Page 116 of A Winding Wave of Magic
I sighed. He was right. Sybil was the last available link in finding justice for Gran—wherever such justice might be found.I couldn’t afford to alienate her completely.
The blur of Sybil’s curly red hair bobbed behind the condensation-clouded windowpane. In some ways, she was like a child—a jaded, cold-hearted child unable to deal with the hardships she’d been given. And yet, I still couldn’t help but feel that she should have told us what was going to happen.
“I don’t want to go back in there,” I admitted, shaking all over again. “Please don’t make me go back in there.”
Jonathan pulled me to him, pressing my head on his shoulder so I could feel pulsing currents of sympathy, fondness,overlayed with a strong protective urge that surprised even him with its intensity.
“You’ll go back in,” he said. “You’ll apologize for shouting because it’s the right thing to do. And then you’ll say goodbye to your mother because you’ll never forgive yourself if the last words you shared with her were in anger. After that, I’ll take you away, and you can choose the rest of your life for yourself.”
I pulled back to look at him. “Promise?”
His eyes drifted to my forehead. For a moment, I thought he might kiss me there.
But he was shielding enough that while his emotions were clear as day, his actual thoughts were muddled behind a veil. He didn’t want me to know what he was thinking. Maybe that’s because once again, it would disappoint me.
I decided I’d had enough of that and pulled away before he could release me.
“I promise,” he said and let me go.
34
DUBLINERS
We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-law. Butalways meeting ourselves.
— JAMES JOYCE,ULYSSES
We were about halfway across the Atlantic when I awoke to the smell of breakfast and coffee. After bidding the quickest farewell possible to Sybil, Jonathan had escorted me back to the jet to enjoy a private flight to Boston to pick up the rest of my things, then on to Ireland while we slept. My books had been relegated to storage, but I’d insisted on bringing my surfboard and wetsuits along with my clothes and the mysterious box from Penny.
I opened my eyes to find Jonathan sitting in the plush leather seat across from me, neatly shoving forkfuls of scrambled eggs and bacon into his mouth and washing them down with coffee nearly white with cream. He offered a well-satisfied smile before returning directly to his meal.
I chuckled. He was literally the cat who got the cream this morning.
“Would you like some breakfast?”
A flight attendant, an Irish girl with a spate of freckles dancing across her nose, touched me gently on the shoulder. Her polite inquiry was overshadowed by an obvious crush on my voracious seatmate.
I shrugged off her touch and intrusive thoughts and tugged the folding tray out from my armrest. “Yes, please. Black tea too, if you don’t mind.”
I couldn’t help but notice a marked difference between the quality of my breakfast and Jonathan’s. His eggs looked distinctly fluffier, and his bacon crispier than the lifeless serving I was delivered.
“Just wait a moment,” he said when I bent to take a bite.
His eyes glittered, and his lips moved. The delicious scent of freshly scrambled eggs wafted from my plate.
I smiled and picked up a piece of now-perfectly crisped bacon. “Thank you.”
I was rewarded with a Cheshire-like grin before Jonathan scooped another forkful of food into his mouth. “It’s a charter jet, not the Ritz. But that doesn’t mean we have to eat like we’re still in coach. Have a nice sleep, then?”
“I did, actually. I’ve never been able to sleep on a plane before. You’d better be careful with your little tricks, or else someone’s going to notice.”
Jonathan shrugged. “The attendant’s a siren, if you couldn’t tell. She won’t say a word.”
“So, remind me again,” I said before taking a sip of the now-excellent tea. “First we go to Dublin, and then we fly to Connemara, then board another flight out to the islands?”
Jonathan nodded and speared a piece of egg.
“It’s a shame we can’t fly through London. I’d love to see Gran’s flat there, too.”
