Moon Harper - Part 2
 
by Armond
 
 
Sean -now Darcy- need only learn a Danaan purification ritual to return to her old body. A week in the teenager's body, no more, and then back to his fiancé Sarah and normal life; easy, hey? Not with the entire Formorian race looking to off her, and a harp who suddenly has a mind of her own.
 

 

~o~O~o~
 
VI. October 26th - Tuesday 10PM
 
God the food was fantastic! I was stuffed to the gills with seafood - get it? Seafood? Gills? Arf arf- and could barely waddle out to where the Jag was parked outside Barnacle Bob's.

Bob's specialty dessert called -I kid you not- a Flaming Barnacle, was divine. Bananas and rum and chocolate, yum! It was the only alcohol I was allowed to consume, dammit, no matter how much I whined I was really 29.

Best part of the dessert though? My 'Danaan sisters' made me practice 'element control'; every time the waiter snuffed the flame out, I would restart it with a thought. Hilarity ensued.

Chevonne and I stepped out of the restaurant for a breath of autumn night air while the 'grown ups' paid the tab.

The air was bracing but my legs shivered a bit. “Skirts! Stupid design; why would anyone think these are practical in cold weather?”

“But you get to flash some of your rockin' legs,” Chevonne said, “which more than makes up for the discomfort, yes?”

The light in her eyes told me she was having fun, but still, why someone would make themselves miserable for fashion sake.

“No! If that's what you have to do to attract someone, is he even worth it?”

“You held this enlightened view in your old body, right, Darse?”

I loved it when Sarah wore a short shirt, but in warm weather, right? Before I could search my memory to see if I was riding the Hypocrite Train, a car pulled beside us.

Nothing screamed 'evil'; no skull wielded on the hood or spikey monster tires or such. It was a blue Ford Fusion, for Christ sake. But some sixth sense made me jump back.

As I did, Chevonne hissed, “Formorians!”

The window rolled down and a man …ish thing stared at me:
 

 
Other leathery beings leered at me from deeper in the car. The manthing spoke:

“D-arcy C-aroline! How surprising …how unfortunate …to see you …alive. Roth swore you were to undergo your initiation?”

I couldn't place his garbled accent, but the way he pronounced his words turned them grimy. I'd never seen him before - I'd remember someone as creepy as he- but obviously he knew Darcy.

My massive cranium rocketed into action, synapses firing at faster-than-light speed, to formulate an incisive reply -I was going with “uhhhh”-, but before I could give it, Chevonne pushed me behind her.

“Does Bres slobber more than usual on his throne? Has he grown so senile he forgets our last encounter?” Chevonne raised her hand, and shouted, darien!”

A whoosh enveloped me, and now a gauzy barrier stood between the creature and us.

“Impress shield, Danaam scum, but the contagion is already in her, don't you know. Do us a favor, Darcy, and this time …die.”

He raised a gnarled hand and barked, “du anhwyl dod byw”.

Burning pain! I doubled over and slammed the ground while something ripped its way out of my stomach.

“Chevonne! Help!” I coughed more than spoke, as blood filled my mouth.

The creature howled, “Why aren't you dead?” even as Chevonne shouted llosgi! and flames exploded onto the car.

And then I knew blackness.

~o~O~o~
 
VII. October 28 - Thursday noon
 

At least something wasn't crawling its way out of my stomach.

What I felt like, was something had crawled out, grabbed my hair, and swung me by it to body slam me a dozen times on the pavement - I hurt everywhere.

When I felt brave enough to open an eye, I found I was back in Darcy's bed, with Tamsin seated beside me.

“Hey?” I whispered.

She grabbed me in a hug, and I felt her shudder sobs before she pulled away. “Siofra and May said you'd be okay, but until you woke I wasn't sure.”

“Siofra and May-?”

“-Worked a massive healing. We were right; whatever foulness the bastards poisoned you —Darcy I mean- with, wormed its way into your body and her soul. If your soul hadn't been untainted, you would have died…” Tamsin's blue eyes glistened with tears.

“...and it would have been my fault, for I …I forced this switch on you. You could have died because of my selfishness. We will switch you back, I swear it.”

Her zeal surprised me. I never thought I wouldn't get switched back; was it even a possibility? Death, or banishment from my body forever - the stakes of this ‘game' loomed large.

“What was that thing last night? And what did it do to me? It hurt so bad!”

“Oh baby!” She hugged me again. “Not last night; two nights ago. You've been in a coma since. Formorian slugs! We've triple reinforced our wards, so we should be safe.”

In a coma? That scared me more than the memory of whatever attacked me. In a way, hadn't I been dead for those days? I tried to recall a memory of it, but only had the vague recollection …music.

