[This post is from Phelan’s point of view.]
“That seems to be a common refrain,” a voice said from behind them. Seamus winced, but Phelan only turned to glance back toward Kellin with a faint smile.
“Checking the wards?”
The slender woman nodded, a small bag slung across her body, likely laden with odds and ends and perhaps a thermos of tea for her breakfast. “Hopefully if I beat Marin to it, she’ll finally just go to bed. She was still sitting up by the fire when I came out here.”
Phelan winced and Seamus sighed, shaking his head.
“Some things come through,” he murmured to his cousin.
Phelan snorted. Kellin just arched a brow mildly and regarded the two men for a few moments, crossing her arms.
“It occurs to me that at some point, something’s going to come for every ancient soul here, whether it’s inhabiting the same body or not,” she said. “And I dare either one of you to tell me I’m wrong on that.”
“You’re not going to get an argument out of me,” Phelan said, staring out toward the ravine again. “My gut tells me you’re right and that’s more than a little disheartening because there’s a lot of old souls here.”
“Damn straight,” Kellin said. She passed in front of both of them and boosted herself up onto the railing, perching to Phelan’s right while Seamus leaned on his left. She fished her thermos out and cracked it open, taking a sip before she continued. “I used to wonder—Marin and I both used to, honestly—if there was something about this place that drew us all here, all the old souls and the ones that woke to power when the world ended. Now I’m sure of it. There was something that brought us here, brought us together.”
Phelan took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, fingers tightening around the railing. The lines of power buried beneath the ravine in front of them thrummed gently, like the strings of a bass strummed by a musician. Nothing seemed amiss—not right now, anyway, though he knew from experience that was something that could change in the space of a heartbeat.
“What would it have been?” Seamus asked, peering past Phelan to study Kellin as she calmly sipped her tea, her gaze as distant as Phelan’s was becoming.
She shrugged slightly. “I’m still trying to figure that out. Eventually it’ll make sense—or it won’t matter anymore. One or the other, I think.” She lowered her thermos and sighed softly, wrapping both hands around its silver barrel as she stared off into the mist that rose with the sunrise, leading a ghostly quality to the world. “I know I’m glad that it happened, though. I’m glad that none of us were alone.”
She glanced toward them both and smiled slightly. Phelan reached over and squeezed her shoulder gently.
“I’m glad none of you were alone, too,” he murmured. “And I’m sorry it took me so damned long to get here.”
“I’m convinced the delay was probably for the best,” she said, then smiled, self-consciously rubbing at the scar across her throat. “What happened to me notwithstanding. I’m still wrestling with everything I saw in those few seconds, but I think I’m finally starting to see it as instructive rather than anything else.”
“Instructive,” Seamus echoed. His gaze settled on the scar on her throat and he swallowed once, twice, then glanced toward his cousin.
Phelan shook his head slightly, staying quiet. For a moment, he wished he’d brought his staff out here with him. The focus would have helped with working on the wards. Seamus just kept staring at him.
Kellin took notice. “Before Phelan made it here from Chicago, the camazotzi attacked us—they were under Cariocecus’s banner at the time, before he bent knee to us. One of them almost killed me—pretty much did kill me, but Jacqueline was able to haul me back.”
“Jacquline did that?” Seamus glanced at Phelan, then back to Kellin. “His Jacqueline?”
“Not sure how she’d take to being called anyone’s possessively, but yeah. That Jacqueline.”
Phelan watched his cousin, saw the blood drain from his face, saw his shoulders slump slightly. He took a quiet breath. “Seamus?”
The former leader of the Wild Hunt waved a hand as if to ward off the question Phelan hadn’t asked. “I’m all right. Don’t ask.”
Maybe I won’t right now, but someday, I will. Phelan shook his head. “All right.” His gaze slanted toward Kellin. “Would you like company working those wards?”
“I wouldn’t mind it,” she admitted. “Are you offering?”
“Let me get my staff and we’ll get started,” Phelan said. He glanced back toward Seamus. “Do you want to…?”
Seamus shook his head. “No. No, I think I’ll stay here a little longer, then I’ll look in on Neve and Cameron and the cúpla. Perhaps then sleep will find me.”
His cousin didn’t sound very convinced that sleep would, in fact, find him, but in light of what he’d said, Phelan couldn’t blame him—nor could he blame him for perhaps not wanting to sleep.
“Seamus,” he said slowly. “Have you told Leinth?”
“No,” Seamus said, his voice hoarse. “And you’re not going to tell her, either.”
“But you will?”
Seamus didn’t answer.
Phelan sighed and shook his head. He hopped off the rail and looked at Kellin. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“I’ll be here,” she assured him.
The Taliesin nodded and headed back to camp to fetch his staff, his thoughts a maelstrom that he fought getting sucked down into with each step he took.
There was just too much to do to get caught in that ridiculous mire, after all.
