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Joey calmly dressed for work, but the vivid dream was still in his mind.
For some reason, he dreamt of what he assumed was the Scottish Highlands. He wondered if the idea popped into his head because of what he and Cailleagh had discussed at lunch the day before. He wasn't sure. But, he now understood what she meant.
He had the crazy impression he'd been there before.
But the dream didn't stop at pretty, green hills, and sheep grazing nearby. It went further than that. Deeper.
His mind drifted back to the dream, and he now recalled a large stone circle with a strange woman standing in the middle of it. Her long, dark hair blew gently in the wind, as did her flowing gown. There was something about this woman that was familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
As he put on his tie, he remembered something else. She had said something to him. Something, that, at the time, didn't seem right. Because he knew he didn't speak that language.
And yet...
Cuimhnich, no mhac. Cuimhnich far a bheil thu.
Joey shook his head. Grabbing his suit jacket, he headed out of the bedroom toward the kitchen. He picked up his keys and briefcase on the breakfast counter, then went out the door.
He was baffled by the words, by the language.
More, still, he was baffled that all of it was familiar.
***
The Realm
"She is stubborn," came an annoyed voice..
The black haired woman sniffed. "She has the right to be! We are trying to force her into something she does not want!"
Those black orbs glared at her, making her frown. "She is not going to rule! I am! She will not have the throne, I will!" He whirled around to face the woman, a dangerous look upon his face. "And you will do as I command you!"
The lovely woman sniffed again. "Oh, yes, we will. But not happily. The girl has a mind of her own. She will thwart everything we do."
"Then you had better make sure she does not." He left the woman then.
She frowned. Cailleagh Flannery would not be easy to crack.
Cailleagh was right about one thing: Moira didn’t like it. In fact, for the first five minutes, she tried to brush off her questions. She finally cornered her in the loft above the shoppe, and demanded she tell what she knew.
She frowned at her. “Do you know to whom you are speaking?”
Cail crossed her arms over her chest. “I had thought it was my mother, the woman who I could talk to about anything,” she groused. “Apparently I was wrong.”
Moira turned a lovely shade of red. “How dare you?!”
“And how dare you not tell me what I want to know,” she snapped in return. “Is it so hard to tell me what I want to know?”
“There are things you were not meant to know,” she replied caustically.
Cail rolled her eyes. “Please. Suppose you tell me why three siblings, of, I am almost sure, faerie origin are following me around and invading my dreams?”
Moira seemed taken aback by this bit of news. “What?”
“You heard me. You even saw one the day she came into the shoppe asking for books on dreams. Don’t pretend you don’t know.” Cail was fed up.
Silence hung in the air like heavy clouds full of rain. She finally hung her head and shook it.
Cail took that as her cue to tell all. She told Moira everything, the feelings, the dreams, the book, all of it. When she was done, she sat there looking at her, blinking. She had begun to wonder if she’d grown two heads while talking.
“Are you sure it’s Joey?” she asked.
“I’d know that face anywhere.”
“Do you think he’d normally behave that way?”
“No.”
Moira smirked at her. “No offense, luv, but you haven’t known him that long.”
“True,” Cail said. “But the Joey I see in reality is very different from the one in the dream.” She sighed. “That is why I don’t believe the real Joey would behave that way.”
She looked pleased with Cail's answer, as if she had gotten what she wanted out of those words. “Well,” she said, sitting on the stool near the kitchen island, “there are two explanations for that particular part of the dream. One is you are attracted to him and this is projecting itself into your dream—“
“Of course I’m attracted to him!”
“Or,” she continued, frowning at her, “it is someone else playing with your mind.”
“One of the three?” Cail asked.
Moira shook her head. “No,” she replied. “They are helping, though not by choice.” She looked at her, as if trying to decide what to say next.
“Who, then?”
“Glanconner,” was the reply.
“Glanconner?”
“The Love Talker,” she said. “He seduces women, letting them pine away until they die.”
Apparently Cail's expression worried her.
“Oh, you will be fine!” she said. “All you need to do is say his name the next time you encounter him. You will have power over him.” She said this as if it were nothing.
“Why is Joey there?”
“It’s not him, luv. It’s Glanconner wearing Joey’s face.” She looked a little bit sad. “Glanconner will appear as your heart’s desire. Apparently you desire him.” She let a mischievous twinkle come to her eye.
