The Geis: Awakening Part 18

I s.h.i.+vered, pulling the coat around me tighter.

"The banshee leeches off of the riches of others until the resources she needs to survive are depleted, and then she moves on. Why she is here in Star Valley is a mystery to me." Aunt Avril put her hand on my arm. "There's one more thing you should know. Zoey suffered from burns, but it looks like the banshee also unleashed her wail on her. How she survived that is anybody's guess."

I stood up, angry at the situation-angry that Aunt Avril would buy into this nonsense. "Why is this woman attacking Zoey? What could anyone have against an eleven-year-old little girl?"

Aunt Avril didn't move. She stared across the valley and sighed. "I don't know the answer to that question. At first I thought that it had something to do with the fact that the banshee knows I am here. She knows that I have hunted her all these years. But she hasn't threatened me, and I think there is more going on than that."

"I can't believe that some Celtic ghost is after my little sister."

"This banshee is more dangerous than any ghost." Aunt Avril's voice was low and hard. "Do you see the wind in the trees down in the valley?"

I looked down at the park below us where the trees were swaying in the wind. "Yes."

"No, you don't see the wind. It moves through the branches and tosses the leaves through town, but you can't see it. And yet, you know that it is there." Aunt Avril closed her eyes and touched her face. "You can feel it brus.h.i.+ng your skin and lifting the hair from off of your neck. Even though you can't see the wind, you have faith that it exists. It is time that you believe in the unseen, McKayla."

I didn't want to believe Aunt Avril. It was too far-fetched. Banshees wailed in storybooks and myths. In real life, lizards didn't talk to little girls, and men didn't run inside burning buildings without serious injuries. But Rourke had come out of the fire without a scratch, and Zoey was still alive. Before this year, I never would have believed a myth like that. But the events of the past few days had me questioning what was true and what wasn't.

"Could you tell-was the lizard at our house last night?" I didn't know if I wanted to hear the answer.

"Yes, the lizard was there."

"Do you know Rourke, my dance teacher?"

"They were talking about him at the police station, but I've never met him. They said he came out of the fire without a single burn."

"It's true," I said. "I know it's hard to believe, but I was there."

"Someone posted a video on YouTube already. I watched it. Rourke is special, McKayla. We are lucky that he was there." Aunt Avril patted my knee. "You must introduce me to him soon."

From beneath her cloak, Aunt Avril pulled a leather satchel. Inside was the dagger I had seen in her purse the day I met Mrs. Saddlebury. The crystal-studded hilt looked dull in the muted light.

"Salt. Salt and silver are lethal to banshees." Aunt Avril offered the dagger and the satchel to me. Encased in leather, the dagger looked dangerous and menacing. I didn't want to touch it.

"Take this," she prompted. "I'm not one to rely on luck. Only you and I know the truth, and you are in greater need of it than I am."

The weight of the dagger in my hand was cold and substantial. The thought of having to defend myself with it made me cringe. It was both terrifying and comforting to hold the weapon.

Aunt Avril gave me a knowing look. "Your family is going to be staying with me until they can figure out what to do with the house. Do you want to come back now? I promised your mother I'd be back to help sort this out."

I nodded.

"Christa's mother invited you to stay at their house while things get straightened out, if you want. Your mom asked me to let you know."

I thought about the last time I'd viewed my house, through the window of an ambulance. The blackened and smoking sh.e.l.l was a reminder that everything in my life had changed. Aunt Avril's apartment would be too small for our entire family, and staying with Christa would be more like home than anything else I could think of.

"Thanks Aunt Avril. Do you think you could drop me off somewhere? I really need to talk to someone." She nodded. I gave her a quick hug, and we stepped over the sagebrush on our way down the hill.

s.h.i.+vering, I pulled out my phone and dialed Leah's number. She answered right away, worriedly asking me questions about the fire. I a.s.sured her that Zoey and I were fine. Finally I asked, "Leah, do you know how to get ahold of Rourke? I have to speak to him right away."

I walked into Leah's house and slipped my shoes off at the studio door, even though I wouldn't be doing any dancing today. Rourke sat on his stool. He pushed the lizard off of his lap when he saw me come in. The lights were off, and the s.p.a.ce heater sat cold in the corner. Soft music filled the studio, a contrast to the heart-pumping dance music I was used to hearing. How strange to be at Leah's studio in the middle of the day.

I greeted Rourke as Leah entered the studio carrying a stool identical to his. Rourke took the stool from her, and Leah hugged me in a tight embrace. She pulled away from me. Keeping her hands on my shoulders, she searched my face.

"Are you doing alright? How is Zoey?"

I'd thought I had my emotions under control, but at the sound of Leah's voice, my throat tightened and the intensity of the night before came back in a rush.

"Zoey is just fine, and I'm okay." I looked down at my socks to blink back tears.

"If there's anything I can do, let me know. I'm here." Leah looked between Rourke and me. "I'll be in the other room if you need me." She turned on the s.p.a.ce heater and disappeared back into her living area, leaving the door partway open. Celtic music drifted from Leah's sound system, adding to the detachment I felt.

