Slaughtaverty, Present Day

Misty tendrils drift like smoke around his ankles when Cillian Stewart pulls the door of the Three-Barrel-and-One Ale House shut against the smell of beer and stale fat and locks it.

It doesn't matter how well they help Maeve and Fergus scrub the place; once the food is put away and the pub closes, it just smells like spilt drink and old oil. It also doesn't matter how fresh and tasty Maeve's food of the day had been. Cillian doesn't care. For him, it is the smell of home, the place where he feels most at ease. The owners of the Three-and-One - as the locals call it - are as solid a part of Cillian's family as his own parents and three siblings.

Finishing all the end-of-shift tasks took longer than expected because his serving partner, Mary Doyle, was even more of a pest tonight than usual, doing her best to drive the boy up the walls. When Cillian turns to leave, the girl is standing behind him, close enough for him to bump into her and smell the gentle lemon and rose fragrance mingling with the flavour always permeating their clothes and hair at the end of their shift.

Cillian's heart belongs to Peace Haven. He fully embraces all the island's customs and traditions, and working part-time at the pub is one of his favourite things. He works every dinner shift from Monday to Friday, and on Sundays, he works the busy lunch shift. He has Saturdays off. At some point, Mary became his permanent work partner. He knows it is because she created the new rosters.

The girl always gets her way.

If he were to tell the truth, Cillian would have to admit that he prefers working with Mary. When she's not there, the shift is a lot more tedious. Mary might drive him crazy, but she also makes him laugh a lot. Having her around is definitely fun... most of the time.

Tonight, the boy is exhausted. All he wants to do is go home, shower the pub off his skin and out of his hair and do some homework before taking his latest novel to bed with him. He only gets to read the hour before he starts to fall asleep. All his other time is finely scheduled between school, school work, his part-time job and helping his dad and brother work the potato fields.

"Seriously, Mary," he grumbles, jumping back when his chest collides with the girl's, and she grins at him. Her bright blue eyes are filled with mischief, sparkling in the light of the lamp above the entrance. "I almost trampled ye," he says, placing his hands on either side of her shoulders to move her out of his way. He finds being trapped against the door disturbing on so many levels. Much of that disturbance has to do with how soft her body was when he bumped into her.

Not looking back, Cillian starts his brisk walk across the street and into the park. It's the shortest route home. They always cut across the park with its hidden nooks, stone statues and lush plants; then they follow the road on the other side until it leaves the town; from there, they take a footpath through vast fields to the Doyles' property wall.

Sometimes, they use bicycles, but it's a pleasant walk and usually takes them less than twenty minutes. He knows Mary is hot on his heels, her giggles making him roll his eyes. It would have been so much easier if she just walked by his side like a normal human being, but nooooo, she always has to mess with him until he runs from her.

She likes to chase him.

It's tricky staying just out of her reach without losing her or leaving her too far behind. This is the weirdest way of walking somebody home ever, and it's seriously annoying. Cillian is considering rolling Mary home in an empty beer barrel. It would fit the theme of their job, and the girl wouldn't be able to try to grab him.

This has been their routine for almost a year now. Mary hounds him all the way across the meadow and over the low stone wall leading to her family's home. Once he's sure she's safe, he gets to sprint the rest of the way to his family's land adjacent to the Doyles'.

He could, of course, run home and leave Mary to walk alone. Slaughtaverty – in fact, the whole island – is not known for crime and rampant danger, but humans aren't the only dangerous animals in the world. Though the wolves that migrate to the forest in winter generally avoid the town and its outskirts and mostly just hunt deer and other animals, it is best to stay on alert and not just take safety for granted.

Wild animals are unpredictable.

Besides, there are many rumours about the death of Roisin's baby. Whispered stories and speculations about history repeating itself since a few young people have gone missing in the last five years.

Billy denies that history is repeating itself because, in 1745, young women and little boys disappeared one after another over the span of only a few months.

