As he opened his mouth to tease her about her mysterious nature, she drew closer to him than ever before, and his lungs emptied as soothing warmth enveloped half his body. When she spoke, heat rushed across his neck, and tingles slipped down his spine.
“You’re complicating things, Quinlan Farrel Kavanagh.”
The way she purred his name – sent it rippling through his throat to his head and heart – ignited everything inside him. His lungs stuttered then refilled, drowning his senses in her serene essence as she went on.
“I continue to come because you want me here. Should that change, I’ll only go until you call me back. Don’t feel guilty if reality takes precedence over dreams.”
For the first time ever, Quin was burdened by tears in his dreamland. He wanted to hold her so badly. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and squeeze. He wanted to bury his face in her warmth and kiss her over and over again. To just lie there and let her cuddle him without cuddling back was heaven and hell all at once.
“I don’t know if I can do it, Layla. I don’t want to lose you.”
“I told you,” she whispered, pressing closer still, “I’ll always be here when you need me.”
Unable to resist any longer, he tried to embrace her… and awoke with a jolt.
Jerking upright, he blinked away moisture while running his gaze over the blanket he clutched. Then he pulled the comforter to his face, withholding the sob trying to jump from his throat. He didn’t get to say goodbye, and he hated when he didn’t get to say goodbye. The fact that he’d seen her every night for as long as he could remember didn’t matter. Every time he awoke from his dreams with her, he felt a profound sense of longing and loss, and the pain worsened when he missed his chance to say goodbye.
He took a shaky breath, and Caitlyn’s scent invaded his airways, infusing his sorrow with guilt. He tossed the blanket aside and roughly ran his hands down his face. Then he got out of bed and donned a pair of shorts. The sun had yet to rise, but he couldn’t go back to sleep, so he headed for the lawn.
No one was out yet, so he summoned a chair from the storage shed and got comfortable, watching the eastern tree line while waiting for the sun to peek over the branches.
“Rough night?”
Quin jolted from his trance and looked over his shoulder, watching Caitrin approach with two cups of coffee. “Depends on how you look at it,” he answered, summoning another chair. “Is Morrigan joining us?”
“In a bit,” Caitrin answered, passing over a mug while taking a seat.
They both looked to the east and took a few sips, listening to birds stir in the surrounding forest. Then Caitrin’s calm voice cut through dawn’s chorus. “You look tired, Quinlan. Do you want to talk about what’s troubling you?”
Quin felt like he’d been talking all night, so he took a few more drinks before responding. “Do you know what day it is?”
Caitrin swallowed as he rested his mug on his knee and gave a slow nod. “March 3rd.”
Of course he knew. It was a stupid question, and Quin regretted asking it so bluntly. “She’s twenty-one,” he whispered, watching a chickadee dive into the clearing.
Caitrin followed the bird as well, his hand flexing around his cup. “I hope it’s her best birthday yet.”
Quin looked from the sky to Caitrin’s profile, hesitant to go on. “She should have come home by now.”
“That was never set in stone, Quinlan. There are a lot of obstacles to consider.”
“Maybe we should stop considering them and start removing them.”
“Maybe.”
Shocked by the quick agreement, Quin leaned forward, looking for confirmation.
“At this point,” Caitrin went on, “it wouldn’t go against Aedan and Rhosewen’s wishes, but we must consider the risks and the possibility of failure. A thorough search would raise red flags, and a careful search could take a lifetime. There’s a chance we’ll never find her...” His voice cracked as he raised a hand to his throat. “Or we’ll merely find her headstone.”
Quin shook his head and leaned back. “She’s alive.”
Caitrin whipped his gaze around. “You say that so surely. Why?”
“Because she told me last night.”
Caitrin sighed and looked forward. “I hope you’re right, but I can’t base my faith on your dreams. We have no idea what to make of them.”
“I don’t blame you, but I have no doubt Layla’s alive. The Heavens wouldn’t torture me so.”
“We are insignificant creatures to the Heavens, Quinlan. They do not cater to us.”
“Nor do they go out of their way to torture us. I dream about her for a reason, Caitrin. I don’t know what it is, but they’re not empty visions. They’re full of meaning. If she were gone from this world, my dreams would follow.”
“Your confidence is heartening,” Caitrin whispered, scanning Quin’s aura. “What do you propose we do to make your dreams come true?”
“Even slow progress is progress. I think we should start collecting information on hexless women who share her name, narrow it down by age and go from there.”
“All we have is her first and middle name. With our limited means, we could be facing a lifetime of searching and filtering.”
“The Social Security database would be quicker.”
“And it could get her killed. Magicians dip into that database daily, and it constantly changes. We would have to figure out a way to tag her name so we could keep track of those we’ve investigated. That could put her on the radar of Agro and anyone else looking for a goldmine of power.”
“Then we’ll do it the hard way, work our way through all fifty states.”
Caitrin didn’t respond immediately, which meant he was contemplating the suggestion.
“Okay,” he agreed, and Quin’s chest expanded as he waited for more. “We’ll start collecting information on women named Layla. But,” Caitrin added, soberly meeting Quin’s stare, “we’ll have to move slowly to be discreet. We’ll collect a few names every week by hexless means then eliminate them before collecting more. Where do you want to start?”
“Let’s start close to home – Oregon and its borders. She should have already gotten here, so maybe she’s close.”
“Then we’ll start with our home state.”
Quin turned to the rising sun and ran a hand through his hair, relieved to finally be taking action, but nervous about the results.
“Quinlan.”
Quin looked over, meeting Caitrin’s shiny stare. “Yeah?”
“I don’t want you involved in the collection of names. I trust you like a son, but I see how badly you want this, and we can’t let our desire to bring her home put her in danger. If we find something concrete, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, keep your distance from the leads.”
Quin didn’t want to go slow. He wanted to find her now. He wanted to blink and see her standing on the lawn, waiting for his arms. If he had clearance, he’d start collecting names right away and not sleep until he found the one that led to her. But he understood the importance of taking it slow, and he refused to escalate Caitrin’s worry, so he gave a compliant nod. “Whatever it takes to bring her home.”
~The End~
Need more Quin?
Quin 3
Books by B.C. Burgess
The Mystic Series
Descension
Impassion
Deception
Retribution
Destruction
Devastation
Quin 1
Quin 2
Quin 3
About the Author
B. C. Burgess is a small town girl born and raised in Oklahoma, where she still resides with her devoted husband and their young son. She’s addicted to coffee and writing and thinks the combination is heaven. Inspired to write by her love of reading, she feels fiction provides a healthy escape from the hardships of life, and hopes her stories touch the hearts of her readers, just as she’s been touched time and
again. Though most of her visions flower in the form of fiction, she dreams of the day her passion for writing, along with determination and hard work, will prove to her son creative dreams can come true.
If you like the tales B. C. weaves, let her know.
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Quin 2 (The Mystic Series) Page 5