Page 3 of The Apples Hung Like Stars
“Take a seat?”
She sits, perfectly obedient. I’ve never craved such unspoken obedience before, preferring spirit that I can break, but this is intoxicating. She’s doing as I ask becauseshewants to. Not because I’ve enchanted her—I didn’t put enough power into my laugh for that.
“Janet, what do you know about the fae?”
“As much as anyone else in Ireland, I imagine,” she says, before adding, “I mean, I wouldn’t fuck with them.”
“No, I wouldn’t recommend that.”
Janet looks thoughtful at my response. “You speak as if… as if they’re real.”
“You just said you wouldn’t fuck with them.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t, but that’s more because…” Her voice trails off and her gaze sharpens. “What’s your name?”
I flinch before I can stop myself, and she notes it. “I can tell you what people call me here?” I offer.
“Okay.”
“Clíodhna.”
“Clíodhna, okay… wait.Clíodhna, Queen of the Banshees Clíodhna?”
It would appear that Janet knows a little more about the fae than most of the mortals in Éire that I’ve met in the months since the Veil fell. That could make this easier or more complicated.
“Yes.”
She doesn’t say anything for a long time, doesn’t look at me, just closes her eyes and taps her fingers.
“Janet?”
“Shhh.”
I’m not sure I’ve ever been shushed by someone before. It’s a novel experience and I’m not entirely certain how to take it. If my sister were here, she’d go all glorious rage and demand to know who Janet thinks she’s talking to, only Janetdoesknow who she’s talking to at the moment. That’s why she’s gone all quiet.
I sit down and wait.
Most mortals don’t quite react like this.
Most mortals don’t gain entrance to the club.
But every now and then we can sensesomethingabout someone. Something different. The Morrígan would call them Godstouched, though I don’t know if that term quite applies to those who meet the fae. My sister Aoibheall thinks it does, although she thinks less of the Morrígan for abandoning us for Ciara—Ciara being the Godstouched mortal turned Pack that the Morrígan appears to have adopted as her own.
And that something was there in Janet’s application. Aoibheall was going to discard it but I stopped her and I’ve beenwaiting waiting waiting for her to turn up since we accepted her. I’ve sensed her across the road, but this is the first time she’s ever ventured inside.
Eventually, Janet opens her eyes and looks at me. “Can you lie?”
“That’s a myth that’s more attributed to—”
“Can you lie?”
“Yes.” It’s more nuanced than yes or no; there are things that can prevent us from lying—bluebells, for example—but for us fae who were once part of the Tuatha Dé Dannnan, lying isn’t a problem for us.
“So, I could ask you whether or not you intend to hurt me, and you could lie about it.”
“I could,” I admit, “but I’m not going to.”
Janet waits expectantly, and the tension in the air increases. There’s a breathlessness to her questions, as if she’s trying desperately to be logical, whilst also wanting to just give in to all the meandering thoughts her mind has ever had.
