Page 59 of The Fallen
He took a few steps into the fog, then turned back, grabbed Gil’s face in both hands, and kissed him until they were both gasping for air. “Bye.”
That had been good for both of them, Bryn thought as he walked back up the street with a smile. It didn’t have to mean anything more than that, and truth be told, it couldn’t, not when he was stuck as a cat six days out of the week.
And speaking of that little inconvenience….
“Have ye no shame?” There was Brother Wilfred in his pointy black hood, waiting for Bryn as soon as he reached the kirkyard.
Well, Bryn had no intention of letting the old fud ruin his good mood. “Liked what ye saw, did ye?”
“I thought I told you to leave that young man alone. Can’t ye see that he’s vulnerable?”
Bryn rolled his eyes. “Yer doing my nut in. Besides, you cannae tell me who I can bed. The curse only said I cannae kill anybody, and I know how magic works. What’s said is said and set. Ye cannae change it as ye go.”
“Perhaps, but doing wicked deeds will bring ye no rewards. It never does.”
“I have objective evidence that you’re wrong there,” Bryn said, winking. “Seven more years until I see the last of you, and not a moment too soon.”
“You’ll never make it.” The monk slid his hands into his sleeves. “Ye must renounce your sinful ways, abandon evil in your heart. Ye cannae just pretend.”
“That wasn’t the deal,” Bryn said, flipping the old man the two-finger salute as he continued on his way. All he needed to do was avoid the faerie lord for another seven years, and it would be smooth sailing.
CHAPTER 5
The following Thursday, clear sunlight broke through the lingering fog, and the autumn foliage was bright gold, orange, and crimson against the muted deep green of the pines as Gil made his way toward the wharf. It was easy to distract himself from the task at hand by thinking back to the stranger with the silvery-green eyes who he’d met at the Scallop. The spot on his neck still felt tender, and he grinned when he pressed on it.
When he’d arrived home from the bar that night, his first inclination had been to try to see the man again. Maybe he planned to be in the area for a while. Gil had quickly abandoned that notion, though. It was better if the charming, stylish guy who moved like a dolphin through the water, playful and lithe, didn’t get to know him too well. No, let them both have the memory without the messy details that would ruin it.
Still, as Gil guided theFreyaout of the harbor, squinting at the sun on the clear, blue water, he ached for someone to share the beauty with him, someone who might love this place as he did. He didn’t think too long on the fact that he likely never would. He was an unemployed ex-con and even if he didn’t endup back in jail, his future looked bleak. Best not to dwell on it. Instead, he focused on the directions Grady had relayed.
Soon he reached the open sea, and he took a deep breath of the salty air. He loved being alone out here. He also hated it.
Something hit the deck, and Gil flinched. He turned to see Mr. Brimstone standing in front of the cockpit, a glimmer in his eyes that Gil could only call satisfied.
“Oh, buddy. What the hell are you doing out here?” Gil bent and scooped the cat up. “How did you even get here? I swear, you’re too smart for your own good. I wish you hadn’t come, though. This could end up being dangerous.”
Gil looked across the water, back toward Cutler. “Dammit, I ought to take you back. But if I miss this pickup, I can’t even imagine what Grady might do… to me, to Uncle Doddie…. Shit. There just isn’t time. I guess we might as well make the best of it.”
The cat chirped and butted his head against Gil’s chin.
“But if things start to go south, I want you to go into the cockpit and hide underneath the bench. Got it?”
Mr. Brimstone chewed on the drawstring hanging from the hoodie Gil wore above his overalls.
“I’ve been alone too long, buddy. I think I’m losing it. I could swear you understand everything I say. You’re the only friend I’ve got.”
As Gil buried his fingers in the cat’s thick fur, Mr. Brimstone climbed up and sat on his shoulder. Luckily Gil was a big man. He felt strangely powerful, like a pirate out of a story, as he strode back to the helm with the cat balanced there. Bizarrely, he felt like if Grady or any of his accomplices saw Gil now, they’d think twice about giving him shit and calling him an ass-wipe and a dumb oaf. It didn’t make sense, but the other prisoners had given Gil a much wider berth after he’d adopted Mr. Brimstone.
He reached up with his opposite hand and ran it down the cat’s silky, sun-warmed back.
Their trip down the coast toward Rockport, Massachusetts was as perfect as a daydream. The sky stayed clear, the sun warm enough that Gil stripped down to a ratty T-shirt to feel it on his shoulders, and the water calm. He spotted one Coast Guard boat near Salisbury and took it as a good statistical sign that he wouldn’t encounter another on the trip home… when it mattered.
After lunch, ham sandwiches and apple pie eaten cross-legged on the deck, Gil spotted the sleek, expensive-looking yacht with the Romanian flag Grady had told him to meet. Honestly, he’d had to look up the Romanian flag on the internet, but fortunately it was simple and easy to recognize. The boat, on the other hand, looked like hundreds of others in the water this close to Boston. The only thing suspicious would be Gil’s battered little workhorse pulling up alongside it.
He followed the fancy yacht east, away from the shore, and when it cut its engines, he did the same. Heart hammering and hands tingling with nerves, Gil went to the portside of theFreyaand waved his right arm over his head twice. His boat flew the U.S. flag above the Maine pine tree flag, also as agreed. A dark-haired man wearing a burgundy button-up and aviator sunglasses returned Gil’s wave. They stood staring at each other, the waves lapping against the hull loud in Gil’s ears. Maybe if someone came by, the owners of the yacht would get spooked. He wouldn’t have to take the load, and it wouldn’t be his fault.
Right now, he wasn’t doing anything illegal. His boat held nothing but an old CD player, a change of clothes, a cooler full of sandwiches, and three beers.
But the man in the sunglasses yelled something in a language Gil didn’t understand, and two other men appeared. One ofthem threw a duffel bag, and it hit Gil hard in the chest. He tried to close his arms around it, but he fumbled and it fell to the deck.
