Army of Sorrow (Donegal Sidhe #1)

Chapter 6

Brea woke with a start. She was tangled in her blankets, her hair wet with perspiration. She’d been dreaming again, but this time had been completely different. Bright strings of lights hung everywhere, and the delicious smells of carnival treats tantalized her. Ignoring them, she searched the crowd feeling a sense of urgency she couldn’t explain. Weaving her way through, she didn’t see anyone familiar. Vendors tempted her to taste their wares or try her luck at a game, and stuffed animals hung from the stalls. Street musicians played lively music, and Brea found herself moving to the beat along with the other dancers. She wound her way to the edge, leaving them behind. She continued her search as the town clock struck 10:00 p.m., illogical dread growing. At last, standing tiptoe on a nearby bench, she caught a glimpse of Trevor’s dark, curly hair bobbing among the crowd. Jumping down, she rushed after him, the crowd parting slightly. He was standing alone, his back to her, in a small clearing among the throng of people. She was still a good distance away, and as she watched helplessly, an immense dark shadow loomed over him. Her dread turned to panic, and she darted through the open space, calling his name. She had reached him just as she woke up. Brea was still trying to quiet her breathing. What have I gotten myself into?

Maeve joined the rest of the family at the breakfast table. “Brea, your da and I would just like to remind you that your first priority for going tonight is to keep an eye on Trevor Bradigan. We don’t mind you enjoying yourself a little, but that is not the point of this outing. And by all means, keep a low profile. Is that clear?”

“Yes.” Brea, still subdued from the previous night’s dream, picked at the food on her plate. Ordinarily she would have eaten as fast as she could to get out of the house, but the dream had completely disconcerted her. That horrible panic had not left until long after full consciousness had slowed her breathing. Methodically shredding her toast, Brea tried to talk herself into some sense. It had just been a dream, nothing significant. She had dreams that felt real all the time, though never one that gave her the creeps like this one. She would just have to casually keep Caith moving in Trevor’s direction.

XXXXX

Smoothing the green eyelet of her skirt unconsciously, Brea checked her reflection in a store window out of the corner of her eye. Passable. I’m lucky I look this good, she thought sourly. The Beltane rituals had taken longer than she’d expected this year, barely leaving her time to change before heading to town.

Caith was sitting on a bench along the edge of the square, one leg bouncing. Brea crept quietly behind him, cupping her hands over his eyes. He froze.

“Guess who.” Her voice was singsong. Leaning around she could see a faint smile underneath his mock expression of concentration. Had she not seen it, his next words would have worried her.

“Kathleen? Mary?”

“Haha. Ever the comedian.” Her face was still resting on his shoulder when he twisted around to pull her up and over the bench so she was sitting backward with her legs dangling over the edge.

“Caith.” She struggled to turn around, feeling exactly how precarious her balance was. If not for his arm around her waist, which she was keenly aware of, she would already be on the ground. Wondering why he wasn’t responding, she turned to face him, to demand that he put her down.

Feeling as though a pit had opened and swallowed her stomach, she registered the look on Caith’s face. She shot a look over her shoulder in the direction his gaze had frozen, images of the shadowy monster from her nightmare irrationally filling her mind.

The sidewalk was empty. The revelers were all in the middle of the square. Relief swept through her, though the sudden rush of adrenaline left her feeling faintly ill and lightheaded.