Faery with Teeth: Book One of the Faery Chronicles

© 2003 by Kisma K. Stepanich-Reidling. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

ISBN: 1-4107-4071-4 (e-book)

ISBN: 978-1-4107-4071-7 (e-book)

ISBN: 1-4107-4070-6 (Paperback)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2003092191

Cover photo by Laura Walthers.

IstBooks-rev. 07/11/03

CONTENTS

Faery Time

Now

A Pub

Carla

Then

May Morn

Hill Of Usneach

A Stranger Among Them

The Bard

Crystal Fire

I Know That I’ve Died Here Before

Let’s Away To The Other Country

Another Perspective

Ira Suspects

Here Comes The Sun, Little Darling

The Mouth Of Hell

Sabatoge

Mark

The Walk Down

Vivian Finds Solace

The Watcher

You’ve Seen Them Too

Spinning Wheels Of Chance

A Flury Of Welcome

Pretense

The Last Vestiges Of Normalacy

The Seanachi

Things Are Working Out Just Grand

Fourth Hour Dreams

Witness To Torment

The Geasa

Ken

Forces Of Darkness

A Change Of Plans

Niamh And Her Oisin

Blocked

Legions

An Imprint

A Confession

Back To The Present

A Pub

Knockaine

Macha And Fer Í

Tinkers

Bring Her To Me

The Bright Powers

The Gathering At The Grange

The Dark Powers

I Can’t Do This Anymore

Macha’s Flame

Lugh’s Rage

Integration

Last Day

Wake-Up Sleepy Head

A Final Decision

Another Tale

Acknowledgements

About The Author

UNDER THE NAME Kisma K. Stepanich

An Act of Woman Power

The Gaia Tradition: Celebrating the Seasons of Mother Earth

Sister Moon Lodge: The Power and Mystery of Menstruation

Faery Wicca, Book One

Faery Wicca, Book Two

Faery Wicca Tarot

UNDER THE NAME Kisma Reidling

The Druid Clan of Dana

The Beauty of Morrigu

The Art of Meditation, Book One

The Art of Meditation, Book Two

Faery Faith Traditional Wisdom, Book Three

…for Tom mac,

who knew Faery,

and taught me well…

…do we dare wonder, which comes first,

the tale or the true life experience?

Note by Vivian McFarlain

I journal this as I sit flying somewhere over the Atlantic toward Ireland; it is a dream I had last night…

I am calling out, claiming my husband.

I choose Justin, I choose Justin.

We are in a dark bedroom in a mansion.

Here comes the Faery Cavalcade, someone announces.

I hear horses, and the sounds of horns being blown, dogs barking, and the cheering of Them. I do not see Them—there is a blur of movement, a rush of energy.

As They pass, as we are in Their midst, a male Fay tells the others, Let her be the empress.

I wait for Justin to consent, but the pause is pregnant, and They are passing quickly. At the same time, I mentally focus, momentarily, on the empress tarot card, and I am confused, why her?

Then I urgently call out, "Yes, I will be she. I will be the empress!"

They have passed and I come fully awake, as I am saying to Justin, "There She is! The Lady!" For She has appeared, a Light Being of brilliant and terrifying beauty, and I am singing to her, a song I know, a song I have sung thousands of times.

My eyes focus and it is my son’s night-light, but the image of a white mare shines on the wall before breaking into the many moons and stars normally shining on the walls.

The resonance of my voice vibrates the air, and I know I have been verbally singing in our world, and the clarity comes that Justin couldn’t have consented because I am in our son’s room, while Justin is a sleep in our bed, in our room.

I gaze upon my small son and wonder who he really is, and what that was all about.

Rising, I continue to stare at him, before stumbling back to my room. When I settle in bed next to Justin, he asks me, Are you alright?

Yes, I reply.

You called out my name.

