The Unicorn Hunter Read online

  ‘Ahem, yes,’ said Sergeant O’Leary, clearing his throat and looking at his notes again. ‘Miss Stone did mention that. Danny, could you tell me what you were doing at the girls’ primary school in Blarney this morning, when you should have been at the secondary in Cork?’

  Danny’s face went bright red as everyone in the room stared at him. What with the grandparents, Sergeant O’Leary, Dr Malloy, Aunt Fionnula, Roisin, Maddy and himself, it was getting very hot and crowded in the cottage’s tiny sitting room. ‘I, um, I …’ Danny stammered, his face blazing hotter and hotter. ‘I just, um … I felt like bunking off this morning. And I wanted to see if Maddy wanted to come with me.’ He threw her a look. ‘Maddy bunks off a lot.’

  ‘You did what?’ screeched Aunt Fionnula. ‘Just wait until I get you home!’

  ‘So why did you set off the fire alarm and run away then, Danny?’ asked the sergeant. ‘And why did they attack yourself and Maddy?’

  ‘Well, like Maddy said, they didn’t look very friendly,’ said Danny. ‘I just had a bad feeling.’ Which isn’t a million miles away from the truth, thought Maddy.

  ‘Can you think of any reason why they would want to hurt yourself or Maddy or why they attacked Miss Stone?’ Sergeant O’Leary asked.

  ‘No, I can’t. I’d never seen any of them before in my life,’ said Danny. ‘I don’t think people like that need a reason.’

  ‘What are you going to do about this?’ Aunt Fionnula demanded. ‘My son was very badly hurt – he could have been killed! And I know she is at the bottom of it all.’ She rounded on Maddy and jabbed a sharp finger in her direction. ‘She always is.’

  Maddy widened her eyes in mock innocence and watched Aunt Fionnula’s face flush with anger.

  ‘The problem I have, Mrs O’Shea, is that no one seems to know who these teenagers were,’ said Sergeant O’Leary as he tucked his notebook away inside his jacket.

  ‘Surely some of the teachers must have recognized them! They walked right past them to get into the school,’ said Granny.

  ‘They did indeed, but again, none of the staff recognized them either and they ran by so quickly that no one has been able to give me more than a vague description,’ said Sergeant O’Leary. ‘Poor Miss Stone was so frightened she really can’t remember much. So unless someone can come forward with more detailed information –’ he paused and looked hard at Maddy and Danny – ‘I really do not have much to go on. Maybe after a good night’s sleep something will come to you, eh?’ Maddy and Danny looked back at him and said nothing. He sighed. ‘This is serious business here. We’re talking assault, battery, criminal damage and God only knows what else. Those lads are in big trouble and so is anyone who tries to protect them or tells me lies. Do you still have nothing to say?’ Again, stony silence. ‘Well, if that’s all, I’ll be on my way,’ he said.

  Granda walked over to let the sergeant out. ‘If they think of anything, Bat, anything at all, no matter how small or unimportant it might seem, give me a call straightaway, won’t you?’ said Sergeant O’Leary as he pulled his hat firmly on to his head.

  ‘I will, Sergeant,’ said Granda, as Sergeant O’Leary stepped out into the street.

  ‘I’d best be going myself,’ said Dr Malloy. ‘Any problems during the night, give me a call at home. You know the number, don’t you?’

  ‘That we do, Doctor. Thanks for coming out,’ said Granny.

  ‘My pleasure,’ said Dr Malloy. ‘Keep an eye on these two now and I will see them tomorrow morning in the surgery for a check-up.’

  They all called their goodbyes as Dr Malloy left, but as soon as the front door closed a tense silence descended. Maddy’s eyes shifted nervously around as she tried to look anywhere but at Aunt Fionnula.

  ‘There is something funny going on around here,’ said Aunt Fionnula. ‘Gangs of teenagers do not just appear out of the blue, vandalize a primary school and beat up pupils and teachers. And I intend to get to the bottom of it.’

  ‘The children have said they know nothing about it,’ said Granny. ‘And why should they? I know Maddy doesn’t spend her time hanging out with sixteen-year-olds.’

  ‘Nor does Danny,’ said Aunt Fionnula, her kilowatt glare never leaving Maddy’s face.

  ‘It was probably one of them Facebook things – you know, when they tell each other to meet up at a certain place and behave badly,’ said Granny.

