He’d forgotten the reason he’d brought her here.
“She’s the veleda,” Finn said to him.
Diarmid just stood there staring blankly.
Grace is the veleda.
Cannel frowned over the cards. “Though there’s something else here too. I don’t quite understand it, but . . .” He lifted one card, moved it about.
Diarmid cleared his throat. “Are you sure?”
The Seer nodded. “And you’re all around her, as always. But here are two cards I don’t understand.”
“What do you mean?”
Cannel held up one—illustrated with a full moon and dogs howling. “This card, where it’s come up, means vision, but it’s removed from her. Separate. And this one—” Another card lifted, this one painted with a winged, horned creature and a naked couple. “Terrible power.”
“Terrible power,” Diarmid heard himself saying. “As in, she has terrible power?”
“Of course she does,” Ossian said. “She’s the veleda.”
“Yes. It’s just the placement is odd. Again, it’s removed.” Cannel met Diarmid’s gaze. “But she is who you’re looking for. And you surround her, just like in the first divination.”
You surround her. Pressing her against that wall. Feeling her breath and the beating of her heart against his chest. Burning to cinder with her kiss. Diarmid closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose.
“Well, now we know who she is, and we can proceed,” Finn said with satisfaction.
“We don’t even know who called us or why,” Diarmid objected.
“Whatever the task, she’ll have to choose eventually. Which reminds me—we’ll need the incantation for the sacrifice. The veleda should know it. Do you think she does?”
Diarmid laughed miserably. “She doesn’t know anything, Finn. Not what she is. Nothing. Whatever the veleda was supposed to know . . . it’s all been lost.”
Finn’s confidence didn’t waver. “Question her again. Perhaps she knows something she doesn’t realize. Even if we don’t know who called us and why, we must persuade her to choose us. So start persuading her.”
“She told me tonight that if I came around again, she’d call for the police. Perhaps Oscar should try.”
Even Diarmid heard the despair in his voice, and he saw by the way Finn looked at him that his captain hadn’t missed it either.
“You have a weapon Oscar doesn’t have,” Finn said. He looked at Diarmid’s forehead. “Use it.”
To them it was easy. Shake aside his hair, show Grace the lovespot just as he’d done with Lucy. He’d never hesitated before, and they wouldn’t understand why he was so reluctant now. And the truth was that he wasn’t certain he understood it himself. Except that he heard her voice in his head: “Can you change the world?” Except that for the first time he had harbored a hope—foolish yes, especially after tonight, but there nonetheless—that she could be the one who might love him for himself. And the thought of seeing the spell in her eyes, watching her bend to him, wanting to do whatever he asked, the fire in her muted—
It startled him to realize how much more he wanted. And that he wanted it from her.
Finn’s eyes narrowed. “Or would you rather I try to persuade her?”
Diarmid’s whole body tightened.
“I didn’t think so,” Finn said in a tone that stung. “Women choose where they love. If she loves you, then that’s one thing in our favor. We need the advantage, Diarmid. And ’tis best that you win her anyway. Then she won’t hesitate to bare her throat to your knife when the time comes.”
’Tis you who must kill her.
“Well?” Finn asked. “Will you do this?”
Diarmid saw them watching him. All of them. Waiting for his agreement, which he must give, because the veleda must choose them. And he must kill her in order to release her power to them, and it must be done on Samhain or they would fail and die. Gone forever. No return.
It was more than just his life at stake. He was Fianna. His brothers were counting on him. Finn was counting on him. And he knew already what it felt like not to be part of them, to be separate. He didn’t ever want to feel that way again. Not because of a girl. Not because of anything.
Diarmid nodded. His voice when it came was hollow, but it was there. “Aye. I will.”
