Through The Veil

By Colleen Halverson

Elizabeth Tanner is no Tinkerbell, and her life is no fairy tale. Broke and drowning in student loans, the one thing she wants more than anything is a scholarship from the Trinity Foundation. But after the ancient Irish text she's studying turns out to be more than just a book, she becomes their prisoner instead. And when Trinity reveals Elizabeth is half-Fae, she finds herself at the center of a plot to save the magical races of Ireland from a brutal civil war.

As Commander of Trinity's elite warriors, Finn O'Connell isn't used to having his authority challenged. He doesn't know whether to punish or protect the infuriating young woman in his custody. When he discovers the Dark Fae want to use Elizabeth's abilities to control the source of all power in the universe, he'll risk everything to help her.

At the mercy of Trinity and enslaved to the Dark Fae, Elizabeth finds herself alone on the wrong side of an Irish myth thousands of years in the making. Refusing to be a pawn in their game, Elizabeth has to fight her way back to the man she loves, but to do so, she must wage her own war against the magic that binds her.

The Aisling Chronicles are best enjoyed in order.
Reading Order:
Book #1 Through The Veil
Book #2 Children of the Veil
Book #3 Echoes from the Veil

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Feb 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781633755659

Book preview

For Aaron, Skye, and Colin

Chapter One

I slammed the last of my contraband vanilla latte and threw it in the bin. Flexing my fingers, I narrowed my eyes like Clint Eastwood, staring hard at the archival box holding The Book of Arranmore inside.

Go ahead master’s thesis. Make my day.

Not that shooting at the ancient Irish manuscript would have solved any of my problems. In hindsight, I probably should have doused it in holy water, burned it, and buried its ashes beneath hallowed ground, but, you know, English major. Every book is sacred.

Not this one.

The slide of cardboard broke the silence in the reading room, and I closed my eyes tight for a moment, taking a deep breath before lifting the book from its nest. It sprawled open, thin October light catching the brilliant gold leaf illuminations. Tucking a loose curl behind my ear, I pressed my nose close to the pages.

A Fae woman danced across the vellum and her brown hair rippled over her shoulders, her emerald eyes sparkling.

She looks a lot like you, my advisor had joked back in September.

I snorted. I’m no Tinker Bell, Dr. F.

But that was when he still laughed. Before his wife Moiré died. Before everything changed.

Before the book started changing.

At first it was little things: a green tunic turned inky black, the snarling wolf on one page jumped to the next, a Cyclops’s eye closed and then opened again.

But then things got grim. The writing started morphing. Little snippets of text would bleed through the pages, describing something like the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, but with Faeries. Then the creepy little golem creatures started crawling around in the margins, and, well. Yeah.

Burning it would have been a good idea.

Blinking hard, I refocused my eyes on the manuscript and breathed in a sigh of relief. Everything looked the same. Not one hair out of place with Faerie girl, not one misplaced word, no creepy devil people floating to the surface. Just a normal, medieval manuscript. Nothing to see here.

Taking a deep breath, I reached over to the computer and sifted through some tunes I had, perhaps, illegally downloaded. Time to lock the chattering psycho monkeys back into their respective cages. Only one cure for the transcription blues.

Oh, yes, I thought with a click of the mouse.

In seconds, an AC/DC guitar riff blared from the speakers, announcing Angus Young was Back in Black. Buried far back in the archives of the Institute, not many faculty or students hung around the reading room late on a Friday. I cranked up the volume, drowning out the chorus of worry in my mind. Time to get to work. The clock to graduation was ticking, and I could almost hear the interest compounding on my student loans.

Ranger up, Lizzie, I said, mimicking my dad’s deep baritone.

But Dad, this book might be possessed by demonic entities!

I imagined Dad towering over me, his deep-set eyes glittering black just as they always did when he was about to make military analogies.

Patton was also haunted by demonic entities. They were called Nazis! Focus on the mission, Lizzie!

Yes, sir! I gave a fake salute to the air.

I glanced over at my copy of Thurneysen’s Grammar of Old Irish and thumbed through the pages, my fingers smoothing over the pastel rainbow of sticky notes. Thurneysen and I had become quite chummy since Moiré passed away. She had been the Irish language professor at the Celtic Studies Institute at St. Brendan’s, and the cancer that had taken her shocked us all. She would have listened to me about the changing book, chin in hand, nodding calmly at my crazed ramblings. I didn’t dare approach Dr. F about it.

