Chapter 6

 

The mud lets out an offensive squelch, causing the priest to pause his sermon as everyone stares at me. The sound of my trainer ripping free from the mud is even louder as I struggle to keep it on. I couldn’t find formal shoes or any kind of tie, and now that the trainers are dyed brown they look even worse. Bowing my head in apology, I hide at the back of the grove so the sermon can continue. I was only five minutes late, but I waited another ten expecting someone else to show up that I could sneak in with. Teenagers are never on time, so I thought I’d be fine, but looking around the grove, it seems no-one Hannah’s age has shown up at all.

With each gust of wind, rain is shed from the trees above, spilling onto the coffin and running down into the earth. At the centre of the coffin there’s a large picture of an even younger Hannah trying to cover her face with a hand as she bursts out laughing. The smaller photos around it look more like the girl I know from the tír; head down, eyes facing away, hands either stuffed into pockets or clinging onto her clothes. There’s only one other photo where you can almost say she’s smiling. She’s doing her best to lift the corners of her mouth as her eyebrows squeeze together to force the action. From the smudged blue backdrop and her uniform, I can tell it’s from photo day at school. I hated those too.

As the service presses on my intrusion becomes even more obvious. Everyone takes a turn saying something about Hannah and what she meant to them. ‘Taken too soon. Too innocent for the world. So full of life;’ Cliches that don’t say anything about the person she was or how to help her pass on. I get out my phone, glancing at her twitter page for what feels like the hundredth time. Nothing but photos of food and fan-fiction retweets, but even those paint more of a picture than the people here. Then there are the replies. A chorus of creative insults and threats from fresh accounts no matter what the initial post is. My phone shrieks as I accidentally click a video, and by the time I’ve silenced it I’m too afraid to look up at whoever is clearing their throat in my direction.

Hannah’s mother glides forward, wearing a dress that drags along the ground. I hold my breath, listening to the hushed rustle of the leaves clinging to its hem. She looks out over the group, eyes meeting each of the family friends who are here for support in her moment of grief. Should I look down? Nod with a caring smile? What do people do at funerals—let alone strangers? Not be louder than the grieving parents, and I’ve already failed at that. My heart stops as her eyes find me, but she glances right through me without any notice. All in black, with pale make-up applied as thick as plaster, she holds herself together like one of the statues crumbling over the graves nearby.

 “Thank you all for coming,” she whispers, reading from a sheet of paper. “Hannah was so blessed… to have so much love in her life.” Mrs. Anderson pauses to look out at her own friends as the wind swells over her voice. “Hannah was so blessed to have so much love in her life,” she repeats, slower. “And seeing all the friends and family that her life touched…” The silence stretches on long enough to become loud. A ball being kicked echoes through the trees along with children laughing somewhere in the distance.

Rip. 

Mrs. Anderson looks out beyond all of us who gathered for Hannah. She drops the torn eulogy which scatters among the fallen leaves. As she repeats the words once more, each rattles out weaker than the last, threatening to be drowned by the fading wind and drying rain. As the children laugh again in the distance, Mrs. Anderson begins to sob. Her husband rushes over, wrapping his arms around her and guiding her back to the group with a quick kiss. I let out the breath I’ve been holding and swallow more air.

Do you still wish to meddle in the affairs of mortals? Féileacán’s voice smothers her sobbing. He’s right. I can leave while they’re all focused on her and go to the tír. I shouldn’t even be here. I take a step back, but before I can disappear, Mr. Anderson steps forward and I freeze.

Mr. Anderson takes his place in front of his daughter’s coffin, giving it a pat as he slides his fingers along its length. He gazes at the pictures with a tender smile that lingers even as he manages to tear himself away and face the rest of us. Then his eyes find me and tighten like a snare. I look down, staring at my muddy trainers while Hannah’s father begins to speak in a voice as warm as his smile.

“Fifteen years ago, we were blessed to have Hannah.” The wind wails again, but Mr. Anderson raises his voice to match. “I’m not sure how blessed Hannah was to have me as a dad but having her as a daughter makes me the luckiest man alive. She had a way of showing you how much she cared. Always knew when you needed a hug or some warm words—or even just a cuppa tea. And the things she would write! She was able to create the most beautiful worlds and inspire feelings in you that you didn’t even know existed until she made you see them. I didn’t know how much love there was in this world until the day I held her in my arms.” Mrs. Anderson lets out a sob, then twists into another woman’s embrace, shaking against her. “She created the most beautiful worlds, and wherever she is now, that place has got to be heaven. She was my angel. She brought light into my life just by being here. Wherever she is, that is heaven, and someday we’ll all be blessed if we get to see her again.”

Mr. Anderson smiles once more as he looks over the pictures. When he blinks the smile is lost and he joins his wife, wrapping an arm around her as the priest begins a prayer.

Heaven? A small garden bursting with life in an otherwise blighted village, villagers that mock her just for working hard, and witch hunters that want to kill her just for some money?

Smoke creeps into the air on piercing wind. I tighten my fist to cease the tremor in my arm as the crack of the whip echoes in my mind. Hannah’s final scream burns into my vision again, her mouth ripping open in anguish. “You?” Was that her final word as she passed away? An accusation. You, who pretended to help. You, who acted like you cared. You, who is just wasting time. Maybe it was simpler than that. Just a shocked exclamation. You, who doesn’t belong. Why are you even here? Who even are you? Then the fire consumed her. Flames that I unleashed. Flames I couldn’t allow the hunters to burn her with. How long did it take for her flesh to freeze away leaving only a skull staring back at me—no expression left to read and nothing left to help or explain any of it at all—just dark empty pits where once eyes had looked at me and considered who and what I am, and why I was even there at all.

A hound snaps at my back; it’s snarling breath hot on my neck as it barks. I whip around to defend myself but find Hannah’s eyes glaring at me.

I catch myself on a mossy grave that hasn’t been visited in years. The tender feeling of life between my fingers is hard to take my eyes off let alone release so I squeeze down hard and watch as tiny green leaves sprout between my fingers. The crunch of dead leaves on the ground as I steady myself brings me back to those muddy trainers. I look up at Mr. Anderson, violet eyes now more worried than suspicious.

“My bad. Didn’t mean to scare you, mate.” The man scratches his chin; razor burn visible even through the flush from cold air. The concern in his eyes is exactly like Hannah’s. “I was only hoping to ask who you are—how you knew Hannah, anyhow.” It takes me a moment to realize that I walked away from the funeral at some point. The small grove where the service took place is empty now except for Mrs. Anderson who stares down into the hole where the coffin used to be.

I apologize to Mr. Anderson with a bow of my head, wondering if I can blame the alcohol. Not to him at least. “Sorry. My name is Cú. I knew Hannah through… the garden.” The answer comes out of my mouth before I can properly form thoughts.

Mr. Anderson scratches his chin again. “Garden? Which garden? We live in a flat.”

“The garden… at school.” A fiction of half-truths begins spilling out of me. “I’m a teacher. Hannah always loved helping tend to the school garden, and I am the gardening club’s supervisor, so I got to spend—”

“Teacher?” Mrs. Anderson has put herself back together, marching in my direction with lightning crackling in her eyes. “If you’re from that awful cesspool then you can just go—”

“Honey, please.” Mr. Anderson grabs his wife by the wrists, pulling them into his own chest. He manages to pry her away just before she can jam a finger into my face.

“No. No! Don’t you let them get away with this again. They’re harassing us offline now too! Hannah didn’t even like gardening!” Mrs. Anderson tries to wrestle herself away from her husband but can only turn her body in my direction as he holds her back. She pulls against him hard, stabbing her shoulders at me. “Haven’t you taken enough from us already!? Now what? You think acting like you care now will do any good? If you had actually given a shit about our—”

“—Kerry!” The storm in Mrs. Anderson’s eyes is quenched by tears that roll down her cheeks as she faces her husband. She leans forward, achingly slow as if she’s about to topple over while Mr. Anderson opens his arms, trying to embrace her. Then her fists slam into his chest and she finally break free from his grip. She shoots one more glare my way before she turns it back on her husband. She opens her mouth, but instead of words a choked cry comes out as she wipes tears back into her eyes.

“I’m calling the lawyer. They can’t silence us!” With that, she storms off along the path that weaves between cemetery plots, gliding over graves that I would need to walk around.

I’m almost past a clump of trees that would let me disappear when Mr. Anderson calls my name. He hasn’t moved from his spot, hoping to catch me with a yell. “Did she have any— Did Hannah have a good time gardening?” 

I face the man, trying to find the right words to give him something—anything¬, he might be able to take away from this that isn’t just a series of clichés. “Enrichment…”

“What?” I’m almost as confused as Hannah’s father, but as he marches over to me the words keep coming.

