Page 57 of Shadow Spell

“I’m thinking on it. And now wondering if that moment or two on the side of the road might be why Cabhan took an interest in her today. Because I did, in that way? It’s not far thinking.”

“It’s not, no. He hurt you last night. It may be he tried to hurt you again, through Meara, today. So have a care, both of you.”

“I will, and I’ll see she does. Ah, there’s the three o’clocks. A mister and missus from Wales. Want to go along? I’ll fetch you a pack and glove.”

Fin started to decline, then realized it had been too long since he’d done a hawk walk with Connor. “I wouldn’t mind that, but I’ll get my own gear.”

Connor glanced up, spotted Merlin in the sky. “Will you take him? Trust one of them with him?”

“He’d enjoy it as well.”

“It’ll be a bit like old times then.”

When Fin went off for the gear, Connor took a quick glance at the time. As soon as he was able, he’d search out Meara. They had considerable to talk about, like it or not.

9

AS IF HER DAY HADN’T BEEN FRAUGHT ENOUGH, MEARAadded on a frantic and weepy call from her mother that sent her searching out Boyle.

He sat in his office scowling as he was prone to scowl over paperwork.

“Boyle.”

“Why is it the numbers never tally the first time you do them? Why is that?”

“I couldn’t say. Boyle, I’m sorry to ask but I need to go. My mother’s had a fire at the house.”

“A fire?” He shoved up from his desk as if he’d rush off to put it out himself.

“A kitchen fire, I think. It was hard getting anything out of her, as she was near hysterical. But I did get she’s not hurt, and didn’t burn the place down around her. Still, I don’t know how bad it all is, so—”

“Go. Go on.” He rounded the desk, taking her arm, drawing her out of the office. “Let me know what’s what as soon as you can.”

“I will. Thanks. I’ll do extra tomorrow to make up for it.”

“Just go, for Christ’s sake.”

“I’m going.”

She jumped in her lorry.

It would be nothing, she told herself. Unless it was something. With Colleen Quinn, you never knew which.

And her mother had been all but incoherent, wailing one minute, babbling the next. All about the kitchen, smoke, burning.

Maybe she was hurt.

The image of Connor, the black bubbling burn on his arm flashed through her mind.

Burning.

Cabhan. Fear spurted through her at the thought he might have played some part. Had he gone after her mother because in the end she’d resisted his call?

Meara punched the accelerator, rocketed around curves, raced her way with her heart at a gallop to the little dollhouse nestled with a handful of others just along the hem of Cong’s skirts.

The house stood—no damage she could see to the white walls, the gray roof, the tidy dooryard garden. Tidy, true enough, as the small bit of garden in front and back was her mother’s only real interest.

She shoved through the short gate—one she’d painted herself the previous spring, and ran up the walk, digging for her keys, since her mother insisted on locking the doors day and night in fear of burglars, rapists, or alien probes.

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