The days leading up to Samhain held a strange mix of apprehension and inevitability. The Queen’s Army had agreed on a plan of attack and set the date. Like a trebuchet primed for launch, the realm was taut with anticipation. On the first day of winter, the Seelie Army would breach the Unseelie territories and take the king down. Armed with a magical weapon that could vanquish Alistair and Iekika while simultaneously re-opening the portals between the realms, the Queen’s Army was eager for retribution, and yet Clover’s anxiety multiplied with every day that brought them closer to war.
The first of November represented the beginning of a new year in the faerie realm; a time for fresh starts and auspicious beginnings. To mark the occasion, the queen would set her kingdom to rights, getting rid of Alistair once and for all. If their grandiose plans hadn’t potentially involved killing Finn in the process, Clover would have been all for them, but as much as she hated Alistair, she couldn’t even imagine painting Finn with that same brush.
To make matters worse, even though her merrow family intended to join the offensive, she’d been asked to stand down—reasoning that her connection to Alistair made her an easy target and a likely distraction. Unspoken, but clearly on everybody’s mind was her complicated connection to Finn as well.
Even her easy friendship and budding romance with Kean was on shaky ground. During the handful of times she’d seen him, she’d been inordinately pissed every time Kean mentioned anything to do with the upcoming siege. Like an avalanche she was powerless to prevent nor escape, the war was proceeding full speed ahead despite her inner turmoil.
Only Anna seemed to share her gloom, but was handling it with far more pragmatism, even in the face of the would-be target on her son’s back. With the strike commencing at daybreak, Samhain aptly took on the feel of an impending funeral.
Gathered first at Anna’s house, their small group slowly made their way to Market Square for the time-honored tradition of lighting candles for the dead. Anna placed a hand on her shoulder, keeping pace. “I know you worry, as do I, but this battle was written in stone the moment King Boris attempted to overthrow Queen Helena’s reign. While Finn’s altered allegiance is disappointing, I cannot fault him for it. I suppose blood trumps all in this case.”
“How are you not freaking out?” she asked incredulously.
Anna seemed to carefully consider her answer, her creased brow evident under the bright, full moon. “I trust him completely. Even though I may not understand his choices, my faith in him ensures that I abide by them.”
Once again, Clover was awed by Anna’s resolute confidence and steely composure. Through everything they’d endured, she couldn’t recall ever seeing her lose her calm. “Thank you, Anna,” she said.
“For what, dear?”
“For being who you are,” Clover said without hesitation.
When Anna hugged her, she realized how decidedly lucky she was, despite everything. She’d been raised knowing only one true parent—Momma Ruth. Now, she was surrounded by people and faeries who cared and looked out for her, each and every one of them, she’d fight to the death to protect. She glanced back at their ragtag group, brought together by chance and fate. Momma Ruth, looking as vibrant as she’d ever seen her, Nick, finally getting his old swagger back and looking forward to a brighter future, Mary, with her quiet surety and cheerful demeanor, and Andie, ever resilient and adaptable, expertly taking the good with the bad and coming out smiling on the other side. She really couldn’t wish for better company.
The scene that greeted them at Market Square was a stark departure from the plaza’s usual chaotic and lively vibe. Gone were the numerous kiosks selling every type of knick-knack imaginable. The square was emptied out, with only what looked to be a dance floor in the middle, bystanders milling about lighting candles and lanterns, and only the sounds from a distant piano filling the air.
When Anna saw her take in the unusual sight, she explained, “It’s for the Dance of the Dead—an age-old if not perhaps macabre tradition during Samhain. For those lucky enough to have their departed loved ones visit, a priceless opportunity to bring some joviality into an otherwise somber occasion.”
Her thoughts intuitively went to Mirabella. As much as she would have loved a chance to see her again, the idea of mingling with ghosts on Halloween still admittedly gave her the creeps. She doubted she’d be able to keep a straight face. Just as memories of her friend flashed in her mind, she scanned the crowd and was instantly chastened when she spotted Scobert. Her childish fear of ghosts was soon dwarfed by her fervent hope that Scobert might get a chance to see his daughter again.
