Homelands Pt. 09 Ch. 01

"We have something more serious to discuss anyway," she said in an uncharacteristically serious voice. As she did, she slipped into her fey form, that of the archetypal fairy godmother. Diaphanous wings sprouted from her back and her body began to glow.

Hardly anyone wore their fey forms as often as Cahill did, especially around the house where no one but other Walkers would see them. Yet even compared to others, his grandmother wore hers infrequently.

Cahill regarded her quietly for a moment, almost unsure if she was joking with him. But of course she wasn't. Annoying as she could be when the urge struck her, she never went too long without reminding him why she'd once been matriarch.

As abruptly as her appearance had changed, so too had his feelings towards her. He felt the tension go out of his back. The eagerness to counter any jab with a hook melted away. This Aeife was welcome to let herself into his room whenever she wanted.

He took a sip of whiskey, savoring its clean taste, and said not a word.

"It's about my mother," Oberon said in that rumbling voice of his. With his fair skin, delicate features, and long hair, he didn't seem like he should have such a deep baritone. That his waist was the same size as Aeife's didn't help either. No one was ever going to mistake him for a woman, not with those big muscles and broad shoulders, but he was still entirely too effeminate to sound so much like James Earl Jones. But then, if he actually spoke more than a few words here and there to anyone other than Aeife, Cahill might have gotten over that by now. "Queen Titania."

"He knows who your mother is, dear," Aeife said, placing a hand on her prince's shoulder. Tender as the touch was, she followed that up by saying, "We all do."

The poor guy looked like he'd been stabbed in the gut. He recovered from the wound quickly enough, to be sure, but Cahill could only imagine how his uncle must have felt hearing that. After everything he'd given up for her, she threw that in his face?

"She hasn't found a way to get through?" Cahill asked.

"We don't think so," his grandmother replied. "Not yet."

"Not yet," Cahill repeated.

"I think someone's trying to help her," Aeife continued. Strictly by coincidence, her hand fell away from Oberon's shoulder as she added, "Someone on this side."

"What makes you say that?" Cahill asked, feeling numb.

"We checked the glamours on our way back. Some of the fabric was seriously frayed. The separation between this world and the Dreaming is as strong as ever, technically, but someone would really like to see that change. If they'd been a little stronger, or maybe just had a better idea what they were doing, they'd have succeeded in opening a hole."

As she said all of this, she kept her eyes firmly on her grandson. But Cahill could feel her Libido cooling, almost as if her energy was trying to retreat as far away as possible from the man sitting beside her. It was more or less the exact opposite of what happened inside a fey's Libido when they got aroused.

She couldn't really suspect him, could she?

If there was a traitor in their midst, it had to be someone else. His uncle was as devoted to his grandmother as any man had ever been to any woman. There were days when Cahill looked at how good his uncle was to the woman he loved and felt guilty about how rarely he went the extra mile for Caronwyn. How often he hurt her feelings, inadvertently or otherwise.

Besides, Oberon was just too powerful.

By his grandmother's own admission, if whoever had sought to sabotage their glamours had been stronger, they'd have succeeded. But fey didn't come much stronger than Oberon. If he'd tried to break through the web, they'd be dealing with his mother at that very moment. As far overboard as Cahill had gone in reinforcing the glamours, he'd have liked to believe that it would take someone of Oberon's strength to even come that close to unraveling them. But they were meant to keep people out, not to resist tampering from the inside.

It made no sense to think that Oberon had attempted to betray them yet failed in the endeavor. For lots of reasons. His grandmother must have recognized that on some level, because if she'd really thought he'd tried serving them up to Titania, she'd have done a lot more than taken her hand off his shoulder. Lost some of her desire for him.

One of the two would no longer be drawing breath.

He wasn't sure which one, but an epic battle there would be. And he wouldn't want to be anywhere nearby when it happened. Not even in the same world.

"Well?" Aeife said, as if expecting an answer to a question. Only she hadn't asked one.

"Well what?"

Her eyes went wide with disbelief. "Do you think maybe that's something we should be concerned about? Just a little?"

"Absolutely," he said. "This is my concerned face."

The stone of Oberon's mask cracked, allowing the tiniest smirk to appear.

"What do you suggest we do about it, then?" his grandmother asked.

Couldn't she give him a moment to think?

