The Shadows (26 page)

Conan sat watching from the stoop, his sheepskin around his shoulders despite the heat. The lamplight from a nearby window shone on his bald head.

“I could smell you a block away,” Diarmid said as he approached.

Conan glanced up. He had a cup of ale in his hand. He motioned to Finn and the others. “Black Hands are coming for us. ’Twould be good to have you in the fight.”

“I heard. I’ll be here.”

Conan belched and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “So what’ve you been up to, Derry? Kissing lasses and squiring them about town while the rest of us live in this wretchedness?” He kicked at the rail.

Diarmid remembered when they’d been in the Fianna stronghold—living like kings, with fine things and enough food and wine to feed them all four times over, and lasses for all, even Conan—and still Conan had been dissatisfied, a
soul that always wanted more. But he was amusing and good to have in a fight, and he’d never failed them, no matter his complaints.

“I’d rather be here with the rest of you,” Diarmid said, catching Finn’s eye.

Finn nodded back to him, put up the stick he was parrying with, and said, “That’s it for tonight, lads. Tomorrow we’ll try it again.”

The boys dispersed in a mass of excited grumbling, and Finn and Ossian came over.

“You’ve found the rowan wand?” Finn asked.

“Maybe something better,” Diarmid said, stepping through the open door. He heard them clumping behind him up the stairs. The door to the flat was open.

When they were all inside, Diarmid said, “I think I may have found the
veleda
.”

The room went silent. Finn said, “The
veleda
?”

“I think she may be Devlin’s lass. Grace Knox. When she first saw me, she said I was glowing. It hurt her enough that she swooned. And then . . . I took Oscar to see her this afternoon. The same thing. The ogham stick burned her when she touched it. The same way it did Cannel.”

“You saw this?”

“She told me. And—” Here was the worst of it, the part he didn’t want to say. “She reminds me of Neasa, Finn. She looks . . . There’s a resemblance. Her people are from Allen.”

Finn’s gaze went razor-sharp.

Diarmid forced himself to continue. “And Grace had a horn. Her brother lost it in a bet. I don’t know that it’s the
dord fiann.
She said it had silver on it. Did yours have silver? I didn’t remember that.”

Finn shook his head. “Bronze.”

“Then it isn’t the same one.” This, anyway, was a relief.

Finn glanced at Cannel. “The
cainte
can do a divination to tell for certain. But we’ll need something of hers. And I want you to bring her here.”

Diarmid said, “She won’t come. This part of town—she’s not like the lasses around here. She’s a lady, Finn.”

“Bring her tomorrow.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Diarmid said in exasperation. “’Twill be hard enough to convince her—”

“You’re a soldier of the Fianna. Are you telling me you can’t manage to persuade a lass to go somewhere with you?”

“Finn—”

Finn grabbed the back of Diarmid’s neck, pulling him close. “I want her here, Diarmid. Time is passing quickly. Have you forgotten? Samhain grows ever closer. I don’t care how you get her here. Carry her off. Show her the lovespot. Just bring her.”

Because she resembles Neasa
. Diarmid knew that was the reason, and he wished he’d said nothing about it.

Finn released him. “Cannel can do the divination while she’s here. Then we’ll know what should be done with her.”

“Done with her?”

“She has to choose us, Diarmid. Do you not remember the prophecy? No one here’s going to hurt her.”

Which was true enough. Diarmid wasn’t afraid of that. He was afraid of . . .

“’Tis you who must kill her.”

NINETEEN

Grace

I
spent the day reading the birthday book of poems from Patrick. I hadn’t seen him since he’d come to the house with the police five days ago. Mama was right. I would have to push. I had a vision of myself on my knees, proposing to
him,
and it was humiliating just to think it. I tried not to remember Derry’s words:
“Do me a favor, lass. Don’t rush into anything with Devlin.”

