Twenty-seven – 02

“Shit,” Cameron breathed, wide-eyed and staring. Thom closed his eyes for a long moment, trying to steady himself.

He was shocked by how calm his own voice sounded as he asked Seamus, “Any sign of a struggle?”

“No,” Seamus said quietly. He stooped to pick up Matt’s battleax, left lying on the floor between the door and Matt’s anvil. “There’s nothing.”

A shiver wracked Thom and he stepped away from Cameron, leaving the other man standing and staring in the doorway as Thom entered the forge. He took the ax from Seamus, his throat so tight it was hard—too hard—to breathe.

“He wouldn’t have just left this,” Thom whispered, fingers tightening around the wood. “He wouldn’t have left without it.”

The man is my brother and I’ve failed him.

The thought wouldn’t stop echoing in his head.

He barely noticed Seamus’s hand on his shoulder until the other man spoke. The sound startled him, badly enough that he nearly dropped his brother-in-law’s weapon.

“I sincerely doubt that he had a choice.” There was a grim certainty in Seamus’s voice and Thom’s stomach roiled, bile bubbling up to beat like waves against the stone lodged in his throat.

“Are you saying that—” Cameron broke off, swallowed hard, then started again, his voice weak. “Are you saying that you think the Hecate took him?”

“Her or another opportunist.” Seamus sat down slowly near one of the grinding wheels, his face half-shadowed in the forge’s dim light. “Anyone who could have figured out who he once was might want him for their own.”

“What he once was,” Thom echoed, feeling numb. He sat down slowly on the bench near the door. He realized he was shaking and set the ax aside, leaning it against the wall next to the door. “You mean the Ridden Druid.”

Seamus inclined his head slightly. Thom swallowed hard, trying to force the lump in his throat to go away, to disappear.

“Matt doesn’t have any power,” Thom whispered, his voice broken, like bits of glass shattered on the ground stirred by someone’s toe. “It died with the Ridden Druid.”

Unless—

He closed his eyes tightly, trying to force the memory from his mind. The radio, Matt’s face, his hand.

Unless Cariocecus or the Greys caused that. Unless that wasn’t some kind of freak accident. Unless there was a reason for it happening, and happening to him.

Unless it wasn’t a coincidence, random chance.

“Dammit, Matt.”

“What’s wrong?” The door swung closed behind Cameron, enfolding the three in darkness. “What are you thinking, Thom?”

He didn’t say anything, just buried his face in his hands.

Dammit, Matt. Did you know?

What haven’t you been telling us?

Whatever it was, it was too little, too late to ask.

He was gone and Thom didn’t know where to even start looking—if Matt Astoris could be found at all or ever again.

Seamus took a slow, quiet breath. “If she has him, we’ll find him. We’ll find them both. I promise you that.”

“Not soon enough,” Thom mumbled, lifting his face from the cradle of his hands. “I have to tell his sister.”

How am I going to break the news to Marin?

Matt had been his ally in protecting her—had been the only one to know his real fears at first. It had been that day, that moment after the radio had exploded in Matt’s face.

Goddammit, I should have known. I should have figured it out then.

But his brother-in-law had always been steadfast in his denial.

So was I, once.

Thom swallowed hard. “I have to tell her,” he said again, then stood up.

“Are we sure she took him?” Cameron asked, hesitant, his voice worried—perhaps a bit afraid.

“He wouldn’t have left his axe behind like that if something hadn’t,” Thom said. He scrubbed his hand over his face, wiping away the last of the rain’s damp and the tears that stung his eyes.

Her brother. My brother.

“I have to tell Marin.”

Thom walked out into the mist.

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