3. Rodney
I nstead of driving back to her apartment, Aisling navigated toward the southwest side of the island. She skirted along the edge of town until she reached the trailer park that sat nestled in a grassy field just beyond. The plot of land hosted eleven mobile homes and four trailers, small and unremarkable, all peeling paint in faded pastels and weather-worn tin roofs. Apart from the trailers, each structure was the same height and the same long, shoebox shape. The lots were tight—there was little space between the buildings, yet Aisling knew that the Lots For Sale/Lease sign posted on the chain link fence surrounding the property would never be taken down.
Still, it was lively. Even this early in the morning, a mob of children on bikes wove in and out of the mobile homes. Their tires left tread paths through the grass and their pants were wet up to their knees from the dew that clung to the tall blades. The sound of a lawnmower competed with the children’s yelling and laughter. To Aisling, the air here always smelled green.
She pulled around to park beside a blue trailer toward the back of the property. It was the rearmost home, right up against the chain link fence that had been erected a few years before when parents grew tired of their little ones running off to play in the woods beyond. Briar eagerly jumped from the back seat when she opened the door, but Aisling caught him by the collar before he could run off.
“Bath first.” She led him over to the hose bib on the side of the house and turned it on. The water came out cold—freezing, almost—but Briar was unbothered by it. He wagged his tail happily while Aisling’s fingers grew numb as she worked them through his fur. He’d somehow managed to get dirt all the way down to his skin.
“You look like hell.” Rodney had come out when he heard the water running and was leaning against the doorframe, watching Aisling work with a bemused expression on his face.
Aisling ignored his comment, instead nodding towards him. “That’s new.”
“You like?” He raised a hand to tousle his hair, now a shocking shade of safety orange. It had been a rich, indigo blue when she’d last seen him a few days prior.
She shrugged, then returned her attention to Briar. “The blue looked better.”
“You didn’t like the blue at first, either, when I changed it from green,” he reminded her. “It’ll grow on you.”
“Maybe. Can you grab me a towel? ”
Rodney returned a moment later and tossed her a threadbare beach towel and a pair of sweatpants. “Unless you’re planning on hosing off too, put those on before you come in. I don’t want to clean up your mud trail.”
Once Aisling had changed and toweled Briar off, she followed him inside the mobile home, rolling the waistband of the pants over several times to keep them from dragging. Rodney was in the tiny kitchen space putting a kettle on the stove to boil.
“Tea?” he asked, then held up a bag of white bread. “Toast?”
She pulled a chair out from the small table and sat and watched Briar wander into the living room to curl up on the couch. “Both, please. Everyone missed you at the campout last night.”
Rodney scoffed. “Sure they did, just as much as I missed them.”
“Well, I missed you at least,” Aisling said pointedly. Rodney had never been particularly fond of her friends and didn’t hesitate to make that fact known every chance he got. “How was work?”
He groaned as he slid into the chair across from her. “A nightmare. I didn’t get home until two this morning.”
“What happened?” Letting him sulk, Aisling got up and went to pull the shrieking kettle off the stove. She took two mugs from the cupboard—the same one her father had kept his mugs in when he’d lived there. Rodney hadn’t changed much since he moved in. The place was still familiar.
“We had the schedule arranged around low tide, but it just kept pulling further and further out. It was nearly three hours late coming back in. Did the same thing last night too, apparently. Threw everything off. I was on the phone arguing with the ferry operators on the mainland half the night,” he complained.
Aisling fumbled the kettle in surprise and splashed hot water onto her hand, though she could hardly feel it for the panic that seized her lungs. She cursed and moved to run it under the sink before a blister could form.
“Are you okay?” he asked, alarmed by the sudden commotion behind him.
“Fine, just slipped.” Aisling’s voice was thick with bile that was creeping up the back of her throat. She swallowed it down hard before speaking again. “What was going on with the tide?”
“The harbormaster said something about a spring tide and wind. Whatever it was, I hope it never happens when I’m on shift again. Massive pain in the ass.”
“Has it happened before? Did he seem concerned by it?” Aisling was aware that her tone was rising, but she couldn’t help it. Her heart was racing and the sound of it beating in her ears was nearly louder than her own voice. Abandoning the tea, she fell back into her chair.
“God, Ash, you’ve gone all pale.” Rodney’s thick brows pulled together with concern.
“Please just answer my question.” She needed an explanation. A natural cause, something she could point to in an article or a book to rationalize the coincidence. That’s all this was: a coincidence. It had to be.
