Page 8 of The Red Woman and the White Bear

“Okay, say more,” she prompted.

“You know there’s a lot I can’t tell you unless you ask more specifically.” Of all the rules Rodney shirked as a Veilwalker, this was the only one he was bound to adhere to, and the most frustrating one at that.

Aisling crossed her arms tightly across her chest. “Well, start with what youcantell me.”

“The Courts are at war—they have been for a very, very long time. Centuries, I think, since the Unseelie King took the throne. His Court is bloodthirsty and power-hungry, and the SeelieCourt thinks that they’re better fit to rule, rather than splitting the realm as they have been. Both sides want what the other has,” he explained. “But there are other fundamental differences, much older than petty land disputes and quarreling royals.”

Rodney was sitting forward on the couch now, and Aisling prodded Briar out of the way so she could do the same. “Which are?”

He shook his head and she huffed in frustration.Specific questions.

She tried a new angle: “The prophecy mentions winter and spring—do you think that represents the Unseelie and Seelie Courts?” It made sense in her head: darkness and light, good and evil. The bitter hardness of winter representative of the cruel Unseelie Court; the brightness of spring, the benevolent Seelie Fae.

“If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say so,” he posited. “But I’m not a scholar on these things.”

“So ‘to bring revenant spring’ could mean that I’m meant to help bring the Seelie Court to power, to give them control over the Wild?” It was the first moment of clarity she’d had yet. Accurate or not, it was at least a starting point.

Rodney smirked. “You still call it that?”

Aisling rolled her eyes, annoyed by his teasing tone. “Old habits. Give them control overWyldraíocht.”

“Let’s stick with your version,” Rodney said, wincing at Aisling’s poor pronunciation of the Fae realm’s true title. She couldn’t pronounce it as a child, either, when her mother taught her the word, so they’d settled instead on shortening it tothe Wild.“Anyway, yeah. That’s how I’d interpret it.”

“And how am I supposed to do that? Where is this ‘celestial light’ that’s meant to be guiding me?” Aisling raked her fingers roughly through her hair. They snagged hard in the knotted ends, hopelessly tangled from her night in the forest and the grasping brambles of the thicket. Her body was tired; her mind, even more so.

“I’m stuck on that part, too,” Rodney admitted. “I’m sorry, Ash. I wish I could be more helpful.”

She sighed heavily. “It’s okay. I’m just glad I have you to talk to about it. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to keep it all to myself.”

“I’ll keep thinking on it, alright?” He kicked Aisling’s foot lightly with his own. “Put it out of your head for now. There’s not a lot you can do at the moment, anyway.”

“Right.” There would be no setting this aside, try as she would. How could she simply forget about something such as this—something that could irrevocably change her future? She’d been consumed by thoughts of the prophecy since it was told to her; that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

“I have something for you before I forget.” Rodney leaned forward and teased a slip of paper out from underneath a dirty plate he’d left on the coffee table for God knows how long. “First of the month. Rent check.”

Aisling sighed and tore the check in half as soon as he handed it to her. “How many times are we going to do this? I’m not taking your money.”

The mobile home had belonged to Aisling’s father; he’d purchased it a number of years ago when his disability checks were no longer sufficient to cover the rising mortgage on herchildhood home. He bought it outright and had willed it to Aisling, but she wanted nothing to do with it. The cramped, musty space and its patchwork furniture served only to remind her of the worst parts of the man: his laziness, his inability to care for himself. The way he’d looked when she came home those seven months ago, a skeleton, half-dead from lung cancer wrought by a decadeslong smoking habit that he never had any interest in kicking. It reminded her, too, of the way he’d treated her mother. Of the end he’d condemned her to. Though Aisling had dutifully cared for him in the final months of his life, she’d only ever got halfway to forgiving him. To forgive him entirely, she’d have to do the same for herself.

However much she disliked it, the mobile home was perfect for Rodney. He’d been living with roommates with whom he endlessly disputed the most insignificant matters. Argumentative to a fault and significantly shrewder than he looked, Rodney did best on his own.

“I have a job so I can afford a place to live,” he pressed.

“You’re a live-in caretaker. Consider your upkeep of the place as payment enough.” Aisling eyed the dirty plate pointedly.

Rodney rolled his eyes. “I’d rather just give you cash.”

Feeling the weight of exhaustion more acutely with each passing minute, as deep as her bones now, Aisling hauled herself to her feet before sleep claimed her there on the couch. She could have stayed—Briar had extra food and she had spare clothes stashed somewhere—but something about the tiredness that swept over her urged Aisling to take some time to be alone. Space was what sheneeded now. Space, and sleep. With one final reassuring hug from Rodney, she stepped back out into the cold morning air.

“Miss Pike!”

Cole.She hated Cole. He was a nuisance on a good day and purported himself to be one of the island’s most enterprising businessmen. But his enterprise stretched only as far as the chain-link fence that encircled the mobile home park. Despite his constant talk of expansion, he’d never buy up additional land. He enjoyed turning a profit on the lots he already owned; anything more than that would surely be too big for him to manage. Nevertheless, he’d been hounding her since just one short week after her father’s funeral to buy back the lot and rent it out to plus up his own monthly income.

“Cole,” Aisling acknowledged curtly as she loaded Briar into the car.

He was short—shorter than Aisling—and it seemed to take him a great deal of pulmonary effort to cross from his own mobile home to meet her. “Have you given any more thought to my offer?”

“The answer is still no.” She slammed the door a bit harder than she meant to.

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