"What next?" Caimbeui asked.

I was sitting in the back seat of the car pulling dry clothes on. My coat and boots were ruined, so I wadded them up in a towel I'd taken from the hotel. Under normal circumstances I wouldn't have in- dulged in that sort of petty larceny, but these weren't normal times.

Caimbeui was driving. We were heading south- west away from The Bun-en. I pulled a heavy gray sweater over my head, then slid on black jeans. Sneakers were next, after which I climbed over the front seat to the passenger side.

"Better?" he asked.

"Drier, at least," I replied. "But that brackish smell is going to stay with me for a while."

"Not just you."

"My apologies," I said. "Next time a each-uisge decides to have me for a snack I'll be sure to tell it not to get you wet at the same time."

"I'd appreciate that," he replied.

"De nada, babycakes."

"You know I hate it when you call me

babycakes."

"Like I said, 'Life is…' " "I know. I know."

We stopped in a small town south of The Burren for food. It was fast approaching dusk and I wanted to be out in the countryside as soon as possible. The air was tanged with sea salt and humidity. Though it wasn't that cold, the damp seemed to seep into my bones, making them ache.

Leaving the car at the restaurant where we'd eaten, we walked to the edge of the town. The road out of town was little more than dirt and cobble- stones. It had played hell on the suspension of the rental. I imagined Caimbeui was making a running ledger in his head of all the expenses of the trip. When this penurious streak had come on him I didn't know.

"Look," he said, grabbing my arm and pointing. Off to one side of the road was a grove of trees. It was shaded purple and gray in the twilight. A fog had rolled in from the sea and made everything look fuzzy and insubstantial. Surrounding the grove were a series of tiny flickering lights that bobbed and floated three meters above the ground.

Then I heard the faint, delicate tones of music. A flute and recorder, I thought. Perhaps a viola thrown in there.

"Ignis fatuus," I said. "Will-o'-the-wisps."

The flower necklace I'd made while we were walking The Burren was waterlogged, but still ser- viceable. I'd rescued it from my coat after we'd reached the car. Now I put it around my neck.

"I can't believe you're using that," Caimbeui said.

"Whatever works."

"Primrose necklaces to reveal faeries?"

"Yes," I said. "And you'd better put yours on. I don't want to lose you."

He snorted.

"I know it hasn't occurred to you before. Harle- quin," I said. "But you don't know everything. Some magic isn't complex-some is made up of simple things. And sometimes, that's the most potent magic. Because it's so obvious that everyone over- looks it."

"But I thought this was to allow humans to see fa- erie," he said.

"Oh, come now," I replied. "How many humans were ever able to see faerie without their permission, help or no? No, this magic is from before hu- man memory."

He pulled the necklace from his pocket. It was wilted and droopy. With a sigh, he slipped it over his neck. It hung there limp and pathetic, faded green and pink against his black leather jacket.

Sucker.

I hid my smile and went back to following the lights. Every time I thought we were about to catch up, they moved away. This went on undl my pa- tience began to wear thin. Then, all at once, we were at the top of a hill.

A group of oak trees stood to one side, their leaves mostly gone. A circle of toadstools ringed around the trees. Inside the ring, the lights flickered and bobbed about. They melted and changed shape, and eventually I saw what I had come for.

Dancing around the ring were an assortment of the strange and fearful creatures of faerie. Please, no laughing. I know that in recent times the idea of faerie has come to mean something other, and much more pleasant, than what it really was. But since the Awakening, I suspect that Disney notion has flown out the door.

For the most part they were dressed in rags or pieces of plants. Their thin, sinewy bodies were pulled and bent into grotesque shapes. With their mouths opened to smile, they revealed rows of sharp, pointed teeth. Some sported wings while oth- ers had antennae flowing back from their brows. They all had the pointed ears that we elves share. Giving rise, no doubt, to the rumors that they are our descendants.

Spriggans danced with leprechauns while fir darrigs tripped the unwary. Goblins and pixies tried to swing each other out of the circle. They whirled and danced and laughed. The shadows they cast flickered and strobed. It was Dante's vision of Hell.

One of the dancers broke from the group and ran over to us. It grabbed my hand and pulled me forward.

"Welcome, mother," it said. "We've been waiting for you."

"What of my friend?" I asked

"He is of no account right now."

We were in the center of the ring. The sharp, wiz- ened faces of the faeries jerked in and out of shadow. I had thought they were much smaller than me at first, but now I saw we were the same height. Or perhaps I was shrinking. Like Alice.

My feet moved along with the music now. I looked down and saw my jeans and sweater were gone, replaced by a long flowing gown made of silver silk. We spun around and around and sud- denly…

I am on the deck of a large ship. It floats in the sky. Magic propels it. Magic that brings both good and evil to this world.

I'm dancing here.

Dancing with trolls. We sail through the dark night sky, laughing and dancing like children. One of the trolls is old and wizened. He wears a long robe embroidered with patterns. His flesh is wrin- kled and thick like an elephant's. But he is kind. And he is my friend.

The faces of these trolls flash before me, the memory of them clear and bright as day. I'd thought I'd forgotten them. But no, that was just a story I told myself.

Now I'm standing'on the deck of the ship. It is the afternoon. The ship is in the middle of a battle. The trolls are fighting, but where is my friend? I go to look for him.

I find him below-deck lying in a pool of blood. He's broken his leg. I have some knowledge of healing and I try to help him. But I've brought more than my healing magic along on this trip. I've brought him: Ysrthgrathe.

I know what happens next. I've played it out in my head so many times that I think I've grown numb from it.

But I'm wrong.

There are some things you never get used to.

The faeries danced around me, laughing. Cruel tricks are their stock and trade.

"Did you like the dance, mother?" one of the spriggans asked.

I couldn't answer because there was no breath in my chest. Tears stung my eyes. But I kept dancing.

I couldn't stop.

There's a car. She's driving it through rain-slicked streets. The headlights make yellow beams against the oily pavement. There's no other traffic. Every- thing is deserted.

She stops for a red light. There's a tap against the passenger-side glass. She looks up. A pockmarked face appears at the window, broken fingernails trail across the wetness down to the door handle. Too late, she realizes that the doors are unlocked.

She can't keep him out.