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He lays a hand over mine. “Someone with your penchant, Eala, for Celtic mysteries must have an open mind when it comes to things unseen.”
Ghosts and Celtic mysteries are a smidge of what St. Augustine meant by faith to believe what we do not see.
“By the way, I’m happy to share Mr. Loho is no longer an issue.”
My heart twists at the sound of his name. “Oh?”
“Colleen confided that he makes you uncomfortable, so I made arrangements for him to switch as the local expert for a different student tour.”
Mention of Sion wrecks any potential for relaxing into this sunset moment with Jeremy. I need to get back to the hotel. The pain of Sion and Máthair’s shredding of my life blocks out any effort to enjoy myself.
“I’m confident Sionnach’s absence will make tomorrow’s trip to Luttrellstown Castle more enjoyable for you.”
I startle at Jeremy’s use of Sion’s real name, but then give myself a virtual face slap. I’m sure it was listed on Colleen’s meticulous tour itinerary. As I watch the bay, fading light hits the water in lines of sugar white. I catch Jeremy gazing at me in an intense, non-blinking way.
“You’ll fit in perfectly tomorrow at the home of a beautiful Guinness girl.” His hand makes its way to a strand of hair blown loose from my braid.
I jump to my feet as our sunset chat officially leaves what’s left of my comfort zone. What’s wrong with me? Jeremy has been sweet and intelligent, the perfect combination. I want to connect with him, but there’s a Sion-shaped wedge in the way. Maybe once we’re away from here and back at Kennard Park, I’ll be able to muster interest. “We’d better catch the bus. I promised Colleen I’d meet Charlie and her at the hotel before dark.” I’m already hopping up the steps to the jetty.
Jeremy’s long legs make it easy for him to join me. “Of course. When we return home, will you take me to your favorite restaurant in Kennard Park?”
Good, I didn’t scare him off. Future. I must think of the future. There is a chance this man and our little college town can fill the hollow space my time with Sion created.
I sneak a sidelong glance at Jeremy. He’s doing weird movements with his hands, grasping them and twisting. His tuneless hum fills the air, making me uneasy.
“Absolutely.” I move far enough away so there’s no possibility of touching. Again, my traitorous thoughts fade to Sion.
Sionnach.
My fox no longer.
An ache rises inside me. Was his tenderness under the moon a lie? I want it to be true. I’d like to preserve some non-tainted memory of our short journey together, even if it is finished.
My heart stutters and then resumes with a beat strong enough to bruise my chest. The beginning of the Celtic day strikes. Veil Sprites assert themselves and my soul dances with them, burning away my denial of the journey I abandoned and reminding me who I am.
Despite his frightening display when we lost Pwyll and his inability to be completely open, damn me, I so wanted to love Sionnach Loho. Yes, his motives were selfish, but his good heart and devotion to the grace of others was real. His lies batter my spirit, but the soul is a free thing apart from the rational mind. My soul found a home when his light called, but it failed me.
None of that matters. I’ll never see Sion again. If Finnbheara plans for my future to drip away like the last raindrops caught on a leaf after a storm, at least I’ll take the bittersweet memory of that brief moment in time where I did love a Veil guide.
Anamchara.
Jeremy is trying so hard to connect with me. I feel like a jerk for holding back.
Night shoos the last of dusk’s glow. Is Sion travelling yet? I resent the guilt trickling down my throat, not for Sion, but the souls. Do I dare attempt to travel alone to Dublin Castle and try to catch the thief in the act of stealing the jewels? Arthur Vicars deserves to rise from the soulfall, not crash onto merciless river rocks. What about the last soul in the soulfall? I don’t even know their story. Is it an easy fix or as convoluted as Strongbow’s squire? Frost creeps up one vertebra after another until my entire core is glacial. To learn the last soul’s missing virtue, I’d have to climb the soulfall tower.
A car crossing the wooden bridge we walk along rumbles like low laughter. I’m kidding myself. Without enough courage or my own fánaí tree with a handy bag of period clothing, it’s impossible to travel. I don’t even understand how I navigated the Veil back to Enniscorthy.
If I did.
Sion’s always been the one to get us where we needed to go. His guilt probably drove him to send me to Colleen’s grandmother’s after the revelations in the Glade of Chimes.
I stare out the window on the short bus ride into Dublin, saying as little as possible. Jeremy, ever the narrator, explains Bull Island got its name because the Celts believed the noise of the wind blowing across its sands reminded them of a bull panting.
We hop off the bus near the quays on the River Liffey in sight of the Ha’penny Bridge. Lost in my messy head, I cut a path through the crowd on the sidewalk, leaving Jeremy behind.
“Eala?”
I let him catch up and pretend to be distracted by buskers livening the night with their Irish trad music. “Sorry, I’m just taking everything in.”
