Chapter 41

Ch. 41: Dane

Chief Laura Coleridge arrives less than a quarter hour after our call ends. I tell her the short version, and leave werewolves out of it, but after only a brief spate of shock and denial, she accepts the evidence with which she is presented easily enough. More importantly, she agrees to my plan. Maybe people are more open-minded in the middle of the night.

While a deputy drives Ingrid and Danni home, Freya packs four of the fae, the seven children, and Halloran's body in my old Ford Explorer and drives them up to the standing stones to wait for us.

Julian, Erickson, his niece, the two warrior fae—Alyth and Sylv—and I go with Coleridge to Erickson's sister's house in a police SUV. When we arrive, however, I see we're not the first ones there.

A fire engine idles outside, lights flashing, and a police cruiser has just pulled up at the curb.

"Oh shit," Erickson breathes. "Pauline."

As we pop the doors and pile out, though, I see Savannah's mother dashing down the front steps, tears streaking her face and a wild, frantic look in her eyes. Then she sees Savannah and screams.

Running towards us, she snatches the sleepy, still-damp girl from Erickson's arms and collapses in tears. As the fae slip past her and into the house, I gather that the mother had awoken to a strange sound, gone into her daughter's room, and found the window open and the child gone. Fearing she'd been taken, she'd called the police.

"Skinchanger must have sensed or known we were coming, somehow," I murmur.

"Probably through Savannah. The mental link, remember?" Julian says. "I bet as soon as we came through the portal, it knew the game was up, and fled."

A moment later, Alyth and Sylv return, shaking their heads. The skinchanger left no trace.

While Erickson invents some story about finding his niece sleepwalking (his house is apparently nearby), the rest of us withdraw.

"Where do you think it went?" Julian asks, and shudders.

"No idea," I say. "But if it knows what's good for it, it'll stay far away from here."

Coleridge shakes her head. "You and I have a long talk ahead of us, Hunter. I'm rolling with this now, 'cause it's that or arrest you all, and that's too much paperwork. But I want a full, thorough, and complete explanation as soon as you don't look and smell like shit."

Despite my tiredness, I bite back a smile. "Yes, ma'am."

***

Leaving Erickson with his family, Coleridge drives the rest of us out of town and up into the hills to the standing stones.

She parks as close as she can get and then, with weariness weighting our steps, we cross the open meadow to the natural outcrop of white granite. There, we find the others already gathered, along with what appears to be a small delegation of Fae.

The doorway between the arched stones is open, the air shimmering like rippling glass, and a dozen Fae wearing long garments that flow like silk mill about tending to the time-orphaned children, and to the dead.

Halloran's body lies uncovered upon a much grander bier than the stretcher of ferns and branches on which we carried him from the Shadowlands. Candles burn around him, and flowers cover him. A woman kneels at his side, and when she straightens, I bite back a gasp. For a moment, I thought she was Rhiannon, but from the likeness and Julian's description, I recognize Eirnín.

Spotting Julian, she approaches with her hands outstretched.

"Son of my daughter's son," she says, tears making her eyes shine bright. "We meet again. I am glad to see you well, though I wish it were not under such sorrowful circumstances. I feel as if I have lost my daughter a second time, and now my son."

"He was... very brave," Julian says.

"So were you all, I have heard. But I am told you will speak on my daughter's behalf."

"Yes. I—"

Julian sways on his feet and I steady him. He's on the verge of collapse, now dangerously exhausted, and badly in need of food, water, and rest.

Eirnín gets the message. She beckons to one of the fae, who approaches bearing a silver tray on which rests a pitcher and a set of small silver cups. Pouring some liquid into one, she hands it to him, then does the same for me.

"Drink. The tea will restore you, at least for a time, and clear your mind."

Julian downs it without a second glance, so I do the same. The effect is immediate and strong, like a mix of caffeine and alcohol: warming, relaxing, and energizing at all once.

Julian holds out his cup. "More, please."

His great-grandmother, who disconcertingly looks young enough to be an older sister, or at most his mom, shakes her head sternly.

"One is plenty. And now, tell me this tale of yours."

***

Some time later, with the moon just minutes from setting, Julian concludes his narrative.

Eirnín and her fae had listened carefully, as had the rest of us—some offering extra details at various points, and some remaining silent throughout. At my side, Chief Coleridge keeps her thoughts concealed behind an impassive expression.

It's the mask of a cop, trained not to betray weakness through feeling. I wear that mask, too, out of reflex and habit, and I consciously let it drop. It probably accounts for at least some of the communication problems I've had with Julian, and I don't need to wear masks around my mate.

Finally, his story at an end, Julian looks up at Eirnín hopefully. "Will she be able to return?" he asks.

Frowning, Eirnín wipes tears from her eyes with delicate fingertips. "She may return when she will, and she knows this," she says. "The war is long over; her father would welcome her back with open arms, as would I. Alas; my children are both noble and ill-fated, it seems."

"I don't understand," he says.

"She remains in the Shadowlands as a guardian," Eirnín says, "as much as an act of repentance. She hopes to right the wrong she committed in this world by protecting it from afar. At least, that is what I surmise, from what you have told me. I wish I could ask her to her face."

Julian hesitates, and then, reluctantly, he produces the dishcloth-wrapped journal and hands it to her.

"What is this?" she asks, unfolding it carefully.

"Rhiannon's own words," he says. "I can't read it, but maybe you can."

She studies it carefully, turning the damp pages with exquisite care.

"It's in a cipher," she says. "The runes are written out of order, and as such they make no sense. Even if you knew them, you could not understand what they said."

"Why would Rhiannon write her journal in fae runes and then write the runes themselves in code?" Julian asks. "Who was she hiding from?"