Many young people leave the island every year, longing to see the world beyond the confines of the sleepy island with its mist and shadows. Most of the disappeared youths had plans to leave and might've grabbed their chances to go when they got them, avoiding people trying to dissuade them.

There is no uproar about it... for now...

Cillian has no desire to leave. This is his home. The island is in his blood. It is part of him. He'd been on holiday in other countries a few times, and he couldn't wait to return to the island where life is simple and free of all the politics, confusion and hate sown all over the rest of the world.

The Slatherties take good care of the islanders. The families living under their government have everything they could possibly need to live meaningful lives. They do not stop anybody from leaving, but applications from outsiders to settle on the island are fine-combed for signs of criminal tendencies. They don't want to introduce elements that could destroy the way of life cherished by all the inhabitants.

Crime is not tolerated here at all.

"Will ye slow down, Cillian, ye gobdaw!" Mary huffs somewhere behind him, making him realise that he'd been lost in thought, increasing his speed and the length of his strides. He is steadily leaving the girl behind.

"Will ye hurry up, Mary, ye sluggard!" he retaliates, turning to look at her, slowing his pace so she can catch up. For a moment, he's alarmed, seeing nothing but white mist and growing shadows behind him, and then the bright yellow work T-shirt Mary wears becomes visible in the thickening mist.

Maeve wanted the male staff to wear blue T-shirts and the female ones to wear pink, but Mary was adamant that she knew she was a girl and that she didn't need a T-shirt to remind her. That was not Maeve's intention with the shirts.

Mary also said that the day she wears pink is the day she colours her hair bright green to create a nice contrast with it. Maeve preferred Mary not to have green hair, as it might cause a lack of appetite among her patrons and the two settled on yellow for the girls... when it's Mary's shift.

Cillian has heard Maeve lament not making Mary wear black instead since the girl is always spilling things on her bright yellow T-shirts, ruining them.

The boy understood very little of their argument. He seldom knows what Mary is on about and Maeve's logic can be just as confusing. He has no idea why green hair would make people lose their appetite... unless Mary coloured her hair using snot or seaweed.

That is a strong possibility. The girl has some strange ideas and is always willing to supply craziness when there's none to be found.

"This is turning into full-on druid's fog, isn't it?" Mary says when she reaches him. Cillian only realizes that he'd stopped completely, staring blindly into the coiling mist gathering around them, when Mary grabs his arm.

"There have never been druids on this island, lass," Cillian scoffs, turning to walk again. He ignores Mary's fingers slipping from his arm to grab onto the back of his T-shirt.

Looking around him, he could easily believe in druids hanging around in the white blanketed park. He could imagine much worse things watching them from the eerie mist if he wanted to. He doesn't want to and is glad when Mary stops him from doing so by being a pest... as usual.

"Ye do know that yer wasting a savage opportunity to kiss me, right?" she points out cheekily. "Nobody would be able to see us. We could be kissing right under their noses."

"To be sure, to be sure," Cillian snorts, really not seeing the point of kissing under other people's noses. "Just give me a minute to reach the meadow, lass. I'll have me way with ye against the nearest tree then."

"Oh, yay! That would be grand!" Mary laughs, knowing full well that the boy is more likely to run all the way to the other side of the island to get away from her than he is to take her up on any offer she is tossing at him.

Chuckling, Cillian glances over his shoulder, seeing the girl still steadfastly following in his footsteps, holding onto his shirt. She giggles when she sees him looking at her, and as it always does when Cillian sees her flushed cheeks and fiery hair like a lamp in the increasing gloom, his heart jumps into his throat. He almost stumbles and hurries to keep his eyes on the road.

"Ye drive me off me nut, Mary Doyle," he mutters, walking faster when she laughs again.

They'd left the park behind and are trudging along the road until they reach the meadow between the town and the forest, where they veer off the road, heading left through long grass where skeletal trees stand stiffly in the embrace of the rising mist.

