Chapter 43
Chapter
Forty-Three
On the eve of Mabon, at ten minutes to midnight, Aowen, Sabre and I are standing in front of the door to Granny Maggie’s quarters.
Aowen’s gripping my hands, Vesper perched on her shoulder, Sabre a towering presence behind her. “You remember how time works between the two realms?”
I nod, my stomach queasy. I went overboard at dinner this evening, preparing myself for the loss of the delectable food here in the Otherworld.
Or perhaps it’s because Aowen has just reminded me that once the clock strikes midnight, I will have nine Otherworld hours—sixty-three human realm hours, roughly two-and-a-half days—to find the Bannrhorn fragment before we need to leave to join the other Houses for the Wild Hunt.
Less than three days to find my way to Granny Maggie’s cottage and figure out where she’s hidden the damned relic.
At least travel times won’t be an issue—Sabre has given me an obscura compass.
It permits its user to journey through shadows, reach any far flung destination in the blink of the eye beneath its cloudy glass surface.
It will also be a timer, of sorts. Once the eye fully opens, the magic within it will have leached out, and Sabre will officially propose.
Which will cause the ring to deliver me straight back to him in the Otherworld.
I turn to him now, with one final, desperate question. “Did she say anything out of the ordinary on those last days with you? Anything at all?”
Sabre shakes his head. “Nothing. Though she did make one request before she walked through the door—she asked me to not formally reject her, said she couldn’t bear it.
That she’d rather let the ring fall off at dusk on Mabon, her deadline for assembling the fragments.
She wanted a few more days in the human realm with her memories of me. ”
I nod. That would have given her nearly a week to do … something. Though heaven only knows what.
Aowen squeezes my hands. “Are you sure you’re okay to do this alone? I can go with you.” Her gaze flicks back over her shoulder toward Sabre. I don’t think she likes the idea of leaving him.
He frowns.
I don’t think he likes it either.
I squeeze back. “I’ll be fine. It would be a bit difficult to explain … well, you to my relatives. If I run into any of them.”
“I could glamour myself.”
“Impossible. You’d never pass for something as plain as a human, even with a glamour up,” I tease to distract myself from my nerves.
“Vesper could accompany you.”
“Food. Lonely food,” Vesper trills.
She doesn’t want to come with me, either. Not that I blame her.
What if I get stuck there? What if I can never return?
What if I’ve lost my chance to tell Lachlan how much he meant to me?
“I—”
A door slams and crashing footsteps echo through the foyer.
“What in the name of Danu?” Sabre murmurs, turning toward the end of the hall.
A tingle warms the base of my skull and Lachlan’s voice doubles; Charlotte is breathed reverently into my mind at the same time as “Miss Fitzroy?” is called out downstairs.
We’re on the second floor, I say through the diamrhán. Up the stairs, then turn left down the third hallway.
Anticipation thrums a heavy beat in my veins as his footsteps come closer. And closer. And closer still.
And then, there he is.
Profound relief flickers through our connection. And it’s not only coming from my side.
The warm tingle at the base of my skull flares into a liquid inferno, soft, malleable flames that start in my chest and spread through my limbs.
I want to run to him, leap into his arms, bury my face in his neck, but I don’t dare under the watchful eyes of Aowen, Sabre, and Vesper.
Bursts of joy pop through the diamrhán, though Lachlan’s expression remains serious. His fist clenches and unclenches at his side, the only physical tell that he’s struggling as much as I am to not touch.
“Sir Cathal?” Sabre booms. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to resume my duties as Miss Fitzroy’s bodyguard,” Lachlan says, a bit breathless. “Desmond sent me.”
“Did he?” Sabre looks to Aowen, baffled.
“Yes,” Lachlan says, perfectly matter-of-fact. Then, in too incredulous of a tone for someone who could have waited until morning to “resume his duties,” asks, “Why are you all standing in the hallway in the middle of the night?”
As soon as he says it, the large clock in the foyer tolls.
One, two, three gongs.
“It’s a longer story than we have time to tell.” Aowen folds Lachlan’s and my hands together.
Four, five, six gongs.
If we don’t open the door soon, we’ll miss our window.
“Go with her,” Aowen says.
Seven, eight, nine gongs.
Lachlan merely nods and grips my hand tighter. He doesn’t ask where we’re going or why or what we’re doing.
On the tenth gong, I open the door.
On the eleventh, Sabre says, “May luck be on your side, Miss Fitzroy.”
On the twelfth, Lachlan and I step through the door.