Page 9 of The Red Woman and the White Bear

“I’d like you to at least consider it.” His voice sounded a bit like her father’s had: rough. A smoker’s voice. “You know where to find me.”

“I sure do,” she said with sarcastic sweetness. He’d expected her to sell it off without a second thought before heading back to the mainland. She hadn’t yet thought about it at all the first time he asked. Now, after this fifth time and after actuallyhaving thought about it, she still had no plans to sell—even if she did leave. It was Rodney’s home now.

But as for whether Aisling would stay on Brook Isle, that remained very much undecided. Whereas her own youthful and ambitious spirit had once driven her away, now, something external was fighting to keep her here. It pulled and pulled with cold, gripping fingers that had ahold of her throat. Her heart. Her mind. She wasn’t sure what it was, whether it was a physical entity or some sort of manifestation of her own guilt, but either way, she was powerless against it.

It would be two days yet before Aisling felt ready to leave the safety of her apartment. She slept, she cleaned, she cooked. She stepped outside only a handful of times to let Briar out, but she had otherwise hidden herself away. It wasn’t as though her apartment would have afforded her any degree of safety should anything come looking for her. But it was small, and there was a lock on the door, and she knew exactly how many steps it would take to reach the block of knives in the kitchen from any given room.

Amidst all the confusion and time spent parsing through the words of the prophecy, Aisling hadn’t realized at first just how afraid she felt. It didn’t matter what the celestial light was, or which court was spring and which was winter. What mattered was that there were beings out there who believed her to be the Red Woman.Although to some, she’d be heralded as the last hope for their dying world, to others—likely many others—she’d be cast as the enemy. Without having done anything at all, there was a whole host of Fae that would see her dead before she could claim her fate. And that was a reality Aisling wasn’t ready to confront.

So being that it was the Fae who put her in this headspace, it only stood to reason that it would take one to pull her back out of it.

Rodney turned up at Aisling’s door on his way back from his early morning shift at the dock, demanding a walk and refusing to take no for an answer. The temperature had dropped significantly over those two days. Aisling tightened the thick woolen scarf around her neck and pushed her gloved hands deeper into her pockets. They’d gotten their last camping trip of the season in right under the wire.

The sky was overcast, filled with heavy, rain-laden clouds. The island wore the same somber cloak of gray that it always donned around this time of year and wouldn’t shed until very late spring. At least the sun—that sickening red reminder of Aisling’s alleged destiny—was hidden beneath the clouds’ feathered layers.

Brook Isle was among the smallest settled islands in San Juan County; a community only 297 strong. With its limited amenities and slightly worn-down charm, it possessed a quiet sort of beauty that was kept carefully sheltered from the rest of the world. The place was almost stuck in time. For most of its residents, that was what tethered them to the island. Natives rarely left; outsiders rarely stayed.

The pair walked along the narrow street that cut through the heart of town heading south, in thedirection of the harbor. The street-side dogwood trees that had been filled with white blooms all summer long were now shades of yellow and orange, bare in patches, and the damp leaves that had already fallen clung to the bottoms of their shoes.

Rodney directed Aisling toward the bakery, shoulders shrugged against the marine fog rolling off the Salish Sea that hadn’t yet cleared for the day. It was early still; most of the stores wouldn’t open for another hour or so. Their shiplap exteriors in nautical shades of reds and blues were faded and aged by years of salt air. While some would think them tired, Aisling was comforted by their familiarity. These buildings had been well-loved, and at this point she might even be disappointed if they were ever repainted.

As they continued their brisk walk, the sound of seagulls calling out overhead mingled with the distant crashing of waves against the island’s rocky shores. The echoes of the sea breathed a calming rhythm and for the first time in days, Aisling felt better.

The bakery was already crowded with ferry commuters who would be heading out on the next boat toward Orcas Island, or San Juan Island, or even as far as Anacortes on the mainland. Rodney and Aisling wove their way up to the counter and he ordered them each a hot tea to go. Once she had the warm cup clasped between her hands, it felt almost pleasant outside.

“Was that real cash?” she asked when they were back out on the street.

Rodney smirked. “And if it wasn’t?” He laughed when Aisling elbowed him in the ribs, then said, “It was, it was. I swear.”

Aisling and Rodney had met close to eleven years prior, when she’d come home for the summer after her junior year of college to sulk because she hadn’t landed the internship she’d applied for. Her father had sent her down to the gas station for a pack of cigarettes, and he was ahead of her in line buying two liters of bright green soda. She’d recognized him vaguely as the odd boy who’d been a couple years below her in school who only ever kept to himself. His hair had been jet black then.

His sleight of hand trick was small and had gone unnoticed by everyone but Aisling. Even then, after so many years of disbelief, she recognized Fae magic when she saw it. The cash he paid with had a certain glimmer to it, and the air a certain smell. Afterward, she cornered him outside in the parking lot before he could slip away.

“How did you do that?” she had demanded. He’d given her a stupid, goofy grin and swore he didn’t know what she was talking about.

“I’m not sure just what you think you saw.”

“You had playing cards in your hand. They were bills when you passed them to the cashier,” Aisling accused. “You glamoured them.”

No matter how much time had passed, she still wouldn’t let him live it down. That was the night they became best friends. It was also the night Aisling understood, for the first time since she was young, that her mother had been telling the truth about the Fae on the island all along.

“I’ve been thinking,” Rodney started as they sat together on a wooden bench adjacent to the docks.

“That’s never a good sign.”

“Funny.” He rolled his eyes but was unfazed by her interruption, and started again: “I’ve been thinking, the only way you’re going to get to the bottom of all of this is by going straight to the heart of it.”

Aisling turned on the bench to face him, curling one knee to her chest so she could rest the half-empty cup on top of it. “What do you mean?”

“Well, given that it’s a fairly obvious threat against the Unseelie Court’s sovereignty, it stands to reason that they would have scholars or seers of some sort that would have studied the text of the prophecy. They’d probably know more about it than anyone. Better the enemy you know, and all that.” His assumption made sense, but it was far from helpful.

“So, what, I’m supposed to stop by and ask them how to destroy their kingdom? Great idea, Rodney. Thanks.”

“Not quite,” he said, having missed the sarcasm in her voice altogether. “But if we could somehow get you into their good graces, you could at least do a little digging yourself.”

“And how do you propose I do that?” Aisling asked.

He grimaced. “I’m still working on that part.”

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