October 17.

The veil between worlds grows ever thinner once the ides of October pass.

The Wild Hunt howls through the woods as the moonlight sifts through windows, and the threat of the Hunter’s rage drives everyone inside as soon as the skies turn red.

The rain falls. Soil turns to sludge. Even in the daytime, few will dare go far into the forest, and Cloncarrig’s people cluster in the old town square like wintering bees.

But still, life happens. It has to.

The day after Danny, David, and the other Songs leave for their portal back home, Alima gets a call from Brighid. “What’s up?”

“Alima, do you like Florence and the Machine?”

“Not a hardcore fan, but they’re cool,” Alima says. “Why?”

“I got tickets from Decker to their concert in Limerick!” she says. “We’ve got me, Owen, and Matthaeus, and we still need two more.”

“One sec, I’m checking the plants.” She takes a look: The heather and the moonflower don’t need more water right now, so she gives them both a thump on the sides of their pots. She gives the sweetgrass another cup.

The heather is a native plant, and the sweetgrass is used to much colder winters than Ireland, but the moonflower’s tropical and rustles its leaves. No sun? It wonders mournfully.

“Nope.” Alima gives it a poke. “Aren’t you used to winter? You’re a cutting, not a sprout.”

The moonflower grumbles. Collllllld!

“So you’re just fussy. No worries.” She gives it another poke.

“I just don’t get plants - for something that doesn’t move, they’re so complicated,” Brighid mentions. “Anyway, the concert’s Saturday and Limerick’s about an hour and a half away, so we’re booking rooms in Parteen for the night.”

“You’re staying at a hotel less than two hours away?”

“The concert goes from five to eleven or so, and then there’s alcohol. Also, ask Mal in case he wants to go, please?” She asks sweetly. “I have two minutes before my break’s up, so I can’t.”

“No problem, I’m in!”

“Perfect! See you later!”

She sticks her phone back in its holster and checks in the parlor. “Hey, Mom? I’m going to a concert on Saturday with friends. It’s not too far, but we’re staying overnight so we don’t have to drive late or hungover. Is that okay?”

Lucy laughs. “Why are you asking me? You’re twenty-five and I’m not the one paying for it-- just don’t get pregnant or kidnapped, honey.” She grins at Alima, but she only fidgets.

“I just… wanted to ask, I guess,” Alima says. “I don’t know why.”

But Lucy knows, even if her daughter doesn’t. “Don’t feel bad about going out while your dad’s missing,” she says. “The trace is still on, and Hades and Persephone said he’s fine.”

“Okay.” She doesn’t realize she’s been holding her breath.

---

That evening, two FBI agents meet at Alima’s house with Lucy and Ogma.

Duyen Khuu has a chopped-up bob with magenta streaks, and at least three earrings in her right ear--a strange combination with her huge child’s eyes. Jude Cedarberg is blonde and six feet tall, and he looks like he stepped out of a movie. His green-blue eyes scan the parlor with a distant focus--he must be a tracker.

“Hello there, Mrs. Song,” Duyen says. “We’re from the US Embassy in Dublin, and we were called in because of the particular…ness of Ned Song’s case.”

“The police didn’t say they were bringing trackers in,” Lucy says. “We already started the trace, and it’s only been ten days.”

“Yeah, but the most they’ve found so far is that he’s in Ireland,” Duyen says. “A few more days shouldn’t make much difference, so the home team called us last night. Especially since you--” she motions to Ogma. “--have warned the entire country about something called the Fairy Raid?”

“That way.” Jude uses the tracker’s point: His thumb, index, and middle fingers are straight, and his arm is in line with the window. Bulan raises his head beneath it.

“Not yet, man.” Duyen shakes him. “Sorry, he was born with second sight. Can’t turn it off.”

“No worries. My grandson gets visions.” Ogma waits until Jude regains focus. “The Fairy Raid is when the Wild Hunt curses seven people as marks, takes them to a Celtic country, and hunts them down on Samhain. Halloween, for the Brits and Yanks,” he adds.

“That definitely sounds like fairies, but why?” Duyen wonders.

“We don’t know,” Ogma admits. “Maybe they’re doing a ritual. Maybe it’s a punishment for something we did a thousand years back. Maybe they’re bored. It could be a bit of all three, but nobody wants to risk figuring it out. We think Ned might be one of the marks.”

Duyen sighs. “That’s serial-killing at least and terrorism at most. Which is where we come in.”

“But he went missing the same time I did,” Lucy points out. That’s not what she wants to say: She and Ogma know that Jude’s already found Ned.

“Has Hades mentioned anything else yet, Mrs. Song?” Duyen asks.

“He--he’s not dead.” Lucy strains through the curse, but it won’t let her say more.

“Hmm,” Duyen muses. “Don’t worry, you two--we’ve found all the missing people we were tracking in ten years.” With that, the four of them exchange numbers.

---

October 20.

