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Charlie was none too happy about the dents in the car roof from Sion’s tantrum at Leap Castle. Once I played the we parted ways card and told Charlie and Colleen that my Irish fling, their words, was staying at his uncle’s instead of going to Dublin with us, nobody pressed me for details.
I call to the door. “How many euros do you need to pay for the damage, Charlie?” Lord knows I’ve got them. Why did Máthair bother to leave me a small fortune when she knew my days were numbered?
Here’s a newsflash for Ma and mac Loho. I have no intention to put myself in the vicinity where I might go poof with the last of the soulfall. I’ll never Veil travel again. I pray stepping away from Sion’s insanity will reset my life—my human life. When I get back to New York, I’ll carve a future in Kennard Park be it tenure-track or as a perpetual adjunct. The dreams I carefully orchestrate are the only ones happening from now on.
I pull the covers up to my chin as a shudder runs through me. What if I pissed off Finnbheara by quitting and he poofs me anyway? Dammit, I’m buying into my own paranoia. I am human. Nothing I heard in the Glade of Chimes matters. Forward motion is my sole option to prevent madness.
The Veil Sprites are so dim inside me, they’re no more substantial than a stomach growling from hunger. Probably their way of being aloof. As far as I’m concerned, they can turn their sparky little backs on me and fly away. I will not return to their world, and without Veil juice, hopefully they’ll fade completely. Even if they try to sting, I’m determined to leave the fantastic behind. I rub my feet between the sheets to warm my toes. Sion and the weird tree spirit of my grandmother have lost their Fae-bargaining minds, expecting me to continue after they pointed out Finnbheara stamped an expiration date across my forehead.
The voice gets louder. “It’s Jeremy.” He raps twice on the door. “Colleen asked me to check in on you while she’s taking the Viking tour. Do you need a doctor?”
Shit. Colleen wasted no time in reviving the Eala/Olk initiative. It’s my fault. I admitted Sion was a mistake, and she was right about Jeremy being the better choice. I intended to show that I appreciate her judgement by not encouraging a whiplash transfer of my affections to my colleague. I try for a casual tone. “She’s a worrier. I’m doing much better. Thanks.”
Maybe she’s been right from the start. If only I could Veil travel back to the flight over here before Sion happened with Jeremy and his soothing voice. What a different trip it would have been by his side and not Sionnach Loho’s.
“Glad to hear it. Are you up to joining me for dinner?”
An excuse doesn’t rise to my lips. Maybe my subconscious is ready to trade life-threatening danger for a person who represents a measure of safety and the ability to erase my fear with gorgeous poetry. Another dose of his brand of calm is welcome about now.
“Sure. Give me an hour?”
He gives another double rap of acknowledgment. “Terrific.”
When I emerge somewhat relaxed from a hot shower, Colleen lounges on my bed in our shared room. She leans back on her elbows, a knitted scarf with Norse runes draped around her neck. “Someone yummy is waiting for you in the lobby.”
“He’s a colleague, not a blind date.” I remind myself she’s looking out for my heart. I sit next to her and bounce the bed a little to lighten the mood. “We’re sharing a meal. It doesn’t have to mean anything, okay?”
She juts her head forward. “But it could mean something. Newsflash—no girlfriend. I pried.” Colleen twists my shoulders and directs her energy to French braid my hair. She trills on. “Over a pint of Guinness tonight, he’ll realize you’re the woman of his dreams.”
I keep my protests at bay. Colleen believes this is what I want. She’s supporting me.
Sadness bubbles inside. I’ve been living in a dream with Sion, our connection, making love on the Leviathan, that final look we shared in the Glade of Chimes. I need to be practical and actually transfer my interest to calm and stable Jeremy. I’ve known Sion a handful of days, in a handful more, I can get over him. I will get over him.
Except, Sion wasn’t some normal random man I hooked up with. He’s?—
Colleen tugs a little too hard in her attempt to make my hair obey. “Remember the poem we had to memorize back in high school? The Yeats one about finding our dream men.”
I remember it all too well.
“But I being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
Sion did not tread softly on my misplaced dreams of him, of a loving reunion with Máthair. He pulverized them beneath period boots from his Alfie tree’s canvas bag. If someone cares, they have your back. It’s clear to me now, my so-called partner shoved me into the path of flames and a shadow assassin because he knew I was expendable.
I should have known better than to buy into the illusion of a cosmically fated romance. Every time I’ve taken a risk with a guy, it ends in a sucker punch. With my love-struck stupidity for Sion, I’ve been acting more like Colleen than Colleen.
“La, you’ve had your Irish one-off. Fun, but not your usual sensible self. Think of tonight as a fresh start with potential for long-term. I feel it in my gut that Jeremy could be your guy.”
“Yes, you’ve made that clear.” I clench my jaw. She’d never reduce Sion to a one-off if she was aware of the good he was trying to do in this world. Ugh, why am I defending him? Is it do-gooding when it serves a personal agenda?
“Do you disagree?” she asks, one eyebrow raised. “If you do, I’m on your side.”
My lungs deflate. “No. I can’t argue he has potential.” Maybe our spark hasn’t happened yet.
Colleen grabs my hand and clamps it on her thigh, oblivious to my rising tension. “Check this new layer of chunkage. My boyfriend’s been stuffing me with cottage pie, Guinness stew, mounds of potatoes, and life-changing sticky toffee pudding ice cream sundaes.”