Cahill sipped his whiskey slowly for a time before saying, "For starters, we need to change up the nightly rotation." She didn't laugh at that. That was a good start. "You or I will be part of every patrol from now on. And no more splitting up. We work in pairs."

"Okay," his grandmother said. "What else?"

What, did she want him to propose interrogating everyone?

"There's got to be some ritual my mother can perform. A divination of some sort."

"I'm sure there is," his grandmother said. "And that might even help. Assuming whoever nearly succeeded in undoing the most powerful glamour I've ever crafted hasn't figured out how to mask themselves from such scrutiny."

Assuming fire didn't burn, in other words.

"Double patrol duty? You and I will both serve every night, pairing up with different people each time. And we'll set aside more time each day to bolster the glamours."

Aeife frowned at him. "That second part's a good idea."

"But?" he asked, tipping back his glass in a show of calm he didn't feel.

"No one's going to try anything while on patrol. Not with you or me standing right beside them the entire time," his grandmother said. "Besides, if we try to go without sex for too long, we'll soon cease to be of any use to anyone."

She was right. The main reason they all looked forward to their nights off was that they got really horny. Because it felt so damn good to share their bodies with one another. But the coupling served a purpose too. Working glamours took a lot of energy. In a sense, they had an obligation to fuck each other's brains out from time to time, if only to keep their Libidos full enough to allow them to reinforce the web each and every day.

He wasn't sure what else to suggest though.

"Okay, well, we've got something to start with," his grandmother said, rising from the bed. "We should probably let you get dressed now."

Only then did Cahill remember he was still naked.

#

"Is all that really necessary?" his mother asked while she diced up a mountain if vegetables for the evening's keg of soup. A small smile graced her lovely lips. "Sounds to me like an excuse for you to drink from some other fountains."

Cahill kissed the side of her head again. If Ty wasn't standing at the counter beside them, peeling potatoes, he'd have gotten a bit more affectionate. It wasn't easy, resisting the temptation. Queen Titania could surely think up greater forms of torture than forcing Cahill to stand near his mother while requiring him to keep his hands to himself, but it would take someone of her creativity to do so.

It didn't help that her soft cotton dress was about as thick as tissue paper. It covered everything up tastefully, as was only appropriate around their children, but thin as it was, it still revealed a lot. Anyone interested in such matters would have little trouble determining that she wore boy shorts and a full-cup bra beneath.

Bad as it was not being able to touch her, the pain of knowing he'd made his mother jealous was even worse. Especially since he knew that she was not only jealous, but resentful that he knew it. That, for once, he was right to suspect as much.

She'd not gotten mad at him for thinking her jealous when she wasn't in some time, but the memories of fights best forgotten remained present in both their minds. Convinced as Caronwyn that her son saw her as more possessive than was true, anytime she actually did get jealous, she got angry at both herself---for reinforcing his perception of her---and at him---for holding that perception in the first place. As ever, she was hiding her irritation quite well. Almost perfectly. But he didn't need any change in her Libido to tell him that she was upset. The feigned smile would not deceive him. He knew her too well.

Why didn't the same go for her? Why didn't she know, through and through, that he didn't feel the same way about his sisters as he did her? Or that he didn't care if she couldn't help but fall victim to occasional bout of jealousy? He might not believe that she was as comfortable with sharing him as she let on, but he didn't love her any less for it. Why couldn't they just set all of that nonsense aside?

"It'll give me a chance to interrogate everyone without it looking like that's what I'm doing," he whispered. It was a safe bet that their eldest was well aware of most everything they thought they kept secret from him. He was nearly seventeen years old, after all. The ways of the fey were no great mystery to him anymore, even if he had yet to experience some of them himself. Besides, Ty never been as easy to deceive as their other children. Not even as a toddler. The boy had to have a pretty good idea what his parents did at night, and who they did it with. Who they were hiding from behind the web of glamours and why they were hiding. He probably even knew by now that someone had nearly undone them. Probably. In case he didn't, though, Cahill intended to keep him in the dark. "Your mother's going to do more or less the same tomorrow night."

Cahill's attempt at explaining himself earned him nothing more than a a curt "Mmm-hmm." Which was probably all he deserved.

"You don't think there's any reason to question Fi and Brit?" he asked.

No reply came.

