Homelands Pt. 07 Ch. 01

Which was not to say that Gallech was small. None of their kind were. And while Cahill was also bigger than any of his brothers or cousins, he only felt smug about that when it came to Gallech. If he was being honest with himself, he'd admit that none of that made sense, even if he assumed the people he met in his dreams were real. If Gallech would stop getting in the way of Cahill's efforts with their mother, he'd be no less fond of the little guy than he was Seamus. Wouldn't feel the need to remind himself that he was carrying a bigger slab of meat between his legs.

"Our little sister will be joining us soon, I think," Fiona continued. "And she only came of age a few months ago, by the reckoning of that world."

Yeah, that world.

"But you, you've been of age for fifteen years, Kay," she said, using a nickname that he hated. Granted, he knew that she didn't like it when anyone but Seamus called her Fi, so he'd asked for that. "What's keeping you?"

"Tell me about this sister," he said.

Fiona's hand finally made it to his crotch.

Damn, that felt good. The girl had a magic touch. All the women here did. In the real world, he'd never feel anything like it. Never know a lover like Fiona, let alone Caronwyn.

"Her name's Brittany," his sister said. "She's not your type though."

Cahill laughed. "Is that all we ever think about?" he asked.

He'd probably have been in a better position to tease her about that if he hadn't just been thinking to himself that no mortal woman would ever please him the way his sister and his mother did. If his older sister's hand wasn't caressing his manhood through the fabric of his drawstring pants at that very moment.

And if he hadn't already realized how absurd the question was, when his sister went up on tiptoes as if to kiss him only to settle back down to her heels with a wicked grin, he had his answer. The pain of being denied the pleasure of her lips was excruciating.

Fiona wasn't his favorite, any more than he was hers, yet that didn't matter. They didn't believe in monogamy here. Sure, the oft-repeated admonition that there weren't supposed to be any strings attached to any of their couplings didn't seem to prevent most of them from forming stronger bonds with some than others. But the clan was very open about sex. Just about everyone enjoyed sharing their bodies with everyone else. Cahill would give his left leg to spend more time with Caronwyn, even if it meant less with Oona and Fiona, but just that moment, with his sister standing so close to him and pressing her hand against the front of his pants, he wanted nothing more than to feel her lips pressed against his.

"Okay, okay, I'm not fooling anyone," he confessed.

In the real world, Cahill had an active sex drive, but not, he thought, an overactive one. None of his girlfriends had ever complained about it, at least. Though, admittedly, each and every one of them had pointed out that their previous relationships had been less physical. It hadn't sounded like any of them had been complaining about that, but perhaps he couldn't really claim that his sex drive was normal. At any rate, in this world, it was like Cahill could never satisfy his urges, no matter how hard he tried. And try he did. Still he always wanted more, more, more. As did the fey women. His sister included.

"About what?" she asked. As soon as the question left her lips, she dug her teeth into her full lower lip in a way that made his imagination run wild. Fuck, she had nice lips.

He grabbed his sister and kissed her deeply. The hand pressed against his stiff dick forgot about him, but their bodies still caught fire as their lips locked. Ecstasy rolled over him in waves. The forest sensed their desire, and the vegetation stirred. Vines rose up off the floor and the trees bent towards them. Furry critters inched closer to watch.

With his eyes closed, he couldn't see these things. But he knew they were happening. They always did, whenever Fiona got excited.

After he released her, Cahill took note of his sister's dilated pupils and flushed cheeks with satisfaction. Sure, every man was a legendary lover in his own dreams. But that didn't stop Cahill from feeling good about the way Fiona swooned.

"So," he said. "Why wouldn't this Brittany be my type?"

Panting for breath, his sister said, "She's too skinny for you."

"Or maybe you just hope I'll think that," he said.

Her lips narrowed. Her eyes went from the deep green of the forest to searing bright emerald and for just a moment, her irises gave off light.

Cahill ran his hands through her hair, taking note of how it went from brown to green to brown. That drew a sigh from her.

"Maybe I do," she said. "Or maybe our aunt does."

