Chester’s aboveground now soars six stories high, wrought of pale limestone and endless sheets of glass, a brilliantly lit, gleaming citadel that nearly rivals Barrons Books & Baubles as a landmark shattering the darkness of Dublin.
A set of wide, curved stairs leads to heavily warded titan doors that appear to be steel but are likely forged from the same unidentifiable alloy liberally employed throughout the vast underground sovereignty that holds countless clubs, the Nine’s private residences, and dozens of other, unexplored levels and sub-clubs, including a notorious sex club and a damp, rock-hewn dungeon.
Although part of me longs to dash up those stairs and walk into the club, absorbing the changes, time is of the essence, so I text Ryodan a quick, “I’m sifting in, don’t freak out,” to which he replies a testy “try,” to which I reply “watch me, jackass” then, holding thoughts of my father, blast through his wards without even feeling them, smirking a silent “take that, Ryodan.” It’s good to be queen.
I manifest within a suite of rooms on the fifth floor, behind my father, who’s staring out a wall of windows into the night, at a sea of rooftops. I make a soft sound of pleasure at seeing him, and he turns sharply to face me.
I catch my breath with a sudden chill, as I get that first bitter, poison-in-my-mouth taste of what immortality means.
My father has aged.
For a time, after my parents arrived in Dublin, he and my mother seemed to grow younger, more vigorous, energized by their new life. But between losing my sister, Alina, for the second time and me being gone for the past few years, there’s a weariness I’ve never before glimpsed in my charismatic, robust, handsome father.
And I think: He’s going to die.
Not a premonition, just a fact.
Jack Lane is in his late fifties. If I’m lucky, I have three, maybe four decades left with him, given so few doctors, no medical innovations on the horizon, and people scrambling just trying to survive. What once seemed a long time at twenty-two and mortal is a slap in the face to me now.
I lose a moment, then, realizing something I never thought about before. A year seems so long, especially when you’re waiting for things like prom, high school graduation, college graduation, Thanksgiving, Christmas, or even just Friday so you can celebrate the weekend. We wish away so much of our time, rushing to get to the next good thing.
But the harsh reality is a year is 365 days, ten years a mere 3,650 days. One decade, an enormously defining period of your life, is less than 4,000 days. If we live to seventy-five, we get 27,375 days. No wonder, to the Fae, we’re short-timers, our lives the mere blink of an eye.
I’ll still look the same when I hold my father in my arms as he dies.
The Nine endure this repeatedly yet continue to care.
I finally understand why Ryodan and Barrons are so meticulous about those they choose as their own and immerse fully, intensely in the present moment. Death will come, grief will rain down again and again, and the only way to survive it and remain an alive, passionate being is to pay the price of pain every time, or you will become as barbarous and icy as the Fae. It’s always going to hurt. But as long as you’re still capable of suffering you’re still capable of joy. Better the depths of hell and heights of heaven than the horror of feeling nothing.
Jack Lane’s once sterling-tipped dark hair is now a mane of silver. There are reading glasses tucked in the pocket of his shirt beneath a wool cardigan. Wrinkles frame his eyes, furrow his forehead, and bracket his mouth. Although he stands several inches over six feet, he seems somehow…smaller to me.
“Mac!” he explodes, breaking into a smile, opening his arms wide.
I rush into the waiting bear hug that always smells of peppermint, aftershave, and home.
“God, how I’ve missed you,” he says, dropping a kiss on the top of my head.
“Daddy,” I murmur and tip my head back to kiss his cheek, smiling up at him. No matter what I become, or how much I change, our relationship never will. This man will always be the immutable force that towered strong and protective over me when I was a child, making me feel safe and cherished. “I love you.” I don’t miss an opportunity to say that to the mortals I care about.
“I love you, too, baby.” He grasps me by my shoulders, staring down at me. “How you’ve changed.”
I don’t say “so have you.” I never will. I’ll grant him the grace of always seeing him as the strongest, best, most dashing father in the world. Eyes sparkling, I tease, “And you, every bit as handsome as ever.”
“Come,” he says, taking my hand to lead me to a deep armchair before a fire. “Tell me everything. But start with why Ryodan dragged me here. What’s wrong that everyone’s trying to conceal from me?”
My legal-eagle father with the penetrating eyesight; it’s always been impossible to hide things from him.
Refusing the chair, I glance away.
Flatly, he demands, “Where is your mother, Mac?”
Sighing, I glance back.
“Ryodan brought me here, alone. That means she’s missing or worse, and they fear something will happen to me, too. Then you show up for the first time in two long years. Tell me everything.”
I do, admitting it’s not much, but she can no longer be sensed in the mortal realm. I tell him he’s not to worry because the Fae won’t harm her. They’re dispassionate and patient and understand her worth to me—unharmed.
He listens grimly then says, “What can I do to help?”
Sadly, I shake my head. Not a thing and he knows it. That’s why his hands are balled into fists and his eyes are rushing with thunderclouds. My dad isn’t the type of man to sit back and do nothing. Yet where the Fae are concerned that’s all most humans can do, which makes my responsibility even greater. I’m the one that has to tame the Seelie that would, without a care, devour our world. I have to find the way to make both species live in peace.
Or destroy one of them.
We gaze at each other a wordless moment then he crushes me into another of his bear hugs and I’m just-Mac again, absorbing the heat and strength of the man who is always my rock, my champion, bestower of Band-Aids and kisses, and, when necessary, my toughest critic, all too aware that one day—even if I’m lucky enough to get decades—losing him will still come much too soon and damn near destroy me.
“I’ll get her back, Dad. I promise. We’ll be a family and life will be normal again. I love you,” I say, again.