Making their way through the crowd to Scobert and his group, Clover was astonished to discover that they were already in the presence of guests from the spirit world. Like extremely lifelike holograms, a handful of ghostly apparitions had blended in with the crowd—some of them now being welcomed by loved ones; others still searching for family and friends. Trying her hardest not to point and stare, she was relieved when Scobert handed her a mug of cider.
“A blessed Samhain to you and yours,” Scobert said as he started passing out more drinks. Accompanied by a small contingent of the queen’s soldiers, it looked like they’d set up shop and had been there for a while. After everybody had been given a drink, tapered candles were distributed, with a whispered incantation— “To our dearly departed.”
With a candle in one hand and a mug in the other, Clover looked around to see if anybody had matches. Not expecting to see Kean there, she was surprised when he walked toward her, an easy smile on his face.
“It sure is good to see you,” he said.
“Aren’t you supposed to be with the queen?” Clover asked without preamble. Helena hardly went anywhere outside of her court without Kean by her side.
“Soon. She’s to make an appearance in about an hour. Let me get that for you,” he said as he bent to whisper something at Clover’s candle, lighting it up with a pretty orange flame.
“Cool,” Clover said, feeling like a dork.
“They’re enchanted,” Kean said then he pointed to a nearby rustic altar with candleholders. Faeries were already setting their lit candles on its cascading shelves, creating a sort of flaming installation art.
Clover walked over and placed her candle on an empty votive, saying a silent prayer for Mirabella.
Kean stood beside her as they looked out at the makeshift dancefloor; a slow trickle of Fae and ghost alike already congregating for the Dance of the Dead. “Would you like to dance?” he asked.
“Isn’t it just for the dead?”
Kean laughed and offered his hand. “I mean, there’s no guest list or anything. I think we should be all right.”
Clover put her hand in his and let him lead her to the dance floor, all the while shooting furtive glances at the ghosts among them. “It’s impolite to stare,” Kean whispered as he placed her arms around his neck then rested his hands at the small of her back.
“I’m sorry. This is just so—”
“Bizarre? Morbid? Creepy?”
“Yes,” Clover admitted as they swayed in time to the slow melody.
“Listen, Clover. I’m sorry if I’d been insensitive before—about the war with the Unseelies. I realize how hard this must be for you. If it’s any consolation, I don’t want to fight Finn. Believe me, none of us do.”
It was hardly any consolation at all. “I know,” Clover said instead, focused on the slow shuffle of their feet on the dance floor.
Kean tilted her chin up. “You and me. Are we okay?”
Looking into Kean’s pale-blue earnest eyes, she couldn’t form the words. Yes, she liked him and enjoyed being with him, but was it anything like what she’d felt for Finn? Not even close. Were they okay? And could they ever really be when her heart still obviously bled for someone else?
“Oh, Kean,” she said, resting her cheek upon his chest, realizing just then that somewhere along the way, they’d stopped dancing.
“Shhh,” he breathed into her hair. “Please don’t say it.”
She didn’t—at least not yet. For a moment, they were still amidst the ghostly revelry, taking comfort in each other yet knowing they’d soon have to let go. The unavoidable came sooner than expected when Clover saw Anna approach, bright-eyed and slightly distraught, accompanied by an obvious ghost.
“Clover,” Anna said, “I’d like you to meet someone very special. This is Brielle.”
The apparition that stood before her, while elegant and beautiful, was also fierce and distinctly intimidating. When the ghost smiled at her, Clover wasn’t sure if she was meant to recognize this woman or the name Brielle. She smiled back tentatively. Only when she noticed her piercing gray eyes did realization dawn on her. Of course. Brielle was Finn’s mother.
“Hello, Clover,” Brielle said.