“Every time she finished feeding the plants, spreading fertilizer, or even just when she was wrapping up, she would make a circle with her hands—like this. Then she’d say the word ‘enrichment’ as if it was some kind of spell. She cared about the plants more than some people care about other humans. Animals too—and even bugs. She wouldn’t join the club, but she helped out when no-one else was around. One time I caught her trying to save a butterfly in a spider-web. She was acting strong, but I could tell how much she cared even though she pretended it didn’t bother her at all. She was so quiet and gentle, but strong in ways that would surprise you.” My hand shakes so bad I have to grab my wrist to steady it. 

“Did she puff up her cheeks and flare her nostrils?” Mr. Anderson seems larger when I look at him. He has his hands on his hips and his head raised high with a silly look on his face. Something about it seems familiar. 

“What?” I ask.

“She always used to puff up her cheeks and flare her nostrils when she said it: ‘I’m not a child.’” He lets out a laugh, wiping away a single tear that spills down his cheek. “I can’t believe she was still doing the enrichment thing. That was a spell she made up in one of her stories. I’m glad there was one teacher she was able to be herself around.” He laughs again, wiping at the other cheek. I nod at him and he continues to laugh as he walks away, wiping his face harder as he thinks about his child that never got to become an adult.

Commissioned Novel Artwork by: Lameir

I find my way out of the cemetery alone, this time appreciating the thick foliage that springs up everywhere between the groups of graves. I don’t need to become imperceptible to disappear here. The few people I pass on the way out are all busy with their own grief. Life, or the living, aren’t their focus. The Hannah I know would have loved it here.

You didn’t know Hannah, my own voice reminds me.

The lost soul then. Hannah’s lost soul. She would have loved it here, if she was able to see it…

“Not a single school friend showed up.”

The phrase pulls me out of my silent conversation, and I decide to become imperceptible. Let your breath out until nothing remains. When you breathe back in, only allow the void to enter. Féileacán’s words from weeks prior fill my mind. I breathe in deep, bitter air numbing me at my core as the sensation consumes the rest of my body. It’s cold and dull, but secure. Like being wrapped in a layer of thick clothing that just came out of the freezer.

“I mean, you ‘eard what Kerry’s been mouthing off about? No way any of the kids will show up when they’re apparently the reason she jumped in front of a train.” The pair are standing by a tree, each smoking cigarettes as they chat loudly against the wind. “Truth be told, I wouldn’t have spent any time with her either.”

“Paul!”

“Oh, come on, you don’t remember her just sitting in the corner with that laptop? Even when other kids tried to be nice, she just creeped them out with some nonsense. I gave up asking Jack to hang out with her a few years back when he kept saying it was weird having to act like her friend outside school.”

“You’re terrible!” The woman laughs, not an ounce of actual condemnation in her voice. “Ohhh, the bus is here. How is Jack anyway? Settling in at sixth-form?”

That’s all the time they have for Hannah, and all that I can stand to hear from them. I walk down the street, transforming into Féileacán’s form as I go. It only takes me a few steps to feel the difference. My body becomes lighter and I pick up the pace as the hangover bleeds out of me. Praise Toggy for that one, at least! Felly doesn’t dignify that with a response. I already feel shitty enough about trying to make a joke at all.

The cemetery isn’t far from the Anderson’s apartment, but by the time I get to it I realize an issue. How do I get in when they’re still away from home?

They have a balcony.

So?

I barely feel it as my hand moves. Féileacán swings the whip in an arc, the tip wrapping around a rail several floors up. My stomach lurches and by the time I react to the world blurring around me we’re landing on the balcony, the whip returning to Felly’s hip. As fast as he took control, he relinquishes it to me. It feels heavy like stepping out of a pool after doing laps for hours.

Why don’t you teach me to do cool stuff like that? I ask, stretching out my tight muscles.

You fail to even unleash the chain of the Binding Barbs. How could I teach you to make use of it.

Fair. Will you some day? He doesn’t answer.

The balcony door screeches open, and I’m once more in the Anderson’s living room. It’s the first time I’ve been here in the daylight, but it’s hardly any different.

Slow monotonous dripping echoes out of the bathroom. As I flip a light switch, the living room twitches with flickering light. The bulb is threatening to pop, with a buzz that makes the inside of my ear itch. The curtains are drawn tight enough to seal away the daylight and it’s clear the windows haven’t been opened in a long while since the stench of unwashed bodies and old food hang thick in the air. I make my way to Hannah’s room, finding her lost soul hunched over her desk in the same way it has been since I first came here. The same way it always will be unless I find a way to help her cross on.

My hand grabs at the whip but I manage to stop it before it strikes Hannah.

What are you doing!? I drop the whip, the hilt crashing to the floor with a thud. It burns away to shadow, the ominous weight returning to my hip as a final crackle of dusk flame dies out.

Returning to the tír. Felly’s responds calmly while I have to remind myself to breathe again. Wrapping the chain around the lost soul is part of the process.

Right… Hannah’s lost soul hasn’t turned to face me, still wiping away tears as she cries. She doesn’t even acknowledge me this time as I step to her side. I think back to every time Féileacán has entered a lost soul’s tír before. He always whips at them to wrap them up with the binding barbs before placing his hand on their shoulder. Just imagining it makes me shudder. Can you just wrap it around her more gently? Maybe pull out the chain and just use your hands to wrap her up.

It is a whip. And that thing won’t feel anything no matter what either of us do to it.

Please, Felly. 

A sigh of acknowledgement rings out in my mind, short and simple. I can feel him trying to grab at the whip, but I hold still, noticing something through Hannah’s ghostly form. Give me a minute. The usually cold sensation I feel in my stomach burns hot, but I ignore it, stepping around Hannah and grabbing the laptop on her desk.

Shadows claw at me. I jump back as the hands maul my arms and the laptop but pass through both. Crashing into the wall, I look back at the lost soul. It cries over the desk, face buried in its hands as though it never moved. The cold feeling in my stomach returns, shivering out through my whole body in a gasp, which I watch float up in front of me as pale vapour.

What are you doing? The voice hardly surprises me this time. I stumble to the living room with the laptop, opening it once I’m away from Hannah.

Hannah spent all her time on this thing according to the man at her funeral. If that’s the case, it might know more about her than any living person would be able to tell us. More even than her parents know—truth be told. People would be shocked enough at the selfies on my phone to start a scandal, let alone the google search history or notes app. And I think… did you see what happened when I tried to take it? Féileacán keeps silent so I continue. It was like she was fighting me for it, right? It didn’t feel like she was fighting me though. There was no hate. No anger. That would have felt hot. Painful. It was more like she wanted the laptop itself. It was cold, but not bitterly. Just… I don’t know. Felly what was that?

Lost souls are not conscious beings. Either relieve it of its burden or allow me to. 

Seriously? I scoff, flipping open the laptop. If you won’t help me, I’ll find my own answers.

 Chapter 5

 

“There aren’t many examples of true love that I have in my life, but when I look at Maddie and Derek, it almost makes me wish that I had someone in my own life I cherished so dearly. Almost.” I raise my glass of whiskey and drain it, the rest of the table murmuring acknowledgement before I stand. “Anyone want another drink?” That draws real excitement unlike the rest of my speech. It also frees me from the small talk I’d found myself buried in for the last half-hour. I take the orders with me to the bar, but as soon as I sit, an iron-tight hand clasps my shoulder. Maddie offers me a wry smile as she leans over me to the bar.

“Spill it, kid.” Wasting no time, Maddie snaps her finger and extends her arm to the air. The bartender almost drops the cocktail he is mixing, rushing over to take her order. When she is done with him, he is able to complete the last cocktail, sliding it in front of an aghast woman without any garnish before he rushes to complete Maddie’s demands. He notices her still watching and doubles his speed, then her lilac gaze probes at me. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

Maddie twists her head to the side, a crack coming from her neck. Even while I’m seated, she’s shorter than me, but my head lowers every time her eyes return to mine.

“What is it that you want to talk about? You’ve got the same look as one of the kids afraid to raise their hand.” I chuckle, taking my third drink of the night from the bartender.

“Those are lovely earrings, ma’am,” he offers.

“Thank you. They’re from my children.” Maddie plays with one, leaning it forward to catch the light. “They bought them for me themselves with their own pocket money.” In the light you can see the silver is fading to black and what looks like amethyst is coloured glass. That hasn’t stopped her wearing them every day since I met her. She gives the man a nod, dismissing him to return to other customers.

Even outside of work, she feels like a teacher. Dresses just the same too. Pant suits and blazers with shoulder pads and oversized pockets in muted tones. She actually puts her hands on her hips as she glares up at me, waiting for me to stop throwing my strop and talk to her like an adult. I swallow some whiskey, letting out a sigh. She saved us both time. It might have taken another drink for me to approach her first. “You had Rashid in year 4, right,” I ask, biting my lip. She nods, and I look down, staring at my reflection as the liquid trembles.

