Page 46 of Evil Eyed
“We all want to get lucked,” Doran rumbled. “But first, we must end Evil Eye’s reign of terror.”
Ivarr elbowed Aidan. “What he means is we have to get Evil Eyed first.”
Aidan rolled his eyes. “You idjit. That means he’s Evil Eyingus. Not the other way around.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask about that,” I started to say, raising my voice over their banter. “He’s supposed to have a terrifying eye, right? Was that hidden beneath the Boss Man glamor?”
“Aye, the great eye was so massive that it took half a dozen men to hold the lid open,” Keane said, immediately going into story-time mode. “His eye blasted whatever it saw, killing men and animals, withering the ground, sometimes bringing fire or poison, depending on the tale. But I can’t say that I’ve ever seen this horrible eye of his.”
“Even when I chopped off his head, I saw no terrible eye,” Doran added. “I always assumed it was just a metaphor for his evil personality.”
“Where did all the stories come from, then? There must be some truth behind it.”
“Fomorians were sometimes associated with chaos and natural disasters,” Warwick said. “As such, Balor’s terrible eye could have been the sun. Burning out of control, it would certainly blight the land and kill through drought.”
“I always thought he was more like a giant Cyclops with one horrible eye blasting from his forehead.” I laughed self-consciously, shaking my head. “I guess I took ‘Evil Eye’ too literally.”
“He’s High Court fae,” Warwick replied. “Like me—only even higher, older, and much more powerful. In my experience, the higher the fae, the more terrifyingly beautiful they be. Fae beauty be a dangerous thing indeed. I’ve never seen Evil Eye in his natural form, but I wouldn’t expect him to have a giant head with a baleful glaring eye.”
“Queen Morgan was beautiful, but not overwhelmingly so. Was she still wearing a glamor when I met her in the Summer Isle?”
“Of course. A High Court fae rarely exposes their true form.”
Thinking, I absently touched the hag stone hidden beneath my clothes. Maybe if I looked at Evil Eye through the stone I would see his infamous eye. But would he even allow me to pull it out and look at him? Especially if High Court fae didn’t like to expose their true forms. I blew out a sigh. “I guess in my head I always imagined that defeating Evil Eye would somehow involve putting out his horrible eye, or at least blinding it somehow. But if he’s never revealed it, how do I trick him into showing us?”
Aidan’s head whipped around to glare through the wall as if he could see outside the house. “Times up. If you want to take us to Tory Island, you’d best do some art shit now.”
“What? Why?”
Something thudded against the covered sliding glass door. “They’re here.” Aidan positioned himself between me and the glass. “Time to go,mo stór, before the battle ends here and now.”
Glowing softly, Ivarr closed his eyes a moment. A pulse of golden light radiated from him, and his face tightened. “They used the lake as a portal. They’ve got a whole host of creatures outside.”
Something squeaked across the glass, making me think of the kelpie tentacles and suction cups. Thuds continued against the side of the house and now the roof. Yikes. Nothing like painting under pressure.
Already shifted to his gargoyle, Doran snagged my bag from the other room and sent it skidding across the floor to me. I whipped out the sketchbook and charcoal pencils. I didn’t have time for watercolors. Hopefully a rough sketch would be good enough.
The jagged line of black rocks rose in my mind, looking like an old skeleton key. Angry waves dashed against the base of the peninsula stretching out into the ocean. I wasn’t sure where the original castle was supposed to have stood, so I created my own smooth, flat landing spot that looked across a deep channel at the jagged rocks.
I looked up at Warwick, who’d already attached himself to my hip without a single word from one of the treasures. “Is that good enough to get us there?”
He glanced at my sketch but quickly pulled his attention back to the pounding overhead. “I recognize it as An Eochair Mhor, but it’s more about your intention than anything else. Not to sound like a broken record but we must hurry. They’ve penetrated the house.”
I scrambled to my feet and the guys backed up against me, forming a living shield. Staring down at the sketch, I tried to calm my breathing, but something roared, an awful cross between a Jurassic Park dinosaur and fingernails on a chalkboard. The shrieking roar made me flinch, a continuous sound of terror that made me want to cover my ears and find a place to hide.
“He released the Bocánaigh,” Doran bellowed. “Work your magic, Riann!”
I had no idea what that was—and I sure as fuck didn’t want to stick around and find out. I clutched the paper against my chest and closed my eyes. Intention. I wanted us away from here. Standing on a green hill, looking across the chasm at Balor’s domain. I could see the dark, jagged stones rising up like teeth from the crashing waves below. Seagulls called overhead, not the sound of nightmares on the roof. I could smell the salty, fresh air, feel the cool breeze off the ocean—
A frigid blast of damp air slapped me across the cheeks, shaking me out of the vision. Wind whistled around us, tugging at my legs, though Doran’s wide bulk protected me from the brunt of the gale. Rain pelted the top of my head and my cheeks.
Aidan raised his voice over the howling wind. “Of fucking course it be raining.”
“It be Éire after all,” Doran called back. “I don’t suppose the leprechaun delivery service could rustle up a giant umbrella?”
“Working on it,” Warwick said. “Or something better, I dare say. There.”
A glittering net rose above us like a delicate lacy web, managing to block both the wind and rain and give us a moment to breathe and think.
