Page 188 of A Winding Wave of Magic
“I come with a message from the High Council of the Assembly of the Magi,” he declared in a high English voice. “For one Cassandra Whelan. I request entrance to this household to deliver a message.”
“Not a word,” Jonathan whispered fiercely as he took a step just ahead of me.
I couldn’t if I wanted. The messenger’s self-introduction rang like an alarm bell that wouldn’t stop. It was the one thing we had been trying to avoid over the last several months, the thing we had been trying to avoid for another year, at least.
The Council had found me after all.
52
THE MESSENGER
Destiny does not send us heralds. She is too wise and cruel for that.
— OSCAR WILDE,THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY
“There’s a plane on standby at Galway to take her,” the messenger said through a mouthful of pastry that dropped crumbs all over Caitlin’s clean table. He had declined Caitlin’s offer of tea once we’d followed her to Connolly Cottage but made quick work of a seed biscuit. “When does the next boat leave this island? This afternoon?”
Robbie, Caitlin, Jonathan, and I had chosen to remain standing, awkwardly watching the man peck and nibble at his food. He was so birdlike in his movements that I wondered just how much time he spent in that form.
“Now, Fallon,” Robbie said as he took a friendly seat next to the man. “Surely you want to tell us what this is all about before you start ordering our guests around. Who is this Cassandra Whelan, and what business have you with her?”
Fallon looked up, small eyes flashing bright even in the dim indoor light. “Don’t be insulting,MasterConnolly,” he snapped. “That is Cassandra Whelan, or I’m a cooked turnip.” He pointed a crumb-covered finger at me before returning to his pastry. “Honestly. It took me all of two minutes in the village to confirm her presence here. The whole of Ireland’s been cooking with a story of a powerful new seer in Dublin, and some of the seals’ children carried news of her back to the mainland just last week.”
“Damned mutts,” Caitlin muttered.
I glared at her but kept my mouth shut. I still hadn’t said a word since the messenger’s arrival.
“Now, now,” Robbie said, his tone even and soothing in response to Fallon’s frenetic energy. “Surely the Council isn’t believing every bit of hearsay that comes its way, is it?”
“If she wanted to stay anonymous, she should have stayed in America, where they keep their fae uneducated and stupid.” Fallon polished off his biscuit and sat back in his chair, his sharp black gaze focused on me. “I don’t know why anyone thought it would be smart to take her to the old country. Just look at her. She doesn’t exactly blend in. Tall, black-haired girl who frolics in the sea every day and stirs up the energy of everyone she touches. Not exactly the kind people forget.”
I opened my mouth to ask him just what he wanted but shut it when I felt Jonathan touch at my elbow.Don’t.
Fallon pushed back from the table and flitted around the chairs to examine me. His nose barely reached my collarbone, and he never blinked once, though small tics in his neck jerked his head from side to side as he looked me over. Finally, he reached one hand up as if to grasp his chin, but quick as lightning, he yanked a loose strand of hair from my temple.
“Ow!” I cried as I reared back. “What the hell, man?”
Jonathan pounced, shoving Fallon back to the table and flat on his back.
The bird smiled. “So it’s like that, is it, Lynch?”
“It’s like nothing, Fallon,” came the quick reply. “The Connollys are under my protection, and that includes their guests.”
“You touch one hair onmyhead, and the Council will have your neck,” Fallon practically chirped his reply. “You’re already on thin ice for the mess you made this spring.”
I frowned. Was he talking about me?
“Keep your pathetic talons to yourself,” Jonathan growled, shaking the small man once before releasing him. “And have some bloody manners.”
Fallon stood back up and smoothed one hand over his mussed hair, which only had the effect of making the crest at the top stand up even more. He looked pointedly at me.
“Apologies,” he said tersely as he held up the hair. “I need it to clear up this…problem of identification. Do you mind?”
“I suppose not,” I said, unsure of how else to respond. “You have it now.”
Fallon hopped back to his chair, where he rustled around the black coat hanging on the back of it and produced a vial of clear liquid and another containing a bright red hair. The same color as my mother’s. And, according to my Sight, Penny’s.
“You look nothing like her, you know,” Fallon remarked as he popped open the vial with the liquid and held it carefully as he slipped my hair into it.
