Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Boston Harbor was a busy shipping corridor that was just as loud above the waves as below. Sound traveled differently through water; an echoing, droning tone from boat engines, propellers, and the indistinct back-and-forth chatter and echolocation of marine life.

Riordan Maguire of Clan Maguire swam through the waters of Boston Harbor in selkie form, nose closed and eyes open, fully aware of his surroundings and the passing ship traffic above. Visibility below the waves wasn't the best, but his heightened vision helped him to navigate well below the threat of propellers as he bypassed the ships. He had plenty of open water to swim through, all of it familiar, even if the faint, echoing thrum deep in the water was new.

The sonorous vibrations weren't typical of any animal or supernatural creature Riordan was familiar with in the past few hundred years he'd been swimming in the harbor. The sound echoed from past the islands that dotted the harbor and bays, rising and falling in pitch at the very edge of his hearing. All his instincts told him something out of the ordinary was in the ocean, but he hadn't found any evidence of what it could be.

He shoved that thought aside and focused on traversing the channel that led to Boston proper. It was late afternoon, trending toward evening, which meant people were out and about still, and he needed to be mindful of being sighted. Some fae were skilled in the kind of magic that would keep mundane humans from noticing them at all. Selkies were decent at glamour, but that wouldn't make them invisible. Riordan stuck to the left-hand side of the channel, swimming with significant speed toward the commercial piers that dotted the shore there.

The Drydock Green Space was an area of land that tipped into the water between the cruise terminal and a commercial fish processing pier. The space was open to the public, far from the hustle and bustle of Downtown Boston. While it wasn't the best place to come ashore, it was by far the easiest in the area and a favored launching spot for his clan if they couldn't be at the beach. As the water grew shallower, Riordan somersaulted into a shift, coming up into waist-high murky water in human form with his deep brown and cream-spotted sealskin clutched in his hands.

" Maidir le ham diabhal ," a familiar voice called out to him. "I have your clothes. You need to stop leaving them shoved under the nearest rock, boyo."

Riordan made a face at where his older brother stood on the rocky shore, Donal shaking said clothing in his direction. "Where else do you want me to hide them? And don't you dare say the nearest bin."

He tied his sealskin around his waist. Glamour could hide his pointed ears but generally not his clothes or lack thereof. Selkies had no qualms about showing skin in either form, but mundane humans could get ridiculously prudish about it. The last thing he wanted was for someone to call the cops on them.

"You could try your car," Donal said, passing over the clothes and shoes once Riordan made it to him. They were of the same height and shared their mother's brown hair and eyes, but Donal had far more freckles than Riordan and was older by about a century. "Well? How was your patrol?"

Riordan grimaced as he hastily yanked on his clothes before undoing his sealskin, shaking it out into the guise of a leather jacket that was definitely far too hot for the weather today, but it never bothered him. Wrapping himself up in his sealskin, even on land, was like wrapping himself up in a soft, comforting blanket.

"No," Riordan confessed. "My search came up empty, like always."

Donal grimaced and headed toward the flatter greenery of the mainland. "So did everyone else's today. Don't blame yourself for that. Saoirse never would."

They'd been searching for their little sister's sealskin ever since it had been stolen as a way to get their clan under the thumb of an enemy. Saoirse had been frantic after the attack, bruised and shaken. The perpetrators had only taken her sealskin—changed at the time into the form of a fashionable coat—and left her battered in a club two weeks ago. They hadn't demanded she come with them, though she'd confessed she'd felt the hideous pull of power in her soul that urged her to go to the thief who held her sealskin now. She was able to remain with the clan so far, though Riordan knew that wouldn't last for much longer.

Ever since her sealskin was stolen, Riordan had handled several calls regarding his sister's future and his clan's anticipated subservience. If they defied the demands placed on them, Saoirse would be forcibly called to her new mate's side, bound to the person who held her sealskin. If they caved, she'd be allowed to stay with her clan, but her sealskin would be hidden somewhere they could never find, forever keeping them in line.

Neither option was a good one, and Riordan had spent every spare hour he could in search of his sister's skin, to no avail.

"You came back early," Donal said once they made it up to the grass and the pavement. "I was surprised to get your text. You could've come home first rather than go on patrol."

The cement was warm beneath Riordan's bare feet, shoes dangling from his fingers. His feet were still damp from his swim and he had a towel in his trunk he was going to use to clean up with before putting on his sneakers. "The wedding is over and I needed to clear my mind."

Riordan tried not to hunch his shoulders. He had gone to Underhill as a representative of their clan to Cú Chulainn's wedding. Riordan would have preferred staying in Boston and handling the mess they'd been dragged into and sent his brother. But Donal couldn't make clan decisions with other fae, so it had been up to Riordan to go.

