"Fair enough, but that's where Ren will have to go to get Darragh."
Logan didn't seem all that impressed. "How?"
Pete wasn't sure if he should share Ren's idea with Logan. Without a
Leipreachán
around to agree with him, it sounded more than a little insane. "He had some harebrained scheme underway to wane in and out of there using rubies soaked in magic."
"Oh ... what could go possibly wrong with a plan like that?
"I know it sounds crazy, but it might be his best chance. And ours, if we want to get out of here."
Logan sighed. "Sadly, I have to agree. But if we can't go near the prison ourselves, we need someone who can get in to see Darragh for us. Any suggestions as to who this Angel of Mercy might be?"
It was a very good question. Given their own doubtful history, everybody associated with their previous lives - their grandmother, their cousin, Kelly, and any of their other "uncles" or "aunts" - was suspect. All those people
had
to be part of the
Matrarchaí
to have been part of the deception that was their life before they left this reality. Any friendships they had had before the disappearance were long forgotten, too.
"What if we try Ren's cousin, Hayley?" Logan suggested after a few moments. "She's back in this realm and she's a friend of Ren's."
"I suspect making contact with her will bring down more trouble than it's worth," Pete said. "If Hayley has been gone as long as we have, she'll be getting a lot of attention right now - the sort of attention we don't want to attract."
"Any old work colleagues you can think of? Anybody I contact will report our reappearance in a heartbeat, if only to grab the lead story on the six o'clock news, so they're not much use. Pity your mates are all cops. I doubt they're going to help us bust someone out of Portlaoise."
Maybe not all of them would
, Pete thought, as a name occurred to him.
Perhaps a bit of patient-doctor confidentiality might protect us.
"Annad Semaj," Pete said.
Logan frowned. "Isn't he a police shrink, or something?"
Pete nodded. "I think he's about to acquire two new patients."
His brother smiled as he realized the reason for what Pete was suggesting. "Which means he can't turn us in. That's so clever I could have thought of it myself."
"You didn't, though."
"I like to let you have the glory now and then, little brother. Do you think Ren will be okay with Marcroy?"
"Unless Marcroy's killed him already."
"That would be a shame. He kind of grows on you after a while." Logan walked to the edge of the circle. It was too dark to see much across the fairway, but the traffic noise had not let up since they arrived.
"So does fungus," Pete pointed out, pushing past Logan to pick his way through the rough to the fairway. Enough of this hanging about talking. They had a name and even if their plan was nothing more than a vague idea, it was something. He was cold, hungry and bruised from his abrupt arrival here, and they were on a tight schedule. He didn't know what Marcroy wanted of Ren, but he didn't doubt for a moment that Ren would be coming for Darragh soon. If they wanted to get back to the other reality - if he was ever going to see Nika again - they needed to be there when he arrived.
Their only alternative was Logan's suggestion that they find a way into one of the
Matrarchaí
's high-rise stone circles in the Enchanted Sphere, and even that escape route was no good to them without some sort of magical talisman to open the rift and the knowledge of how to open it. As the
Matrarchaí
tended not to leave such things lying about, that meant doing this the hard way.
It seemed to Pete that, lately, the hard way was the only way they ever did things.
They used one of the credit cards Plunkett had stolen to get a cab to Annad's house. The cab driver looked up the good doctor's address on his iPhone and then drove them to his neat little suburban house using GPS. Pete tried not to be impressed. Technology hadn't taken a giant leap forward in their absence - both cell phones and GPS's had existed in the world he left behind - so much as a giant embrace by everyone. It seemed every person was connected to something digital. Everywhere he looked, every time he saw people, some of them standing, often walking, head down, thumbs tapping away, so focused on the device in their hands they didn't seem to notice the world around them.
There were lights on in Annad's house when they arrived, but only one car parked in the drive. As the cab pulled away, it occurred to Pete that he didn't know if Annad was married and if he was, his wife might be home, which could complicate matters. Too late to worry about that now, he supposed.
"Let me do the talking," he told Logan as they walked up the neat path to the front door.
Logan was looking around to see if anybody was watching them. The neighbourhood seemed quiet. At this hour most law-abiding people would be eating supper, taking in the late news or getting ready for bed.
"Okay."
"I mean it."
"I heard you."
They reached the door. Pete hesitated for a fraction of a second and then lifted the brass knocker and rapped three times. The sound echoed through the silent neighbourhood, prompting a dog a few doors down to start barking. Moments later they heard footsteps in the hall and the door opened.
Annad had greyed a little at the temples, Pete noted, but he hadn't changed much. He looked at Pete and Logan for a moment and then, as if a light had come on in his head, his eyes widened. "Oh, my God."
"Can we come in, Annad?"
"Oh, my God."
"Yeah, you said that, already," Logan said, pushing the door open. He shoved Annad back, grabbed Pete by the sleeve, dragged him inside and slammed the door.
"Logan! I said I would do the talking!"
"Which leaves me to do the shoving. Is there anybody else here?"
Annad shook his head, his eyes wide with shock.
"Anybody expected home?"
He shook his head again. "My wife was called into the hospital for an emergency caesar. She won't be back for hours. I have two kids, but they're at boarding school."
Pete pushed Logan away from the doctor. He was no threat to them and Logan was just making things worse. "Your wife is a doctor?"
Annad nodded. "An obstetrician. What are you doing here, Pete? Where have you been?"
"Long story. This is my brother, Logan."
"I gathered as much. What's going on?"
"You got any decent whiskey?"
"Of course."
"Then why don't you pour us a drink, old friend, and we'll tell you all about it."
It shouldn't be so easy to take a life.