TWENTY-TWO
Grace
I tossed and turned all night, restless and yearning, falling asleep only to find nightmares of fire and ravens and my brother’s voice—Listen to me, Grace. Don’t go!—as purple lightning forked through dark skies. And then I was lying beneath Derry, and I felt breathless and alive as he kissed me, his fingers dragging at the drawstring of my chemise, and then . . . the flash of a knife above me. A scream, and there was only terrible pain and . . . darkness.
I woke in a cold sweat. Why were these things happening to me?
I had never been so afraid. But now I knew what I must do.
It was a betrayal, of that there was no doubt. Lucy would never forgive me. Then again, she hadn’t seen that boy collapse or Derry’s hand red with blood. Derry was dangerous, a liar and a thief and a murderer. He belonged in jail. Lucy would survive it. She’d been through more “loves” in a summer than most people had in a lifetime. And as for me . . . I was afraid of him—yes, that was true. I was afraid of the bloodlust I’d seen in him. Afraid of the wariness I’d seen in those boys who’d had me cornered and how quick they’d been to release me to him. I was afraid of the ruthlessness with which he’d plunged his knife into that boy.
But mostly I was afraid that I would forget all that if he kissed me again.
I sent a note to Patrick asking to see him, and the relief on my mother’s face convinced me that this was the best course. I took breakfast to my grandmother, murmured soothing words to her as she muttered “They’re coming” and “That boy,” and then I woke Aidan, who was sprawled across his bed wearing yesterday’s clothes and smelling of a distillery, and told him that he must chaperone me.
He moaned into his pillow. “Take Mama.”
“Mama’s not well. Which you would see if you cared to look. And Grandma’s getting worse. Mama needs to watch over her.”
“I’ll watch.”
“You can’t do it from your bed or a tavern. Get up, Aidan. Give me an hour, and then you can go off wherever you like.”
“Just pretend I’m there,” he said, barely moving.
“As I did the last time you chaperoned, when you spent the entire time at the drinking booth?”
“It was what Lucy preferred anyway. She only wanted to kiss her stableboy.”
I hit Aidan’s shoulder. “I need you to do better than that now. I can’t afford talk the way Lucy can. And I must see Patrick.”
“God save me from lovebirds,” my brother said, but he rolled onto his back and blinked in the late-morning light. “Go on. I’ll be out in a moment.”
My stomach felt tied in knots. It seemed forever before Aidan came out of his room, looking crumpled and bleary. I was halfway out the doorway before he made it to the stairs.
The sky was brightly overcast, the air still and heavy, that thunder ominous and hovering, though this morning it seemed louder, closer. Aidan grimaced at the sky, shielding his eyes from the glare. “God, I wish to hell that storm would come in. That thunder—my head is killing me.”
“It couldn’t be the drink,” I noted. “Or whatever else you’re taking.”
“Laudanum,” he admitted. “When I can afford it. Last night was decent. I won a few dollars.”
“You could pay the gas with it, so Mama wouldn’t have to sew in lamplight.”
“There’s not enough for that.”
“You mean there’s not enough to pay it and buy your next bottle.”
He gave me a piercing look—one so unhappy I could only gape at him as he said, “You think you know what you’re talking about, Grace, but you don’t. So be quiet.”
I felt the urge to comfort him, which
was even more surprising, because the last thing I wanted to do was make Aidan feel better for ruining us. So I said nothing more as we walked to the Devlins’. I found myself looking for the carriage, for Derry, wanting to see him at the same time I didn’t want to lay eyes on him again. Grace, stop!
We went up to the door, Aidan looking about as if he’d rather be anywhere else and me steadying myself to do what I’d come to do.
The butler showed us to Patrick’s study, and I tried not to think of how I’d watched Derry slip inside that night, nor everything that had happened after. The butler announced, “Mr. Aidan Knox and Miss Knox are here, sir.”
Patrick had been bent over his desk, but he bounded up with an eagerness that made me realize I’d been wrong to be afraid. Just seeing him reassured me and made me feel cherished. Yes, this is what I want. This smile instead of another. Gray-green eyes instead of midnight blue. A kiss that made me feel treasured and loved instead of one that felt as if everything inside me struggled to break free.