Hey, that book you got in Ireland last summer? I’m having some issues transcribing it because the pictures keep moving around.

Yeah, that would land me a one-way ticket out of my master’s program and into the nuthouse. Besides, it wasn’t as if the old man was in any condition to worry about me and my mental issues. When he first noticed some discrepancy between my notes and the text, he scolded me about my carelessness and waved me away with a series of corrections sprawled on scratch paper. Since Moiré died, it’s enough if he makes it to work before noon. If at all.

With a deep sigh, I reached for my pencil. The space between my fingers and the pencil snapped with a crack of energy. It flew as if on invisible strings and landed smack into my palm.

Jesus! Tumbling from the stool, I landed on my ass with a hard thud. I gaped at the pencil as if I expected it to speak to me at any moment, but it was just an ordinary yellow number two, the nub slightly worn from use. Heart pounding, I threw it across the room, and it clattered to the floor.

A chill washed over me, and I blinked, staring down at my hands, a slight tingle like fizzing soda pop pulsing through my lifeline and down into the tips of my fingers. I clenched my fists, and the feeling disappeared.

Elizabeth? Candace, our sunny undergraduate intern, tapped my shoulder with her small, manicured finger. The heavy perfumed smell of violets radiated from her. She called to me again over the music.

Guh…

Why are you sitting on the floor?

I swallowed hard. I…uh…lost my pencil.

More like lost your marbles.

I scrambled up to the desk and turned down the music a click. Taking a deep breath, I turned to Candace. Sorry, what’s up?

There’s a man up front who’s asking a lot of questions, and I…um…

All the blood drained from my face. Oh, shit. What’s today?

The thirteenth.

"Oh, shit." A cold sweat beaded on my forehead.

What’s wrong? What is it?

It’s the Trinity Foundation. I totally forgot they were coming this afternoon!

Apparently Dr. Forrester had, too, or else he would have been there to greet them. I scrambled over to my desk seeking out my proposal, papers blowing across the wooden surface in my frantic search.

Have you seen my proposal? I swear it was just here!

Candace shook her head, picking up stray note cards scattered on the floor.

I rummaged through my backpack, forgotten Altoids and discarded pennies sticking to my fingers. Pulling out a stack of papers from the bottom, my heart sank as I took in the title Pagan Influences on Illuminations of Early Monastic Manuscripts of Northern Uí Néill covered in a dark, splattering Rorschach coffee stain.

Candace peered over my shoulder. Doesn’t Dr. Forrester usually deal with the public? I mean, who cares?

Who cares? They’re our biggest donors! I balled up the ruined proposal and chucked it in the corner.

The Trinity Foundation operated out of Chicago, but its roots lay deep in the motherland. Dr. Forrester had mentioned their visit, but I completely flaked, what with all the Harry Potter bullshit going down. I applied for a grant from them to travel to Ireland next summer and wanted to make a good impression.

Shoulders slumped, I glanced down at the clothes that had barely passed the sniff test this morning. Faded skinny jeans and Dad’s vintage Police T-shirt did not scream budding Irish medievalist scholar. I tugged at my yellow thrift-store cardigan, my fingers shaking as I fumbled with the pearly buttons. One of them was cracked, a half-moon dangling from a saffron thread. Classy.

You look…fine. Candace grimaced. Well, maybe the hair…

Right. I twisted my long mass of curls into a bun and stuck what I prayed was not an enchanted pencil through it.

Besides, Candace said. It’s not about how you look. Wow him with your extensive knowledge of Irish mythology.

Yes. I nodded, taking a deep breath. I know things.

You know things, Candace repeated, flashing me a reassuring smile.

I know a lot of things. Irish things. I squared my shoulders. I can do this.

I can do this.

Elizabeth?

I poked a few more curls up into my bun. Yeah?

The AC/DC?

Oh, right! I raced to press pause on the desktop.

Candace glanced down at the trash can. You know, Dr. F would kill you if he knew you brought coffee in here.

I was done with it, I swear!

Candace shrugged and shook her head as she trotted back to the lobby.

I took a moment to collect myself. My heart raced, slamming in my chest like someone was using my breastbone as a timpani. I brushed a bit of dust from my cardigan and stepped out into the hallway.

Dr. Forrester said 4:30 p.m., and it is now nearly five o’clock! A gruff male voice echoed through the lobby.

