50. Ghosts
50
GHOSTS
They play over the luscious wine,
Men and gentle women under a bush,
Without sin, without transgression.
— ANONYMOUS EIGHTH-CENTURY POET, “THE SEA-GOD’S ADDRESS TO brAN”
T he sorcerer turned on his heel and left. It was like he was never there.
“Jonathan?” For a moment, I wondered if I’d imagined him.
But, no, that was his long-legged, stubborn stride flashing between people on his way out of the hall.
“Jonathan!” I called again as I followed out to the beach, where a few people still guarded the fire and mingled in its flickering light and shadows.
There, I noticed two things.
First, Jonathan was irritatingly edible even after six weeks of absence and zero communication. He wore a sleek black suit, green shirt, and black tie that were completely out of place at this country gathering. It was yet another version of Jonathan Lynch I hadn’t yet seen. I’d have to add the cosmopolitan diplomat to the list alongside the urbane academic, the rumpled attorney, and the farmer’s adopted son.
The second thing I noticed was that he looked utterly run down. Aubergine circles marred the skin under his eyes, themselves dulled from their normal bright green to a more tame olive color. Although he was clean-shaven, his hair neatly combed, his suit was still wrinkled, as if he had spent many days sitting in it without any place to hang his clothes.
I had never seen him without immaculately pressed clothing, even if by a simple spell.
When he turned back to face me, his eyes flashed with anger. “What the fuck were you doing in there?”
I reared as though he’d actually hit me. “Excuse me?”
His hands opened and closed at his side. “I asked you a question.” The words came out through his teeth, and I almost thought his canines lengthened. Just a little.
“Yes, I heard it.”
I folded my arms and waited. He mirrored me exactly. We stood there, seething in the waning firelight.
“Hey, Jonny, found your sweetheart at last!” Jock called as he passed us on his way back to the dancing.
Jonathan didn’t move, though his gaze drifted to my lips before he scowled. I knew that if I touched him, I would find that despite his obvious and irrational anger, he would want to kiss me just as badly as I wanted him. As I always seemed to want him, even after six weeks without a word.
The ground felt like it shook. Or maybe that was the emotion pounding through my chest.
I took a deep breath. “Jonathan. You’re here.”
Those eyes flickered again. He was quivering now with barely leashed rage.
I tipped my head. “You want to tell me what exactly is the matter? Or did you want to continue with the profanities instead? Maybe share a little of what you’re thinking?”
“You don’t want to know all the things I’m thinking right now, Cass,” he ground out. “And he really doesn’t want to know.”
“He who?” I frowned. “Do you mean Caomhán?”
His expression turned black. “Who the fuck do you think I mean if not that thieving, black-haired bastard?”
“That hardly seems warranted.” I was getting impatient now. “Jesus, Jonathan, just spit it out. What exactly is the matter?”
“What’s the matter?” He shoved a hand through his hair, causing it to stand up in multiple directions. Then, as if he couldn’t keep still, he started pacing, ten steps this way, five more the other, pausing every now and then to look at me and huff. “What’s the matter ? I don’t know, Cassandra. Maybe it’s that I went against every instinct I had to leave you and chase the most wretched man in the universe only to meet dead end after dead end—all to save your life. Maybe it’s that before I left, you had the gall to accuse me of running off to cavort with other women. Or maybe it’s that when I finally return, when I look for the one person who’s been haunting my dreams night and day, I find her with that sea mongrel’s tongue down her fucking throat. Didn’t take you long, did it?”
“Now, wait just a minute.” I reached for Jonathan’s hand, his shoulders, literally anything to show him the truth. “You have the totally wrong idea. Caomhán and I weren’t kissing. Not even a little, and?—”
“Don’t,” Jonathan growled, dodging my grasp so quickly that he nearly tripped and fell into the sand. “You’re not getting inside my head right now, Cass. Absolutely not.”
“Fine. But need I remind you that you have no actual claim to me?” I kicked more sand up in frustration. “You’ve made that perfectly clear, how many times now? And so, regardless of the fact that I was in no way wrapped up with anyone or had anyone’s tongue down my anything, it shouldn’t matter, should it? Because, as you’ve made it so abundantly fucking clear, you don’t want me! ”
At that, he lunged, grabbing my shoulders so tightly I was sure there would be four finger-sized bruises on each side in the morning. Wordlessly, his mouth worked, but his thoughts were too riddled by the desire and yearning to read, all of it flowing through his touch on a river of pain that quieted my frustration.
How could I be angry when he was so tortured by what he felt?
How could I hate him for what I knew so intimately in my own heart and soul?
“I…” His voice had grown hoarse. “I…it matters to me , you blind, magnificent girl. It will always matter to me.” He shook his head with an expression that matched the torrent of guilt flowing through his touch. “It very well might be the death of us both. You have no idea.”
