Page 7 of The Red Woman and the White Bear

Rodney scoffed. “Sure they did, just as much as I missed them.”

“Well,Imissed you at least,” Aisling said pointedly. Rodney had never been particularly fond of her friends and didn’t hesitate to make that fact known every chance he got. “How was work?”

He groaned as he slid into the chair across from her. “A nightmare. I didn’t get home until two this morning.”

“What happened?” Letting him sulk, Aisling got up and went to pull the shrieking kettle off the stove. She took two mugs from the cupboard—the same one her father had kept his mugs in when he’d lived there. Rodney hadn’t changed much since he moved in. The place was still familiar.

“We had the schedule arranged around low tide, but it just kept pulling further and further out. It was nearly three hours late coming back in. Did the same thing last night too,apparently. Threw everything off. I was on the phone arguing with the ferry operators on the mainland half the night,” he complained.

Aisling fumbled the kettle in surprise and splashed hot water onto her hand, though she could hardly feel it for the panic that seized her lungs. She cursed and moved to run it under the sink before a blister could form.

“Are you okay?” he asked, alarmed by the sudden commotion behind him.

“Fine, just slipped.” Aisling’s voice was thick with bile that was creeping up the back of her throat. She swallowed it down hard before speaking again. “What was going on with the tide?”

“The harbormaster said something about a spring tide and wind. Whatever it was, I hope it never happens when I’m on shift again. Massive pain in the ass.”

“Has it happened before? Did he seem concerned by it?” Aisling was aware that her tone was rising, but she couldn’t help it. Her heart was racing and the sound of it beating in her ears was nearly louder than her own voice. Abandoning the tea, she fell back into her chair.

“God, Ash, you’ve gone all pale.” Rodney’s thick brows pulled together with concern.

“Please just answer my question.” She needed an explanation. A natural cause, something she could point to in an article or a book to rationalize the coincidence. That’s all this was: a coincidence. It had to be.

“I think he said that it was lower than normal already because of a spring tide and that some offshore winds had picked up which pushed it out even further,” Rodney said slowly as he tried to recallthe harbormaster’s description of the phenomenon. “Why are you suddenly so worried about the tide?”

Aisling propped her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands. She couldn’t speak yet, afraid that if she opened her mouth she might vomit. Rodney watched her try to compose herself for a moment before he stood and circled around the table to stand beside her. He knew something was wrong, maybe something serious, but he also knew better than to try to force an answer out of her.

“Let’s go sit on the couch,” he suggested. He guided her up and into the living room by her shoulders. He nudged Briar over to make room and sat Aisling down in the corner. “I’ll get your tea and a piece of toast, okay?”

Aisling could only nod. Minutes later, Rodney returned and handed her a plate of buttered toast and a mug of tea. She set both down behind her on the end table; the shaking that had beset her hands made it too difficult to hold either.

“So,” Rodney started. He sat against the opposite corner of the couch, his long, gangly legs splayed toward Aisling. “Are you going to tell me what happened last night?

She studied his freckled face. It wasn’t his face, not really, but it was the one he’d worn as long as she’d known him. The one he’d learned how to grow and age since it was given to him twenty-nine years ago when he swapped into a newborn’s crib, a changeling. He’d quickly taken to life on this side of the Veil and had integrated seamlessly into the human realm. He liked his independence—from the laws that constrained his magic, from the Courts.Here, he’d told her once, he was free to be whatever version of himself he wanted to be. And for the time being, that was Rodney Finch.

“I need to tell you something, and I need you to not interrupt me until I’ve finished,” Aisling said cautiously once she felt she could keep her voice steady. Rodney mimed zipping his lips, locking them at the corner and tossing away the key. He was trying to lighten the mood. It wasn’t working. She tucked her feet under Briar’s hips and wrapped her arms around her knees before she started: “I rescued a tree sprite from a hunt a couple of miles from camp last night.”

“Aisling…” Rodney’s tone was one of caution, ready to lecture her. If she hadn’t flashed him a look that shut him up, he’d have given Aisling her mother’s same warning about the Fae.

“The sprite came back after we’d gone to bed. She took me to see the Shadowwood Mother.” Aisling searched his eyes for any hint of recognition, but his expression remained neutral—whether this was purposeful or not, she couldn’t be sure. Rodney was never one to lay his cards on the table right away, not even with her. “Have you ever heard of the Red Woman and the White Bear? The prophecy?”

Rodney nodded slowly. Solemnly. “Not for a very, very long time.”

After drawing in a deep, steadying breath, Aisling recounted the events of the night before. Rodney, for his part, managed to keep his mouth shut and listened closely, face still holding that neutral mask that was only marred by the occasional, brief quirk of his brow. She recalled the words of the prophecy easily; she’d repeated them in her head so many times that she knew them now by heart, down to the very cadence by which the Shadowwood Mother had first recitedthem. Once she finished, the pair sat in silence for a long while. Aisling watched Briar’s broad chest rise and fall as Rodney mentally sorted through all she’d said.

“So,” he said finally, “when you asked about the tides…”

Aisling shook her head. “It has to be a coincidence.”

“There are no coincidences in fate,” he countered. “If the prophecy is true, then this is yours.”

“If?” She looked at him hopefully. If was good—she could work with if.

Rodney offered a guilty half-smile. “I was just trying to soften the blow. Prophecies aren’t a matter of if, Ash. Just a matter of when. And it seems like that’s now.”

“You were supposed to be helpful. You’re just as cryptic as that damn old faerie.” Aisling didn’t try to hide the edge of bitterness in her words. He raised his hands, palms open in an apologetic gesture. “She said the Courts are at war.”

“That’s true.”

---