Ren pondered that thought as he approached the cradle rocking gently in the center of the room. He was overcome by a sense of having been here before, and yet it was different somehow. The room was no longer warm or candlelit. It was dark and the walls were glistening in the moonlight seeping through a sliver in the closed curtains.
There was no sign of the nurse. Ren wondered if she'd run away or if her fate had been the same as everyone else who'd approached this nightmare.
He reached the cradle and stopped to study it for a moment. The oak cradle was carved with elaborate Celtic knotwork and inlaid with softly glowing mother-of-pearl, just as it always was, but the mother-of-pearl was splattered with something that smelled like fresh blood.
Ren glanced down at the blade he carried and wondered if it would be enough. The
airgead sídhe
caught the light in odd places, illuminating the engraving on the blade. He hefted the razor-sharp weapon in his hand. Faerie silver was useless in battle, but for this task, no other would suffice.
The twins slept peacefully - he'd not have been able to approach otherwise - curled together like soft, deadly petals, the one on the left sucking her thumb, the other making soft suckling motions with her mouth, unconsciously mirroring her sister. The girls were sated and content, blissfully ignorant of their approaching death.
If they had been awake, would they recognize the danger that hovered over them? Ren wondered.
Maybe they would. Whatever made these children what they were, must give them some inkling of approaching danger.
They couldn't just exist to destroy. Could they?
They looked so innocent. So human.
"Are you sure you can do this?"
He glanced over his shoulder. Darragh stood in the shadows by the door.
"It has to be done, Darragh. I don't have a choice."
Darragh took a step further into the room. Ren saw himself reflected in his twin's eyes. Darragh's face was filled with doubt and anguish.
"I still think they're innocent," Darragh said.
"How can you say that? You saw what they did."
"They didn't know. Didn't understand ..."
"They are death, Darragh. The death of billions upon billions more."
Darragh shook his head. "I can't believe ..." He didn't finish the sentence. Or couldn't.
Ren didn't respond, turning back to stare down at the twin girls he had come to murder.
Darragh took another step closer. "I won't let you do it. You don't have to do it. You're not a tool of the
Matrarchaí
. Neither of us are.
We don't have to do her bidding."
"Even if she's right?"
"She's dead. What difference does it make?"
"I will end this."
"I won't let you."
"How will you stop me?" he asked as he raised the blade. One of the girls was stirring - they were too alike to tell which was which. She opened her eyes to stare up at him, her face framed by soft dark curls, her expression disturbingly alert and aware for one so young. Her eyes were strange ... blue with no pupil and no whites at all. Just a pool of blue terror that had already killed once and would kill again and again until they'd achieved their goal. Her sister remained asleep, still peacefully sucking her thumb. Which will be harder? he wondered. Killing the one who is asleep and ignorant of her fate, or the one staring up at me with that sleepy, contented smile?
Am I strong enough to fight her off if she tries to stop me?
"I'll kill you if I have to, Rónán, to stop this."
Ren stared down at the twins, dismissing the empty threat. "Even if you could get across this room before the deed was done, Darragh, you can't kill me without killing yourself, which would achieve precisely what I am here to prevent."
He moved the blade a little, repositioning his grip. The bedside light danced across its engraved surface, mesmerizing the baby. He was happy to entertain her with the pretty lights for a few moments. Better she remain distracted. Once the babies realized why he was here ...
There was a drawn-out silence, as he played the light across the blade. Behind him, Darragh remained motionless. There was no point in him trying to attack. They were two sides of the same coin. Neither man could so much as form the intent to attack without the other knowing about it.
The girls would be dead before anybody could reach the cradle to stop him.
"There must be another way." There was note of defeat in the statement, a glimmer of acceptance.
"I wouldn't be here if there was," Ren replied, still staring down at the baby he was destined to kill. "You know that," he added, glancing over his shoulder. "You're just not willing to accept the truth of it yet."
Darragh held out his hand, as if he expected the blade to be handed over; and for this night to be forgotten, somehow. Put behind them like a foolish disagreement they'd been wise enough to settle like men. "They're just babies."
"They are Partition and all the destruction that goes with it."
"But they're innocents ... Dammit ... they're your own flesh and blood!"
"Tell that to Brydie. And all the others."
Darragh had no answer for that. Perhaps he realized now, why the walls were glistening.
Ren gripped the blade tighter and turned back to the cradle, steeling his resolve with a conscious act of will. It didn't matter who they were. It's what they were. That was the important thing.
It was the reason they had to die.
"They are abominations, bred to cause chaos and strife."
"Maybe we can save them."
"I see the future, Darragh. So do you. And I dare you to deny the future you see isn't just as filled with chaos and strife because of what these children are, as the future I perceive."
Silence greeted his question, as he knew it would. They had both seen the future, just as the Hag had seen it. They had seen the destruction, the pain, the devastation.
Turning back to the babies, Ren reached into the cradle with his left hand to pull back the blankets covering the children. The twin who was awake grabbed his finger. Her frightening blue eyes smiling up at him, she squeezed it gently. Behind him, his brother watched, too appalled to allow this, too afraid to stop it.
"Help me or leave," Ren said, feeling Darragh's accusing eyes boring into his back. "Just don't stand there feigning disgust, as if you had no part in bringing us to this pass."
"Perhaps the future we see isn't ours."
"Are you kidding me? Look around you, Darragh. These walls are dripping with blood." Ren was a little amazed that he felt so calm. It was as if all the anguish, all the guilt, all the fear and remorse, all the normal human emotions a man should be battling at a time like this were a burden being carried by someone else, leaving him free to act, unhindered by doubt.
If that wasn't a sign of the rightness of this deed, he couldn't think of anything else that might be.
He extracted his finger from the soft, determined grip of the baby girl, her skin so soft and warm, her gaze so trusting and serene, it was heartbreaking.