Authors: Christopher Shields
“No. You have to leave…” Tears ran down my cheeks when I felt Markus take physical form. Across the parking lot, several hundred feet away, a hideous looking wolf came out of the trees. Markus locked his cloudy eyes on me. His body was scarred and mangy—just like Chalen when he took an animal form. Jean followed my eyes and jolted backwards when he saw it, head down, yellowed fangs exposed, stalking us.
A whisper slid over Jean’s lips. “Is impossible…”
I channeled Quint into glowing orbs in my palms and blew my bicycle into a tree twenty feet away, warping the frame around the trunk. Jean’s huge eyes switched back and forth between the two of us and he slowly inched back toward the car. In a flash so fast it left me dizzy, Markus erased the distance between us. Before I could react, he let out a faint gasp and crumpled on the ground. His foggy eyes stared up at me briefly and then turned to Jean, who held a beating heart in his ancient yellowed fingernails.
“Bastien,” he gasped before collapsing into a ball of white light and flashing out.
I threw up again.
EPIPHANY
L
ike a rag doll, Jean had me strapped into the old car before I could react. The blur of trees and gray sky and parked cars whisking past the window left me disoriented. Jean drove east, under the busy road, and then north on a two-lane blacktop that cut through the forest. I still felt dizzy when we blew through a small collection of homes a mile ahead, and turned back east toward Fontainebleau. I didn’t understand at first, but as the car clambered toward the city, the Rogues streaked to Trois Pignon.
“Are you really Bastien?”
Jean nodded. It was completely surreal. The oldest living creature on Earth was driving me in a beat up Citroën. I shook my head trying to clear the fog.
“But you’re human…completely and totally human. I can sense your energy.”
In a silky smooth, deep, resonating voice that I hadn’t heard before, one completely devoid of accent, he said, “The best way to hide from my kind is to take the form of the one thing they are forbidden to contact. Wouldn’t you agree?”
I nodded. His wrinkled, bony hands gripped the steering wheel with all the apparent strength of an arthritic octogenarian.
“Jean—”
“We can drop that façade.”
“Okay…Bastien, I need your help.”
“I will help you, but it may not be the help you’re looking for.”
I felt my body slump in the seat. “You won’t teach me how to create Aether?’
He shook his head.
“Is there any way I can change your mind?’
“Maggie, I don’t know how to create it—I’ve never seen the point.”
I sank farther into the seat as the first wave of disappointment wrapped me like a straitjacket. Not once since I’d started looking for him had I considered the possibility he didn’t know how to create Aether. Sure, there was a part of my mind where it seemed possible, but I’d buried it underneath layers of optimism.
My chest tightened and I felt hopeless as I fought back the tears. At that moment, my hopes were completely and utterly dashed. Bastien was the oldest Fae in the world. If he didn’t know how to make Aether, then how could I hope to figure it out? I had tried, I failed, and time was running out.
“Don’t despair.”
“I’m trying not to. I just…”
“Do you believe in destiny?”
I did, of course. My belief in destiny was what drove me to do everything I’d done for the last two and a half years. But as we drove into Fontainebleau, I was beginning to surrender to self-pity. “It’s a ridiculous idea.”
“By itself, I agree. That a person could enter existence for the purpose of fulfilling a predetermined course of action is fantastic, too fantastic. You, however, are not just any person.”
Bastien drove me back to the place I’d
purchased
the bicycle. The rider was gone and nobody else was around. He pulled the Citroën into a parking spot exactly where I’d climbed onto the bike.
“How did you—”
“Scent, of course. You are rather…pungent. I suspect you are the only human who has been swimming in the reflecting pool of Fontainebleau Castle.”
“That wasn’t by choice.”
“I gathered that much.”
“So, what you were saying about destiny, I am the descendent of Áedán—the second Maebown?”
“Yes, you are descended from Áedán of Cnoc Aine.”
“Cnoc Aine? Oh my gosh, I’d forgotten…” Sara and Billy told me that a year and a half ago when we drove to Mount Sequoyah in Fayetteville. I hadn’t made the connection. “I was just there.”
“Yes, Áedán’s children, two daughters and a son, were vulnerable when Áedán died. I took the daughters to the Corcaguiney Peninsula. The eldest, Aillean, had one son. His children flourished and eventually took the name O’Shea. The youngest of Áedán’s children, the other daughter, Brighid, died along with her baby during childbirth. Áedán’s middle child, his son, stayed near Lough Gur, hidden from Ozara and the Sidhe—for a time at least.”
“Sean McLoughlin, the Sidhe Steward…are we related?”
Bastien nodded. “He is the direct descendant of Áedán’s son, Cassán. I hid their identity, but I failed to hide their talent. Five hundred years ago, Dana discovered that the McLouglins had a powerful connection to the elements. They have been slaves to the Sidhe ever since. Ironically, Dana has no idea Sean is an heir of Áedán—its best no one knows.”
“But if something happens to me, there is still hope.”
“No, Maggie, you’re different.”
My head shook without any conscious attempt to make it do so. “I have such a hard time believing that. Had you not stopped Markus—”
“You would have destroyed him yourself,” he interrupted.
“I would have? I’m not so sure.”
“Yes, you would have. But your method would have taken longer. I merely sped up the inevitable. What is done is done. Maggie, you must not question your significance. Your connection to the elements is stronger than either of your Maebown ancestors.”
I saw stars. “Either?” I shrieked.
“Yes, either.”
My mouth hung open.
“You are the direct descent of Surero, as well.”
“But he was Egyptian.”
