“Make a hole,” Cameron said, escorting Marin back to the fire with the air of a bodyguard safeguarding his client. Neve stiffened, looking up at the sound of her lover’s voice.
Whatever’s happened isn’t good. Her lips thinned, her hands momentarily going still, pausing in their work with the mortar and pestle. Her eyes lit on Marin, clutching something bundled against her chest, wrapped in her jacket. The other woman’s lips were blue and she was shivering, but her jaw had a determined set that Neve recognized all too easily because she’d seen it too many times before.
Her soul may belong to Brighid of the Imbolg, but she’s definitely gotten some of Teague’s facial expressions come down over the years.
It was still strange to think of his having descendants thanks to the child he’d made with Mairéad and stranger still to think that she was living so comfortably among them.
“What’s that, Mar?” Jacqueline asked.
“Something important,” Marin said, nudging her friend aside. “Let me see him. I’ve got what’s his.”
Jacqueline frowned, but reluctantly eased away from Phelan, watching her friend warily as Marin dropped to her knees next to Phelan and slowly started to wrap the bundle she clutched.
“Please let this work,” Marin whispered as she revealed the jar she carried, small and silver and decorated with celtic designs. The jar sparked as she settled it on the ground and she winced slightly. “Don’t be starting that all over again,” she muttered.
Jacqueline and Neve exchanged nervous, worried looks. Neve cleared her throat. “Mar–”
Marin shook her head hard, wrenching the lid from the jar, swearing under her breath. A wisp of bright smoke leapt from the jar and poured toward Phelan’s still form. Jacqueline jerked, starting to reach for him, Cameron grasped her shoulder, holding her back.
“Just wait,” he whispered, his gaze sliding toward Neve. She met his eyes and swallowed hard.
What does he know now that we don’t?
Phelan sucked in a deep breath and sagged, his head lolling to one side. They stared at him, attention rapt, each of them seeking some sign of change after what they’d just witnessed.
“Did it work?” Thom’s voice asked from somewhere in the shadows behind Marin. He eased into the light, leaning on J.T. and looking like he’d been trampled by a horse or two.
“I don’t know,” Marin said, hands fisting against her knees, jaw setting to keep her teeth from chattering. “I’ve never done this before. He has.” She squeezed her eyes shut, wavering slightly on her knees. She exhaled a shaky breath and started to slump sideways.
Thom caught her just before she hit the ground.
I do so hope they somehow put Phelan and his soul or spirit or whatever it is, back together. These people need a vacation on a nice warm sandy beach.
Thanks for the new post. Love the story. Hate the evil, tricky ones.