I didn't wake until morning—Keira hadn't called for a ride. I thought for a sleepy moment that she'd found another way home, but then I looked around: no phone on the bedside table, no jacket tossed over a chair, the same amount of allergy medication in the blister pack as they day before. And no Keira in the bed, which was the biggest clue—Keira never got up before me. Keira hadn't come home.
I looked at my phone. Around four a.m. Keira had texted: "Staying out all night! Cover for me!!" I beat my way out from under the quilt grumpily. Our golf lesson was in an hour, and if Keira was coming back with me, I couldn't tell our moms she was "sleeping in" or "not feeling well." I wondered why I was even bothering. Keira never covered for me.
I went upstairs and was relieved to find the kitchen empty. I grabbed a banana off the counter and the car keys from the dish I'd left them in, and I'd almost made it out the door when Mam came in.
"Going to your lesson?" she asked.
I nodded. "Keira's already outside, I better go or we'll be late."
Mam beamed. "I might come by later and join you at the driving range."
Mam for sure would not do this. She probably wouldn't even make it to the course until the second-last day of the vacation, when she'd remember she'd forgotten her lucky socks, or her favorite tee, and turn around and come right back to Grandma's. Mam liked the idea of golf much more than actual golf, and I wasn't sure if Mam had figured that out yet. It made it easier to cover for Keira, anyway.
"Okay, sure. See you." I made a clean getaway before Mam could start going on about double bogies or backspin.
***
I'd hoped to find Niall and Keira at a table in the golf course's restaurant, but the only people in the room were a waitress I hadn't met before and two old men bragging about their drives. I sighed. Apparently I wasn't done covering. But if Keira hadn't shown up by the end of our lesson, I was done, hang the sisterly code. Keira didn't get to just walk out of my life for eight months, waltz back in when she felt like it, and expect everything to be the same.
I trudged over to the clubhouse. It was already hot and while I'd tried to preempt the humidity's effect on my hair by wearing a baseball cap, I expected I still looked like a freshly washed poodle by the time I pushed through the clubhouse door.
Finn was behind the counter again and nodded at me, but his eyes were already drifting around the room for Keira.
"She's not here," I said, sharper than I'd meant to, and Finn started. "She's not feeling well."
Finn looked like he wanted to ask further about Keira's health, but fortunately, the golf instructor banged through the door. He was Mom and Mam's age and looked more like a linebacker than a golfer, with biceps that strained the sleeves of his Galway polo.
"I'm Matt," he said cheerfully. "I thought there were supposed to be two of you?"
"That was the plan," I said, "but my sister's too hungover."
"She went to a party?" Finn asked, strangled.
Matt patted Finn on the shoulder. "Don't worry, buddy. One day you'll get invited."
I was only ever in Galway for two summer weeks, and I had no idea if Finn was popular or not. He could be—he was nice, and cute, and—and I needed to stop this. He liked Keira.
"Yeah, yeah," Finn said wearily and disappeared into the back room. He came back with a purple golf bag stuffed full of mismatched rental golf clubs and held it out to me. "Have a good lesson," he muttered.
I took the clubs and swung the bag over my shoulder. The club heads whacked together and jingled.
Matt and I got all the way to the driving range before realizing that Finn had given me a set of left-handed clubs. Matt offered, with a wicked grin, to take them back, but I suspected Matt taunted Finn every time he saw him and offered to the swap myself.
I pushed through the door. "Hey, Finn—"
"You need to bring Keira here as soon as you can," Finn said. He gripped the counter so hard his knuckles were white.
"What?" I asked, swinging the golf bag off my back.
"That revel she went to last night—she went with Niall, didn't she?"
"The party? Yeah," I said warily. Finn probably wasn't going to tell our moms, but it was weird that he knew. Or maybe it wasn't. It was a small town.
"Niall's parties often... make people sick," Finn said. "If she's not well, don't assume it's a hangover. If you bring her here, I can help, and we don't have to get doctors or police involved."
"Sick?" I echoed, digging into my pocket. "Doctors and police?" I found my phone. There were no new messages from Keira, and I felt sick myself. "She doesn't have a hangover. Well, I guess she might, but I don't know, because she didn't come home. What did Niall do to her?"
Finn froze. "She didn't come home."
"No. What did Niall do?"
He was silent.
"Finn!" I snapped. I might spend 95% of my life complaining about Keira, but she was my sister and however grudgingly, I cared about her. "What do you know? If you don't tell me right now, I'm calling 911."
"They won't be able to find her," Finn said. His eyes had gone glassy.
"Where is she?"
Finn hesitated, and I suddenly remembered what a revel was—the part of my brain that had resisted the Disenchantment dredged up the term, spat out the meaning, and shot adrenaline straight to my heart.
"You said a 'revel,' earlier," I choked out. "Are you trying to tell me that Keira was kidnapped by fai—the Good Neighbors—
They weren't real. I didn't have to worry about attracting their attention or offending them. "Are you trying to tell me Keira was kidnapped by fairies?"
"Yes!" he hissed. "And don't say the name."
I stared. He was acting as if he believed.
"It's true," Finn said, holding my incredulous gaze. "I'll prove it."
I had sworn to give up, to stop looking. "I don't believe in magic," I said through my teeth.
"Here." Finn reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of string with three granny knots tied in it. I stood where I was, unable to process.
"Here," Finn said again. He vaulted gracefully over the counter and offered me the string.
"Are these supposed to be for holding wind?" I whispered.
"Er, yeah," Finn said, his dark eyes widening in surprise from the correct guess. "Untie one."
It was too much. Magic might be right in front of me. I broke my promise and dug my short nails into the first knot. As I untied it, a breeze stirred across my face, yanking at the tendrils of my hair that had escaped from under my cap.
I swallowed and gasped out, "Coincidence." All the clubhouse's windows were closed, but the door didn't seal tightly. The breeze could have been a draft.
Finn didn't argue, just nodded at the string again. I undid the next knot with trembling fingers. The breeze was stronger this time: scorecards flew off the counter and posters on the bulletin board flapped angrily. I trembled.
"Are you okay?" Finn asked. The wind had tugged at his hair too and thrown a lock across his forehead. He brushed it clear. "Eireann?"
Three was a magical number in the stories. If it happened a third time... "Can I undo the last one?" I whispered. "Isn't it supposed to be a hurricane?"
Finn shook his head. "I'm not that good—"
He'd tied these winds?
"But it'll make a mess," he finished.
I untied the knot anyway. I was doing magic. A gust slapped my hat off my head and sent it frisbeeing into a display of golf towels. Pencils, gloves, and even a pack of golf balls went flying. When the breeze subsided, and paper crackled to the ground, my face was dry, and I handed back the limp piece of string.
Finn looked around at the mess resignedly. "Believe me now?"
I took a shaky breath. "Yeah." My face split in a grin. "Yeah." I wrapped my arms around myself and hummed an Irish jig. "So magic's real, and you can do it, and—"
"And the Good Neighbors kidnapped Keira to the Otherworld," Finn said flatly.
My elation evaporated. I could handle Keira being the favorite child. I could handle Keira getting more attention, more opportunities, more leeway. I could not handle my sister getting more—so any—Otherworld.
Matt banged through the door. "How long does it take to—whoa. What happened in here?"
"Uh," said Finn and collapsed.
