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Clare

The first day of September

Through the house, still as a grave, Larkin liathered lavishly for the handfasting rite of the night before

The blood had been mopped up; the weapons cleaned They’d toasted Hoyt and Glenna with the frothy wine, had eaten cake But behind the suest

Today, he supposed, was for rest and le for hi At least last night they’d fought, he thought as he pressed a hand to his thigh that ached from an arrow strike A score of delory in that

In the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of Coke He’d developed a taste for it, and had co tea

He turned the bottle in his hand,at the cleverness of the vessel—so smooth, so clear and hard But as inside it—this was so he’d miss when they returned to Geall

He could admit he hadn’t believed his cousin, Moira, when she’d spoken of gods and deone with her that day, that sad day of her mother’s burial, to look after her She wasn’t only blood, but friend, and would be queen of Geall

But every word she’d spoken to hirave, had been pure truth They’d gone to the Dance, they’d stood in the heart of that circle And everything had changed

Not just the where and when they were, hesip But everything One moment, they’d stood under the afternoon sun in Geall, then there’d been light and wind, and a roar of sound

Then it had been night, and it had been Ireland—a place Larkin had always believed a fairy tale

He hadn’t believed in fairy tales, or ic

But ic there was, he admitted now Just as there was an Ireland, and there wereout of the dark of the woods, their eyes red, their fangs sharp The forht, but not a man

Vampyre

They existed to feed off ether under their queen to destroy all