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Chapter Sixteen

FELICITY FORREST

“Lies of omission are the silent betrayals of truth.”

Queen Niamh Shadowhart

A s we eat our meals, I pretend not to notice his voice soften when Niall talks about his family. Stories of ruthless sisters with fire in their veins and a father whose love is suffocating, a chain forged in politics and blood. He doesn’t say it outright, but a duty that chokes out everything else is implied. And my stupid heart? It laps it all up like it’s starving.

My life? A princess of lands I’ve only seen in dreams, trying to piece together what the hell that even means. My half-sister turns into a raven, but sure, let’s keep that bit to myself. At least until I figure out why Liora warned me to shut my mouth.

Magic has always been the background hum in my life. My adoptive parents were…New Age? Hell, I don’t even know if that’s true anymore. And now? It’s louder, darker, and messier. I’m barely holding it together, and he started grilling me about my day job like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“You sure you’re not looking for career advice?” I tease, sliding my plate aside while the knot in my stomach tightens. His interest isn’t casual. It’s calculated. And I can’t decide if I’m the puzzle he wants to solve or the prey he’s about to pounce on. “I write about ghosts, Loch Ness, and let’s call them unusually talkative stallions. Not exactly a résumé for anything practical.”

Niall’s smirk deepens. “Talkative stallions, you say.”

“Usually, this is the part where people fake a phone call and bolt for the door,” I quip.

He stays locked on me. Either he’s really polite, or there’s a lot more about this bond of ours that he’s not saying. I sip my drink, letting the Irish music in the background fill the silence.

Then his hand brushes mine, his intent clear. “Dance with me, Shadow Witch.”

I blink at him, suddenly hyper-aware of my two left feet. “I don’t even know what they’re doing .”

“It’s a céilí ,” he says, already pulling me up with a confidence I wish I could steal. “Follow my lead.”

Against all odds, I do. And shockingly, I don’t hate it. Niall’s hand on my back guides me through spins and steps I didn’t know I could pull off.

“This isn’t so bad,” I say, breathless from spinning, laughing, and the joy of letting go.

His grin is impossible to resist. “You look surprised.”

“Not when I’m with you,” I admit.

His expression softens for a fleeting moment, but then the air shifts. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

I raise a brow, masking my apprehension with a crooked smile. “Please don’t say it’s a secret wife stashed away somewhere.”

He chuckles. “No, nothing like that.”

“Then what?”

“Maybe it’s better if I show you. Will you walk with me?” Niall asks, his eyes searching mine.

Despite the warmth of the pub and the flush in my cheeks from dancing, a chill snakes down my spine. Liora’s warnings resurface, but I nod. “Sure. Let’s walk.”

As we weave through the crowded room, Niall leads the way to pay the tab. The music cuts off abruptly, and all conversation halts as the pub door swings open. Everyone stares at the construction worker I saw earlier talking to Mr. Archer, who stumbles through the crowd, his head gushing blood. His face is streaked with more blood and panic.

“We’re plagued by the púca,” he cries, setting off a wave of whispers and hurried exits.

Superstition takes hold of the room. A few fearful locals say it’s a dark omen. I hear it then, a whisper in the back of my mind. Gnáthmharfóirí. The syllables are foreign, but the meaning…I can feel it. Something is wrong .

Niall’s hand tightens around mine in a silent agreement to dig deeper. We cross the room together, every step heavy with purpose.

“What happened?” I ask, my voice steady, though my instincts are already on edge.

The man slumps into a chair, his bloodied hand trembling as he grabs a napkin. “I was working at the site when a púca charged me. Then it spoke and threatened me.”

I tilt my head, reaching for the notepad in my bag. “A talking púca, huh? You’re sure it wasn’t just a horse?”

“Horses don’t talk,” Niall deadpans, his tone as sharp as the tension crackling between us.

“What exactly did it say?” I press.

The man dabs at his wound, his gaze flickering nervously. “I…I don’t remember. Just that it threatened me. Then I tripped and hit my head.”

“A púca threatened you?” Niall repeats, his scepticism as blatant as mine.

The man shifts in his seat, his story cracking at the edges. “Aye. Then he charged me. There was nothing I could do.”

“And yet, you don’t remember its threat?” I ask, keeping my face neutral.

His silence stretches too long. He’s lying. I can feel it.

Niall crosses his arms. “Funny thing about púcas,” he says, his voice like velvet laced with steel. “They only show themselves when they have a reason. So what’s yours?”

The man’s eyes dart away, guilt scrawled across his blood-streaked face. Whatever he’s hiding, it’s something big. Something dangerous.

“He mentioned sacred land,” the man blurts, finally tossing us a scrap of something that might have been useful—if his credibility hadn’t packed its bags and skipped town. “Aye, that’s what he said to me.”

Niall’s gaze sharpens. “And how exactly do you know the púca was a he ?”

Great question. I was about to ask the same thing. We’re practically in sync now with our interrogation. It’s bloody scary, but in a good way.

The man shifts, shoving his hands into his pockets like they’ll hide whatever he’s not telling us. “Aye, everyone knows the púca are stallions. They pillage the village at night.”

Niall snorts. “You’ve got a hell of an imagination, mate.”

“And what did this púca look like?” I ask, though I’m already bracing for the absurdity of his answer.

“It was a stallion,” he insists, his voice dropping to a hushed reverence. “Black as midnight…”

“Of course it was,” Niall says, his tone as dry as the Irish whiskey behind the bar. “Well, if your memory clears up, Felicity would love to hear all about it.”

Doubtful, but I nod, playing along. The island’s magic and tonight’s revelations already have my head spinning more than Niall’s dancing ever could. “If you remember anything else, don’t hesitate to stop by Pier House and ask for Felicity Forrest.”

It’s my go-to line for supernatural witnesses, but this guy? Not buying it. The site’s not exactly nearby, and if I’d been jumped and left bleeding like that, I’d beeline for soap and stitches—not a pint.

Okay, maybe a pint. But only after I stopped leaking.

Niall slaps cash on the bar, and we leave the buzzing whispers behind. The night greets us with a briny chill.

“So,” I say, pulling my sweater tighter. “What is it you wanted to show me?”

He glances at me, his eyes dark. Unreadable. “It’s complicated.”

“Great,” I mutter, though my curiosity has already latched on and isn’t letting go.

We walk in silence, the crunch of gravel underfoot the only sound between us. I can’t help but wonder what this complication of his might be. Something to confirm what I suspect? Or something that flips everything on its head?

Either way, I can’t shake my newfound half-sister’s warning about Niall.