Dreams and Shadows

chapter THIRTY-SIX

ONE NIGHT ONLY

After a week of begging, pleading, and cajoling his slovenly potato of a boss into letting his band perform once more, Ewan got his chance. A local band had been hitting up the owner for more money, while Limestone Kingdom was willing to play for free. The owner came around. From then on, what time Ewan didn’t spend curled up with Nora he spent in his bassist’s garage, practicing their new songs.

Something was different about him. Color had returned to his skin—the pale, sickly white replaced by a fleshy, earthy pink. He smiled more. His eyes seethed with a fire, as if he’d been shown something incredible and couldn’t wait to tell the world about it. There was a spring in his step, an interminable energy to his every movement. He oozed confidence; one could almost smell his charisma on the air.

Ewan Bradford was a f*cking rock star. And it was time the rest of the world finally got the chance to know it.

Plugging in his amp, the place felt meager and small, almost as if it were unworthy of what he was about to unleash. He smiled, shook that feeling off, reminding himself that the magic was in the crowd, not in the rat-trap fire hazard of a club. There was a certain poetry to playing this music here first—a final go f*ck yourself before his band made it. Something had clicked, their music finally just right. It had balls, it was layered; for the first time in his life, Ewan felt as if he had something to say. The drummer’s sister stood offstage with a video camera, recording the show, the bassist’s buddy, a sound technician, laying it down on tape.

All that Ewan needed now was to see Nora, to get one last playful glance from her before striking the chord that would mark the end of his old life and the beginning of the new. He glanced around, hoping she’d picked the same spot where he’d first seen her sitting, but she wasn’t there. People were still pouring in, eager not to hear Limestone Kingdom, but the band following them, a local favorite. The crowd wasn’t thick, but it was dense enough to make finding Nora tough. Frantically he scanned the room, looking for her.

And then he saw her. She stood at the back of the room, a foot propped up on the wall behind her, wearing exactly the same outfit as the night they’d met. She smiled and winked, noting that he’d finally found her. Then she blew him a kiss, nodding. He was ready.

BREEEEOOOOOWWWWW! The first chord resonated like a bolt of lightning striking the amp, its thunder rolling over the crowd. Everyone looked up. Everyone. Ewan paused before he touched his guitar again, letting that single, drifting note draw everyone in. An awkward anticipation hung in the air, as if the crowd had been awakened suddenly at their desks in class with no idea why everyone was staring at them.

And then he laid into his guitar like a ravenous dog on a piece of meat. There was nothing limp or mediocre about it. It was profound. It was like seeing the aurora borealis for the first time. Everything they were doing seemed wrong, but felt right. Discordant notes blended to form melodies and shockingly addictive chords. Hooks that felt as if they’d been in the audience’s heads for years played to their ears for the first time. Eyes and jaws stared wide, unblinking, at the stage.

There was no stage show. No lighting. No pageantry. But their essence was palpable. Three guys pouring their hearts into a song that everyone swore they’d heard somewhere before but could not place. Everyone present would describe their experience differently, but they would all speak of it reverently, as if it were somehow religious.

The band had left a dozen T-shirts behind the bar, the same dozen shirts they’d had printed months before and brought with them just to seem legitimate. Simple and black, they had a seemingly handwritten scrawl upon them that read: “Limestone Kingdom.” All twelve sold before the end of the second song.

Mallaidh, dressed as Nora, stood at the back of the crowd, beaming with pride. She knew the music well. They were fairy tunes she remembered from childhood, played originally by the master musician Dithers and duplicated with raw intensity by his ward and unknowing student. She rocked back and forth, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, nervously fidgeting with her rainbow-colored scarf, giddy as a schoolgirl.

“He’s beautiful,” said a woman standing next to her.

Mallaidh nodded with a love-bitten smile.

“You’ve chosen well.”

“Excuse me?” Mallaidh gave the stranger a sidelong glance. The woman beside her was lithe, graceful and only slightly taller. She looked as if she were in her late twenties, yet at the same time ageless, with a timeless style and tattoos that looked neither fresh nor faded. Her hair was short and black, her eyes sharp and dazzling. A faded rock T-shirt clung to her body, knotted above her belly button, leaving her tight, youthful midriff exposed. Below that, she wore a pair of faded, tattered jeans, too perfectly torn to be a mistake, too ragged to be prefabricated.