“You're safe now, sweetie, don't worry…” She stroked my hand and used her 'mommy kiss it and make it better' voice.

“But, if I was poisoned …if I almost died, you should have raced me to a hospital, for God's sake!”

“We would not do it 'for God's sake,' love. We are Danu's children, and human medicine is not our way; ours is a different path.”

Like, what, Christian Scientists? Relying on prayer instead of modern medicine and surgery?

“You've never, in your life, taken an antibiotic?” When she shook her head, I couldn't stop the words.

“Holy crap! As far as races go, you Danaans are eating with only one chopstick.”

By the curl of Tamsin’s lip, I'd say I amused her. “And yet, we live far longer than humans.”

“How much longer? Twenty, thirty years?”

“Hard to say.” She shrugged. “While we live in the earth realm, we age near human rate, but when we travel to the Summerland, we are renewed and extended.”

Wait, what? Summerland exists? Mother went on forever about the wonders of this Never Never land when I was a kid; you mean it’s actually real?

Oh crap! My mouth flapped open; she'd done it to me again.

“Uh huh. Still, Darcy's body's poisoned you said. Modern medicine must have an antidote or-“

“Modern science has no remedy for a disease afflicting body and soul!”

I gulped. “But I am cured, right? You said May and … um-”

“-Siofra…”

“Yeah, Siofra healed me, hey?”

She shook her head. “They worked a powerful healing, but the feydark curse is insidious. It is in remission. Our best option remains a Samhain purification.

I collapsed on bed; everything was alien, complex and depressing. Maybe I was going to die.

“Hey! Everything will work out, I swear it,” Tamsin said. “We've lost some days, but we'll have you ready. Also, an old friend of yours showed up yesterday to lift your spirits.”

Old friend?

I couldn't imagine who among my friends she could risk exposing their secret world to, but when she stood, I saw my 'friend' in the corner of the room.

“You brought my harp to me? How …incredibly thoughtful, Tam; you knew how much I need her."

"Er ...don't give me too much credit," Tamsin said. "The harp ...showed up."

"Showed up? What do you mean?"

"Just that. Appeared. Here. By itself. Look, we Danaans are used to wondrous magic, but this has even us surprised, and-"

-I'd heard enough; I jumped out of bed …and toppled to the floor. I would have face planted if Tamsin hadn't caught me. I really hadn't moved in couple of days. I must have had to pee sometime too, right? I didn't want to know how …or who …took care of that duty.

“Where do you think you are going, missy?” Tamsin said. “It's back to bed for you.”

Missy? Lord, the mommy in her can’t help it. “Please …may I play her a little? It's been days since I've touched her and I'm going through harp withdrawal. It's worse than DTs”

“Don't you think it odd your first impulse after awakening from a near death experience, still in a foreign body, I might add, is to play your harp?”

Why? What could ever be wrong with playing my baby? My fingers itched.

Tamsin sighed and nodded her head. “But just for a moment. You'll only be bed released when May clears you.”

After she frog walked me to a chair beside my harp and plopped me into it, her eyebrow shot up.

“Your harp is a she?”

“Oh yeah!”

I wondered if she was going to be pissed at me for leaving her for so long. Had the new Sean played her? Would she know it wasn't me?

“Does your harp have a name?” Tamsin asked.

áine.

She whispered her name in my ear the first time I played her.

A true harp has a secret soul name, and if you are lucky enough to find one -or have one find you- then you know to never tell her name to anyone else, ever.

I looked at Tamsin, and smiled.

“I see. We really need to have a chat about who your parents were, Sean.”

The second time she'd mentioned that. My mam? I could talk about her for a year and a day. My father…?

When I was a wee one, Mother told me Da had 'gone beyond the Summerland,' whenever I'd be asking after him. As I got older, I figured she meant 'he died' in little kid speak. Mother was eel slippery on the subject, and at a certain point, I stopped asking. I resolved once I became an adult, she and I would have a heart-to-heart about who he was. But then, she died.

And now, to learn Summerland exists? Would that mean Da’s alive, too?

I shook my head, heaved a ragged sigh, plucked middle C, and warmed up with a few glissandos and arpeggio rolls. áine was in tune, so someone had played her, but…

Where have you been?

Hey!? áine never spoke this clearly before. But speak she had and …she was pissed.

“I've been missed,” I giggled, and dove into an Irish Jig called The Butterfly

It's a light and airy piece; just the kind of mood lift I needed.

Too airy, as it turned out, for after several bars, Tamsin startled me by putting her hands on the strings to dampen them.

“Darcy! STOP!”

“W-what? Why?”

Looking at her, I figured it out all by myself. Her hair was tussled, and wind still swirled about the room.

“Did I do that?” I asked in a small voice, once the gale died down.