FAERY TIME

FAERY CHRONICLER ENTRY: 1.333.1

The sky is widest over Lough Gur, is an old phrase I am fond of, and today is no exception. Following a lovely May Day, full of uncommonly warm Irish sunshine and mild wind, the weather is changing, perhaps, to match the mood of the mortals who’ve come on sacred pilgrimage to work our land. The sky is very wide, indeed. Looking up provides a bowl of clear blue in which to dream life away.

Ah, but these modern pilgrims think of themselves as friends of the Sidhe, that is, until they meet the Faery with teeth.

How they all laugh at the expression when Cian O’Neil, their Irish-Druid guide, uses it. No one suspects the real meaning. Everyone jokes about it until something else of entertainment value whiskes his or her puny attentions away.

All the while Vivian McFarlain, the American tour guide, stands off to one side, distracted by her own musings and not partaking in the small group’s camaraderie. This often being the case, her invisible boundary is no longer questioned or taken personally.

The Faery must be communicating with her, the pilgrims confide to one another. "Oh, yes, look how she stares into the distance, as if she sees one right now."

Their eager faces, searching the direction in which Vivian gazes makes me smile. How badly they wish a glimpse of the other country. Yet, I, no less a Faery, stand right beside them at this moment, touching an arm here, a cheek there, and this woman next to me, whose long brown hair is plaited, I pull a strand loose and blow on it with my breath. I laugh that she absent-mindedly pushes it away with her hand, almost annoyed that it tickles her nose. There is much going on that these mortals do not comprehend. Ah, how they amuse me but Vivian is not amused with Cian’s comment and flinches when he says it.

Faery with Teeth!

However, that was days ago, a lifetime ago, or so it now seems to these mortals, for they are experiencing the elastic time of Faery. Days, weeks, even years all blend one into the other, time warping and slowing or accelerating into a blur of dreamlike quality.

Vivian glances at Cian, who meets her gaze. As always an electrical charge surges between them, bringing an involuntary smile to both their lips.

Cian, a Renaissance man, is tall and lean, donning a twentieth century frumpy-look, a brown goatee graces his chiseled face, adding a touch of the sinister. He wears his brown hair long, usually pulled back in a tail, but always flowing free when he is in his most serious mood. Long, dirty nails add length to already long, graceful fingers. Cian has the perfect wizard’s hands; these normally clutch a forked hazel staff.

To Vivian, Cian is Mac Cuill, son of the Irish hazel god, pre-Celtic and pagan, and last of the Tuatha De Danann high kings.

As she looks upon him her body tenses. The beat of her heart escalates pulsating painful desire through her blood. The electrical charge surges through her, producing butterflies in her stomach and rising heat in her loins. She feels her cheeks color with emotion. Every inch of her comes to life under Cian’s gaze. Just the mere sight of him produces major sensations, and she dares not wonder what would happen from his caress. Brushing his arm with hers or feeling his hand on her back is enough to send her pulse skyward, searing raw emotion, and in the midst of such sensation, Vivian forces her eyes from his, forces her mind to her hands, to her wedding ring.

Vivian twists the golden band around her finger, swallows and looks at the small group of pilgrims in her charge for another week.

Her eyes go back to Cian’s face.

Cian feels Vivian’s eyes on him and meets her green-eyed stare. He falls into her eyes. Looking into them, meeting her gaze is an OtherWorld experience for him. Time bends when he looks at her and in that arcing of reality he swears that he would vow his soul to Vivian at the asking.

He sees Vivian in all her inner beauty, for Vivian comes to life in Ireland, shape-shifting before everyone’s eyes. Her face softens. Her full hair curls, the color turning golden with light. Even the extra twenty pounds of weight on her average frame diminish under the long flowing skirts she wears.

To Cian, Vivian is the eternal priestess, a reflection of Goddess. His heart pounds with such intense desire that he clutches both thumbs inside fisted hands. She makes him feel insecure, guilty for just looking at her. After all Cindy waits at home and he has made matrimonial vows that he will honor to his dying day, but Vivian threatens those vows. Just her warm smile or the green glare brings his manhood to attention.