Candace’s fingers tapped on the keyboard behind the front desk. I’m-I’m sorry. He had a department meeting. He should be here soon.

I turned the corner and took in the large man towering over Candace’s shiny blond head. Tapping his foot and muttering something about being late for another meeting, he shot her a menacing scowl. He clutched the edge of the desk as if he might overturn it and swallow our intern whole like a mini eggroll.

Candace bit her lip, her big brown manga eyes wide with bubbling anxiety as she fumbled with some files.

I hated a bully. Being an army brat with a new school almost every year, I could spot one a mile away.

Can I help you? I threw back my shoulders and tried to make myself appear taller.

The man puffed his linebacker chest. Finn O’Connell. I’m with the Trinity Foundation. I have an appointment with Dr. Kevin Forrester. He had a crisp Irish accent, his consonants cutting through the shafts of afternoon light spilling into the room.

I’m sorry, but Dr. Forrester is out.

Where are you, old man?

I stepped forward, pasting a confident smile on my face. Is there something I could help you with?

Mr. O’Connell stalked over to me, and I fought the urge to step back. Six foot five and no problems with invading personal space, the man from Trinity emitted waves of heat, and his body hummed like a pulsing engine shrouded in gleaming black chrome.

My heart raced as I tilted my head up and up to meet a pair of intense gray eyes that made me forget my last name. Gritting my teeth, I steeled myself, crossing my arms. Never show fear: rule number one for managing the bullies in your life.

Dr. Forrester recently acquired a new manuscript—

"The Book of Arranmore!"

Finn tilted his head, trying to make sense of the jumble of consonants I had just vomited. Excuse me?

"Um, yes. The Book of Arranmore. Sorry. I twisted my mouth into some semblance of a smile, but inside my stomach knotted, thinking of the changing pictures, the shifting text. It’s a wonderful new addition to our collection."

Finn glanced down the hallway toward the archives. Would you mind if I take a look?

Um… I curled my fingers into my palm. I think it might be best if we wait for Dr. Forrester. If you would like to come back later—

No, I would not like to come back later. My time is precious, Miss…?

I raised my eyebrows, bristling at the Miss. Tanner. Elizabeth Tanner.

Miss Tanner, he said. As a contributing member to this institution, I think I am entitled to a small preview.

Entitled. Only certain kinds of men could throw that word around. Men in Burberry leather trench coats, dry-cleaned, pressed shirts so white they glistened like morning snow. Men with large checkbooks. Men, who, with the flick of a lazy, indecipherable signature could decide the destiny of my academic career.

Of course, Mr. O’Connell, I said. We have it in the back here, if you would like to follow me. I was just working on it.

Finn rode my heels, and I hurried to keep some distance between us. Opening the door and crossing the reading room, I darted to my workspace, leaning against the desk to establish my territory. I raised my chin, but inside my stomach fluttered as Finn took in the mountains of scattered notes I had amassed over the past few weeks. A messy desk is the sign of a true genius, right? Judging from the scowl on the Irishman’s face, he didn’t seem to think so.

I took a deep breath and was about to open my mouth to wax intellectual on The Book of Arranmore when my hand slipped over the computer mouse. AC/DC screeched across the wood-paneled walls, elaborating on the calamitous effects of American thighs.

I let out a squeak, whirling around and fumbling to press pause, my hands shaking violently. The music stopped mid-scream, and then silence.

Interesting taste in music, Miss Tanner.

His words burned hot against the side of my neck, and I gasped. Finn stood a mere inch behind me. He stared down at the computer screen, the blue light flashing on the teasing smile spread across his face. Heat bloomed in my cheeks, and I clicked on the tiny X to close out the program.

Oh, that wasn’t mine! I brushed my hair out of my eyes. These dang undergrads. I mean, who listens to AC/DC, right?

Finn’s smile faded, his dark stare replacing the brief lightness in his features. I chewed on my lip, arrested for a moment by the impossible length of his eyelashes.

Is this it? Finn turned and planted his fists on the table, caging the manuscript with his arms.

Yes. Closing in on Finn, I breathed in the clean, leather smell emanating from his long coat. Warm and intoxicating, he smelled like a mix of fresh laundry and badass. I shook my head, knocking my brain cells back in line. We’ve just begun the translation into English, but already we can see some interesting new insights into pre-Celtic mythology.

Finn flashed me a penetrating glance, and I swallowed, averting my eyes back to the manuscript.

