He laughed lightly. “Yes, he’s quite gifted at healing people, and long held a fascination with the human body and how it works. In fact, he studied medicine on three separate occasions. If he can detect the malfunction, he can correct it as easily as I can turn that costume jewelry on your finger into a real diamond.”
“You can what?”
He took my hand and placed his fingers over the stone in the ring on my pinky—a cubic zirconium in a gold plated setting given to me by my Grandma Sophie—and when he removed them the stone sparkled more brightly. Even the worn areas of the band were perfect, and the whole thing felt like it weighed more.
“Gavin, what did you do?”
His devastating smile returned for a moment, then, as though he were explaining how to peel a carrot, he said, “I converted the ring to solid gold. Be careful though, it will bend a lot easier now. And that’s a real diamond now, a little bigger than before.”
“You can do that?”
“Yes. And so can you with enough practice. But you’ve figured that out already haven’t you—that your ability to alter Earth also meant you could turn things to gold?” he asked, playfully.
“No!”
He leaned forward and whispered, “How do you think your family became so rich—what, selling butter and eggs to the locals?”
“I…” I stared at my ring.
“I can change it back if you’d rather…”
I yanked my hand under the table and smiled at him. “Umm … no … actually, I’m good with it.”
“Maggie, it’s as simple as putting a puzzle together. All you need to know is how the Naeshura in the desired substance is arranged, like gold for example, and then … well … rearrange it. It’s not unlike what you can already do with stone, and it comes from being Earth aligned. Of course, your family has done well to avoid too many extravagances, but you must have wondered where all the money came from?”
“Well, yes, it always did appear that Aunt May had the best of everything.”
Mocking me, he said, “Yeah, not many people who do nothing more than spend time lounging by the lake, journaling, and playing in the garden can afford to keep rare mahogany boats or million dollar Duesenbergs in their barn. Pete O’Shea was Earth inclined—he created your family’s fortune … literally … created it.”
“And here I thought alchemy was a myth.” I shook my head.
He lifted both eyebrows in a ‘you-never-know’ expression and smiled. “You were asking about healing, though.” He stopped and got quiet as the food arrived and then continued when the waiter left. “Sherman is among the greatest healers of my kind.”
“Healers?”
“This may surprise you, but we found that healing was a necessary skill when we first transitioned into physical form.”
“Okay, you’ve alluded to this before, but now I’m completely curious. Do you mean the Fae need healers?”
Gavin closed his eyes, appearing to concentrate for a moment.
“There are none of my kind nearby…” he said to himself. “You need to keep this information tucked away in your head at all times. I’m only telling you this because I know you can hide it. We can be injured when we take physical form, we can be injured exactly like the objects we emulate. Most injuries won’t kill us, even those that are fatal to humans, but even the smallest injury can make us vulnerable. In our natural form we are nearly impervious to injury, but before we can transition back from physical form, we must be healed. Most of us have learned how to heal ourselves, but that was due in large part to Sherman. A physical injury keeps us in the physical world, and if the injuries are catastrophic enough, the essence of who we are ceases. Our Naeshura transitions into a new form and we are lost.”
“Everything that you and Sara have told me makes sense now—that’s why she can’t fake her own death in the jail cell, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said with a puzzled look. “We cannot truly fake death. When the heart stops the flesh dies—even ours. Taking physical form is, as gamblers are fond of saying, going all in. We must have a pumping heart to keep the flesh alive, and we must have a physical brain and nervous system to perceive the physical world. Even though we can glamour people into believing we’re dead, humans have a nasty habit of performing autopsies. That would be easy enough to avoid for most of us, but we’re talking about Sara—she finds compelling humans absolutely repulsive. She’d never agree to that, not if there’s another way.”
“I just thought she might be able to play dead long enough to go through a funeral and then come back to us in a different form—as a young Sara or something.”
He smiled at me. “Interesting plan, but no. I’m afraid that won’t work, even as quickly as we heal.”
“How quickly?”
“As long as there isn’t anything lodged in our bodies, we can heal from even the most terrific injuries in moments. Severed body parts can be reattached in a minute or two.”
“Okay, what happens if you’re in butterfly form and a bird swoops down?”
“When we take any physical form, especially those that are particularly vulnerable, we create a barrier between ourselves and whatever it is that threatens us, not completely unlike what you did with the deer earlier tonight, but there is always danger. That is precisely why we prevent anyone from visiting the islands without a Steward. Arrows did enough damage to unsuspecting Fae five hundred years ago. But bullets … they extend the range of hunters to the limit of our ability to sense them. That’s the key—always sensing what is near. It takes concentration to create and maintain a buffer, and it interferes with sensing the physical world. We can throw it up in the blink of an eye, or faster, but we have to know when to do it.”
I thought about what he said for a moment and filed it away in the back of my mind. He risked a lot by telling me and I appreciated his trust. I knew there was much more that he wasn’t telling me, but I really didn’t want to know any more so I changed the subject.
“Did Sherman heal the chief’s daughter?”