Today was warm, but Cillian now wishes he'd brought a jacket along anyway. He is sure that Mary is cold. His own skin is puckering in the increasing chill. Most of the island's inhabitants are used to the cool weather, and it has to be a truly cold day before they start to pull on sweaters.

Still, it is the beginning of autumn. Summer is fading away, so it would be wise to start bringing a jacket when they're going to walk home after work. Night creeps in faster too. It is almost completely dark already.

The dark doesn't bother the couple, who easily find the footpath leading home. They always joke about being able to walk home with their eyes closed, and on misty nights like tonight, it feels as though that is exactly what they're doing.

"It is rather disappointing how proper ye are, Cillian," Mary teases, and the boy is certain that if he continues to roll his eyes like this every five minutes he spends in the girl's presence, they will one day pop out of their sockets and bounce away. "It is seriously minus craic, I tell ye!"

"To be sure, to be sure," he mutters.

"Just stop," is what Billy Doyle once advised Cillian when he'd been visiting the man to watch rugby with him and asked him what to do about Mary. "If the lass chases ye, just stop."

At the time, he'd reminded Billy that he was Mary's uncle and probably shouldn't advise boys to stop and let her catch them. It made Billy laugh, slapping Cillian on the back hard enough to make him hiccup. Billy doesn't always realise his strength.

One day, Cillian wants to be just like him. He wants huge muscles and to be handsome and filled with confidence. For now, he is a scrawny high schooler, and he knows Mary is only chasing him because he runs. Billy even said as much.

"Our Mary is a chihuahua chasing a car, lad. If ye stop, she'll make a puddle on the road and run home yelping."

That was not the best imagery, and thinking about it now makes the boy laugh.

"Ye think it's funny to be minus craic, do ye?" Mary complains. Swallowing down the sudden flaring of his nerves, the boy makes the decision he always tries to make and fails. He stops his fast march, turns around and grabs the girl when she walks into him.

"What... what are ye doing, Cillian Stewart?" Mary asks, alarmed, her pulse fluttering in the grip Cillian has on her wrist as he tugs her along with him.

"I'm stopping, Mary Doyle," he grunts, pushing her against the shoulder-high stone wall bordering her family's property. A few strides further along the footpath, the wall is lower, and the two usually climb over it. When they're near Mary's house, she leaves him, and he watches her reach her door while he carries on across their land to the Stewarts' land.

"To do what?" she asks with a startled squeak, not knowing how to handle this sudden change in their routine. Truth be told, Cillian has no idea either.

"I'm not entirely sure," he admits. When Mary giggles as the control slides back to her, he clenches his back teeth, grunting with frustration.

"How long do ye need to figure it out, Stewart?" she teases, batting her eyelashes, and Cillian wishes the moon would hide behind the clouds again so he doesn't have to see his confusion and uncertainty reflected in her sparkling eyes. Bad timing, moon! "I could go home and have me dinner and come back out to see if ye've finally made up yer-"

"Kiss ye!" he snaps. "That's what ye've been asking me to do, isn't it?"

"Is it?" she sniggers, not sounding quite as sure of herself anymore, but she's not making a puddle or running home yelping like a good little chihuahua. Instead, she's looking up at Cillian with wide eyes gleaming in the dark when clouds once again cover the moon. The boy regrets his wish now. He needs to see Mary's face to know what she's thinking.

"Aye... and I'm really going to do it now, Mary Doyle," he assures her, but so far, he has only trapped her against the wall, gently holding onto her wrists. If she wanted to, she could easily break free and run or make that puddle, but she's doing neither and now Cillian wishes that Billy had fleshed out the scenario for him a bit more.

"What if she doesn't run away?" he'd asked Billy, and the man grinned at him, laying a hand on his shoulder, giving it an encouraging squeeze.

"Then ye're probably going to have to kiss her, lad," Billy had shrugged, chuckling softly. "Mind that is all ye do with her. I wouldn't want to have to hunt ye down. I'm right fond of ye."

Here he is now, in the middle of that worst-case situation, and Billy didn't give him any clear instructions.