  ‘What do you know about Facebook?’ asked Granda.

  ‘I’m not as green as I look, Bartholomew Kiely,’ warned Granny. ‘There’s plenty of things I know about.’ Granda rolled his eyes.

  ‘In Blarney? At nine in the morning?’ said Aunt Fionnula.

  ‘Well, what else are you suggesting?’ asked Granda, not even bothering to keep the exasperation from his voice.

  ‘I don’t know!’ shouted Fionnula, her temper finally boiling over. ‘I haven’t a clue what’s going on around here, but ever since she turned up, there’s been trouble!’

  Granny tutted. ‘You’ve no proof that Maddy has done anything at all, Fionnula. If you can believe that Danny was hurt for just being there, then I don’t see why you would think that gang had a reason for hurting Maddy.’

  ‘Because my children behave themselves!’ yelled Aunt Fionnula. ‘My children would not dare do anything to cause trouble like this! They weren’t dragged up!’

  In the shocked silence that followed, Aunt Fionnula’s face went white as she realized that she really had gone too far this time. Everyone stared at her in disbelief, but as her words sank in, Maddy’s anger began to boil to the surface.

  ‘Don’t you dare …’ she said, her voice choked with tears of rage. ‘Don’t you dare talk about my parents like that.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Fionnula whispered, looking not at Maddy but at Granny and Granda. ‘I never meant—’

  ‘You never think,’ snapped Granda, while Granny’s mouth thinned to a white line of disapproval and disappointment. ‘That’s what you mean to say. You never think about what you’re saying, because if you did you’d know your sister never dragged that child up and nor have we. We might be old, but we’re not finished yet.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Fionnula. ‘I’m sorry; she just gets me so angry.’

  ‘And ask yourself why that is,’ said Granny. ‘Because it’s nothing this child has done. You need to find some way to have a relationship with your sister’s child.’

  ‘And soon,’ said Granda. ‘Seeing as she’ll be coming to stay with you tomorrow.’

  Maddy looked at him, horrified. ‘You’re not still sending me to her place, are you?’ she asked. ‘After everything she’s said?’

  ‘It’s only going to be for a while, Maddy,’ said Granda. ‘I think it would do you both good to get to know each other.’ He looked back at Fionnula. ‘It’s not right that a family should be fighting like this.’

  Maddy and Aunt Fionnula glared at each other and Maddy could read the same thought in Fionnula’s eyes that was at the front of her mind – I hate you. There was no way she was going to be able to handle five minutes in this woman’s house.

  ‘Look, nothing is going to get sorted out today,’ said Granny, as the awkward silence stretched on. ‘Leave Danny and Roisin here tonight and you can pick up all three of them tomorrow. I think a bit of time spent together over the Halloween break is just what you need. I know I can’t take much more of this fighting.’ She sighed and looked very old for a moment. Maddy felt a twinge of guilt, and even Aunt Fionnula’s face softened. Aunt Fionnula grabbed her handbag from an armchair and slung it over her shoulder.

  ‘Fine,’ she said, fidgeting with her car keys. ‘I’ll be back in the morning and we can talk about this then.’

  ‘You really can’t expect me to go and stay with her. She’s off her head!’ said Maddy.

  ‘Hey!’ yelled Danny and Roisin at the same time.

  ‘That’s enough!’ roared Granda. ‘Maddy, you are going to do what you are told and accept that sometimes we know what is best f
or you, better than you do.’

  Aunt Fionnula ignored Maddy and the insult. ‘Have the children ready for me at nine in the morning,’ she said as she walked out of the front door without a goodbye to anyone.

  Maddy didn’t bother to watch after her.

  ‘You can’t make me go anywhere with her,’ she told her grandparents in a flat voice. ‘You can’t make me go somewhere where I’m hated.’

  ‘Don’t you talk about my mam like that,’ warned Danny.

  ‘You need to go and stay with your aunt for a while,’ said Granda. ‘You know you do.’

  ‘No,’ said Maddy, ‘I don’t. And I’m not going to.’

