He was going to give it to her.
Cillian dropped the glass sphere to the ground and slammed his foot over it, shattering the glass.
Light flashed, golden and bright, before streaking away from the broken prison through the air and back to Aisling. She swallowed her voice with a loud, indrawn breath, the geas disintegrating in her throat. Then she doubled over, nearly falling, and would have if Bran hadn’t caught her as her skin split with magic, peeling back in the same way it had for Cillian to reveal the Fae beneath the human veneer.
Aisling opened her mouth andscreamed.
Cillian slapped his hands over his ears as the high-pitched, furiously haunting sound reverberated through the night air, drowning out the world. It tore through everyone and everything, magic in its own right, clawing at his skin. A bean sí’s scream was meant to herald the dead and dying, but in this instance, it killed as well.
All the lights in the forest flickered before going out, leaving only shadows behind.
The scream faded, tapering off, until only silence reigned. Cillian’s ears rang with it, and while it was difficult to hear anything over the pulse of his own heartbeat, he heard Cernunnos easily enough.
“I will kill you, son of winter,” Cernunnos said in that terrible, monstrous voice of his.
“He is a son ofwar,” another voice replied, making Cillian freeze. “And you will not touch him.”
Cillian lurched around, staring wide-eyed at where his mother stoodon the iced-over road, Jupiter perched proudly on her shoulder. She was in sneakers and scrubs, as if she’d left the emergency room in Amherst in a rush and hadn’t bothered to find time to change. Her long black hair fell loose down her back, drifting a bit in the now sluggish wind, her entire being haloed in soft, bone-white light.
“Mom?” Cillian croaked.
His mother took a step forward, and Cernunnos—Cernunnos took a step back, that spot of summer drawing in tight around him. He raised himself to his full height, but Cillian’s mother didn’t seem cowed in the least.
“Mórrígan,” Cernunnos said after a moment of tense silence. “Is this where you have hidden yourself all these years? Amongst the iron and the enemy?”
“You seem to have forgotten your place, Cernunnos. It is not here,” his mother said in a cold, cold voice that echoed oddly between them.
Cillian thought, for a moment, that Cernunnos would try to strike his mother down. The Fae lord seemed to want to. Instead, he bowed his head, antlers dipping, the leaves and flowers there swaying with the motion. “My queen.”
Then he straightened and walked into the forest without looking back, letting the trees and the darkness swallow him up.
Cillian didn’t move—couldn’t move—just kept staring at his mother. Scáthach spun her glaive around, digging the metal-shod butt into the ice, her voice breaking the eerie silence. “It’s about time you showed up.”
Niamh made a strangled sort of sound that eventually became words. “We thought you lost to the wyrding years ago, Mórrígan.”
“One cannot be lost if you willingly leave,” his mother said. Jupitercawedand launched herself into the air, flying toward the Shoppe. His mother came to him then, striding across the ice with an otherworldly ease, never sliding once. When she reached him, her dark gray eyes searched his for a second before she drew him into a tight hug. “I have missed seeing you like this.”
Cillian squeezed his eyes shut, questions tumbling through his mind, but they would have to wait. He let out a ragged breath, sinkinginto the comfort she’d always given him as a child and as a man. “How did you know we were back?”
“I came into town after my shift ended early to speak with Mac. I was at his home when he called me after he dropped you off here. I came as fast as I could.” She pulled back, cupping his face. “You are all right?”
He let out a tired sort of laugh. “I don’t know.”
“Hm.” She looked over his shoulder before letting him go. “Hello, Bran.”
“Hello,” Bran said, sounding wary.
Cillian turned toward him, drawn like a magnet to the other man. Bran’s grimoire was closed and tucked under one arm, Aisling held close with the other. Her face had a more delicate look to it now, sharply pointed ears poking up through her white-blonde hair. She was clearly Fae, had probably always been so, wrapped up in a glamour the same way he’d been. And like him, she was loved by a witch.
Bran didn’t pull away when Cillian stepped close to kiss him, and Cillian didn’t want to ever let him go. “You’re okay?”
“I have a raging headache, but yeah, I’m okay. I’m more worried about Aisling,” Bran said.
“My throat hurts,” Aisling piped up, wrinkling her nose at him. “I want ice cream.”
Her voice startled Cillian, but then he smiled at her. “You can talk again.”
“Yeah, it worked. I don’t need to write everything down anymore.”