"Did anyone take you up on our request for help?" Donal asked.

Riordan shook his head, lips pressed tight together for a few seconds before he spoke. "No. Mostly, they wanted to know why we weren't going home."

"Back to Ireland or Underhill?"

"Does it matter?"

They weren't the only clan of selkies calling the United States of America home, but they'd been in Boston longer than any of the others. They'd come over before the Great Hunger but were followed decades after by the desperate Irish who managed to flee the devastation. Underhill hadn't yet sprouted hawthorn paths into the Americas at the time; those had come later, with belief fed by the Irish.

Riordan's clan and others had made the new land home as best they could, knowing back then that traveling beyond the veil was nearly impossible without returning to Ireland. But it had put them—for a brief moment in time—out of reach of those who knew about their sealskin.

Eventually, the fae found their way to foreign shores, spreading roots into a land that welcomed everyone from all walks of life, whether mundane or magical or something else. Several hundred years later, and they'd watched Boston grow from a colony to a thriving modern city, one they'd sunk their own business ventures in. It made returning to Underhill difficult. Leaving a place where they were comfortably entrenched in the supernatural community to a world past the veil where they'd have no political leverage after being gone for what might have been thousands of years in Underhill wasn't enticing.

"Water off the pelt, boyo," Donal said. "I hope the rest of the wedding was nice."

"Sure," Riordan said, thinking about the mortal at the dessert table whose name he'd failed to get and had been kicking himself over ever since. The dark-haired young man who'd talked back to Lord Diarmait had immediately caught Riordan's attention in a way no one else ever had. Even now, Riordan couldn't stop thinking about him, but he didn't tell Donal that.

Riordan firmly told himself the fixation would pass.

Donal clapped a hand onto Riordan's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Come on. Let's head to the pub. You look like you could do with a pint."

Riordan nodded tightly, knowing he was being uncharacteristically quiet, but he hated coming back empty-handed.

When they reached the cars, he wiped off his feet before putting on his sneakers and getting behind the steering wheel of his Corvette. Donal was already driving away, taillights bright against the June twilight. Riordan started the engine and drove after his brother, weaving his way through traffic in the South Boston neighborhood his clan had called home for centuries.

His immediate blood kin had owned a tract of land near the beach and had kept it, even through the period of historical discrimination against the Irish and the fae. These days, the surrounding streets were filled with homes and apartment buildings, and theirs was no different. Clan Maguire had built a number of homes on the two blocks of land they owned, the squat-looking triple-decker buildings mostly filled with clan members. The corner building that Riordan and his siblings called home also housed a pub on the first floor, a local spot as much as a destination one.

The Maguire Pub on the corner was the original location of the Irish pub and restaurant business empire he and his siblings had created and still presided over. They had locations in many big cities on the East and West Coasts, close to the oceans or other waterways. They were in the process of opening a new location in New York City after a multi-year delay, thanks to the Battle of Samhain, but it had been paused yet again while they dealt with this current threat to their livelihood.

Riordan drove down the easement that cut the block in half, parking in their home's garage in the rear of the building. Donal pulled in behind him, his headlights switching off. The triple-decker home was half a block down from the pub, which made it easy to lock everything up behind them and make their way between buildings to the street out front.

They walked in an easy silence toward the pub, the door propped open to let in a breeze. Entering, they passed through a silence ward that kept the raucous sound of the pub inside the walls. The noise hit Riordan's ears like an explosion: music, laughter, and the sounds of televisions showing whatever game was on. The Red Sox were playing an away game, and quite a few patrons were dressed in their team's colors.

A server twisted around a group of boisterous twenty-something guys, moving with a grace that hinted at her years spent dancing back in Ireland before coming here for school. Sophie was a sweet girl, took no nonsense from anyone who came through the door, and always had a cheerful attitude. So her faint frown was concerning.

"Saoirse's in the back, looking a bit glum," Sophie said, her Dublin accent not the only one Riordan could hear within the walls of the pub.

"We'll check on her," Riordan promised. Sophie nodded and left with her tray of empties, easily weaving through the crowd. Donal shoved at Riordan's shoulder, and he got moving.

The pub took up the first floor of the building, lit with amber lights scattered throughout on the ceiling and wall. The wooden tables weren't bolted down, which meant they were easy to pitch together for large parties, of which there weren't any tonight. Mostly, it was small groups drinking beer and eating pub food. Riordan's stomach growled as the smell of fish and chips hit his nose when he passed a table.

"Didn't eat while you were out?" Donal asked.