“I thought so.” Tamsin crossed her arms in front of her chest. “You are a True Bard.
 

~o~O~o~
 
VIII. October 28 Friday 8AM
 
 

 
Snow! October Snow! Dusting the fall colors in white! I loved snow. It made me as giddy as a …

I let out a pained sigh and mumbled, “school girl.”

Yup. That's me, and would be, for another 4 days. A mere 96 hours; easy peasy.

Though it raised a question: Darcy is …or I am, 17, Tamsin said. Shouldn't she be in school? Had she graduated early? Was she home schooled? Or did the Danaan do it different? Yet another question to quiz Tamsin with.

After a shower, tooth brushing, and a semi successful stab at organizing my long wet hair, I jumped into some underwear thingies. The bra went on without too much drama, so yay me.

Picking an outfit didn't overload my brain either; black clothing filled Darcy's closet, and from these, I nabbed the single pair of non-black jeans (i.e. blue) and a black long sleeve T shirt. Gotta say this for the girl, her style was consistent.

A third of Darcy’s closet held clothes given to Darcy by Tamsin. Obvious for two reasons, they had colors, and price tags hung from them. From here, I grabbed a fuzzy royal blue sweater/coat number. If you put a gun to my head, I'd call it mohair, but I'm stupid about these things.

Darcy's obsession with jack boots didn't bother me today; with the colder temps and snow, these were practical.

I stopped in front of Darcy's vanity to check myself out. Meh, a little pale.

A little pale? Like I care? Yeah, I guess I do.

I let out another one of those martyr sighs I had perfected since my switch. Tamsin applied makeup stuff on me the other night; she said with my dark lashes and fine skin, I didn't need much but…

Lord help me, I'm going to slather this crap on. First, I tried to imitate the way Tamsin patted a powder blush on my cheeks. Then, I rubbed gloss across my lips, as I repeated the mantra 'just like chapstick.”

My grooming duties complete, I followed the smell of bacon, which I hoped would lead me to a hot breakfast in the kitchen.

No disappointment there; Tamsin had the aforementioned bacon piled in a plate, along with scrambled eggs, skillet potatoes, and blueberry muffins.

“Where's the coffee? I- I need coffee! Must. Have. Coffee! I-”

“Don't panic, Darse, we got you covered,” Chevonne said, handing me a steaming mug.

Talk about hyperfocusing! Only after a long draw of the black elixir, did I notice a breakfast eating crowd, staring at me.

“Um, good morning? Snow, hey?”

I was a regular standup comedian, cause everyone was snorting and guffawing; Chevonne, Tamsin, the healer Siofra, and a younger novice priestess I'd met yesterday evening, Gwyneth.

Yes, everyone was having a merry old time at my expense, except the blonde haired man wearing sunglasses. As tall as he was broad shouldered, he wore an Italian leather jacket, and a jaw line that screamed to be used as a male model. You know, Mr. Perfect Face. Except, it wasn't perfect, his nose had been broken, and it gave him a chiseled appearance.

Wearing sunglasses? Inside? On a snowy day? What's up with that?

I didn't ask, opting for another long gulp of joe. Mystery man would be explained when they were ready. See? I'm learning patience.

Tamsin stopped her puttering in front of the stove to stare at me, and her eyes watered. I knew I had mucho to learn about fashion, but I didn't think I was so bad I brought folks to tears.

“You look so cute, Darse. I never see you -her- take the time to …to…”

Oh. Those kind of tears. The real Darcy must never have given a shit about anything, if I can wrench water works from Tamsin with this pitiful effort.

“Darcy, meet Leolin,” Tamsin said, after clearing her throat. “After your attack, we called for help, and the Fianna Order sent him to protect you.”

Fianna? And who the hell are-

“-Think cross between Navy Seal and Secret Service, and you'll have a good idea of what the Order of Fianna Knights is about, sweetie,” Chevonne said.

“You know, you could at least let me finish the thought in my head before you crap out the answer.”

“Where's the fun in that?” Chevonne said, flashing her 'evil' grin. “Oh, and the reason he is more aloof than the typical Fianna, is he thinks this assignment is beneath him.”

Leolin grunted. “I did not devote my life to the Shining Sword Path to babysit a bratty girl.”

“Hey, I'm not…”

a bratty girl, was what I almost said. Almost explained I wasn't a girl at all, an in four days, I would be back in my adult body. Almost. But I figured Webster's Dictionary had a picture of Leo under the term “self-important prig,” I doubted anything I said would matter. So I dialed my voice to whiny and turned to Chevonne.

“…even going to think about what's next on my training list until I scarf down a muffin or three. Leo, be a dear and hand me the big one on top.”

Heat-anger waves radiating off Leolin, so hot, I was sure Tamsin would be able to fry another egg on them. Heh! I'd done an admirable job of suppressing a snarky grin, until Chevonne murmured, "well played."

