Fear Sí, Fear Scáth - Part I

Much to Carahya’s dismay, it was best in McBride’s eyes if he didn’t have to worry about her “gallivanting across all hell and creation,” as he put it, without her ID, money, and house keys, especially if she could cause more trouble than she already had. He realized that he had become involved, like it or not. Though he was still more than willing to teach the girl what he knew, he was not fond of the idea of having to babysit her. She disliked the idea just as much as he did, but understood that it was best. Still, understanding the fact that she had to stay with McBride in the flat above the shop did not mean that she would adjust well to living under supervision for the first time in five years.

Between when Carahya arrived at McBride’s door and Sunday afternoon, there was not a lot of conversation. Mainly the only discussions between the two were McBride’s lessons, teaching Carahya all that he knew about demons, and everything he thought he could remember about the Grim Reaper and his underlings. He had far more information on the demons than on the Council of Draelin and its inner workings, which is what Carahya would have expected from such a “super-secret-hush-hush” type of supernatural government.

It wasn’t until they were getting ready to venture back to the office early Sunday afternoon that they really began to interact outside of lessons. Her backpack was still at the office, so all she really needed to pack was Mr. Fortier’s gun. She had taken to carrying it with her everywhere, paranoid that some Council goon or vengeful demon might catch her off-guard. She was ready to go, and entered into McBride’s room, where he was gathering together his own manners of protection. He packed his pockets with odd little charms and trinkets, more out of superstition and ritual than anything else. But he specifically made sure that he did not leave the house without placing a pendant around his neck. As Carahya saw this action, she tilted her head with a puzzled look. “Mr. McBride…what kind of pendant is that?”

He turned to her and held it away from his neck for her to see. The pendant was round, old, and obviously worn, and hung on a far newer-looking silver chain. There was a bas relief of a Celtic Spiral of Life in the center of the pendant, encircled by an intricate bas relief Celtic Knot. The silver of the pendant had begun to tarnish, but the reliefs were still bright and shining. McBride turned it over, where a sentence in Irish was written in thin, spindly letters: In ainm an Sídhe na hÉireann, a thabhairt dúinn saol an dara. The text was in two circles, separated by the comma.

“What does it mean?” Carahya asked.

McBride shot her a smile and tucked it away beneath his shirt. “It means, ‘In the name of the faeries of Ireland, give us second life.’ The saying, and the pendant with it, have both been in my family for generations. There’s always been belief in the Fair Folk in Ireland, and I’m living proof they’re there. My grandmother was one of the many young women lured away to Tír na nÓg, the land of Faerie. She ultimately had relations with a fae man, resulting in my mixed bloodline.” When he saw the horrified look on Carahya’s face, he told her, “Now, girl, don’t you worry. It’s a traditional occurrence that the Irish fae have looked to take the mundane into their realm. It’s been going on for centuries upon centuries, and they can only take you if you’re willing to go. Now, this here charm,” he pat his chest, just above where the pendant sat, “This is no simple ‘lucky charm,’ as people call them nowadays. It has its special uses…”

McBride drove up to the old mill building and parked. Carahya was in the passenger seat, shifted to take the form of Morgan Fortier. Morgan’s was the only adult humanoid form that she felt comfortable enough using, other than her own. Mr. McBride thought it would be safest if she was not in her own form, since the group already knew what Carahya looked like.

“Okay, Carahya. Now tell me the plan again, so I know you understand it.”

“All right. We’ll go inside, and then I’ll knock on the door of the office, and describe the situation. We go in, get my things, get out, and go before they suspect anything.”

“Good. Now let’s make this work. If things get ugly, don’t attack them if you can help it. Just use defense.”

“Got it.” They left the car and went to the front entrance. It was open, as office hours were occurring, so they made their way down the hallway and knocked on the office door.