His talk of the ogham stick and the horn, Oscar glowing . . . And on top of everything else, Derry was still in my dreams. Last night I’d seen him in battle, his hair flying behind him, a spear in one hand and a sword in the other. Then the scene changed, again the pillows, his laughter, that near kiss—Oh, this was bad. Very bad. I wished I’d never laid eyes upon him. I would give anything not to see him again.

And you don’t have to,
I told myself.
Leave him to Lucy. Think about Patrick.

The plans for my debut were progressing, though the cost was one more thing I didn’t want to think about. Mama had gone twice more to give the Needham sisters pianoforte lessons, and each time she came back more drawn than before, as if they were sucking the life from her.

“I think we’d best go with daisies,” she’d told me just this morning. “They’re less expensive, and just a few bouquets should be enough, don’t you think?”

She looked so fragile now. I hated to do anything to upset her. I knew she had headaches, too, like mine, though she never admitted it. She was as tense as I was, watching the window all the time, waiting for the doctor’s lawsuit or a messenger from Patrick.

The weather wasn’t helping. It stayed sultry and heavy. I needed a breath of air, no matter that it was fouler outside than in. Without a breeze, the smells of the city had gathered into one great, stinking fog. But it did not smell of desperation, which was a scent I’d grown heartily tired of, and so I stepped out into the tiny backyard bordered by the alley. I’d planted a garden this year, but I had no talent for growing things, and so the flowers and the vegetables had withered and died. I let the door close behind me and sagged against the wall. It would have been nice to have something green to eat. I closed my eyes. There’d been lettuce, I remembered. And carrots, and radishes—

“Lass, might I have a word with you?”

I started, opening my eyes to see Derry leaning against the gate, looking about warily.

I felt a little shiver of something I didn’t want to
understand. “All I wanted was some air. Where did you come from? Wait—are you
watching
me?”

He smiled, that dimple again. His hair, as always, was flopping into his face. He gestured to the gate. “Can I come in?”

I came down the stair, away from the house and my mother’s ears. He stepped inside, catching the gate before it could clang shut, making only a soft
click
.

“I thought I told you to leave me alone,” I said.

“That was days ago. You said nothing of it yesterday.”

“I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to.”

“I don’t remember things well.” He tapped his head, still smiling. “Best to keep reminding me.”

“Then I’m reminding you now. Leave me alone. Why are you here?”

The smile faded. “I’m afraid I need another favor.”

“Another favor? Why is it you’re always coming to me? Why not ask Lucy? She’s the one in love with you. She’ll do anything you say.”

“She’s busy. Tea parties and such. And you seem at your leisure.”

“I’m not. In fact, I’m quite busy planning my debut.”

“Aye. What is that exactly?”

“A party that announces that I’m old enough to be married. So you see, I’ve a great many things to do. If you don’t mind—” I turned to leave. He caught my wrist, drawing me back. So warm. My pulse leaped.

“I’ve a friend in Bellevue Hospital,” he said bluntly. “He’s in bad shape, but they won’t let me in to see him. I need
someone respectable to get me through the door. Lucy said she can’t. I’d hoped you would help.”

I stared at him. “They won’t let you in?”

“Not without someone like you.”

“But that’s ridiculous. Why would they ask such a thing?”

He shrugged. “I’m guessing I look as if I might cause trouble.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

“Will you help me or not?”

“Well, I—”

“Please,” he said. “You’re the only other respectable person I know.”

An innocent visit to the hospital. Why not? It was better than sitting around the house being driven half mad by the smell of desperation and my own anxiety. And Derry had asked Lucy first, so she couldn’t complain if I went instead. “Your friend . . . you don’t mean Oscar?”

“Someone else.”

“Well then, I suppose it couldn’t hurt. When did you want to go?”

“Now, if you can. ’Tis my afternoon off. But if you’d rather wait an hour or so . . .”

When it would be near dusk. My mother would never let me go with night so close. Not that she would let me go with him anyway, if she knew the truth—and here I marveled again that I had become so adept at lying that I no longer hesitated to do so.