"I wasn't focused on food."

"I'll put in an order for us."

Donal peeled off, heading for the kitchen. Riordan continued to the table in the corner where their sister sat, methodically tapping the fingers of both hands against a half-empty pint glass. When Saoirse spotted him, she gave him a tight little smile. "What's the craic ?"

"Sorry, a dheirfiúr . I didn't find it." Saoirse ducked her head, fingers stilling on the pint glass. Her auburn hair was scraped back in a tight ponytail, making it easy for him to see how she squeezed her eyes shut, clearly trying not to cry. Riordan kicked the chair next to hers out from beneath the table and sat in it, slinging his arm around her shoulders and pulling her in close. "Sure look, we'll find it."

Saoirse leaned into him, still clutching her pint glass. "I shouldn't have gone to that club."

"None of that. It's not your fault you were out having fun with your friends. That's not a crime. You didn't lose your skin; it was stolen from you."

"And now they're using it to hurt the clan."

"We'll get it back."

Saoirse raised her head, eyes dry despite the wretched look in them. "We're running out of time."

Riordan didn't argue that fact because it was true. They were days out from the deadline they'd been given, but he'd be damned if they were forced to choose between the clan and his sister's life.

Having their sealskin taken from them by someone they didn't choose was a nightmare every selkie carried in their bones. To have themselves bound—mind, body, and soul—to someone who would only keep them as a prisoner simply because that person held their sealskin was something every clan guarded against. They were taught young, the rules ingrained deep, to never let go of their sealskin.

Saoirse hadn't let it go willingly—she'd had it ripped from her.

"We are not letting you go," Riordan promised in a low voice, heart aching with wanting to make that statement true.

Saoirse curled her fingers around his wrist, giving him a strong squeeze. "You don't have a choice."

Because the magic in her sealskin would be too much to resist after a time, the pull their people were born with demanding she be reunited with it. If she went, Riordan knew they would never get to see her again and that she would never know the ocean again.

"Hey, lass," Donal said quietly when he arrived a few minutes later with two pints of Guinness, one of which he placed in front of Riordan. "How are you doing?"

"I'm all right for now."

Donal didn't appear to believe her, the same way Riordan didn't, but he left it alone. "Our food should be out soon."

"Good, because I'm starving," Riordan said.

"Then you should've eaten some fish."

Riordan made a face and reached for his Guinness. "I'll take it fried."

Donal sat across from them, lounging spread-legged in the chair, one of his feet knocking against Riordan's on accident. "The wedding was a bust when it came to looking for allies."

Saoirse leaned forward to rest her chin on her hand with a resigned air about her. "We can offer the clans in Underhill nothing, and other fae won't even look twice at us for the same reason. We've been too long here, they always say."

"Going back won't help you," Riordan said stubbornly. She'd never be able to stay, not with her sealskin held in the mortal world. It would drive her mad.

Saoirse shrugged, gaze dropping to the tabletop. "I know."

Her quiet resignation cut like a knife to the heart. Riordan shared a quick look with Donal, who shook his head minutely. Riordan opted to bite his tongue and change the subject. "How's the office been?"

Saoirse had always had a head for business, more so than he and Donal in some areas. It's why she was CEO of their restaurant empire while they worked under her as vice presidents and directors, but the pub here was more a second home than the crown jewel of their business. "Good. I think the new executive assistant will work out."

"We trust your judgment."

Her smile this time was small and pleased. Riordan tweaked her ponytail, ignoring the falsely outraged squawk she let out. She shoved at him hard, nearly causing his chair to tip over. What could have devolved into a familiar sibling squabble was stopped by virtue of their food arriving. Riordan's stomach growled loudly, but he refused to be embarrassed when Donal laughed at him.

They dug into their fish and chips, with Donal having ordered Saoirse her favorite shepherd's pie. It was nice having a meal together, the rest of the crowd keeping their distance as they ate. Most of the patrons tonight were kin or clan, with a scattering of mundane humans and a witch who always came to read at the bar and eat an order of curry chips. She never seemed bothered by the noise, and Riordan knew she wasn't using magic to silence the area around her.

He'd finished the last of his meal and most of his Guinness, contemplating a second pint, when the pub went quiet in a way that made all his hair stand on end. Donal went rigid in his seat, nostrils flaring to catch the scent of whoever had walked in. Riordan drew in a deep breath, ignoring the scent of the sea from their people and finding the one that put a faint hint of alarm on Donal's face.

"What's a werewolf doing out here?" Donal hissed.

Riordan's eyes widened as he caught sight of who was making their way toward them. "Not just a werewolf. God pack."