Motherfucker!

Excuse me? The Irishman turned to me in alarm.

Ice water raced through my veins. Faerie girl no longer had a smile on her face. Instead, her mouth had widened in an O, her eyes panic-stricken. Two black bracelets circled her wrists. Twisted chains swirled down the edge of the page, and a hideous figure lurked in a corner grasping the ends. He had a long thin nose, small beady black eyes, and his lipless mouth turned up in a sneer beneath the hood of his cloak.

No. My throat tightened, and I blinked hard, rubbing my eyes. I leaned over Finn’s arm, pouring all my attention into the illuminations, staring at the bracelets. Squinting, I could just make out some strange writing etched across them.

Are you all right?

I clutched at my scalp, blood pounding in my ears.

Miss Tanner!

I jumped. What?

Finn’s hard stare brought me back to the surface, and I blinked, swallowing the lump in my throat. I’m sorry, I—uh—I just noticed something new about the illumination.

Have you been working on this book for some time?

Yes, since September… My voice wavered, and I clutched the back of my chair.

Finn’s eyes sought mine, and I averted my gaze, turning toward the window.

Outside, the towering steeple of St. Brendan’s Cathedral poked through the sea of concrete modernist architecture. The library’s wide windows displayed endless stacks of books haloed beneath the fluorescent lights. I spent most of my time darting between these two spaces, biceps blazing with the stacks of books poking into my stomach as I schlepped them up the stairs.

Caffeinate, read, write, repeat.

That had been my life for a year since the day I came to St. Brendan’s. But as Dr. F said, to study Ireland one has to go to Ireland.

The book? What’s in it? Finn prompted.

I let out a long shuddering breath, gathering my courage. It’s an encyclopedia of sorts by someone who signs his name as Lorcan. I began again. It documents all the races of the Fae, you know, like Faeries.

He raised an eyebrow. Faeries?

"Yeah, um, but not like, you know, the Lucky Charms kind. He goes through all the magical invasions of Ireland, starting with the Fir Bolgs right up to the Tuatha Dé Danann.’’ A tremor started in my hands, and I jammed them into the pockets of my jeans.

Finn’s eyes rested on the vellum, narrowing on the insignia on the Fae woman’s dress. The Tree of Life, with all its curling roots and branches, intertwined on her smooth, ample chest, creating a perfect circle.

I cleared my throat, taking his silence as a cue to continue. Lorcan goes into great detail about all the different Faerie tribes of the underworld, also known as Tír na nÓg, the land of youth. That’s where the Faeries went into exile after the Celtic bard Amergin tricked them into giving up Ireland. I leaned in, trying to make eye contact. "It’s a great story. Do you know it? Amergin calls the wind and overcomes the Faeries. Am gáeth i mmuir. ar domni. Am tond trethan i tír. I am wind on sea. I am ocean wave."

Finn’s eyes never looked up from the manuscript. Thank you for the enlightening history, Miss Tanner. There’s nothing like being lectured on ancient Irish mythology by an American.

I shrank back, biting my lip. Um, right.

Finn leaned closer over the massive leather-bound book, and forgetting himself, reached out to touch the design on the woman’s dress. It could have been another hallucination, but I thought I saw the symbol on her dress glow beneath his fingertip.

Please don’t touch! I grabbed his hand, and a shock went through me at the sudden intimacy of our fingers. His muscles tensed, and I pulled my hand away. Sorry, the manuscript is…sensitive.

He gave me a withering look, and his eyes drifted over to my Thurneysen and my scribbled translations. My heart sank as he frowned at my handwriting.

Are these your notes?

"Yes, but they’re still a little rough, I—ˮ

This word. He pointed to the word aisling. You’re mistranslating it.

I forced a smile up at Finn, my teeth feeling too large for my mouth. Are you sure? Aisling means ‘vision’ or ‘dream’.

Finn raised his eyebrows.

It’s also a popular Irish name for a girl… I blew a stray curl away from my face. Or maybe there’s another meaning I’m not aware of…?

Finn’s finger trailed over my sloppy, scrawling handwriting. "Ní mór ceann aisling a fheiceáil Tír na nÓg." Lorcan is not saying you need ‘vision’ to see into Tir na nÓg. He’s saying you need ‘a vision,’ an aisling. That’s what this woman is here. Finn pointed to the woman on the page. She’s a type of Fae."