He frowned. Oona was a very attractive woman. But she wasn't really his type. Not the way his mother was. Not even as much as Fiona. If he couldn't have Caronwyn, he'd have been glad to have his sister's favor. Unfortunately, that spot was already taken, by Seamus. And he'd be lying if he said he found fault in his sister's taste.

There was something wrong when your dreams couldn't come true in your dreams. But the druidess just didn't seem that interested in him.

It was all meaningless, of course. What he really wanted was a real relationship. With a real woman. One who could make him forget about this place.

"If you'd stop listening to the voices in your head and let your heart tell you the truth," his sister continued, "we could all be together. The whole family. Wouldn't that be nice, Kay? Why are you resisting us?"

He sighed.

That did sound, well, dreamy. And not just because of all the crazy sex. Though there was plenty to be said for that, of course. But as hot as the late night sessions were, what he wanted most of all was to be loved, unconditionally. As he had been once, before he'd pushed his mother away. He wanted a family. If that happened to help him with his physical needs as well, that was great, but he'd settle for a sense of belonging.

What if his mother was right? What if he truly was from this world? Could he just let go of the "real" world and came here for good and true?

Oh, the curse of false hope. In all the world, there was nothing so cruel.

"If you won't leave that world, at least promise me something," Fiona said.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Don't go on that date with the Puck," his sister replied. "She's bad news."

"The Puck?"

"Liadan," Fiona said, over-enunciating the woman's name. As if it was obvious that she went by that title. "The Princess of the Sapphire Court. The Lady of Mischief. She's Queen Titania's daughter, for fuck's sake. Whatever she wants with you, it isn't good."

Some of that even made sense to him. He knew who Titania was, and not just because of Shakespeare. She ruled over all the fey. He'd never lain eyes on her, so far as he could recall, but everyone knew who she was.

"She's real, Fiona," Cahill said, gripping his sister's shoulder tight.

"She's one of us, and you know it."

Cahill didn't reply.

Fiona looked up at him, face impassive. Then she sighed, went up on tiptoes, planted a soft kiss on his cheek, and turned to leave.

Cahill couldn't remember the last time he'd visited this place without achieving satisfaction. "Wait," he called after her.

"Stay away from her, Kay," Fiona said without so much as turning around. Then she started to climb back into her oak tree.

"Please," he said.

This time, she did turn to face him. One hand was already deep in the tree trunk.

"If this isn't just a dream, why is she the only one I've ever seen in... that world?"

Fiona offered him a sad smile. "Because she's a Dreamsmyth. They can come and go as they please. And because she's the Puck. Making mischief is her sole purpose in life." The smile faded. "No doubt she hopes to convince you to remain in that world. She'll pretend to fall in love with you and seduce you and offer you everything you've ever wanted. All to keep you from joining your true family."

How dastardly! What sort of woman aimed to give a man everything he wanted?!

Cahill didn't say anything about how pleasant Liadan's horrible plan sounded, but he didn't have to. His sister glared at him, utter disappointment plain on her face. Without another word, she turned her back to him and melded back into her tree, leaving no sign that she'd ever been there. Not so much as a footprint in the damp earth or spongy moss.

For a time, Cahill wandered the forest, hoping that he might run into one of the other fey women. His aunt never seemed to be far away in this place. He'd even have been glad to see Macha or Teagan. Hell, he'd have been glad to see one of his brothers or his cousins, if only to get another opinion about Liadan. He wasn't sure how much he'd trust any of them besides Seamus. But it would still have been nice to have someone, anyone, to talk to.

But no one else appeared. Only the will-o'-the-wisp, ready to lead him back home.

With a sigh, Cahill followed the silvery orb back the way he'd came. Gradually, the trees grew smaller and further apart. The ancient forest melted away, turning into the woods at the edge of his yard in suburban Georgia.

That was the first night in more than a decade that he slept peacefully through the night. And when he awoke, he felt better than he had in a long time. He'd gotten so used to being tired all the time, he'd all but forgotten what a good night's rest was like.

What little he remembered of his conversation with Fiona soon faded away.

#

"So," Liadan said, tapping the table with her palm for emphasis. "Who'd you talk to?"

"Just checked online," he said. "Yelp, UrbanSpoon."

"Not the restaurant, silly," she said. "Which, by the way, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear. I chose this place, remember? That's all you needed to know."