“I'll be out checking the wards again, in the off chance there might actually be a need for me here,” Leolin huffed to Tamsin, before stomping out the door.

“Dar-CY!”

Uh-oh. Tamsin's hand had gone to her hip.

“Do not antagonize the Fianna; none are more deadly in battle! And he is here to protect you from the Formorians, since they've targeted you for some reason only Danu knows.”

“Er, sorry. You're right, and he also must be in so much pain too, because of his condition.” I shook my head in what I hoped was a demur way. “It was wrong of me to make fun of him. I'll apologize when he comes back in.”

“Condition?” Siofra asked, wondering, I guessed, if there was healing to be done.

“Yeah, the metal rod jammed up his ass!”

Chevonne snorted coffee out her nose, which drew a scowl from Tamsin.

“Do NOT encourage her!”

"But it's true!” Chevonne said, still snickering. “The Fianna are stuck up to the last man and woman of them.”

After breakfast, Chevonne, Siofra, Gwyneth and Tamsin -the four horsewomen of doom, my witty brain chirped- herded me to Tamsin's living room, and made me sit cross-legged on the floor. They sat likewise, facing me.

“Lots to cover, so let's get cracking,” Chevonne said. “Since you can activate the elements, your next lesson is circle casting, followed by a Goddess invocation. And then, the purification ritual.”

“Um, sounds complicated,” I mumbled.

“We've lost precious time because of the Fomor's assault on you, and must sprint to have you ready by Samhain,” Soifra said. “At least the attack revealed the nature of the corruption.”

I liked Soifra the moment I met her. All the Danaans were blessed with physical beauty, but the healer's hazel eyes held such warmth; I trusted her completely.

“Soifra? How bad is this spell? I mean, after your healing I feel fine…” except for being in the wrong body …”so do we need to wait until Samhain? Let’s get Darcy back her, you work your magic on her now, and then do your body switch-a-roo, yeah?"

The gentle healer shook her head. “When we switched your souls in the grove, all so the blackness infecting Darcy’s soul. And when I healed you, I felt the darkness yet there, I could not push it out. Left untreated, it will corrode both of you until…”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence. I shot a ‘how could you do this to me’ look to Tamsin, and she mouthed ‘I’m sorry.’

“There is a greater horror here still, Darse.”

That yanked me out of self pity mode. “What…horror?”

“Fomorian spells abound to attack a person’s body, but to infect a soul, means one thing.” Soifra shook her head again.

“C'mon, guys,” I growled. “I'm the one who almost died. Spill!”

“The Goddess blessed us with a natural immunity to such an attack,” Gwyneth answered. “The only way something could have stained Darcy's soul is ...if she had allowed it.”

“Why the hell would she do that?” I threw the question back to Gwyneth. “You’re her age, yeah? Weren't you BFF or something? Didn't she confide in you?”

Gwyneth shot a look to Tamsin. “I-I can't do this. I know she is someone else, but I see only ‘’Darcy’ and-” Gwyneth jumped up and ran out the front door; headed, I guessed, for the barnhouse.

Why did she act that way? “Um, did I say something wrong?”

“No dear, no,” Tamsin sighed. “Gwen and Darcy were best friends since they were wee barnies. Then, a year ago, Darcy severed their friendship in the cruelest way. Calling Gwyneth vile names, and telling her she never wanted to talk to her again.”

And this was the person now living my life with Sarah? Peachy.

Ohmygod! Wait! I'd been unconscious for days. What was going on in my real life? Panic bubbled in my stomach.

“Tell me how she's been doing as me,” I blurted, locking into Tamsin’s eyes. “I need to know everything is still okay.”

“I …don't know how to tell you this...” When Tamsin wouldn't return my gaze, I knew something horrible had happened.

A million worse case scenarios zipped through my mind.

Darcy as 'me' had broken up with Sarah, or…

…she got me fired from my job, or…

…or worse, what if she physically hurt Sarah?

No no no!

“What happened? Tell me!”

None would face me; but Tamsin kept speaking.

“Two days ago ...'Sean' and Sarah ...married …in a civil ceremony. The urge hit them and they did it.”

What? What?! My ears started ringing and head pounding.

“No. NO! That can’t be!”

“Aw c’mon, this isn’t so bad,” Chevonne said. “At least years from now, when Sarah accuses you of not remembering your wedding, it will be true.”

“You think this is funny?” I jumped up and fought the urge to smash something. “This is my life being screwed. My Life!”

Chevonne’s eyes widened “I’m sorry Darse, I-”

“-Change me back, NOW!” I screamed at Tamsin.

