"You say that now, but how would you feel if the hospital called and it was your father?" He tipped my chin up with his finger. "That's what I thought."
I felt tears prick my eyes, but for the wrong reasons. I let him kiss my mouth gently and hug me before he let himself out the kitchen door.
In the other room, I heard my parents fighting; Dad talking in his low voice, and Mom screaming at him. I stood alone in the dim yellow kitchen and took my cell phone from my pocket. One unread text message.
It was from James, and like half of my messages, it had been delivered late--it was sent three hours previously. The subject line was that of all our epic texts--the line we used for things too serious to talk about in person: deep thoughts.
I opened it.
d. i love u.
I sank down onto the tiles and put my head in my hands, listening to my mother screaming at my father and wondering when it would all start to hurt.
Finally, I worked up my courage and dialed James' number, trying to plan what to say when he picked up. It rang and rang, until I heard his voice: You've reached James'
229
cell phone. By dialing this number you've increased your coolness level by ten points. Add another ten by leaving a message after the beep. Ciao.
I hung up. I'd never gotten his voice mail before--no matter how crazy the time was or where he was, he'd always picked up.
I felt alone.
230
231
BOOK FOUR
The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone--
In the ranks of death you will find him.
--"The Minstrel Boy"
232
233
s ixteen
I was having one of those dreams. Where I wasn't sure if I was awake or not. It felt like I was awake, lying in my bed. But my head was still fuzzy as if I was sleeping, and the voice that sang to me was vague and dreamy.
The voice went up and down the scale, not unpleasantly, singing in no fixed measure, whispering to me that the name Deirdre meant "sorrow." In the foggy way of dreams, I recognized the story of yet another Deirdre. This third Deirdre was betrothed to the King of Ulster, even though she was in love with someone else. Deirdre eloped with the hot young thing, Naois, who was her true love, thoroughly pissing the king off in the process. The king pursued her, had Naois 234
and his brothers killed, and then stole Deirdre away to be his wife. Deirdre, stricken with grief, threw herself from his carriage and smashed her head on a rock, killing herself. The breathy voice of my dream sang that all Deirdres come to bad ends.
At least Naois' Deirdre was clever enough to kill herself before it got any worse. All these old Irish legends ended in tragedy; what did I expect now that I was living one? Come away, human child, whispered the voice in breathy timbre, come away from the pain of the world.
It was like some kind of supernatural version of those "stop smoking" mind-control tapes you listen to while sleeping.
I opened my eyes. I felt like crap--I ached like I'd been lifting trains the night before. My grandmother had been killed by the faeries, my best friend was in love with me, my boyfriend was a soulless assassin for an otherworldly schizophrenic, and my pillow was wet.
Ew. Why is my pillow wet? I sat up hurriedly, looking at my surroundings with distaste. Oh, ten kinds of gross. My sheets were wet. My pillowcase was wet. The bedside table was covered with perfectly round beads of water. Everywhere I looked, I saw a layer of dew, coating every surface with scented condensation. My eyes lifted to the window, which stood wide open, and I lifted my wet fingers to my nose. They reeked of thyme.
What the heck is going on? I looked down at Rye, who still lay on the floor by my bed, morning light from the window reflecting brilliantly in the dew on his coat. "Some 235
friggin' guard dog you are. So, are you on Their side or miner Outside, very close, I heard a laugh, high and light, halfway to a tune. I leapt out of bed and leaned out the window so fast that the sill heaved the breath out of me. The morning sun forced my eyes into a squint, but I thought I saw a smudge of darkness blink out of the corner of my vision, far below my window, gone too fast for me to say if it had really been there or not. I lifted my hands from the windowsill and looked at them; petals were stuck on my palms. Poppies, maybe.
Friggin sketchy faeries. I was going to smell like a bag of potpourri left in an Italian restaurant for the rest of the day. Picking petals off my skin, I knocked the rest of the blooms to the ground outside, frowning at the empty yard. I retreated back into my room and retrieved my phone from the bedside table.
James still didn't pick up, and his voice mailbox was full, so I tried Luke's number. It rang and rang before making a strange static sound and disconnecting.
I stared at the phone in my hand and observed how white my knuckles were, pressing out against my skin. There could be a thousand reasons why neither was picking up, but about nine hundred of them made my stomach roll unpleasantly.
Feeling distinctly unsettled, I turned to go downstairs, and found myself looking directly into a pair of enormous green eyes.
"Holy crap."
236
It took me a moment to realize that the eyes were Delia's, and that they only appeared enormous because they were so close. Of all Delia's talents, I hadn't thought the ability to be