Cahill laughed. He didn't even know this girl. Nor did she know the restaurant! How could that possibly be all that he needed to know?

"I meant about me," she continued.

"What makes you think I did?" he asked, feeling genuinely confused.

Before she could explain though, the waiter came back with their appetizer. It didn't look all that appetizing to Cahill, but then it hadn't sounded like it would be either. They'd only ordered it because Liadan had insisted that they get the third item from the top before she'd even opened the menu. He'd asked if it mattered what it was, and she'd insisted that it hadn't. Apparently, nothing was more exciting in her eyes than acting on impulse, chasing her every whim wherever it might take her.

Cahill wondered if that was just some bad first date strategy or if she really lived her life that way. With the advice some women's magazines gave, it was hard to tell.

"Yesterday, you came on kinda strong," she said. "Now you're more reserved. So. Something changed. My guess is that you talked to a friend or a family member or someone who told you that I sound like someone you shouldn't get too excited about. No?"

He pondered that as he reached to sample their experiment in spontaneity.

When he was younger, Cahill had never hesitated to go after what he wanted. Only when he discovered that some women found this off-putting had he learned how to hold back. Of course, then he learned that some women found the opposite equally unattractive. He'd since gotten used to the idea that different women had different attitudes towards aggression. Some practically fetishized it, seeing it as a sign of confidence. Others did not. What he hadn't ever come across before was a woman who described forwardness as "coming on strong" but then grew disappointed when he reined things in a bit.

"Maybe you're making me nervous," he said in a playful tone.

Of course he wasn't intimidated by her. Neither was he disinterested, though, as she apparently believed. He was more than a little attracted to her, and he was quite pleased with the knowledge that he could, and would, have her. Tonight, most likely. Of which there wasn't a doubt in his mind. Whether anything more would come of it, he had no idea yet. But the possibility that she might not be interested in him hadn't even crossed his mind. It rarely ever did. Past experience simply hadn't given him much reason to suspect otherwise.

"Nope," she said, giving the "p" a soft pop. "Something else, innit?"

Cahill shrugged.

Suddenly, her bare foot brushed his ankle. He nearly dropped his fork. The light touch of her skin against his sent a jolt of electricity through him. He'd never felt anything like it in the waking world. But he got the same exact feeling every time his dream women touched him. That was the magic touch of the fey.

Her foot quickly retreated, but a naughty grin spread across her face. The slight curvature of those full lips promised wondrous things and offered less than no apology.

"Most girls would start out small. Maybe lay their hand atop mine," he said.

"I'm not most girls," Liadan said.

It wasn't the fact that she'd gone off script that surprised him though. It was how good the briefest contact with her had felt.

Only what he thought had happened couldn't have happened. He had to have imagined it, just as he'd imagined the way she'd brought the world of Faerie into contact with the mortal world while playing his flute.

He wanted his dreams to be real so badly that he was starting to believe that they were. Starting to project them onto people that he met.

"So. Who was it?" Liadan asked.

He didn't reply. Truthfully, he didn't know the answer. His gut reaction was to insist that he hadn't talked to anyone about her.

But the more he thought about it, the more he doubted his intuition. Did conversations with women who only existed inside his mind count?

Cahill rarely remembered the details of his interactions with the fey women of his dreams. He had the vague sense that every time he returned to the dream world, his memories of past visits returned with him, and he knew that he visited another world each and every night. Knew about the things he did while there. Simply put, he was aware of the basic facts of his nightly delusions. But nothing more.

"Couldn't have been a guy friend. You don't know anything about me that would make them tell you anything other than to `hit that.' Right? No, it had to have been a woman. You close with your mum? Or maybe still attached to an ex?"

Bells were starting to ring. He had talked to one of the women in his life. If the women of his imagination counted, anyway. Oona, perhaps? Or maybe Fiona? He spent most nights with the floral nymph, but he had the distinct sense that it was his sister that he'd spoken about Liadan. Which only made sense. Oona never gave him advice about, well, anything. She was only interested in one thing. His sister was interested in that too, of course, but unlike their aunt, she often asked how he was doing. And, when appropriate, gave him advice, particularly about women he was seeing.