“We can’t, love, not until-”

I didn’t listen to another word, instead running to my —Darcy’s- room, slamming the door and crashing on the bed.

I cried.

Two tiny words; but what an understatement! I sobbed and couldn’t stop, convulsing so hard my stomach muscles cramped. Everything everything hit me.

Until now I’d pretended this ‘adventure’ was a game, not believing lasting harm would come.

Then some thing tried to kill me.

And now, this.

Married. To Sarah.

And I wasn’t there.

Maybe the most important day of my life, and a stand in did it for me!

I didn’t even know if I wanted to be married. Not yet. Not yet.

I needed to do something, NOW, or I would explode.

Come to me.

I raised my head to look at áine.

Come.

Blurry-eyed, I stumbled over, plopping in the chair beside her, and pulling her to my chest.

Play. What you feel. A lament. Play Bonny Portmore.

Yes! That’s what I needed!

I started, and played in the Aeolian mode; if you forced me to describe it in modern terms, I’d call it a minor key. I play in the 7 modes enough to know each by feel, for example, the Ionian sounds like the modern do re mi scale. The Dorian mode has a melancholy air to it. But the Aeolian mode —used in tons of blues songs- conveys despair.

And so I played.

I don’t know how long I sat there. I had so much pain flowing out me; a total loss of my life. But when I finished, I saw Tamsin, Chevonne, Soifra, and Gwyneth sitting on Darcy’s bed, hugging each other. Tears streaked their cheeks.

“Please please stop, Darcy,” Tamsin whispered. “We can’t take anymore.”

I managed a little grin, “I’ve been known to make people wince from my terrible playing, but this is ridiculous.”

“No, we’re serious,” Chevonne said through gulping sobs. “If a True Bard has the fire of inspiration on her, she can do anything, even make her listeners hearts burst from sorrow.”

Were they saying I was killing them? My hands started shaking and I yanked them away from áine’s strings.

We are powerful together; did not you know?

áine spoke more and more; what did it mean?

It is time you learned who you are, Shauna Deirbhile.

“Darcy? What’s wrong,” Tamsin asked, walking over to me.

“Everything, I-”

She put a finger to my lips. “I’m so sorry. I threw you in this, then ignored all you suffered, focusing on preparing you to work the purification and switch back. It’s so easy to pretend you are ‘Darcy’ and act like your real life didn’t exist-”

“-I’d been doing that too,” I said. “Pretending this was a short term fling; you know, not real. When you told me Darcy married Sarah …it all came crashing down.”

“Yeah, we felt your pain in your music,” Chevonne said. “Almost fatally so.”

Blood drained from my face. They were joking right? My music couldn’t do that. “I didn’t know I could do this. My music never had this …impact …before.”

“Don’t be sorry. The Goddess be praised but you are gifted!” Chevonne said, draping her arms around me.

“Tamsin? Chevonne?” Leolin voice thundered from the living room. “Come here! I found a Formorian friend hiding in your woods, bawling from Darcy’s little concert. I need help interrogating him; it’s time to learn why these shits are so fascinated with your brat.”
 

~o~O~o~
 
IX. October 28 Friday late afternoon
 
Gwyneth and I weren’t making progress. Not even baby steps.

We children were ordered to stay in my —sorry, Darcy’s- room while the grown up Danaans ‘questioned’ a spy Leolin captured in the woods. Leo found where the creature hid, because the thing was bawling with tears, from my playing. Go figure.

I’d peeked into to the living room where they held him. He looked frozen to his chair; Danaan restraining magic at work, no doubt. He also looked like a hideous extra from a Hellboy movie. I’d assumed those were all CGI, but looks like they were flesh and blood. I wondered if they were union.

So bogymen exist; how creepy is that? How many more lurked out in the woods? And …were they truly after me? I shivered.

Gwyneth wasn’t having much success forgiving me for the hateful words that came from these lips. She couldn’t manage to look at me for more than a second before she would turn away.

I, on the other hand, was giving serious consideration to hot wiring Tamsin’s Jag and zooming straight to my old apartment. My plan ended there; I had no clue what I’d say to Sarah and ‘Sean’. All I could think about was how I needed to get back home, to get back to my body, to undo what Darcy had done.

“Gwyneth, er Gwen? Would it help if I apologized for what I said?”

She blinked. “Hmm? No, Darcy called me those things, not you, so why would you-”

“-I’m sorry. If I could take back the words, I would. Forgive me.”

Gwyneth looked confused. “But you didn’t say them. You don’t even know what she said.”

“I know, but I thought, if you could hear her voice asking for forgiveness, it might help.”