Patrick smiled at Aidan and shook his hand. “It’s a warm morning. Should we walk in the park?”
“The park’s as good as anywhere,” my brother said. “As long as it’s a short walk.”
I glared at him, and he raised his brows as if saying, “What?” and Patrick led us into Madison Square. Aidan drew back, sauntering behind us, my good watchdog, while Patrick took me ahead.
He said, “I missed you at supper last night.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t return home until late. Had I known of your invitation I would have rushed.”
“It’s no matter. There will be plenty of other suppers.”
“I hope so,” I said.
His eyes lit. “Do you? Grace, I’ve so much to tell you. Things I meant to say before. In only a few days, everything will change, and—”
“I’ve something to tell you as well, Patrick,” I said, wanting to get the words out before he distracted me. “It’s actually why I’ve come. Well, and I wanted to see you, of course. But this . . . it’s about your stableboy.”
“My stableboy? What about him?”
I glanced over my shoulder. Aidan still followed several paces back, looking restless. He wouldn’t last much longer. Patrick took my hand, tucking it into the crook of his arm, covering my fingers with his. Strong, warm fingers, like those on another hand, pressing me against the wall. But not covered with blood. “He’s . . . he’s a member of a gang. One of those terrible gangs downtown. Near Bleecker Street.”
Surprise flickered in Patrick’s eyes. “My stableboy. You mean Jerry or Derry?” He smiled slightly. “Ridiculous, isn’t it? Like matched horses.”
“Derry,” I said, embarrassed at how I breathed the name. “It’s Derry.”
“So how do you know this?”
“I just—Aidan told me.” Aidan was a good distance away now, paying almost no attention to us. A safe lie. And my brother would feign knowledge if asked—Aidan might even believe he had told me about the gang and didn’t remember it.
Patrick glanced back, and my heart pounded, thinking he might stop and call Aidan after all.
“Derry’s one of Finn’s Warriors,” I said urgently.
“Finn’s Warriors?” Patrick stiffened.
“Yes. That’s the name of the gang. Have you heard of them?”
“I don’t know. Possibly. But . . . isn’t this who Lucy begged me to hire? I thought it odd at the time—”
I hadn’t wanted to drag her into it. Still . . . “Well, she believes she’s in love with him, I think. You know how Lucy is, and he’s very handsome. It’s only one more reason to dismiss him—before she makes a fool of herself. Not that she has yet,” I amended.
“Finn’s Warriors,” Patrick mused. “And you say Lucy’s in love with him?”
“She says she is. She fell so quickly, though. Overnight, really. And he is . . . he can be charming, I suppose. But I think you could still save her if you sent him away now.”
“She fell for him overnight?” Again that quiet, musing tone.
I frowned. “Patrick?”
“I don’t think I’ve laid eyes on him. What does he look like?”
I didn’t know where Patrick’s questions were going. “Dark hair. Blue eyes.”
“Anything strange about him? Any . . . deformity, I guess it would be?”
“A deformity? No. Nothing like that.”
He turned to look at me intently. “You haven’t developed . . . feelings . . . for him, have you?”
The way he’d pressed against me. The burn of his kiss and how I’d kissed him back. “N-no. Of course not!”
Thankfully, Patrick didn’t seem to notice my discomfort. He looked out over the park. “Finn’s Warriors. I wonder how many of them there are?”
I knew exactly, of course, but there was no way I should.
“And their leader? Let me guess: a man named Finn?”
“Yes.” My relief that he was taking me seriously made me too fast. When I saw Patrick’s puzzled glance, I tried to temper my eagerness. “I mean . . . I suppose that’s why they’re called Finn’s Warriors.” They’ve named themselves after the Fianna, I wanted to say, but I could have no way of knowing that either and so I said, “I think Derry stole the ogham stick too.”
Patrick halted abruptly. “Why do you think that?”
