Chapter 14 #2
Of course. Of course he’d seen me. The Tipsy Thistle had a perfect view of Bonnie Books. Graham probably knew my schedule better than I did.
“Go away, Graham.”
“Nae chance, lass.” He caught up to me in a few long strides, his legs eating up the distance I’d tried to put between us. “What happened? You came out of the shop like the hounds of hell were chasing you.”
“Nothing happened. I needed air.”
“So you’re speedwalking up a hill in the rain with no coat on?” Already he was draping his coat over my shoulders and the scent of him, warm and familiar, washed over me. I wanted to bury my face into the cloth and soothe my battered heart in the warm confines of his oversized jacket.
“It’s barely rain. It’s mist.”
“It’s wet and it’s cold, Agnes. You’re not even wearing proper shoes.” He hooked my arm, pulling me to a stop. “Agnes. Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing—”
“Bollocks.” His eyes searched my face, seeing too much as always. “You’re shaking. And you look like you’re ready to cry.”
I lifted my chin.
“I rarely cry, Graham.”
“Well, maybe you should, if it lets out whatever has been dragging you down all week.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are so far from fine that fine is a distant memory.” His grip on my arm gentled, but he didn’t let go.
“When are you going to get that through your head? I’m not going anywhere, Agnes.
I’ve never been going anywhere. So whatever this is, whatever’s got you running scared, you might as well tell me, because I’m just going to keep asking until you do. ”
I looked up at him. Rain had darkened his hair, and droplets clung to his eyelashes. He looked ridiculous. He also looked so damn handsome it made my teeth hurt from wanting to take a bite out of him.
“I can’t tell you,” I said, heaving in a sigh as I repeated the same refrain. “Not yet. I need to ... I need to think. To figure out how to explain.”
“Then let me wait with you while you figure it out.”
“Graham—”
“I’m serious. We’ll walk. We don’t have to talk. I’ll just ... be here. In case you need me.”
In case I need him. As if he wasn’t the one thing I needed most in the world. As if needing him wasn’t the most dangerous thing I could possibly do.
But I was so tired of being alone with this. So tired of carrying it by myself.
“Fine,” I said, relenting. “We can walk.”
We climbed the rest of the hill in silence, the standing stones growing larger as we approached. Graham’s hand found mine at some point. I should have pulled away—I knew I should have—but I couldn’t deny myself this one small comfort.
His hand was warm and solid around mine. It felt like home.
The standing stones loomed above us now, grey and ancient and patient.
“My gran used to bring me here,” I said, breaking the silence. “When I was little. She’d tell me stories about the stones, about the old magick. She loved talking about the people who’d worshipped here long before there was a village or a castle or anything else.”
“I remember.” Graham squeezed my hand. “You used to drag me up here with you. You said the stones would tell us secrets if we listened hard enough.”
“Did they ever? Tell you secrets?”
“No. But I didn’t mind.” He turned to look at me, his expression soft in the grey light. “I would have followed you anywhere, Agnes. I still would.”
My heart cracked. Just a little. Just enough to let some of the pain seep through.
“Graham—”
“I know. You’re not ready to talk.” He reached up with his free hand and brushed a strand of wet hair from my face. “It’s fine. I can wait. I’ve gotten very good at waiting where you’re concerned.”
“You shouldn’t have to wait. You shouldn’t have to—” I stopped, the words catching in my throat. “You deserve someone who can just ... be with you. Without complications. Without—”
“I don’t want someone without complications. I want you.” He said it simply, like it was just a fact. Like it wasn’t the most terrifying thing anyone had ever said to me. “I’ve always wanted you. And whatever these complications are, whatever you’re so afraid of, we’ll figure it out. Together.”
Together. It was such a simple word and also an impossible promise.
I opened my mouth to respond—to argue or to do any of the hundred things I usually did to keep him at arm’s length.
But the air around us shifted.
It wasn’t something I could explain, exactly. One moment we were standing among the stones, wet and tired and tangled up in the same conversation that wouldn’t have a good ending. The next moment, everything felt ... different.
It reminded me of when nature went quiet when something big approached, like the world was holding its breath.
Graham felt it too. His head came up and he scanned the stones around us.
