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Prologue
Tuatha Dé Danann of the glorious light.
Who rose from the mists in the time before kings.
These Druids complete in their wisdom and gifts.
They came in ships like smoke, full of magick and valor in service of the One.
The Dagda. He is the light and the truth. He is the mist from which the Tuatha sprang.
The Father of the Druids and on Him the crown of all kings.
Out of the mist, the Dagda raised His strong and noble people.
His blood from the womb of every mother and on the field with the slain.
Then, His time came and He was laid in the earth under a mound to rest.
His treasure entrusted to the glory of the kings of Ireland
Until His people arise and mighty Uaithne calls Him forth with the sun.
A new age of glorious light.
Tuatha.
It begins.
—Translated by P. Columb from Leabhar Fintan mac Bóchra (c. 1106)
One
“A couple of witches have gone missing,” Deputy Director Felton barked from behind his desk. He didn’t look up from his newspaper as he held out two manila folders. Nelson blinked and waited for an explanation but the haggard older man continued to glare at the crossword puzzle. He ignored Nelson as his pen tapped next to what appeared to be a particularly vexing clue. Nelson usually preferred to go unnoticed but he was exhausted and felt like he was stretched too thin—transparent—lately. He felt bare like the walls behind him and Nelson wondered if he’d finally achieved invisibility.
1. Triangle containing 15 spheres.
Nelson glanced at the corresponding squares on the page and saw the green felted top of a pool table before he frowned at the folders.
“Are you waiting for me to ask nicely?” Felton muttered at the puzzle, doing his best to pretend Nelson didn’t exist.
“I wasn’t aware that magical mysteries were within the bureau’s purview,” Nelson replied warily. Felton made a loud, irritated sound as he tossed the pen at the paper. There was a loud Clap! when he slapped the files on the desktop and pushed them at Nelson.
“The FBI doesn’t give a fuck about a couple of rich girls who skipped into the woods to look for crystals or mushrooms. They’re probably getting banged by a yoga instructor or at some coven orgy but I want you to look into it.”
Nelson flipped open the first file and scanned it, immediately recognizing Sharon Cleary’s name. Cleary was a respected correspondent who generally covered international politics. She didn’t strike Nelson as an irrational person or someone who’d overreact without good cause. Her daughter, Mila, had gone missing three days ago on the eve of her birthday, and based on her employment and academic history, Nelson wasn’t seeing a nuisance case. His gut was already screaming that this girl was in danger and he’d barely opened the file. “I beg your pardon, sir, but…this doesn’t look like a hoax or a nuisance.”
“Look at me, Nelson.” A gnarled and bent finger pointed, the yellow nail shaking as Felton snarled at Nelson. “The next thing I wanna hear about this Cleary case is that it’s closed. Go over there with Dr. Van Halfass and shut it down. You got it?”
“Dr. Van Half—?”
“MacIlwraith. He’s got Cleary worked up over some crackpot theory. Get over to Georgetown and shut it down. Got it?”
“Got it,” Nelson said flatly. “Why me, though?” He knew Felton wouldn’t let him near a case with any real potential and there were lazier agents who specialized in closing cases without doing any legwork. These were two possible abductions with an obvious link, even if they were… Witches? Nelson had his answer when Felton dragged a hand down his face and sighed wearily.
“There’s no case—I’ve been assured that it’s a waste of fucking time—but we’ve got a consultant who won’t shut up and he’s got Mommy convinced there’s more. It’ll turn into a circus the minute she starts running her mouth and the rest of the media gets a hold of this. You’re going because no one wants to work with you and everything you touch turns to shit.”
“I see.” Nelson swiped the files off the desk and snorted when he read the attached Post-It note.
