Shatter - Sins of the Sidhe (4 page)

What the hell was she to do? How can she help? Her voice didn’t work right and the cicada buzz was now making her hands and legs shake. She had to get out of there. She tried to pull her friend towards the front door as it creaked open to the outside. She needed to get both of them out of there fast.

The air was stale and unmoving. Dust and ash lay thick on the once green lawn and a large tree loomed over two small children playing with swords. Real swords. Rowan could hear the echoing and clanging of the metal as they clashed together in what looked like two miniature warriors battling. They were so young, no more than seven or eight. What the fuck was this? She shouted for them to stop, but no sound came from her throat. An instant later, one child slashed down on the other’s back, splitting the child’s spine in half. Rowan screamed soundlessly again, running over to the wounded child. She held the dying boy in her lap while the other walked up to Charlie and pointed inside the house. Charlie got up as if commanded and walked inside, the door slamming shut behind him. Rowan sat helpless on the hard ground holding a small lifeless body in her arms, blood was everywhere.

“Help me,” she heard Charlie say in the back of her mind. She looked back at the house and then down at the child in her arms. Taking in a breath, Rowan let out a scream high enough to burst the windows from that old white house.

Holy nightmares, Batman
. Rowan jumped out of bed and thought she’d be sick. That was no mere dream. Her mother was right. Bad things are happening and her heart broke when she saw an old friend in that place. Seeing death is nothing new to Rowan, but it was a gift she tried her best to keep hidden. She’d blocked her mind long ago from searching and seeing all the ghosts that walked around, down the street, in houses, and out in the woods. But her dreams were not so easy to turn a blind eye on. Rowan had been in that house before in other dreams. Nothing good ever came of it and she felt it was a bad omen. What the hell was happening? Poor Charlie needed her help and there was nothing she could do. His being in that house meant one thing: Charlie was dead. But what made it worse were the children in that dream. Rowan tried to shake the vision of the boys out of her head but the image was burned into her brain and behind her eyelids. She was sad, scared and helpless. There was nothing she could do for them, nothing she could ever do whenever someone came to her asking for help in her dreams. It was an awful feeling to see people needing help and not be able to do anything about it. She was powerless.

Rowan’s had to live with that guilt most of her life. She could not help the dead, so she tried to make the living a little more pleasant. Rowan did what she did every morning: she lived her life. Getting out of bed, Rowan stretched and tried to put good thoughts out into the world. This was too much for a Sunday morning and Ro hoped that coffee and a hot shower would thaw the coldness that overwhelmed her body and mind. It didn’t work.

Putting on some old jeans and a work shirt that said “Kiss My Glass” Ro headed into her shop,
Ignite Studios
. It was a cool space in an old warehouse. High ceilings, concrete (easy cleanup) floors with a couple of stands and lots of shelves to display the artistic creations of Rowan and her partner Jeremy. She loved this place; it was her own little sanctuary. Beating her into the shop that morning, Jeremy was already pulling the latest batch of bowls and ornaments out of the kiln from last night’s group class session. Having the private parties was a bit of a pain in the ass but brought in decent money. Hey, gotta pay the rent on this place somehow, right? That meant Ro and Jeremy alternated weekends of teaching groups ranging from moms, bachelorettes, couples and the like how to make a cute bowl, flower, or window ornament in three hour sessions. It was cool though, not many people know the art of glass blowing, and it’s nice to have the work and creativity appreciated.

“Mornin’, Sunshine!” Jeremy belts out while laying the second tray of glassware to come to room temperature. Rob Zombie was pumping through the speakers. Normally Ro would get in the groove, but today zombie anything wasn’t going to turn her frown upside down.