Oh, I…I didn’t know… I trailed off, my hands shaking as I placed a stack of notes over my offending translation, hiding it from Finn’s gaze. Heat rose in my face at being corrected. I had worked so hard to develop my fluency, first with Moiré and then with Dr. Forrester, checking and double-checking that sentence. Guess I’ll be waiting tables again this summer.

With a low sound in the back of his throat, Finn snapped up The Book of Arranmore, placed it under his arm, and headed toward the door.

I gaped at the Irishman. Hey! What are you doing? I made a grab for the manuscript. That book is priceless! Stop!

Finn brushed me away. I ducked and placed myself between him and the door.

Mr. O’Connell, this is not a lending library! I don’t care who you are. Taking a book from the Institute is theft!

He glowered and my legs trembled as he leaned in close, shooting one hand against the wall. His warm breath brushed against my cheek, but I refused to avert my gaze.

Get out of my way.

No.

Finn let out a sound like a half curse and a half growl, and with one muscled arm, scooped me up as if I weighed no more than a bag of feathers and dropped me to the side. I struggled against him, trying in vain to grab onto Arranmore, but he slipped out the door.

Letting loose a string of expletives, I raced down the hall. "Candace! Call the cops! Call the cops now!"

But Candace was nowhere to be seen.

The door to the Institute flew open and Finn stopped dead in his tracks. Dr. Forrester stood there, his leather satchel slipping off his shoulder. He placed his hand on the top of his flyaway white hair, and his light blue eyes behind his wire-framed spectacles opened wide, taking in the scene.

What is going on here? Finn? What are you doing?

"He’s trying to steal The Book of Arranmore!" I dashed around Finn and stood beside Dr. Forrester in an attempt to make a human shield between the Irishman and the door.

Dr. Forrester sighed and rolled his eyes. The old man may have been an American, but he had no problem scolding Finn in fluent Irish Gaelic. Go hifreann leat! Tabhair an leabhar ar ais go dtí Elizabeth. To hell with you! Give the book back to Elizabeth!

Finn barked back, gesturing to me. Tá an leabhar seo tábhachtach, Kevin! Agus a fhágann tú é leis an leathcheann?

Did you just call me an idiot? How dare you? I charged the Irishman, but Dr. F placed a warning hand on my arm, holding me back.

Now, Finn. Elizabeth is quite capable, I assure you.

Finn flashed me a skeptical glance and shook his head.

Give it back to her. Dr. Forrester’s voice softened to the barest whisper. "Le do thoil." Please.

Finn’s shoulder muscles relaxed, a sulky frown contorting his features. He stomped over to me and shoved the book in my hands.

Hey! Be careful! I clutched the manuscript protectively against my chest. This isn’t a football!

He arched an eyebrow at me. And it isn’t an ordinary book, either.

My pulse skipped for a moment, wondering what he knew. You’re right about that, I whispered.

Finn leaned in close, his shoulder grazing mine. "Take care of it for me, Meiriceánach."

"Déanfaidh mé é agus fáilte, Éireanach." The words rolled off my tongue as I threw him a dark stare. With pleasure, Irishman.

Your accent needs work, Finn said.

Excuse me?

Dr. Forrester cleared his throat. "Finn, this is Elizabeth. I told you about her. She was Moiré’s student."

Finn’s features softened, and he looked at me as if for the first time.

Elizabeth, meet Finn O’Connell. My nephew.

Chapter Two

I narrowed my eyes at the Irishman. You weren’t at Moiré’s funeral. The words popped out of my mouth like an accusation before I could soften them. All the puzzle pieces clicked into place as I recalled the painful memory of Moiré asking for someone named Finn in her last hours. So this was who she meant.

His eyes flickered to the ceiling then back to me. I was abroad when Moiré died.

Liar.

I’m so sorry, Kevin. Finn placed a hand on Dr. F’s shoulder, who waved it away, his eyes shimmering as he flashed him a small smile.

It’s all right, he said. It’s better this way. You’ll remember your aunt as she was, not after what the cancer did to her…

Finn turned to me and bowed his head, placing his hands in his pockets. Kevin mentioned what you did for Moiré, reading to her, cooking meals, he said. Our family is very grateful.

It was nothing. Really. I stared down at the wooden floor, tracing a warped board with my boot. I would have done anything for Moiré.

I looked up at the Irishman, the tension heavy in the room. A wave of regret flashed in his eyes before he blinked hard and filed it away in his mind, probably in some drawer marked feelings one must never show in public, a.k.a. ‘grief’.