The woman was the very definition of rock style. And she was eyeing Mallaidh’s man.

“You’ve chosen very well for your first time out,” said the woman.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” said Mallaidh.

The woman smiled. “Your first love. You can always tell when a Leanan Sidhe is looking upon her first love. There’s a sort of magic to it. I wish I could go back and reexperience my first. It was incredible.”

Mallaidh winced. “What are you talking about?”

“Sweetie, you knew these were my stomping grounds. Right? You had to imagine that you’d meet your mother one day. Guess which day today is?”

Mallaidh’s jaw dropped and her heart with it. The thought had never crossed her mind. She’d never known her mother, never thought she’d meet her. And her pursuit of Ewan had been so single-minded that it didn’t matter where he ended up—she would have followed him there. He just happened to be in Austin. Now, standing before her, was the woman who had abandoned her decades ago, looking no more along in years than an older sister.

“Wait,” said the woman. “You had no idea?”

“Cassidy?” asked Mallaidh.

“Cassidy Crane.”

“Mo . . . ?” Mallaidh began.

“Call me Mom and you’re dead meat, kiddo.” Cassidy glared facetiously, smiling at the same time. Her daughter looked just like her. She could see through the glamour—all the tricks and wiles of the Leanan Sidhe—and noted that, despite the blond locks, she was her mother’s daughter. The nose, the chin, the eyes. All hers. The cheeks were her father’s though, something that made Cassidy’s heart swell a little as she thought back upon the days spent in his arms. Cassidy still loved that man, though were she honest with herself, most of those lingering feelings stemmed from what he’d left behind.

“I don’t understand,” said Mallaidh. “Where have you been?”

“Here. I’ve been here the whole time. Didn’t Meinrad explain any of this to you?”

Mallaidh shook her head, confused. There was a quiet bitterness rising in her gut, a feeling of rejection churning behind it. At the same time, she was joyous. She’d never met her mother and here she was, on what was the third most important night of her life, when it really mattered.

“He was supposed to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“What you are. What we are.”

“I’m a Sidhe,” said Mallaidh.

“A Leanan Sidhe,” said Cassidy. “We’re different.”

“Different how?”

“You really don’t know any of this?”

“I know that you left me with Meinrad because you thought he could care for me.”

“Yeah,” said Cassidy, “just as you’ll choose someone to leave your child with one day. We don’t raise our young. We can’t.”

“What?”

“We’re not cut out to be mothers, you and I. We’re lov-ers, not lov-ing.”

Mallaidh shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“That’s okay. It’ll come with time. You’ll understand. The first few are the hardest, but you get used to it. You grow accustomed. You never forget them and you’ll always love them, but it doesn’t hurt the same. This one will destroy you, though.” She pointed at Ewan. “He’s magnificent. I couldn’t have chosen better for you had I spent a year trying.” Cassidy put a firm hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “You’ve got the knack. You certainly can pick ’em. You are your mother’s daughter.”

“Cassidy, what is this all about?” asked Mallaidh.

“This is about being time that you learned who you are. And what’s going to happen to the man onstage.”

“Ewan?” There was fear in her voice. “What’s going to happen to him?”

Cassidy looked both ways. “Look, I think I’ve said all I can in here.” She glanced at the door. “Follow me. I have something very important to tell you.”

Mallaidh looked at the stage then back at her mother.

“Come on, it will only take a few minutes. He’s got at least three encores with this crowd before he can get off the stage.” Cassidy walked toward the door, a lingering look over her shoulder telling Mallaidh she had no choice but to follow.

Outside the night air had a different sound to it, the music nothing but a dull bass line and drum thumping when passed through cinder-block walls and a solid metal door. The rest of the night was peaceful. They’d emerged from the atmosphere of earth into the cold, bleak space surrounding it. Cassidy walked farther still, turning a corner into the adjacent alley. She gave one last look over her shoulder before disappearing.

Mallaidh quickly followed, surprised by four hands emerging from the dark.

She was thrown up against the wall, grappled by two men half her size. Looking down upon the moist crimson sacks draped over their heads, she knew right away what was happening. Redcaps. Their clawed hands dug into her flesh as she struggled futilely against their overwhelming strength.

“You’re not my mother!” she screamed at the woman.