“I think he said that it was lower than normal already because of a spring tide and that some offshore winds had picked up which pushed it out even further,” Rodney said slowly as he tried to recall the harbormaster’s description of the phenomenon. “Why are you suddenly so worried about the tide?”
Aisling propped her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands. She couldn’t speak yet, afraid that if she opened her mouth she might vomit. Rodney watched her try to compose herself for a moment before he stood and circled around the table to stand beside her. He knew something was wrong, maybe something serious, but he also knew better than to try to force an answer out of her.
“Let’s go sit on the couch,” he suggested. He guided her up and into the living room by her shoulders. He nudged Briar over to make room and sat Aisling down in the corner. “I’ll get your tea and a piece of toast, okay?”
Aisling could only nod. Minutes later, Rodney returned and handed her a plate of buttered toast and a mug of tea. She set both down behind her on the end table; the shaking that had beset her hands made it too difficult to hold either.
“So,” Rodney started. He sat against the opposite corner of the couch, his long, gangly legs splayed toward Aisling. “Are you going to tell me what happened last night?
She studied his freckled face. It wasn’t his face, not really, but it was the one he’d worn as long as she’d known him. The one he’d learned how to grow and age since it was given to him twenty-nine years ago when he swapped into a newborn’s crib, a changeling. He’d quickly taken to life on this side of the Veil and had integrated seamlessly into the human realm. He liked his independence—from the laws that constrained his magic, from the Courts. Here, he’d told her once, he was free to be whatever version of himself he wanted to be. And for the time being, that was Rodney Finch.
“I need to tell you something, and I need you to not interrupt me until I’ve finished,” Aisling said cautiously once she felt she could keep her voice steady. Rodney mimed zipping his lips, locking them at the corner and tossing away the key. He was trying to lighten the mood. It wasn’t working. She tucked her feet under Briar’s hips and wrapped her arms around her knees before she started: “I rescued a tree sprite from a hunt a couple of miles from camp last night.”
“Aisling…” Rodney’s tone was one of caution, ready to lecture her. If she hadn’t flashed him a look that shut him up, he’d have given Aisling her mother’s same warning about the Fae.
“The sprite came back after we’d gone to bed. She took me to see the Shadowwood Mother.” Aisling searched his eyes for any hint of recognition, but his expression remained neutral—whether this was purposeful or not, she couldn’t be sure. Rodney was never one to lay his cards on the table right away, not even with her. “Have you ever heard of the Red Woman and the White Bear? The prophecy?”
Rodney nodded slowly. Solemnly. “Not for a very, very long time.”
After drawing in a deep, steadying breath, Aisling recounted the events of the night before. Rodney, for his part, managed to keep his mouth shut and listened closely, face still holding that neutral mask that was only marred by the occasional, brief quirk of his brow. She recalled the words of the prophecy easily; she’d repeated them in her head so many times that she knew them now by heart, down to the very cadence by which the Shadowwood Mother had first recited them. Once she finished, the pair sat in silence for a long while. Aisling watched Briar’s broad chest rise and fall as Rodney mentally sorted through all she’d said.
“So,” he said finally, “when you asked about the tides…”
Aisling shook her head. “It has to be a coincidence.”
“There are no coincidences in fate,” he countered. “If the prophecy is true, then this is yours.”
“If?” She looked at him hopefully. If was good—she could work with if.
Rodney offered a guilty half-smile. “I was just trying to soften the blow. Prophecies aren’t a matter of if, Ash. Just a matter of when. And it seems like that’s now.”
“You were supposed to be helpful. You’re just as cryptic as that damn old faerie.” Aisling didn’t try to hide the edge of bitterness in her words. He raised his hands, palms open in an apologetic gesture. “She said the Courts are at war.”
“That’s true.”
“Okay, say more,” she prompted.
“You know there’s a lot I can’t tell you unless you ask more specifically.” Of all the rules Rodney shirked as a Veilwalker, this was the only one he was bound to adhere to, and the most frustrating one at that.
Aisling crossed her arms tightly across her chest. “Well, start with what you can tell me.”
“The Courts are at war—they have been for a very, very long time. Centuries, I think, since the Unseelie King took the throne. His Court is bloodthirsty and power-hungry, and the Seelie Court thinks that they’re better fit to rule, rather than splitting the realm as they have been. Both sides want what the other has,” he explained. “But there are other fundamental differences, much older than petty land disputes and quarreling royals.”
Rodney was sitting forward on the couch now, and Aisling prodded Briar out of the way so she could do the same. “Which are?”
He shook his head and she huffed in frustration. Specific questions.
