Page 56 of Sore Throat, Slight Fever

A darkness began to spread through Aisling’s heart. He understood, of course, and was resigned to his fate—his death at her hands. But some instinct inside of him refused to let go of his immortality. Something in him wanted to survive.

And so he fled.

Rory traveled, avoiding magical communities where he might be recognized. He’d hide out for a few years among humans, until they began to notice his lack of aging.

He was in Paris in 1989 when he stumbled into a bar that, unbeknownst to him, was owned by Aisling. The bartender recognized him and that instinctual need to survive pushed him back to Texas—back tothe house that he had built, but which his brother and Aisling had hardly been aware of.

He was safe there.

They all were—him and Kane and Calliope.

And now he’s gone and fucked it all up.

* * *

When he finishes speaking, the silence stretches between them and if Rory didn’t need to keep his focus on the road, he would hang his head while he awaits his fate, baring his neck to the scythe of her judgment. There’s so much still left unsaid, buried deep down—but he is willing to dig it all up for her, lay himself bare if she would have him do so.

“Will she be able to find us now?” she asks. He can’t discern the emotion in her oddly toneless voice. It reminds him of when she first woke up in the basement. It makes his chest hurt.

“I don’t think so,” he answers hesitantly.

“Is the house protected by anything? Any type of wards or shields?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I’m sure the coven had something, but it’s been three years since a witch has lived in that house.”

“We have me now. I’m sure there’s something in the library. Kane can help me look when we get home.”

He nods, waiting desperately for a hint of something other than the pragmatic, numb expression shehas now.

“It’s not your fault,” she tells him. “You had no reason to believe that she would be there.”

He shrugs but doesn’t reply. It’s true that he didn’t know she would be there. But the truth is heavy in his stomach: the possibility was always there and he ignored it.

“You know, there’s nothing keeping me at Graeme House.” Her words are soft, aimed at the window and not him.

An unspoken fear strikes him in the chest, traveling down his spine.She’s leaving, he thinks numbly. The leather of the steering wheel squeaks as he tightens his grip even more.

“Not physically anyway,” she continues. “The cuffs dampened my strength, but didn’t keep me from running.” A pause. She turns to look at him. “The truth is that I’m hiding too.”

27

White Flowers Unfolding

Calliope

There it is. She’s said it. Rory tears his focus from the road, his eyes lingering on her a second too long before he’s forced to look away. The fear she’s been holding onto since she left her husband unspools in her belly. “My husband—”

“You don’t—don’t have to explain if you—” Rory is saying, eyes trained on the road again. His grip on the steering wheel is so tight, she worries he’s going to bend it in half.

She shakes her head, fingering a torn edge in the lining of the seat. “Seems fair, considering what you just shared.”

His shoulders relax, just a fraction. From her angle, she can see his jaw unclench. “It’s different. You deserved to know why we left Lyon’s Cross like that.”His eyes dart over and she’s sure he’s looking at the dried flakes of blood around her nose. “You don’t have to tell me this, if you don’t want to.”

“I want to tell you.” She looks out of the window again. “I need to tell you. I had nothing to do with his death.” She turns back to him, twisting in her seat so that her shoulders are facing him. “But he’s not dead. He’s a warlock. A powerful one. Who used my magic and the magic of others to fuel his work. His business deals were always shady and usually ended in death, but not his death. Never his death. He had…precautions against such things.” And then before Rory can ask, she adds, “I don’t know what precautions. There’s not much that can cheat death, but I know he isn’t dead. And I’m sure he’s looking for me.”

Rory’s jaw clenches again. “Any idea where he would be then?”

“No. But I doubt he could trace me to Willow Lake. I hitchhiked there, took a weird route.” She returns to fiddling with the split fabric, pushing the torn vinyl with her thumbnail. “I feel safe at the house. And with Kane and…with you. You make me feel safe.”

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