“Though I appreciate the gesture, I-” Gwyneth stopped mid-sentence. “You aren’t her, are you? I mean, I know you aren’t, I was part of the circle when we switched you, but it’s hard to get past appearances, and you look so much like her well …you are her in looks, I mean…”

She was getting lost in the whole identity confusion thing; not like I hadn’t struggled with this since the switch. Time to throw her a life line. I held out my hand.

“I’m Sean Derhill, temporarily Darcy Caroline. Glad to meet you.”

She took and shook it, a smile spreading across her face.

“Pleased to meet you. Gwyneth O’Keeffe; the girl who’s been treating you like crap.”

“S'okay. Darcy was shitty to you —I guessed as much; try to suspend your wrath for the next few days is all I ask.”

“Deal. Though, you being her for that time offers an …opportunity. Darcy’s personality changed over a year ago; she swapped her cute clothes for boring black, told me she never wanted to see my face again, and started cavorting with the Fomors, it seems. Let’s do some CSI’ing to figure out why.”

CSI’ing? That’s a verb now? What happened to Nancy Drew sleuthing?

“What’d you have in mind?”

She motioned to the MacBook on Darcy’s desk. “Darse kept a video diary. Let’s dive in and see what she’s been up to.”

I walked over with her, though I was pretty sure we wouldn’t be able to view it. Darcy would have put password protection on it, you’d think? If it were my deepest darkest thoughts, I know I would.

When Gwen fired it up, I realized this might not be a problem; the Mac had a finger swipey thing for security. I gave my index finger a ‘duh’ look.

“Oh.” I swiped it, and we were in.

After I fumbled around too long looking for the program, Gwen said "move" and shoved me aside. She clicked on the Video Diary icon, and, bam! I was looking at the deepest most personal feelings of the young woman whose face and body I wore.
 

 
“These entries were before she …changed. When she and I were still…”

Gwyneth’s words dissolved to choking sobs, the kind made by someone trying not to cry, but failing.

I reached out and hugged her —it felt right to do- and she clasped me hard.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and we turned back to the bright face on the screen.

“You sure this is okay?”

Did I feel guilty? You bet! What right did I have to be looking at this? Yeah, I was in the body that made the diary —again, sooo weird- but I would be out of it soon, so wasn’t I …I dunno, being a rude house -or body- guest by doing this?

And why do girls make diaries if they don’t want them to be read? Or worse, shoot a video of it? Is it introspection they crave? Or did they want it to be seen, deep down?

Gwyneth came to a different conclusion. “We are doing this for her. We’ve got to understand what happened to her, and when.”

The next hour was bleak; Gwyneth and I watched the tragedy of a vibrant girl decline into despair. Three months after her first entry, Darcy told us she met a boy. Though she didn’t attend high school —Gwyneth explained Danaan children were home schooled, except for the summer months, when they gathered at camps for Danaan spellcraft training- Darcy had taken to sneaking into town every so often.

At first, her AWOL jaunts were no more harmful than fast food runs. Until she met …Roth.

The vid entries changed. She turned giddy in the webcam clips, in the grip of ‘young love.’ At first, Roth showered Darcy with affection, something the Danaan —who must have been particularly sheltered living out here- had never experienced. She gushed over several uncomfortable clips about how dreamy the mysterious boy was.

Then …her looks changed. She used white foundation, applied dark, thick eyeliner, and blood red lipstick. Her grunge wear appeared too.

Worse, her expression saddened, deadened, clip by clip, as she explained how Roth asked her to change this or that, for him.

The saddest clip, by far, was one of the last, where Darcy showed awareness of her manipulation by the boy. Defeated and self-loathing, she confessed to the webcam that all she ever wanted was to be loved by someone.

“Those bastards!” Gwyneth hissed. “They did this to her! If only I’d known!”

We didn’t think it could get worse but it did; in the last vid clip, a breathless Darcy told of a mysterious tattoo artist Roth took her to so she could prove her love for him, and how the man worked his needles on her back, just above her butt.

“You got a tattoo?” Gwyneth asked.

"What? No, I-"

"-Oops! Sorry. But you've seen it right?"

I shook my head. "I'm really really trying to pretend this hasn't happened, Gwen, but it ain’t working." I’d turned the whine knob up to full again. “People trying to kill me, Darcy in my body screwing up my old life..."

"Chill, girl, you'd think you were on your period the way you went off. You aren't are you?"

What?! I hadn't thought about that. "Mother of God, do you think I am?"

Gwyneth giggled. "I wish to Danu I had a snap of your face. I doubt you are dear; believe me, you'd know. Now, turn around so I can see this tat.

I did; Gwyneth lifted my shirt. And went silent.

"Well? C'mon, what is it?"

“Bad," Gwyneth whispered, and led me to Darcy's dresser where she hiked up my shirt back again. I craned around to see:
 

 
Yeah, nasty looking design, but it wasn't a skull demon biting someone’s head off or anything.