That was reasonable enough, though. He really, really doubted that he'd find out that either of his sisters was responsible for sabotaging the glamours. The problem, however, was that if they gave everyone who seemed trustworthy a pass, they'd have no suspects left. They had no choice but to explore every possibility, however remote it seemed.

"That's not the point," he said, pleadingly. Perhaps hopelessly.

"No one seems like they'd be capable of this," she said, as if reading his mind. "We have to suspect everyone." He couldn't tell from her tone whether she was mocking him or not.

"Of what?" Ty asked without looking up from the potatoes.

Cahill shot him a disapproving look.

"Sorry," their son said, over-enunciating. "Forgot I can't hear you."

"So when's my mother going to question you?" Caronwyn asked, not bothering to keep her voice down. For all the good it would have done anyway. "Or you her?"

Cahill sighed. "Fine. We'll do that."

She grunted by way of response.

"Blah, blah, blah-blah-blah, blah," Ty said, head bouncing from side to side. "Good thing there are no kids around to hear something they shouldn't. You guys might have to lower your voices or something."

"How many Dreamsmyths have we got this side of the glamours?" Caronwyn asked. "Why cast any wider a net than that?"

Because it wasn't Oberon.

It just couldn't be.

He didn't have any particular affection for his uncle. Nor anything against him. It was just obvious where his loyalties lay and where they didn't. Sure, it was uncomfortable to think that one of them, a Walker, had attempted to throw the gates open for Queen Titania. But the very last person Cahill suspected was her son, former lover or not.

"So, uh, is twenty enough?" Ty asked, pointing to a third big bowl of peeled spuds. "Some of these are pretty small."

"Few more wouldn't hurt," Caronwyn told their son, sounding sincerely interested in the topic. The heat she'd accidentally allowed to bubble up to the surface was receding already. "We can always save the leftovers. You'll eat it for lunch tomorrow, won't you?"

"Are you kidding?" Cahill asked, eagerly following her lead. "He'll eat anything, as long as it's not still breathing."

That earned him a dirty look from his mother. For his part, though, Ty seemed to think his father's comment somewhere between amusing and flattering.

The kid couldn't have much more growing to do. He was an inch taller than his father, and had been for about a year. His heavy musculature hadn't changed much of late either. But their son still ate enough for an army.

"I'll peel a few more," Ty said.

"Look, if it really bothers you," Cahill said, though he realized the stupidity of it before he even finished the sentence. Reluctantly, he completed the thought. "We won't do it."

"Don't," his mother said. "You're making me out to be a-"

"I didn't mean that," he said, exasperated. "Didn't...mean that," he repeated, though this time his ears heard the sound of a man who was exhausted.

Fuck, he wished he could find a way to end their suffering. Break the cycle.

He loved her so much. She had to know that, didn't she?

"Yeah," his mother said, turning around. She placed her hands on his bare chest and his Libido soared, blissfully---or perhaps willfully---unaware of the tension that had filled the room a moment ago. "Here's the deal. We'll go through with this silly little escapade, and afterwards you make it up to me."

"And how should I do that?" he asked, excited by the possibilities.

"Eww, gross," Ty said, no longer amused. "Can't you guys talk about this later?"

"Teach your daughter how to play the flute," Caronwyn said promptly.

Maeve had been asking for more music lessons for weeks. Cahill had agreed enthusiastically enough when she'd first asked, a year or so ago, but it hadn't taken long to see that whatever other gifts she might have inherited from her parents, that wasn't one of them. Or, rather, hadn't taken long for him to see that. His daughter had yet to accept that music might not be her thing. And though Caronwyn didn't doubt his assessment of the girl's abilities, she'd been insisting for a while that he continue to humor her. Until recently, when she'd gradually begun bringing it up less and less often, leading him to think---to hope---that she'd finally thrown in the towel.

No such luck.

Part of him knew that he should be proud of his daughter's determination. So many parents had the opposite problem, forced to bribe and cajole their children just to keep them from giving up too quickly. But it was different for their kind. Some fey had a true gift for music, unlike anything a mortal could comprehend. Cahill was one of them, as were Niall and Regan. Others, however, were not. And there was no shame in that.

Besides, the only reason Maeve wanted more lessons was because of Regan.