She tried a new angle: “The prophecy mentions winter and spring—do you think that represents the Unseelie and Seelie Courts?” It made sense in her head: darkness and light, good and evil. The bitter hardness of winter representative of the cruel Unseelie Court; the brightness of spring, the benevolent Seelie Fae.
“If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say so,” he posited. “But I’m not a scholar on these things.”
“So ‘to bring revenant spring’ could mean that I’m meant to help bring the Seelie Court to power, to give them control over the Wild?” It was the first moment of clarity she’d had yet. Accurate or not, it was at least a starting point.
Rodney smirked. “You still call it that?”
Aisling rolled her eyes, annoyed by his teasing tone. “Old habits. Give them control over Wyldraíocht .”
“Let’s stick with your version,” Rodney said, wincing at Aisling’s poor pronunciation of the Fae realm’s true title. She couldn’t pronounce it as a child, either, when her mother taught her the word, so they’d settled instead on shortening it to the Wild. “Anyway, yeah. That’s how I’d interpret it. ”
“And how am I supposed to do that? Where is this ‘celestial light’ that’s meant to be guiding me?” Aisling raked her fingers roughly through her hair. They snagged hard in the knotted ends, hopelessly tangled from her night in the forest and the grasping brambles of the thicket. Her body was tired; her mind, even more so.
“I’m stuck on that part, too,” Rodney admitted. “I’m sorry, Ash. I wish I could be more helpful.”
She sighed heavily. “It’s okay. I’m just glad I have you to talk to about it. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to keep it all to myself.”
“I’ll keep thinking on it, alright?” He kicked Aisling’s foot lightly with his own. “Put it out of your head for now. There’s not a lot you can do at the moment, anyway.”
“Right.” There would be no setting this aside, try as she would. How could she simply forget about something such as this—something that could irrevocably change her future? She’d been consumed by thoughts of the prophecy since it was told to her; that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.
“I have something for you before I forget.” Rodney leaned forward and teased a slip of paper out from underneath a dirty plate he’d left on the coffee table for God knows how long. “First of the month. Rent check.”
Aisling sighed and tore the check in half as soon as he handed it to her. “How many times are we going to do this? I’m not taking your money.”
The mobile home had belonged to Aisling’s father; he’d purchased it a number of years ago when his disability checks were no longer sufficient to cover the rising mortgage on her childhood home. He bought it outright and had willed it to Aisling, but she wanted nothing to do with it. The cramped, musty space and its patchwork furniture served only to remind her of the worst parts of the man: his laziness, his inability to care for himself. The way he’d looked when she came home those seven months ago, a skeleton, half-dead from lung cancer wrought by a decadeslong smoking habit that he never had any interest in kicking. It reminded her, too, of the way he’d treated her mother. Of the end he’d condemned her to. Though Aisling had dutifully cared for him in the final months of his life, she’d only ever got halfway to forgiving him. To forgive him entirely, she’d have to do the same for herself.
However much she disliked it, the mobile home was perfect for Rodney. He’d been living with roommates with whom he endlessly disputed the most insignificant matters. Argumentative to a fault and significantly shrewder than he looked, Rodney did best on his own.
“I have a job so I can afford a place to live,” he pressed.
“You’re a live-in caretaker. Consider your upkeep of the place as payment enough.” Aisling eyed the dirty plate pointedly.
Rodney rolled his eyes. “I’d rather just give you cash.”
Feeling the weight of exhaustion more acutely with each passing minute, as deep as her bones now, Aisling hauled herself to her feet before sleep claimed her there on the couch. She could have stayed—Briar had extra food and she had spare clothes stashed somewhere—but something about the tiredness that swept over her urged Aisling to take some time to be alone. Space was what she needed now. Space, and sleep. With one final reassuring hug from Rodney, she stepped back out into the cold morning air.
“Miss Pike!”
Cole. She hated Cole. He was a nuisance on a good day and purported himself to be one of the island’s most enterprising businessmen. But his enterprise stretched only as far as the chain-link fence that encircled the mobile home park. Despite his constant talk of expansion, he’d never buy up additional land. He enjoyed turning a profit on the lots he already owned; anything more than that would surely be too big for him to manage. Nevertheless, he’d been hounding her since just one short week after her father’s funeral to buy back the lot and rent it out to plus up his own monthly income.
“Cole,” Aisling acknowledged curtly as she loaded Briar into the car.
He was short—shorter than Aisling—and it seemed to take him a great deal of pulmonary effort to cross from his own mobile home to meet her. “Have you given any more thought to my offer?”
“The answer is still no.” She slammed the door a bit harder than she meant to.
“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 actually having 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.