Vivian looks away, time arches back, easing Cian into the joke Joe is telling the group. Cian swallows hard, forcing his attention to their eager faces.

Ah, ‘tis the wee Leprechaun! said Joe, delivering the punch line. Everyone laughs.

Yes, Vivian and Cian’s love is real, and very deep, and so true that both are afraid to acknowledge its magnitude for fear they’ll never be able to contain it, which is exactly what they both think they must do at all costs.

Ancient Faery of Justice! Macha has brought these two together under the aegis of working sacred pilgrimages in our land; she has a plan for the two pawns. Macha is ready to lift her curse from Ulster Province and before she does the vibration of the land has to be shifted, the heart center reactivated; all this done through the alignment and union of polarities: female-male.

And I wonder can they do it? Furthermore, will they? So I wait, and watch, bearing witness to their human immortal awakening, the struggles and challenges they must encounter in order to fully awaken.

I wait and watch as Vivian is first called into the heart center in search of her own heart. Three miscarriages in one year drive her mind wild. She and Justin have so eagerly and sincerely tried to get pregnant, at first meeting with success, followed by failure, which is so emotionally devastating. Vivian hears a faint calling and flees to Ireland on sacred pilgrimage for a month.

When she returns home, she finds, to her great surprise, that she is pregnant. Vivian believes Ainé, the Irish Goddess of Fertility, blessed her womb with a star baby-a little Fay; for Vivian chose to pilgrimage to Ainé’s holy shrine Knockaine, and on the day of her ovulation no less.

How tears of joy washed down her face when the cry of a bird brought her attention to a real live stork circling above her at the ending of a spontaneous fertility rite.

I am blessed! Vivian said, crying herself to sleep on the Faery mound, only to wake four hours later from the icy fingers of the Cailleach, whose winds swept across the hill, crushing grass and yarrow stalks, laden with white blossoms, under its weight.

Never fall asleep on a Faery mound is a golden rule every Faery believer soon comes across when researching our lore. Vivian broke one of the golden rules. Yet, having done so Vivian did not meet with harm. Instead she received a blessing from the Munster Faery princess, to whom Vivian pledges to honor every Summer Solstice by lighting a torch.

Having a baby is an awakening of the heart center Vivian required before she was of use to Macha. In Vivian’s virgin, one-unto-herself phase, she was useless simply for the reason that such a mode of operation rendered Vivian an activist. This is not the emotion Macha needs. No, Macha requires the mother-love, the love of the Beloved.

While Vivian is the perfect woman for the polarity, she had not yet experienced the true willingness of self-sacrifice crucial for Macha’s mission, not until Vivian stared into the beautiful deep blue eyes of her newborn son and sighed the first syllable of mother-love. From that moment, self-sacrifice is utterly and completely in operation.

Vivian is ready.

Cian, on the other hand, is almost ready. He slides out of London unseen to exile in Ireland, which unbeknownst to him at the time meant the end of his violent green ways. He and the Tribe had attempted to savagely defend ancient forests from the encroachment of civilization-successfully by the standards of the Dagda, who’d known all along that the old trees had to give way to the new way.

The old father god knew all along that new forests would be and were being planted-fresh rings of wood to store the shifting wisdom. Dinosaurs were unwanted, let alone unneeded, and in the ancient world it was the ferocious hold on the environment the old ones rooted themselves to that kept back the swift sword of illumination from slicing enlightenment into the current mentality of the world.

How the old ones in their hay-day battled long and hard. They were great wizards who shifted from stately trunks into the form of men to cast their fire blazes of wyrd across the land. They carved deep veins into the earth in an attempt to mark an everlasting map of light or power for the mortals who came after the battles to show which way was where. But no one even remotely read the map and too many theories have been speculated on, so much so that the old ones aren’t even figured into the picture.

