Phelan stared at Leinth. What the hell is she laughing at, anyway?
“Dare I ask what’s so damned funny?” he asked, not trying to hide the weariness in his voice. He was tired. He was tired of running, tired of fighting, tired of putting all the people he loved in danger simply by continuing to breathe. “This isn’t something to be laughing about.”
“You try so hard to run from the people who love you, Wanderer,” Leinth said, shaking her head, her eyes tearing. “You try so hard to escape safety and they’re all so damned loyal to you that they’ll throw themselves onto bloody pikes and worse to save your skin. You don’t realize how lucky you are, do you?”
“I’m lucky to be alive,” he muttered. “I’m lucky I haven’t gotten more of them killed. Damnation.” He glared at Ériu. “You shouldn’t have let them—”
“You shouldn’t have left,” the ghost said firmly. “And please explain to me how I was supposed to stop any of them from doing anything.”
“I—”
“You shouldn’t argue with me right now. I came here to warn you and I’ve done as I’ve been asked. If harm comes to those children while I’m away from them, the cost we will all pay will be dear, assuming all of you live through the next few hours.” She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Do you want me to stay and watch whatever’s about to come next, or should I go and see to the safety of the next generation of heroes?”
Feeling drained, Phelan shook his head slightly. “Go, Ériu. Go and keep them safe and tell J.T. that I’m going to tear him a freaking new one when I see him again.”
The ghost smiled faintly. “He’ll be happy to hear it.”
Phelan swore as she faded from sight. “Of course he will be.”
Leinth had calmed and watched him impassively. “Now you just have to keep that promise, Wanderer.”
“Yeah,” Phelan said grimly. “I sure as hell do.”
