“Uneventful,” I lied, scooting her feet aside and dropping onto the free cushion to collect her in a fierce hug. She smelled of lavender and happiness.
“Are you sure? Because you’re squeezing the life out of me.”
If anything happened to her, I’d never forgive myself. “I missed you.”
“You’ve only been gone for two hours.”
Was that all? It felt like a lifetime had passed since I’d walked out the door. Reluctantly, I let her go. I couldn’t afford her getting suspicious. “What rubbish are you reading now?” I plucked the book from her lap, opening to a random passage.
“A beautiful story about a knight who saves his true love from an evil witch.”
“Sounds terrible.”
She stole it back, hugging it to her chest. “Terriblyromantic. He loves her so much, he’s willing to die for her. You’re welcome to borrow it when I finish.”
The only person in this world I’d be willing to die for was sitting right next to me. “I’d rather peel the skin from my bones." I glanced toward the walls of books. Where to begin? "Do you have any books on faeries?”
“Yes . . . Why?”
“I’d like to read one.” Or all of them.
She rolled off the sofa, crossing to the first of three shelves to withdraw a blue book decorated with golden flowers.
“Here you go.” She tossed the book into my lap. “That’s the best one we own.”
Keelynn had been collecting reference books on the creatures since she turned thirteen. Although I wasn’t sure how accurate they were. This one, for example, had vague sketches and scribbled poems in the margins. All of the faeries depicted were small, roughly the size of a grapefruit, with long, spindly arms, shimmering wings, pointed ears, and humanoid faces.
None of them resembled Rían.
“Apparently, they steal babies and swap them with hideous changelings,” Keelynn said, tapping the passage below the illustration I’d found. “They aren’t fond of humans either. They’ll bring bad luck to any who cross their path. If you’re mad, you can summon one by entering a faerie circle with a gift.”
Sounded like utter nonsense to me.
Then again, so did being threatened to break a fae’s curse.
I closed the book, tracing the embossed daisies on the cover. “There are other faeries though, right? Taller ones.”
“Oh, yes.” She danced to one of the shelves to pluck a green book from the third row up. “There are quite a few—but they’re fae, not faeries. Like the banshee, the pooka, the Dullahan, and the Gancanagh.”
Names and stories spoken in hushed whispers.
I knew better than to believe whispers.
Whispers weren’t for truths.
Whispers were for lies.
Take banshee. According to the storybooks, they ripped humans from their beds at night, stealing souls for the underworld. Or pooka: shapeshifting beasts who survived on human flesh. I’d heard rumors of people being killed by pooka, sure. But rumors were like whispers, hard to hear and not to be believed.
Then there was the Dullahan. Terrorizing the island on moonless nights, slaughtering humans who crossed its path. According to legends, the thing didn’t have a head. That right there was enough for me to dismiss the myths. How could anything survive without a head?
I’d met three creatures myself.
The grogoch? Kind and quiet.
The fortune teller? Admittedly a little scary, but she’d sat at her booth for as long as I could remember, selling fortunes and not causing any problems. Perhaps she’d been boiling humans back at home—wherever that may be. Or perhaps she was more like us than anyone would care to admit.
And finally, Rían.