  She stalked past them all into her bedroom, making sure to give the door a good hard slam.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Maddy was so exhausted from the last few days she fell asleep across her quilt, not even bothering to change into pyjamas. She slept in her school uniform, the clothes twisting around her and creasing her skin as she tossed and turned in a fitful doze. Dreams tumbled out of her subconscious, chasing each other across the insides of her twitching eyelids. They were filled with fragmented images that often made no sense, as disjointed as viewing the real world through a broken kaleidoscope. She woke up once and saw Danny curled in a corner of the double bed, facing the wall with his back to her, sleeping deeply. Granda was slipping an iron cuff on her wrist, its weight rough and cool against her skin. She clasped it with her other hand and felt some of the tension draining out of her body. When she fell back asleep, the dreams were sweeter.

  She woke with a rumbling stomach to a dark and sleeping house. The clock ticked away on the mantelpiece in the living room and she could hear deep, even breathing as Danny’s chest rose and fell. Yawning wide enough to make her jaw pop, she staggered over to the bedroom door and peered around it blearily. Granda was asleep on the sofa, snoring slightly through a half-open mouth. Maddy slipped through the door and then went to listen outside her grandparents’ bedroom. She could hear two sleepers breathing in there, so Roisin must be sharing Granny’s bed.

  She tiptoed to the kitchen as her stomach complained loudly and raided the cupboards. She made herself a sandwich and wolfed it down as she roved around the kitchen, spilling crumbs on Granny’s spotless lino. She shovelled in some chocolate biscuits and drank milk straight out of the carton while she stood in the light of the fridge. She shivered in the cold air and glanced at the darkness pressed so lovingly against the kitchen window. She could see herself and the room reflected back by the black like a perfect mirror image, apart from a square of light thrown down on the garden lawn. As she gazed at it, half asleep, she spotted a quick movement just on the edge of the square, a flicker that soon disappeared into the border of black.

  Maddy narrowed her eyes and then she felt that all too familiar prickling sensation on the back of her neck. The food she had just eaten churned in her stomach as it clenched. She swallowed hard and crept to the light switch, flicking it off to plunge the room into darkness. She crouched down, close to the floor, her heart hammering against her ribs, and tried to keep her breathing even and quiet. She waited for a few moments and then there was another fast flicker against the window, a flash of a twisted and ugly face. She bit her lip to stifle a scream. Then she crawled on all fours to the kitchen worktop, lifted her arm over her head and felt along its cool surface for the wooden block where Granny kept her kitchen knives. She gripped the handle of one and eased it out before gently pulling back the bolts on the back door.

  The gravel on the garden path crunched beneath her stockinged feet, the stones grinding against the wool of her tights. There was another flurry of movement, darting for the garden wall, a soft grey shadow.

  ‘I know you’re there,’ Maddy called softly, trying not to wake anyone. ‘I’m getting pretty good at spotting when any of you lot are around. So you might as well show yourself.’

  The air went still and quiet. If Maddy strained her eyes she could see that little smudge of grey against the bluer, velvety black of the night. Whatever it was, it was either taking a long time to think about what she had said or getting ready to attack. Maddy held the kitchen knife out in front of her and shifted her weight slightly so that she was ready to bolt back through the door. Her breath steamed faintly in the early autumn air and she tensed her body for a blow.

  And then the garden breathed out again as the grey shadow uncoiled itself and a faerie no bigger than an eight-year-old child shuffled into the moonlight. Maddy knew it was rude to stare, never mind gasp with horror, but it really was the ugliest little creature and one of the most frightening faeries she had ever seen.

  It was an old hag that scuffed her bare feet across the gravel to stand in front of Maddy. Her skin was as grey as the rags she clutched about herself, and her wrinkled scalp showed through the thin white hair that trailed in limp hanks to the small of her back. The nails on her hands and feet were long and black and her mouth sunken. But her black eyes were soft and kind and crinkled with laughter lines at the corners. If it hadn’t been for her eyes, Maddy probably would have run back into the kitchen and slammed the door.

  Instead, she unglued her tongue from the roof of her mouth, where it had almost dried fast, and said, ‘You’re a banshee, aren’t you?’ The little faerie woman ducked her head shyly and nodded. Maddy stared at her stupidly, one thought running around her head like a hamster on a wheel.

  ‘Am I dying?’

  The banshee giggled, showing one tooth hanging on for dear life in her mouth. ‘No, Feral Child,’ she said, her voice as beautiful as her body was ugly. ‘I came to see the new Hound. It’s the blood that calls me.’

