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  SAMHAIN

  Secrets of the Fae - Book 3

  by Rebecca Kenney

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1— Breathe

  Chapter 2— Time

  Chapter 3— Velvet

  Chapter 4— Sign

  Chapter 5— Payback

  Chapter 6— Happier

  Chapter 7— Chandelier

  Chapter 8— Back

  Chapter 9— Kiss

  Chapter 10— Riptide

  Chapter 11— Shallow

  Chapter 12— Legendary

  Chapter 13— Warrior

  Chapter 14— Reaper

  Chapter 15— Complicated

  Chapter 16— Treasure

  Chapter 17— Battle Cry

  Chapter 18— Bullet

  Chapter 19— Rise

  Chapter 20— Something

  Chapter 21— Love

  Chapter 22— Faith

  Chapter 23— Hell

  Chapter 24— Thriller

  Chapter 25— Fighter

  Chapter 26— Breaking

  Chapter 27— Paris

  1

  BREATHE

  Aislinn

  "Try to speak now."

  The blue glow of magic fades from Ériu's fingers as she withdraws them from Wynnie's mouth. For the past several weeks, she's been coming here now and then, working on re-growing Wynnie's tongue, which the druids sliced out to prevent Wynnie from speaking the Life-Stealing spell.

  The new tongue formed slowly, painfully, a little at a time, because the effort of regeneration takes so much of Ériu's magical energy. In spite of being Tuatha dé Danann, one of Ireland's mythical god-race, Ériu has her limits, and she has to rest between healing sessions to regain her power.

  Today she finished the tip of Wynnie's tongue. The flesh is smooth, wet, and seamless, like nothing ever happened.

  Wynnie moves her tongue around for a minute. It must feel so strange to her, after years of not having it.

  "Thank you," she says. And her smile lights up her face.

  Ériu clasps her hands with the delight of someone who has worked on a project for a long time and finally gets to witness its success. "It works!" For a minute she looks less like a gorgeous goddess and more like an ecstatic teenager.

  She and Wynnie seize each other's hands and twirl around the room. Arden stands back, watching, with a rare smile that softens the sharp angles of her face.

  Suddenly Wynnie stops twirling and comes up to me, taking both my hands. Her dark eyes look straight into mine. "Aislinn," she says. "Savior. Sister."

  Tears spring into my eyes, and I hug her tight. In spite of her not being able to talk, the two of us have become friends since I slaughtered the druids, her captors, and rescued her from the cell they kept her in. Our friendship basically consists of taking short walks and sitting on the couch, watching TV; but now that she can talk, maybe she'll let me take her other places.

  "You know what this calls for," I say, looking around at the others. "Girls' night!"

  Wynnie takes a minute to form the words. "Laurel, too?"

  "Yes! All of us. You, Arden, me, Laurel—" I hesitate. Do goddesses do girls' night? "And Ériu. If you want to come."

  Ériu smiles, her full pink lips parting over perfect white teeth. "I'll join you. What do you have in mind?"

  "Shopping. Food. Cheesecake."

  "Cheesecake is food," Arden says.

  "No it's not," I reply. "It's heaven. Wynnie, how long has it been since you tasted cheesecake?"

  "Decades," she says.

  When she disappeared, the Korrigan were living in California. It happened a few decades before I was born; and at the time, Wynnie was a half-crazed, pill-popping, alcoholic party girl. She ran out of Life-Stream, the substance that allows Korrigan like us to stay human during the day; and she took on her beast form at dawn right in the middle of a party house full of wasted guests. There was blood, and major mauling, and then some special ops guys caught her and took her away. The other Korrigan never knew what happened to her until I found her several weeks ago, locked in the druids' dungeon.

  "Then it's settled," I say. "I'll call Laurel. And Arden, you're coming. Don't even think about not coming."

  "I'll come," says Arden. Probably because Ériu will be along. Arden reacts to Ériu like I might react to my favorite actresses, if I ever got to meet one of them and hang out with her in person. Totally starstruck. A little silly and overeager to please. After all, Ériu was a major figure in Ireland back in the day— a goddess of growth and healing.