There was no deep, abiding love of music in her heart. He knew that. Just a desperate need to prove that anything her brother could do, she could do better. To be involved in whatever he had going on in his life at the moment. The two of them bickered incessantly, yet made never made any attempt to put any distance between themselves. They found each other insufferable yet they remained inseparable.

He and Caronwyn were sure they'd fall hopelessly in love when they were older. Which would eventually be sweet. But the fact that they were only nine and ten years old, and therefore had many more years of pointless antagonism to go, almost made him want to cry.

Still, if rewarding his daughter's antics was the price of peace with his mother, he'd gladly pay it. Anything to make her happy.

"That's quite a bargain you know," his mother said, as though he'd expressed more reluctance than he had. Thankfully, her smile was more bemused than annoyed. She caressed his cheek, causing his knees to tremble. "I probably ought to up the price."

"Probably," he said, kissing her on the nose.

Ty made various gagging sounds, then said, "Scuse me. Must've swallowed some peel." After a pause, he added, "Never knew how sweet they were. Almost cloying. Go figure."

"Nonetheless," Cahill said, pointedly ignoring the not-so-little smartass, "I should make you listen. That way you won't hold it against me when I give up again."

His mother pushed a fist against his abs so lightly that it couldn't quite be called a punch. "She could be a slow learner. You don't know."

"I know," he said. She started to protest. Before she could, he asked, "Have you seen her watercolors?" The girl's attempts at music gave him a headache, but she'd shown some signs of artistic talent. "Why don't we get her an easel and some painting supplies?"

"Good idea," Caronwyn said. "After you get her permission, we'll move on to that."

"If you want my opinion, we've got too many people thinking that making noise and playing music are the same thing as it is," Ty said. "Dad."

#

Convincing the others to don costumes was easy. They did so less and less often with each passing year, but every few months or so someone would suggest they honor Oona's memory, and there was obviously but one way to do so. The tricky part would be getting everyone on board with the idea that to truly get into character, it was necessary for them to let Cahill mess around with their minds a bit. Put them under glamours to convince them that they really were the villains they portrayed. So Cahill decided to wait until after everyone was dressed up to propose the idea.

He kicked things off, claiming the lead role of the Caped Crusader for himself. He didn't get too elaborate with his costume, though. No breastplate or bodysuit or anything like that. Just a pair of gray tights and a tight long-sleeved T with a black bat emblazoned on the chest, supplemented by a snug pair of black silk boxers, black leather boots and long matching gloves, a gold utility belt, a flowing black cape, and a rubber mask. A full latex suit would have looked better, but he didn't want to wear anything that heavy.

His brother went all out as the Joker, though. Seamus wore a purple suit with gold pinstripes, a gold vest with big green buttons, purple gloves, a green bowtie, black shoes with purple and gold trim, and a big pocket watch. White makeup covered his face, with Circles of thick black kohl rimming his eyes. His mouth was contorted into an unnatural grin, made all the more garish by his fire engine red lipstick. His chin was elongated, stretching several inches further down than it should have and culminating in a sharp point. His brown hair and eyebrows had turned green. Not the dark green Fiona often sported either, but a bright, neon green. Eyesore green. His hairline had receded too, leaving a distinct widow's peak. With what remained standing straight up like that, the top of his head had acquired as sharp a look as that of his knifelike chin. As if that wasn't enough, he'd radically altered his physique as well. Seamus now stood a few inches taller than Cahill rather than three inches shorter. The temporary growth spurt hadn't remotely preserved his proportions either. A lean body had grown even leaner. His torso was long and thin, while his arms and legs, though still muscular, looked absolutely cartoonish. Or perhaps nightmarish.

Even more dramatic, though, was Finnegan's transformation into Two-Face. He wore a perfectly bisected three piece suit, silver on one side and black on the other. The shirt he wore underneath was black where his suit was silver and red underneath the black half. His tie was red on one side, checkered black and silver on the other. Nothing too radical there, though the stark contrasts made for a rather striking visual. But what really impressed Cahill was what his cousin did to his face. The right side looked exactly as it always did. Cold and hard, yet relatively handsome. Incredibly so, by mortal standards. The left side, however, was downright hard to look at. Burned down to blackened bone in places, with raw muscle and charred skin elsewhere. What little hair remained on that side of his face was pure white, and a disheveled mess. The thick waves of soft brown on the other side of his head looked all the more perfect by comparison.