Most of the old ones vacated the trees at the Dagda’s urging long ago, retreating to the crystal-light palaces in the fifth world, all but a stubborn few, who insisted on staying until the very end. Mainly, the elm and ash. Several oaks remained behind, but the hawthorn gave its domain over to the gentle nymphs who mediate between the world of elemental beings and the Faeryland of the Sidhe.

Draoi cling to the vacant blackthorns, using the vine covered cairns underneath as their gateways between the worlds-dark elves, doing dark business-eliciting the help of the Unseelie Court, forming dangerous alliances.

Yes, Cian’s exile in his homeland is his turning point because it finally forces him to settle down and commune with the gentle body of Eire. He must marry the land and become her champion before he is any good to Macha. Oh yes, and he is perfect for her work.

Here is a Druid willing to crawl on his belly through the gross stench of the dark world, here is a priest willing to taste the bile of the gods and not fear the enemy. Ruthless, poised, a nutter, the beast, as Cian refers to himself—not as in the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit. Nor as in the Great Beast that is called Dragon Prince of this World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan and Lord of Darkness as Terry Preatchett and Neil Gaiman might describe the beast, but as in Beauty and the Beast, and this beast is exactly the perfect man.

But first, Macha’s words radiate around me and the other Faery who have joined together in witness of this mortal awakening, Let’s soften his heart.

And so she brings Cian the softness of a woman-child, a girl that will elicit his father instincts. Cian refers to Cindy as Beauty, and she does contain that raw beauty yet to be fully realized.

Fifteen years younger than Cian, Cindy is a fledgling, having not even undergone her first Saturn-return; she’s not yet come into her womanpower. She is young and quiet, a shadow darting around Cian’s world.

Macha says quite clearly, She shall be his ground-line, ripening his heart with the emotion of love and he shall know the pleasure of staying-put, all under the presumption that he must defend this child from the cruelties of the harsh world.

I only nod, and watch, and wait.

Cindy is like an abused animal that speaks so softly one has to bend-in and strain to hear the simple words that slip between unmoving lips. She is, indeed, learning to trust again under the gentle, loving, coaching of the Druid. Her softness, her quiet English reserve brings out the best in Cian.

No other woman has ever been able to reach his heart, not even his first wife and the mother of his three children. Cindy does, and in return Cian makes Cindy his wife-his child-bride so to speak.

According to the old ways, they handfast and settle into a pleasant life, each with their own work to tend, and like the kings of old, Cian guards his wife jealously, refusing to leave her side—until Vivian.

Cian is ready.

The players are now in position, and my tale unfolds…

NOW

A PUB

Vivian’s business partner motioned her over. With a nod of her head, Vivian made her way to Carla and slid in next to her on the red vinyl lounge seat.

What’s up? Vivian asked.

Are you okay Vivian? Carla pointed to Vivian’s lunch. Your fish and chips are here. Did you order tea?

I did, Cian said, sitting down next to Vivian. His mouth curved into a smile. Where next? he asked, spooning sugar into his cup.

Vivian glanced around the room. The others had taken seats at the small circular pub tables, and were lost in private conversations or their food. Vivian sighed with relief. The pressure was on, the tour had gotten off track and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to get it back on. She never expected the pilgrimage to come to a climax so early; everything seemed tense and forced. What Vivian needed was time to be alone to process, and a good cry; neither of which were bound to happen.

Those who are interested can go with me to Knockaine, said Vivian. The rest of you can wait here at the pub. She eyed Cian, then asked, What day is it?

Saturday said Carla.

God, they’d already been in Ireland a week. Time-warping again. A burst of laughter rose from a small group at the nearby table. Vivian cringed. Cian laid his hand over hers. The agony of his touch made Vivian tense. She looked first to his lips then to his brown eyes.

You okay Vivian? he asked quietly.

The battles on. Vivian sighed. I don’t know what to do or what this is all about, for that matter. I mean, what’s this all about Cian?

Ah, don’t worry, love, Cian said. It’ll be all right. We can do it. I know we can. There’s some bad energy here and we may need to do some heavy work, like staying the power of whatever it is.

