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”
“I’m not like the other women he’s been with.”
“And this is a problem, because…?”
“Take Liz, for example. I mean, just look at her. She’s so beautiful, sexy, and experienced.”
“Oh. I think I see where this is going. Clover, you don’t have to go all the way with someone just because you think he expects it, and you feel pressured to. If he truly loves you, he’ll slow things down and wait until you’re ready. If he doesn’t, then he wasn’t worth it to begin with.”
Clover suddenly felt like a fool. Why had she been in such a rush to take things to the next level with Finn, anyway? She realized that, like everything else, their relationship would require time to run its own course. She didn’t have to prove anything to herself or Finn. All she needed to do was trust him and see where that took them.
Clover smiled. “What would I do without you?”
“Just because he’s a leprechaun, doesn’t mean he gets to get lucky,” Momma Ruth said with a wink.
“Momma!” Clover shrieked.
As they both giggled like little girls, it felt like home again. Never mind that they were in the faerie realm, or that she was half-Fae, or that she’d fallen in love with an insanely hot leprechaun. With Momma Ruth by her side, she could take on anything.