"Not so bad, hey?"

Gwyneth cleared her throat. "I've studied this in my training, and -we need Tam to confirm- but I think it's like a parasite. The "eye" punches a hole in your auric shields. Through this opening they cast the spell that leeched onto your body and soul.”

All in my mind, I’m sure, but now, the damn thing itched.

“Get it off!”

“Umm …can’t? It’s a tattoo? We’ll figure something out, but for now-”

Leolin burst into the room. “You. Darcy. With me, now! We’re leaving.”

“I …what? Why?”

Tamsin followed the Fianna warrior. “The Fomor talked. A band of them are nearby; they’ve come for you, tracking you somehow. Chevonne’s going with you; she’ll explain everything; she’s bringing Leo’s car around.”

Tracking me? How? My back itched again. Crap!

“Don’t stand there looking stupid. Move!” Leolin yelled.

I looked at Tamsin. “What about you? They’ll kill you! And Gwen and May and-”

“-Don’t worry for us, sweetie, we can defend ourselves. And, from what the Fomor told us, they want you, and will follow you, I expect, when you leave. Hurry!”

Shauna don’t leave me!

Never again, áine!

“My harp, she comes with me.”

“Not an option,” Leolin said. He grabbed my arm and started pulling me to the door.

I yanked free and ran to gather áine in my arms.

“I said, She. Comes. With. Me!”

Leolin glared at me before growling:

“Fine, bring the damned thing, brat. But do it now!”

The next minutes were adrenalin rushed blurs. Leolin threw me and áine —no other way to describe it- into the back seat of his black Dodge Charger, and jumped into the passenger seat. Chevonne stomped the pedal, and we moved.

As we barreled down the dirt road, a half-dozen clawed leather clad trolls sprung from nearby trees. Chevonne swerved between massive beings in a move that would have made Richard Petty proud; only one scraped the side of the Charger.

“You rate a freakin Fomor Berserker Guard? Damn girl, they want you bad,” Leolin said. “Caugrch claimed could track you; wish I could figure out how.”

We careened down the dirt road pushing 100, and I clutched áine for all I was worth to shield her from bumps, so excuse me if my hearing wasn’t tip top.

“Caaawwggch? Sounds like something spat out by the Evil Name Generator on the Web,” I shouted.

‘He’s the Fomor scout we captured,” Chevonne yelled back, turning around.

“Watch the road!” Leolin and I screamed.

Looking out the back window, I saw specs in the distance …motorcycle riders?

“Guys? We’ve got company.”

“Dammit! I knew I should be driving!” Leolin said.

“You think you can get this piece of crap to go any faster?” Chevonne said. “Knock yourself out.”

“As a matter of fact, I do. I had a metal mage tune her so she responds best to me,” Leolin said. “And if you insult her again, you’ll be walking, Fomors or no. Move.”

Oh crap oh crap oh crap! Chevonne and Leolin pulled an in-car switch going 90! Of everything that had happened so far, I think this was scariest. You do not want to be hurtling mach speed down a dirt road at dusk while two people execute a Twister ® game move.

“Aww, was wittle Darcy scared?” Chevonne said, after she scooched to the passenger side.

Damn straight; I near wet myself. But give Leolin credit; with him behind the wheel, we flew. Whoever followed fell behind and disappeared from sight.

~o~O~o~
 
X. October 29 Saturday morning
 

Three hours later saw us holed up in a Motel 6. The plan -doled out in little bite sized pieces, since Leolin acted like I was a 17 year old- was to head for the Danaan Sanctuary in Boston; Leolin figured a full company of Fianna would hold off whatever force was chasing us.

He didn’t take a direct route though, since he figured our pursuers would expect us to make straight for the Sanctuary. So we stopped; midnight had struck, and Leolin wanted sunlight before we moved again. Also, our stop would give Leolin a chance to get some-

“-Answers! And I want them, now!” He growled, as I exited the bathroom.

Leolin had laid on impressive array of weapons on one of the beds: two Browning High Power 9mms, six throwing knives, a mini uzi, a sawed-off shot gun, and various shot gun shells and ammunition clips.

“What, no sword? Surely someone devoted to the ‘Shining Sword Path’ has one,” I said to Leolin.

“I keep it on my person at all times,” he answered. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Even when you shower? Aren’t you scared, ya know, of accidently cutting your pecker off?”

“You are a brat,” Leolin said. “Why the Fomorians think you are the ‘child of the prophecy’ is beyond me.”

“Are you sure we shouldn’t be on the road? Won’t they track us here?” I had been eyeing his arsenal and hadn’t focused on what he’d said. “Wait! What? Who’s a child of prophecy?”

“You are…” Chevonne said, as she stretched on the other bed. Mmm, she looked yummy all spread out like that. Oops! This is me, still being a guy in here.