“Hi,” she said, instinctively reaching out to shake Brielle’s hand, pulling it back when she remembered she was a ghost, then ultimately just hiding both hands behind her back. Meeting her ex-boyfriend’s dead birth mother was so far going as awkwardly as expected.
Brielle turned to Anna, then to Kean. “I hope you do not mind if Clover and I had a private word.”
“Not at all, Ma’am,” Kean said as he gave Clover’s hand a quick squeeze and left with Anna.
Alone with the imposing spirit of Finn’s mother, Clover hardly knew what to do with herself. When Brielle pointed to a less crowded spot off the dancefloor and sort of floated over there, she obediently followed.
Brielle got right to it. “I am sure you have guessed at why I am here tonight.”
Clover had no idea. “Well—”
“To deliver a message,” Brielle interrupted. Then she peered at Clover, as if trying to puzzle something out. “You love my son. Yes?”
She opened her mouth to provide a long-winded retelling of their tragic tale of star-crossed lovers, but something about Brielle’s direct manner demanded candor. “Yes,” she admitted. She was already on a roll with mono-syllabic answers, why stop now?
Brielle nodded. “But you are stung by his betrayal.”
Clover looked away, fighting to keep tears in. “Yes.”
“Fall Valley,” Brielle said.
“What?” Clover snapped her head back and was greeted by a knowing look in Brielle’s steel-gray eyes. “Is Finn there?” she dared whisper.
“You must go,” Brielle replied softly. Then her eyes scanned the crowd. “Anna and I have a lot of catching up to do.”
“Thank you,” Clover said, her heart hammering in her chest. Without another thought, she raced out of Market Square, her legs pumping as fast as her body would let them. With the cool night wind in her face, she was exhilarated. If Fall Valley held the promise of Finn, she wasn’t about to waste any time getting there. With that thought in mind and a desire for resolution filling her veins, Clover’s feet left the ground. Caught off guard, she wobbled slightly but quickly reclaimed her balance. Soaring higher, she squealed into the night sky, another magical skill mastered and hope for a reunion underway.
Kean and a handful of Seelie soldiers had left to fetch the queen, but Scobert stayed behind. If there was even the slightest chance he’d get to dance with his daughter again, he wasn’t going anywhere. Scanning the crowd at Market Square, he noticed the once-solemn vibe quickly morph into something more jovial and celebratory as dead loved ones were reunited with their families. He recognized some of tonight’s ghostly visitors—soldiers he’d fought alongside with, long-gone faerie matriarchs, and even the occasional faerie child taken too soon. A sharp twinge in his heart cautioned him not to get his hopes up. It was a well-known fact that not all the dead come back.
Scobert took a sip of the cider and wished he’d packed something stronger. With every thought in his head unerringly revolving around the hope of seeing his dead daughter, fermented apples didn’t quite carry the punch he needed. Still, he skimmed through the now thickening crowd, his fragile sense of hope betrayed by the slight shaking of his hand. When he spotted Manannán mac Lir arrive with his merrow clan, his eyebrows rose in surprise. They rarely ever celebrated Samhain on the other side, and it had been many years since the sea god graced any of Queen Helena’s events, choosing always to send an emissary to represent the family. It was an unmistakable show of support. He made a mental note to alert Helena of his presence the moment she arrived.
The more ghosts he glimpsed among the crowd; the more his own spirits plummeted. No sign of her anywhere. He decided then to brush foolhardy dreams under the carpet. With a realm on the verge of war and a queen at the brink of abdication, he had more important things to worry about. A low hum of activity off the side of the square alerted him to the arrival of Helena’s carriage. Good. Looking after Helena, while a noble pursuit that gave him great joy, was also a welcome distraction.
As he made his way to Helena, he noticed Anna speaking animatedly with a ghost who at first glance, looked vaguely familiar. Peering closer, he realized with a start that it was Brielle. Ironic, he mused, that on the very night that Finn was otherwise engaged, she’d chosen to make her appearance. Thoughts of Finn further dampening his already sour mood, he reminded himself that it was none of his business.