  I step out on the balcony to call Laurel, but before I can put in the call I notice a text from Kieran, and my heart does a little flip and twirl.

  Kieran and I haven't seen nearly as much of each other as I'd like lately. He went back to his loft a couple days after our escape from the druid stronghold; but he returned there only to oversee the moving of his things to a different apartment. His new place is about half an hour away by car, still within my transport radius.

  But it's been weird between us. Things were so dramatic, so intense when we were trying to escape the druids— we were both tortured, he gave up his finger so they wouldn't cut off mine, and then he died a horrible three-fold ritual death right in front of me. At least, I thought it was him they killed. Turns out he played his role as the Far Darrig, the trickster, to perfection and convinced the druids to substitute someone else in his place, someone already doomed to die.

  I used my stolen powers, my Korrigan magic, and my druid blood to do a mass Life-Stealing from everyone who watched the sacrifice, and from the druids who performed it. I killed them all.

  And when I found out he was alive? The emotion was almost too much to handle.

  But since we've been back home, Kieran has kept his distance. When we're together, it's always with one or more of the others, and he doesn't give me as many of those I-want-you looks, like he used to. He's either giving me time to get over the breakup with Zane, or he doesn't feel the same way about me anymore. He told me himself that he's never done a long-term relationship with anyone, not since his wife was killed centuries ago. Just a lot of one-night stands, I guess— I don't like to dwell on it.

  He told me I was different— special. But maybe he has decided he doesn't want me, after all.

  But he still texts or calls me every day. Every single day.

  Usually it's an emoji or two, or a phrase like, "Just checking to see if you're okay," or "How are you today?" Bland, friend-type things.

  Today, his text is a much more exciting question. "What are you doing tomorrow?"

  I text back as fast as I can. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

  "Going to check out a lead on Samhain. Want to come?"

  Samhain. Pronounced, weirdly, as "sow-wen." It's a Celtic festival, the end of the old year and the start of the new on the ancient calendar— also known as Halloween. And we've been warned that this year, something very, very bad is coming. Something that could end the world as we know it, for Fae and for humans.

  We've had more than a month to recover from our ordeal. It's definitely time to figure out what's going on with the Samhain business. Plus, if it gives me a chance to hang out with Kieran, I'm totally in.

  "Sure," I text back. "When and where?"

  He replies, "Pick you up at 5 tomorrow evening. Wear something sexy. We'll be going to a club."

  A club? He does know I'm only seventeen, right? I sigh. "Do you have an ID for me?" I text back.

  "You won't need one for this club," he answers.

  Weird. I'm even more curious now.

  But I can't puzzle over our destination— I need to call Laurel and see if she can make it to girls' night.

  She answers, a little breathlessly. "Aislinn, hi."

 
; "Girl, are you running?" I ask.

  "Exercise bike," she says. "Trying to work off the ice cream pounds I put on after Mike cheated on me."

  "Well, work harder, because we're going for cheesecake tonight. Wynnie's tongue is finished, so we're celebrating!" It strikes me that no one in the history of the world has ever said that sentence before. What's even crazier is that Laurel isn't fazed by it at all.

  "Cool! I'm down for that."

  "Okay, pick you up at five. Dinner, cheesecake, shopping."

  "Heaven," she says, and I smile. She gets me.

  But as it turns out, none of us get Wynnie, or what she's gone through.

  It starts out well. Since she's about my size, I let her choose a mall outfit— shorts, cute top, heels— and I help her with her makeup. She's Asian-American beautiful, with rounded cheekbones and a tiny rosebud mouth and sloped eyelids over those pretty dark eyes. Where her hair used to be stringy and greasy, it's now silky and black. She looks great. Normal.

  But when we step out of Arden's car and approach the mall entrance, she hangs back, her expression frantic and furtive. After all, the poor girl spent decades in a dungeon, forced to pleasure the druids or submit to magical experiments when she wasn't taking on the shape of a horrific hell-monster.