Cassidy looked devastated, her heart breaking before her daughter. A small tear formed in the corner of her eye. “I wish we could have met under better circumstances,” she said. “But I love too, you know.” She turned to the alley and spoke bitterly. “We had a deal. Where is he?”

A voice cut through the shadows. “You’ll find him unconscious in his car on the top floor of the parking garage two blocks north of here,” it said.

Cassidy looked back at her daughter, but still spoke to the shadows. “She doesn’t get hurt.”

“Were I to hurt her,” said the man, “I would find myself on the wrong side of this. As it is, I am entitled to collect the boy as payment for the deaths for which he is responsible.” The man stepped out of the dark, his face very much like Ewan’s, only twisted, scarred, and wrinkled—like a wax sculpture left in the sun to bake.

“Knocks?” asked Mallaidh. “What are you doing?”

“What should have been done years ago; I’m collecting on the Devil’s debt.”

LIMESTONE KINGDOM HAD run out of songs. The crowd was howling, their cigarette lighters held aloft in the air, but Ewan had nothing left to offer them. There was no chance they were going to play one of the old numbers, but the crowd wanted one more song. So the band did the one thing they could think to do—play the first song over again.

The crowd bought it. Instead of rolling their eyes they began to sing along. This was now less of an opening song and more of an anthem—so the second time around, they simply played it harder. The drummer pounded the devil out of his drums, the bassist played his fingers raw. Sweat poured down Ewan’s chest, his drenched shirt clinging tightly to him as his lungs heaved, gulping air between bellowing notes.

Then it was over. The final guitar note faded into the air and the crowd erupted with enthusiastic applause. They were a hit. In the back of the club, the next act bickered, arguing about whether to go on at all, unwilling to follow something so overwhelming. The owner shook his head, wondering why these three had performed so poorly so many times before.

Women in half shirts, tank tops, and skintight blue jeans began lining up just offstage, their eyes expectant, waiting for Ewan, but willing to settle for anyone in the band. Ewan unplugged, walking offstage, his eyes never meeting those of a single adoring fan. He cast his gaze wide, darting past each hopeful girl, anxious to find Nora. The club was fuller than before, and as he passed, men pounded him soundly on the back, giving him knowing hipster nods of approval.

A lanky blonde with alabaster skin, a loose-fitting sundress, and a petite, unobtrusive piercing in her nose stepped in front of Ewan, nodding ever so slightly, tilting her head down, looking up at him suggestively, a slight pout to her lips. He nodded politely and tried to move past her, but she gracefully strayed farther into his path.

“Hi, Ewan,” she said, her voice drifting like jasmine on a summer evening. “I’m Molly.”

“Hey, Molly,” he said politely but without interest. “Have you seen my girlfriend?” He raised his eyebrows, expecting the blonde to shrink away.

“Oddly enough, I have.”

Ewan was skeptical. “Excuse me?”

The blonde smiled delicately, wrinkling her nose ever so slightly, as if to say I know more than you know. “Nora’s my cousin.”

“She never mentioned a cousin.”

“And how much about herself has she actually told you?” she asked. Ewan began to speak but stopped himself. The blonde continued, “Has she even told you where she lives?”

“Not exactly.”

“That’s our Nora; way too guarded.”

“Where is she?” asked Ewan.

“She’s outside, with a couple of my friends.” The girl stroked a stray patch of Ewan’s hair back over his ear, purring a little. “She was right,” she said. “You’re adorable.” Her fingers traced back over his ear, lingering on his lobe just a tad longer than could be mistaken as innocent. Then she reached down and took him by the hand. “Come on, let’s go get her.”

The two walked outside into the dead quiet of night, the open air instantly chilling his sweat-soaked T-shirt, hardening his nipples. He shivered slightly. Nora was nowhere in sight.

“Where is she?” asked Ewan with a hint of suspicion.

“Round here,” said the blonde, nodding to the alley. “Hey, Molly! What the hell, girl? I’ve got your man.”

There was no answer.

“Molly?” asked Ewan.