“Yes, the Chief brought her to the spring, the one in the park just half a block from here, and Sherman healed her sight as the Chief poured water on her eyes. Before 1900, the spring was known as the Indian Healing Spring. The Osage had told other tribes, the Pawnee and Quapaw, about the spring and they visited too. Until 1856, nobody of European descent knew of this place—except Pete O’Shea, who by that time knew the truth. Eventually, white settlers and traders who wandered through heard the legends. A doctor named Jackson brought his son to the spring in 1856, and Sherman cured the boy’s Glaucoma. Then, when Sherman cured a Judge named Saunders of debilitating arthritis in 1879, news of the healing spring spread and a city of ten thousand popped up here virtually overnight. Before 1880, Sherman spent centuries healing different people who visited the spring. But after 1880, the flood of people grew out of hand. He didn’t want to stop healing, but the Council thought it best so he reluctantly agreed.”
I was fascinated and wanted to tell Candace’s mom that she was correct about everything, but I knew better. “Were you there for any of it?” I finally asked.
“Yes, I watched on many occasions. In fact, I was here when the cornerstone for this building was laid in 1881.”
“It’s a shame that Sherman doesn’t heal anymore.”
“He still heals, just not in mass.”
There’s my opening. “Do you think Sherman could visit Candace?”
“Maggie, the Council has rules on interference. Her wounds are healing and the doctors told her mom they expect her to come out of the coma at any time.”
“Gavin, it’s been over two months and that’s longer than most people are in a coma—I’ve looked it up. If there’s a problem, one that the doctors haven’t seen, maybe Sherman can help her,” I said, my eyes getting wet.
He reached across the table, took my hand into his, and promised that we would stop by the hospital to visit Candace on our way home. If he detected anything out
of the ordinary, he told me, we’d go from there. That was a huge first step, and tears ran down my cheeks. Until that moment, Gavin wasn’t willing to entertain the possibility that something out of the ordinary had happened. While it wasn’t exactly a tacit agreement that I was correct, he was at least willing to check on her.
In little more than a whisper, he said, “Hey, please don’t cry. I hate seeing you upset.” Warmth and concern flooded his face.
“Gavin Byrne, you’re losing your touch with emotions, I’m not upset. I’m incredibly grateful that you’d do this for her.”
“I wish I’d offered two months ago. Maybe you wouldn’t have been angry with me all this time. I still don’t expect to find anything, but I promise I will look.”
* * *
We drove to the hospital after dinner but I couldn’t go inside—it was past visiting hours. That wouldn’t stop Gavin. He walked to the side of the building, just out of view, and disappeared. The next twenty minutes were excruciatingly long. When Gavin came out from the side of the building he looked agitated. He asked me to move to the passenger side and he slid behind the wheel.
“Gavin, what’s wrong?”
“Everything!”
It scared me to hear him say that. “What do you mean? Is she bad? Oh please, tell me you can help her, please don’t let her stay like this.” I prattled.
“I mean that she has been forcibly compelled. I shouldn’t have ignored what you said, Maggie. You were right all along—this was no accident—she didn’t hurt herself. I’m so sorry I didn’t listen. I’m so sorry…”
The look on my face must have been terrible. “Gavin, forcibly compelled? What is that, what did you find out?”
He shook his head and cranked the engine to life. “Her injuries were caused by Fae.”
“Oh, my god, I knew she didn’t do this to herself. But how do you know?” I asked
I suddenly felt guilty again for corroborating her suspicions about the Fae that day. It had to be the catalyst that led to this.
He put the car in reverse and stomped the gas pedal to the floor. The tires spun and fought with the asphalt as the car lurched backwards. He shifted into first and the engine screamed as we went sideways out of the parking lot leaving a cloud of smoke. His knuckles turned white and I imagined the steering wheel crumbling to powder in his grip. I buckled my lap belt and locked the door, bracing my feet on the floor and gripping the dash. My heart pounded in my throat as we went through the first corner, the tires squealing, the engine howling.
“I’ve seen this kind of damage before. The trauma to her brain—the injury that caused her coma—was implanted there by one of us. It’s similar but more powerful than what you experienced in the cave—we can project images, smells, emotions that you interpret as real.”
“Forcible compulsion? You’ve mentioned compelling, but you haven’t told me about this before,” I said, closing my eyes as we came to the next corner.
“Used carefully, like Devin did with you, compelling is like implanting a thought or memory and it is completely harmless. You’ve experienced even less powerful versions of it—when you experience fear when Chalen was around, for example.”
“It’s that easy? The Fae can make me see and feel whatever they want?” I asked, the fear bubbling up in my stomach. I imagined what Candace must have seen to force her to cut her wrists.
I closed my eyes again and held on as Gavin downshifted for a corner and pressed the accelerator halfway through. I felt the car go sideways as the back tires broke loose and screamed in smoky protest. The Thunderbird neared the limits of its grip, but it didn’t careen off the road or slam into the guardrail I knew was just inches away. The tires just continued to squall at the abuse Gavin inflicted on them.
“Yes, it’s really quite easy. When your eyes see something, like those trees…” he pointed to a stand of White Oaks crowding the asphalt ahead, “they convert the image into electrical impulses that your brain interprets. The same goes for smell, taste, and so on. We can create and project a similar electrical impulse and force it past what your eyes actually see, or what you really taste, feel or smell.”
