Through the Door (27 page)

“Glad to hear it,” he said, tossing back the covers and swinging his long legs out of bed. “But first, breakfast.”

“You make breakfast,” she told him. “I’m going to shower.” Once she was under the hot, steaming water, she was tempted to stay there all day, but she forced herself to keep moving. She had just pulled on a clean T-shirt and pair of jeans, and was towel-drying her hair when she heard a knock at the front door.

She hurried out of the bedroom and said, “I’ll get it,” to Finn, who was coming out of the kitchen.

“Wait,” he said. “Let me get it.”

She rolled her eyes, but stood back and watched as he opened the door.

“Mum!” she exclaimed. Maeve was standing in the hallway, being carefully watched by Brian, who was apparently still on guard duty.

“Cedar,” Maeve said, moving forward to embrace her daughter. She stopped short when she saw Finn.

“Good morning, Mrs. McLeod,” he said, nodding at her.

“Finn,” she said, seeming stunned. Then she recovered herself. “Good morning,” she said stiffly.

“Where on earth have you been?” Cedar asked. “Everyone has been looking for you. They went to your apartment and you weren’t there, and we’ve been calling your cell. I was starting to get really worried.”

“I’m sorry, dear,” Maeve said. “I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what? What is going on with you?” Cedar closed her eyes, trying to control her frustration.

Maeve glanced at Finn, who was watching them silently. “Could you give us a minute, Finn?” she asked.

Finn’s expression was unreadable as he studied the older woman. “Yes,” he said slowly. “I’m sure Cedar has many questions for you, questions I am unable to answer. Perhaps you could answer them. I would be most grateful if you would.” He nodded at them both, then turned and walked out of the apartment.

“What was that?” Cedar asked as soon as Finn left.

“That was Finn’s not-so-subtle way of saying I should tell you the truth. The whole truth,” Maeve answered, sitting down on the sofa. “And it’s about time you knew. Sit, dear, we have a lot to talk about.”

Cedar sat. “The whole truth about what?” Her mother looked dreadful. Her gray hair, usually smooth, was frizzy and tangled, and her clothes looked like she had slept in them. The wrinkles in her face were deeper than usual, and the circles under her eyes were so dark they looked like bruises.

“Did they tell you what I am?” Maeve asked without looking at her.

Cedar frowned. “What you are? No. They didn’t tell me anything about you.”

“Is that so? I’m surprised. Well, best you hear it from me, anyway. I’m a druid.”

“A what?”

“A druid. I am one of the very few humans schooled in a certain kind of ancient knowledge…and magic.”

Cedar stared at her mother. While she had said she was ready for anything, she wasn’t sure she had meant this. She swallowed. “Is that why you’ve been acting so weird? Because you didn’t want me to find out? How is that even possible? How could I live my whole life with you and not notice that you were a…a druid?”

“Don’t blame yourself for not noticing. I wanted you to grow up as normal as possible, and not as the daughter of what some would call a witch. I used my arts on the rarest of occasions, and even then only out of necessity. I have had to revive my skill over the past few days. I’ve been doing everything in my power to find Eden. It’s why I had to stay away.” There was a pause, and Maeve’s voice softened. “I am sorry for not telling you about it. It’s one of a lifetime’s worth of regrets.”

Cedar didn’t know what to say to this. Was nothing in her life as it had seemed? “Why didn’t you tell me, especially given everything that has happened?” she demanded.

“I should have told you,” Maeve said, “but I didn’t think you would believe me. And, I’ll admit, I was angry that you chose to go with them. It’s no excuse, I see that now.”

“You didn’t think I would believe you?” Cedar asked incredulously. “After seeing what Eden could do?” She exhaled loudly. “You’re just like the rest of them. You didn’t think I’d be able to handle the truth, so you hid it from me.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing. I was trying to find Eden. I’m
still
trying to find Eden.”

“How? How have you been trying to find her?”

“I’ve been using the art of divination to try to get some handle on where Nuala may have taken Eden. There are many methods of seeing beyond, and I’ve tried every way I know how.”

“Did it work? Did you see them?” Cedar asked.