"Is this quare kissing event still going to happen tonight, Cillian?" Mary teases, regaining her confidence in the light of his hesitation. "I'm getting tired. I might just close me eyes and kip for a while."

"Aye," the boy grunts, lowering his face until their lips are separated by less than a breath. Mary is still not breaking free and running away. He's calling her bluff, and she is standing her ground. Cillian's heart is about to jump from his chest. It will probably make that puddle and do the yelping run clear across Doyle land without him.

"I know ye've never kissed a girl before, Cillian," Mary mocks him, arching her body to touch his. "but surely ye know that yer lips have to actually touch mine, don't ye?"

"I've kissed plenty!" Cillian lies, biting his lip when Mary laughs again. She knows he hasn't. How could he have? The lass is almost always with him wherever he goes when he leaves his house. She sees it as her human duty to taunt him every minute he's awake. Other girls stay clear of him because they're afraid of Mary. They don't know that she's just a chihuahua chasing a car. Cillian isn't all that convinced about it anymore, either.

She's still here, after all.

"Who exactly have ye been kissing, Cillian Stewart?" Mary demands to know, lifting her hands but not to break free. She twists her fingers into the material of the T-shirt covering his chest and pulls him closer to her. "It had better not be Alys Beavin! That cute hoor thinks she can have everything she-"

Hearing Mary berate someone other than him for a change gives Cillian the courage he needs to close the gap and jam his lips against hers in the kind of kiss that could cause bleeding with delicate tissue pressed against teeth. He is pretty sure he is doing it wrong because this does not feel good at all.

"Ow!" Mary groans, pushing him away. "Now I wish ye did kiss somebody else first, ye muppet!" she grumbles, but when Cillian starts to step away from her, humiliated by his lack of experience in the kissing department, she tightens her grip on his shirt, keeping him in place.

"Softly," she whispers, rising onto the tips of her toes to touch her lips to his in a gentle caress, causing fireflies to blink into life in the boy's mind.

Cillian doesn't pull away or turn to run; he allows her to pull him even closer, and following Mary's lead for a few seconds, he soon finds his way. His lips instinctively move over hers, caressing them with a tenderness that leaves the girl breathless.

"Good on ye, Cillian," she whispers when he pulls away to catch his breath. "Ye've always been a quick study."

Chuckling, finding his courage in her praise, Cillian captures Mary's lips again. Only the softness of each other's lips and the lingering taste of honey-drizzled dessert cake exist in the white mist, wrapping around them like a blanket, enveloping them in a blissful world of their own.

Cillian is acing this stopping thing. His only regret is that he hadn't stopped weeks ago. He and Mary could've been doing this every night on their way home. This is definitely going to be a new part of their after-work routine.

He is vaguely wondering if this means that Mary is his girlfriend now. It would be weird to ask her that question. He should probably just ask her to be his girlfriend and be done with it. If she laughs at him, he'll just kiss her some more.

Another blissful perk of this long, soulful kiss is that Mary doesn't say crazy things and tease him when their lips embrace, savouring each other's softness. Cillian's blood is droning pleasantly in his head. His entire body is alive with sensations he has never experienced quite this intensely before. The fingers of his one hand find the soft strands of Mary's shoulder-length hair, burying themselves in there, while the tips of his other fingers trace the silky contour of her neck, feeling her skin react to his touch.

He has never felt more alive.

Sharp pain shooting up from his neck, flashing white light in his brain, momentarily takes his breath away, but before he can register what is happening or cry out in warning, his senses are suffused with warmth, pumping deliciously through his veins. For a while, all he can do is float in it. Finally, groaning, he slides his lips from Mary's, running them along her jaw to her neck.

"Cillian?" Mary breathes when the boy buries his face in the hollow between her neck and shoulder, his lips touching her skin while his fingers convulsively tighten in her hair. His only answer is another drawn-out moan followed by soft gasping sounds.