Rourke motioned to the extra stool. I sat. Now that I had Rourke in front of me, I wasn't sure what I wanted to ask him. Only a few hours had pa.s.sed since he had rescued Zoey, but it felt like weeks.

Thank you for saving my sister, I signed silently.

Rourke bowed his head, his eyes never leaving my face.

How did you do it? My signing was halting, but my fingers warmed quickly. How could you go into a raging fire and come out unharmed?

Who am I to question such mysteries? His words were directed to me, but he focused on the lizard at his feet.

I waited until he looked at me. What is going on here? There is something that you are not telling me. You always talk about 'your people' and 'your land'. I want to know where you are from.

Rourke did not answer. He looked out the window where the snow fell, sheeting sideways with the wind.

It is best to let some things stay hidden.

I stood up, hands flying. A banshee is trying to kill my sister, and you tell me not to worry about it? I think I deserve to know.

The lizard opened its eyes and stood next to Rourke. I sat back down.

You believe that this 'banshee' caused the fire?

"My aunt is a psychic, and she thinks a banshee is after us." I opened up my leather pouch and showed him the dagger. Rourke's eyes widened. He held the dagger, tracing the salt crystals with a finger.

I need to meet this aunt of yours.

Are you going to tell me what's going on?

Rourke raised his hands to speak, and then closed his fingers, a look of indecision on his face. He tried again.

I don't want to place this burden on you, McKayla. But leaving you defenseless is out of the question. Your survival depends on your ability to understand my reality. He smiled, but I could see the regret in his eyes. I steeled myself for what was coming.

Open your heart to my words. Rourke moved his hands in cadence with the haunting music. It grew louder in my ears as he painted the air with great strokes. The studio blurred, and shadows flickered on the edges of my vision. I grabbed the sides of my stool. Sight and sound gave way to rhythm and movement. I closed my eyes and drew myself inward. An image formed on the backs of my eyelids.

Evening mist lingered low over moorlands that stretched away from me, creeping over stone fences and castles that towered above me on the cliffs, turning them into obscured monoliths that hunched like sleeping goblins. Grey clouds crept above the fog and roiled in a whirlpool above the towering cliffs.

A young man climbed a winding trail to the cliff face. Salty air left a fine mist on the loose hair that fell on his shoulders. Wind circled him, ruffling through his tunic as he crested a rise where the cliff leveled out onto a ledge.

A shock went through me when I realized that the man I saw in my mind was a younger version of Rourke. Even stranger was the sensation of understanding what he was feeling, and even thinking.

Rourke was searching for Conor, a nephew whom he loved deeply. He opened his mouth and tried again to locate the missing boy with his voice. The sound vibrated in an unwavering note. If Conor were close, he would feel him in the chord. But there was nothing. The boy loved to hunt for rodents along the craggy sh.o.r.eline, but he had been gone long enough that even Rourke was worried for his safety.

Rourke reached the top of the cliff. A few feet from the safety of a wind-hollowed cave, Conor lay asleep, curled inside a swaying bubble of sea foam. Colors of the rising tide from hundreds of feet below swirled in patterns on the rim of the fragile orb.

A woman with red hair sat on her knees in the dirt, reaching for Conor over the edge of the cliff.

"Saoirse, stay there, I'm coming," Rourke yelled against the wind. He stumbled on the loose shale and found his footing.

In the midst of Rourke's memory, I was stunned to hear the sound of his voice for the first time. It sounded deep and rich, with a heavy accent.

"Stay back," Saoirse spat. Her red hair, usually plaited and pinned, now swarmed around her head in the storm. She laughed, and the sound faded with the wind, skipping into the cave and back to where Rourke stood near its entrance.

"Fool!" she spat. "Get back."

Rourke shook his head, trying to make sense of what he heard.

Saoirse stood, still pointing toward Conor. "I'm glad you've come." She twisted her wrist, and the bubble rotated in the air above the water.

Rourke heard the words Saoirse said, but he couldn't fathom how they could be coming from the mouth of the woman who had tucked him into bed as a child.

"Saoirse, what are you doing? Bring him back to the ledge."

"Why would I do that, after going to all the trouble of putting him there?"

Rourke had known for some time that someone on the grand council had betrayed them. Never would he have believed it was Saoirse. The thought made him sick. And now Conor's life was in danger.

"What of all the years of service to my father, and my uncle?"

Saoirse made a striking figure in the fading light. Her face glowed unnaturally, and her eyes were hard and sharp. She had always been beautiful to Rourke, even when he was a child. The memory made the reality of what she was doing hard to accept.

"The years of service were like centuries of slavery."

"And what good is the throne to you, Saoirse? Your position as Grand Councilor has given you the respect and luxury of a queen in Falias."

Saoirse raised a hand to the roiling clouds, her head bent back so that her laughter sounded strangled and cruel. Raindrops fell from the sky, and the folds of Saoirse's dress writhed in the wind. Rourke stepped back until he was pressed against the cave entrance.