"Everyone," Eirnín says, with a sad smile. "She is a warrior, born and bred. She trusted only her closest allies; her brothers, her kindred. When they, too, betrayed her, it is a wonder she should ever learn to trust again."

Doubt clouds Julian's face, and he looks as if he might reach for the book, but Eirnín laughs lightly and tucks it in her robes.

"Fear not," she says. "I shall study this with care, and hopefully, in time, discover whatever secrets my daughter saw fit to conceal in such a way. I shall fulfill her promise to my son, and to those who followed Darragh's lies to this tragic end. They shall not escape punishment, but they shall be shown every mercy our justice can spare."

Personally, that doesn't sound reassuring to me, but Julian merely nods. I suppose Darragh's soldiers wouldn't have helped us if they expected to receive harsh sentences in return.

"And Rhiannon?" Julian asks. "Is there any way to send her a message? Let her know she can come home?"

Eirnín nods. "Perhaps. You have brought me great joy, as well as great sorrow, Julian. To know my daughter is alive and well, after these many years, is as sweet as my son's death is bitter. I would very much like to see her again, and shall do all I can to reach her. As she told you, there are other doorways—other places to pass between realms—but the one here was unique in its stability. A shame it must be destroyed."

She sighs.

"Couldn't we leave it a while longer?" he asks. "Go back and try to find her?"

Eirnín shakes her head. "I imagine she has already done the work on her side. The way is closed. And now..." She rises and looks at the sky, where the bottom of the moon now rests on the horizon, "we must part ways again, unless..." Turning to look at Julian, she raises her brows hopefully. "Faerie is a safe, restful place. You would be welcome there."

My heart momentarily freezes, but Julian shakes his head. "Sounds like a nice place to retire someday, but this is my home. And if Rhiannon is a guardian in the Shadowlands, then my mate and I will be guardians here."

Eirnín nods and kisses his brow. Then, with a wave of farewell, the fae depart, guiding the children through the doorway to a new life, and bearing Halloran's body home.

Then the moon sets, and the sun rises, and the world is quiet.

***

It takes a few weeks for things to get back to normal—or the closest to normal that things get in Spring Lakes.

A good night's rest is all I need, and Ingrid bounces back just as fast (though she says she'll be happy to get back to New York, now). Fortunately, Danni recalls little of their ordeal, and Savannah remembers nothing. Erickson, while shaken, has emerged more or less unscathed, though Coleridge has taken my advice and placed him on paid leave. I have a feeling he might reconsider his calling.

Coleridge herself has taken the supernatural revelations surprisingly well, having always suspected there was more to what went on around here than met the eye. She promises to help us ensure the caverns are permanently sealed, and has already put a motion before the town planning committee to have the old buildings brought up to code, which would include new, very solid foundations.

Meanwhile, an investigation has been opened into Rian Halloran's 'disappearance,' and his colleagues in Ireland notified. I've notified Leon Marsh, my accidental contact in the FBI, as well, and he's already moved to have the case quietly shelved.

Officially, the burglaries and the deaths of Jeffrey Lagrange and Stephanie Wong remain unsolved, filed away in a drawer full of many others in the same category. Coleridge has asked me to take a look at the backlog, just to see if any fall within my 'wheelhouse,' as she says.

Of all of us, Julian is the slowest to recover, and as usual, he's the one that worries me.

As the days pass, he remains quiet and withdrawn, eating little and sleeping a lot. Most of his waking hours are spent staring out the window, lost in thought.

After I come home from a trip to the store and find him exactly where I left him hours earlier, curled up in the window seat, I confront him.

"Hey, Jules," I say, rubbing his shoulders as I sit at his side. "You gotta let it go. I'm sorry about Halloran, and about Rhiannon, and sorry for all the shit that happened in the past, but that's where you gotta leave it. At least for now."

He nods. "I know. I'm just worried I made a mistake," he says, "giving the book to Eirnín. I just can't put it from my mind. Rhiannon said to guard it, but in the moment..." He bites his lip. "Who could it be safer with than her own mom?"

His blood relatives don't have the best track record for trustworthiness, but I keep that thought to myself.

"You couldn't read it anyway," I say. "You still have the pictures you took of the pages, though, right? We'll send them to Noah. He likes puzzles. In the meantime, worrying about it won't do any good. It's a problem for another day."

He turns to me with a soft smile. His guard is down, and the full blast of his beauty makes my breath catch. "Here's to another day, then," he says, and presses himself into my arms, and kisses me.

I hope it's because I got through to him, and not because it's what I want and what he is, but either way he does as I ask, and let's the matter lie.

***

A month later, another full moon rides high in a clear sky, and bright stars bless the night. I stand in Wolf form—not upon the highest ridge or at the standing stones, but in the open meadow right outside my front door.

A sense of peace fills my heart: the quiet confidence of knowing I am right where I belong, that I have conducted myself well, and that my mother and father may be proud to call me their son.

The ritual is nearly complete, my life now wed to the land as much as to the life of my mate. He stands at my side, his hand resting lightly on my back, while my sisters (also as Wolves) look on as witnesses.

One last thing remains. Tilting back my head, wolfsong rises from my throat on a ribbon of sound: a long ululation of praise to the lords of the hunt and to the goddess above, as well as a summons to any who would challenge me.

Three times, I fill and empty my lungs, and three times I wait for a reply.

None is made; and in the silence, the ritual is done.

The land is mine, and I belong to the land, as Alpha.

I tip my head back one last time and let forth a different sort of howl: deep and long, and filled with triumph. My sisters join in with joy, and Julian adds his voice as well, light and musical.

And so, with the strange yet fitting combination of a Wolf and a Fae at its head, the Spring Lakes Pack is born.