  What was I thinking with this whole plan?

  "Wynnie, we don't have to do this," I say. "We can get the food and the cheesecake to go, and just have our girls' night at home."

  "Yeah," Laurel chimes in. "No worries."

  Wynnie shrinks back against a car, ducking her head. Arden crosses her arms and waits, but Ériu steps forward.

  "May I help?" she asks.

  "How?" Wynnie's voice is thin, strained.

  "Healing happens in the mind as well as the body," says the goddess. "I can't take away all the fear, but I can help a little."

  "Like a drug," says Wynnie.

  Ériu looks startled.

  "The pills, the stuff I used to take," says Wynnie. "It was just to help me a little. Take the pain away for a while. And then I needed it again, and again, more and more. Couldn't stop." She swallows hard. "I'm not doing that again. I need to feel this. I need to work through it, not hide it."

  Ériu stares at her for a minute. "I understand. You're wiser than I in this case."

  Laurel comes to Wynnie's side and links arms with her. She's much taller than Wynnie, like some kind of Amazon warrior or bodyguard. "We're with you, okay? Just hang on to me."

  I slip to Wynnie's other side and take her left arm. "You can do this. Breathe. Deep breaths, and let me know if it gets to be too much."

  Together, we walk in, out of the hot summer afternoon into the ice-cold air conditioning of the mall. The restaurant is right inside, so we usher Wynnie quickly to the hostess desk.

  "A booth in the back, please," Laurel says, and within minutes we're sitting in a back corner, out of the way, just the five of us.

  Wynnie is breathing easier now. "I did it!" she says. "I'm here."

  "We'll take it one step at a time," I tell her.

  While we're waiting for our food, Laurel gives me a hard look and says, "So Aislinn. What's the deal with you and Kieran O'Connell, anyway? It's been weeks since the whole dramatic rescue thing, but I still don't see you two smooching when we hang out. You guys together, or not?"

  Blushing, I run my fingers down my water glass, drawing patterns in the condensation. "We, um— he's been busy. With healing, and moving to his new condo. And I just broke up with Zane, so it's important to have time, and space."

  "Yeah, time and space is good— you kinda broke Zane's little heart." She says it like she's teasing, but I can tell there's something under it, maybe a little anger.

  "You broke it first," I say. Probably not the best way to defuse the situation. Laurel isn't one to back down from a challenge.

  Her eyes spark. "I just can't believe you'd do that to Zane, after what Mike did to me."

  "I didn't cheat on Zane," I say. "Okay, maybe my heart did, but no other parts of me."

  "So you do like Kieran, then?"

  Like him? I need him. I want him.

  I love him.

  "Yes," I say. "I do."

  "He's hot, I'll give you that. Nice voice, got money, got some kind of magic thing goin' on— but girl, you're only seventeen and he looks like he's what, early twenties? Definitely past the college years. Although being magic guy and all, he's probably older, right? Couple hundred years or something?"

  "You're several centuries off the mark there," says Arden.

  Laurel gapes. "What?"

  "He's Tuatha Dé Danann," I say. "They live for thousands of years. Ériu is one, too."

  "And I'm even older than Midir— Kieran," she says, smiling.

  "Okay, all the more reason to back off and think for a second," says Laurel. "I mean, he must have had so many— if you do get with him, make sure he gets tested for STDs."

  Arden snorts her drink up her nose, and I stare, horrified. "Laurel! Gross!"

  "Hey, I'm bein' practical here. Guy lookin' like that, living for centuries— he's bound to have picked up a few things."

  "He did," says Ériu. "Once, around the Middles Ages or so. He came to me for healing. Don't worry, he's been much more careful since then."

  "Okay, I did not want to know that." My face is flaming red, so red that when the server comes with our food, she glances at me and asks, "You okay, honey?"