"What are ye doing?" she asks, unable to move in his suddenly tight grasp, his body pushing hers into the rough contours of the wall.

"Oh! Ye'd better not be doing what I think ye're doing, lad!" Mary growls, pushing against his shoulders. "To be sure, it might be seen as a compliment," she laughs, pushing harder. "But mostly, it's just gross."

Cillian finally lets her go, but he is not stepping away; he is sagging, and Mary is no longer certain of her possible explanation for his strange behaviour.

"Cillian?" she asks softly. Laying her hands on his cheeks, she pushes his head back to get a look at his face. The boy is not known for suffering seizures like his younger sister. Mary would never forgive herself if one kiss from her caused the boy to develop epilepsy like Siobhán.

He is hard to see clearly in the streaming gloom, but he is close enough for her to note that his eyes are blown, the gentle sky-blue irises swallowed by his black pupils. His lips are quivering, his breath coming in strangled puffs.

"Mar..." he mutters, then his head slides from her grasp, his lips grazing her cheek as his face returns to the hollow of her neck.

Mary has only ever kissed one other boy. She'd done it because she'd hoped that Cillian would be jealous when he heard about it, but he never acknowledged it. She's not even sure that he knows about it. He always has his nose stuck in a book, hardly giving her a second thought.

She now wishes she'd kissed more boys because she's not sure what is happening to Cillian. She knows what an epilepsy attack looks like. She'd helped Siobhán through it many times. This is no epileptic seizure.

She'd only kissed John a little bit, and when he turned all handsy, she'd slapped him, called him a plonker and made him take her shift at the Three-in-One. Their kiss definitely didn't bring the boy to the end of his journey the way it's doing for Cillian... if that is what's happening.

If it is, Mary is a little disappointed.

She was really enjoying their sweet kiss. She's not ready to end it now so Cillian can run home and shower. She is relieved when his lips suddenly find hers again. They've lost their uncertainty, expertly moving over hers, making her blood stir wetly in her veins. 

He'd also lost his warmth, causing her skin to feel feverish in comparison when he strokes a hand along her neck. She gasps when his teeth suddenly nip at her lower lip hard enough to hurt.

"Cillian!" she exclaims, trying to push him away, and she can feel his body sliding along her length. For a moment, she thinks he's collapsing, but his hands are pushing her into the ragged surface of the wall behind her. His touch has lost the gentleness that moments ago had left her giddy with joy.

His fingertips bite into her skin, and when he shoves his tongue between her trembling lips, it has a strange metallic taste. There is no hint left of the sweet dessert cake they'd eaten just before leaving the pub; instead, the blood-like taste causes Mary to gag with revulsion.

The kiss is too different!

"Stop," she grunts, trying again to shove him away when his lips turn from sweet and tender to a kind of boiling passion she is not ready for. Her breath burns in hungry gasps when he finally relents, lifting his lips from hers.

It's too dark to see much around her, yet the eyes holding Mary's gaze seem to gather the mist in their grey depths, illuminating them to shine into her eyes with blinding brightness. They are mesmerizing, freezing her breath in her lungs while the moon appears from behind the clouds, its cold light tracing the length of a straight nose down to wet lips showing off dazzlingly white teeth bracketed by sharp fangs.

Mary's last coherent thought before fear and horror savagely wring all clarity from her mind is of the boy she'd loved since she was ten years old, making strangled sounds at her feet, shattering her heart. Her scream, when it cracks over her lips, is filled with terror, anguish and sorrow and, for one instant, with searing pain when the fangs find the vein throbbing in her neck.

The world expands and tilts on its axis, fiery sparks bursting to life in Mary's brain as her lips part in a soundless cry while she curls her fingers into the fabric of her attacker's shirt. She is helpless while his cold tongue flicks over the wound he'd opened in her neck.

As darkness frays the edges of her reality, Mary feels the warmth of her blood trickling down her skin, splattering brightly on her T-shirt.

Maeve is going to be so pissed that she'd ruined yet another work shirt.

~~~