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Sionnach’s voice is as thin as a blade of grass. “Forgive me, Father.”
Forgive? This ugliness can’t be the lost spirit of some random priest, demanding forgiveness or trying to cross to a better place.
It’s a hunter.
Thrumming vibrations course through my body, warning me we are its prey.
The shape reminds me of the statue of a Puritan man in front of the Witch Trials Museum we visited when Máthair took me to Salem, Massachusetts. The somber statue shook me to the core with its malevolent vibe, the same way this shadow does now. I seize Sion’s arm to keep him from being consumed by the swirling gray mist pumping from the evil before us.
I attempt to drag him into a huge vertical gouge that stretches up the trunk of a ragged oak, bent on getting out of sight. “Come on, Sionnach.” He’s nearly as unmovable as the tree. Flickers of purple-blue fire from the ruined Veil reflect off his green glass eyes.
Before we reach the cover of the wood, the shadow shatters the last fragile pane of Veil glass. The thing flows purposefully toward us. Sionnach snaps out of his trance and scrabbles backwards, dragging me with him.
An arm draped in a fluttering sleeve hangs in the air, ink suspended in oil. It telescopes longer until the tip of our pursuer’s finger touches Sionnach’s chest at the heart. Screams erupt simultaneously from Sionnach and the monster, fragmenting every cloud in the sky into pieces the size of cotton balls. Even the moon dims and bobbles as a shock wave passes over it.
The hunter dissipates in a gust of wind, and Sionnach falls limp in my arms.
Chapter 19
The Druid
It takes a few tries before I find the thready pulse in Sionnach’s neck. I press my lips to his hair and rock him. After smoothing away curls, I give his cheek a gentle slap in the hope of reviving him. My rag doll doesn’t respond. Fear courses through my veins. He can’t leave me.
In desperation, I push his lips apart with mine and whisper his name over and over to send my breath into him. Slowly, his mouth moves against mine. Those beautiful green glass eyes flutter open then flare.
He sits too quickly and falls back against me. “Something’s wrong.”
“We’re way past wrong.” I place a soft kiss on his forehead. “That shadow nearly killed you.”
He splays one hand over his heart and the other over mine. Both pound with strength to rival summertime thunder. As he assesses the balance of our heartbeats, I’m tempted to stretch one of his cherry ringlets then watch it spring back.
With a grunt, Sionnach drops his hands, pointing at our real-time waxing moon. “We’ve enough heartbeats to spare. Break day is far off.”
“Where’s this Veil countdown clock you see and I don’t?”
He collapses onto the grass and pulls me into the hollow of his shoulder. “Lie with me a moment.” He hums the same song he did that first night we overstayed our time in the Veil. Vibrations in his chest buzz softly against my cheek, and my heart steadies.
He pushes to his feet, bringing me along. With a slight bobble, we’re up and stalking toward the now familiar white poplar at the edge of the woods where we left the car. I can’t believe his fánaí tree stayed with us amid a Veil wildfire with a freaky shadow demon on our tail. Sionnach runs his finger over a line of char on one of Alfie’s trunks.
I tap a row of dark green triangles. “Why is that nasty thing wrecking the Veil to chase us?”
He rips off his jacket. “Get changed. We’re staying in the present for a spell.”
I grab his arm. “What in the name of sanity just happened to you?”
Sion pauses and then curves his hands around my waist. “Swear on Alfie’s bark, I don’t know.” He crosses himself. “I’ve never seen such hellfire in my traveling.”
“The shadow, the man in robes who hurt you, you called him Father?”
Sion’s hands cover his heart. “Truth of it, he had the look of Father Colm I told you about.”
With the robes and cap, the shadow did match the childhood imaginings of what a priest enraged by my sins might turn into on the other side of the confessional screen. “You said you worked for Father Colm. Maybe he’s not hunting us. It could be a warning.”
Sion makes a low hum in his throat.
I’m afraid to ask the next question. “Is the Veil gone?”
Steady hands cup my face. “No. It can’t be undone. The power that created it has no equal. Since we’re close to a feast day, it’s at its thinnest, most vulnerable.” He kisses the end of my nose. “It’s but a wee stretch that’s roasted.”
