Page 77 of Shadow Spell

“Who was dead at the time, I suppose.”

He winked at Meara. “Oh, gone years before I was born. When the Veil thins I’m able to see through it easier than other times. And since we’re all thinking he’s testing me, in particular, it might be I’m the lure we’re after. And you thought of that,” he said to Fin.

“It crossed my mind. We’ll think a great deal more, talk it through, and work carefully. I can give you all the time you need, Branna. At any time.”

“No ramblings coming up?” she asked carelessly.

“Nothing that can’t be postponed or put off. I’m here till this is done.”

“And then?”

He looked at her, said nothing for a long beat. “Then, we’ll see what we see.”

“He’s only made us stronger.” Iona took Boyle’s hand. “Families fight, and they make mistakes. But they can come back stronger for it. We have.”

“To squabbles and fuckups then.”

Connor raised his glass, the rest lifted theirs, and with a musical clink, sealed the toast.

12

HE KNEW IT FOR A DREAM. IN HIS MIND’S EYE HE COULDsee himself, tucked warm and naked in bed with Meara, and could—if he drifted back, feel her heart beat slow and steady against his.

Safe and warm in bed, he thought.

But as he walked the woods, the chill hung in the night air, and the clouds that flirted with the three-quarter moon deepened dark shadows.

“What are we looking for?” Meara asked him.

“I don’t know till I find it. You shouldn’t be here.” He stopped to cup her face in his hands. “Stay in bed, sleep safe.”

“You won’t lock me in or away.” Firmly, she gripped his wrists. “You promised it. And it’s my dream as much as yours.”

He could send her back, into dreams where she wouldn’t remember. But it would be the same as a lie.

“Keep close then. I don’t know the way here.”

“We’re not home.”

“We’re not.”

Meara lifted the sword she carried so the blade caught the filtered light of the moon. “Did you give me the sword or did I bring it in myself?”

“I don’t know that either.” Something shimmered over his skin, teased the edges of his senses. “There’s something in the air.”

“Smoke.”

“Aye, and more.” He lifted his hand, held a ball of light. He used it as a kind of torch, dispelling shadows to better see the way.

A deer stepped onto the rough path, its rack a crown of silver, its hide a glimmer of gold. It stood a moment, statue still, as if allowing them to bask in its beauty, then turned and walked regally through the swirl of mist.

“Do we follow the hart?” Meara wondered. “As in song and story?”

“We do.” But he kept the light glowing. The trees thickened, and there was the scent of green and earth and smoke as the hart moved with unhurried grace.

“Does this happen often for you? This sort of dream?”

“Not often, but it’s not the first—though the first I’ve had company from my side of things. There, do you see? Another light up ahead.”

---