  ‘I wish you lot would stop going on about blood,’ said Maddy. ‘It’s horrible. Especially when it’s mine you’re talking about!’

  The banshee flinched as if she had been slapped and lowered her head. ‘Sorry,’ she said in a small voice.

  Maddy winced. The little faerie made her feel as if she was bullying a pensioner. Which she probably was. The banshee shivered in the cold wind. ‘Would you like to come in?’ asked Maddy. She had no idea why she said it; it just felt like the right thing to do.

  The faerie looked up quickly, the black eyes eager, and she shuffled at warp speed past Maddy and into the kitchen, rolling from side to side as if one leg hurt her. Maddy was going to take the horseshoe off the door in case the iron repelled the faerie, but the banshee was past her and nosing around the kitchen before she could reach for it, the smell of damp earth wafting off her as she blinked in the electric light that came on when Maddy flicked the switch.

  ‘The iron doesn’t bother you then?’ asked Maddy, as she closed the back door quietly.

  The banshee shook her head. ‘I’m a solitary faerie, and one of the types who spends more time with mortals than with faeries,’ said the little woman. ‘After a while we get more and more like you and some things stop bothering us.’ She pulled a face. ‘Although I wouldn’t like to actually touch iron, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Maddy. She watched the little faerie look around the room, her nose snuffling. There was a tiny part of Maddy’s brain, a small but rational voice, telling her this wasn’t a good idea, that she should probably ask the faerie to leave and hope she would be reasonable about it, but the situation was so bizarre Maddy decided to ignore it. Besides, the reckless, impulsive part of her brain argued, Granda was asleep next door, and if the banshee turned aggressive, Maddy could just yell for help.

  ‘Would you like something to eat?’ asked Maddy. From the look of the faerie, it had been a couple of centuries since she had a decent meal.

  ‘Do you have any Cheese & Onion Taytos?’ asked the faerie.

  ‘Taytos?’ repeated Maddy. ‘As in, the crisps?’ The banshee nodded, her face hopeful. ‘Yeah, we always have a bag around somewhere.’

  Maddy had a root around in a cupboard and found a family bag Granny always kept for when Maddy felt hungry. Granny had a far more lax approach to sw
eets and crisps than Maddy’s parents would have approved of, for which Maddy was truly grateful. She turned with the crisps in her hand to see the little banshee wriggling like a puppy in excitement, her gnarled hands reaching for the packet. Maddy held them out and sat down in a kitchen chair to watch the faerie lower her head to the bag and shovel the crisps into her mouth with fingers tipped with long black nails. Her table manners left a lot to be desired.

  ‘So you’re a solitary faerie then? What does that mean?’ Maddy asked.

  ‘I don’t owe allegiance to any court,’ said the banshee between mouthfuls. ‘It’s the blood that calls me and the blood I follow, so I wouldn’t be able to offer complete obedience to any monarch. So my kind is left alone. We can visit any court we like, but no one tries to make us stay.’

  ‘You keep talking about blood,’ said Maddy. ‘Do you smell it or something? Why does it mean so much to you?’

  ‘It’s not a smell,’ said the banshee scornfully, as she crunched gummily with her mouth open. ‘It’s like a song, an irresistible lure that calls to us wherever we are. And the lure is never so strong as when the blood is failing and the body dying. Then it’s a light that shines out like a beacon. That’s why we follow the blood wherever it goes, even when it leaves these shores. It can go as far as Australia and America. We always follow the blood and we sing when it passes.’

  ‘Why?’

  The faerie shrugged her shoulders. ‘It’s what we do, what we’ve always done. We are one of the last gifts that the Tuatha gave mortals.’

  ‘A gift?! Screeching and wailing until someone dies out of pure stress?’ asked Maddy.

  The faerie looked up at her with a hurt expression. ‘That’s NOT what we do!’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Maddy, when she realized how hurt the faerie woman was. ‘How would you describe it then?’

  ‘The Tuatha created my kind and gave them to the families of heroes,’ said the banshee, lifting her head proudly. ‘So not only did we mourn and give a hero a proper funeral when they died but we mourn their children and their children’s children, until the hero’s line dies out and we fade away. We are a sign of respect from the Tuatha – our wailing lets the world know a mortal of greatness or one descended from greatness, beloved of the Fair Folk, has died. Their passing never goes unnoticed, and a hero is never forgotten.’