“If you’d bothered showing up on Monday, I could have told you that myself.”
He turned. “It wore off that quickly?”
I nodded.
“Are you entirely restored? Can you sense the spear again?”
“Never fear, your OOP detector is back,” I said bitterly. “Oh, and it looks like O’Bannion replaced Mallucé for the Lord Master.” I filled him in on the younger brother’s visit, that he’d eaten Unseelie.
Barrons took a seat on the opposite end of the sofa. Even with all that space between us, we were too close. I remembered the feel of his wild, electric body on top of mine. I remembered lying beneath him with my shirt ripped to my neck, the look on his face. I looked away.
“I’ll ward the store against him. You’ll be safe so long as you’re inside.”
“If I was already tattooed, why couldn’t you find me when V’lane had me in Faery?” This was a bit of illogic that had been nagging at me.
“I knew you were in Faery but I couldn’t track you there. The realms shift constantly, making it impossible to follow the…beacon.”
“Why did you make me wear the cuff if I was already tattooed?”
“So I could explain being able to find you if I had to.”
I snorted. “What a tangled web we weave, huh? Does it really work as a locator cuff?”
He shook his head.
“Does it do anything?”
“Not that concerns you.”
“What did the Lord Master do to me that made me obey him?”
“Parlor tricks. It’s called Voice. A Druid skill.”
“You knew that parlor trick yourself. Is it something someone else can learn to do? Me, for example?”
“I doubt you’ll live long enough to learn it.”
“You did.”
“You have no training.”
“Try me.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Did you use it on my father? Is that what made him leave the next morning, after he and I had argued all night and I couldn’t get him to go?”
“Would you have had him stay?”
“Did you use it again when he called here, when I was in Faery for a month?” I was beginning to understand his methods.
“Should I have let him fly over and get himself killed?”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the abbey, Barrons?”
“They are witches and liars. They would tell you anything to woo you to their side.”
“Sounds like somebody else I know.” Actually it sounded like everybody else I knew.
“I make you no promises I won’t keep, and I gave you the spear. They would take it from you. Give them half a chance and see what they do. Don’t come whining to me when they screw you.”
“I’m going to the abbey in a few days, Barrons,” I told him, and it was a challenge. It was a “You’d better give me whatever freedom I want.” After everything I’d been through, my feelings about things had changed. He and I were partners, not OOP detector and director, and partners had rights. “I’m going to spend some time there and see what they can teach me.”
“I’ll be here when you get back. And should the old woman try to harm you, I’ll kill her.”
I almost muttered a “thanks” but caught myself. “I know there are no male sidhe-seers.” When he opened his mouth I said, “Spare me,” before he could toss a pithy comment my way. “I know you’re male and I know you see them. We don’t need to revisit that. I also know you’re superstrong and that you rarely touch the spear. So how long have you been eating Unseelie, Barrons?”
He gaped a moment, then his shoulders began to shake, his chest rumbled, his dark eyes glittered with amusement, and he laughed.
“It is a perfectly logical assumption,” I bristled.
“Yes,” he said finally, “it is. It startled me with its logic. But it’s not true.”
I studied him through narrowed eyes. “Maybe that’s why the Shades don’t eat you. They’re not cannibals and you’re full of their brethren. Maybe they don’t like dark meat.”
“So, stab me,” he said softly.
I slipped my hand beneath my jacket, fisted my hand around the hilt of the spear. It was pure bluff. We both knew I wouldn’t.
Behind the counter the phone rang. I stared into Barrons’ dark eyes while the phone rang and rang. I remembered kissing him, remembered the images: the desert; the hot, killing sirocco; the lonely boy; the endless wars. I wondered whether if I kissed him again, I’d get inside him again. The phone rang. It occurred to me that it could be my dad. Jerking my gaze away with an effort, I pushed off the sofa and grabbed the phone.
“Hello?” It wasn’t my dad. “Christian! Hi, yes, actually I’d love to. No, no, I didn’t forget! I got tied up.”
I’d had other things on my mind, been wound tight as a knot.
But I was okay now. Things were back to normal. I was Mac Lane, sidhe-seer, armed to the teeth with spear, knives, and flashlights. Barrons was…well, Barrons, and the hunt for the Sinsar Dubh was back on.
And tonight would be a fine night to spend with a good-looking young Scotsman who’d known my sister, and learn what he knew.
“I’ll be there in forty minutes.” I wanted to change and freshen up. “No, no need to come get me. I’ll walk. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”
“A date, Ms. Lane?” Barrons said, when I hung up. He was motionless. In fact, for a moment I wasn’t certain he was breathing. “You really think that’s appropriate in the midst of our current circumstances? There are Hunters out there.”
I shrugged. “They fear my spear.”
“The Lord Master’s out there.”
I gave him a dry smile. “Then I guess it’s a good thing you won’t let me die.”
He returned my smile with the ghost of one, even dryer. “He must be something, if he’s worth walking Dublin’s night.”
“He is.” I didn’t tell him he’d been my sister’s friend. Volunteering information isn’t something Barrons and I do with each other. We let each other stew in whatever messes we’ve created for ourselves. The day he stops, I’ll stop.
“Shouldn’t I be giving you a curfew?” he mocked.
“Try.” I turned for the connecting doors. I would wash my face, brush on blush, mascara, and lip gloss, and put on something pretty and pink. Not because I thought of this as a date. I didn’t. Scotty might have known my sister and he might know a little about what we were, but he couldn’t live in my world. It was too dangerous for the average man, even one armed with a bit of knowledge.
I would wear pink because I knew my future was anything but rosy. I would accessorize myself to the hilt, and I would wear flirty shoes because my world needed more beauty to counter all the ugliness in it. I would wear pink because I hated gray, I didn’t deserve white, and I was sick of black.
As I reached the connecting door, I stopped. “Jericho.”
“Mac.”
I hesitated. “Thank you for saving my life.” I slipped through the door. Before I pulled it closed, I added softly, “Again.”