As we crossed Whitworth Bridge, I looked out the window. Below us the Liffey River flowed a gray- jade color, the dark clouds of the late-October sky barely reflected in its depths.

At the next stop, we left the tram and cut across West High Street. It was a strange experience, to see almost as many elves as humans walking about. No one gave us a second look. Oh well, perhaps one or two. We were dressed better than the average Dub- liner. I know the reports out of the Tir have it that the land is green and milk and honey flow from ev- ery stream, but after all, this is Eire.

Poverty has been at the throat of the people for generations. And goblinization hadn't changed that. Perhaps no one was starving, but all was not well in the Tir.

At St. Nicholas Street we headed south and cut west before we reached St. Patrick's Park. I glanced back to see if anyone was following us. An old woman pulled a shopping cart filled with vegetables, but as far as I could see there was no one tailing us.

"How long since you've been here?" I asked Caimbeul.

"Oh, I get about," he said, shrugging.

"Meaning you've been here recently."

He gave me hard stare. "Yes. I was here recently. I was invited to attend a wedding."

"Whose wedding?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Because I wasn't invited?"

"Well, yes."

"Well, I don't care about that," I lied. Weddings were highly symbolic events in the elven commu- nity. Full of alliances and power-jockeying. Not being invited meant I wasn't considered a pow- er anymore. That would hurt me when I went to the Court. No doubt Alachia's hand at work once more.

We worked our way across the maze of streets that led to St. Stephen's Green. Nestled next to ancient stone buildings were brick flats put up in the nineteen-hundreds next to chip-implanting shops. Dublin wasn't a flash city like New York or LA. She crept up on you and worked her charms in subtler ways. A hint of the past here. A bit of the future there.

Once we were in St. Stephen's I relaxed a little. I was certain no one was tailing us: the old woman had turned off on Bride Street. Since then, the crowd thickened and thinned, but no one seemed at all in- terested in Caimbeui and me.

"Where do you want to stay?" Caimbeui asked.

"Stephen's Hall?"

"Do they have a decent security rating?"

"Good enough," I said. "It's not like we're going underground."

The hotel overlooked St. Stephen's Green with its emerald grass and drooping willows. We checked in and followed the troll bell boy up to our suite.

We left a wake-up call for six.

The rains came at four. I woke to a crash of thun- der and the sound of hail hitting the windows. For a moment I was disoriented and thought I was back in the kaer. A suffocating darkness pressed against me. But then I saw the night sky as Caimbeui opened the drapes.

"Where did this come from?" he wondered aloud.

"If I were more superstitious," I said, "I would say it was a sign."

"A sign?"

"Yes. They know we're here. But it's more likely this is the Doineann Draoidheil."

He didn't say anything to that. Knowing he was watching there at the window made me feel safe. And as I drifted back to sleep, I smiled.

Tonight she doesn't dream.

Bells.

I swam up from the murky depths and realized be- fore I opened my eyes that it was the telephone. Couldn 't they afford to replace these fraggin' an- tiques? I thought. Swatting at the phone, I managed to drag it from its cradle and sent the base crashing to the floor. Damn things, I never got used to them when they appeared and now that they were obso- lete, I was still plagued with them.

"Whazzit?"

"Your wake-up call." The voice was computerized and pretematurally perky. I hate that.

I let the receiver drop. It missed the base and thudded on the carpet. Burrowing further into the covers, I let the lovely blackness drag me down again.

"Aina," said Caimbeui, pulling the covers off me. "Time to get up."

I lay there for a moment not moving. It occurred to me that though we Elders weren't supposed to mortally wound one another, there was always a first time for everything. Instead, I rolled onto my back and glared at him in what I hoped would be a fright- ening manner.

"That won't work," he said. He was dressed in black. His hair was pulled back into that annoying ponytail. At least he'd laid off dyeing it red for a while. "I'm not even a little intimidated by your bad moods. I lived with them for years. They just don't impress me anymore."

I muttered something unintelligible, hoping it would be taken for a scathing remark. But it wasn't. He knew me too well.

Stumbling to the bathroom, I hoped that there was at least hot water for a shower.

We rented a car and made our way west from Dublin out of Dublin County through Kildare to Of- faly and into Galway. A heavy mist lay over the land making the greens muted and soft. Much of the land had gone wild. I knew this was part of the Awaken- ing.

The land was going back to what it was before hu- mans had put their mark upon it. Remnants of that earlier time existed before the Awakening. The Giant's Causeway in Antrim was one such place. Some said it was cooling lava that produced the hexagon-shaped stones leading from the mountains down to the sea, but I knew better.

"How are you going to find the Court?" Caimbeui asked. "They could be anywhere."

"Yes, but those who know where they are keep to certain places. We're going there."

"To the tombs?"

"Yes, and other places." "You know how I hate the tombs." "Life is suffering, Caimbeul. Didn't you know that?"

Because of the fog, it took us four hours to reach The Bun-en. The land here was wilder than other areas of the Tfr. Perhaps because the people who lived in this part of Ireland had never been far from their Celtic roots. Even before the Awakening, Gaelic was the primary language for large sections of Galway.

As we passed, I saw fingers of gray rock clawing up through the thin soil. Dark green thorn trees twisted against the fierce ocean wind. Sheer cliffs dropped down to rocky seashores.

The Burren was a flat plain of gray limestone rock. Deep fissures cut down into the slabs of stone, scarring the rock. The only things that grew there were wildflowers that sprang up between the cracks.

I parked the car and we started up the Burren. Once there would have been tourists clambering over the outcroppings. Now there was a stillness that hung in the air and seeped slowly into my bones.

"Come on," I said softly.

We made our way, for once not bickering about how fast or slow one or the other was going. I stopped every so often to pluck flowers that grew from the crevices. I wove them into necklaces as we walked. I kept one for myself and handed one to Caimbeul. He gave me a skeptical look, but slipped his into his pocket.

The mist was getting thicker and thicker as we walked. I stumbled over the uneven rock and wished I'd thought to bring a walking stick. Then we were upon it. A large fissure in the rock. It was large enough for one of us to slip through at a time.

"Well," I said. "I'm going down. You can wait here for me if you want."

Caimbeul gave a disgusted snort.

"You think they'll listen to you without me?" he asked.

I looked up at him then, deep into his forest-green eyes. We knew each other well, Caimbeul and I, and I knew this ploy for what it was.

"Oh yes, dear Harlequin," I replied. "I think they will listen to me very well. They know who I am."

It was cool in the cave. We were crawling on our stomachs down a long passageway with only a small light to lead us. I'd cast the spell once we'd found ourselves in this narrowing corridor and I couldn't hold my flashlight any longer.