Through the Door Page 16

  The eerie sound of Anya’s keening sent a shiver up Cedar’s spine. Something was wrong, incredibly wrong. She felt disembodied, as though she were watching events unfold at a distance.

  “You do have a daughter,” Finn said to her. “Our daughter. Nuala has just used her power to make you forget.”

  She shook her head. “That’s ridiculous, Finn.” Her cheeks reddened. “I think I would know if I had a child. I don’t understand why you keep saying I do. Is this some kind of joke? Or another lie?”

  “No!” Finn exclaimed. “You have to believe me. It’s Nuala who is the liar. She planted this in your head. But you can fight it! Think, Cedar. Why else would you be here? You flew from Halifax to New York and then to Ireland to look for Eden. That’s what all of this is about! Why would we lie about that?”

  Cedar felt her hackles rise at this question. She looked up at him, incredulity spreading across her face. “Are you kidding me? You’ve done nothing but lie to me ever since we met. I’m just a human, remember? Every time I turn around I’m discovering some new piece of information you’ve withheld from me.”

  “That may be, Miss Cedar, but you’re discoverin’ all the same, are you not?” Felix said. He stood up from where he had been kneeling beside Molly. “Not as fast as you’d like, I dare say, but I can tell you this for certain: you know a far sight more about us than any other human ever has or possibly ever will, save for our druid friends. And it strikes me that you might be the one withholdin’ information.”

  “What?” Cedar asked. “I’m not withholding anything.”

  “Whether you remember her as your daughter or not, from what Finn has told us, you were the last of us here to see Eden and Nuala,” Felix said. “I believe it might be worth your trouble, and ours, if you would tell us exactly what you remember.”

  Cedar felt mutinous and was about to ask why she should tell them anything, but then she glanced at Oscar’s body on the floor, and saw Molly lying mottled on the sofa, and her anger lessened. She looked around at the faces in the room. There was so much power here, and yet every face was tinged with despair. Whatever they were up against, it was enough to cause dread among this race of gods. The room was cold, and she crossed her arms and hugged herself as she tried to remember.

  “I remember the battle, and seeing Nuala. I ran down the beach. Everyone else was fighting, and I was afraid she was going to get away. She was climbing up the rocks. There was someone with her, a child. The child was screaming, fighting her. Then they went into the hut.”

  “Who went in first?” Rohan asked, his voice low and urgent. “Who opened the door?”

  Cedar closed her eyes, trying to reconstruct the scene in her mind. “The child, I think.”

  “Did you see inside the hut?” he asked. “Did you see what it looked like?”

  “There was a lot of screaming. The kid—a girl, I think—opened the door. It looked dark inside. And then they were screaming and fighting again, and I fell down into the water. I don’t know why. Then the girl opened the door again, and it was like a light had been turned on inside. It was pink. It looked like a little girl’s bedroom.”

  Immediately, the air in the room lightened, as if someone had infused it with oxygen and sunshine. Riona started sobbing and laughing at the same time. Rohan looked shaky on his feet as he walked over to rest a large hand on Cedar’s shoulder. “Okay,” was all he said, nodding at her. “Okay.”

  Cedar looked around in bewilderment. Molly, whose burns were rapidly healing, stood up and hugged her. “We still have a chance then. She’s still here,” she said.

  Cedar looked at Finn for an explanation. His eyes were bright and his arms trembled slightly as he followed his sister’s lead and wrapped Cedar in a tight hug. She pushed him away and stood back, glaring at him with suspicion. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “What you saw, that’s not Tír na nÓg,” he said. “I don’t know why it didn’t work, but there’s nothing that looks like a human girl’s bedroom in Tír na nÓg. It was probably Eden’s room. Is it pink?”

  “How would I know what her room looks like?” Cedar protested.

  “It is pink,” Molly said. “I saw it when we were there the other day.”

  “Then we should go. Now!” Riona said. “She might still be there!”

  Rohan looked at Murdoch, as if he were trying to gauge the other man’s state of mind. Murdoch held his gaze, his internal struggle written on his face. Then he nodded and said, “I’ll call Nevan. I’ll tell her to take Sam and Dermot and get over to Cedar’s apartment as soon as they can.”