Clan Maguire had no territory issues with the Boston god pack for at least the last fifty years. So there should've been no reason why Casey Jenkins, alpha and co-leader of the Boston god pack, was taking up space in his clan's pub. Casey was in his mid-thirties, fit and well-muscled in a way that came from fighting, not working out.

Riordan had ordered his clan to steer clear of all werecreature territory when there had been challenges going on two years ago. The resulting shake-up in the god pack had seen Casey and his wife, Harper, on top of the whole mess. As far as werecreatures went, the pair could've been worse. They were fairer than their predecessor, less inclined to try to annex territory through any means necessary.

That didn't mean they were kind—much like the fae that followed in his wake.

"Ah, there you are," a voice said, the sound like an oil slick on Riordan's skin, human or otherwise. "So glad we could finally meet in person. You've been ignoring my calls."

Donal stood, turning to face the newcomers so his back wasn't to them. Beside Riordan, Saoirse went absolutely still, but the sound of her heartbeat kicked up to a hummingbird pace. Riordan blindly reached for her hand, gripping it tight as their unwanted guests drew closer.

"Niall," Riordan said evenly. "Our time isn't up yet."

Niall Noígíallach, Boston's most underrated mobster, smiled wide enough to show his back teeth. Wavy blond hair fell to his shoulders around pointed ears, framing a beautiful face dominated by teal-colored eyes. His suit was subtle in its flashiness: designer, exquisitely made, but no hint of a brand name on any of his clothes or accessories. The thick gold and diamond rings on his hands were the obvious markers of wealth to mundane humans. To the supernatural community, it was his status as a Seelie duine sídhe that made everyone steer clear.

Selkie clans didn't mingle with the daoine sídhe all that often. They might all be fae, but some fae thought they were better than all the rest, and selkies had never had enough clout to matter in the Seelie or Unseelie Courts.

Niall was one of those kinds of fae, the sort to always find a way to get exactly what he wanted, no matter the damage done. His territory was a carved-out corner in Beacon Hill and several floors in a skyscraper in the heart of Downtown Boston and had been for the past three decades, ever since he'd slipped out of a hawthorn path in Back Bay Fens to make all their lives difficult. He wasn't someone the kin would ever trust, and the clans had all kept their territory borders good and tight against Niall's insidious encroachment.

But it hadn't been enough.

"Clear the pub of everyone but clan," Riordan said as he stood, letting go of Saoirse's hand.

He didn't need to raise his voice; every supernatural creature in the bar would have heard him. Those that didn't have enhanced hearing would be notified to leave by staff. It took only a few minutes to send everyone off, their bartender and servers handing back credit cards from open tabs and voiding all the transactions to get everyone out faster. It was a minor loss, considering what had walked through the door.

Riordan watched Niall get comfortable at a different table, making it clear he expected Riordan and the others to come to him as if he were some king lording it over them. Casey stood at his back like a guard dog come to heel, which made Riordan's skin prickle. No god pack alpha would ever be so docile, and Casey was known for being devoted to his wife and changing how things were done in the Boston god pack. That she wasn't there with him was another red flag.

Standing behind them was another fae, one that left Riordan uneasy at her presence. She wore glamour he could sense but couldn't see through, appearing as an old human woman with dyed dark green hair to his eyes. That much power was concerning, and Riordan wasn't the only one who seemed put off by her presence. Donal and Saoirse were just as wary.

The older fae said nothing, and Niall didn't seem subservient to her in any way. But neither did she appear in thrall the same way Casey was. She could be another one of Niall's victims, but Riordan wasn't so sure.

Her eyes looked too hungry to be trustworthy.

When the pub door locked behind the last patron, leaving only those selkies who were part of Clan Maguire inside, Riordan finally spoke. "What do you want?"

Niall raised a finger and wagged it at him as if he were a dog. "Ah ah ah, you aren't in charge here."

Riordan looked at the older fae. "Is she?"

Niall outright laughed. "No."

For some reason, Riordan couldn't tell if that was a lie or not. "This is our territory."

"Not for much longer." Niall's gaze slid sideways to where Saoirse stood. "You're looking particularly lovely tonight, Saoirse."

"Fuck off," Saoirse snapped, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Niall didn't seem all that put off by her attitude. "Is that any way to speak to your master?"

"She's not going with you," Donal snarled.

"This isn't an argument you can win. You know that." Niall crossed one leg over the other, ankle resting against his knee. "I have her sealskin. You are in no position to argue."

"You haven't called for me," Saoirse said.

"Which is why I am here."

Fear sliced its way through Riordan, a helpless sort of sensation gripping his heart and making him want to scream in rage. Only he couldn't. "You can't have our sister."

