Tír na nÓg Trilogy, Book II: The Rising Dark

Blood for Blood

Emery stepped out of the hut before Peadar's words registered with her. At hearing "Carman," though, she snapped toward Oonagh, who was still gripping her arm, fingers tightening even as Emery tried to pull away. The girls' eyes met; the redhead grinned, and in that moment, Emery's stomach felt as if it'd fallen out of her. "He didn't mean--" she tried, "--you can't . . . Oonagh?"

But she knew. The way her friend looked at her, soft eyes and mischievous smile and rosy cheeks turned cold. "Can't say I was planning on that tonight, but well, what can you do?"

"If--if you're not Oonagh, what have you done with her?"

"Oh, Oonagh never was, darling." With her free hand, Carman pulled back Oonagh's hair, stretching her face, shaking it, and her features began to shimmer, to blur. Emery tried to wrench free of the claw on her arm, but Carman's grasp was firm. Oonagh's eyes elongated, their irises morphing into a pale canary yellow, and her freckles melted into the whitening angular face behind them. Oonagh's feisty reddish hair erupted into rich, glossy chestnut curls, and her impish smile pinched into a small yet plump set of red lips. Soon enough, there was no trace of the friend Emery had known; only Carman remained, just as she'd seen her all those weeks ago in the woods, the night Forgall had tried to kill her. "Aren't you happy to see your mother?" The witch's voice was like strawberry syrup, sweet and thick, but her face betrayed the contempt beyond her sing-songy words. She squeezed Emery's arm so hard the girl gasped in pain, and then she threw her to the ground.

Panting, Emery clutched where Carman's fingers had been. She looked up at the woman, who stood with the moonlight illuminating her from behind like some dark goddess. "But you--how? We--we've done so much together! Samhain, and the feasts, and--and your family--how is it possible?"

"You yourself should know how easy it is for me to blend in. It is my specialty."

Moving past her initial shock, Emery tried to rein in her runaway mind. She'd wanted to find Carman--thought for hours on end about it--and yet she'd never considered what to do once she'd found her. Emery hadn't anticipated being alone with the witch, not like this.

Cathbad's walnut!

Emery reached for her pouch, also recalling her dagger, but Carman stepped on her hand. Immediately, Emery lost all sensation in her limbs. They went entirely numb, and she fell hard against the ground, unable to prop herself up.

"You here to finish what Forgall couldn't?" Peadar stepped into Emery's view, above her, looking hungry for something.

Carman shook her head of waves. Leaning down toward Emery, she got right up in her face and whispered, "Thank you for this, my Lady," and, reaching her hand into Emery's robe, took hold of the dagger and pulled it from its sheath. The girl cried out in protest but could do nothing to stop Carman, who stood and spun so quickly that Peadar wouldn't have anticipated her even if he had been able to see. There was a sound like a fork skewering a piece of meat, and then the decrepit old man gave a gurgling croak and crumpled beside Emery. His face was toward her, and she caught sight once more of his milky, lifeless eyes, running water as the rip in his throat poured black liquid.

Emery retched and turned aside, absolutely nauseated. She knew she couldn't just lie there, not with Carman likely to do the same to her as she'd done to Peadar—she had to do something! But what? Emery was entirely incapacitated, and the witch would see anything she tried to do, anyway.

"What a troublesome person," Carman lulled, wiping the blood off Emery's dagger with the hem of her red dress.

Movement was futile. The least Emery could do was try to talk. "Where's Charlie? What have you done with him? Is he all right? Is he here?"