But isn’t that against some occult Law? asked Carla.

Ah yea, Cian shrugged. They started it, we didn’t.

Yeah, but—.

They can’t be allowed to get any stronger, Cian said to Vivian, ignoring Carla. I can’t stop the blood-spilling, now can I? But I can bloody well put a hold on the darkness.

Maybe, Vivian mumbled, aware of the animosity between Cian and Carla. Just be careful when you do, she said to Cian. We’re not going back next tour, I can tell you that much. We’re unwanted or considered a threat. I don’t know which. Besides I don’t like the way I feel here. I can’t wait to get out of this area.

Joe sat down beside Carla, a plate of chips in his hand. He began eating and listened quietly. His blue eyes danced from one face to the other. He was a leprechaun this one, his figure of speech, his mannerisms reaffirming this. He was stable and reliable, solid earth, the best bus driver Vivian could hope for. A good driver was imperative for the success of each pilgrimage, and hand picking him had been beyond her control. Joe seemed a-luck of the draw. When Cian showed up at the airport with Joe, Vivian had felt that everything was going to be perfect.

Joe was in, a part of the team, and while he was not spiritually active, he was Irish, which meant on some level he believed in the Faery. With just two sacred pilgrimages under his belt, Joe had experienced things to make him a confirmed believer of the supernatural.

Tell me again what dhis is all about? Joe asked in a thick Irish accent. His eyes twinkled. He looked at Vivian and winked at Carla.

In the olden days, Vivian began. Ireland was considered to be the heart center of our planet; its western shores were at one time said to be connected to Atlantis. Throughout all time, this beautiful Emerald Isle, Joe, that you take for granted, has been shrouded with tales of magic and myth connecting it to the Faery and the OtherWorld. Ireland is just as magical now as it was then. In fact, it may be even more magical now because the land is awakening to the touch of the Faery as they call us back to the heart-inviting us to enter into the sacred center of wholeness.

Is dat so now? Joe murmured, stifling any further comment under Cian’s sharp glance.

Vivian continued, with eyes cast down, intent on the wood grain in the table, oblivious to the fun Joe wanted to poke at her.

"My goal, our goal, she stressed. Is to work toward reconnecting and merging with the Divine Feminine and the Divine Masculine principles of life. As Goddess and God are reunited once again, the sacred center of wholeness will shine with the balanced light of health, happiness, abundance and love. We’re like pebbles tossed into a still pond, as our belief and dedication in this mission ripples in all directions throughout the lands of this great blue-green living planet. And so, you too have been called by the Faery to awaken and allow the ancient magick to become a reality…"

Ah called by da Faery, have I now? Joe remarked, rubbing his chin. I like da sound of dat I suppose, and what about you? He nodded to Cian. You been called too?

Joe stifled a laugh. Cian, grabbing the chance to lighten the mood, gave Joe a thump on the head.

You best shut your mug, you wanker! Otherwise you’ll get us both in trouble, said Cian.

Is dat so? said Joe, taking the bait. Well I don’t see me mother here, and just who will I get a beating from?

Vivian wiped her mouth with a napkin. She looked from Joe to Cian, shaking her head. A grin curved her lips.

I still can’t believe you two were so late picking us up. And on the first day! she said.

As the scene had played out several times already, both men became animated, pointing fingers at the other.

Joe was quick to accuse. It was all his fault. I was ready and dere at da corner to pick him up but he wasn’t dere

Don’t listen to him! Cian leaned forward, pushing Joe back. I was there waiting, and this rooster showed up at half past the hour. We agreed on six!

"I don’t care who was late, said Carla. Because you both were late arriving at the hotel in Dublin!"

That’s right, Vivian said.

But we were only twenty minutes late, said Cian, his brown eyes searching Vivian’s.

