Chapter 1

Hannah

Everything was a lot wetter than I expected: green, beautiful but also quite wet. Already my sturdy boots had gotten soaked, just from my walk across the field and up the hill where the stones stood. I glanced over my shoulder, back the way I’d come, my breathing labored and painful. I pressed a hand to my sternum and ignored all that; the view was worth it.

The bed-and-breakfast was such a quaint old building. Old stone and mortar, overgrown with verdant ivy, and the windows glowed with warm light. On the front lawn, an old man was chopping wood with a sturdy old ax, and his black and white sheepdog was running back and forth to fetch a stick.

It was exactly as I pictured it would be, minus the persistent wetness and the veil of fog that lay over everything. According to my kind hostess, a grandmotherly woman whose gray hair held a faint purple cast, my family’s land was on the other side of this hill. She’d smiled warmly at me, a hand soft as parchment clutched my chilled fingers. “You should visit the stones. Make a wish, dear. You look like you can use it.”

It was a bit too late for wishes, but I hadn’t had the heart to tell her that. Instead, I’d set out for the top of the hill, the stones, and the promised view of the place where my grandparents had been born. I reached the peak with a stitch in my side, but I could forget that pain at the sight that greeted me. There it was, the little hamlet that featured in all my granny’s stories. It was exactly as she’d made me picture it: tiny stone houses, the cozy glitter of light to combat the morning fog.

To the west of the town lay the farm; probably a little more rustic than it used to be, but it fulfilled my expectations. I could see the triple oaks my grandpa had planted standing fierce and strong on the edge of the yard to offer shade. Yeah, I was in the right place. That realization suddenly took all the wind out of my sails; now what? I’d seen what I wanted to see. Did I want to go closer? I wasn’t up to much more exertion, and that just made me angry.

I’m sure it was a question most people asked themselves when faced with their mortality. It felt whiny, cowardly to even think it and still, why me? I was thirty-eight. It felt like I’d barely lived my life at all. I had so much more to give, to experience, but this stupid disease was going to take all those chances from me.

With a sigh, I pushed the helpless and rather impotent anger away and turned my gaze from the merry little town. The stones weren’t all that impressive; they did not look like they had any special wish-granting abilities. The oak that topped the hill was more impressive, with its widespread branches and moss clinging to its trunk. That oak looked like it had stood on that hill, a silent sentinel, for a thousand years.

My skin broke out in goosebumps that had nothing to do with the mist that made my sheepskin coat wet and my hair curl around my ears. I didn’t want to keep looking at that gnarled trunk. It made me think a little too much like a secret door might open.

The stones still didn’t look like much in comparison. Only one was still upright; a semi-squarish gray thing that rose like an accusing finger into the sky. The rest were tumbled around the top of the hillside and mostly overgrown, but I could pick out their shapes beneath the moss and grass. Maybe it was a circle once, I wasn’t quite sure.

When it felt like eyes were on me, I glanced down the hill to discover that the old man had joined his wife in front of the door to the cozy inn. They were gazing up at what I was doing. Their faces were pale circles from this far, but I was certain they were angled my way. I hurried to place my palm against the standing stone, struck by the fear that I’d displease the kind old lady when I didn’t at least try .

The stone was ice cold against my flesh, rough to the touch, and nothing happened. It didn’t feel magical; it didn’t feel like it had any mystical power at all. Just to be sure, because I felt like I was under close scrutiny, I whispered out loud. “I wish I could find what I’m looking for.” The words surprised me. That wasn’t asking for a cure or more time to live my life. That was vague and a little ominous, inspired maybe by looking into the past at the home my grandparents had known.

And then it happened. Like the words were what called upon the magic of this old place; a wind suddenly whipped around my ankles and spiraled up my body. My hair stood on end, and my fingers felt glued to the stone while a powerful current traveled through my hand and into my body. For a brief, heartbreaking moment, I thought that maybe the stones were healing me, but that was as stupid as believing they had any magic at all. Wasn’t it?

The mist rolled in around me, washing over me like a tidal wave. The verdant world around me turned white as that fog covered me, smothered me, choked me. It went into my eyes, my mouth, my nose. Icy fingers that grasped at my hair and my clothing, spun me around and yanked my fingers from the stone.

I went ass over teakettle, tumbling through the air. I should have been rolling down a wet grassy slope, but I felt nothing. My body was in complete free fall. That’s when I yelled, a fearful shout ripping from my throat. I wanted more time in this life, not less. A broken neck was not part of the plan.

My tumble became a straight drop so suddenly that my stomach lurched and my eyes stung at the sudden disappearance of the mist. It was like I’d just fallen from a cloud. When I looked down, I could see the green canopy of a giant forest racing toward me. I must have knocked my head against that stone and passed out. This was a dream, a weird hallucination.

As the trees came closer and closer, my body definitely went into fight mode, useless as that was. It was fully convinced I was about to smash to pieces from the fall. My arms cartwheeled and I moved my legs like that would help somehow. My heart was racing in my chest so wildly that I thought it might explode.

“Oomph,” the air slammed out of me as I collided with something mid-air. My fall was slowed, then evened out until I found myself hovering above the forest. I fought to gather my breath and my wits, my eyes streaming with tears from the cold, the wind, and the fear. When I blinked them open groggily, a green face hovered above mine; grinning wildly.

“Are you a leprechaun?” I asked, the inane thought the first thing that sprung to mind. He was green, with a windswept mohawk rising from his scalp, and glittering silver rings dangling from sharply pointed ears. Tusks rose pale ivory from his open mouth, actual tusks, like those of a boar, or maybe… maybe an orc? This was the weirdest hallucination.

“Leprechaun?” he said with a thick accent, “No, lass. I’m a wee bit bigger than that. Wouldn’t you say?” I flicked my eyes from his strange, alien face, down a pair of impressively wide and very green shoulders, and along a ridged abdomen. I was sitting in his lap , braced by a pair of leather-clad thighs the size of tree trunks.

“Ah… I guess you are.” Brilliant comeback. Absolute zinger. My brain was still in that free fall to the forest down below, and how were we even hovering above it? More importantly, why was this dude green, and why was he shirtless? Not that I was complaining. His body was ripped with muscle, and his green skin was decorated with intricate tattoos. Images of swords, roses, and even something that looked like a winding dragon along one arm and shoulder.

I wasn’t just in his lap, but he held me to him with one casual arm wrapped around my waist. The other hand I traced to the handlebar of a motorcycle, correction, a flying motorcycle. “This isn’t Ireland, is it?” I asked. “Wake up, Hannah.” I reached over and pinched my arm, then winced when that hurt. Ah, fuck, I wasn’t dreaming.