“Hey yourself. Can you turn Pandora onto something more peaceful? My head is pounding.” She threw her purse on the desk in the office. The word “office” is a loose term there. It’s more like a closet in the back of the shop that had a folding table and small filing cabinet squeezed into it. For all the square footage of this place, the “office” got the short end of the stick. No matter, no one spent any considerable amount of time in there anyway. The workspace of the studio was big, light, and airy. Ro and Jeremy hung some of their favorite collaborative pieces from the ceiling, which made the whole space reflect brilliant colors and designs. It was like being in a forest full of the brightest flowers and trees and Ro absolutely loved it.

“Bad night, darlin’?” Jeremy teased walking over to assess how bad a hangover she had. Damnit, why did he always have to act like a big brother?

“Nope, just my cheery-cheery self as you can see.” Throwing him a sarcastic Cheshire cat smile, Ro walked past the table of broken colorful shards, picked up a rod and dipped it into the glowing liquid glass. Best get to work if she’s going to finish this mirror. She’s so close to completing it. The looking glass, standing about five feet tall and three feet wide, had the most ordained glass working she’s ever created. The idea for the project came to her in a dream and she’d been working on it a little at a time for months. Like a kaleidoscope of bright swirls and tendrils, the colorful pieces wound around one another like vines and crawled all around the edge of the mirror like a thick jungle of brilliance. It was magnificent.

Rowan walked over to the blow hole – or as Jeremy lovingly called it, the Iron Whore, and started rolling the end of her rod through the flames. The trick was to never stop the movement, back and forth, back and forth, or else the glass, which acted like warm honey, would fall right off the tip of the rod and be lost into the flames.

Jeremy went into the back to switch Pandora stations when the front bell jingled, signaling someone walking in. Rowan prepares to yell out “Sorry, we’re closed on Sundays” but when she turned around to say it, her body froze. Oh sweet baby Jesus. Two men – no, two huge, big, gorgeous hunks of God, just strolled through the door. The warm honey on the end of the rod fell into the fire with a hiss, never to be heard from again. No matter, Ro had completely forgotten she was holding the damn thing. The warm honey sizzling away now was elsewhere.

The first guy, a little over six feet tall, thin muscular build, gorgeous tailored suit, and clean shaven, smiles as he walks - no stalks is more like it - over to Ro. The second guy was about six and a half feet tall of pure heaven on earth. Long dark hair pulled back in a pony, a closely manicured beard and a body wide and pure muscle. His eyes were the color of whiskey. Yummy whiskey. Yummy eyes.

Wait, what?

“Are you Rowan?” suit guy asked. One eyebrow raised up questioning her.

Did she answer him? Ro couldn’t think straight. He asked her a question, what was it?

“Huh?” was her response. What the hell is that? Huh? HUH?! That’s not even a word. But that’s all she’s got. Whiskey eyes was staring at her like she was a rabbit and he a hungry wolf. A sexy hungry wolf, and right now, she’d like to get eaten. Oh for the love of Pete, that’s it. No more romance novels for her. This is ridiculous. Clearing her throat and shooing away the lusty thoughts dancing in her head, she tried again.

“Can I help you gentlemen?”

“Aye my lady. But we canna talk here, is there some place we may go for some privacy?” Whiskey eyes asks.

Holy Highlanders, Batman!
That was brogue in his voice, and the two of them wanted to speak- in brogue- privately with her. She practically giggled. Great, now she was giggling. What the hell is wrong with her? Rowan looked around trying to find a private area in the big open studio. Where were they going to go? They sure as shit weren’t going to fit in the tiny office, whiskey eyes wouldn’t fit even half his body in there. Oh but wait, the responsible side of herself just reminded the stupid side that they were stranger dangers.

“Uh, well, this is about as private as you’re going to get I’m afraid. Can I ask what this is about?” There, see, she had some smartness left in her; her brain wasn’t
completely muddled with fantasies. Ro silently scolded herself for her foolishness, she reads too damn much.

The men exchanged a glance with each other, making Ro feel even smaller and more insecure than she already felt with them standing so close to her. Rowan could feel her face getting red and hot, and with the Iron Whore cranking out so much heat, it only added to the already high temps in the room.