“I meant Nora,” she said with a blushing giggle hidden behind a maidenly hand. Then she clenched that hand into a fist, clocked Ewan with a right cross, staggering him backward, sending him stumbling into the dark alley. Waiting claws caught him, immediately throwing him into a nearby wall. His body slapped into the brick, his head whipping forward, cracking on the stone. He wobbled, ever so slightly, unable to keep his balance, toppling to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Four redcaps walked slowly out of the alley. One of them reached with a single hand, picking Ewan up off the vomit-puddled pavement. It held him upright, clenched a clawed fist, and gave him a solid shot to the gut, knocking the wind clean out of him. Ewan flailed, gasping for air, unable to fathom what was happening.

The blonde watched Ewan coldly. She shook her head and her features fell away. Her hair shortened as if shaken off, her slight chin blunted, hardening with stubble. Her eye cocked to one side and her nose swelled until it broke. Within seconds the waif was gone and only Knocks remained.

Ewan stared, horrified, at the creature before him. It was a cruel mockery—a backwoods, inbred, swamp-baby reflection of himself, like something that had been thrown out into the street and run under a bus. His mind fractured. Images he could not understand surfaced into his thoughts. He’d seen this man before as a boy, but couldn’t place where. It wasn’t that they looked similar; he knew him, right down to the tilt of his eye and the patches of hair missing from his head.

A fist cracked into the back of Ewan’s skull, sprawling him. Two ribs splintered beneath the force of a cast-iron boot. A claw raked down his back, cutting deep into his flesh, tearing out a chunk of his shoulder. Ewan screamed, but a hand immediately muffled him. Fists rained down. Boots kicked up. One redcap picked him entirely off the ground, raising him two and a half feet above it before throwing him farther down the alley. Ewan crashed to the ground, layers of skin scraping off as he skidded across pavement, cartwheeling into a Dumpster with a clang.

Ewan pushed himself to his feet, confused, struggling against the pain, the terror. Through the agony of his broken ribs and the dull throbbing in his cheekbone he felt sheer, unbridled terror. Never before had he been more afraid for his life.

Knocks and the four redcaps boldly strolled down the alley, savoring the fear, confident Ewan wouldn’t be getting away. Ewan looked down the alley behind him, saw only shadow. Then, glancing back, he saw Nora, a fifth redcap grabbing her behind the Dumpster. The redcap pawed at her like a drunken stepfather, smelling her hair and flicking his tongue as she wriggled against his groping.

“She betrayed you, Ewan,” said Knocks, walking ever closer. “She’s not who she says she is.”

“What’s going on?” asked Ewan with a whimper. He reached up, wiped his nose with the back of his hand, smearing blood and snot across his face.

“You are going to die for what you’ve done,” said Knocks. “That’s what’s going on.”

“I haven’t done anything!” he cried. His voice was shrill, like a child being punished in someone else’s stead. There was no man to his shriek, just teary, crying, terrified boy.

“Oh yes, you have. But the Fading has choked the memories out. Before we’re done here, I’ll have beaten them back into you. You’ll remember. You’ll remember everything.”

Ewan fell to his knees. Images cycled, bits of someone else’s childhood rattling around his brain like coins in a tin cup. He looked up at Nora. She had stopped struggling and instead looked at him with tears in her eyes. Their gazes locked and Ewan couldn’t tell if she felt love or pity. “What’s happening?” he mouthed to her silently.

“Tell him what’s happening,” said Knocks. “He wants to know.”

“No,” said Nora, shaking her head, warm tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Tell him, Mallaidh,” said Knocks. “Tell him what you are. Tell him why he’s going to die.”

She shook her head harder. “No!”

“Nora?” begged Ewan. “What’s he talking about? What aren’t you telling me?”

“You hear that, Nora? He wants to know what you’re not telling him.”

“Shut up!” she yelled.

“Only one of us here is lying, Mallaidh,” said Knocks. “Tell him who you are. Show him what you really are.”

“No!”

“Tell him!”

The redcap holding Mallaidh twisted her arm, almost snapping it off.

She screamed, her glamour falling away.

Her hair lengthened, light blond curls sprouting from the dark roots, tumbling down to her shoulders. Her cheekbones softened; her chin narrowed; her skin became three shades more radiant. Her eyes glowed blue in the dark. Nora passed away before Ewan’s eyes, the mask falling off, leaving behind something far too beautiful to be human.

“What is this?” asked Ewan. “What the hell is all this?”

