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Faerie bells.
The longer I’m with him, the greater the need to dig into the volumes of weird he’s keeping from me.
He lightly bumps my shoulder with his. “I do like you calling me by my proper name.”
So, we’re back to misdirection. What happened to the promise he made after my seeing to be more transparent and not doubt me? Perhaps in the mind of my fox, promises made in moments of extreme emotion are subject to retraction.
And a fox he is. I’d chuckle if I weren’t as wobbly on the inside as the legs deciding whether or not to hold me upright. His trickery and sly methods of getting his way are as much a part of him as the strands of paprika hair hidden under their chestnut cowl. I miss the unleashed fire of his real locks that shows itself in the Veil. Despite our potentially dangerous situation, I smile at the thought that Sion’s shifting hair color matches the fickle nature of his personality.
I take in miles of stone fences, fields, and trees as night descends and the clock of a Celtic day starts ticking in earnest. Across the landscape, trees catch the wind in a to and fro dance. There’s wildness in this land, untamed and volatile, full of the unknown.
Like Sionnach.
An urge to capture him, this place, the Veil, and the soulfall in a poem or story seizes me. I haven’t cracked my journal since we landed, and doubt I’ll get the chance while souls depend on me—on us. Our situation with the souls is ripe for poetry. Emotions and realities not overtly stated but rather shared with a scarcity of words digging into the heart—the enormity of our purpose. I’ll call the piece A Hundred Thousand Heartbeats.
I wait Sion out a few more moments. When he offers nothing, I take the lead. “If we’re being followed in the Veil, we won’t use it. No traveling. We’ll restore the rest of the virtues in the present. It worked with Little Harriet and Strongbow’s squire.”
Sionnach works his jaw. “Can’t risk depending on that. We’ve only got three Celtic days left before Beltane.”
I roll my head to face him and deliver my sarcasm A-game complete with Irish accent. “Ignore the nasty in there, Eala. We’ll outrun it and be grand.”
He stops moving his jaw but stays silent.
Above, a single early star shines so bright, at first, I assume it’s an airplane until it doesn’t move. “You need to trust me. Tell me who or what you think is after us.”
He paws the pebbles on the side of the road, earning another scolding hee-haw from the mules. “Dunno. Could be another wanderer overlapped our path.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He levels his gaze at me and then smacks the side of the car. “The flash you saw by the soulfall tower is connected with the fire in Dublin.”
My legs lose the battle to hold me up. Opening the passenger door, I drop sideways onto the seat, feet dangling over the roadside grasses. “How do you know?”
I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard. “It must be. Neither was working in our favor.”
He won’t meet my gaze. Damn it. He’s withholding. My voice is raspy with fear. “If you’re right, tell me how we protect ourselves from whatever is blocking us.”
His face is drawn so tight, creases and wrinkles break out across his forehead and from the corners of his mouth. “If we’re spooked and tentative and avoid the Veil, the soulfall doesn’t stand a chance.”
I rub my eyes, attempting to downgrade my freaked-out status to rational. Too much is at stake to devolve into a whimpering mess. “Then we figure how to travel on the down low.” I tap the dashboard. I’m a planner. The stability of where my next step will be in life keeps me afloat, which is one reason not knowing my professorial future is making me crazy. “Let’s act differently than this opponent expects. Save souls out of order, zig zag our way around, no predictable destinations.”
I rub my nose against my shoulder. New York City/Kennard Park Ella would avoid danger, dive under her quilt, and wait for Beltane to pass. Ireland Eala is turning into quite a different creature.
“We’ll go back to Shanna’s house. Throw off whatever’s tailing us by being around people as we plan our next move. Hopefully, it won’t want an audience. Then we’ll sneak away to travel.”
His face flushes as ruddy as his Veil curls, and he sucks in a rattling breath.
My stomach flip-flops, sensing before my brain I’m not going to like what he’s about to say. “Sionnach?”
He moves to stand in front of me. “While you were havin’ a gawk at the roadside, I called Colleen and told her we’re staying the night with Uncle Finn in Ballywater.” As if he senses my desire to kick him, he presses his legs against mine. “We can’t waste any part of a night, anamchara.” He rolls his shoulders. “Truth be told, I’m as wrecked as you. A place to rest my head is calling, but time is a rare bitch.”
Anamchara.
There’s that word again. It probably means simpleton, person I can bamboozle with my charm to do my bidding. “What is an anamchara?”
Even in the scant dome light of the car, blush colors Sion’s face and neck. His bottom lip crinkles as his gaze slowly finds mine. “It means soulmate.”
The blush is catching. My own face heats.
