by Shona Husk
He sat on the bench seat and rested his forearms on the back of the pew in front of him, then laid his head down. He wanted to shake off the past as easily as Roan did. Roan had washed his hands and the stain of blood and gray was gone. Dai closed his eyes. He wanted a future. He wanted everything that had been taken from him. But his hands had done the snatching. He’d lost Seiran because they had been careless. Mave because he was blinded by rage and venom.
He didn’t want to make the same mistakes again. His life was so worthless Birch wouldn’t take it in exchange for Brigit’s.
“Are you all right, son?”
Dai raised his head. A man in his fifties, dressed in the robes of a priest, gazed down at him. But the face Dai saw was that of his father. His father’s sharp blue eyes had seen everything Dai was trying to keep hidden to prevent a battle the Decangli couldn’t win. Unable to stand what he saw his youngest son becoming, he led a rushed rebellion and died pointlessly. His sons were left wounded and struggling to keep their people together. At least he didn’t have to watch his sons become goblins.
“I haven’t been all right in a very long time.”
The priest’s face remained smooth and neutral. It lacked the lines and hardness and scars his father’s had developed. This man was no Celtic king, and no longer his father—even though he still led people and cared for their well-being. Some habits lasted through many lives.
“The Lord is forgiving. Can I ask what brought you into his house?”
Dai couldn’t answer. The swelling in his throat prevented the words from forming. His father had never spoke so softly, not after his mother’s death. He forced the lump down. He would admit his mistake and hope Amanda was right. That he held the power to free himself.
“Do you hear confession?”
The priest nodded. “How long since your last confession?’
Would he hear his confession if he’d never been baptized? The priest understood his silence.
“Have you ever confessed before, son?”
“No.” This crime had never been spoken aloud.
“But you have faith and a need for God’s forgiveness?”
Would God forgive him? None of the gods had cared when they were cursed. Some had acknowledged Roan and Eliza’s vows. Not even God had the power to make right what he’d screwed up.
“Yes.”
“That is a start.” The priest led him down the aisle and around the side to his office. On one side was a bookcase filled with Bibles. He scanned the names, but none of them were the version he’d read. Maybe that got lost beneath the weight of time.
Dai sat and folded his hands in his lap. In here the whispers were louder, like the rustling of leaves as they forgot the green of summer and gave into the red of autumn, waiting to fall from the tree and return to the earth.
The priest made the sign of the cross. “Are you ready?”
Dai nodded. He was silent as he tried to find the right words. The priest waited, his face calm in a way his father’s never had been. There was no kind way to say what he’d done. After two thousand years and a thousand languages all he had were four words.
“I killed my sister.” The words didn’t tear out his throat as he’d expected.
“Murder is a serious crime,” the priest said without judgment. But his eyes assessed Dai again as if looking for a threat.
“I know…I believed the alternative to be worse.”
The priest inclined his head, willing to hear the full story before casting him out. “What, son, was the alternative?”
Dai squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the memories that wanted to be viewed again and again like a broken horror film stuck on a loop of violence. He could skip to the end, but it would have no meaning without the start.
“I couldn’t let Claudius…” The words locked in his throat. He couldn’t say it. Not to the man who looked like a softer version of the man who’d tried to save him and died for his troubles.
“Let Claudius do what, son?”
What would his father say once the truth was out? Suspicion was one thing, truth was another. He shook his head. This man wasn’t his father, this man didn’t know him. It didn’t matter what he knew.
“I let him use me. I kept his hands off her for four years.” Took everything like the man he was supposed to be. Old enough to swing a sword, old enough to be a hostage and slave. Young enough to accept the cruelty from a man who’d do anything for a scream. “At the end he gave me a choice. Her life in his hands, or her death by mine.”
The priest blinked, but Dai saw the flicker of abhorrence pass in his eyes. The priest understood.
“Did you go to the authorities?”
“He was the authority.” Dai clenched his fists to stop the tremor.
The priest was silent for a long moment. “Have you killed since?”
“No, father.” Not in the way the priest meant. He hadn’t murdered. Those that died in battle expected to.
“Do you believe you did the right thing by taking your sister’s life?”
Dai looked at his hands. What kind of a question was that? There was no one answer, no right answer—that didn’t mean there wasn’t a wrong answer. “I thought it was at the time. But after…” The red of her blood on the sword and the way her body had fallen to the floor as if she were a worthless piece of rag. “I don’t think so. I don’t know. I didn’t want her to suffer.”
Yet she had, through too many lives because of one cut made out of fear.
“Yet you killed her.”
“She was eleven. He would have destroyed her.”
The priest rested his elbows on the table and brought his hands together. “I must pray for guidance. You must pray for forgiveness.”
With that, the priest closed his eyes. Dai watched him for a few seconds. The magic of faith swelled around the man as he prayed. Its wave of calm broke over Dai and he closed his eyes. The bones in his back moved and their weight eased with each beat of his heart.
