Page 77 of Immortal Game

Shea drew a knee into her chest. From here, she could see out the windows that overlooked her front lawn—and the moonlit mist drifting over it that seemed to whisper,Come away, come away. “We have to get a message to the Otherworld.”

“Obviously.” She could feel his glare through the phone. “But we have no way to contact anyone and no way to get back to the Otherworld. Even I don’t have the resources to get around that.”

“I think I do.” If Ciara had taught her one thing, it was how seriously the fae took honor and duty. “When’s the soonest you can get a flight to Dublin?”

PART

IV

It had been two years since Midir’s first appearance, and today was Aideen’s eighteenth birthday. In the early afternoon, Aideen called Shea up into her room.

Shea hadn’t been here in a while and was surprised at the transformation. Aideen had painted over the floral mural she’d done and removed the mirrors from the walls. The vision boards—collages of photos and magazine clippings—had been stripped from the corkboard above her desk. At least the fairy lights remained, a glowing tangle of wires above her headboard. Aideen sat nestled among the monogrammed pillows on her bed, dressed all in black like a mourner. Over the years, she’d never lost her penchant for theater.

“Come here,” she said. “Let me braid your hair.”

Shea made a face, but she didn’t complain. It wasn’t often that Aideen actually wanted company. They sprawled on her bed, talking about nothing, as Aideen braided their hair together. When she finished, she tied the ends together.

“There,” Aideen said. “What do you think?”

The one mirror that Aideen had left alone was the full-length one mounted on her bedroom door. Shea peered at theirreflection. They sat shoulder to shoulder, bound together by a neat, elegant plait. Aideen’s golden hair twined into Shea’s pale blond.

“I don’t know. It’s a little impractical.”

Aideen shoved her shoulder playfully, which only sent them toppling over together. Both of them laughed.

“Do you want to do anything today?” Shea dared to ask.

Aideen’s expression grew somber. “No.”

“Nothing?” Shea pressed. It wasn’t unusual. Aideen didn’t like going out anymore, but in years past, there had beensomeacknowledgment of the occasion. Making a new recipe she’d dug up in a book. A night swim. A movie.

“There’s nothing to celebrate.”

“Itisyour birthday.”

Aideen groaned. “More like a death day. Eighteen is the end of the road for me.”

“Okay,” Shea said skeptically. “I feel like it’s just the start for most people.”

“Yeah, for most people. Fornormalpeople. But I’m not normal.”

Shea supposed she wasn’t. Still, she didn’t like the self-loathing she’d thrown behind that word. “You’re normal to me.”

Aideen clenched her fists in her lap. “Yeah, well, normal people don’t look like me. They can’t do what I can do. And it’s not even that. You’re my only friend, and you’re…”

Shea arched a brow. “Not normal, either?”

My sister, the chess whiz.Aideen had always said it with affection, but maybe there was some ridicule there, too. Shea knew very well she wasn’t what most people called normal, either. Normal kids didn’t spend hours reading dense tomeson pawn structure. They didn’t travel internationally to play board games at a professional level. They didn’t make their older sisters quiz them on the move order of a game Korchnoi and Karpov played in 1978. Shea had never been bothered by others’ judgment or her own difference. It stung a little when her own sister said it.

“I didn’t mean it like that. You know I didn’t.”

“It’s fine,” Shea mumbled.

“I’m just…” Aideen sighed fretfully. “I’m just so afraid I’m making the wrong decisions—or like I’m not making a decision at all. Sometimes it feels like I don’t belong to myself. Like I’m in a story someone else has written.”

The wrong decision.Shea frowned. “What do you mean?”

Just then, the door swung open. They both jolted, and the braid linking them together tugged painfully against Shea’s scalp.