C.E. Murphy - Raven Calls

“My life wasn’t like this then. It only started after I got home. Besides, I’d have never dreamed anyone would believe me. I didn’t know my mother very well. I had no idea she might have softened you up for accepting this kind of weirdness. Do you watch Star Trek? ”

Caitríona blinked, rightfully bewildered by the segue. “Sure, who hasn’t seen an episode or two?”

“Good. You know the ship’s shields? You’re going to need something like that to protect yourself with.”

“Like you’ve been using on us, all blue and shimmery?”

“Except yours won’t be blue. That’s a reflection of my power. Of my aura, really. Mine’s blue and silver. Yours is more red and green.”

“Ah sure,” she said in disgust, “sure and I’m a tartan so.”

I laughed, which made Gancanagh look back at me with a full-court-press smile. I bared my teeth at him and he deflated, which somehow made the light dim even further. I checked the impulse to catch up to him and say it was all okay, and instead focused hard on Caitríona. “Do the Irish even have tartans? I thought it was all about the sweaters, here.”

“The Aran clan sweaters? That was a marketing ploy.” She took no notice of my dismayed gawk as she went on. “We’ve a few tartans, but not like the Scots. I wouldn’t know the O’Reilly tartan if it bit me,” she admitted. “How do I build shields?”

“It’s a really internal thing, and probably hiking through the heart of the Master’s realm isn’t the best place to learn. I’d hate for him to get a thread inside your shields, because it’s a bitch to root those out.”

“You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

“In the case of letting unfortunate people inside my shields, yeah, I do. This would be a good time to learn from my mistakes.” We’d covered a lot of distance while chatting, but I was starting to get worried. The clock was running out, and I had no way to tell, down beneath the earth, just how close we were pushing it. “Gancanagh?”

“What do you want, Walker?”

I tripped over my own feet, bit my tongue and righted myself with a curse. “Stop that. Don’t use my name. Not like that. You are not Morrison. How much farther do we have to go?”

He turned with a finger against his lips: shh. “Do you not hear it?”

I hadn’t, of course, because Cat and I had been talking. As soon as we went silent, though, I did hear it: wailing, not unlike the Lia Fáil. Only that had been one voice, the voice of the land, whereas this was many. Twenty-five, at a guess, assuming Aibhill was not only mistress of the banshees but a banshee herself. Hairs stood up on my neck and arms and I dragged to a halt.

Truth was, I didn’t want to go into banshee stomping grounds. I’d been stomped the one time I’d really gone up against one of Aibhill’s blades, and having a touchy aos sí and a newborn mage along with me this time didn’t seem like it evened the odds enough. “A battle plan might be a good idea here.”

“Have ye the lay of the land?” Méabh asked Gancanagh with a note of doubt.

“She’ll be in her tower on the hill.” Whether it was due to my objection to him sounding like Morrison or because he was talking to Méabh, he sounded more Irish again, for which I was grateful. Morrison didn’t put his sentences together the way the Irish did, which made it easier to remember the handsome fellow in front of me wasn’t my captain.

Méabh, however, wasn’t concerned with his linguistic choices. She grimaced and loosened her sword in its sheath. “And will there be an easy route up that hill, or will it be a battle every step of the way?”

“It can’t be.” This time the grim note was in my voice. “We can’t take on four and twenty banshees, not unless they’re already baked in a pie. Even if they were pushovers, which they’re not, the odds are too bad. We’re going to have to sneak.” I prodded at the edges of my power, wondering if I dared call up the invisibility cloak. Of course, we’d already pulled off shapeshifting and weather witchery, so probably I was being too cautious. And if I thought about it, the time for caution was long past. Caution would have been good just before I’d triggered the Sight at Tara and sent us tumbling through history. Caution would have been good when I dragged Gary home with me instead of letting him go off and get himself killed fighting the Master at Knocknaree. Caution would have been good time and again, but right now we were eyeball deep in the bad guy’s territory, so caution had clearly been thrown to the wind a while ago and I should now seize the day.

“Joanne,” Caitríona said nervously, “you’re glowing again.”

I didn’t even look. I just extended the power that had built up with my silent rant and wrapped everybody, even Gancanagh, in it. My arm itched, but my cohorts all faded from my vision instantly.

That was great, except totally useless in terms of sneaking around as a unit. Muttering, I started reeling power back in to try again—I did not want to have us wandering around visually separated from one another—but a thrill shot through Gancanagh and I felt it. I mean, really felt it, like he, a creature of magic himself, had a visceral, connected reaction to being swathed in more magic. It was baby oil and massages and a promise of getting down to the good stuff, for him, and it hit me with a heart-knocking thump of desire at a level usually reserved for hormone-addled teenagers. Then, despite us all being invisible, he found his way to me and pressed up against me smelling all Morrison-y and delicious and absolutely full of wicked intentions.

My mouth went dry. His, soft against my throat, did not. I swallowed and he purred, warm comforting sound that vibrated my skin, which was just about already vibrating on its own. I couldn’t get so much as a squeak or a whimper out, mostly because my brain was busy betraying me by thinking there was something kinda dangerous and sexy about an invisible tryst, and making any sort of sound would notify Caitríona and Méabh as to what we were up to.

Méabh said, “Granddaughter,” in a tone that suggested she already knew exactly what we were up to. Then, even more coldly, she said, “Ailill,” and I remembered she’d already killed her lover once for screwing around on her. Cat hadn’t said what she’d done to Ailill’s girlfriend. I shoved Gancanagh away, gasped for breath and croaked, “We’re going now.”

His disappointment roiled through me and I staggered away, hoping distance would alleviate some of the one-two punch of psychic desire. It didn’t help at all. Swearing under my breath, I forged onward, following the sounds of the banshee cries until Cat, in a small voice, said, “Should we be moving?” from somewhere behind me. “I can’t see ye’s.”

I stopped. Dropped my chin to my chest. Turned back, and went back to concentrating on the idea of an invisibility bubble surrounding all of us, not each of us. My shields, which that particular trick rode on, slowly slithered away from each individual and met up with themselves so we were all encompassed within them. “Sorry. I got distracted.”

Méabh gave Gancanagh a black look and me an even blacker one, but Caitríona just ran to catch up. I marched along beside her, feeling increasingly crabby. I wanted my magic to be nice and comprehensible like it had been a week ago. I wanted the damned bite, which now that it had started itching again, was beginning to drive me to distraction, to be healed. I wanted lots of things, most of which I wasn’t going to get, though I would probably get this one: “We should probably be quiet. I have no idea how well banshees hear.”