Had he made the right choice?
If he’d done nothing, she would’ve carried different scars though different lives.
As he sat contemplating the choice, a new question appeared. What would Mave have wanted? What decision would she have made?
The answer had always been with him. She’d never flinched or begged for her life because she’d made her choice. She’d chosen death at her brother’s hand. Quick and sure.
The guilt he’d held for too many years heaved out, and with it the bony eagle wings growing through his chest slipped free and clattered to the floor. For the first time in centuries he was able to take a breath without the tightening in his back. He rolled his shoulders, but the weight was gone. His heart beat without pain. He was free. In his ears he heard Mave’s last words. Words he’d never believed himself to be worthy of:
I forgive you.
Dai opened his eyes. The priest was watching him.
“You are ready to hear the Lord’s words?”
He’d lived in fear of anyone ever finding out what he’d done. But once told the secret had lost its power. “Yes.”
“I can give you no penance greater than the price you have already paid in body and mind. Your sister is in the loving arms of the Lord. You aren’t to blame for her death. I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Forgive yourself and go in peace, son.”
Chapter 16
Amanda fingered her wedding ring. The police had found it and returned the plain gold band, but she couldn’t bring herself to wear it. Carefully she placed it back in her wallet, then slipped her wallet into her handbag. Would Matt understand? Her stomach tightened with nerves. Was that what having an affair felt like? She shook off the feeling. She couldn’t cheat on a ghost, and she couldn’t be married to one. And yet that was exactly how she’d been living.
She’d been alone for longer than she’d been with Matt. She smoothed down her shirt. Was she ready? She’d put on makeup,
but only a little. A touch of lipstick. Had Brigit noticed? Eliza had, but she’d raised one eyebrow and let it pass without comment.
Did it matter?
She was entitled to an adult relationship, so why did she feel like the worst parent in the world by dropping Brigit off with Eliza so she could go out? Maybe she should’ve rung Dai first, but that felt too formal. She just needed to see him. To talk to someone about what had happened with the healer. Brigit had refused to cooperate and Amanda had ended up taking her home. But Brigit didn’t relax until Amanda promised not to take her again. The promise of takeout dinner and a sleepover at Eliza’s—by herself—had made up for the disastrous afternoon.
For Brigit anyway. She was left with a gnawing fear for her daughter’s life and more questions about magic than she’d ever thought possible. While she told herself she was going to see Dai for answers, it was a partial lie.
She wanted him to kiss her again. The kiss revealed more about him than she could ever learn in words. Tender, spine-shaking with a lingering heat full of potential…but it was missing something. Some of his responses weren’t what she’d expect. What he didn’t say was telling. And it wasn’t a pretty story if she was reading him right. She wanted to be wrong.
But she needed to know; her heart was already on the line and she needed to understand who she was risking it for. A bent fork, some dead languages, and a mysterious murder didn’t match the man with shadowed eyes and a half-smile that would melt ice.
She knew she couldn’t put her life on hold until Brigit was grown up. Yet she didn’t know what type of life she wanted anymore. She got out of the car and looked up at the fancy apartment block. Baby steps. Nothing had to happen except conversation. But no one had ever kissed her like he had. Soft and hard. Asking first, then not taking everything offered. But he wouldn’t, not if her guesses were on target—Claudius had hurt him a lot.
The tension of her stomach didn’t ease as she paced the lobby waiting for him to answer his cell phone. It was such a mistake. She’d ditched Brigit so she could chase after a man who wore his broken heart on his sleeve.
The call went through to voicemail and she hung up without leaving a message. She sighed as disappointment flooded through her, draining away the nerves that had bound her since deciding to come and see him. Now what?
Her phone lit up and sang as she walked out of the lobby. She glanced at the name and answered without waiting to seem casual.
“Sorry, I couldn’t find my phone.” His voice sent a shiver through her body.
“Can you buzz me up?”
“You’re here?” His shock was almost hidden.
Was he sheltering the same doubts she was? No, his were bigger and took up more space. “I can go.”
“No. Come up.”
“Thanks.”
They hung up. The elevator ride was too fast for her to settle her stomach. Was she only interested because he was unreachable and safe?
The elevator doors opened and Dai was waiting for her. He looked like hell had run him over and reversed for good measure, yet he seemed happier. The smile on his lips rested easier on his face. Just seeing him made her feel alive, and she couldn’t ignore the lure no matter the risk.
“I should’ve called first.” She eased her grip on her handbag.
“You surprised me. I wasn’t expecting a guest.”
That made two of them. She was surprised she’d actually gotten there instead of getting halfway and then turning around and driving home. The only reason she didn’t freak out was because he was the only person she could talk to about Brigit without being thought of as a crazy person.
“Come in.” He held the door open for her.
His luxury apartment was sparsely and inexpensively furnished. His bookcase was empty except for the books Roan and she had bought him.
