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I must find Sion. Dammit, he is my reality inside madness. I’ve not only left him alone to face the shadow in the Veil that might be Charlie, but the dream flash proves Arthur Vicars’s virtue is not restored.
Dread crawls up my spine like a long-legged spider. If I can’t find Sion, I’ll have no choice but to figure out Veil travel on my own. My eyes dart to the angel. She’s as still as death now that her message has been delivered.
This otherworldly herald wailed a truth I must accept.
A thousand cracks run through my shell of denial until the pieces crumble at my feet. I was created to save Arthur Vicars and all the others. If I leave the souls behind, my spirit will wither and die with or without intervention from Finnbheara.
I must spend whatever time I have left to end the soulfall—with Sion.
Pushing my chair back, I rub my nose and stand. “Tissues.” I quickly put distance between Charlie and me. There’s bafflement on his face I want so badly to believe is genuine, but the cost of trusting him may be paid by Sion and the last two souls in the soulfall. “Restroom. Be right back.”
Colleen looks from Charlie to me. “We’re going to try to track down the Wishing Seat after tea. Interested?”
I want to drag her as far away from Charlie as I can, but what if I’m wrong? Standing there with his stilt legs and spiky hair, he looks as non-threatening as a pigeon. Sion will know how to keep Colleen safe if need be, another reason I must find him and fast. I say the thing guaranteed to make Colleen back off. “I promised to hang with Jeremy for the rest of the tour. You guys go ahead.”
The Wishing Seat.
It may be folklore, but my years of study prove that deep within stories and tales are unseen truths a whole lot less far-fetched to me than they used to be. It’s a place to start. Once upon a time, I’d have asked the Wishing Seat for life in a small college town with a Jeremy-type. That future disappears to join the billions of stars I’ll never touch.
The soulfall is the light calling me.
Veil Sprites sizzle inside, awakening in a chain of tiny explosions from heart to fingertips. Glade of Chimes Máthair claims my swan essence has compassion for human souls. Compassion—one of the seven virtues blazing in my heart.
For Sion. For the souls.
Teacht orm.
Find me.
That compassion drives me to go after Sion and tell him what Jeremy said on the topic of the distorted history of Arthur Vicars. And to warn him about Charlie.
I scurry down the row of seats toward Jeremy. Instead of avoiding danger, I’m barreling head-on into it. Has my swan self-confidence finally kicked in, or have I caught Sion’s impulsivity? My priority is to jump into the Veil and search for my partner. If only I could ask Jeremy for help, but he’s the reason Sion isn’t with us.
A sheen of tears softens my vision.
I’m the reason Sionnach Loho isn’t here.
Jeremy sees my approach and breaks into a smile that fades when I close my fingers around the beige corduroy sleeve of his jacket. “Please keep Colleen from going off alone with Charlie. I’ll explain—” I almost say later but switch. “In a few minutes.” I need him to think I plan to come back. That should buy me a smidge of time until he comes after me. Enough to get away.
I dash from the ballroom before he has a chance to stall me. Forcing myself to walk, I take the quickest route outside. Once there, I pull the map of the castle from the pocket of my jeans to get my bearing and suss out the best place to catch the Veil. A patch of green designates an area of forest glen.
“Okay, Eala. There’s your target.”
If I jog, I’ll reach the old gate lodge in no time. Surely, there are enough trees there to hide me while I summon the Veil. A dot on the map inside the glen marks The Wishing Seat. If Aileen Guinness Plunket could grab herself a castle by sitting there, I should be able to find a two-hundred-year-old fánaí.
Once I cross a small stone bridge, I’m at the edge of the forest glen. Thin drooping branches hide me from the castle. I’m ready to call the Veil.
To calm myself, I hum an old lullaby Máthair used to sing to me. While my hands reach to the sky, my mind reaches inward for the Veil Sprites, but they’ve gone quiet. I’d give anything to be able to understand what their reactions or stillness portend. For now, I visualize the spectral film of the passageway with its array of colors and close my eyes.
“Come to me.”
The rush of the nearby stream fills my ears, and I imagine becoming a beam of light ready to drift through the seam between worlds.
Nothing happens.
My heart quickens not in the way of spent heartbeats but of panic. I fan my fingers in the air around me, searching for the filmy substance of my Veil, or the glass walls of Sionnach’s Veil. Suddenly, I understand why his is glass. It’s his brittle future, easily shattered. My passageway is pliable, eager to serve me. I’m ready for whichever answers my call. I’m prepared to even brave an undulating wall scorched with holes.
The Veil does not come.