Malachy shows up and takes her out for lunch at The Hours on Friday, despite her protests that she needs to walk Bulan and do laundry.

“That’s not a reason, honey--I’ll do it,” Lucy says. “Have fun with Goldilocks!”

She’s startled into laughing. “Goldilocks? Seriously, Mom!”

“Oh God, time to go.” Mal tugs Alima outside, but Lucy cackles when she catches sight of a reddening cheek.

“I’m screwing with him once I’m human again,” Ned declares as he brings Lucy his leash.

“But Ned, where’s your desire to threaten a perfectly nice young man?” Lucy clips the leash on his collar.

“I didn’t threaten the Spanish guy!” Ned insists.

“You were Alima’s six-foot-four father talking about your dangerous construction work, and all your dangerous wood-carving tools in the locked shed in the backyard, and you didn’t let Alima inside when she was little because it was dangerous.” She laughs when he rumbles at her, and she locks the gate behind them.

“They lasted three months.” Ned trots behind Lucy. “I did not scare him off.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Lucy runs a hand through his white mane.

---

At The Hours, Mal and Alima grab a table by the windows. “You can’t spend all day worrying about your dad’s trace,” he tells her after their food arrives.

“Duyen said the police only found out that he was in Ireland, so the police called her and Jude.” She fishes a single piece of potato out of her bowl of coddle. Her next few bites are just as picky. “And he might be one of the people marked in the Fairy Raid.”

“It’s hard to figure out who’s been marked,” Mal says to her. “The Hunt’s bad enough normally, but when they’re out for blood like in the Raid, we have to call the fucking army in.” He wipes his mouth. “You’ll just get more wound up at this rate. No more talking about it - hmm?”

She sighs, but nods. He reaches across the table and grips her free hand.

---

“The idiot’s in your room,” King Brian informs Owen with a flick of his tail during a commercial break.

“Isn’t Teis in Ballyvaughan for the guy’s bracelet? It takes forty-five minutes to get there.” He checks the time: 2:10. Teis would still be ten or fifteen minutes from home.

“Sorry, the other idiot.”

“Who?” Owen opens the door to find Maidin by his altar, peering into the bowl of river-water.

The fairy jolts and reddens. “Sorry!”

He groans. “Maidin, if I didn’t know you were daft as fuck, I’d think you were stalking me.” He rubs his eyes. “What now?”

“I’m sorry!” He wrings his hands. “Not being creepy, I swear! I was just taking a walk and I noticed the rock’s all shiny!”

Knowing the Folk, ‘a walk’ could mean anything from a literal walk to some sort of Otherworld traveling.

Owen picks it up from the bowl of water--it’s physically clean and it’s charged up with moonlight, but that’s nothing unusual. “I’m lost. It’s not shiny.”

“Not on the outside!” Maidin sings. He dips his fingers in the bowl, then tracks a clockwise circle on Owen’s forehead that starts and ends between his eyes.

After he wipes off the extra water trailing down his face, Owen sees a pulse of white-shot green in the rock’s core, like a river in summer. “Neat trick. So why is it shiny?”

“It likes you!” The river-spirit says. “You pretend you’re all mean and snarly now, but why would you have a boyfriend and why would you take care of the rock?”

“Lots of sods have relationships,” Owen reminds him. “As for the rock, you don’t just leave a fairy’s gift in the basement.”

“But sods don’t have friends,” Maidin smiles. And Owen knows that the fairy is leading him somewhere, but he can’t figure out exactly where.

“Cloncarrig is tiny, Maidin. Throw a stick and you’ll hit people I knew since I was a kid.” He drops the rock back into the water. “Hell, I’d be grateful if you threw shit at them.”

“Of course you know people, but having friends who like you is different!”

“Damn it.” Owen ducks his head, but Maidin catches him.

“Yay, made you smile!” He claps like a little kid.

---

October 21.

Brighid, Mal, and Alima leave early for the concert on Saturday in Alima’s car so they can check into their bed-and-breakfast in Parteen. Decker’s coming with Matthaeus and Owen.

“Here for the concert, aren’t you?” The owner Lindsay asks with a grin. “Lovely, just take the bus to Limerick and then you can take it back here if you drink too much.”

Alima’s surprised when Owen, Matthaeus, and a black girl arrive, and they introduce her as Decker. “Huh. Is Decker your last name?” She wonders after a handshake.

“It is. Thought I was a bloke, did you?” Decker grins. “No worries, I get that a lot.”

---

They eat lunch in Limerick before the concert, where Alima finds out Decker’s full name. “On a scale of one to Pippin Galadriel Moonchild, how much does your first name suck?” Alima jokes.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t have three of them,” Decker explains. “Henrietta Marian Valerie Decker. Ugh.”

“Gods.” Alima finishes her soup. “Did your parents use all of their name choices for you?”

“I’m named after an aunt, my grandmum, and my great-grandmother. Since my uncle only had boys, nobody was named Marian for a few years.” Decker claps Mal on the shoulder. “How have you been, Mal? Still a hermit?”