“I…I don’t understand. Please, just…help me understand why this tortures you so. I’m right here. I’ve always been right here .”
He was shielding, but it was a struggle. Part of me wondered what might happen if I dipped my toes in the water lapping only a few feet away. If I’d be able to See the boundaries of that shield. Find its cracks. Locate what it was about us—about me—that tortured Jonathan so.
The bonfire gave a loud pop before a few ashen logs collapsed in the center. A wave crashed on the beach as if in response.
Jonathan’s eyes glowed like stars while his emotions pulsed through his touch. He was so tortured by what was between us, by his attraction, by his frustration, by his jealousy, by the fact that he couldn’t control any of it. But slowly I felt his anger melt away, and only sadness remained; sadness and betrayal.
“Did you know,” he said, “that some say this holiday was originally meant to celebrate the goddess áine?”
I blinked, confused by the sudden change of topic. “I—yes…”
“Others say that’s why there are so many children born after the new year in Ireland. It’s tempting áine to join with another on her solstice night, as she’s a goddess of fertility. Of love.” His voice was soft, almost menacing as he peered around the fire, where a few couples seemed in the beginning stages of celebrating those very things.
“Jonathan,” I whispered, placing my hands on his chest. “Please. Nothing happened.”
I willed the memory to the forefront of my mind so he could See it again along with my thoughts and impressions. At first, he blanched, not wanting to recall what he saw as a blatantly romantic, if not sexual. But as I forced it through, his emotions shifted as he heard the conversation and felt the very platonic nature of what had passed between Caomhán and me. It wasn’t until all feelings of betrayal died away that I let the memory go.
“Oh,” Jonathan murmured. He released his grip on my shoulders, but kept his hands on them, not wanting to lose his touch on my bare skin. “So there’s nothing between you?”
I shook my head. “He’s my cousin.”
We stared at each other, and I felt just how much he had truly missed me coursing through his touch. It had been a difficult six weeks for him—I could feel that without seeking out the actual memories. His heart and spirit had been beaten down quite a bit. Without a thought for propriety, I launched myself at him, wrapping arms around his shoulders and pressing my face into the warmth of his neck. He hadn’t known just how strongly he had felt for me until seeing me with Caomhán; I hadn’t known how badly I had missed him until right then.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered. “I don’t understand what’s going on. But I wouldn’t…even with what you said…I wasn’t ready. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
I knew it was true, too. It shouldn’t be. But it was.
Jonathan’s hands drifted up and down my body, alternately stroking gently and pressing me to him tightly as he buried his nose in my hair. “Cass,” he murmured against my neck.
His grip on my waist tightened, and the sudden urgency of his desire jolted through me.
“Jonathan,” I whispered back as I wrapped my arms around his neck.
Home .
I couldn’t ignore it now. Weeks apart, really just days in each other’s company. But following the destruction of the place I had once thought of as my refuge in the world, he had somehow replaced it.
He couldn’t fight it now either, could he?
His lips just barely brushed mine when he opened his eyes and blinked. “No.” He blinked again, took a deep breath, and swore.
“What is it?” I asked, though I already knew as he dropped his hands and stepped away.
“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have…I just saw you and…but we shouldn’t.”
The warmth of his mouth still vibrated over the skin under my jaw. “I… again ?”
He mashed a hand over his face and ran through his hair. “I’m sorry. I missed you, you know that. I can’t seem to help it any more than you can. But you know we can’t do anything right now. You know this, Cass, and I know it…bloody fucking hell, I am sorry.”
I stared at him, ignoring the strands of hair that were blowing into my face and across my mouth. He met my gaze, albeit guiltily.
Finally, I threw my hands up in the air. “Fine. Just… fine .” Without waiting for a reply, I started away from the fire, away from all the festivities.
For the first time in weeks, I genuinely wanted to be alone.
“Cassandra…”
“Do not follow me.”
I marched off the beach, finding a trail that wound through neighboring fields of grass to find the path that would take me back to my lonely side of the island. Jonathan called my name a few more times, but the cries disappeared into the breeze as I ducked into the old burial grounds next to the beach, into the shadows where he couldn’t see the tears flowing freely down my face.
I’d never been the sort that cried at everything, but these days, tears appeared with everything. Happiness. Anger. Frustration. It all found its way out through the water in my body.
They say the true definition of insanity isn’t losing your mind. It’s doing the same thing, again and again, while expecting a different outcome.
Let go , Caomhán had told me.
Well, I had. Again and again, I opened up to the same person, offering him, well, if not my heart, then the chance at it, at least.
And again and again, he turned it away.
Logically, I understood why. If we gave in, it could potentially cost each other’s very long lives.
But logic didn’t stop the ache. It didn’t stop me from feeling like a teenage seer hating my life. It didn’t stop the gnawing desire to throw it all away for the chance at something normal for one fucking second.