“I can’t go so late. It won’t take long?”

“No. You’ll come to no harm. I’ll see to it. We’ll have to walk, but it’s not far.”

“I walk everywhere, Derry. We sold the carriage a year ago. Wait here.”

I went back inside. The house felt more oppressive than ever. “Mama, I’m going to see Rose. She wants to get ice cream.”

My mother waved me away. “Go on. Enjoy yourself. Is Lucy going?”

I shook my head. “Lucy’s at some tea or something.”

“Be home before dark,” she said.

I glanced at my shawl hanging on the hook. It was sweltering, so I left it. I wanted to leave the gloves, too, but I tucked them into my pocket in case I needed them to pass the hospital’s requirements for respectability. I grabbed my hat—no lady went anywhere without one—a small and plain brown bonnet that had once been decorated with silk cherries. Those were gone now, popping their seams when I’d worn it once in a drenching rain, and now there was only the pink silk ribbon, very faded, which I tied beneath my chin. If I tied the bow just right, you couldn’t see the way the edge of one ribbon had begun to fray.

When I went outside again, Derry was lingering by the gate, waiting restlessly, flipping the catch up and down, staring at his boots. It seemed unlike him; he’d always appeared so self-possessed, and I hesitated. Something was not right. . . .

But then he looked up and smiled, and whatever it was I’d seen disappeared. “You’re kind to do this.”

“If you don’t have me home before dark, Mama will never let me out of the house again.”

He didn’t attempt to take my hand, nor did he offer his arm as we set off down the potholed alley, and I was grateful for that. I didn’t want to touch him. I remembered how I’d felt when he’d grabbed my wrist. The temptation in my dream . . .

No.

He said nothing for a long while, something else that was unlike him. Nervously, I said, “You’re awfully quiet.”

He glanced at me. “Worried about my friend, that’s all.”

“Is he very badly off?”

“I don’t know,” he said pointedly. “I haven’t seen him.”

“But you said he was in bad shape.”

“Did I?” He kicked a pebble into a pothole. “I imagine he is. He was in a fight. The other lad had to be carried home, so . . .”

“It’s nice,” I said. “That you care for your friends that way.”

“My friends are my family. I’d do anything for them.”

The intensity in his voice made me look more closely at him. “Oscar seems nice.”

“Nice,” he repeated. “You’ve said that twice. It’s
nice
that I care for my friends. Oscar seems
nice.
”

“What’s wrong with
nice
?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “Nothing. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. I imagine I’d be upset, too, if one of my friends was in the hospital.”

A small smile again. “Aye. I imagine you would. You’re good to your friends as well. Rose. And Lucy too—even though you don’t seem to like her much.”

“Oh, Lucy’s all right. But we were never close. She’s older, you know, and I think she tolerates me only because I’m useful.”

“Useful?”

“She knows I’ll do what she asks because of Patrick. So I make a good chaperone when she wants to see you.”

“Ah yes. The rule follower.”

“If I were truly that, you wouldn’t have been kissing her at the parish fair.”

“Something to thank you for, then.”

I remembered how he’d licked icing from her bottom lip, and again I felt that little drop in my stomach, which startled me into babbling, “Well, how surprising.”

He gave me a questioning glance.

“This. You and me. Having a conversation where you’re not flirting. It’s nice—oh, forget that—I mean I don’t mind talking to you when you’re not.”

He smiled again.

“Don’t start,” I admonished. “I’m happy to be your friend, Derry, but I wish you’d leave the rest of it for Lucy, or for girls you’re truly interested in.”

“What makes you think I’m not interested in you?”

“It wouldn’t matter if you were,” I told him frankly. “It’s not you I want.”

“Because you’ve got Devlin dangling.”

“And you have Lucy. I can’t have you complicating things. I can’t have anything to do with the ogham stick. I can’t afford for Lucy to be angry with me for things she’s . . . imagined.”