  Logheryman, who had been standing silently by the front door, cleared his throat. When he spoke, it was with the voice of a much younger man, almost a boy, and Cedar wondered if his voice or his appearance reflected his true age, or neither.

  “Forgive the intrusion,” he said, “but I believe I may be able to offer you some assistance.” He waited for a response, and when there was none, he continued.

  “My limited understanding of your situation leads me to believe that the sooner you return to your, er, temporary home, the better. Am I correct in this assessment?”

  “Spit it out, ye damn leprechaun,” Felix growled.

  Logheryman folded his weathered hands and inclined his head toward Felix. “As you wish. I happen to have in my possession several pairs of thousand league boots, which I would be pleased to loan you for a brief and specified period of time. You may find them useful in catching up to your quarry, who always appears to be a few steps ahead of you.”

  “And what’s yer price?” Felix demanded.

  Logheryman shrugged as if payment was but an afterthought. “What does any self-respecting leprechaun want?” he asked in his unnaturally high voice. “Gold.”

  Rohan stepped forward. “We don’t have gold,” he said. “Something you know very well.”

  Again, the leprechaun shrugged. “You may not have it on your person,” he conceded, “but it is well known that the Tuatha Dé Danann had access to vast amounts of wealth hidden on Ériu during the centuries in which they still counted kings and queens among their friends. You need not trouble yourselves by fetching the gold for me. All I ask is that you show me where those stores are, and the boots are yours. That is, unless you would rather enjoy the hospitality of British Airways and arrive back home, mmm, sometime tomorrow afternoon?”

  Rohan looked like he wanted a third option that involved wrapping his hands around the leprechaun’s neck.

  “A moment, please,” he said to Logheryman. He stalked off into the kitchen, and the rest of the Tuatha Dé Danann followed him as if by some secret signal. Not sure what do to, Cedar hung behind. The leprechaun smirked at her.

  “This, my dear, is why I deal with the Tuatha Dé Danann but rarely. You always know where you stand with them.” He gave her a significant look. “Beneath.”

  “So how do these boots work?” Cedar asked, trying to change the subject. She didn’t need to be reminded of her status among the Danann.

  “They work rather splendidly, if I do say so myself. Slip them on your feet and you can travel a thousand leagues in a single step.”

  “How far is that?” Cedar asked. She wasn’t trying to be cheeky, but the leprechaun seemed to take it that way. He rolled his eyes.

  “About three thousand miles, if you must think in such mundane terms. But this is magic, my dear, not geography. And it’s also a one-time offer. I’ll tell the boots where to go, and that’s where they’ll take you. Once you arrive, they will become ordinary boots until they are returned to me. The magic does not reside in the shoe, you see, but in the shoemaker.”

  The others returned from the kitchen and Rohan said, “All right, Logheryman. We’ll direct you to a store of gold in return for the use of these boots, provided you can ready them immediately.”

  “Mmm.” Logheryman put a finger to his lips. “One store of gold will get you precisely one pair of boots.”

  “There are nine of
us, in case you haven’t noticed, not that I expect you know how to count,” snapped Murdoch. “You think you need nine stores of gold?” He looked around the cramped, dingy cottage. “What would you even do with it?”

  “I hate to be the one to point this out, but there are now only eight of you. And what I do with my gold is no one’s business but my own,” Logheryman replied, seemingly unperturbed. He looked at Cedar and winked. “Perhaps I have a great dragon in the cellar that sits on it and keeps it warm.”

  “I’ve been in your cellar and there’s nought there but cobwebs and whiskey,” Murdoch said. He turned to Rohan. “Even if we do make this bargain, who’s to say the boots won’t end up drowning us in the middle of the Atlantic?”

  “We accept,” Rohan said to Logheryman. “Finn, Murdoch, Anya, and I will take the boots and travel back to Halifax that way.” He held up a hand to stop Logheryman’s inevitable question. “Yes, that means we will direct you to four stores of gold. Riona, you stay with Molly and Cedar and catch the next flight you can find.”

  “Wait. Cedar comes with us,” Finn said.

  “We don’t have time to argue about this,” Rohan said. “We need to get our best warriors after Nuala, and she’s not one of them.”

