Okay, that was disturbing, but I’d come back to it. First things first. “Barrons said you can sift time, too.” Actually, he’d said the Fae used to be able to, but couldn’t anymore. “That you can go back into the past.” Where Alina was still alive. Where I could save my sister, and this terrible future could be prevented, and we could resume our blissfully ignorant lives, unaware of what we were, happy with our family back in Ashford, Georgia, and we’d never leave. We’d get married, have babies, and die in the Deep South at a ripe old age. “Is that true? Can you go back in time?”
“At one time certain ones among us could. Even then, we were limited, but for the queen. We no longer possess that ability. We are as trapped in the present as humans.”
“Why? What happened?”
He flinched again. “Stop the car, MacKayla. I do not enjoy this. Their wards are many.”
I pulled over, and killed the engine. When we got out, I looked at him across the roof of the car. “So, wards are uncomfortable to you, but that’s all? They don’t actually keep you out?” Could he enter the bookstore anytime he wanted? Were Barrons’ wards keeping me safe from any of the Fae?
“That is correct.”
“But I thought you couldn’t get into the bookstore. Were you just pretending the night the Shades got in?”
“We have been discussing sidhe-seer wards. The magic your people know and the magic Barrons knows are not the same.” His gaze glinted like sharp steel at the mention of my employer. “Come. Give me your hand so I may sift you in. And mind your intent. If you Null me inside those walls, you will regret it. Again, MacKayla, see the trust I grant you? I permit you to take me inside your sidhe-seer world, where I am feared and hated, and I go at your mercy. There is no other among my kind who would consider it.”
“No Nulling. I promise.” Barrons had yet another edge over the rest of us. Why didn’t that surprise me? Was that how he’d managed to conceal the Unseelie mirror from me? With deeper, darker magic than sidhe-seers knew? I couldn’t get too bent out of shape over it, however, because it meant I really was safe in the bookstore. How complex I was becoming: grateful for power wherever it could be found, provided it worked for me. “Are we clear on what I’m going to do, and what you’re not going to do?”
“As clear as your transparent desires, sidhe-seer.”
Rolling my eyes, I skirted the car and took his hand.
At home in Ashford, I have a great group of friends.
I don’t have a single one in Dublin.
The one place I thought I might make friends was at the abbey, among my own kind. Now, thanks to Rowena, that opportunity was closed to me. She’d been messing up my life since the first night I’d arrived in Ireland, when I’d nearly betrayed myself in a pub to the first Fae I’d ever seen and, instead of taking me in and teaching me what I was, she’d told me to go die somewhere else.
Then she’d stood passively by while V’lane had nearly raped me in a museum.
Then she’d sent her sidhe-seers to spy on me (like I wasn’t one, too!) and finally, she’d added insult to injury—sending them to attack me and take my weapon, forcing me to harm one of my own. Not once had Rowena welcomed me. Not once had she shown me anything but disdain and distrust—for no good reason!
These women were never going to forgive me for killing one of them. I knew that, and I wasn’t here to ask them to. It’s not the hand you’re dealt that matters. It’s how you play the cards.
I was here to set the record straight.
Rowena had made a statement this afternoon. By sending her sidhe-seers after me in force, with orders to subdue me and steal my weapon, she’d said: You are not one of us and the only way you can become one of us is complete subjugation to my will. Give me your weapon, obey me in all things, and I’ll consider letting you into the fold.
I was here to make my own statement back: Screw you, old woman. To drive my point home I’d brought as my protector a Fae Prince capable of destroying them all (not that I would ever let him). If she was a wise woman, she wouldn’t mess with me again, and she’d call off her attack dogs. I already had enough people and monsters messing with me.
Darn it all, I’d wanted friends and I’d wanted them among my own kind!
I’d wanted girls like Dani, only older, to confide in, to talk to, to share secrets of our heritage with. I’d wanted to belong here. I’d wanted to learn about the O’Connors, the bloodline I was supposedly descended from, and the last living member of.
“Take me in,” I told V’lane, bracing myself to be “sifted.”
I asked V’lane why the Fae call it sifting, and he said it was the only human word that encapsulated the basics of what they do. The Fae sift the limitless dimensions, like grains of sand through their fingers, letting a little spill here, a little spill there, sorting them until they have hold of the ones they want. When they have chosen, things change.
I asked if that meant he chose the “grain” of place where he wanted to be, and moved there by the power of thought. He didn’t get the idea of moving there. According to him, neither we, nor the dimensions moved. We simply . . . changed. And there it was again, the two prevalent Fae concepts: stasis or change.
Sifting felt like dying. I simply stopped existing completely, then was there again. It was painless, but deeply disturbing. One moment I was outside, standing next to the Viper, in near darkness; the next, my night-enlarged pupils gorged on a blaze of lights, momentarily blinding me, and when I could see again, I was inside the brilliantly lit walls of Arlington Abbey.
Women were screaming. Many and loudly. It was deafening.
For a moment, I was afraid they were under attack. Then I understood: I was the attack. I was hearing the sound of hundreds of sidhe-seers sensing an immensely powerful Fae inside their warded walls. I’d forgotten about that tiny detail; of course they would sense V’lane, and they’d raise the hue and cry.
“Shall I shut them up?” V’lane said.
“No. Leave them alone. They’ll stop in a minute.” I hoped.
They did.
At my direction, he’d sifted us into the rear of the abbey, where I’d hoped to find the dormitories. My guess, based on the sketches I’d seen online, had been accurate. One by one, doors opened, heads popped out, mouths closed, gaped, and closed again.