Free Human for a Day (9781101552391) by Jennifer (EDT) Martin Harry (EDT); Brozek Greenberg

much less sad, triumphant even. “I think not,” she said.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œHe is a man, after all,” she said, looking down her body’s now ample curves. “I understand how men work.”
    Although she still wore the torn gray rags from the grave, they now lay over fair alabaster skin and a body that even Jeanine felt herself drawn to. Before she could respond the woman spun and walked over to Jeanine’s husband, her hips swaying with a rhythm that drew his eyes up from the page he was reading.
    â€œTell me, Seosamh ,” the woman said, with a soft sultry quality that Jeanine wouldn’t have thought possible from so dark a woman. “Wouldn’t you rather give yourself over to a woman like me? I can offer you things no other can, sins of the flesh that would split your very soul in two with pleasure.”
    Jeanine ran to her husband’s side. He stood there, not moving. Mongfhionn wore a look of triumph on her face and Jeanine turned to her husband, squeezing his arm.
    â€œJoseph . . . ?” she asked, worry thick in her voice.
    He shook his head as if clearing it and turned to give Jeanine a small smile. His eyes met hers, and she could see the momentary fog on his face lifting, then he cast his eyes back to the woman.
    â€œForgive me, enchantress,” he said, turning back to his wife’s eyes, “but do you think I’d be standing out here at the midnight hour incanting some crazy spell if it weren’t out of love for my Jeanine? I am not so easily swayed by a dead queen.” He looked down at the page again, then turned his gaze upon the woman herself. “ Ó gach gairm bheatha! ”
    The wind picked up all around them on the hillside as Jeanine fought to piece together the words from the Old Gaelic. She wasn’t sure of all of it, but come to us from all walks of life filled her head as the weather changed.
    The gale blew harder, branches swaying and snapping, even knocking over the straw men that stood upon the burial mound. They fell to the grass as their crude mountings gave way, the hill looking like it was littered with the shadowy figures of the dead. Then four of the fallen strawmen proceeded to stand up of their own volition, clumsy, awkward, rising like newborns taking their first steps.
    â€œ Máthair . . . ? ” The word floated out into the air from one of them. The faces were nothing more than jumbled twists of twigs and straw with no mouth to even say such a word, and three of them closed in on Mongfhionn as she simply stood there in shock.
    â€œ Ailill . . . ? ” she asked, abject horror on her wide eyed face. “ Brion , Fiachrae . . . my sons.”
    The three figures moved to stand all around her, grabbing her, the sticks and poorly articulated arms and hands piercing through the skin of Mongfhionn’s arms. She cried out in pain and the fourth figure strode up in front of her.
    â€œ Deirfiúr, ” it said. Sister.
    â€œForgive me,” the risen queen said.
    â€œForgiveness?” Jeanine said, almost laughing. “You’ve proved that you have learned nothing from your penance or your time as a human. You are beyond forgiveness.”
    â€œPlease,” the woman said, desperation heavy in the word, the first time her voice had sounded remotely human. “I will give you what you wish.”
    Jeanine buried her head in Joseph’s shoulder, looking away from the woman. “I am sorry, but I cannot trust you at your word,” she said. “I . . . I have made a mistake coming here tonight.”
    The woman struggled amid the straw men, but the blood running from her pinned arms was proof enough that she would not escape.
    â€œAs a banshee you may have stood a chance against us, but no,” Joseph said, hugging his wife to him. “You understand nothing about loyalty. Léirscrios! ”
    Mongfhionn went to speak, but the straw men holding her struck,