After an awkward pause, Dr. Forrester gestured to his office. "Please, come in. You, too, Elizabeth. Dealing with all these budget cuts, you’ve been working on Arranmore more than I have. You can tell Finn all about it."

Finn made an abrupt turn as we filed inside, blocking me from the doorway. Actually, why don’t you go make us a coffee?

My eyes widened. Excuse me?

Finn tilted his head. A coffee?

I let out an exasperated laugh as the two men settled in the rickety chairs mingling around the desk. Here we go. Men doing men things. No girls allowed.

My advisor sighed and shook his head. Finn, may I remind you this is the twenty-first century? We don’t ask young ladies to make coffee for us poor, helpless gentlemen anymore.

I suppose it’s too much to ask for good manners in the twenty-first century, Finn said.

Oh, you want to lecture me about manners? Scholarship or no scholarship, I refused to be treated like a secretary. I raised my palm, checking off my douchebag checklist with each finger. First you’re mean to our intern. Then you try to steal a book. I paused for a moment on my middle finger. You pushed me and now you’re demanding I make coffee for you? I’m a graduate student, not the maid!

Finn gave me the once-over again, clearly questioning that assertion.

Dr. F’s face flushed with anger. Finn, did you accost one of my graduate students?

Kevin, I merely—

Apologize to Elizabeth at once! She is a talented young scholar, not a doorstop!

I tilted my chin up a little higher.

Talented young scholar. That’s me, asshole.

Finn remained still. His stony gaze bore through me as he leaned back, his large form making the leather office chair look like a piece of doll furniture. After a few tense moments, he let out a long exhale and looked away.

Finn… My advisor growled.

No, Dr. Forrester. Don’t bother. I folded my arms tight around my chest in an effort to stop my limbs from shaking. I don’t want a forced apology. Trinity may own half this building, but they don’t own the people in it. I can see how Mr. O’Connell might be confused.

Finn blinked hard and shrank in his chair, staring at his hands. Miss Tanner, allow me to extend my sincerest apologies for handling your person. I am truly sorry for any injury I may have caused you.

The clock on Dr. F’s desk ticked so loud I flinched.

My advisor glanced at Finn’s crumpled shoulders, the solemn look on his face, and then back to me.

Well?

I shrugged. It’s cool. I mean, I can take it.

The Irishman raised his eyebrows and shot me a hot glance beneath his hooded lids. My stomach performed a series of wild acrobatics, and I cursed my body at betraying me with this book-thieving, no account assclown. No doubt Finn O’Connell could crook a finger and take whatever woman he wanted, but I refused to let myself fall for those broad shoulders. That perfect hair. Even his eyebrows didn’t have a single strand out of place. Christ.

I fear I’ve made a poor impression, he continued. I would like for us to start over.

His face relaxed, and he stared up at me like a child caught finger-painting the walls. In spite of all my efforts to keep my guard up against Finn’s obvious attractions, I melted. Deep in the recesses of my mind, my inner Admiral Ackbar screamed at me, It’s a trap! But warmth bloomed in my cheeks, and a smile tugged at the edge of my lips. He had me at hello, and he knew it.

Fair enough. I nodded, quirking an eyebrow. If you’re ready to behave yourself, I’ll bring that coffee.

A sly smirk spread across his face. Oh, I can behave, Miss Tanner. The glint in his eyes made me shiver, and I pursed my lips with all the affected disapproval I could muster.

Dr. F looked up absently from some files on his desk. And those little cookies, too, if you would, Elizabeth. The kind Moiré likes. The smile on his face faded. "I mean…liked."

I think we still have some left in the cupboard, I said in a soft voice. Giving Finn a hard glance, I turned on my heel, holding Arranmore closer against my chest. I’ll just put this back where it belongs.

After placing the manuscript safely into its archival box, I headed to the little kitchen in the back of the Institute and dumped out the dregs of this morning’s pot of French roast. The coffee maker sputtered its last breaths, and I poured the dark liquid into three mugs and grabbed a box of cookies. Wheeling out of the galley kitchen and kicking the door behind me, I stopped short at the sound of tense, echoing voices at the end of the hall.

"You cannot keep Arranmore, Kevin," Finn hissed.

I paused, lingering outside the door.

Dr. Forrester replied in a low voice. You want to tell me what this is really about?