“Do you feel that?” he asked, tightening his hold on me. He shifted, so his shoulder eased in front of me, protecting me.
“Aye.”
The grey light seemed to shimmer at the edges of my vision. Even the mist seemed to pause, hanging suspended in the air like it was waiting too.
And then I saw what it was waiting for.
A unicorn emerged from behind the largest standing stone, its white coat gleaming like moonlight made solid.
It moved like something that existed between heartbeats.
A single spiral horn rose from its forehead, catching what little light there was and fracturing it into tiny rainbows that danced across its coat.
It was, without question, the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
My breath caught in my throat. Beside me, Graham went completely still.
I knew what this meant.
Everyone in the Order did now.
I just couldn’t believe it was happening to me.
Sophie had told me she’d figured it out after it had first happened to her, and then to the others down the line in the Order. The unicorn appeared to couples who were meant to be together. Soulmates.
True love.
The kind of love that transcended lifetimes.
The kind of love that would get Graham killed.
Panic clawed at my gut. This was happening, whether I liked it or not. I could fight it, but I couldn’t lie away my love for Graham. No matter how hard I tried. The clock was already ticking and the unicorn confirmed it—there is nothing that I can do to stop it now.
“Bloody hell,” Graham breathed. “Is that—”
“Aye.” The tears I’d been holding back spilled over.
The unicorn walked toward us, its hooves making no sound on the wet grass.
Its eyes were luminous and impossibly knowing, and when it looked at me, I felt seen in a way I’d never experienced before.
Like it saw straight through me and all the walls I’d built around my heart.
Like it knew every secret I’d ever kept, every lie I’d ever told, every truth I’d been too terrified to face.
It stopped in front of us. It was close enough that I could see the individual hairs of its mane and the delicate flare of its nostrils. I could feel the warmth radiating from its body, cutting through the damp cold of the afternoon.
It looked at me. Just me. As if Graham wasn’t even there.
And then it lowered its head and pressed its horn to my forehead.
Light exploded behind my eyes, and I was pulled into a vision that bypassed my eyes entirely and poured directly into my mind.
I saw three objects, glowing in an endless darkness.
The first was a stone. It was quite simple … smooth and softly rounded, yet it pulsed with impossible power. The Clach na Fìrinn. I recognized it instantly, felt its presence like a familiar heartbeat.
Truth and wisdom.
The Crone.
Next, a cup flashed into my mind. It was silver and shining, filled with liquid that shifted and changed, first golden, then green, and finally a deep arterial red.
Life and nourishment.
The Mother.
Finally, a third thing, smaller than the others, and much harder to see. It flickered and shifted as I watched, never settling into one shape. A seed, perhaps? A flame? Or an ember? A beginning?
Potential and becoming.
The Maiden.
The three objects circled each other slowly, orbiting like planets around an invisible sun. And I understood, suddenly, with a clarity that went beyond words, that they were all connected. They were three pieces of something that had once been whole.
Na Trì Banrigh. The Three Queens.
The vision shifted. I saw women now—generations of them, stretching back through centuries and forward through possibilities. Wright women. They stood at the center of the three objects, their arms outstretched, and threads of golden light connected them to each artifact.
We were never just record-keepers, I realized. We were the connection. The living thread that bound these three artifacts together. Without a Bookkeeper, the connection frayed and then snapped. The artifacts swirled away and disappeared.
The vision shifted again, and this time I saw the others. A woman with plaited hair and a warm smile, standing before the silver cup, liquid light reflected in her eyes. A woman with wild hair and wilder eyes, her hands cupped around the flickering third object, her face fierce with protection.
They were far away. Other places. Other lives. Hell, maybe even in other times?
But they looked up as if they could feel me watching.
They saw me.
We are scattered but not broken.
The vision fractured. The three artifacts spun apart, flying to different corners of some vast darkness.
The threads of light between them snapped, one by one by one.
I saw Isobel—somehow, I knew it was her, could feel the echo of her in my own bones—standing alone in the aftermath, her face twisted with sadness.
And then the vision went black, like an old-time television snapping off and spiraling into one small point of light.
I came back to myself with a gasp, stumbling backward. Strong hands caught me before I could fall. Graham loomed over me, his face pale with concern.
“Agnes! Agnes, are you okay? What was that? You just—”