Cail reddened. Well, of course she desired the man! He was… just so… sexy. “Oh.” She looked at her. “What does he want with me?”
“What do faeries ever want? Children, to entice us into the Realm… Remember, luv, not all fey are kind, generous folk. Most are tricksters of an innocent type, while others are tricksters of the malicious type.” She took her hand. “Even the kind fey can be malicious if provoked, like brownies or pixies. But some are evil no matter what.”
“That didn't answer my question. Why me?” she asked again.
Moira suddenly stilled. Her eyes closed as she took a long deep breath. Cailleagh got the distinct impression that this was something that wounded Moira terribly. What could be so awful that she won't tell? That she has hidden from me?
"Because you belong with them,” the sad reply finally came.
“Excuse me? Belong with them?” The words came back to her: Come home! You belong with your people!
Moira sighed heavily. “Yes, that is what I have been keeping from you.”
“I’m a changeling?” she exclaimed.
At this, Moira laughed. “Oh, gods, no! You, my dear one, are only part faerie.” She took her hand again. “I fear they have come to claim you.” And that sad look passed over her face again.
"Wait a minute. What? Part faerie?" Okay, she knew that it wasn't Moira who was the faerie. That left only the other parent.
The non-existent one.
For most of her life, Cailleagh had known that Moira didn't talk about the man who was their father. The subject was taboo in their household. She would only tell them that when they were very young children, she left Ireland and came to the United States, eventually ending up in Albuquerque, New Mexico. But there was never any mention of who their father was, or why he was not around.
The non-existent father was a faerie.
Cail realized suddenly why she kept this from her: she was her child. The fey trying to take Cail away from her had haunted her for part of her adult life.
Tears came to her eyes, those green eyes that now seemed so worried by the troubles she had endured. “There was a time when I was young and foolish, you know.”
“I never said you weren’t,” Cail replied. She was her mother, and she did love her. She smiled at her.
She smiled back. “He was beautiful, your father. Dark, auburn hair and green eyes. And, oh! Was he charming!” A dreamy look came to her face. “He was so kind and generous. It was only one night we were together, but one night is all it takes sometimes.” Her voice was far away, lost in her memories. She sighed. “January came and went. I found out I was pregnant, but I never saw him again. He came by after you were born, wanting to claim you. I was angry with him for disappearing, angry for wanting to take you away. I refused to let him near you or to touch you. That’s when I found out who and what he was.” Moira raised her eyes to Cail. “Faerie decided to let you stay Above to be cared for until such a time your could take your rightful place in Faerie, in the Realm.”
Her brows knitted together. “Rightful place? What the heck does that mean?”
Moira smiled a sad smile. “You, luv, are royalty. Finvarra is your father.”
“Who’s royalty?” Patrick asked as he came up the stairs to the loft.
Moira ignored him. “You are one of the Seelie Court,” she said to Cailleagh.
Patrick dropped his stack of books. “Did they come for you?”
Cail whipped her head around to look at him in disbelief, the memory of him asking mother to tell her secret popping in her head. “You knew?” Anger flooded through her at the idea that even her own brother knew about the Fey.
He suddenly bent down to pick up his books.
“Of course he knows!” Moira snapped. “He’s your brother!”
She eyed him. “Is he faerie, too?”
Patrick screwed up his mouth. “No, I am not. And I am leaving this conversation.” He huffed slightly and went back downstairs to the shoppe.
“You both kept this from me,” Cail sulked. “I should have been told.”
Moira stood from the stool she had been sitting on. “Don’t you dare be cross with us!” she groused. “I kept it from you to protect you. Patrick didn’t tell because I asked him not to. We both did what we did to keep you with us!” She took her hands again. “I would have done -- and would still do -- anything to keep you safe!”
Cailleagh gaped at her, not quite knowing what to say to that fevered speech. She had always been somewhat distant with her, very few words of love or gestures of the ilk, and she had always resented it. Now, she saw a different side of it all. A side that was painful for her, the side that knew her only daughter might someday be taken from her. She was not the detached mother she had thought her to be. She was hurting inside, and she loved her.
“I only wanted to protect you,” she sniffed angrily. Tears were actually forming in Moira’s eyes.
Cailleagh did the only thing she could think of: she wrapped her arms around her and held her tightly.
- Writer