Yes! Vivian breathed the same sigh of relief she’d sighed when she spotted Cian that morning in front of the hotel as he jumped down from the coach. She had stood and waited to receive him, rushing to meet him as he came through the foyer sliding glass doors, their eyes locking as they fell into each other’s embrace.

Vivian suddenly stood. Help! she said playfully.

Are they giving you trouble? Steve asked. Vivian smiled cautiously. Steve was along for the ride, for the hell of it, as he so quickly informed Cian at the airport. Steve was a husband stow-away. He wasn’t interested in the pilgrimage but rather thought of it as hocus-pocus. He jumped to his feet and moved to Vivian’s side, throwing an arm around her.

I wish they all could be California girls, he sang off-key, raising his eyebrows at Cian.

Ah, dats for sure, said Joe, falling into a fit of giggles and leaning toward Cian. Wouldn’t ya agree? He jabbed his elbow into Cian’s side.

Ouch! Cian groaned and gave Joe a dirty look.

Hey! said a chorus of disgruntled female voices.

We’re not all from California, whined Rose. She pouted, looking at Joe. I’m from Idaho!

Yeah, and Alabama, said Marcella, shooting Steve a dirty look.

Steve unhooked his arm from Vivian and promptly returned to his wife’s side. He threw his arms around Marcella. And you look marvelous, darling, said Steve in an attempt to appease her, while giving a bad impression of Billy Crystal.

Well, I’m from California and don’t mind, stated Donna, shifting her large frame and lifting her nose a bit in the air. You are too, she included Shelbie, who grew nervous under the sudden attention. Shelbie squirmed and giggled, letting her long blonde hair fall across her face.

Any woman is wonderful! said Kat, the only lesbian in the group, her spiky crop of hair a tale-tell sign of her dyke-hood. I’m gay and proud of it! she added to goad Ken, who looked away with disgust. He put his arm around his wife.

Irish is the only way to go, Ken said to the other men, squeezing Ellen. He openly stared at Vivian, giving her a sexy smile.

Oh stop it, scolded Ellen, pulling away and laughing. Her blue eyes sparkled with the attention.

Mark agrees with me! Ken said, sitting back. All eyes turned to the shy black-haired man. Mark gave a simple smile and shrugged. Everyone laughed.

Well, I think we’re all grand too! said Vivian. So, let’s plan our afternoon.

Carla stood and announced, Vivian is taking us out to Knockaine. Those of you who don’t want to go can stay here and socialize. All eyes focused on Carla.

CARLA

At forty-two Carla was having her first baby. On one hand she was elated, on the other terrified. What if this baby restricted her from continuing her work with Vivian? The thought made her shudder. After all, Vivian’s son was getting older. He wasn’t so demanding now, and Vivian had made it clear she didn’t want another child; Shane was enough for her, completed her.

I need to be selfish about this, said Vivian one day as they sat under the giant Magnolia tree in Vivian’s front yard. Vivian turned to watch Shane play. Another child would make it impossible for me to continue the work in Ireland. Having another baby would mean being useless for another two years. But Carla you have a baby if you feel called to do so. If you do, that will be a wonderful thing.

Now Carla was pregnant. She smiled at Joe and watched Vivian sit back down, noting the sharp glance Vivian gave her.

Carla believed that there were two things that made a solid relationship: honesty and loyalty. Carla was loyal, there was no doubt there. She cleared her throat, sat down and returned her attention to the food before her. Honesty was another matter. In truth, she didn’t feel the things Vivian did, or see the Faery like Vivian, or even truly know if Faery were real. She was a fake, wanting badly to be something she wasn’t, and Vivian was someone to emulate.

Carla did just that, subtly at first. Vivian was the teacher of a women spirituality class she had decided to take one spring. She had liked Vivian instantly, feeling an immediate kinship to her. She had been so impressed with Vivian’s knowledge, her experience. She loved how Vivian dressed and spoke; she even loved how Vivian would move around the classroom. It didn’t take long before she began rushing out to buy the skirt Vivian wore the night before in class, or the new purse, or the shoes. Eventually, she began wearing her hair the same style, using the same shade of lipstick, even going so far as to make the same facial expressions as Vivian, or laugh like her, or mimic Vivian’s phrases.