Just as he was turning in the opposite direction, Anna met his gaze and immediately went to him, her expression anxious yet guarded. Knowing her for as long as he had, he knew right away from the look on her face that something big was brewing and braced himself.
When Anna approached, she leaned in and whispered. “I may have some rather urgent information that demands the queen’s attention.”
“Tell me.”
Just as Anna caught a breath to speak, a shocked, almost harried expression crossed her face. Then she reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out a vibrating magical compass.
“Jaysus,” Scobert said. “It’s Finn.”
The thrill of levitating was only rivaled by the prospect of seeing Finn again. Whether it was for a long overdue goodbye or a much-coveted reunion, it didn’t matter. Just to see him alive and well after all these months was prize enough. The rest of the drama involving their impossible situation, they could figure out later. Her heart jumped in her chest as she spotted Fall Valley beneath her. The fleeting panic that filled her when she realized she didn’t know how to land was quickly replaced with relief when she slowly descended, and her feet touched the ground without incident. She jogged to the small meadow by the babbling brook—their special spot.
Short of breath, faced-flushed and flustered, she searched for him, her eyes scanning the moonlit landscape. With Finn nowhere in sight, her powers suddenly burbled inside of her, a supernatural survival instinct. Suspecting she’d been lured into a trap, she had to admit that using Finn as bait was a surefire way to get her attention.
Feeling the confident crackle of magic in her fingertips, she called out to the night. “Who’s out there?”
As true as the power coursing through her veins, she knew that except for a few errant fireflies and a handful of symphonic toads, she was without a doubt alone in Fall Valley. She wondered at the kind of sick sense of humor that would send someone on a disappointing wild goose chase and wished she could give Brielle a piece of her mind. When she realized the absurdity of having words with the ghost of Finn’s long-dead mother, a cackle escaped her lips and her legs folded under her. On the crimson-colored grass, she brought her hands to her face. What was she doing? Was she that desperate to see Finn that when a ghost whispered, “Fall Valley,” she literally flew there without question? She pulled at the grass in frustration, her fingers grasping at the turf even as she struggled to get her own grip on things. When she touched something that neither felt like grass or soil, she bent to investigate. Under a layer of fallen leaves and almost crusted to the ground was a yellowing piece of parchment folded up in a small square. Peering closer, she tried to read the rain-smudged scrawl on its surface. Her breath caught in her throat when she deciphered the hand-written name. Clover.
As she gingerly unfolded the piece of paper, she wondered how long it had been sitting there, unseen and forgotten. Weeks? Months? She struggled to read the message within as passing clouds obstructed the moon’s glow. The wandering firefly, as if sensing her exasperation, flitted over, illuminating her long-lost missive.
Clover,
I’m sorry for leaving so suddenly. One day, I hope you’ll understand my reasons. Please know that I will come back to you. I can only hope that you’ll still have me when I do.
Yours always,
Finn
Kean tried unsuccessfully to brush thoughts of Clover aside. Even knowing it was a long shot, he had hoped for something more. She was unlike any girl he’d ever met before, so refreshingly lacking in pretension and unapologetically grounded. Being with her, he’d felt more alive in as long as he could remember, but if she didn’t feel the same, there was nothing he could do about it and as much as it stung, he wasn’t one to push; he’d accept her decision.
Snapping his attention back to the present, he and a handful of the Queen’s men guided Helena from her carriage to the small stage where she would say a few words to commemorate the occasion. The customary crowd of onlookers gathered around their small group, eager to get a closer glimpse at the elusive monarch. Helena kept them at a slow and steady pace, making a point to shake hands and accept offerings of flowers and such from the townspeople. Each gift was then passed on to Liz, who trailed behind with a large woven bag.