Niall's smile was as cold as the Arctic Ocean some of the kin called home. "I already do. I've allowed her to stray from my side to show you I can be benevolent."

Riordan outright scoffed at that. "If you were benevolent, you wouldn't have sent your people to take her sealskin in the first place."

"If your kind weren't meant to be owned, then Danu would have never allowed you to separate yourselves from your sealskin. But you can, and it is on others to see your kind rightfully handled and owned."

"You won't own any of us."

"On the contrary. I will own your entire clan before the month is up, and then I will move on to your kin."

Niall spoke frankly, with the casual cruelness of one who knew they'd get what they wanted no matter the cost—to themselves or others, so long as they won. Riordan clenched his teeth together until his jaw ached, refusing to show his anguish, for that was a weakness none of them could afford. "You only have one of our sealskins."

After the attack on Saoirse, Riordan had forbidden his clan from going out alone and warned others of the threat targeting the kin. Everyone was on edge, and the reason for that unease sat in his pub, smiling around poisoned words.

"Yes, but it's the one that matters at this time." Niall sighed in a put-upon way that was all an act. "My terms aren't unreasonable."

"You want our clan in exchange for my sister's freedom. That won't happen."

"Do you think you'll find her sealskin? I know you've been swimming the waters of Boston Harbor and canvassing the streets, searching for it. Your efforts are meaningless. You will never find it."

The mention of his failure stung, but Riordan refused to rise to the bait. "We'll find it."

Niall waved off his words. "You won't. But I'm willing to make a bargain with you, and I don't ever offer those lightly. I will trade her sealskin for yours, Riordan, clan chief of Clan Maguire."

"No," Donal snapped, taking a threatening step forward.

Casey moved, a blur of preternatural speed that Donal barely dodged. Casey's claws at the end of his fingertips sank into the wooden tabletop instead of soft flesh. The expression on the god pack alpha's face never changed, remaining a blank mask. It further reinforced to Riordan that Casey wasn't there of his own free will, not after Niall's little speech. Casey retracted his claws and stepped back, still saying nothing. Riordan wondered if he could even speak without Niall's permission.

"Then your sister stays with me, and if you wish to see her again, you will hand over your clan. If you don't, you will spend the rest of your lives wondering where she is, how she is doing, if she is alive?—"

"Stop," Riordan ground out, not liking how Saoirse suddenly bit back a strangled noise that was too close to a sob for him to ignore.

Niall was no longer smiling, brilliant teal-eyed gaze locked on him. "You have options, something I rarely give. Trade your sealskin for your sister's and hand over your clan. Or keep your freedom and know you will spend the rest of your lives never knowing about hers."

It wasn't a bargain; it was a death sentence either way one looked at it, and Niall knew it. Riordan forced his voice steady when he finally spoke, words coming out a rasp. "I need time to think about it."

"Riordan, no," Saoirse protested.

"This isn't a negotiation, so don't try to change the terms of the bargain," Niall said.

"Right. It's more of a hostile takeover," Donal muttered.

Riordan tipped his head in agreement, never looking away from Niall. "A few more days won't matter, will it?"

The other fae tilted his wrist and pulled back the sleeve of his suit jacket and the button-down beneath it to check the time on his Rolex. Then he looked at the old woman, and Riordan half wondered if he was asking for permission. "You've had two weeks. I'll give you one more."

That Niall didn't demand an answer right then and there proved to Riordan the other fae believed them to be trapped in a corner with no way out. He'd take joy in watching them squirm like fish in a selkie's teeth. The terms of the bargain were harsh, and they could only agree to it in the end—whichever clause ultimately won out.

Niall left with Casey one step behind him and the old woman following in their wake. She'd not spoken during the entire meeting, but the look she tossed over her shoulder on the way out sent a cold shiver down Riordan's spine.

The door shut behind them, leaving a heavy silence in the pub that was only broken by Saoirse. "You should let me go with him."

"No," Riordan said, turning to gather her close for a bone-creaking hug. "I won't let him have you."

"You can't let him have the clan. He won't stop with ours if you do."

Clan Maguire was the largest selkie clan in the northeast, entrenched in Boston and the surrounding area and stretching up and down the coast for centuries. Giving Niall power over them would mean giving up territory they'd held since coming to these shores. It would mean selling out his people. Riordan couldn't do that to the kin who looked to him to keep them safe overall, but neither could he give up his sister to a fae who hid his cruelty behind pretty smiles.

"I'll find a way out of this," Riordan promised.

Which was a daunting task, because a fae's bargain was never meant to be fair, even when offered to their own kind.