Martineth’s bright eyes filled with wonder. “So small,” she marveled. “Her skin appears as soft as down.”
Cecelia inched backward, an animalistic intuition of warning rising up in her. As the Faerie woman raised a perfect, slender hand to the baby’s cheek, Cecelia yanked the child away and all but shouted, “No—don’t touch her!”
The temperature around them rose as the Faerie’s eyes shone like fire. Her hand froze in mid-air.
“My Lady,” Leon broke in. “Our human physician told us not to let anyone handle her while she’s so young. Infants are too fragile. Please forgive my wife. Her body and mind are still transitioning from the birth.”
His demeanor was calm, but his wife recognized thinly veiled panic behind his eyes. She fought for composure when all she wanted to do was run.
“I’m very sorry, my Lady.” Cecelia pushed out the apology. “I know the touch of a Fae alters a human’s mind. We don’t know how it would affect a newborn. I would hate for her to lose the ability to be of service to the Summer King someday.”
Martineth studied Cecelia, eyes a swirl of sunshine and heat.
“I assume you have reported the birth of this child?” the Faerie challenged.
“Of course, Lady Martineth,” Leon said with respect.
To fail reporting a Dightheach child would mean death to its parents. Everyone with magical blood was expected to serve.
After another long stare at Cecelia and more greedy gazing at the child, the consort tapped her sharp chin. An ominous expression crossed her face, as if an idea were hatching.
“I can see why you are attached to the child.” The consort leered at the couple and walked a slow circle around them, glimmering hair falling in waves down her back. “She is a thing of beauty.” Martineth stopped in front of Cecelia and peered down at the baby. “Beautiful things have a way of disappearing in the night.”
The threat bolted through Cecelia with swift understanding. Her knees threatened to buckle as Leon spoke with hardened care.
“What is it that you wish from us, my Lady?”The consort chuckled. “I have a future mate for her—a binding which will greatly please the King.”
As a proud, wicked grin enhanced the Faerie’s fiery eyes, a burden of dread settled onto Cecelia’s shoulders for her daughter’s future. A future which was now as good as sealed.
THE END OF HIGH school was bittersweet. My sister and I drove home in the dark from a graduation party to our house in Great Falls, Virginia, a woodsy town of hills and cliffs nestled between cities of concrete. I was so glad to have Cassidy. Even now she sensed my mood as I pulled into our driveway and cut the engine. I stared absently at the porch swing illuminated by the motion-censored light. We’d shared years of secrets on that wooden swing.
“Tonight was fun, huh?” Cass asked carefully.
I nodded. “Yeah. Fun, but… weird too.”
“Yeah,” she whispered. And then to cheer me she added, “I can’t believe the graduating football players streaked. I did not need to see all that. My ears still hurt from everyone screaming.”
I snorted.
I’d made some great friends, especially my soccer teammates, but I couldn’t tell them about my family or the Fae, or the real reason I was going to Ireland tomorrow while they were all headed for post-graduation Beach Week.
“I can’t believe it’s time for you to go already.” Cassidy stared at the house. “No more sneaking to D.C. with my big sis and glamouring ourselves in fancy dresses.” I had to smile at the memory. We hadn’t bothered doing our hair or make-up that night. We used our magical glamour to sneak into a club and make us look done up. We’d been exhausted after an hour of dancing from the effort of keeping up fake appearances.
I took her hand and my heart tightened with our inevitable separation.
“Let’s not get sad,” I told her. “Come on.”
It was midnight when we let ourselves in. Mom and Dad’s luggage sat next to the door, ready to go. Our parents lounged on the couch, Dad reading. If this were a normal night they’d have been in bed hours ago. Mom had apparently been reading, too, but had fallen asleep with her head on his lap and a book on her chest. At the sound of our footsteps, she sat up and pushed back her dark hair.
“There’s my girls,” Dad said, jovial despite the late hour. He put his book on the coffee table. “Tell us all about the party.”
We sat on the couch across from them.
“It was okay,” I told him, trying to hide my sadness.
Tension crowded around us. We were all probably thinking the same thing: This is our last night with me at home. How weird. I didn’t want to think about it. Mom, ever the peacemaker, cleared her throat.
“You said good-bye to all your friends then?” She’d been away from her homeland of Ireland for twenty years but her voice still held a soft lilt and inflection, which I’d always envied.
“Yeah,” I said.