THIRTY-FIVE
Grace
The Fianna retreated. A shout from Finn, and they disappeared like shadows into the night. The Fomori dismissed their warriors as well, and the alley was as empty as it had ever been except for the woman who came into the backyard, her blond hair streaming down her back. She stepped up to where Patrick had taken me on the stoop, beneath the small roof. She smiled, touching my hand, and said, “You must be the veleda.”
“This is Lot,” Patrick told me.
“Lot?”
Patrick smiled at me. “I told you: the stories aren’t the truth, Grace.”
“No indeed,” said Lot. “And we will do all we can to help you, my dear. We have promised it to your fiancé. And I personally promise it to you.” She looked at Patrick. “Perhaps you should take her inside, my dear. It’s quite wet.”
The rain hadn’t stopped, though the thunder and lightning had, and the street and house lights had come back on as if nothing had happened. There was no sign of my brother. He had disappeared with the others. Grandma had said, “Aidan will know.” Where had his power come from? How long had he known of it? And why hadn’t he told me? So much power—the kind of power I expected from a veleda—and I wondered . . . what if they were all wrong? What if I wasn’t the veleda, but Aidan? The idea wasn’t any more reassuring, and I kept silent as Patrick took me inside. I wanted to rush up the stairs to ask Grandma, but Mama was with two policemen who had just arrived. I recognized them as Moran and Stoltz, who had come with Patrick to question us about the ogham stick—it seemed forever ago.
“We’ll check to be certain they’ve all dispersed,” Moran said. “I doubt they’ll return. It was odd enough for gangs to be this far north.”
“But things are changing,” said Stoltz. “They’re not playing by the rules anymore. We’ll post an officer in this neighborhood to be sure. That’ll convince them to keep their distance.”
“Gangs?” Patrick squeezed my shoulder. “You’re certain that’s who they were?”
“Nothing’s certain. But we heard rumors there was a fight brewin’ tonight. Somethin’ in the air, you know? Thunder’s got everyone on edge.”
“At least the storm’s broken,” agreed Moran. He turned to Mama. “I don’t think you’ll see any other disturbances tonight, ma’am.”
“I sincerely hope not,” said Mama. “I’m just glad it’s over.”
The police went outside to investigate the alley. When they were gone, Mama looked at me, at Patrick’s arm still around my shoulders. Her eyes looked haunted, and I wondered what she’d seen, if she really believed the story the police told her. Had she seen Aidan set off the storm? Had she seen him glowing, his hair on end? Purple lighting coming from his fingers?
I wished she had. I wanted her to know the truth. I wanted her reassurance, for her to soothe me instead of the other way around.
“Mama,” I began, and then my words died when I saw her expression shift, that vacancy and denial returned, a door closed to questions and pain, and I could not make myself be so cruel as to force her to admit what she had seen. Not yet.
Patrick said, “It’s been a strange night indeed.”
Mama nodded. “And that storm . . . Where is Aidan?”
“He disappeared again,” I said, watching her closely.
There was nothing to tell me what she’d seen. “Well, no doubt he’ll be back soon. Who was that boy in the yard—the one talking to you? It seemed as if you knew him.”
“My stableboy,” Patrick answered before I could. “It’s true he is a gang member. I didn’t know it or I never would have hired him. He’s been dismissed, but I should warn you that he’s been showing Grace some unwanted attention. I’m afraid he’ll return to bother her, and so I hope you won’t object to me bringing Grace to my house for a few days. I can keep her safe there.”
My mother looked alarmed. “You think he’s a danger?”
“Probably not, but she’s precious to me. I’ll only worry if I can’t keep an eye on her.” How good a liar he was. He made it all sound so reasonable. Were we all liars then?
My mother said, “Well, yes, I suppose taking her to your house is best, but I expect—”
“I shall be on my best behavior,” Patrick promised. “And my mother will be there, of course. And Lucy.”
“I’ll get my things,” I said.
I went upstairs, anxious to see Grandma, my questions ready to burst from my lips. I rushed into her bedroom, surprised to find her sleeping. I touched her shoulder impatiently. “Grandma. Grandma, wake up.”
She didn’t move. She was deeply asleep, strangely so. Grandma was usually so restless, plagued by dreams, but now she looked . . . peaceful.
I stepped back, not wanting to interrupt that peace. My questions would wait until the morning. I kissed her cheek, murmuring, “Sleep well, Grandma,” and then, reluctantly, I left, going to my room.
I paused on the threshold, staring into the darkness eased only by the shadowy light from the street. I thought of how Derry had waited for me here, the things I’d told him I wanted. Nothing was as I’d imagined it to be.
“You’re not as powerless as you think.”
Of course, he had known even then what I was. And now that he was gone, the effects of the lovespell could fade. I could burn for Patrick’s kiss. Rose had been right. He was the one I wanted. Needed.
I packed my few things in a small bag and went back downstairs to the parlor, where Patrick stood talking to my mother. “I’m ready.”
Mama came forward to give me a kiss. “I’ll come by tomorrow. We’ve so much to plan.” She gave me a knowing look.
Patrick and I stepped out into the rain. It drizzled into the puddle beneath the streetlamp so it looked like a pool of golden pebbles. Something made me look beyond it. A movement, a noise. I looked into the shadows, but I saw nothing. Still, I felt uneasy.
Patrick grabbed my hand. “Come on!”
Together we ran to the waiting carriage. When we were inside, Patrick drew me onto his lap, kissing me deeply, and I felt the same tremor of pleasure that always came with his kiss.
“We’ll be so good together, Grace,” he promised. “You’ll see. I’ll save your life. And then you and I . . . we’ll save Ireland.”
“Is it really the life you want for yourself?”
Yes, it was. I knew that now.
Faith or fear.
I was running to something at last.
But the moment I thought it, I glanced out the window. Derry stepped from the shadow beyond the streetlamp. He was haloed in its golden light. His gaze met mine through the rain-spotted window, and I felt that ache that came with his every look and touch, that terrible yearning. As much as I wanted to be the Grace of the past, who longed for a white knight to save her from debt and despair, that girl was gone. There was so much more now to be won or lost. Derry had changed everything, whether he’d meant to or not.
The choice. The ritual. The veleda. That was my future now.
“This isn’t over. It can’t be over.”
“Grace?”
I turned away from the window, to Patrick. “It’s just . . . there’s so much to get used to.”
“I know,” he said. Then he smiled. “But you don’t have to face it alone. I’m here now.”
I nodded and said the words I had not allowed myself to say: “I will marry you.”
And I did not look back.
MEGAN CHANCE is the award-winning author of several adult novels, including Bone River. A former television news photographer with a BA from Western Washington University, Megan lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and two daughters. Visit her at: www.meganchance.com.