Chapter Six
Ivy delicately wiped her mouth on her napkin and began. "So you've noticed that Pine Valley isn't exactly the most normal place around. For starters, Charlie and I live here." She took a sip of water while the brothers chuckled. "I think we only have time for the abridged version," Ivy added apologetically. "There are way too many side stories here for this to be a one-shot telling."
"That's fine. It looks like we'll be here for a while yet anyway," Sam said.
Ivy smiled. "Well, once upon a time a man was born in County Kerry, Ireland. His name was Eoin Griffin. He was the oldest son of a wealthy farmer, which back then was a rarity especially since they were Catholic. But they were one of the few lucky ones to survive the Great Famine, and Eoin was born into a stable family. Shortly after the birth of how his first child, though, he got into trouble."
"With the law?" Dean asked.
"Nope. With the Faeries." Ivy took a sip of water before continuing. "His wife became extremely ill after their first son was born, and he became so desperate that he struck a deal with a leprechaun."
"Oh. Bet that ended well," Dean said sarcastically.
"Oh, but of course," Charlie chortled. "When he failed to keep his end of the deal, the leprechaun gave him two weeks to sort it."
"What did they ask for?" Sam wanted to know.
"They wanted the baby." Ivy's voice was grave. "He did what any father would do to protect his child. He did what he thought was best."
"In short, he upped and left for America," Charlie cut in. "He thought the Gentry didn't have power outside Ireland, especially in a big new city like New York. But he was wrong."
Ivy pressed on, "Eoin pissed them off so much that not only did they follow him, they plagued him. Their powers were weaker because the veil here was too thick, but they prevailed because previous generations of emigrants had brought their own share of Faerie troubles and continued to practice folk religion, especially in remote places."
"What were they going to do to him in Ireland if he didn't repay the leprechaun?" Dean asked.
"They were going to take the child and swap it with a changeling," Ivy said. "They would have had no problem there but they have to cross the veil to do that. And the veil was impenetrable here. Until Eoin heard of a place where it might open."
"How?" Dean asked.
Charlie said, "One of Eoin's friends, Tiernán Delahunty, told him about it. As the story goes, Tiernán had managed to get information from a Faerie of the whereabouts of a door between worlds. It was in a remote mountain location, where a few other Irish emigrant families had already settled. Their continued practice of Irish folk religion had strengthened their Fey."
Dean leaned back in his seat and exhaled slowly. "So let me guess," he said, "these guys opened up the veil and unleashed some PMSing Tinkerbells?"
"Pretty much," Ivy confirmed. "Eoin and Tiernán left New York City with their families to the mountain valley the Faerie had told him about, and found several others living there already. They had settled for two or three generations by the time Eoin and Tiernán arrived, and welcomed them. When they told the settlement that they knew how to solve the problem of the Fey, the community saw their chance to gain control over the Fey – something that had never been possible in Ireland."
Sam's brow was furrowed in deep thought. "Why would they think they could control the Fey here?" he inquired.
"They thought that because the Gentry needed them for a favour – to part the veil – they would be able to bind the Gentry into a bargain," Charlie explained. "They pretty much wanted to give the Fey a taste of their own medicine."
"But how did the Fey not know what was coming?" Dean asked.
Ivy got up to pour herself another cup of tea, collecting Sam's teacup as well on her way to the stove. "We never said they didn't know," she said. "On Samhain in 1879, they opened the veil. And the Faeries were waiting."
Suddenly, the searing pain that had burned through her head the day before in the glade erupted across her forehead. With a startled cry, she dropped the cups of tea and they shattered on the stone floor. She fell to her knees, pressing her hands into her eyes and crying out against the pain. Charlie was immediately on her feet.
"Ivy? Ivy, honey, what is it?" She knelt on the floor next to her cousin, a hand on her knee and concern darkening her face.
Ivy tried to speak, but she couldn't. It was the same vision – the same as in the glade and in the nightmare she had. The darkness, the cold light of dark candles; the stench of blood and sweat and dampened stone; the sound of a man in pain, the laughter that tore through the air.
"Charlie," she whimpered. "Charlie…"