"I am already a queen. Your throne will merely be the launching ground for a new start for my people." The ends of Saoirse's cloak were changing. Thick tentacles coiled from her belt, each ribbed with pulsing, bulging discs.

Memories tumbled in Rourke's mind. In his early years, Saoirse had told him tales of the Cecaelia, a mythical race of underwater people-part human, part octopus. He thought she had created the stories for his young, adventure-craving mind. But in one terrifying moment, Rourke knew that the stories were true.

He felt as helpless as Conor. Unless he did something to stop her, Saoirse would kill them both, ending his father's bloodline and leaving all of Falias open to war.

The song welled up inside his throat before he even opened his mouth. When he released it, Rourke focused on his sleeping nephew, pulling the bubble cage toward him with the music.

Saoirse lunged at Rourke, her tentacles rolling across the ground as she moved. She pinned his neck to the cave wall with a fleshy tentacle, smacking his head against the stone as he fought for consciousness.

"You will not sing your songs against me," she snarled. "I'll snap you like a twig."

Saoirse stiffened as a roar split the air, drowning out the surf and thunder. Behind her, a dragon swooped toward them in the drizzling rain. Rourke coughed as Saoirse loosened her grip and spun around to face the dragon.

The dragon's wings were spread wide-great claws reached out and cut the air into ribbons. Scales of metallic gold and blue overlapped each other to form a natural armor, and his craggy head was knotted with horns and deep lines that notched his leathery skin. The normally pleasant look on the dragon's face had been replaced with a fierceness that frightened even Rourke.

Cursing, Saoirse whipped out another tentacle, so fast Rourke didn't have time to react. His gasp was cut short as his airway closed, the tentacle's gripping suckers twisting into his skin as she tried to strangle him. He struggled against her, but knew he could not last long.

The dragon swooped under Conor, cupping the bubble in his great talons. But before the impressive creature could pierce it, Saoirse pointed a finger to Conor. The soapy exterior of the bubble s.h.i.+fted, and Conor disappeared.

Rourke stared at the empty bubble, and struggled against Saoirse. She let go of his neck, but held him pinned against the cave wall. He gasped, taking air back into his lungs. The dragon landed on the edge of the cliff, folding his wings to his sides.

"What have you done with the boy?" The dragon's voice was deep and penetrating. It resounded in the cave behind them and echoed back like the booming of a drum.

"He's perfectly safe, as long as I am."

"I never liked you Saoirse, always slithering around in other people's business."

"Your opinion hardly matters to me, Ansul."

Ansul tilted his ma.s.sive head to the sky and roared. A reddish-gold flame reached heavenward, piercing the gray clouds that swirled overhead. Heat from the inferno wrapped around Rourke.

Saoirse flinched at the heat, letting go of Rourke and recoiling her tentacles beneath her skirt.

Rourke knew that Ansul could flame Saoirse with one exhale, but the dragon's hesitation to kill her meant that he didn't know where she had hidden Conor. Rourke slid along the cave wall-inching closer to the bubble that spun, now empty, above the sea.

"Release the boy, Queen of the Seas, and I will let you survive this day," Ansul spat.

Saoirse laughed. "And what do you think will happen to Conor if you kill me? I've waited too many years for this moment."

"A p.a.w.n for a queen Saoirse? Perhaps you should have considered more carefully. Go back to the ocean depths where you belong."

Saoirse put her hand to her chest. "How silly this is Ansul, when we both really want the same thing."

The dragon narrowed his eyes.

"What are you up to Saoirse?"

"With the last of Riplin's line dead, my people will have the strength to take back what is theirs." Her voice soothed like the hum of a rattlesnake's tail before a strike. "And when these two are gone, you will be freed from the curse that has plagued your family for generations."

Rourke knew of the dragon's curse. But Rourke had never thought that Ansul minded protecting the royal family. Now he looked up at the impressive dragon, wondering if Ansul wanted to be free.

"I will fight for my freedom in my own time, in my own way, Saoirse." The dragon drew himself up to full height. "Where is the boy?"

"There is a bubble drifting along a current in the depths of the sea. I simply displaced him from this bubble to that one." She raised her head in triumph. "As long as I live, Conor will remain safely inside his bubble. But time, and air, are running out for him."

Rourke looked out over the expanse of sea that stretched toward the horizon. Conor slept beneath the roiling waves, far below the surface. Anger boiled in Rourke's throat. His voice was sore from Saoirse's grip, but he could still make noise. He opened his mouth and threw a stream of sound at the sea witch.

The force of the outburst pushed Saoirse off balance. She screamed, turning her body around and curling her tentacles around the rocks at the edge of the cliff to keep from falling. One of her limbs wrapped around Rourke's legs.

Fearing that he would fall, Rourke closed his mouth, stopping the torrent. Saoirse found her footing, but tightened her grip on him, dragging him toward the drop-off.