“Yes, and like Áedán he had offspring. I hid them, too. Two thousand years after Surero died, his lone descendent moved to present day Spain. His family flourished for centuries, by then unaware of their ancestry. They took the name Guerrero one thousand four hundred years ago. War and disease took their toll and four hundred seventeen years ago the Guerrero line was nearly lost. The surviving daughter married a man named Gutierrez. Their only son immigrated to Cuba.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“It’s true. Genetics, Maggie, it’s all about the genetics. I realized millennia ago that some humans possessed a more powerful connection to Naeshura than others. Those humans pass it on to their offspring. Your family is not the only one, but your two families have a stronger connection than any I’ve encountered. You are the most gifted of them all. That is why I had to meet you.”
“Did you arrange my parents…you know?”
He laughed. “No, I did not.”
“The odds of that happening—“
“I will ask you again, Maggie O’Shea—do you believe in destiny?”
Before the smile could completely form on my face, I realized that Bastien wasn’t the only Fae to have figured out my family secret.
“Yes,” he said. “It appears Ozara recognized the possibility. I’m quite confident she does not know with any degree of certainty what I just told you, but she suspects. For me, it’s as clear as looking into the face of an old friend.”
“You knew them?’
“In one capacity or another, I’ve known every generation of your family—on both sides. When the danger has passed, I should like to tell you about them. Would you like that?”
“Are you kidding? I’d love that. There is so much I’d like to learn from you.”
“You come from remarkable stock—O’Shea and Gutierrez.”
My confidence came roaring back. “Why did you bring me back here?”
“I am rather an expert at staying concealed without hiding. I’m creating a dead end. I have learned to leave no scent, and yours will disappear here. I’m giving you a head start, an advantage. Don’t squander it.”
He touched my hand and a tingle ran through my body.
“Step out of the car—go lean against the car in front of us.”
I did as he said, turning my back to the black Peugeot and settling against it as though I was waiting for a friend. Bastien smiled and waved me back. A few seconds later a young, brown-haired women got in and drove away. We repeated the process several times. Car after car pulled into the spot ahead of us and waited. Each time I felt a tingling sensation and Bastien would ask me to go lean against the car, or climb in and out of the back seat. Not once did the drivers or passengers even notice. After ten cars, Bastien transformed the Citroën into a silver Jaguar XKR and handed me the keys.
“I’ve got to learn how to do that.”
“It’s quite simple, rearranging solid matter—what you can do with Quint is far more impressive.”
“So, this is goodbye?”
“I’ve not said goodbye to anyone, Fae or Human, in several hundred million years. I’m not going to start now.”
“Okay, but can I ask you one more question before you leave?”
“Of course,” he said, pulling the door shut.
“Do you know why Ozara has changed so much?”
He smiled, the craggy lines around his eyes deepening. “She has not changed.”
His words tumbled around in my mind. “Then she doesn’t mean to destroy the human race?’
“That’s a second question.”
I laughed. “It’s a clarification…please?”
“She absolutely intends to destroy the human race. She always has.”
My mouth fell open again. “But for ten thousand years—”
“Actually, seven thousand, three hundred fifty-eight years,” he said. “For all that time she has been working the same intricate plan. Fae, like human, will do anything for love.”
I gasped and stared out the windshield.
“Zarkus?”
He nodded. “Yes, Maggie. You know more than you think. They are paired. They have been for eight millennia. Another advantage of being my age—I don’t miss much. That information is much more powerful than any other you possess.”
“You have to help me spread the word.”
“It may seem callous, but I intend to pull that broken bicycle out of the trunk, and ride it back into obscurity. This is not my fight, child.”
“I don’t understand that—you’re the oldest Fae in the world. Your word would carry so much weight.”
“I am the oldest, yes, and I am perhaps the most jaded. I admit that. I have no interest in clan politics. Clans…” Bastien exhaled loudly. “Such a hideous condition. A few Fae determine the rules for the rest. I have true autonomy, Maggie, constrained only by what I consider the laws of nature. For me at least, there is nothing more important than that. I go anywhere in the world I choose, unrestrained by political boundaries, unfettered by rules. I wish to go on making it that way. If humans disappear, I will take the shape of a new species and continue on. I don’t believe that will happen. I know it sounds hardhearted, but as your kind is fond of saying, that is where I am right now.”
“But nobody will believe me.”
He shook his head. “Do you know nothing of my kind? With the correct course of action, the truth will be exposed for all to see. I think you can figure out the rest.”
“Kill Zarkus.”
He nodded. “His death will cause her rage, and that will expose the world to grave danger, but she will not be able to hide her anguish. Her tenuous hold on my kind will snap like a dry twig.”
Bastien reopened the door and stepped out. He pulled the bent bicycle out of the trunk and it straightened and transformed into an antiquated, fat-fendered type before the tires met the pavement. Bastien scanned me as I walked around to the driver’s side.
“No, that will not do. It should draw more attention.”
The Jag changed shape again, shrinking into a sleek antique XKE roadster.
“I hope you fancy auburn,” he said.
I looked back at the car, but it remained silver. Out of corner of my eye, I noticed my hair lightened to a few shades brighter than Candace’s.
“If you need me again, I will find you. Best of luck.”
“Thank you,” I managed.
“Take care of my car—this is only a temporary trade.”
The humpbacked little black man climbed onto the bike and slowly pedaled down the sidewalk, squeaking as he went. I slid in the tight interior and brought the car to life, watching him disappear at the end of the long wall bordering Fontainebleau Castle.
I didn’t like feeling hatred, so I despised the feelings I harbored for Ozara. But what Bastien told me drove my rage even further. Paired with Zarkus—it made too much sense. I had often wondered why she didn’t just kill him, since he’d allegedly orchestrated two costly wars. She didn’t kill him because she loved him, and she didn’t blame him for the wars because she had orchestrated them herself. I wondered whether Dagda or Ra, the two previous Aetherfae, had any idea that she was manipulating them.
No, probably not.