Maeve shook her head, her eyes sliding to the floor. “No, it didn’t work.” She looked up at Cedar, her eyes filled with a sudden eagerness. “There is more for us to talk about, but first, tell me what
you
have been doing. What is Rohan doing to find Eden? What is his plan?”

“I don’t know what his plan is,” Cedar admitted, wrenching her mind away from her mother’s revelation and back to the events of the last few days. “I don’t know if he has one. He doesn’t exactly confide in me. He’d prefer it if I stayed out of the way, actually.”

Cedar gave her mother an abbreviated version of what had happened since they had last talked, and took some satisfaction in Maeve’s shocked reaction.

“I was right. You never should have gone with them,” Maeve said, leaning back into the sofa’s cushions. “You could have been killed.” Cedar started to protest, but Maeve waved her hand. “Wait. I need to think,” she said, and Cedar fell silent. She wished she could tell what her mother was thinking, and was about to ask when Maeve muttered, “That must be why it didn’t work. Tír na nÓg has changed since the war.”

Cedar looked at her sharply. “What do you mean? You think that’s why Brighid’s picture didn’t work?”

“Perhaps,” Maeve said, her eyes showing that she was still deep in thought. “I’ve never been to Tír na nÓg, but I know it is more than just a place. It’s like a person, with a soul and a life of its own. Nothing changes a person’s heart more than war or betrayal, and Tír na nÓg has seen too much of both. There’s no doubt it has changed. It might be unrecognizable.”

Cedar stared. Who
was
this woman beside her? Usually their talk consisted of Eden’s schedule and not a whole lot more. She was starting to realize she had no idea who her mother really was.

Maeve took Cedar’s hands. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking over the past few days. It’s time you knew the whole truth.”

Cedar frowned. “I thought you just told me the truth. You’re a druid.”

“That’s part of it, but it’s not all. There is a lot more I haven’t told you. I’ve told you who I am. Now it’s time for you to know who
you
are.”

Cedar’s breath caught in her throat. Who
she
was?

Maeve continued. “You and I, we haven’t always had the smoothest relationship. I’m sure you think I care more about Eden than I do about you. I do care for Eden. But I love you so much, Cedar. And it”—her voice broke, and she sniffed, squeezing Cedar’s hands tightly—“it has been an honor to be your mother. I know you might despise me once you know the truth, and you’ll be well within your rights to do so. I didn’t ever want to face this moment. I thought I could put it off forever, but I suppose it’s inevitable, things being what they are. And even if it wasn’t, you would still deserve to know exactly who you are.”

Cedar sat perfectly still, hardly daring to breath lest her mother change her mind. She didn’t say a word, or ask any of
the thousand questions burning on her tongue. She just sat, and eventually Maeve began speaking again.

“You are not my biological daughter,” she said, speaking slowly, as if to gauge Cedar’s reaction. Cedar’s face was blank, but inside the truth was erupting like a volcano that had long lay dormant. It had never crossed her mind that she wasn’t who she had always thought she was, but now it made perfect sense. She wondered why she hadn’t seen it before.

Maeve seemed to take Cedar’s shocked silence as a sign she should continue. “When I was young—too young—I met and fell in love with one of the Tuatha Dé Danann. He was beautiful, and I was too, back then. He had a wife in Tír na nÓg, but I didn’t know about her until later. He came and went as he pleased and I, fool that I was, just sat around waiting for him. It was he who arranged for me to become a druid. I thought it was so we could be closer to each other, but now I wonder if he was just grooming me to be his servant.”

The pain in Maeve’s voice was so strong that Cedar almost reached over and took her mother’s hand. But she remained still, listening. “Then he left,” she continued. “He said there was a war brewing in Tír na nÓg, and so there was. We had been together for years, and I didn’t look seventeen anymore. I thought he was leaving me because I was too old or was outgrowing my usefulness to him. He didn’t leave me with nothing, mind you. He gave me the house you grew up in, and a full bank account. But he left all the same, and why not? Why would he stay with me when he had a wife among the Tuatha Dé Danann, one who would always be as beautiful as he was?”

There was a pause, and Maeve bit her lip. Cedar remained still, transfixed as the story of her life unfolded before her.

“And she
was
beautiful,” Maeve continued. She stared off into the distance, as though she had forgotten Cedar was there. “Her hair was as golden as mine was red, the color of the midday sun.” She paused for a moment, and Cedar could tell she was somewhere very far away. “When Brogan left, he assured me I would never hear from him again.”