Seers were lonely creatures. Women, most of us. Doomed with a partner or without.
It hardly felt worth it.
I stumbled on a rock, causing me to lurch forward. The light of the bonfire and the hall had disappeared behind the burial mounds, and now I was surrounded by shadows.
As I glanced back, looking for a bit of light to guide me, I stumbled again, this time catching myself against one of the burial mounds.
Death flooded my vision. It clawed through my soul and screamed in my ears.
The mounds had been confirmed years ago to contain the remains of ancient inhabitants of the islands. There had been a plague, and most of them died in pain, I Saw, though it was clear that more than a few murders were snuck in there. Cruelty cut through my hands, the intentions of tired, angry folks burying their kin without the proper rites. Other voices moved through me, around me, calling for justice, crying for peace in a language that sounded vaguely like Irish, but older, somehow. Deeper.
Help , they seemed to say, their hollowed eyes and skeletal arms reaching out for me.
“Help,” I mewled back, though it wasn’t to them. “Help me!”
The ghosts swirled around me with the force of a riptide, as though they could suck me back into the hill from whence they came. I shoved the heels of my hands into my eyes, begging them to leave, but still, I could See the masses as if they were next to me.
Help us , they chanted in their own strange language. Help us, benfaja, benfiti, bensida .
“Help ME!” I shrieked, my arms flailing now, though it was like passing through the winds of a storm. I could feel the force, but swiped right through it, powerless to stop any of the phantoms. Bodies over bodies, voices over voices, scents over scents from seemingly every event that had ever occurred on this land.
Eons of them piled atop each other, forming a chaotic ocean of tragedy, an ocean in which I could not swim. My own heart was ripped in two as they threatened to drag me away.
A hand grabbed mine, solid and strong. I threw myself toward it and was caught in a pair of strong, wiry arms that cinched around my sides and drew me close.
The warmth under my chin was familiar.
That fresh, woodsy scent.
A name. I knew it once.
Already a buoy in this phantasmagoric storm.
He jerked as my visions poured through into him while his fear and surprise layered over my Sight. The boundary between us was thinning. I could barely sense the difference between me and them. Soon there would only be Us.
Cassandra.
A voice spoke louder than the rest. A deep, sonorous call, like the low horn of a ship blowing through the fog.
I’m here . It spoke directly into my mind. Through my thoughts. To someplace else that only he seemed to reach. I’ve got you, love. You’re safe.
I started to shiver violently. That name again. What was it?
Jonathan.
He was solid, unlike this sea of ghosts. He smelled of wood fires and evergreen trees and maybe something else not quite of this world. But not like them .
“Please,” I whimpered against that solid chest, its stronger heartbeat, my eyes squeezed shut. It was the only word I could manage. Even language was starting to unravel.
A low growl rumbled under my ears, vibrating through the warmth. Something else passed through the visions—the shadow of a cat.
His anger and desperation passed through me. Frustration too. And grief, always grief.
And then, something else. A word, he might as well have roared at them all.
Mine .
Jonathan growled, gripping my shoulders tightly even as he tried to navigate the onslaught of images. Grief, fear, and absolute frustration swept through my body as I burrowed deeper into his shoulder. This was never going to end. I really was doomed to be a crazy woman, just like my namesake, wandering about with rampant visions too messy to understand, too powerful to dispel. I hadn’t even manifested yet; by all accounts, this was going to get worse.
The voices howled in response, and my spirit howled with them, all of us together bemoaning my utter and complete failure to find my shape, to find my control .
So this is what hubris does , some small part of me thought even as it disintegrated into the wind.
Oh, how little I’d really learned.
The hands at my waist released.
No , I wanted to whimper, but could no longer find the words. It was all just feeling now, emotion unarticulated, too raw and animal to be distinct.
Touch the water
Breathe air
Light the fire
Hear the silence
It was a chant from far away. Not in my mind—that was gone, but a voice that was still a comfort.
Hands cupped my cheeks, warm but rough on my skin. The howling, the voices, everything babbled incessantly, painfully. My mind was about to burst. I cried with them all.
“Open your eyes, Cass.” The voice was a quiet rumble through the storm like a black cloud on the horizon. “Focus on me.”
Scent the wicked
Taste the good
Kiss thy love
To know thyself
Somehow, I obeyed, but I saw nothing more but the swirling darkness, the opaque effects of bodies on bodies, memory on memory, trauma on trauma.
Then, in the back, two glowing stars. Sage green and vibrant, casting a light that gradually revealed a face, sharper than the rest.
My chin was tilted up, and that face was there, looking down at me.
“I’m here,” he told me. “I’ve got you.”
Then he kissed me.
Open for me . That voice cut through the thoughts and chaos.
