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“A wee stretch!” A thought smacks me in the ribs, and I put my hand on his. “Sionnach, the fire at Strongbow’s tomb—were those flames the same purple-blue color?”
He scratches at his hair. “Started as such then went orange.”
“Do you think this thing can stop us?”
He rips off my apron and then continues stripping himself. “I told you before, I won’t let anything stop me.”
A crawly sensation runs across my chest. “But it did stop you.” I hug myself. “I was terrified you wouldn’t wake up.”
He sets his jaw. “I did, and now we’ve caught sight of what’s after us.”
“That doesn’t mean we can fight it.”
Sionnach’s eyes glow. “I’m at the end of my chances to put all the virtues back to rights. I’ll fight what I must.”
“And you expect me to do the same?”
He gives a curt nod.
I turn from him to change into my clothes. Finnbheara didn’t think the whole mess through when he picked me. Run and hide are what I bring to this, not fight. I know Sionnach well enough to accept the futility of arguing with him when he’s worked up. I’ll wait for my moment to make the point that I’m fully incapable of fighting evil shadows.
I call to him through Alfie’s branches. “What now?”
“Pwyll. I’m hoping the boyo has insight for us about the shadow.”
I point a shaky finger to the grass where we tumbled back to reality. “I’m not going into the Veil with that thing hanging around.”
He pulls on his jacket. “I wouldn’t let you. We’re driving.”
“Driving?”
“I told ya, Pwyll never left Leap Castle.”
Tossing my shoes into the car, I slide into the passenger seat. My skin ripples as I envision a Pwyll encounter in my time. “Isn’t Leap hours away?”
“Not the way I’ll be driving.” Sion jumps behind the wheel.
“We’ve got to meet Charlie and Colleen in time to get to Dublin by morning.” I don’t want to jeopardize my shaky standing with Jeremy Olk by appearing to shirk my tour responsibilities with another tardy arrival.
I try to sleep on the drive while Sion mumbles to himself. Shards of dread and helplessness clank together in my brain, keeping me awake. I run a finger across my bottom lip still puffy from the more positive aspects of the past few hours.
Reaching over, I slide a tentative hand under the curls at Sionnach’s neck. Warm skin covers muscles bunched like braided stone. He utters a tiny sound of pleasure as my thumb maneuvers over a particularly ornery knot.
“Do Faeries believe in hell?”
His muscles snap to attention so quickly, I wouldn’t be surprised if my thumb bruises.
“I told you, I’m not a Faerie.”
When I move to withdraw my hand, he covers it with his, encouraging me to continue.
“So noted, but you said a certain king sent me to you. I figured you might have insider info on the subject.”
He pulls my hand to his lips. “You want to know about hell and Faeries?” He turns my palm up and kisses it. “Fine.”
The tingle from his lips starts at my palm and shoots quickly to parts better left untingled given our strict timetable.
“The Fair Folk believe in dark places but not your fire and brimstone from Sunday sermons.” He twines his fingers through mine and rests our hands on his thigh. “Why you askin’?”