“You talked with his parents,” she states. I meet Maddie’s gaze and nod, sheepishly. “It didn’t go well, I take it.” I shake my head, and she drums out a marching beat on the bar with her fingers. She takes a sip of her cranberry juice, her tone softening. “How is Rashid doing?”

“Good. Great actually, academically. He’s pretty good in class too, as long as there isn’t an assembly or loud noise.” Maddie nods, and I take another drink. “Any time the topic of secondary school comes up though, he either locks himself in the closet or bathroom and it takes… a long time to soothe him enough to come out.”

“So, you talked to his parents about having him assessed by the SENCO, and they said no.” I nod, looking down at my whiskey with distaste. I take another gulp even though the last hasn’t finished burning the back of my throat. Almost empty, already. “Then you do what you’re trained to. Keep writing down your observations, as I’m sure you have been, and when they’re ready to talk about it you’ll have all that you need to help.”

“I don’t have a TA this year—” I pause, noticing the tone of my voice, and bite my lip again wishing it had been my tongue a moment ago. “Sorry. All the other kids are going nuts about their secondary schools. It isn’t exactly easy to stop the topic coming up. Every time he doesn’t choose the closet, I have to gamble leaving the rest of the class unattended or letting him wander around alone. I already asked the principal about locking the classroom, but that would be a fire hazard apparently…” I trail off, unable to look up because I’m sure that the look Maddie is giving me is even more scathing than the one reflected in my drink. “What am I supposed to do?”

“You’re just a teacher.” Maddie’s words make me chuckle again, but this time with no pretence of humour. “Keep taking down the observation notes; that’s all you can do. The rest of the school building is safe and secure for a reason. I’ll talk to the principal myself and see if there’s anything else we can put in place.”

I nod, draining the glass before I can smile at Maddie. “Got it. Thanks.”

She gives me the same look she might give to a fallen child before lifting them up. Instead, she takes the rest of the drinks for me and heads back to the table while I wait to order another from the overworked bartender. 

Just a teacher. I bite open the scab on my lip, blood washing away the taste of alcohol as I wonder if I can sneak out before anyone notices. Goodbyes like these are pretty much the only authentic Irish thing about me.

“Changed my mind~” An airy voice whisks away any thoughts of escape. Nikki takes the seat beside me, stretching her arms skyward and arching her back before crashing back down to the bar. She lets out a groan so forceful I taste the sourness of her last drink. “Maddie started getting all lovey-dovey with Derek. I need something stronger than cider before I hurl.” She waits expectantly until I let out an awkward laugh. Once I do, she thumps me on the shoulder, rising back to her full height as she releases a cackle that would sound obnoxious from anyone else. With the way most of the bar turns to watch her, you’d think it was a siren’s song.

“That bad?” I ask.

“That bad. Split a cocktail pitcher?”

“Oh, hellz yes!” The bartender has already been drawn in, waiting for Nikki to speak to him. When it’s me who orders the pitcher instead, he simply grunts, keeping his eyes on her as he prepares the bright blue drink.

“If I ever get that cringe, please, put a bullet in my head.” She squeals in delight when the pitcher is presented to her instead of me. Taking a long drink, she notices the bartender watching her and grins at him, lips still wrapped around the straw. When he retreats, she wiggles her eyebrows at me. “Reckon I can get the next drink free?” 

“Probably, Nik. He looked like he was ready to sign a marriage license,” I tease.

“Barf. Speaking of, never thought I’d hear you whining about true love. You’re not going soft on me, are you?” Nikki turns that playful smile on me, but its effects have wilted over the two years I’ve known her. I pay attention to her eyes instead. Usually, they call to mind the endless expanse of the sky just before twilight, when the light is rose gold and most flattering, but now it’s as if the sun has already set behind them.

“Pffft, I said almost, Nik.” I pour myself a glass of the cocktail and fill my mouth with it twice, swallowing half of what I just poured. “I have enough issues dealing with my own shit. Why would I bring anyone into that mess.”

“Damn straight!” Nikki pours herself a glass and downs it without the straw. “If I wanted something to pretend to care about me, eat all my food and clean up after, I’d get a cat. At least they don’t miss the litter box when they piss.”

“And they don’t whine about you being too tired after work to hang out, or too busy to respond to a message the second after they send it,” I agree, filling my glass back up even though it’s only half empty. Nikki is already half-way through her second.

“Right! And if I want to do something, I’m not gonna get permission from someone like he’s my dad!” I have to stop myself laughing when I notice people staring at us. My head feels like it’s still shaking from the laugh. Nikki lists more reasons that she hates relationships as my eyes continue to wander around the pub.

The dim purple glow of a dusk butterfly flutters in as a woman pushes open the door. It catches alight, burning away to a whisp of smoke that causes everyone nearby to shiver. A man slams the door behind her, kissing his teeth loudly. Another dim light that only I can see burns ominously beyond the window, waiting for its chance to creep in.

“—Besides, I have way more fun with friends like you, and men just complicate things.” I take another sip of my drink, noticing the pitcher is almost empty by the time I return to the conversation with Nikki.

“Tell me about it,” I say, then I lean in close to whisper. “The chase can be fun sometimes though. You’ve got one hoping that I’ll leave so they can shoot their shot right now.” The light returns to Nikki’s eyes as she raises her head, the straw still trapped between her lips. My eyes guide her to the right, and she curls her whole body on the stool, catching the man just before he escapes. His eyes don’t stay away for long, moving down and up her figure to take in her side view before pretending to laugh at a joke with his friends.

“Dang, he’s actually pretty cute.” She drops the straw into her glass, teasing it with her finger. “And you already ruined it by being here. There’s no way a kid like that has the balls to make a move when I’ve been laughing like a fool next to you this long.” I look over at the ‘kid’ confirming he’s in his mid-twenties.

“How old do you think you are?”

“Ancient. Almost as old as you.” She deflates a little with each syllable she laughs at me.

“Ouch,” I tease, watching her eyes sink down into her drink. “I mean, if you really want him to find his courage, you know how to give any man the confidence he needs.” Nikki accuses me with her eyes. “Not that! Jesus, Nik. Just pretend I crossed the line in some way. Act offended like the damsel he wants you to be. Every man wants to be a hero.”

“’til it gets hard that is.” Nikki plays with the straw, her eyes wide in a way that doesn’t suit the smile painted on her lips. “Are you sure you’re good playing the bad guy?”

“Only if you sell it well. The villain is a role everyone secretly longs for. Wait a second!” I suck down as much of the bright blue cocktail as I can until it burns. “Okay, do your worst.” The excitement in Nikki’s eyes finally matches her smile as she whacks me across the face. 

The whole bar turns to face us and then wobbles as I wipe away tears. Seeing Nikki is about to burst into apology, I cut her off. “Fine, you’re not worth my time anyway!” I stand up, rubbing at the red mark Nikki’s palm left. Sure enough, the man from across the pub is in my face, challenging me to say anything else. “Out of my way,” I say stepping around him. He wastes no time on me, asking if Nikki is alright. She’s apologizing and admitting what we did before I’m out of earshot. That makes the bruise swelling up on my face sting even more.

“Cú, what the fuck? Are you two good?” Will is on me before I can get back to the table to grab my bag.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, Nik just needed a wingman.” I nod towards Nikki who waves back cheerfully. The man she’s with gives us a curious nod as well.

“You lot… need help.” I laugh, grabbing my bag off the floor without an argument. “Wait, you aren’t leaving, are you? I was looking for a wingman myself, honestly.” 

I give Will the same puppy-dog look they used on me yesterday. “You really think I’m going to be any use after that?”

“Come on, you know just sitting with me at the bar is going to bring people in! No-one can resist the daddy duo~” I glare at Will, sliding my bag onto my shoulder. “We can find a new name! All you have to do is have a drink with me and I promise it’ll work out. One drink! That’s all I need, and I’ll pay your whole tab!” I stare at the door, watching the purple glow ebb at the window.

“One drink,” I say. Will pats me on the shoulder, asking me to grab them a Jägerbomb as they find us a spot in the pub away from Nikki. For the fifth and hopefully final time I find myself at the bar, taking my one drink as well as Will’s from the bartender, but as I try to head over to Will a stool jabs into my thigh.

“Watch it, ya eejit!” A stout man whose head only reaches my nose barges into me, almost spilling my drinks as I once again try to dodge out of his way.

“You serious?” is all that spills out of my flooded mind. The old man stumbles against me, his huge coat reeking of tobacco and alcohol. “Back off, old man!” His face is bright red from whiskey and windburn. Liver spots and wrinkles are the only feature that stand out to me under the flat cap the man almost shoves into my chin. When I get a good look at him there isn’t much more to see—only thick glasses filling the part of his face between the hat and a scarf bundled under his chin.

“Trust the bloody English not to be able to hold their liquor. Out of my way, ye big girl’s blouse.” Contrary to his words, the man is barely able to hold himself up as he pushes past me, the stench of mildew joining the others as he trots off. 