“A family reunion,” said Knocks. He swung his leg, kicking Ewan across the chin so hard it picked him up off his knees, knocking him on his back. “You see, this is the girl of your dreams. I know this because we are the same, you and I. In many ways. She was my dream girl, once. But you took her. And the night I lost her was the same night your mother took mine.” Knocks leaned over Ewan, a bit of drool dripping onto Ewan’s chin. “You owe me more than you can imagine, Ewan. I aim to collect. And this time, your boyfriend isn’t here to save you.”

Knocks looked up at his redcap accomplices, waving to the one holding Mallaidh. “Dietrich, let her go.” The redcap nodded, loosening his grip. She elbowed him off her, bolted toward Ewan, but was halted by Knocks’s outstretched hand. “Go near him and you both die. Right here, right now. Leave and you live.”

“But I—,” she began.

“But nothing,” said Knocks, refusing eye contact. “You leave or I’ll let my friends here have their way with your corpse.” The words languished in the air like rotting flesh. Dietrich smiled broadly.

Mallaidh shivered, staring gravely at Ewan. His eyes were hollow, confused and loveless. She turned and ran, never once looking back, her sobs trailing into the night, flecks of glamour trickling off, leaving a brief glistening comet’s tail behind as she faded into the dark. In an instant, she was gone.

“Now, how best to kill you?” Knocks stroked his chin, pacing the length of the alley. “Pick him up.”

Time slowed, Ewan’s mind wandering blindly through a thousand memories—things he remembered, but wasn’t sure how. They were someone else’s thoughts, someone else’s dreams, though they swam around in his head as if they were his own. And as a redcap reached down, slinging Ewan’s flopping, broken body over its arm, Ewan reached out and snatched the bloody red cap from atop his head. The redcap went limp, bowing under the weight of the grown man atop it, and the two fell to the ground.

Ewan rolled the cap around in his hand, wondering what to do with it, for what seemed like the better part of an hour. In truth, he’d raised it to his own skull before the body had hit the pavement. He didn’t know why; he just did it. Strength surged through every fiber of his being. His wounds no longer ached; his shattered bones no longer stung against the inside of his flesh. He felt whole. Powerful. Invincible. Most of all, he was pissed, angrier than he’d ever been. The other redcaps scampered fleetly toward him, but it was too late. Ewan had donned the hat of a redcap.

He rose to his feet. He picked the redcap up off the ground by the scruff of his neck, then slammed him headfirst into the brick wall beside them. His head popped like a rotten tomato, spraying the wall, catching Ewan in the back splatter. As the redcap’s blood hit the cap, Ewan felt stronger still.

He spun around and swung a wild haymaker into an oncoming redcap. His fist connected with a crack of thunder, shattering the redcap’s jaw, sending him backward through the alley, across the street, and, with the force of a truck, into a brick storefront.

With time moving more slowly than he’d ever known it, Ewan kicked squarely the chest of another redcap running toward him, its rib cage turning to powder. It flew backward into Dietrich, picking him up off the ground, carrying them both into the street.

Only Knocks and Otto remained standing. Redcap blood dripped off Ewan’s fist; he smeared it across the bit of cap covering his brow. Ewan grew stronger still. Knocks could tell by the look in his eye that there was little chance of surviving this. Something had gone horribly wrong and once again the stolen child of Tiffany and Jared Thatcher had somehow gained the upper hand.

It was time for a strategic retreat.

“Run!” shouted Knocks as he turned the corner, scrambling for his life. The redcap followed in kind. Dietrich rose to his feet, offered his companion a meaty, taloned hand, picking him off the ground. They too ran. And before Ewan could reach the end of the alley, the final broken redcap across the street was limping away with the rest of them.

Ewan’s head pounded, his heart raced, memories nearly a decade and a half old echoing in pieces through his thoughts. He still couldn’t put it together; there was no way to be sure if what he was remembering were even memories at all. It was all so horrific. His nightmares of little men had been plucked from his brain and brought into the real world to beat the life out of him.

But how did he know to take their hat? And what the f*ck was Nora? He looked to the sky, trying to find answers in the stars; he begged, but no answers came. Only one name stuck out. The name of a little boy he remembered once turning a redcap into rose petals; who chased off devils with a poem about lightning; who had once pulled him off an altar and walked him through the forest, away from a legion of monsters.

Colby Stevens.