Twelve – 02

Jacqueline gave him a gentle, reassuring smile and seemed to suck some small measure of tension away. She leaned up, her lips brushing his briefly as her fingers stilled against his cheek. “I wish I could do more.”

“Later,” he murmured, closing his eyes. “Later you will.”

She squeezed his knee. “Why does Brighíd being so close to the surface in Mar worry you so much?”

A shiver crept down Phelan’s spine. He slid his arm around Jacqueline’s shoulders, desperately needing the touch of something—someone—warm and real and solid in that moment. She squeezed his knee again and pressed a kiss against his jaw.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice still quiet, worry starting to bleed in around the edges. “Why’s that getting you all tied in knots?”

“She already lives with one foot in the future,” Phelan whispered. “She shouldn’t have to live in the past, too.”

“Oh.” Jacqueline ran her fingers through his hair, sighing softly. “I—Phelan, I think in some ways, seeing the past through Brighíd’s eyes gives her some comfort.”

“It worries me, Jac. I can’t tell you how much.” His arm tightened. “I’m afraid that she’ll lose herself in those memories the way that Ciar lost himself when he was possessed.”

“But Marin’s not possessed. She was Brighíd once. You said it yourself.”

“I know I did,” he said, throat tight. “I know that I did, but that doesn’t make me any less worried or make it any less of a concern. And then there’s the question of what could be drawing Brighíd to the surface—like some sort of protective spirit, almost.”

“Could it be Ériu?”

He’d wondered that before, but shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. It’s something else—but I don’t know what.”

“Do you think she might?”

Lips pressed into a thin, white line, Phelan nodded. “Yes. Yes, I think she just might.”

But getting her to tell me will be far easier said than done.

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