I let out a groan then snap back. “I’m not even English, you prick. Just not a walking stereotype of an Irish drunk like you!” The man turns, letting out a laugh as he stumbles further away.

“Drinking American whiskey and speaking like the queen’s lap dog. Fuck off yer Irish, boyo.”

“Shower your head! There isn’t even a queen anymore, you drunk!” The man bleats out a cackle in response that continues even as the door swings shut behind him.

The fire in my stomach turns to ice, each set of eyes in the pub adding to the chill which is beginning to slither up my spine. I try to leave out the back exit but pause when I notice the drinks in my hand. The people staring at me turn away when I look at them, but I still feel the eyes on me. Just go. They won’t arrest you over a few drinks.

“Such an asshole.” Will grabs their drink out of my hand and downs it themself. “Okay, fuck that guy, I’m getting mudslides to wash away the ick of that and whatever just happened with Maddie.”

“Maddie?” I search the bar and find Derek alone, chatting with the group he came with as he pokes a slice of cake with his spoon.

“She had one of her meltdowns. No idea what it was this time.” Will paws at my wrist, trying to drag me to the bar. “No more wingman. Let’s just end the night well. Please?” 

“Will—” Will’s puppy dog eyes plead with me. This night was all Will’s idea, but instead of being angry at all of us for ruining it they just look embarrassed. Those eyes are unfair! I down my own whiskey, forcing the grimace from the burn into a smile. “Sure. I haven’t got anywhere better to be anyway.”  They link their arms with me on the way to the bar for one more drink.

*

At the end of the evening, I crash into bed. Will had in fact ended up with a wingman. A couple asked if our milkshakes were alcoholic, and they all ended up hitting it off and going out to a club to continue the night while I stumbled into an uber. I heave my phone up to my face, dropping it on the bed beside me as I realize it’s only eight. Nikki’s right. I am ancient. Rolling onto my side, I kick my shoes off and lift my knees to my chest, fishing around in the darkness for my duvet. I hadn’t noticed just how early it was with the sun going down at about six now, but the chill reminds me it’s already October.

To the tír, then? The deep emotionless tone fills my mind, and I almost jump, the movement making my head spin as I search the room. Only a small amount of light makes its way through my window, the high street below never truly allowing darkness to set in. I still haven’t bought curtains thick enough to block out the never-ending parade of London traffic. The room is filled with unpacked boxes and empty food containers. The shadows move like a carousel as the cars go over speed bumps far below and every time the orange light pulses across my face I wince in pain.

No, Felly. I barely think I could walk right now, let alone… whatever it is we do.

My form has a stronger tolerance to poison than yours. Simply transform and you will find it flushed from your system within minutes. I sit up in bed, grabbing the water bottle out of my bag and chugging the contents while considering the instant hangover cure I’ve been blessed with. If you can’t do even that much, allow me to take control while you find your slumber within. By the time you wake, the lost soul will be dealt with.

No! Just thinking the word so hard makes my head throb. You know I can’t let you do it your way. Besides, I do have a plan. Féileacán is silent long enough for me to collapse back in bed, getting comfy with a body pillow squeezed in both my arms and knees.

What plan? He finally asks, not letting me get away with just the promise.

That, you need explained? I thought you could hear all my thoughts? I told you I needed more info, didn’t I? Hannah’s funeral is tomorrow at 11 am. Just wake me up at 9:30 so I can shower, and we’ll find out everything we need to know about her to help her pass on peacefully, okay? When there’s no sound for a moment and my eyes start to get heavy, I snap out at the darkness, “okay, Felly?”

A sound of acknowledgement, more groan than sigh is my answer, and enough to let me finally let go of consciousness, almost immediately falling asleep. 

The thoughts of Féileacán and I being an old bickering couple thankfully don’t make it into my dreams. I blink and suddenly an alarm is playing while hazy daylight stings my eyes. I drag myself out of bed fighting against the hangover. Fishing around in one box after another, I eventually pull out a suit that I’ve only worn once. Too late to iron out the creases, but I won’t look too out of place. Plucking a few long brown hairs off the collar, I hold it in front of the cracked mirror I repaired with gold tape. The black and grey hairs don’t stand out as much, but Bear managed to sneak every type of fur he has along with me. There are ties somewhere in the mess of boxes, and a belt too. The only clothes I’ve taken out so far are the ones I grab to leave each morning, and most of those are sitting in the washing machine, waiting to be run when it’s full.

This will be the first time I see Hannah in the real world, as she was in life, I realize—if they have an open casket. I turn the shower to full cold as I step in, punishing that cruel thought. It’ll be the first time I talk with her grieving parents; I remind myself. Those whose house I’ve invaded twice without their knowledge. Seen grieving in their private space. Get your shit together.

 Chapter 4

 

I used to delight in the smell of manure. I remember rolling down my window whenever I drove past a farm and inhaling as much as I could. Those deep breaths lingered in the back of my nose; a pleasant visitor which could accompany me all the way back to the city smog if I was lucky. As I lay down in the middle of Hannah’s corn field, nose inches from the earth, each lungful clogs the back of my throat. “Are you su—”

Silence. Lest you wish us end Hannah once more to escape.

Footsteps. A branch breaks. I bite down on my hand to silence the chattering of my teeth. Manure tastes even worse than it smells.

“Christ almighty! Couldn’t even tell the sun had risen, I couldn’t. That’s a blessed sight if I ever seen one.”

“Don’t take the lord’s name in vain, halfwit.” The men’s voices sound just as loud and blunt as their stomping feet.

“What, you worried about someone hearing? There’s naught but animals and their shite ‘round here.” 

“Nah, there’s some human waste right there, see?”

Did they see me? I hold my breath, my heart beating so loud I can’t make out their words. Each new voice feels like another boot pressing me down, but I need to know how many there are.

Seven. All armed and laden with gear. Move any more and they might discover you.

I keep my head low, my eyes straining to make sense out of the flashes I see between the corn. An ear missing a chunk. Scars that have healed poorly. Pistols and rifles on each man. The witch hunters—heading right for Hannah!

Hold.

My hand is already pressed into the ground as I snap back at Féileacán. I’m not just going to watch her die. You know I can’t do that!

This isn’t where she dies. You took days to heed the call of the dusk butterfly the first time. Now, stay down and listen. Perhaps you’ll learn something. 

My elbow sinks back into the dirt. There was no emotion in Féileacán’s voice. No trace of insult. Just a matter-of-fact statement. This already happened. She survives it. I go back to gnawing at my own useless hand. A foul creature, more pox scar than face, clears his throat with a hacking cough. He spits a wad of phlegm so close to me, I can make out the speckles of blood.

“What’s the scrawny bitch doin’?” he asks.

“Conversing with a familiar?” another suggests.

I follow the men’s heads to see Hannah hunched over and petting a cat. It circles—slowly while Hannah can reach it—enjoying the scratches from her fingers as it wiggles to get the next best spot. Then each time it moves out of reach it limps back as fast as it can. Hannah cups her hands into a circle, closing her eyes and saying something too quiet to hear from this distance. “Enrichment,” I bet. The same ritual she does for her plants every time she finishes caring for them.

Poxmark spits again. “Witchcraft? Should we grab ‘er ‘ere and now?”

Stay, Féileacán commands.

The largest witch hunter growls before I can even argue. “Nah, that’s the Anderson girl, that is. Kids already torment that one, right enough. If we burn her today that’ll be most of the light gone. We’ll have to camp in the woods or stay in this god-awful sty. We’ll just eat here and be at the next village before nightfall, yeah? In a few days’ time the villagers will’ve put her on a pyre for us.”

“But the payment?”

A loud thump rings out, causing Hannah to flinch while the cat flees. Her eyes go wide then disappear under her hair as she places the wheelbarrow between herself and the men. The huge man waves her over with a smile that seeps into a sneer as he turns to the man he just hit. “As long as we perform the rites over the ashes, they’ll reward God’s servants rightly. Simple fucks don’t want a curse to fall on them, do they?”

My fingers strangle the dirt as his throat lets out a low cackle. Féileacán was right. They aren’t going to hurt her today. I just need to stop her being accused of witchcraft. I take a deep breath, letting it out with a shiver. Hannah is forced to step off the road as they pass and as she does, I slink back to the forest.

I brush myself as clean as I can, but the smell is going to cling to me until I can get a proper shower. Wait, will it? Or is the smell gonna stay here when we go back? Féileacán doesn’t humour me with a response, so I instead focus on the more pressing concern: my first impression on Hannah… again. If I want to save her, then she’ll have to trust me. A stranger suddenly meddling in her life isn’t exactly going to be welcomed—let alone a man of my age approaching a teenage girl. Shit. Last time we met I was given a good opening. This time I have to figure it out myself.

If you’d rather, I take control; let me know. Féileacán’s voice makes me bite my lip so hard I groan. I hadn’t even realized I’d been chewing on it, but as I lick the wound the taste of blood fills my mouth.