Naturally, Vivian noticed all these things; it didn’t take Vivian long to approach her.

Imitation is the best form of flattery, this I know Carla, Vivian said softly, a quiet smile on her face. "But you must find yourself, who Carla is, and not try to become me."

Next class Carla showed up wearing pants. Vivian smiled, and all was well. Well, not really. Carla knew Vivian watched her and saw that nothing had really changed. Eventually Vivian gave up and tolerated the imitation.

Carla sighed and rubbed the lump in her abdomen. Was she pregnant because she really wanted a child or because Vivian had one and seemed so happy? She shook the thought from her head. Horrible thought, that. But deep inside she knew the truth.

Vivian gasped for air, choking.

Breathe through your nose, love, said Cian, leaning across the table.

Carla hated the tenderness Cian showed for Vivian. You okay Vivian, she asked, patting Vivian on the back.

I’m alright, Vivian mumbled, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

Down da wrong pipe? Joe laughed.

Steve yelled from the other table, Don’t croak yet! We need you to take us to the Grange! he added, grinning at the others. Vivian nodded, and raised her hand in acknowledgment.

"What a git," Cian hissed under his breath, sitting back and eyeing Steve.

I told you he was a jerk, said Carla.

Ah, he’s just out for a good time, Joe said, his blue eyes twinkling. If ever he looked like a leprechaun, Carla thought he looked like one then.

"You’re the git, you wanker!" Cian aimed at Joe good-naturedly.

Me? asked Joe, eyebrows raised, a devilish grin making him look just the part.

Yeah you! Cian pulled out his cigarette tin and popped it open.

Vivian sighed and leaned against the cool vinyl seat, the darkness of the room taking her deeper into her mood. She smiled and looked at each face complacently.

There was something about Irish pub lounges that made her feel right at home. She eyed the posters of ruddy-faced soccer players pinned to the walls, their grinning faces supporting the words Éireann go bráth written in a brilliant green across the top of each.

Ireland forever!

Vivian smiled and watched Cian roll a cigarette. His long graceful fingers moved deftly, expertly, without conscious effort to their task as he continued his goading of Joe. He brought the rolled cigarette to his lips and slid the tip of his tongue along the paper.

Right, he said, putting one end in his mouth. I’ll step outside to have me a smoke. He winked at Vivian and stood.

She watched him move across the room, pausing to say something at Steve’s table, which brought a roar of laugher and a tinge of red to Steve’s cheeks. Cian straightened and glanced back at her. Again, he winked, nodded, then moved out the door.

A slice of light cut into the room as the heavy oak door opened, highlighting a pie-shape on the worn shamrock green foyer carpet. The door’s iron clasp clanked as it closed shut. Shadow swallowed the room. In the far corner Vivian saw a hint of something from her memory, reeling her into the elastic time of Faery.

She squinted, trying to make out the bent figure and caught a glint of metal, a trumpet maybe, hanging from the belt of the creature. It shifted as if to withdraw from her scrutiny, inching back into the darkness. A glint of red flashed, then was gone, and with it the image of the creature.

Vivian closed her eyes and rested her head against the curved back of the lounge seat. Tired, weary from things seen that could never be explained, or understood; each second taking her farther from the reality of the experience, yet somehow closer to it.

Her mind spiraled; she felt the relief of sleep on the edge of consciousness. Oh to allow it’s soothing embrace, to feel it’s arms around her like a lover, a wish that could not be granted, although she rested in the potential of it, and let go her hold on the chatter around her. Joe and Carla in conversation; Steve’s ruckus; a whispering argument between Ken and Ellen; the clinking of glass; the crooning of the Chieftains from speakers mounted to the walls in each corner of the room.

She rested in that space between wakefulness and sleep, felt herself fall back into the past few days, into the