Dreams and Shadows - By C. Robert Cargill Page 0,106
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