Leo’s epilogue
LEO'S EPILOGUE
I pull up short and spin in a circle, glancing in every direction. Burdock and Juniper are gone.
Simply gone.
My questioning gaze meets Rime’s. He replies with a wobbly shake of his head.
Betts throws herself into my arms, nearly knocking me off my feet. I crush her to my chest. “Y… you used your power,” I stammer, furious and relieved and grateful, all at the same time.
She saved Rime’s life. And she’s alive. We’re all alive.
Lilting voices draw our attention to the church. On the porch, backlit by the sanctuary lights, stands Jean West.
Two women join her in descending the steps, arms outstretched and a chant on their lips:
Gust and gale, river and rain,
Soil and stone, fire and flame,
Warp and weft, weave the snáithe,
Tie the knot and bind the faith.
Betts clutches me as the earth rumbles under our feet. “What’s happening?”
I try to answer, but my mouth is bone-dry. A hot wind races across the lot, prickling my skin and ruffling my hair.
Side by side, the women approach us, hands joined and eyes fixed on the empty space where Juniper and Burdock stood only moments ago.
Rime slumps against the car to stop his swaying.
Almost on top of him, Juniper and Burdock reappear, dim and undefined, as though I’m looking at them through a screen. Suddenly they smear, dozens of them overlapping like fanned-out playing cards. Then they fade into nothing.
The women chant louder:
Gust and gale, river and rain,
Soil and stone, fire and flame,
Warp and weft, weave the snáithe,
Tie the knot and bind the faith.
Burdock’s disembodied shout echoes among the trees, “What are you doing, old woman?” Another swipe of faces. Burdock’s sneer and Juniper’s violet eyes.
The women call out:
Gust and gale, river and rain,
Soil and stone, fire and flame,
Warp and weft, weave the snáithe,
Tie the knot and bind the faith.
Betts huddles against me, heart pounding and fingers digging into my back. I tighten my arms around her and hold my breath as Burdock and Juniper’s fanned images file together with a snap and disappear into the darkness.
“Gust and gale…” the other two start, but Jean drops her arms, cutting off the chant.
“Well, damn,” she says. “I thought for sure we had ‘em.”
The other women sigh and shake out their arms. One appears to be well into her fifties, the other, her thirties. And all three have the same sharp blue eyes.
Jean turns to me. “None of that fretting, Sidhe, we’ll get you home.”
Rime vomits on the hood of the car.
“Tut tut,” Jean says to him, all grandmotherly sympathy. “Looks like you have a concussion there, handsome.” Her eyes dart to me. “Ain’t you got healing magic?”
“Ummm.” I gently pry myself away from Betts and go to Rime.
As I lay a hand on his head, he blinks at me with dilated, orange eyes. “How—what—?”
“The bracelet must’ve been powerful enough to send them back.”
His spine straightens and color returns to his skin. “That was the caillech prayer,” he murmurs, confusion lingering in his eyes.
I nod, peering over at the mysterious trio. Granny women? Or something more?
The youngest steps up to Betts, head tilted as she studies her in fascination. I freeze, just like Betts does, half in fear, half in awe.
“You’re right, mamaw,” the woman tosses over her shoulder at Jean. “The snáithe runs through this one.”
Rime gasps, “Betts is fae?”
“No,” the youngest answers, eyes never leaving Betts’ face. “She’s an undine.”