  “It’s fine, I really don’t mind waiting,” Cedar said.

  “I’m not letting her out of my sight,” Finn argued. “We don’t know what else Nuala may have told her to do. If I leave her…”

  “I’ll stay,” came Anya’s voice from the back. “I’m not much use for fighting right now. Besides, I want to bury him here, in the old country.”

  Rohan glared at Finn, but nodded curtly after a moment. “So be it. Logheryman, bring us the boots,” he demanded.

  “Not quite yet. I have one other minor condition,” Logheryman said.

  Rohan stiffened but said nothing, waiting.

  “It’s a delicate matter, of course, because I do not wish to imply that the Tuatha Dé Danann could ever be duplicitous in their dealings with lesser folk. However, it would put my mind at ease if you would make use of the goblet of Manannan mac Lir while sealing this agreement. Am I correct in assuming it is in your possession even as we speak?” Logheryman raised a grizzled eyebrow at Rohan.

  Cedar had no idea what the goblet of Manannan mac Lir was, but she could sense the Tuatha Dé Danann’s offense.

  “You doubt my word, leprechaun?” Rohan’s voice was low and icy.

  Logheryman didn’t seem threatened. “Not at all, Rohan Donnelly,” he said, stressing Rohan’s human name. “I simply prefer to do business this way.”

  Rohan gave the leprechaun a stony look, but then pulled something out of an inner pocket of his coat. It was a small, plain silver goblet that looked more like a child’s toy than anything an ancient being would use to seal contracts.

  “You have maps, I presume?” Rohan asked Logheryman.

  “Old and new,” Logheryman chirped. He stepped out of the room and Cedar could hear his footsteps going down the stairs to the cellar.

  While he was gone, Cedar turned to Felix and asked, “Does anyone in your world ever help anyone else just for the sake of it?”

  Felix made a face. “A fair question, Miss Cedar, and the fair answer would be no. Now I’ve a question for you. I reckon I’d be in my rights to say yer unfamiliar with the goblet of Manannan mac Lir, yes?”

  “Shocking, I know,” Cedar answered dryly, “but yes, you’re right. What does it do?”

  “Tells the truth,” he said. “Or, rather, it tells if you’re telling the truth. Watch.” He took the goblet from Rohan and said, “My given name is Felix Dockendorff.” Instantly, the goblet shattered and fell in clattering pieces onto the floor. Cedar gasped and took a step back.

  “Told a lie, then, didn’t I?” Felix said. “Now we’ll try for the truth. My given name is Toirdhealbhach MacDail re Deachai.”

  Cedar watched in amazement as the shards on the floor reformed themselves into the goblet. Felix picked it up and handed it to her. She ran her hands around it. There was no evidence it had been lying in pieces only moments ago.

  “Now you try it,” Felix said, watching her carefully. “Tell the goblet you’ve not got a daughter.”

  Cedar stared at him, then down at the goblet. She felt her pulse quicken. What if this small cup in her hands confirmed what everyone had been saying? What if they were right, and she did have a daughter she couldn’t remember? She shuddered. She felt as though she were being played somehow. But if they were right, if she couldn’t even trust her own memories, it would mean she couldn’t trust herself. And then she would have no one.

  She handed the cup back to Felix, shaking her head. “I can’t.”

  “I’ll do it.” Finn strode over to them and took the cup from Felix. Before Cedar could protest, he said, “Cedar McLeod does not have a child.”

  The cup shattered and fell to the floor in pieces.

  Cedar watched them fall as if in slow motion. She heard them clatter as they hit the floor, but felt strangely removed from the sound. Without knowing why, she bent down and picked up the shards, turning them over in her hands, examining each one as though it might dissolve into powder if she held it too tightly. She cupped her hands in front of her and whispered into them, “I have a daughter.” Then she handed the perfectly whole goblet back to Finn and, without looking at him, walked out of the room.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Maeve had met Brogan when she was seventeen years old. During her childhood, her grandmother had told her stories of fairies and leprechauns, of the mighty High Kings of Ireland, and of the great warrior Fionn mac Cumhaill. She had told her how Fionn and his followers, the Fianna, were going to awaken someday from their enchanted sleep to defend Ireland in its hour of greatest need, and free the north from what she called “those damned left-leggers.” Maeve’s mother had rolled her eyes and said, “Don’t be putting your republican ideas in her head, Ma. It’s naught to do with her. She’s a Canadian now.”