“Who’s there,” Hannah gasps. Great! There goes my first impression.

I stumble out from behind the tree waving my hand. “Hey there! Sorry if I scared you.” Hannah barely looks at me before her head darts over her shoulder to the village. Her garden is as far away from the village as it can be, right where the forest takes over. Even the farmers working their own fields look like ants from here. She shuffles sideways, staring at my feet. 

“Wh- who are you,” Hannah asks once she can grab the wheelbarrow. One wrong step and she’ll bolt. No chance she talks to me after that.

I throw myself against the tree, clinging to it as I slide to my knees. “Sorry! I got lost in the woods! Coming through the tree line I thought something bit me, but maybe it was just a thorn or something.” I don’t need to fake the pain as I force a laugh out between gritted teeth.

Hannah peers down at me, and for the first time she doesn’t flinch away as we make eye contact. “You’re bleeding,” is all she whispers as she steps forward. Her hands dig into her pockets, coming up empty in one before pulling out a handkerchief in the other. She fidgets with it, letting out a squeak. Each time she tries to wipe it clean, the handkerchief ends up covered in more dirt.

I laugh, wiping away the blood from my lip. “It’s just a scratch, honestly! Thank you though. It’s not always easy to find nice people in the world.” I sigh, letting that anguish fill my voice as I pull myself up. “I was robbed on my way here. Lost everything that I had except the clothes on my back—and I had to fight to keep my boots! Anyway, I sure am glad I found this village when I did. Much longer and I’d be part of next year’s harvest.” 

Past Hannah’s garden, there’s nothing but mud and shrivelled husks in the ploughed farmland. Even the hovels in the distance seem to have more growing on them. I would have to be destitute to consider this village a welcome sight. “Your garden is beautiful,” I say. “You must work hard to keep the vegetables so healthy.”

“I do.” The words spill out of Hannah so fast even she seems surprised. When she turns to the garden, a smile as delicate as the autumn sun rises on her lips and her voice fills with warmth. “I work really hard to make sure the plants are all healthy. Not that I don’t enjoy it. It’s the most fun thing for me, anyway. Seeing them grow and come to life. It’s my own little… A- and I pray!” Hannah squeezes her handkerchief, her throat straining to get out every word as quick as possible. “I pray several times a day so that the lord will bless the harvest for all the village—not just mine.” She tips over the wheelbarrow, spilling its contents at my feet and I have to dodge backwards, not sure if its manure or dirt. “Good luck,” she says, managing a curtsy before trying to flee.

I search Hannah’s garden for something to stop her, but the only thing that stands out is the pile of filth she just poured out. Ugh, I’m already covered in it anyway… I dig down, mud swallowing me up to the wrist as I spread it more evenly. “The tomatoes over here didn’t get any,” I shout, hoping that the words will catch Hannah. When I hear her wheelbarrow squeak to a stop, I’m sure they have. Clapping my hands together, I grab the key hanging around my neck, my thumb rubbing the top where the leather cord wraps around the metal.

“Sorry!” I hide the key back inside my shirt, acting as if I’m surprised when I catch her staring. “That’s just kind of a ritual I do. It’s embarrassing to admit I still need little charms to get me through things at my age, but… you know; some things are just a part of us.” I paint a long streak of dirt across my face, pretending to brush the hair out of my eyes. “Is there any chance you could point out an inn, a tavern, or somewhere similar I might be able to get my bearings about me before I move on? If not, no worries. The village doesn’t look huge, so it shouldn’t take me too long anyway.”

Hannah pulls out her handkerchief, rubbing it cautiously. Then she plucks some of the berries next to the road, wrapping them up and grabbing more vegetables. Her voice slips back into its regular rhythm; pauses and dashes, like a mouse slipping between cover. “If you have nothing, I’m sure we could find you somewhere to stay the night in the village. There are good people here. If you need food, then I suppose I could spare some as well. I was about to collect a few crops to sell at the market anyway.” Finally, she grabs two large tomatoes and places everything into her wheelbarrow. She pushes the wheelbarrow slowly, glancing back at the ground to see if I’m following.

 “I honestly don’t need all that,” I reply, jogging to catch up.” Just point out the important buildings in town and I’ll figure out the rest. It was a very kind offer though. Would you like me to push the wheelbarrow?”

Hannah blows a puff of air up, lifting her hair long enough that I see her nostrils flare in defiance. “I’m not a child! But… thank you anyway. My name is Hannah.”

“Hannah? That’s a beautiful name. Mine’s Cú.” She nods, a smile flashing across her features. For the rest of our walk, all I see is bonnet as she stares at the ground away from me.

Even in daylight, the village is a dark smear over the land. Most of the buildings are unfinished shacks with beams poking out of them the way popsicle sticks do in a child’s art project. Piles of stone bulge against the wood, threatening to collapse and it’s clear a few of them already have. The gaping holes have just been stuffed with thick blankets to keep the cold out. Hannah points out a few important buildings to me, finishing with the largest one at the far end. Its steeple thrusts towards the heavens, casting a shadow across the village like the hand of a ticking clock. Stained-glass windows hoard the sun, offering the only glimmer of colour in an otherwise brackish eyesore.

“That’s the church. They might be able to give you a place to stay the night, but I doubt they’ll be able to spare any food. Anyway, that’s our village,” Hannah mumbles. “Uhm, would you maybe like some of these?” She leans the wheelbarrow forward, causing the vegetables to clump up in a pile. 

“No thank you,” I say. “You don’t have to waste food on me. You’ve done more than enough.”

The wheelbarrow lowers back down with a whine. “’Kay. Good luck anyway. Hope you stay safe wherever you end up.” Her voice trails off and she begins lugging the wheelbarrow away. As soon as she turns a corner and is out of my sight, I turn invisible and follow.

Is there any point in this? I gasp, drowning the sound with a deep breath and hand on my chest. Hannah plods on, as if I’m no longer here.

Jesus, Felly! Can you be more gentle when you speak up? I think the words this time, searching the buildings nearby for any other villagers.

No one will perceive you so long as you will it, Féileacán tells me. In what way am I not being gentle?

I don’t know! Just try saying my name first to warn me that you’re going to speak.

Very well. Cú, is there any point in this? I let out a chuckle in spite of myself then stare at Hannah. She really can’t see or hear me.

The whole point is learning, Felly. To save Hannah we have to stop the village from accusing her of being a witch. But it’s not like I can just tell everyone, ‘Hey guys, she’s totally not a witch,’ can I? I have to learn why they think she’s a witch so that I can inception them away from it naturally. When Féileacán stays silent for a moment longer than usual I add, oh, Inception is a movie where—

I hear all your thoughts, Cú. Even the useless ones about referential fiction. That isn’t what I’m questioning.

Of course it isn’t. So, what is your question? I’m a dumb mortal, remember? You’ve gotta be simple with me. 

Féileacán’s voice is like snowfall. Each word is gentle in itself, but they lay on my mind like a blanket of ice. Thus far you have manipulated the lost soul into lowering its guard and stalked it through a village. Will any of these actions accomplish your desire?

I stop dead in my tracks. My desire to save a child’s life? I thought you didn’t even consider them living. Why are you worried about my way of helping her?  I bite at my lip, dragging a tooth along the wound from earlier. Do you have any advice for me to help her pass on?

None that you would accept.

I scoff, catching back up to Hannah. Yeah, I figured. It’s not manipulation, Felly: it’s guidance. That’s what teachers do. I just need to figure out a lesson plan. For now, we watch and get to know the student.

We’re in the centre of town now. An open field that could easily fit a few hundred people. There’s a quiet hum as the scarce vendors go about their business, chatting and tidying up. All of them appear to be teenagers, huddled together at one corner. The rest of the field is scattered with stalls abandoned so long ago that lichen and ivy threaten to devour them. 

“Sorry, Hannah, I can’t purchase any of your produce anymore.” A boy, slightly older than Hannah scratches at his patchy facial hair. All he has in front of him is a basket of eggs and a couple wheels of cheese.

Hannah’s chin shrinks into her chest as she nods down at the vegetables. She arranges the corn like a bouquet, disappearing behind it as she speaks. “I—If it’s the price, I can go lower. We—we can even make a trade. Some eggs would—”

“I can’t anymore, Han!” The boy barely raises his voice, but the whole market hushes. One girl snickers, then whispers something to a friend who lets out a cackle. “Just… enjoy what you have, okay?” The man’s voice fades on the last word, but he keeps his expression harsh. Hannah’s eyes bounce back and forth between the vegetables and the ground. She opens her mouth a few times as if to speak but eventually turns away in silence.

As Hannah passes by the other vendors, they whisper to each other. At first, they can’t be heard over the wheelbarrow, but with each that fails to get a reaction the lashings of their tongues cut more clearly. “Serves her right, pedalling those cursed vegetables here.”

