Inside the forge was warm and close, though my nose closed up at the smell of heated metal and Matt’s makeshift quenching trough that was starting to look less and less makeshift every day. He was covered in soot from his forehead down to the cuffs of his jeans, his hands sheathed in heavy leather gloves and the leather apron Brandon had whipped together for him was spattered with tiny burns from molten metal and embers. He didn’t glance up from pounding a sword into shape, though Thom looked up from the hilt he was wrapping and smiled faintly.
The smile faded as he caught the looks on both of our faces. “What happened?” he asked over the sound of Matt’s hammering.
Phelan waved a hand as he turned to survey the swords lined up against the wall, about half with their hilts wrapped and the other half waiting for Thom’s attention. “Slowing down,” he observed.
“Yeah, well, with Jay down, I’ve got to wrap the hilts and hone the edges,” Thom said, expression clouding. His gaze flicked toward me. “Do we know how he’s doing?”
I shook my head a little. “There hasn’t been a change. I wouldn’t count on him to be able to help us with what’s coming.”
“Is that what’s wrong?” Thom asked as he turned back to his work.
“Yes,” I lied even as Phelan said, “No.”
Thom looked between us, eyes narrowing. I sighed and threw up my hands. “We had close encounter with one of our more powerful friends,” I muttered.
“Which one?” Thom asked, tone flat.
“Morrigan,” Phelan said as he picked up one of the swords and a whetstone, settling down on an overturned milk crate. “Playing mind games and offering warnings.”
Thom looked at me, apparently not quite believing Phelan’s dismissive attitude. I shook my head slightly.
“She told us that the other one’s going to show up hard on Cariocecus’s heels,” I said. “We might not have a lot of time to recover.”
He snorted humorlessly. “She should tell us things we don’t already know.”
“Exactly,” Phelan said, starting to work on sharpening the first blade.
I took a pair of deep breaths and closed my eyes. God forgive me. “She did tell us one thing,” I said quietly. I saw Phelan wince out of the corner of my eye, but I kept talking. “The Hecate—the thing leading those hags the other night—has been after Phelan for centuries. Since before he was the Taliesin.” I frowned, turning my attention fully to Phelan. “What the hell does that mean, anyway? The way she said it and the way you reacted, it sounds like some kind of title.”
“It is,” he murmured softly. “A title. An office.” I could barely hear him over the sound of Matt’s hammering, which had slowed. He was listening, even if he wasn’t talking. “It’s an honor that’s been passed down through our maternal line since the beginning of time. Seamus was the Taliesin before me, our grandfather before him.” He cursed softly as the whetstone slipped and he nearly slashed open his palm.
“What does it all mean, though? What are you supposed to do?”
“There are prophecies,” Phelan said. It sounded like it hurt him to admit it, to talk about it. “Prophecies that were old even when I was born, when my grandfather was born. The Taliesin is the keeper of those prophecies, the custodian. The one who…who watches for the signs that they’re about to come to pass.”
Matt’s hammer fell with a strange kathunk against the anvil, as if he’d missed the blade he was working on, or struck it strangely. His voice came out strangled. “You came here because we’re the objects of a prophecy?”
“No,” Phelan snapped. He squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath, and clearly fought an internal battle to find some scrap of calm. “No,” he repeated after a moment. “I came because Teague asked me to and because I knew that you would need help one way or another. You’re blood of my blood. I wasn’t going to abandon you to all the dangers that are running amok in the world right now.” His voice dropped to a whisper and he started at his hands. “But maybe it was a mistake. I’ve brought more trouble than I’ve ever intended.”
“Considering what the Morrigan said, I’m thinking we’d have run into one or two of these things with or without you being here,” I whispered, moving over to put a hand on his shoulder. He flinched a little.
“How do you figure?”
“I don’t think Cameron and your cousin came here because you were here, Phelan,” I said quietly. “And she said something about him being Seamus’s blood, and the Hecate was hunting for that.”
“There’s more going on here than I can see,” Phelan said quietly.
“The feeling sucks, doesn’t it?” Thom asked from behind me.
Phelan snorted humorlessly. “Hardcore.”
“Nothing we can do,” Thom said with a slight shrug. His fingers were deft as he returned to wrapping the hilt of the finished but unsharpened sword. “We roll with the punches and try to anticipate what we can. Everything else, we’ll just have to face as it comes. Right?”
“Right,” I agreed softly, glancing between Matt and Phelan. Matt sighed and shook his head, lifting his hammer again.
“Right,” he said.
“Phelan?”
He just kept staring at his hands for a few long moments.
“Aye,” Phelan said at last and returned to sharpening the sword.
That was where we left it. There was nothing more to say on the matter—not then.
Maybe not ever.