"You know I can’t—ˮ

Spare me the excuses, Finn! I’ve heard them all before from Moiré.

Moiré?

Finn lowered his voice. If we could just borrow the book for a few days—

No, Dr. Forrester said. "You can’t just show up here and start making demands! Stealing books! We can lend you Arranmore when we’ve completed the transcription."

Finn let out a bitter laugh. "Lend it? May I remind you how much money Trinity has funneled into your program?"

Funneled? You mean laundered!

My mouth gaped open, and the tray rattled.

Dr. Forrester laughed. "Oh, you didn’t think I knew? Moiré told me all about the scheme before she died. She can’t go to jail, but you can, Finn."

Finn’s voice softened. Fair enough. Keep the book for now. Transcribe it. Write some peer-reviewed article about it, but then we want it.

Fine.

After a long silence, I entered the office, balancing the tray in my hands.

Here we go. My voice sounded thin and awkward as I doled out coffee.

The line at the corners of Dr. Forrester’s eyes crinkled as he palmed the cup with a tired smile.

Grabbing Finn’s coffee, I turned, and my toe caught on a bump on the carpet. The mug flew out of my hands and landed in his lap, hot coffee splattering all over his pants. He stood with a howl and cursed in Irish, the cup falling to the floor with a thud.

I’m so sorry! I covered my face with my hands, not sure if I wanted to laugh or cry. If I was going to lose this scholarship, I had to make sure I did it spectacularly. Go big or go home.

Through my clasped fingers, I watched as the Irishman pulled out an honest-to-goddamn handkerchief and dabbed at his pants.

I’ll go get some paper towels. I made for the door.

Don’t worry about it.

It’s the least I can do.

"It’s fine," Finn seethed.

Dr. Forrester’s eyes caught mine, and the old man winked at me. Glancing down, he looked at his watch and sighed. Listen, it’s getting late and I’ve had a full day of meetings. Why don’t we continue this discussion over dinner?

Finn shook his head. "Actually, I have to be back in Chicago—ˮ

"Nonsense, Finn. We’ll grab something to eat, and Elizabeth can fill you in on Arranmore. Dr. Forrester turned to me. Elizabeth, are you up for

Reviews for Through The Veil

[lydia_perversius · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I may not like New Adult - it's no secret how I hate all those emotions the characters are feeling getting out of control ALL THE FREAKING TIME. So, I make it a point to avoid reading books of this genre - ESPECIALLY if they're also in the romance genre! No way am I getting caught up in THAT!And yet here I am. Not only having read a book of this exact genre, but also having enjoyed it!I'm not gonna rant about all the good and the bad. I'm just gonna say this: GO, ELIZABETH!!!Seriously, a kickass young heroine, who knows what she wants and goes after it. Who doesn't know when to give up. Who may have caused drama - and whined about it, too - but it was all too-well deserved. She deserved to whine and nag about it, damn it!Not to mention she rocks when she decides to get things done. Or when she opens that mouth of hers that drips sarcasm and wit and all things glorious.I can't wait to read the next book in the series! And if Elizabeth can keep her spank and sass, I'm guessing this will be an amazing series!!!***I was given an ARC from the publisher via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review. The opinion stated in this review is solely mine, and no compensation was given or taken to alter it.***

[ayanami_faerudo · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

A lot happened. Rollercoaster action and feelings. Especially feelings. Lust-at-first-sight? Love-at-first-sight?Elizabeth goes through a lot of things because of accident of birth. She goes through hell.Full review to come.

[wyvernfriend · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

It's not a bad book but at the same time it's also an American view of Ireland and some of it doesn't ring quite right. There was one big thing that really pulled me out of the story where they were talking about marriage being forever and my brain went well, no. Early Irish Law had many different kinds of marriage and there were ways to get out of all of them. Some were simpler and some involved a lot of work but Brehon Law was different. Having a society that is based in Early Ireland and not reflecting Early Irish Law just rings slightly off to this Irish person and pulls me out of the story.Elizabeth Tanner was interesting, a daughter of a US military man she has never really known her mother. She studies ancient manuscripts and this one seems to keep changing before her eyes. Then she ends up entangled in an ancient secret order and discovers that she's half-fae and pivotal to keeping the magical races of Ireland from ending in a civil war.It's messy and complicated and sometimes it felt less really rooted than some other parts. I'm curious about where this is going to go but a lot of the immortal types didn't feel old.