“They’re not—” Hannah spins around, but as she does the wheelbarrow topples over, tomatoes and berries rolling out. She collapses, scooping up everything she can in her dress while laughter echoes all around.

“Forget something, witch?” A tomato whizzes past Hannah’s head, smashing open on the ground. She winces as she picks it up, turning it over in her hand to see the seeds dripping out. Ignoring the rest of the insults and laughter, she storms off. I pause, looking at the other teenagers who continue to gloat among themselves. One picks a berry off the ground that Hannah missed, squishing it as the others laugh. Even the boy who seemed reluctant at first is adding to the jokes.

Was her life actually like this? Felly lets out a questioning hum in response. Her death was reported as suicide. She jumped in front of a train on the way to school. I read that much online after we found her lost soul, but the parents blame the school and some of the bullies. In the tír it’s others that burn her. Does that mean it wasn’t actually suicide in the real world either?

Does it matter? You can’t do anything for her in the real world. She’s already gone.

I follow Hannah all the way home in silence, afraid to look at her on the way. I haven’t done anything for her here yet either. Just followed along passively as though I’m just an observer. As she pushes open the door to her own cottage, her voice rings out with joy. She greets both of her parents ecstatically, telling them how well her garden is doing and that she brought home extra food to celebrate. The house fills with soothing lies about a morning filled with the fun greetings of missionaries, a chance encounter with a poor soul down on his luck, and an excited rush home to make lunch.

Mr. and Mrs. Anderson are glowing as Hannah gives them a tight hug. Both share a content look, beaming with pride before they help her prepare the food. They’re so unlike the lifeless couple I’ve seen rotting in their apartment in the real world. Neither of them are aware of what their daughter is dealing with outside the safety of their embrace. Hannah’s smile looks convincing enough.

“I’m done,” I say, my voice sounding more like Féileacán’s than my own.

I can end the lost soul?

“No,” I snap, the emotion returning instantly. “I meant done for today. I have another plan, but first I need to take care of my own life. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.” The sigh I let out isn’t nearly as pronounced as the one in my mind as I remember the promise to Will. “Just one drink after work. Then I’m free for the rest of the weekend.”

Chapter 1 (Revised)

 Chapter 1

Official Novel Artwork by: Sakuraba_Mu

            The butterfly is perfect now that it has accepted death. If only its heart would stop beating.

            Suspended in the air, it twirls like a ballerina in a music box. I can almost hear the long wistful notes that will end once the box snaps shut. For now, it dangles peacefully, adorned by spider web that shimmers in the setting sun. Even without the web it would be striking. Its wings are pale at the centre but darken to a sombre black at the tip, with spots of purple bursting out of the grey between. They might have startled predators once, but not anymore.

A spider descends down the web, eclipsing what remains of the sun. Its sharp legs claw out, yanking the butterfly towards its fangs. Even as it’s reeled in, the butterfly’s dance is perfect with delicate bobs added to the twirling. Just one agonizing good night kiss and it can finally take its bow.

The box snaps shut.

For a moment the butterfly feels the warmth of her embrace. The hands a of a child too innocent to see the futility in her actions. It settles in that moment like a prisoner in solitary. It’s dark and still, but there is warmth. Enough warmth that it can dance at least in its dreams. Then it is dumped onto the earth, cold and threatening as the shadows creep long.

Dirt, manure and sweat assault me. Despite the stench, I can’t help but smile as she does her usual ritual. The girl forms a circle with her hands around the butterfly and whispers the word “enrichment.” The butterfly stumbles on, wings twitching like broken gears as it tries to escape this much larger threat. I grab an ear of corn that lies abandoned on the ground. She must have dropped it in her excitement to steal the spider’s dinner. As she scrambles after the butterfly, I follow close behind, summoning up the warmth I need for her to hear my voice.

“Hannah,” I ask, causing her to almost leap off the ground. She whips around with a gasp, almost squashing the butterfly she just saved. It takes a deep breath for her to calm herself as recognition sets in, but even then, her eyes narrow before she responds.

“Cú?” I fix a rehearsed smile on my face. “How did– how long have you been there?”

“Just a moment,” I lie, presenting the corn with a flourish. “I see the veggies are doing better.” Hannah beams at the corn, only one eye visible beneath her tangles of dark hair. She tries to wrangle the mess into her bonnet, more spilling out than she manages to get in. Then she blows a puff of air up from her lips, exposing the rest of her face before the hair settles on her brow.

“I’ve been working really hard,” she admits. Her fingers tease at the fabric of her skirt, then she stiffens, grabbing the filthy cloth with all her strength. “A-and of course, the lord has blessed the harvest. God willing, everyone will be as blessed as–”

“You don’t have to do that with me, kiddo,” I laugh. “You’re the one that did the work.” I step around Hannah, kneeling beside the butterfly. She follows me with her whole body the way a baby animal at a petting zoo might. “You were trying to save the butterfly?” I ask. Trying is the key word. The butterfly is limping sideways on the legs it has left, as its wings tatter through the dirt.

“No!” Hannah crumples to the ground. Her hands circle the butterfly once more, this time brushing away the ants biting it. The only ants that retreat are a pair that have a butterfly leg held between them while the rest go right back after the butterfly each time they’re knocked away. “No…” Hannah pleads this time.

She lifts the butterfly to a stalk of corn, but unable to cling with what remains of its mangled legs it plummets to the ground. Its legs spasm uselessly in the air—its wings heaped around it like used tissue. Part of me wants to put it out of its misery, but I’ve been trained to spot teaching moments like this. Again, Hannah scoops it up, gently as if it’s still alive. This time it doesn’t even attempt to grab the plant, sliding off and plodding to the earth. Most of it at least. A smear of purple and black remains on a leaf where it bounced. Hannah reaches out as if to scoop it up a third time, but the hand traps a whimper inside her mouth instead. I can’t watch any more.

I dig a hole in the soil with my fingers, scooping out more than enough for a butterfly burial. It won’t stop the ants or any other creatures below being fed, but it will spare Hannah the sight. “Butterfly wings are very fragile,” I explain. “Once they’re unable to fly, they’re as good as dead. It’s best to just enjoy their beauty from afar while they’re alive and not trouble yourself too much when it’s their time to move on.”

“I’m not a child, Cú!” Hannah snaps. “I know all about the circle of life.” With one final sniffle and a wipe of her nose, she brushes the butterfly into the hole herself, patting the soil down. “Now it can become nourishment for the plants and feed us before the winter comes.” Her nostrils flare at me, but the smear of dirt across her face makes it impossible to take her seriously. “—Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try to help.” Her eyes shoot off to the side, and her voice deflates to a whisper. “A-anyway, thank you for helping with the burial… and for the other day.”

Hannah curtsies, rushing off before she even stands all the way back up. She’s only taken a few steps when she stops, slowly twitching back around. Her eyes don’t leave the ground as she scampers my way. "Could I... have that... back please?" As she points at the corn, her calloused hand caked in dirt trembles. I can barely lift the corn before she rips it out of my hand, scurrying away without a parting word. Despite her size, I couldn’t have held onto the corn even if I tried. The chuckle I’ve been holding in since she covered her face in dirt finally escapes me, but its cut short as Hannah stumbles.

“Are you okay?” I ask, but she’s already waving me off as I rush over.

 “Just a dizzy spell. I haven’t been sleeping much the last few days.” Her eyes waver over me as if slipping away.

“At least let me walk you home,” I say, ready to help if she falls. “It’ll be dark before you get back to the village.”

“I’m not a child!” Hannah grabs a basket full of vegetables she’s already collected as she storms off. She slams the ear of corn into the basket, coming to a stop as she stares at the bruised harvest. “My parents did wanna thank you. No-one’s ever stopped the other kids before…” Hannah’s voice trails off. I try not to laugh again, but even the hushed snort I let out at her admitting she is still a kid is enough to make her face bloom scarlet. “A-anyway, please let us treat you to dinner. The vegetables might not have made it if you hadn’t been there anyway.” A clearer chuckle escapes me at the second ‘anyway.’ Hannah hunches over, burying her face beneath her bonnet and hair. She lets out a huff like a car backfiring as she carves a path through the garden, bounding over pumpkins that even I have to hop over.

Once I catch up, I pry the basket out of her hands, the laughter still in my voice. “Sorry! Look, we’re all children to our elders, young lady.” I make sure to sound as old and tired as I can when I continue. “Back in my day I thought I was all grown up. Truth is, I was basically a child until I hit my thirties.”

Hannah stifles a laugh of her own behind a hand, but it leaks out once more as she teases me back. “Anyway, you’re more of a child than me even now.”

“—Least I don’t have manure all over my face.”

Hannah huffs again, turning away as she tries to wipe the mess with her sleeve.