She must have read my mind again, because she blew me a kiss before she continued.

“…Or Darcy, is; at least that’s what Caugrch told us-”

“-When you waterboarded him.” I was conflicted on how they pried the info from the Fomorian.

“We didn’t torture him; we used a compulsion spell to-”

“-Stop. Right. There.” Leolin walked to where Chevonne lay, and crossed his arms. “Are you saying she’s not Darcy?”

My eyes went wide. “Tam didn’t tell him?”

Chevonne propped up on her elbows. “We hoped to handle this without fuss. We thought all we needed was a little muscle. We were clueless about some damned Fomorian prophecy.”

“A little muscle? I’ve been in contact with the other Fianna, and they report Fomor activity up and down the Atlantic coast. We are looking at the greatest movement of Fomors in centuries and you wanted ‘a little muscle?’ Danu save us all!”

Leolin walked back to me, placed hands on the sides of my face and said, “You. Talk. Now.”

So I told him all that had happened as best I could. He let go of my face and flopped beside me on the bed.

“Danu! What you must be going through. I had no idea.”

I shrugged. Because, what could I say? I certainly hadn’t seen any of this coming.

He brooded for some minutes before speaking. “This trigger spell they cast on …Darcy …worries me. Something that intricate would require the skill of a powerful Fomor mage, like Ldul, or Farve.”

Chevonne bolted upright. “No! She’s in Bulgaria, right and he’s somewhere in the South Pacific?”

Leolin shook his head. “We can’t assume anything; Caugrch said they’ve been preparing for this for hundreds of years. Let me see that tattoo.”

When I raised my shirt, Chevonne came over too.

When neither spoke, I grew antsy. “Hey? Bad news, yeah; Gwen already told me.”

“Abomination!” Leolin shouted. “How could you allow them to do this to you?”

“I didn’t!”

“Sorry,” Leolin said, and put a hand on my shoulder. Compassion from the asshole Fianna knight? Who saw that coming?

“I’m still struggling with the whole switch concept, and now I see this disfigurement on a pretty girl’s back. I spoke without thinking.”

The tat scared even Leolin; how horrible was this thing? Wait, did he say I was pretty?

“Gwen called it a parasite and said it punched a hole in my auric body? I haven’t a clue what that means.”

“Imagine someone intentionally injecting themselves with the AIDS virus, but on a psychic level,” Chevonne said. “No wonder I couldn’t shield you the other night. This works like a vacuum cleaner to suck up any nasty spell they throw at you.”

Christ, I wanted that thing off of me. No, I wanted my body back!

Shauna? Let us see what we can do with a healing song.

I walked to grab áine from where I’d placed her on the table.

“I don’t know any ancient healing songs.”

“Who’s she talking to?” I heard Leolin ask, to which Chevonne answered “I don’t know; her harp?” I ignored them.

A dark energy is grafted on you. We will expel it, breathe it out. Choose your song and let us do it. It doesn’t have to be an old one. Choose one filled with energy.

“We haven’t time for this; the tat is a huge neon sign. We can’t wait for dawn; we need to move now!”

Leolin’s voice came from faraway; the world was now áine and me.

“Breathe it out, and energy? I’m thinking …Vollenweider’s Air Dance, hey?”

Play!

Yeah, áine’s not an electric harp, and a band didn’t back me up either, but I slapped rhythm on her sound board, and fell into the syncopation of the song.

The vibration, no, -the vibe- flowing through me felt bubbly good, and got better with each breath I blew out. At some point I laughed out loud, and when I did, áine whispered.

Shauna, we are done.

When her strings stopped ringing, I let out one last sigh and opened my eyes; Chevonne and Leolin stared at me.

“What? Aw c’mon; it wasn’t so bad.”

“N-no. You are amazing but,” Chevonne’s eyes held a wild glint, “as you played, a dark haze rose from your body and dissolved in the air.”

We are powerful! Wait until Samhain, when we shall remove every spec of the taint! áine whispered. Tell them to look at the markings now!

“Um, look at my tat now?”

Chevonne rushed over, and gasped ‘Danu’ when she looked. Then she dragged me to the room mirror. I craned my neck to see:
 

 
three interlocking swirls had rewritten the nasty Fomorian tat.

“Whoa! Better, hey? Urm, but what is it?”

“A Goddess mark,” Chevonne whispered.

“I don’t know anyone who can what you did,” Leolin said. “Who are you? What are you?”

Tell them. Tell them who you are.

áine compelled me; I spoke words she placed on my lips:

Mother of Gods, my Seanmhá¡thair,

The Good God, my Athair,

Bard called,

Moon called,

Call me… Shauna Deirbhile
 

End Part 2