“I left them dead,” Henry said. “There’s no way they could have regained life so quickly.”
Tom shrugged impassively. “They are creatures of the Otherworld and cannot be killed by regular means. Only a descendant of the Tuatha Dé or a weapon forged by Goibniu can send the hounds back to Cailleach. The blue fire is the one sure indication that they have returned to their maker.”
“Then there’s no reason to fear. I saw the fire with my own eyes, and am assured that they are returned home.”
Cate and Tom could not have appeared more surprised if Henry had just turned into Cailleach herself. “Are you certain?” Tom asked.
A low chuckle rumbled in Henry’s chest. “It’s rather hard to mistake. My sword is in Selah’s chamber if you would care to take a look. I’ve just recently retrieved it at my father’s behest from our family seat, and have no notion of its maker or history.” Henry smiled. “Except that it is excellent at killing hounds.”
Tom jumped to his feet. “Aye, that is a blade I’d like to see.”
The moment they left the drawing room, I turned to Cate. “What about Nora’s debut tonight? Deri could very well be there, and Henry is just itching for an opportunity to bring her to justice.” Worry twisted in my stomach. “We have to kill her before she has a chance to get to him.”
“We will, Selah, of that I can assure you.”
“How,” I persisted, “when that stupid curse has made us helpless against her? Get what you give indeed. Who ever thought of instilling something so ridiculous? Surely, Brigid wants us to defend life to the best of our abilities.”
“It’s from the same laws that govern Brigid and Cailleach themselves. Life to death and death to life. Neither can be without the other.” Cate’s lips curved to knowing smile. “Which is why Goibinu forged the knife, as a caveat of sorts—to kill our enemies without the fear of equal reprisal.”
*
The Drury Lane Theater assaulted my overdrawn nerves in every possible manner. Candlelight danced in fitful patterns through the crowded corridors and main hall. Wealthy spectators looked like animated baubles, their bold satins and brocades unsettling against the heavily powdered faces that peered from the boxes along the outer wall. At ground level, a sea of humanity lapped to the very edge of the pit where the sound of laughter and tuning strings rose to a chaotic din. The stuffy air took physical form inside my nose, saturated with smoke, perfume, damp wool and sweat.
Each sight, sound, and smell came to me magnified a hundred times. I tried to block it all out in order to remain focused on the reasons I was here tonight. Nora and Deri...Deri and Nora. My thoughts turned a fair circle around these two names, unable to settle for more than a few seconds on one before moving to the other, and then back again. The urge to either kill or protect moved just as quickly, as though pinned to their very names.
Deri and Nora...Nora and Deri
The wretch could be anywhere. Or nowhere, as there was no guarantee of her presence here tonight. If she happened to make an appearance, I wondered what could be done in front of so many people. There was a plan, of course. Not that my great grandparents had bothered to fill me in on the details, possibly to curtail Henry’s involvement. For the time being, I had been instructed to stay at his side, enjoy the show and if the wretch appeared, to keep well out of the way.
In line with these instructions, I sat next to Henry in the same box from a week ago. This time though, rather than maintaining a proper distance, he held my gloved hand in plain sight for anyone with the right vantage point to see. Cate sat to my left, her usual calm demeanor masking any thoughts of murder as she chatted amicably with Lord and Lady Saxby, who had heard from a little bird that someone of their acquaintance was performing tonight. Tom remained standing in an alcove at the perimeter of the pit, a sharp eye for the wretch and eight inches of enchanted steel tucked beneath his waistcoat.
James Roth occupied the seat on the other side of Henry, though I did my best to ignore his belligerent presence. It proved more difficult to ignore the fact that Nora had invited him tonight without extending the same courtesy to me. In truth, I blamed no one but myself, and vowed to make amends for my idiocy after the play concluded. A bouquet of hothouse flowers rested at my feet as a token of my pride in Nora’s accomplishment.
My attention moved to the audience, and I skimmed the line of boxes once more along the opposite wall. Moving from face to face, I released an inward groan when a certain swarthy gentleman appeared.