The name Brogan sounded familiar to Cedar. She was sure she had heard it before in connection with the Tuatha Dé Danann, but she couldn’t remember where, or why it was important.

“But I did hear from him again,” Maeve said. “Almost a year later. He came to me in a dream, saying that terrible things were happening in Tír na nÓg and I was his only hope of saving”—she paused and tried to calm her voice, which had started to tremble—“of saving his wife and their unborn child.” Maeve raised her chin so that her eyes, shining with unshed tears, met Cedar’s, which were wide with growing comprehension.

“That child was you,” Maeve said.

That child was me,
Cedar repeated inside her head.
I’m one of them.
It didn’t make any sense. “That’s…that’s impossible,” she protested, once she had found her voice. “I’m human, like you are. I don’t have special abilities or anything. The Tuatha Dé Danann have that sound they emit to each other, the Lýra. I don’t have that; if I did, they would hear it.”

Maeve looked absolutely wretched. “Let me finish, and you will understand.” She sighed deeply. “I was never very good at denying Brogan anything. As angry as I was with him—well, I was heartbroken more than anything. I still loved him. I thought if I helped him, if I showed him I was willing to help even his wife, he might come back to me.

“He told me all the sidhe between Tír na nÓg and earth had been sealed, except for one, which no one knew about but the two of us—the one he had created in my cellar, which I couldn’t go through. He wanted to send Kier, his wife, to me for safekeeping until the war was over and she could return. I agreed. I went down to the cellar and waited to receive this rival.” She looked up at Cedar, and there was a flash of anger in her eyes, even three decades later. “I hated her,” she said, “but I loved Brogan and would have done anything to help him, even then.

“When Kier came through the sidh, she was badly wounded. The Tuatha Dé Danann are strong, much stronger than humans. They heal quickly and do succumb to old age or sickness, but if they are wounded gravely enough, they will die. She was covered in blood and screaming from the pain, not at all what I had expected. She was so far along, and clutching her swollen stomach as if to keep you inside. I made a tea that would help with the pain so I could see to her wounds. I’m not a healer, but all druids learn basic medicinal skills, and I thought if I could just stop the bleeding, her body would be able to heal itself. But she had already lost too much blood, and then she started screaming again…and that’s when you came into the world.”

Cedar stood up and started pacing the room. The shock of Maeve’s revelation was wearing off, and she could feel the anger building within her. Her own life, her own identity had been nothing more than a lie.

“What happened to her?” she asked.

“She knew she was dying,” Maeve said, a note of defensiveness in her voice. “She was barely strong enough to hold you. She knew who I was; she clutched my hand and begged
me to take care of you, for the sake of the love I bore her husband. You were so helpless, and I could see him in you. How could I say no?”

Maeve took a deep breath. Cedar wondered what could possibly be coming next.

“And then she asked the most extraordinary thing. She asked me to help her make you human.”

Cedar stopped pacing. “Why would she want me to be human?”

“She was terrified, for your sake. Your father was the High King. She knew Lorcan wouldn’t stop until he had tracked down and snuffed out Brogan’s line completely. But she knew she wouldn’t be around to protect you. She wanted to hide you, to give you the best disguise she could so that he would never be able to find you. And she needed my help; her power was draining. To change the very nature of a being is a complex and dangerous branch of magic, one I had certainly never attempted before. It was far beyond my ability, but it was something she could not manage alone either, not in her weakened state, maybe not at all. This is why druids and the Tuatha Dé Danann are meant to be together, because together we are capable of greater magic than we are alone.

“So I made the preparations as best I could. I created a potion, and she supplied the one missing ingredient—her own blood, given freely. I drank it, and then together we spoke the incantation. At first, it didn’t seem to be working, but then, as we chanted, fresh wounds opened on my body, and she pressed herself against them, allowing the blood from her wounds to flow into mine. In so doing, she bound her life force to mine—giving me power equal to her own for a time. Together, it was enough to complete the spell, to make
you human. She poured everything she had into you, through me. When it was over, she was gone. She had not even saved enough energy to keep herself alive. And I was holding a completely human child.”