“My Lady, we’ve a need to talk with ye about something of a more delicate matter. Mayhap ye should sit while we explain ourselves,” says whiskey eyes while he pulls up one of the large cushiony chairs used for spectators who like to watch the glass blowers work. The chair was big and heavy, yet he managed to pick it up like it was made of air.

Ro sat down scared, nervous, and looking for Jeremy. “I’m not alone here,” she warned, “and I have a gun,” she lied. Rowan had no clue how to use a gun. She was afraid of them. Now a knife on the other hand,
that
she wasn’t afraid of using. Crazy and deadly was she. No, not really… but maybe.

They exchanged another knowing glance that now seemed to say
“tread lightly with the crazy lady”
but suit guy sits in a chair across from Ro and leans back like he’s about to enjoy watching football on TV. Whiskey eyes, on the other hand, kneels on bended knee in front of Ro and introduces himself.

“I am Devlin O’Connor, my lady. This is my traveling companion, Adam Cathal. We believe we may be of some help to ye, if ye give us but a moment of your time.”

Ro looks from one guy to the other, and then over to the doorway where Jeremy stood frozen. Frozen, like seriously unmoving, mouth half open as if he’s about to say something and no words were coming out. All is quiet. Too quiet. No music, no crackling flames echoing out of the furnaces, the air conditioning’s annoying hum was mute. What the hell?

Rowan goes to shift slightly out of her seat. If she can scurry over to the fire, she can at least grab her rod and spook these guys out of here. Something was very wrong; Rowan was feeling a long lost sensation in her gut, a vibration she’d subdued long ago.

Again they glanced at each other as if knowing what she was thinking and Adam stood up. “Och, we mean you no harm, my dear. We just want to talk with you about the Darkness.” Already calculating her moves, Adam goes over and throws the rod into the mouth of the Iron Whore before she even got the chance to reach for it.

“Hey, asshole! What the…” and then Ro realized what he had said.
The Darkness
. Could he possibly mean the same darkness as what she’s thinking? No. No way. She was the only one that saw such things and these guys are clearly crazy brutes that will probably rob her blind any second now. Rowan’s mind was racing with what to do and her body was being unhelpful and still. She was all out of sync.

Mr. Whiskey Eyes grabbed Ro’s hand. Sparks flew up her arm and for a second she was all but blind. Her vision literally faltered, as did her breathing, and her body burned the heat of a thousand Iron Whores in that moment. Her breath caught and she heard his catch as well. Their eyes connected and the world was gone. What seemed like minutes later, Devlin was still holding her hand, rubbing her white knuckles soothingly when she finally came back to herself. She had a death grip on his other hand, her eyes wide, body buzzing and she whispered, “Who are you?”
 

Maiden, Mother and Crone, the lass was not prepared for this day. But how could she be? Smelling like lavender after a summer rain and looking like a Goddess herself, this wee woman had no idea what was inside her. That she was the key to destroying the dangerous likes of a verra heinous creature. Hell, he’s having a hard time believing it himself considering centuries of training and his own special gifts have not been enough to find and defeat the Shadow Lord.

Devlin was shocked when he walked into such a wide open space that was her studio. Such colors and brilliance were only to be matched by the Faelands themselves. Even more astounding was seeing such a wee thing Rowan was, all fire and bravery. She was a warrior’s prize to be sure. But he was nay here for prizes; he was here for duty and vengeance only. There was a debt to be paid and much was hanging in the balance. But he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Hair the color of oak and eyes as green as the moors of his homeland, she was a thing of beauty that could defy the Goddess Cliodhna herself. By the Gods what was he doing? He hadn’t realized he had grabbed her hand until it was too late. Sparks raced through his body like a thousand volts of electricity and then the very earth itself shifted under his feet. Now he kneels before her, lost in moors of her eyes, and he can’t remember what the hell he was saying anymore. This won’t do. Shaking himself back to reality, Devlin lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and stands up.