The rest of the trip to Hannah’s home is made with the girl in stunned silence. Embers of sunset twinkle in the charcoal sky and we find a more relaxed rhythm than the march she began in. An autumn chill seeps into the air, bringing with it a sweet scent; rotting leaves, fermenting fruit, and the wilting remains of flowers that might grow again another season. Further on, the village teases us with promise of the meal to come. Onions frying in oil, broths boiling with fresh herbs, and various scraps of meat cooking over fire all mingle in the air. The smell would make my mouth water, but something else threatens to overwhelm it: The telltale burn of smoke singes my throat more with each step.

“Hannah, run!” We can barely see the house that the woman spills out of in the darkness. “Run!” She bellows again before a boot to the stomach takes the air out of her.

“Mum!” Hannah darts forward before I can stop her, the basket of vegetables crashing at my feet.

You’ve taken too long. My own voice admonishes me as Hannah is snatched by a foul man blistered with pox scars. I warned you that there was a time limit. No longer is it in our hands.

I shake my head, body trembling as more men come out of the house, each as stark as the last. The final one—a hulking brute more than twice my size—thrusts a torch towards Hannah. Men rip her away from her mother, slamming her against a pyre. The flames etch depth into the darkness as Hannah struggles to escape.

“Stop…” My voice trickles out as a whisper. The witch hunters don’t even notice as they argue over who gets to light the fire.

It is already done. Let us leave. We can return when it is over.

“No…”

Yes.

 “No!”

Dusk flames erupt from my hip and wrist, consuming me. It’s like plunging into an ice bath—so cold all I feel is the absence of heat. I step out of the flames, the metal of my boots rattling like loose chains. With each step I take the witch hunters flinch back. I grab the weapon that appeared on my hip, clinging to it for strength.

The biggest man howls at the others. “The devil! See, she is a witch! Ready yourselves!”  He grabs Hannah by the hair, knocking her bonnet to the ground. The scream she lets out spurs me forward. I swing at the giant. He crashes to the ground like a pile of bricks, but in seconds rises to tower over me again. I shrink back, shaking the weapon in my hand.

Why isn’t it working!?

You don’t have the intent to harm, my own voice answers back. The binding barbs aren’t meant to be played with as you would a toy.

“That’s right, I am Lucifer!” I panic, holding out the metal whip to show the men its guard. A cross inlaid with intricate metalwork. Wings that meet at the top with a sharp tip. The gem at its centre burns like a fire of my own as I aim it at each of the witch hunters. They freeze as I look their way, but they’ve already got me surrounded in a semi-circle and there’s at least half a dozen each looking to one-another for their next move. I swallow the tremor in my jaw, steadying my voice to match my resolve. “That child’s innocent soul belongs to me! If you want to free her, you’ll have to kill me first!”

I let out a long exhalation of breath that takes with it all the heat from my body. I’m weightless. Floating. My arm swings to the side and the man who tried to grab me is knocked so hard he smashes into the house before hitting the ground. I hadn’t even noticed him. The surprise doesn’t register on my face as I swing the weapon once more. This time a barbed chain slices out of the handle gouging a chunk of flesh from the pox marked man as it arcs through the air. The rest of the witch hunters are loading rifles already. One is ready to shoot! My eyes find Hannah, tears streaming down her face as she tries to drag her mother to her feet. My wrist flicks, the whip letting out a thunderous crack.

The barbed tip at the end of the chain slips between her ribs. I hear a revolting squelch as it pulls tight and feel the vibration all the way up my arm. She doesn’t even get the chance to scream. Black flames spill out of her mouth eclipsing her anguish. As everything else fades away her face remains burned into my vision. The scream she couldn’t get out—an accusation that scrapes away everything else in my mind until I can’t take it anymore and howl right back.

“What did you do!?” I scream. Finally, I have a mouth of my own again. Reality crashes down on me, my hands and knees slamming into metal floor. I raise my head to look up at the man that killed Hannah.

My own eyes, cold and clear as ice look down on me. He dares to sit there as if nothing happened. Arms crossed over his chest, one leg resting on the other—Just like always. The metal whip he just murdered Hannah with hanging from his belt where I had grabbed it moments ago. I push myself off the ground glaring down at him. He doesn’t move an inch, simply following me with his eyes as I might a bug. Bile rises at the back of my throat as I remember Hannah’s dying moment—the vibration of the whip as its tip pierced her heart—the chill as dusk flame engulfed her form—the violet of her eyes wilting. My rage surges over the bile. I scream at the entity that dares wear my face like a mask of indifference.

“Féileacán, what the fuck!?”

Chapter Fan Artwork by Reina Noi

Chapter Fan Artwork by Natzumeko

 Chapter 3

Official Novel Artwork by: Sakuraba_Mu

“Saoirse, would you like to introduce yourself?” It took the tannoy ringing at 8:45 for Saoirse to finally drag herself into the classroom. The buzzing of a dozen different conversations fall silent, all the other students waiting to discover who this new girl is. None of the other 9 and 10-year-olds had dared to approach her as she continued to stare daggers at me for the last 15 minutes from outside the classroom. Now each wondered just what kind of addition our class would have. A new friend? Someone to avoid? Her introduction would decide who took an interest in her and the intentions it carried with it. I give her a thumbs up, hoping it will break the tension and help her relax, but the glare stays fixed on her face, the impressions of the other children apparently meaning as little to her as my own hurt pride.

“I’m Saoirse Doherty. Me and my grandda move around a lot, so now I’m joining your school.” The room stays silent for a moment, waiting for more, but when it’s clear that none is coming one of the boys takes matters into his own hands.

“Why do you sound like that? Do gingers speak another language?”

“Jeremy!” The blonde boy laughs loudly, others in the room joining in as he looks around. The laughter slowly dies out as the other boys in the room stop cheering him on, the high fives turning into worried fingers pointing behind him. Saoirse’s scowl is fixed on Jeremy now, and she’s stalked close enough that the threat of her claws is a real one.

“What? It’s just bants.” Jeremy grins at Saoirse, the gap in his teeth making it hard to take him seriously.

“Saoirse comes from Ireland.” She whips around to face me, realizing I was right behind her in case a fight was about the breakout. The fury on her face makes me wither slightly. “… is that not right? I can’t place what part though.” She nods her head, striding back to the front of the class.

“I was born in Galway.”

“That’s the accent,” I exclaim as if it was clear now. “My family come from Belfast, so they sound a bit more on the extreme end.” A few of the children laugh as I do my best Irish accent that doesn’t sound like much more than a vague mix of stereotypes. Saoirse’s eyes lower to the ground, but she doesn’t seem angry. “And you Jeremy, your parents come from Birmingham, which is why their accents are so beautiful. I especially like the way they say bird.” I turn the word bird into two syllables, really going overboard with the impression and even Jeremy ends up slapping the table with laughter— the whole room joining in. When things have calmed down, I lower my voice a little and address one of the girls at the front of the class. “Since Saoirse is new, Lizzy would you show her around the playground at playtime?” Lizzy nods her head, the short curly ponytail on the side of her head bouncing in the sunlight as she smiles at Saoirse, but all she gets in return is a shy pout of the lips as she looks away. It doesn’t faze Lizzy at all as she giggles. “I’ll make sure she settles in,” she promises before returning to the picture she was drawing.

“I could show her the clubs after school too!” The girl next to Lizzy launches her hand into the air, practically shooting out of her seat with how straight her back arches to raise her hand as high as possible.

“That sounds good, too! In fact, Saoirse, why don’t you grab a chair and sit between Lizzy and Eevie. They can help you get adjusted for the first few days.” A grin engulfs Eevie’s face as she slides all her books and pencil case to the side. Before Saoirse can even sit down, she’s extending her hand for a handshake and asking what Galway is like, what classes are her favourite and if she has any hobbies. For the first time since I woke up Saoirse begins to soften, looking more uncomfortable than angry as she starts mumbling answers to the barrage of follow-up questions from Eevie. I avoid letting the relief show on my face and instead address the rest of the class to avoid ruining the peace. “It just so happens our first lesson today is Geography, so to start, why don’t you all talk to the others nearby about the countries that your family come from and any other places you’ve visited outside of London? In a little bit we’ll have a presentation, so grab some A3 paper and make a bubble map about the different places.”

“Sir,” the boy next to Jeremy raises his hand just off the table, trying to shrink down as much as he can. I make my way over, bending forward to let Ricky tell me what is wrong quietly. “I haven’t ever left London, Cú. My parents are both from here, too.”

“Yes, you have. We went to Richmond over the Summer ya’ donut!” Jeremy thumps Ricky on the back, causing me to grab his arm with a shake of my head before he can do it again. Ricky usually lets himself be thumped a few times before he’ll laugh at Jeremy’s ‘jokes’ and bring it to an end.

“Richmond is in London, Jeremy, but that’s okay, Ricky. For your presentation why don’t you tell me what Richmond was like.”