No, not his sister. The imaginary woman who claimed to be his sister.

Damn, but it was easy to fall into the trap of thinking the fey did not just exist inside his head. That the advice they gave came from somewhere other than his own subconscious.

"Okay, no sense denying it. This is awkward, but I might as well come clean," Cahill said. "I went right home afterward we spoke yesterday and called all my female friends and ex-girlfriends and high school acquaintances. Anyone with ovaries, basically. I told them everything I knew about you. And boy, did that take long. Sadly, none of them seem to approve of you, so this is probably gonna be the last time we see each other. Hope you don't mind if I skip dessert. Or if we split the bill."

Liadan snorted.

And, apparently, that was all the response his sarcasm warranted. She focused her attention on their disappointing appetizer, though it only took another mouthful for her too to decide that it wasn't very good. Whether that meant she regretted ordering it was another matter, but she didn't seem interested in eating any more of it.

"Okay," she said after putting her fork down, "but you talked to someone"

Why was she so convinced of that?

"A sister perhaps?"

His pint glass paused on its way to his lips.

"Bingo," Liadan said excitedly. "So what is it? She have a problem with my skin color?"

"Of course not. Why would she?" Cahill asked.

"So you did talk to your sister?"

Cahill shook a finger at her, as if to say, "Ah, you. You're good." Instead, he said, "She asked if you were Catholic. I told her I didn't know, but you were definitely Irish."

"That right?" she asked, reaching for her wine.

At times, she sounded as American as he did. Not Bostonian, nor distinctly southern, but American. Midwestern, maybe. Other times, he caught a hint of that telltale lilt. Still other times, she seemed to pick up a thick brogue, or she'd use idiom never heard this side of the pond. Still other times, she sounded foreign, but more British than Irish.

Of course, his sister hadn't asked about any of that. He didn't have to remember the conversation well to know that much. If the fey observed any religion at all, it sure wasn't Roman Catholicism. And if they had any connection with Gaelic peoples, it was tenuous. His mother might have asked if he was seeing a good Catholic girl, if he still spoke to her, but the fey didn't care about any of that. And, to her credit, even his mother wouldn't have cared one bit about the color of Liadan's skin. The day Mary Donovan watched her son marry a Prot would be the day they put her in the ground, but she didn't share the attitude too many in that neighborhood had towards race.

"I am, am I?" Liadan asked. "Ye sure about that?"

"Well, you ain't from Georgia."

She laughed. "Would you know the difference between an Irish accent and a Scottish one? What about Welsh?"

"Okay, but definitely Celtic," he said.

"I suppose that's true enough," she said, grinning to herself.

It might be "true" but Cahill wondered if her "real" heritage had anything to do with the British Isles. That seemed like an important distinction, though he couldn't recall why.

That was when the waiter came with their entrees. He cleared away the abandoned appetizer before laying their dishes before them.

Liadan was pleasantly surprised by her entree, which she'd also chosen at random. For some reason, that seemed significant to Cahill. If Fiona was there, she'd be kicking him under the table and whispering to him "I told you so!"

Told him what? That Liadan had a bit of a whimsical streak? That she just might be, to use her own words, a little capricious?

Oh, the horror.

Yet he thought that Fiona would tell him that he should indeed be wary for precisely that reason. What was it she'd said of Liadan? That she was the Puck?

Yes, that was it.

The Puck. Shakespeare's Robin Goodfellow. The figure sometimes referred to a puca, Bucca, pwca, pooka, or puca, depending on whether the reference was Old English, Cornish, Welsh, or Irish. Regardless of the spelling and pronunciation, the word referred to trickster figure, whose love of chaos led him to throw peoples lives into disarray for his own amusement.

Or, apparently, hers.

He should have recognized the title straight away. Only sometimes, his lifelong knowledge of fairy tales and Celtic myths would slip away, suddenly and without reason.

"It'll stop doing that when you wake up," his mother had told him once. Not his real mother, but his true mother. The woman who claimed to be his true mother. Caronwyn.

While Cahill was still chewing his steak, Liadan put her fork down, grabbed a fistful of bills from her purse, and dropped them on the table. He stared at the money in disbelief. No woman had ever walked out in the middle of a date with him before.