Chapter Sixty-Six
Nicole
BELLS, REMI AND DYLAN WERE HAVING brEAKFAST IN THE main suite when Nicole and Kyan joined them the next morning.
They were sitting around the coffee table laden with room service, shadows and sunshine cast over them from the velvet-lined window, drinking their coffees.
Dylan had an arm over the back of Remi’s chair and was passing Bells a little sachet of sugar. Nicole’s heart warmed at the sight.
God, she loved them so much.
She and Kyan took seats opposite the others.
‘Morning,’ Remi said, flicking a look at Nicole over the rim of her mocha, eyes scanning and understanding.
She knew how deep the revelation about Nicole’s father would be, and so her gaze softened, eyes twinkling to lighten it. To let Nicole know that they could talk whenever she was ready. Nicole felt herself breathe deeply, a smile teasing her mouth as the message in Remi’s eyes changed.
You also didn’t tell me what happened in Ireland …
They hadn’t had a minute to talk about the more intimate revelations of Nicole’s Irish trip, but with one look, they didn’t need to. Remi silently relished the development with her, but they’d talk. When they had a moment of normality.
‘So,’ Remi said to Nicole and Kyan. ‘You two ready for our adventure today?’
To the Isle of Skye.
‘Yes. We discussed what to do with the torc.’ Nicole glanced at Kyan.
She wouldn’t be able to research much about the Demon Gods.
The information would have been censored, or purposefully lost to time.
There were no paintings for her to study, either.
She’d found one by an artist in the early 1900s, but quickly deduced it to be useless, its stereotypes revealing more about harmful beliefs of the early twentieth century than anything she’d learned of the Fomóiri.
It was one of the instances where humans had got the supernatural history they painted wrong, which was most likely why it was also allowed to survive time.
No doubt the Wake had burned or stolen any accurate painting of Irish mythology and its divinities.
So she had no paintings.
No reliable source material.
Her father emerged from his room and lingered for a moment.
The only information she had was trapped in his mind, and the only way to get it was to break his oath.
As he came over, she asked, ‘How did you sleep?’
The strange tension bled away. ‘I didn’t,’ he said.
Nicole smiled as he took a seat beside her sister. Dylan passed him a coffee and Bells smiled softly. They still needed to discuss, to know more about what this meant and settle with the new knowledge and hurt at his secret. A secret so huge Nicole still hadn’t wrapped her head around it.
How did you rationalise that kind of information? The knowledge that your family weren’t who you thought they were? What you thought they were? That the glittering, divine myths were alive and painted through your veins?
Regardless of revelations, they were family.
She just hoped they’d be able to break the oaths in time. Or that hidden information her father harboured could never be revealed, no matter how crucial.
Dylan
WHEN DYLAN WAS LET INTO CALLUM’S SUITE AFTER brEAKFAST, Kyan was giving him the torc.
‘What’s going on?’ Dylan asked.
Kyan gave his friend a nod and grateful look. ‘Callum’s going to hide the torc while I head to Skye. I don’t want the Wake getting a glimpse of it, and we have nowhere secure enough.’ He slapped Callum on the shoulder, then headed out of the room, leaving them alone.
Dylan’s eyes were glued to where Callum slipped the divine artefact into his leather overnight bag.
‘Where are you going?’ Dylan asked.
Callum shot him a smirk. ‘Why? Going to miss me?’
‘I guess I figured you’d …’
Stick around?
Help me figure out what to do, now I know my father’s a god?
He felt stupid even thinking it. He and Callum weren’t that close.
There was tension between them, flirtation.
But too many secrets. He’d thought after last night that they’d found firmer ground.
Callum had shown a glimmer of vulnerability; had let Dylan in by speaking of his family, even for just a moment.
And now he was leaving.
‘I have somewhere I need to be,’ Callum said, attention back on his bag.
‘Right.’ Dylan crossed his arms, realising he was blocking the doors. ‘Interesting timing.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Callum said, but the words weren’t sarcastic. There was an exhausted tension to them that reminded him of Callum’s reaction last night. ‘I’m hoping an … old friend might have answers about the Fomóiri.’
An old friend.
Dylan swallowed. ‘Right.’
Callum zipped up his bag, shooting Dylan a look at his repeated answers.
‘How’s he supposed to know this stuff?’ Dylan tried, swallowing around the weird knot in his throat.
Callum’s lips pulled up. ‘He … has a special connection to the myths. But don’t worry, I’ll be back.’
‘What’s his name?’ Dylan asked, not comfortable with a stranger knowing.
The fond amusement in Callum’s eyes soothed him slightly as he approached.
‘No kiss goodbye?’ Callum asked instead of answering.
The words were a challenge, as if he was trying to put some lightness back between them. And maybe it should stay put, this distance. It would keep Dylan capable of thinking clearly. It would stop this strange, increasing sense of closeness from fully forming.
He didn’t have any more room to trust people.
So he allowed some of it to shut down and watched a flicker of concern shade Callum’s eyes.
Callum wanted to keep this as nothing more than banter and half-unveiled secrets?
Fine.
But Dylan was sick of secrets. So he had a choice: join Callum in this surface-level relationship, or dig his heels in.
He just didn’t know which he could handle.
‘Safe travels, Callum,’ Dylan said, turning to stalk back out and rejoin his sisters. ‘I hope your secrets keep you good company.’