“We saw deer! Jumping all around the tress! And I was going to ride one but the park man—”

“On the bubble map.” I interrupt Jeremy, sliding a pencil in front of Ricky and wait for him to give me a smile and start writing down the tales spewing out of his best friend’s mouth before I step away. The class begins humming with energy as I sneak back to my desk to try to wake up by chugging water.

By the end of the day, I’m ready to have a nap and wondering why I ever stopped teaching the younger kids who get to sleep after lunch. Sliding a bag over my shoulder, I’ve almost made my escape when Will blocks me at the door. “Cucu~” they say grinning from ear to ear.

“Will!” I step around them, smiling as I start to head out the building. “Thanks for bringing Saoirse in this morning.”

“And covering your ass with the principal,” they remind me, matching me step for step to the door. “Annnnd~ you could pay me back since you owe me for the last time as well.” A deep sigh fills my mind as I begin to wonder what this payback entails. Will pushes open the door to the parking lot, the afternoon sun bringing their emerald eyes to life with infinite prospects. One eyebrow raised, and their head tilted to the side, even their lips pout to complete the look of a lost puppy as they wait for me to accept before they’ll let me through.

Behind Will a shadow plays across my vision, bringing with it a chill that causes us both to shudder. A butterfly, black for the most part but with stripes of white and colourful markings flaps its way towards me. Its long tail, almost the same length of its body trails behind it, the tips already catching alight with dusk flame. Do you really have time for this? The butterfly falls, almost hitting the ground, then begins rising once more, its wings beating to gain altitude. Black flames that drain light consume the butterfly’s form more with each beat of its wings, the whole creature burning away in seconds. Once even the wisps of smoke are gone, I see the apartment building in the distance. One among many, but the sight of it looming over me seems to eclipse all other thoughts. The chill that the butterfly had brought with it is nothing compared to the one in my chest as Hannah’s ghost, still crying in her bedroom, fills my mind.

The golden halo of Will’s hair floods my vision as they step in front of me, puppy-like features still plastered on their face. I have to blink to adjust to the light, feeling the warmth of the sun once again as citrusy cologne overwhelms my senses. Sometimes I forget just how young Will is considering any single piece of clothing or even accessory they adorn themselves with is worth more than my entire wardrobe and the clothes I leave piled everywhere else in my apartment. Everything is a calculated decision, from the oversized jacket to cover up all the other form-fitting stylish brands, to the fake, round glasses that they manage to make feel as animated as the rest of their face with a puff of the cheeks or wiggle of the eyebrows. Without the jacket and glasses, they would be at home on any runway in the world. With them on, the pair added a layer of maturity that both prevented them from looking like an overgrown student and reduced questions from the parents about a dress code at Harmony Park. With the clueless grin plastered on their features, the lack of any fatigue after a full workday, and being caressed by the expensive cologne that they’ve splashed on without a care for the price, I feel every one of the 10 years that separate us.

“What were you thinking?” I ask, doing my best to push the words out of my mouth instead of the sigh that echoes in my mind. Whether the exhaustion came out in my voice or not, it doesn’t matter to Will in the least. They bound out of the school, practically bouncing as we make our way to their car.

“Well, it’s Maddie and Derek’s anniversary tomorrow, right? So, we’re going to the pub with Nikki, and like 8 other staff members, plus Derek’s lot. They’re all well and good, but it’s been forever since you came out with us, Cucu. I need some advice from my—”

“Don’t! Say it.”

“If you say you’ll come, then I don’t have to say anything, do I? Tomorrow is Friday, and I know you don’t have anything better planned without me.” Will lowers their head, bringing their hands under their chin while they bat their eyelashes at me. I can practically see a tail wagging behind them as they shake their hips in anticipation. It’s enough to bring a giggle out of me and cure the exhaustion I was feeling. “I knew that’d work! Didn’t even have to mention our anniversary!”

“Yeah, yeah— Wait, you already did!” Will laughs, realizing they’d been caught. Just a month ago Will Huet had dragged me out of my classroom in almost the same way, reminding me that it had been a year since they started at Harmony Park as a teacher’s assistant. In that time, they had for some reason decided I was fun to have around and revelled in dragging me out of my introverted cocoon at every chance they got, oblivious to how awkward it was for a 33-year-old man to be used as a drinking buddy and occasional ice breaker for a barely graduated kid. Now as a fully qualified teacher they were still covering up my mistakes with the principal, and I continued to be drawn into their orbit as payback. “You know, when you get to be my age—”

“That has to be the most boomer thing you’ve ever said.”

“When you get to be my age, you can’t be going out every weekend for drinks. I’ll have one, for Maddie and Derek— then I’m going home. I have a project to work on this weekend.”

“Mmhmm, we’ll see. Text ya the details, but I’ll grab ya after school either way!” Will gives me a quick hug, before jumping into their car, classical music blaring from inside as they give me one final cheery wave before tearing off out of the parking lot. The warm smile I wore on my face fades, another dusk butterfly circling around me now that I’m alone.

Yeah, I know. There’s nothing holding me back now. I head out of the school grounds, walking a little while away until I’m sure that no one is around. I take a long slow breath, imagining myself becoming invisible as I continue to walk and then tap the gem hanging from my belt and matching opal bracelet on my left wrist with two fingers. From each gem, dusk flame erupts, spreading quickly to cover my whole body. A chill more biting than any winter engulfs me, but only for a second as the flames burn out and I continue to make my way to Hannah’s apartment wearing the black and silver of Féileacán.

 

*

 

The sky is just beginning to light up blue in the horizon as I find my way back to Hannah’s Garden. Standing in the same spot I had the night before, I look up to the spider web, the déjà vu shattered. It is barely visible until the wind shakes it, pristine threads gleaming in the sunrise and revealing the trap awaiting its prey. I bring a hand up, swatting away the web, and flick away the spider for good measure as it appears out of a crack in the bark.

“You’re sure she won’t remember anything? Not even the death?” I ask the question aloud, knowing that Féileacán can hear my thoughts just as easily.

When I killed her the tír reset. Time has returned to the moment she died in the real world. The same moment this world was birthed. She has not met you yet, let alone her own ending.

“So, is a tír like the afterlife? Do we all get one after we die?” Féileacán remains silent as my frustrations rise. “You can’t always ignore my questions about this stuff. We’re supposed to be partners, but you hardly tell me anything.”

The less you know about the things outside of mortal understanding, the better. I have a duty. Lost souls create these realms. I invade them to end their suffering that they might pass on. That is all you need know.

“But they also pass on when we solve their issues in these tírs, happily, as if they continue to live here? Isn’t that the same as it being an afterlife?” In the silence that stretches on for a moment I bite at my lip, thoughts carrying me elsewhere. Féileacán’s voice brings me back, calm and steady as ever.

What does it matter? Life, afterlife, beyond afterlife, they are all realms that mortals shouldn’t concern themselves with. If you wish to have the lost soul pass on your way, prove that you can. Now cease your endless rumination. It approaches.

Hannah is just visible in the distance, pushing a wheelbarrow almost as big as her from the direction of the village. I sit, back against the tree so that I can hide behind the corn stalks that tower over me.

Hannah’s Garden is on the very outskirts of the village, just before the cultivated land gives way to forest. A gentle mist is rolling its way down the mountains that surround the village. Springing up from the dew of the morning, the small patches of fog that creep seemingly at random from the earth give the whole village an eerie, shifting ambiance in the early rays of dawn. The woods themselves are far darker from thick trees, laden with twisting tendrils of Ivy and other green growths. A crow rattles somewhere in the dark of the branches, the sound of it swooping away to a further branch audible in the distance while I can’t see it at all. Dawn did nothing to illuminate the secrets that lay within the woods, a much thicker fog coalescing at their edge which seemed to warn of dangers beyond.

“Time moves in here, the same way that it does in the real world back home?” I ask, trying to occupy my thoughts as more animal noises sound off in the woods.

Time moves, yes, Féileacán responds, refusing to elaborate any further.

“Great! So how exactly am I supposed to figure out when I should get out of here to get some sleep at home? It’s not like I can bring my phone.” I slap at the breeches and tunic that had replaced my clothing when I appeared in the tír, scratching at the material where it contacted my bare skin. While they did have large pockets, nothing that I had from the real world came with me apart from the bracelet on my left wrist and opal charm that hung from my belt, now looking more like Féileacán’s version to blend in with the puritan garb. I no longer fear my items disappearing as I once did when entering a tír, but it still sucks being forced to wear clothing that suits the worlds we enter in a lost soul’s mind. This one was especially rough, as Hannah had for some reason dreamed up a world that seems roughly like the colonial era, clothing and all. Warm as the clothes are, the material is rough and causes me to itch every time I feel it move over me. “Plus, the sun hadn’t even set when we came here. Now it’s dawn even though we’ve only been here for about 20 minutes.”

Quiet. If Féileacán hears my pissed off response he refuses to acknowledge it, simply repeating the word: Quiet, then continuing, there are footsteps approaching from the woods.