  Laurel bursts out laughing, and Ériu actually giggles. But I notice that Wynnie looks uncomfortable, and apparently Ériu sees it too, because she turns the conversation to all the strange fashions she has seen come and go through the centuries. It's a much more pleasant topic for everyone, and I'm grateful not to have to field any more questions about Kieran.

  After dinner, we walk through the mall, arm in arm again. For Wynnie's benefit, we skip any shops that look too dark or too full of men, choosing the ones that are sweet-smelling and filled with brightly colored products.

  In one department store, Laurel buys a pair of boots, tall strappy things that she calls her "Single Ladies" boots. Ériu offers to buy Wynnie an entirely new wardrobe— and while she's trying on outfits with Arden's help, I wander to the fancy dress section of the store.

  An aqua blue dress catches my eye. Once, Kieran left me in the forest to transform, trying to prove a point, to make me realize that I needed to Life-Steal to protect others from my beast form. He was in full Far Darrig mode then— too cruel in his methods and too bold about what he wanted from me. When I reverted back to human shape, he and his leprechauns took me back to his loft. Of course I was naked; clothing doesn't survive the Korrigan transformation. So he dressed me in a skimpy blue dress. I still have it in my closet at home; it's one of the pieces of clothing Arden packed for me when we left the Korrigan house.

  Kieran never said anything about seeing me naked, except to admit that he looked; and I've wondered what he thought. I'm pretty, and I think my shape is decent, too— but every girl has those parts of her that she's insecure about. Maybe he was disappointed.

  I walk through the racks of dresses, running my hands along the rich material. Maybe I should wear that blue dress tomorrow night. A hint of the past, to get his attention.

  Movement catches my eye, and I glance to the left. Nothing there. I turn back to the dress on the rack in front of me, a lovely green thing with intricate embroidery.

  More movement— I see it out of the corner of my left eye.

  This time when I turn, I'm facing three women.

  One is young, maybe fifteen. She wears black leggings and black arm warmers and a gray tunic-style shirt patterned with blue markings— runes? Her hands and half of her face bear tattoos of blue lines and swirls and dots. Her fire-red hair is bundled up loosely at the back of her head, and from the knot protrude long, glossy black feathers, like a raven's.

  The woman in the middle is older— forties, maybe?— but beautiful, with a thick, curvy body and strong features. Her h
air reaches past her waist, a thick mass of black waves; she wears white pants and a white corset-style shirt that exposes her midriff.

  The last of them, the oldest, hunches over a shiny black cane. Her white hair, pulled back with a band of feathers and woven blue threads, frames a face that time has melted into a thousand wrinkles. Bleary blue eyes peer out from under sagging eyelids.

  The hum of their magic pulses in the air— the strongest I've ever felt. And suddenly I know, with a blend of terror and surprise, who they are.

  The Fates. The ones Ériu warned me about. The ones whom I angered with my mass Life-Stealing, the ones who will make me pay for what I've done.

  They're here to kill me.

  Please, not before I see Kieran again.

  The old one speaks first, her voice shockingly strong for her aged appearance. "I am Nemain of the Morrígna, Venom of Armies and Crier of Death."

  From the middle, the black-haired one speaks. "I am Badb, the Raven, Queen of Banshees and Harbinger of War."

  "I am Macha," says the young one. "I am the Bane of Men and the Sovereign of Sickness."

  They're saying these things in the middle of a department store. Racks of clothes around us, ugly carpet under our feet, harsh lights overhead. They seem so out of place here that, scared as I am, I can't help a little humor.

  "Those are some pretty depressing titles," I say. "You might want to think about rebranding for the twenty-first century."

  They stand there, watching me— although I see the youngest one dart her eyes over at the middle one for just a second, like she's unsure what to do next.

  "Oh, I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself," I say. "I'm Aislinn Byrne of the Korrigan; and some call me Soul-Stealer."

  "We know," says Badb, the one with the waterfall of thick black hair who called herself Queen of the Banshees. "We've come to speak with you about your recent exploits."