“I don’t know it for certain,” I lied. “But I suspect so. Something he said—he asked me if you had other things.”
“What other things?”
“An ogham stick made of rowan. A horn.”
“Why was he asking these questions of you?”
“I think because I’d said something to him about the relics. I’m sorry, Patrick; I didn’t mean to. We were just making conversation, and—”
“Why were you making conversation with a stableboy?”
“We were waiting for Lucy to come back with petits fours.”
Patrick blinked in confusion. “Petits fours?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, though I felt as if I were falling deeper and deeper into a well from which I could never climb out. “I swooned, I’m afraid, one day when Lucy and I were together. The heat and”—Derry glowing—“and he was there and sent her for some food. We were just talking, Patrick. But he knew about the relics, and he asked me, and that’s why I think he took the ogham stick.”
Patrick led me off the path, out of the way of other promenaders, and turned fully to face me. “It’s all right, Grace. I’m just surprised, that’s all. I’m surprised he thought to ask questions of you.”
“He’s been very familiar,” I said. “It’s not just for Lucy that I ask you to dismiss him, Patrick. It’s for me as well. He makes me nervous. I’ve asked him to leave me alone, but he just won’t. I don’t know what else to do.”
“I see. Well, I’ll have a talk with this Derry. Perhaps it isn’t too late.” He spoke the last as if to himself.
“Too late?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Don’t worry. I’ll make certain he doesn’t trouble you again.”
My relief was almost dizzying. My faith that Patrick would help me with this, that he was the only one who could, overwhelmed me. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“I’ll take care of everything. I’ll talk to him, but I won’t tell him where I learned it, if that worries you.”
“I don’t mind if he knows. In fact, I’d rather he did. Perhaps it will help him keep his distance.”
Patrick’s mouth quirked in a smile. “You’ve a vengeful streak. Have I ever told you that?”
“A time or two, I think. Perhaps when you put that frog down my dress—”
“And you repaid me by throwing my tin soldiers into the river.”
“I was baptizing them,” I protested. “They seemed in sore need of redemption. And besides, I wouldn’t have done it if not for the frog.”
“As I said, a vengeful streak. I’ll have to remember that.” Patrick glanced down the path, to where Aidan
had slowed his step even further, and then he leaned close and whispered, “I know you think we’re moving too swiftly, and I know I’m too impatient. It’s a terrible flaw, but I . . . I have hopes . . . I hope . . .” He paused, as if gathering his courage.
He was going to propose. Everything I’d waited for, and all I could think was No, no, not yet. All I could think was that I must hold him off. I found myself saying, “You mustn’t think of such things now. What’s important is Lucy. And doing something about Derry.” And then the moment I said it I wondered why I had.
“Derry, yes.” He straightened, his gray-green eyes soft with a hurt that I regretted.
I said desperately, “Just now I’m afraid for your sister. All these other things . . . we can speak of them later, can’t we? I want to, just . . . not now.”
The joy on his face was blinding. He took my hands, lifting them, pressing his lips to my gloved fingers. “Yes, of course. You’re right. Lucy is what’s important now. You’re so good to look after her as you do.”
“You must know I love your family as my own.”
“You’re a better sister to Lucy than I am a brother. It speaks well of”—he broke off with a small smile—“of you.”
It hadn’t been what he was going to say, but I was glad, and I didn’t let myself wonder why. “You’ll look to this soon?”
“Immediately,” he said, and then we both looked down the path to my brother. Aidan leaned against a tree as if he hadn’t the strength to stand on his own, but he wasn’t watching us. He was staring at a group of ragged boys across the park. Gang boys. No one I recognized, but still my heart stopped.
And when Patrick leaned close again and whispered, “I am your servant in all things, Grace. You must know it,” I lifted my face to his. I let him kiss me.
And I didn’t let myself compare it to any other kiss.
TWENTY-THREE
Grace
The Shadows Page 22