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“Don’t bother with another one of your apologies. We can’t talk for more than five minutes before I piss you off, and I don’t care.” Even as I say the words, guilt boils in my stomach. I’m not outright mean to people, but I’ve never felt judged the way Sion seems to constantly judge me. “I think it’s best if you keep your distance for the rest of the tour.” I cut him off when he tries to speak. “Don’t talk.” I want to yell stay at him like he’s one of the dogs Colleen is constantly fostering, but he keeps his word and doesn’t move.
When he hangs his head, springy curls shadow his face. His voice is gentle, almost pleading. “I can make no promise to stay away from you.”
His words spin through the air and then around my body like warm wind. I almost amend my suggestion of separation remembering his patience after I saw the ghost girl and his other short-lived stabs at friendliness. Sion Loho is making me crazy. I honestly believe he intends to be decent, but we’re baking soda and vinegar. Our conversations always erupt into a mess.
“Yes, you can.”
Sion pounds the dirt with one fist and then shakes both at the sky while he mutters, “Damn himself for cursing me with you.”
“Himself who, and now I’m a curse?”
His impatience with me explodes as his eyes flash to mine. Damn, it was better when he didn’t look directly at me. His stare burns like an accidental glance at the sun. I swear tiny bursts of light swarm behind him in the trees.
I whirl and stomp toward the edge of the forest but falter. Nothing is familiar. I’ve come farther into the wood than I meant to. Fucking fox. There’s no sign of the bonfire. Off the path, the trees are denser than I remember. Any assist from the moon fades, so I reach for my flashlight. It chooses this moment to die. Fumbling, I dump the batteries and switch their positions to eke out enough light to find my way to the campsite. No luck.
“Eala, please wait. I swear I’ll not do you harm.” Sion’s up and getting too close given the wave of vulnerability washing through me.
I slip off the path to hide behind a thick trunk while I reassess his threat level.
A silvery patina covers the wood. One thin splash of moonlight allows me to see him clearly as he strides along the path. What in the name of my grandmother’s dandelion tea? Sion is not limping anymore. It’s not my breath I worry will give me away, it’s my heart doing an impression of a kettledrum. His gait is confident with the grace of an athlete in top condition.
He drops nearby and resumes his cross-legged vigil. At least it doesn’t appear he plans to tear through the underbrush and drag me out.
“I’m gonna say my peace. If you run, I’ll not follow, but I’m asking for the courtesy of your ear.” He inhales slowly, and I swear the wood turns blacker. Not frightening tar black, a satiny black with just enough sheen to make out the form of trees and the man sitting on the ground. It’s eerie the way his voice lands a direct hit on my ears the way the fan vault ceiling manipulated sound in Charleville Castle.
He grunts. “Och. I thought you’d be easier to deal with.”
I should be more wary than curious about his cryptic statements. I’m stuck in the unknown with no one but a stranger bursting with anger issues. Should be, but oddly, I’m not. Even in our scene reminiscent of a slasher movie, Sion’s voice draws me in the way it did at The Sheehogue. The sensation of his arms holding me, grounding me to the earth as I fell off the stone returns in a rush. If he intended to do something awful to me, he had every chance, but he didn’t.
“Truth is, I need you, Eala Duir. And it takes a chunk out of me to say that.” His huff is aimed at himself, not me. Cocky Sion recedes. “You’ve been sent as my last chance. I’ve got a task put before me I’ve failed at more times than a hen’s got feathers.”
Sent to him? This guy didn’t exist for me until yesterday.
He exhales. “I’ll feed you truth in small drabs.”
I peek a little further around the tree. He’s furiously scratching at his neck curls.
“Maddest notions first,” says Sion.
Curiosity throws a net over me. I’m locked in place, hanging on his every word.
“I said you followed me into the wood because you did. I’m him who stole your food bag.”
It takes all my willpower not to run out and cuff him on the ear the way Máthair used to do when she’d catch me in a whopper. Mad is right. He actually expects me to believe he’s a thieving fox with a hankering for peanut bars.
“My name isn’t Sion. Well ‘tis, but if I be truth telling, it’s Sionnach.”
His accent thickens as his phrasing dips into a time warp. A lifetime of an ear tuned to Irish folk tales recognizes his tone. He’s telling me a story.
Sionnach does mean fox. I suppress what threatens to be a doozy of a snort.
“I’m such a grumpy bastard because I need you to be doing and believing in things you wipe away like you’re dusting crumbs off the front of your coat.”
“Like what?” I slap a hand over my mouth and slink behind a different tree as if that’ll throw him off.
His head turns smack dab to face me. “Refusing to climb a tower. Pissing all over things you don’t see in front of your face.” He appears to be addressing himself more than me. “Pissing all over things you do see in front of your face like the ghost girl.”
I think back to the two of us sitting on the steps of Charleville Castle. It hits me now that due to being shaken to my core, what I interpreted as supportive was Sion coaxing me to admit I’d experienced something outside the bounds of ordinary.