Scanning the crowd, he immediately spotted Lir and surreptitiously nudged the queen while training his eyes on the sea god’s direction. Queen Helena met Lir’s gaze, inclining her head in a silent greeting. Although her expression remained impassive, Kean was certain she was pleased with the merrow-folk’s presence there that evening, a sure indication that the merrows would fight come morning. As they inched their way to the stage amidst a throng of loyal subjects, Kean noticed Scobert duck away toward a dark alley with Anna following behind, something clasped tightly in her hand. Intuitively, his spine straightened and his skin prickled. Something was up. Instantly on high alert, a quick hand signal to the other soldiers had them forming a tighter huddle around their queen. Helena shot him an enquiring look, but by then, they received a resounding answer to all their questions.
High above, a massive horse-drawn chariot zipped through the sky, followed by a horde of Unseelie soldiers, all hooting and jeering like wild beasts. Kean immediately shielded the queen with his body while they rushed to get her back into her carriage.
“No!” snapped Helena, her eyes ablaze. “I will not cower and hide,” she said as she tilted her head up to meet the oncoming attack. “Prepare to fight.”
The crowd at Market Square were seemingly of the same mind, none running to hide or take shelter. Ghosts and Fae alike stood their ground, casting challenging glares at their common enemies. It was clear that the Seelie Court had had enough of the so-called Unseelie King. If there was a war to be fought, they weren’t about to budge.
Suddenly amped for a long-awaited reckoning, Kean pulled his blade from its sheath and raised it overhead. “For the queen and for the realm!”
“For the queen and for the realm!” echoed the Seelie soldiers and townsfolk, brandishing weapons in the air and in some cases, raised fists their only armaments.
The chariot made a show of swooping down on the crowd and propelling upward before eventually landing on the makeshift stage. Fully expecting to see Alistair’s smug face at the helm, Kean was surprised to see that it was driven by an impressive warrior with long blond hair, his torso bearing Celtic markings, a golden spear held firmly in his right hand. Clearly not an Unseelie thug, the imposing soldier looked the epitome of the heroes of lore. Bewilderment mixed feverishly with fear and bloodlust in Kean’s veins, his thoughts focused on two things: the unknown identity of the warrior and the overwhelming desire to best him. When four equally impressive warriors emerged from inside the massive chariot and flanked their clear leader, Kean heard Helena take in a gasp of air.
“Do you realize who they are?” the queen asked, an uncharacteristic sense of awe and disbelief evident in her voice. Before Kean could even form a response, she continued in a reverent whisper, “Cuchulainn and his Red Branch Knights, awoken from their fabled slumber. Impossible.”
Demi-gods and legendary heroes from his childhood. Could they truly be here in the flesh? Alistair seemed more than happy to offer up confirmation when he and his Unseelie soldiers soon descended on the stage.
“I caution the Seelie Court to lay down their arms,” Alistair shouted, “The Great Berserker and his loyal knights stand ready to fight with me! Surrender now or perish!”
The gravity of that statement was not lost on the crowd, everyone well versed in the stories of the conquests and victories of the larger-than-life legends magically brought back to life before them. All looked to Queen Helena, who in turn searched the crowd. When the queen and the clurichaun’s gazes met across the square, Helena nodded once, her expression unyielding. Scobert held the same look of steely determination, if not mired by evident resignation.
Helena stepped forward. “The Seelie Court knows no surrender. I will keep my throne, or I will die in its honor.”
“Very well, My Queen,” Alistair sneered before addressing his minions. “Attack!”
Clover heard the uproar from a mile away, the hackle-raising sounds of battle. Her thoughts immediately centering on her loved ones, she soon found herself in flight, pushing herself to move faster. The closer she got, the clang of metal against metal and the deafening echo of gunshots rang through the air. Panic gripped her as she imagined the worst. What horrific scene would greet her at Market Square and were her family and friends safe?
When she was only a few yards away, she glimpsed Unseelie and Seelie soldiers fighting in mid-air, some on the ground, transforming the once quaint plaza into a battlefield. This was it−the moment she’d been dreading arrived too soon. Willing her feet to touch ground, she landed with a low thud and sprinted toward the ongoing war.