The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

there that the music came.
    She opened the white door and stepped inside.
    Flowers twined and tangled up the walls. Tables the size of lakes groaned under the weight of platters filled with food. The scents were sensuous.
    The floor was a mosaic, a symphony of jewels placed in random patterns.
    There were chairs and cushions and plush sofas, but all were empty. All but the throne at the room’s head. There, lounging in the grandeur, was a man in a silver doublet.
    “You never hesitated,” he said. “There’s courage in that. Not once did you think of turning around. You just walked straight into what’s unknown to you.”
    He offered her a smile, and with a wave of his hand, the gold apple that appeared in it. “You may have a taste for this.”
    “I may, but I haven’t a century to spare you.”
    He laughed, and flicking his fingers, vanished the apple. “I wouldn’t have let you, as I’ve more use for you above than here.”
    Curious, she turned in a circle. “Are you alone, then?”
    “Not alone, no. Even faeries like to sleep. The light was to guide you. It’s night here, as it is in your world. I wanted to speak with you, and preferred to do so alone.”
    “Well, then.” She lifted her arms, let them fall. “I’m here.”
    “I’ve a question for you, Mary Brenna O’Toole.”
    “I’ll try to answer it, Carrick, Prince of Faeries.”
    His lips twitched again with amused approval, but his eyes were intense and sober as he leaned toward her. “Would you take a pearl from a lover?”
    An odd question indeed, she thought. But after all, it was a dream, and she’d had stranger ones. “I would, if it was given freely.”
    With a sigh, he tapped his hand on the wide arm of his throne. The ring he wore flashed silver and blue. “Why is it there are always strings attached to answers when dealing with mortals?”
    “Why is it faeries are never satisfied with an honest answer?”
    Humor brightened his eyes. “You’re a bold one, aren’t you? It’s a fortunate thing I’ve a fondness for mortals.”
    “I know you have.” She walked closer now. “I’ve seen your lady. She pines for you. I don’t know if that heavies your heart or lightens it, but it’s what I know.”
    Resting his chin on his feet, he brooded. “I know her heart, now that it’s too late for me to do much more than wait. Must there be pain in love before there’s fulfillment?”
    “I haven’t the answer.”
    “You’ve part of it,” he muttered, and straightened again. “You are part of the answer. Tell me now, what’s in your heart for Shawn Gallagher.” Before she could speak, he lifted a hand in warning. He’d seen the temper flash over her face. “Before you speak, mind this. You’re in my world here, and it’s the simplest of matters for me to make you speak truth. Only truth. We both prefer you answer of your own will.”
    “I don’t know what’s in my heart. You’ll have to take that as your truth, for I’ve nothing more.”
    “Then it’s time you looked, and time you knew, isn’t it?” He sighed again, not troubling to hide his disgust. “But you won’t till you’re ready. Go on to sleep, then.”
    With a sweep of his arm, he was alone with his thoughts in the jeweled light. And Brenna slept, dreamlessly now, in her bed.

She got no more than four hours’ sleep, but went through the day fueled with energy. Most often a late night followed by an early morning left her out of sorts and cross most of the day. But in this case, she was so cheerful that her father commented on her bright mood more than once.
    She didn’t feel she could tell him what she told herself. It was good, healthy sex that had her whistling through her work. As close as they were, and as much as she loved him, she doubted her father would want to know how she’d spent her evening.
    She remembered the dream, remembered it so clearly, so precisely, that she wondered if she was filling in some blanks without meaning to. But it wasn’t anything she was going to muddle over for long.
    “That’s about all for the day, wouldn’t you say, Brenna darling?” Mick straightened up, stretched his back, then glanced over to where his daughter was squatted down painting the floor molding. His lips pursed when he noted she was painting the same six inches over and over with lazy swipes of the brush.
    “Brenna?”
    “Hmm?”
    “Don’t you think you might have just about enough paint on that space of wood by this