And the second I did, quiet descended. The visions vanished, and my voice returned. I sensed him first, then myself. The ends of my fingers, gripping the lapels of his jacket to pull him closer. The ends of my hair, whipping around both our faces.
The end of my tongue, tangling with his, tasting the awe, the love, the complete and total dedication of this being holding me up.
I Saw his name, then my own.
Jonathan. Cassandra.
Together as they were meant to be.
Water had always meant freedom to me. But this kiss meant safety.
Minutes—or maybe hours—later, Jonathan broke away, panting. His eyes still glowed, but only of night, not lost souls. It was just the two of us now, standing between the rocky burial mounds. The past had been vanquished. And miraculously, I was still whole.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he cupped my face with one hand and stroked my cheek with his thumb. “I shouldn’t have…it’s just that you were so…” He sighed. “It was the only thing I could think of that might help distract you. So we might find where they stopped and you…begin.”
“And did you?” The words choked out as I only just managed to keep myself from pulling him back to me even though it felt excruciatingly, indelibly wrong . Why, why did I crave him so? “Did you find where I begin? Did you find my…shape?”
I couldn’t decide if I wanted him to be the final piece of that puzzle or not. What kind of fate would that be, to deliver hope to me that I couldn’t have? Especially from a man who didn’t want me anyway?
He shook his head. “I don’t know. But when I kissed you…I think perhaps you borrowed mine.”
I looked around as if somehow I might See the mental boundaries that Jonathan had supposedly lent me. But there was nothing, of course. Only grassy walls of the mounds, the crooked fences of the stacked limestone just beyond, the thickets of herbs and flowers growing through the cracks
“Well, of course, she did.”
We both jerked at the sound of my cousin’s voice and turned just as he strolled around the corner of one mound, followed by the girl he’d been dancing with earlier.
“ A bú ,” he said, followed by instructions to meet him at his cottage. She left, and Caomhán leaned against the side of the mound and examined his nails. “Jonny. Heard you might be makin’ a show this Bonfire Night.”
“Don’t,” Jonathan bit out. “Turn around and go.”
“I will not.” Caomhánjust looked at Jonathan with something like disgust. “You should all be ashamed. She has a right to know.”
“There’s nothing to know,” Jonathan snapped. “And it’s none of your affair to begin with.”
“It is when I’m her only family left,” Caomhán replied in a tone that sounded casual but was most assuredly not.
“She’s. In. Training. And hasn’t manifested yet, not that it’s ever meant anything to you lot.”
“Says who?” Caomhán glanced between us. “Aoife and my mam both manifested. Me cousins too, not to mention I have. And that’s with knowing the feckin’ truth about ourselves, not hiding it from our young like sweets they can’t have.”
“She’s different.”
“She’s also right here,” I snapped. I turned to Caomhán. “What do you mean by that? Hiding what? And why would ‘of course’ I borrow his shape?”
Once again, Caomhán just looked at Jonathan. “You’ll tell her, or I will.”
“You have no proof.”
“I’ve me nose, and it’s never failed me before. I knew she had one the first time we met, and I knew it was you the second you came back to the island. She was a foot from me and already aching for you before she even knew you were there.”
“Shut. Up ,” Jonathan growled.
“What is it?” I demanded. “Will one of you just tell me what in the goddess’s name is going on?”
“Sure, and I will, since he won’t,” Caomhán said, pushing off the mound.
“I said don’t .” Jonathan’s eyes flew open.
“You could never find your shape, love, because you weren’t whole,” Caomhán spoke as if Jonathan hadn’t said a thing.
My skin prickled. “Is that…is that common? Are all fae like that? Maybe until they manifest?”
Caomhán just chuckled. “It’s nothing to do with manifestation. And, no, it doesn’t happen to everyone. Just those with mates in this world. A half left wandering until they find the one to complete them.” He glanced at Jonathan, who looked legitimately in pain. “And he’s yours.”
“My…”
“Mate,” Caomhán finished. “Isn’t that right, Jon? Isn’t that why you came back?”
I swung toward Jonathan myself. “Is this true? Are we…” I couldn’t bring myself to say it.
He looked like a sponge that had been completely wrung out.
“It’s a myth,” he croaked, but the expression in his eyes told me he knew it was true. “It’s not supposed to be real.”
“But it is, isn’t it?” I didn’t understand it, but every cell in my body throbbed with awareness.
Why I was so oddly attached to someone I’d known for just months. Why my dreams were warped by him in the past, present, and future. Why I couldn’t get him out of my mind.
It made sense.
And yet, I had no clear idea of what it meant. Or what I was meant to do with it.
“We’re…mates?” I asked. “Like animals?”
Caomhán chuffed. “What do you think we are in the end, Cassie? Stones in the river?”
But Jonathan wasn’t laughing, and neither was I.
“We are,” he admitted. “Fated, as it were.” When his eyes met mine, they were full of sorrow. “I am so, so , sorry.”