“Still with customs?” She inclined her head at the shelves.
His shoulders stiffened. “Stolen.”
“What?” Who stole books? Books on magic?
“No books.” He walked into the kitchen. “Can I get you a drink? Beer, tea, coffee?”
“Coffee, thanks.”
“I’ve only got instant.”
“That’s what I’m used to.” She leaned her hip against the marble counter. “Any chance of you getting your books back? Are the police investigating?”
“They’re gone. Very hard to trace unless they go on sale. They’re probably in someone’s private collection.” He reached into the pantry and pulled out a jar of coffee, still sealed.
“What about insurance? I know that won’t replace them…”
He paused, his back to her. “What price do I put on a lifetime’s collection? On works that I hadn’t translated yet?” He half turned. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.” He flicked on the kettle. “You take two sugars?”
“Yes. And milk.” She hid a smile. He remembered, after meeting for coffee once.
The kettle boiled, and he made her coffee, opening a new bag of sugar and a carton of milk in the process. Was she his first visitor? He handed her an eggshell blue cup, then made himself a cup of herbal tea.
“Thank you.” She wrapped her hands around the cup and let the warmth seep through. “Brigit wouldn’t let the healer help.”
His eyebrows knitted for a moment as if he didn’t understand the problem. “Do you want to tell me why?”
Amanda nodded. “I’m hoping you can make sense of it for me.” Around Dai magic made sense even if nothing else did.
“I’ll try.”
With the marble island between them she told him what had happened. The way Brigit had refused to even lie down and let the healer anywhere near her. Usually when they went to see someone, hoping for a miracle, Brigit at least went along with it. Amanda was always careful to never raise Brigit’s hopes. It was only hers that soared and crashed every time something else failed to help Brigit. Dai listened without asking any questions, only nodding at parts, as if he understood everything that had happened.
She took a drink of her cooling coffee and waited.
He watched her carefully. “There’s a web that makes people and things and connects everything.” He paused. “The theory is that if there is damage to the web, then the body is also damaged. So heal the web and the body is healed. But like any healing, it’s a specialized art.”
“I’m not even sure I believe it.”
“You must or you wouldn’t have taken Brigit.”
“Maybe, or maybe I’m just desperate for a cure so she doesn’t die.”
“Healing is possible.” He flicked her a smile that held the reassurance that she could tell him anything and he wouldn’t be surprised.
Amanda raised her eyebrows. “How? What do I need to do to help Brigit?”
“Magic is like science. There are actions and reactions.” He turned his cup of tea on the counter, a frown forming. “The recipient has to be willing.”
“What are you saying? That Brigit wants to be ill?”
“No.” He shook his head. “But maybe she doesn’t know how to let the damage go.”
“If,” and it was a giant if, “that is the case, then what can I do to convince her to let the healer help her?”
“Nothing.”
Amanda stared at him. “Would you have done nothing for your sister?”
He looked away. “As much as you’d like to, you can’t force her to get better and that is what you’re asking.”
“Brigit has to want to get better.” Amanda whispered the words. Her daughter was killing herself. “Why wouldn’t she want that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it was the healer, maybe another one would have more luck.” He concentrated on his tea.
Amanda stared at her coffee. Just because he could bend a fork didn’t mean he knew anything about magic; he’d admitted he didn’t know anything about healing. “You could be wrong.”
“I could be. So could the hundreds of cultures I’ve studied.”
“Yeah.”
“What do you see? Are we walking through it?”
He blinked slowly. His eyes darkened and seemed to shimmer like iridescent gems. “Objects like this,” he tapped the counter, “have a dense weave. You can’t go through them. Strung across the apartment are lines, from you to the book you gave me. Between us.”
She glanced at the space between them but saw nothing. “We’re connected?”
“A little. There are ribbons that join you to Brigit. Blood ties, plus love.”
“You can see all of this, about everyone?”
He blinked and his eyes went back to blue. “Yes, but it doesn’t mean I can make sense of it all the time. A lot of it is a jumble that gives me a headache.”
Did she imagine the change in his eyes? She looked at her hand as if expecting to be able to see something other than her skin. She glanced back at him as understanding made the hairs on her arms prickle to attention. That was how he’d bent the fork; he’d manipulated the threads that made things. He could do real magic.
She let out a slow breath. “How did you learn?”
“My travels.”
“What else can you do?”
“Not a lot. I’m a researcher, not a practitioner.”
Dai drained his cup and placed it in the sink. He wanted to tell Amanda the truth, but he wasn’t ready to lose that look in her eyes. There was a heat and light that was subtle like a candle flame yet brighter than the sun at the same time.
She ran her teeth over her lip as if considering him anew. If she knew how long he’d been studying magic and how he knew about Brigit’s past life connection that was now threatening her future, she wouldn’t be looking at him like that. He sighed. He had to help Brigit, so Amanda would learn something of the truth anyway.