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My eyes widen. Whenever Máthair told me tales of Faeries and heroes, I’d imagine the scene as a shadow puppet play in the flames of our fireplace. I hold him at arm’s length, our potential moment of passion dissipating. “How do you know about that?”

Sion lowers his gaze, lips crinkling. “I sent them to you.”

It’s suddenly hard to draw a breath. “You what?”

He peeks at me through lashes. “If I confess all to you now, we’ll lose time. Will you take my promise that I will tell you everything before the end?”

The Veil Sprites within me flair in harmony with their kin in the Veil forest treetops as the soulfall dirge begins again, ripping my focus from shadow puppets and confessions. I cover my ears. “It’s getting worse.”

“Desperation rises the closer we get to Beltane.”

Behind Sion, a shocking blue flash nearly blinds me. The smell of burning metal supplants the Veil fragrances filling the air moments before. Throughout the forest, Veil Sprites wink out.

The flash thins into a path of tiny, bright blue flames, etching Sion’s outline in the air.

I point. “Look.”

The sketch of cool fire disappears with a pop as he turns. Sion takes a defensive stance, pulling me against his side. His eyes rake our surroundings. “Tell me.”

“It was—strange, frightening as if something drew your shape with a purple-blue fire pen.” Glancing at the space where the bizarre phenomenon happened, I notice a Sion-shaped distortion still hangs in the air like heat waves off asphalt in summer. “See, part of it is still there.”

As soon as Sion’s gaze locks onto the spot, he sweeps me into his arms, and we punch through the Veil. The travel is frenetic and unforgiving. His back slams against the side of the rental car as we fall into reality and onto the grit of the car park.

I wipe gravel from my palms. “What the hell?”

He tosses me into the passenger seat. I barely pull my legs in before he slams the door and vaults straight over the hood of the car.

Once in the driver’s seat, his face glows as white as the car’s paint job except for two bright spots of scarlet on his cheeks. He turns wild eyes on me. “We’re being followed.”

Chapter 16

The Limp

Sion stands a discreet distance away while I relinquish my entire fish lunch in front of a pair of mules. The indelicacy of our hasty Veil travel compounded with teeth grinding fear and staring out the rear window for malevolent Faeries on the hunt did my stomach in. Both animals poke their heads over the fence and sniff. They nod in unison, and then one unleashes an ear-splitting hee-haw to voice disapproval at my soiling of their roadside.

With a napkin rescued from my small day pack, I wipe my face. “Finished,” I say, returning to the car.

Sion hands me one of the water bottles Granny O’Halloran made us take on the trip. His tense gaze fixes on the road we’ve just come down.

“Anything?” I ask, squinting off in the distance.

He shakes his head.

“Who’s following us?”

Sion shrugs, but I’ve studied his face enough by now to know the blank look he shifts into is forced. Certainty he’s keeping something from me sets off a stress headache. I’ve also learned I can only press him so far. If he were willing to share whatever’s swimming under those ringlets, he would have.

I opt for easier questions to draw him out slowly. “Where are we?”

“About fifteen minutes from Enniscorthy.”

My woozy self leans against the side of the car. “Good. We can regroup at Granny O’Halloran’s place.”

Sion moves beside me, copying my position against the car. He raises a hand to measure the last slice of lavender daylight sinking into the west.

“Sionnach?”

He runs a hand through curls. I expect them to tinkle like bells.