Through the Door (The Thin Veil) - By Jodi McIsaac Page 0,41
to Brighid. “I’m surprised she was willing to help you,” he said.
She smiled back at him. “Well, I seem to have successfully removed myself from the stigma of being Tuatha Dé Danann, at least in her eyes. The Danann and the Merrow aren’t enemies, per se, but neither are they the best of friends,” she explained to Cedar.
Cedar pinched the bridge of her nose and willed herself to just go with it. “Okay,” she said. “So the painting is with this Deardra. Is this common knowledge? Would Nuala know?”
They were interrupted by the arrival of breakfast. Cedar took a large gulp of coffee and nibbled on the edge of her toast. Her appetite had been remarkably diminished these days. Brighid and Finn tucked into their plates, both piled high with bacon, sausage, eggs, hash browns, fried mushrooms, and buttered toast. One of the benefits of being forever young and beautiful, Cedar supposed.
Brighid shrugged. “I wouldn’t say it’s common knowledge, no. But I don’t know who Deardra may have told.” A peculiar expression crossed her face.
“What is it?” Finn asked.
“I had the impression that there was something else I wanted to tell you, but it’s slipped my mind. Oh, well, not to worry. I’m sure it will come back to me if it’s of any importance.”
“So where can we find Deardra?” Cedar asked, impatient.
“Finn knows the way, don’t you, dear?” Brighid answered calmly.
He nodded and stood up. “Let me make a few calls,” he said, and walked out of the café and onto the street. Cedar could see him through the window, and wondered why he had chosen to make his calls outside.
“So this is quite a pickle you’ve gotten yourself into, isn’t it, my dear?” Brighid asked her.
“Excuse me?” Cedar said.
Brighid waved her hands airily. “Oh, I’m not talking about your missing daughter, although that is tragic. I mean what are you going to do about Finn?”
“I’m not really thinking about my love life right now,” Cedar said through gritted teeth.
“One should always be thinking about one’s love life,” Brighid said.
Cedar thought it was time to change the subject. “What can you tell me about this guy named Lorcan?” she asked.
“Ah, well, there’s a cheery topic of conversation.” Brighid’s nose wrinkled with disgust. “Lorcan is the worst of us, I’m afraid. He’s old, very old, though not one of the Elders, or else he would have gone back with them. They told you about that, yes?” Cedar shook her head. “The Elders, of which I am one, were the first to arrive here in Ériu. We lived, we loved, we prospered, and we got our asses handed to us by those damned Milesians—you call them the Celts now, I suppose—and then relegated to Tír na nÓg. We were always at war those days, it seems. First with giants and half-giants and then the Sons of Mil came from over the sea and thought they’d rather well have our lovely green isle. Don’t get me wrong, Tír na nÓg is quite lovely, I assure you, but I, for one, didn’t want to spend all eternity there. And neither did the other Elders, apparently, because after a few years—or was it a few hundred? I can never keep the time straight—they decided to call it a day and went back to the Four Cities, our true homeland. Unfortunately for everyone else, only those who are originally from the Four Cities can ever return there. I’m afraid Tír na nÓg hasn’t been quite the same since the Elders left. Things went downhill very quickly. Which brings us to Lorcan. He is, in a nutshell, ruthless. Also, delusional. He has never accepted the fact that our people were defeated in war. He still believes this world should belong to the Tuatha Dé Danann. He and I are at the opposite ends of a spectrum, you could say. Some think I love humanity too much and have sought to re-create myself in its image, and maybe they’re right. But Lorcan’s hatred for humanity is unparalleled. All he has ever wanted is revenge and retribution for the insult he feels was done to our people. There are others who feel the same way—too many, to be sure—but they don’t have the power that Lorcan does, and are easier to keep in check.”
“What kind of power does he have?” Cedar asked.
“Almost every kind,” Brighid said. “That’s the problem. He’s like a sponge. His natural ability is to absorb the powers of others at the moment of their