Page 96 of Scythe & Sparrow
“I thought Conor wasn’t going to give you extra clues. Sloane will be so pissed if he is.”
“You bellend,” Lachlan says with an eye roll, keeping his distance from the two women as they head toward the living room with their glasses. When he seems to think they’re safely out of earshot, we take their place in the kitchen, and he cracks open the moonshine. “I am capable of doing my own research. And I promised the eyeball spider lady I wouldn’t mine Conor for information. I’ve seen what’s involved in eyeball removal. I don’t want her to make good on that threat,” he says with a shudder before he pours a glass and slides it across the counter of the island. “Trust me.”
Lachlan raises his glass in a silent toast and I do the same, and then we take a sip of the golden liquid. It burns my throat as it slides down to my stomach, where I’m pretty sure it’ll eat through my guts. “Fuck, that is atrocious.”
“Are you sure it’s not battery acid?”
“No. I’m not sure at all. Though it’s not going to stop me from drinking enough to serenade you.”
“I think it might kill us both before that happens,” Lachlan says as we both suffer through another sip.
“So you said you have information?” I say in a conspiratorial whisper as I lean closer across the island. “What kind of information?”
“Yeah, Man-guy,” a chipper voice says from right behind me just as I take another drink of moonshine that shoots up my nose and spurts past my lips in a spray that hits Lachlan right on the shirt. “I want to know too, what kind of information?”
I spin around to the sound of Lachlan’s “Christ Jesus” and the combined squeals of Sloane and Lark. The little banshee grins up at me, her dark eyes sparkling. She sets down a pissed-off-looking raccoon of all fucking things, though somehow, that tracks. “Rose, fucking hell. You scared the shit out of me.” I move to give her a hug but she backs up a step, her hands raised.
“Whoa, now. That’s a situation you’ve got there. You look like you’re starring in the busted version ofWicked.” She leans forward and pats my arm. “A for effort. Or … something.”
Though I hear Sloane snort from the living room, it’s my older brother’s voice that seems to echo in my mind.
“Rose …?”
Rose and I exchange a fleeting smile before I turn to look at Lachlan. I’ve never seen this expression on his face before, his brow furrowed, his eyes taking on a glassy sheen.
“Hi, Lachlan.”
Lachlan takes a few slow steps around the end of the island, steps that quicken until he’s rushing to embrace Rose, that shocked hope and guilt still etched into his face until he pulls his glasses off and wipes his eyes. They exchange whispers, things only the two of them are meant to hear, but words I catch anyway. Words about regret and choices. About time and promises. About how some vows are never meant to be made, because they are not in our hands to keep.
The screen door quietly closes, and Fionn steps inside the cabin. He lets his bag slide from his shoulder and drops it on the floor, never taking his eyes from Lachlan.
“I thought maybe you should have a doctor around. Just in case,” he says, clutching the back of his neck.
I turn back to Lachlan, whose heart has been shattered for so long that its sharp edges have scored the pain right into his face. His eyes glisten with tears. His hand trembles when Rose lifts it from her shoulder.
“Fionn,” is all Lachlan manages to get out, and then he’s striding across the room. The two lock in an embrace that lasts long enough that it reminds me of others they’ve shared. Like the time Fionn graduated from medical school. Or the time we landed in Boston from Sligo and set foot in our own apartment, our first safe place. Or even that hazy memory of the hospital that first day we met our little brother. There was a heart-splitting sadness that I was too young to fully understand. So much grief for the loss of our mother, a pain that weighed heaviest on Lachlan’s shoulders. But there was so much love too. It was there in the way Lachlan held our baby brother in his arms. Just like it’s here in the way he holds on to him now.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. In all our years together, I’ve never seen Lachlan’s shoulders shake like they do now. I’ve never seen him crack open and cry, not even when we were young. He grew up so fast. Spent his youth walking us through darkness, our beacon in a night that I once thought would never end. “I don’t know how to fix it. I’m just so feckin’ sorry, Fionn.”
“It’s not your fault,” Fionn says, pulling back just enough to look into Lachlan’s eyes. I notice for the first time how Fionn reallylooksdifferent. Not like the man we thought he wanted tobe, steeped in high expectations and buttoned-up formality. He looks … at ease. Atpeace. “I’m sorry, Lachlan. It was never your fault. And I would have gotten in touch or come home sooner, if I could have. I just … needed time. Time to reset myself, I guess. Time to figure things out without relying on you both to somehow do it for me. Well, maybe not him,” he says with a nod to me. “He looks like a dumpster goblin.”
Lachlan lets out a watery laugh and turns his glassy eyes to me over his shoulder. “I think we’ve just officially replaced your Shitflicker nickname. Dumpster Goblin suits you.”
“Especially now that it’s permanent,” Lark pipes up. When I glance her way, she’s wiping a track of tears from her cheeks with the heel of her hand.
“I really need to know if this is actually permanent,” I say as I start peeling off a scale glued to my cheek. Fionn scratches his stubble as he watches me from beneath the arm Lachlan keeps slung over his shoulder. “Will it come off?”
“You didn’t tattoo it on there, did you?”
“Of course not, dickhead.”
“I’m sure you’re probably fine.”
“‘Probably’ does not inspire much confidence,” I say, but Fionn only shrugs.
“You’ll probably have to wait until the skin cells replenish.”
“How long does that take?”