“I understand that part…”
He continued, cutting me off. “Well, if a thought is implanted too forcefully, or the electrical impulses are too powerful, it can cause serious damage. I believe that’s what happened to Candace—that’s why she’s in a coma. I’ve seen it before—it’s a favorite tool of the Unseelie because the entire process is painful for the victim.”
“Will she wake up?”
“I’ve done what I can for now.”
“You can heal too?”
“Yes, I tried, but like I told you at the restaurant, Earth aligned Fae are better healers. I did what I could but I’ll send Sherman back as soon as we get to the Weald. I promise we’ll do everything we can. I have to get back and inform the Council.” He grabbed my hand for a moment. “I’m sorry if I’m scaring you.”
“No, it’s fine. I have my eyes closed.” I screamed at him as he flipped my car back through another series of corners.
“On the bright side, at least now you know what a supercharger does,” he said, trying to lighten my mood as the engine screamed into the next straightaway.
“There is something else, Maggie, and I’m not sure if I should tell you,” he said.
“What is it?”
“It’s why we have to go back tonight—it’s why it’s so important I get Sherman to her now. She will wake up soon.”
“Oh, my god!” I felt such a relief—it was as though I’d received a jolt of adrenalin and a shot of endorphin at the same time. I was near tears.
“It may not be great, Maggie, that’s why I have to hurry,” he said jabbing the brakes.
We turned down the highway toward the Weald and he mashed the accelerator, breaking the back tires loose again, they screamed and smoked as the car roared back up to speed. I didn’t know what he meant, and I managed to keep my eyes open so I could watch him explain.
“I know what she saw the evening her wrists were cut.”
“Someone cut her wrists?” I choked out.
“It’s in her mind, on some sort of playback loop, along with a thousand other chaotic images.”
I did my calming technique and felt my body relax, despite fearing what he was about to say, and despite watching the speedometer hit one hundred twenty-five on one of the few straight sections of road.
“What?” I forced myself to ask.
“The image in her mind is of someone forcing her into the bathtub, someone with inhuman strength, someone slashing her wrists and holding her in the water until she passed out.”
“Who?” I demanded.
He looked at me for a moment, almost apologetically. “You, Maggie.”
That doesn’t make sense. How could she see me? We drove past the gate to the Weald, and I realized that we were headed toward his house. He grew quiet and his face became stern while he concentrated. I guessed he was communicating with another Fae. We slid to a stop in front of the Byrne’s cottage.
“I don’t understand. Why would the Fae make her see me?”
“That’s the part that bothers me. Part of what she experienced, the fear, the sense of isolation, was compelled in her, and nothing more than a powerful glamour, but the creature inflicting the wounds was real.”
“You mean a changeling, or doppelganger?” I asked.
“Yes and no. Forget what you’ve read or think you know about those terms, especially the latter. Doppelgangers are nothing more than Fae playing on human superstition by taking their victim’s form. Changelings are much closer to legend, except they are not limited to taking the place of infants and children, and they are not Fae children—there’s no such thing as a Fae child. In lore, fairies and trolls would exchange their children with a human child for all manner of reasons. In turn, humans devised a number of folk remedies to prevent such an exchange—metal scissors and open coats placed on or near slee
ping infants, burning candles—that foolishness aside, the Fae can and do take the place of living people. That is what happened here. One of my kind chose your form, and that Fae attacked Candace. It slit her wrists and it held her in the water.”
Another thought occurred to me. “This changeling didn’t want her dead, did he?”
“No, if she had died after her wrists were cut, the façade would have been for nothing. This Fae could have held her head underwater and drown her with little more effort than it takes to breathe. I’ve considered all you’ve told me about Rhonda, Candace, and yes, even May, and I’m convinced that there is a scheme in place and you are at the center of it.” He looked pained. “Maggie, forgive me… I’m so sorry I doubted you.”
The emotion on his face, in his voice, was touching, but I was too angry for sentimentality. There were too many questions. “Gavin, I know what they want—they want me to leave. It has to be.”
“I agree, but the question is why?”
“Maybe they think I’ll be a Maebown and they want me to leave before that happens?”
He smiled at me, the left side of his face outlined by the lights from the dash, but underneath the smile I could tell there was something bothering him.
“Maggie, this isn’t your fault. If anything, it’s mine.”
The sad smile eased across his handsome features and he looked at me with unusual intensity. I couldn’t imagine how any of this could be his fault, and I wasn’t going to settle for more riddles.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s nothing…” He paused and grew still. The muscles in his jaw flexed, then relaxed, and a slight smile formed on his face. I was going to press the issue until he said, “Sherman is back, let’s go inside.”
“Back? He’s already been there?”
“Yes, and he will have to return. Let’s hurry.”
In an instant I found myself sprinting across the short distance between the pink convertible and the Cottage stoop. Though he could have blinked inside, Gavin ran at my side and beat me to the door, flinging it open so that I didn’t have to stop. I went right and down the hall—somehow I knew they’d be in the kitchen.