  But the stories had stuck in Maeve’s head. In high school, she had written papers on Irish mythology and other aspects of Irish history and culture. For her graduation gift, her parents and grandparents had chipped in to send her to Ireland for the summer. She was to stay with her mother’s cousin and his family in Cork. Her grandmother had squeezed her hands and told her she wished she were young enough to go with her back to “the blessed isle.”

  Maeve had spent the summer traveling around the island with her new friend, her second cousin Siobhan. That’s when she first saw Brogan. He was sitting on top of the ancient burial mound of Newgrange as the sun was beginning to set and the clouds were becoming rimmed with orange. Although Maeve and Siobhan were chatting animatedly as they approached, he did not appear to notice them coming. When they saw him, both girls stopped and simply stared. He looked to be tall and lean, with fair skin and dark, curly hair. He wore a black leather jacket, the collar turned up, over a tight white T-shirt. He sat on the hill with his chin resting on one hand, a brooding expression on his face. Siobhan whispered, “He looks like James Dean,” and seemed about to swoon. Maeve saw the similarities, but James Dean had been just a boy in comparison. This was a man, or something more than a man. He was, without a doubt, the most exquisite creature she had ever seen. Turning, he looked at them. The setting sun glanced off his fair skin, giving him the appearance of an angel, or a ghost. He smiled at them and stood.

  “He’s coming this way!” Siobhan squealed under her breath, and Maeve shushed her.

  “Ladies,” the angel-man said, nodding at them.

  “H-h-hi,” Siobhan stammered. Maeve stood silent, transfixed. His eyes were dark and unfathomable, framed by thick black brows. His jaw was shadowed with stubble, and when he smiled at them the most incredible dimples indented his cheeks. His lips looked like they would refuse to take no for an answer, and Maeve found herself wondering what he would taste like.

  “We didn’t mean to interrupt you,” she said in a quiet voice.<
br />
  “Not at all,” he said. “Is this your first time to Newgrange?”

  “Yes,” Siobhan injected enthusiastically. “Do you come here often?” She moved slightly in front of Maeve and thrust out her considerable chest. Maeve frowned, but didn’t try to put herself back in the man’s line of sight.

  She thought she saw the corner of his mouth twitch as he answered, “Mmm, once in a while. I have relatives buried nearby. I come to visit their graves.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, perhaps you could show us around!” Siobhan stood there beaming at him. Maeve looked past both of them to the hill looming in front, and wondered what kind of people were buried here. How interesting it would be to have relatives interred so close to such an ancient site.

  She noticed he was holding out his hand to her. “Brogan mac Airgetlam,” he said. She took his hand and shook it. His grip was gentle but firm, and she could feel calluses on his palm. She felt slightly light-headed at his touch, but then mastered herself and smiled back at him, enjoying the way his eyes lit up when she did. Though nothing compared with him, she herself was not lacking in beauty. She was tall for her age, and had hearty curves that complemented the bouncing red curls that spilled down her back to her waist. In contrast, Siobhan was unremarkable save for her impressive bosom. Apparently, she also had a weaker constitution, for when Brogan reached out and shook her hand, she fell to the ground in a dead faint.

  Once Maeve and Brogan had revived her and Siobhan had mumbled something about not eating all day, the three of them climbed to the top of the hill to watch the sunset. Later that night, at Brogan’s request, Maeve made her apologies to Siobhan at their youth hostel and met him for a drink, not returning to her cousin until daybreak.

  That night was the first of many spent together over the next several years. He never stayed around long, usually just a night or two, maybe a week at most. At first, he refused to tell her what he did or where he lived, instead making her guess, laughing at her theories about spies and secret missions as he trailed soft kisses down the length of her spine. When she returned to Nova Scotia to start college, he promised to visit her as often as he had in Ireland, and he was true to his word. She gave up trying to find out more about him and, truth be told, enjoyed the intrigue of having a mystery lover. She tried dating college boys, but they were so inferior to her Brogan that she soon gave up on them as well, and just waited for him to make his next appearance.