“I have gone outside this year, thank you,” Mal says.

“But have you gone outside without Logan or these fuckers around? That’s the real question.” Though lighthearted, there’s still a sincerity in Decker’s voice.

“He’s dating Alima! Does that count?” Brighid supplies immediately.

“Baby steps!” Decker declares, to Mal’s confused laugh. “I’m not expecting you to get back into raves, but--” That makes him go red again, with an additional weary groan, so Alima shoves him playfully.

Owen grins as well: “If you need a subject change, does that mean I can finally tell the birdie about the graduation party--”

“No!” Matthaeus attempts to hit his shoulder, but he’s across the table--he only manages a swipe at his sleeve.

“Why does everyone keep doing that?” Decker asks. “It was only four hours.”

“Three and a half hours too long!” Mal retorts. “Plus, you and Brighid weren’t transformed!”

“We’re not getting anywhere with them around,” Decker whispers to Alima. “I’ll tell you once we’re home.”

“Yes!” Alima high-fives her under the table.

“I didn’t turn Brighid into a bird because I love her,” Owen says proudly. “In a non-Teis way.”

She shakes her head and smiles. “You were trying to set the spell up for ten people, but you actually set it for ten feet and I was on the other side of the room.”

“But I do love you!” He insists in mock anguish, grabbing her hand for emphasis. “How can I prove it, Brighid? Do you need me to kill anyone? I have a fucking list--”

“Don’t talk about it in public! Someone might tip them off!” Brighid giggles and hugs him.

The embrace is gone as fast as it came. Most wouldn’t think twice about the joking, but there’s a tiny thread of emotion wrapped along their words, and Alima can’t pin it down because Matthaeus reminds them how long they’ve got before the concert.

---

Florence and the Machine’s music is interspersed with guests, snacks, and beer--Alima finds a couple of new bands for her iTunes library among the opening acts. She’s startled by Florence’s soft, girlish speaking voice, because her singing is like a force of nature.

She has to wonder what the story is when Florence starts talking about sacrifices, though. Human sacrifice hasn’t been practiced for the past few centuries and there’s no active spells besides the lighting, sound, and special effects, so it’s clearly related to one of her songs.

“--and you need to get them up on your shoulders!” Florence finishes.

“Yeah, she’s doing ‘Rabbit Heart!’ Let’s go, Brighid!” Owen says. The nurse barely gets to acknowledge it before he ducks behind her and lifts her up, to her shriek.

“Owen, warn me first!” She grabs his hands to keep her balance, and he laughs.

“There’s one! Wait, two! Three!” Florence announces. “We need more, though!” Others start hoisting female companions onto their shoulders, and she starts counting them in delight.

“Thanks for the offer, Matthaeus, but I’d rather not get paralyzed,” Decker laughs after he asks.

Mal catches Alima’s eye and smiles. “Decker--give her a lift, please?”

After handing her beer off to Matthaeus to keep from spilling it, Alima gets a boost onto Mal’s shoulders. Florence starts the song once twenty-odd girls are up: A bright, happy piano punctuated by harps.

“I’m SO glad I came!” Alima calls to Brighid after a sip of beer. “Thank you, Brighid!”

“She’s in her own world half the time, but her concerts are great!” Brighid answers.

---

By the end of the concert, Alima figures that she’s had the equivalent of two or three beers: She’s a little too warm, but pleasantly fuzzy. Mal is in a similar state: His eyes are the same soft, dark shade as the leather jacket folded over his arm, and he’s basically melting into his seat.

Everyone files into their rooms at the inn. Alima runs into a problem when her key gets stuck, but she doesn’t feel like doing the ‘try it again and repeat as needed’ routine. She presses the door’s emergency spell and shambles along to the bed--

“Ow.” She’s hit a warm thing on her left, which turns out to be Mal.

“Did I forget to lock the door?” Mal asks.

“No, my key got stuck, so I… used the emergency spell. Shit.” Well, now she feels like an idiot--of course her key wouldn’t work if this isn’t even her room. “Sorry. Should I go?”

“We already paid for the rooms, so that’s fine.” Mal pulls himself up, and in the liquid dark of the room she can just about feel his eyes. “I won’t mind if you stay.” His voice is still heavy from sleep, but a longing shimmers beneath it.

She digs into the bed with him and gets a sigh in answer. She doesn’t know whether Mal’s relieved or sad--but maybe he’s both. She’ll ask why later.

He curls up around her to mumble a noise that represents ‘thank you,’ and suddenly everything’s too warm and the quilt is soft and she can smell the remnants of cologne on his shirt.

“I can’t sleep,” she apologizes.

“That’s fine.” He wraps his arm tighter.

So she tests out a peck on his temple, trailing them down along the side of his cheek. He leans into it, and she keeps going.

Next Chapter: XXVII: can i get there by candlelight