“Easy, Cathy!” he exclaims. “Shit!”
It worked, it actually worked, and he’shere, he’s back with me. Even in my joy and relief, I still feel the horror of his impending death and what I did to prevent it.
But all I say is, “You’re awake, thank god.”
“Want to tell me why I’m awake?”
I swallow and shrug. “I guess you weren’t as far gone as you thought.”
“Catherine. Don’t lie to me. I know exactly how far gone I was. And even if I managed not to die, I’d be comatose for a lot longer than—” He leans over to check the dashboard clock. “Half an hour. I’d be in recovery for hours, if not days, but I feel totally fine. You hiding some kind of healing power you haven’t told me about?”
“Yeah, let’s talk about hiding powers from each other,” I say. “You didn’t think it might be a good idea to tell me you’re a fucking necromancer?”
“You didn’t need to know.”
“The tattoos had something to do with it, didn’t they? Matching tattoos, for ‘protection,’ you said.”
“You’re smart,” he replies. “I love that about you. But I’m smart too, Princess, and I know you’re trying to distract me. Answer the question: How am I alive?”
Again the tightening sensation grips my insides, and I shiver. “I can’t tell you. Not yet. Not until we get where we’re going.”
“Which is?”
“Wicklow Heritage Chapel.”
“Oh, hell no,” Heathcliff says.
“It’s fine. No one will be there this early on a Monday morning. We just need to lay low there until Daisy and Gatsby arrive—you know, those people I told you about, who visited Aunt Nellie’s store asking about buried gods. I called them, and they’re coming to help me with…um—” I break off the sentence, biting my lip hard. Now that Heathcliff’s awake, it’s somehow harder to stay strong and fend off the panic. When I’m alone, I can handle pain. I can deal with huge, excruciating emotions. But when he’s there, asking about me in that rough, low voice of his, I just want to throw myself against his chest and hide my face until everything is over.
He is your weakness, comments the god.
“Shut up,” I say aloud.
“I didn’t say anything,” Heathcliff answers. “Cathy, pull over and talk to me.”
“No.” I grip the steering wheel tighter. “Just guide me to the church, okay? Once we’re inside, I’ll explain everything, I promise.”
“And you’re sure no one will be there?”
“I’m sure. There’s no prayer, Bible study, or confession time on Mondays. And Pastor Linton always did his sermon preparation at home, where his books are. Pretty sure Edgar will do the same.”
Edgar’s name triggers an image in my mind—the broken silhouette of the church, golden lanterns, the dark forest, and Edgar, with his halo of blond hair, euphoric and fervent, standing over me and eloquently condemning me to death.
My fingers turn lax, slipping from the wheel.
But before the truck can swerve, a steadying impulse rises inside me, strength coursing along my arms to my fingers.
We will have revenge on them all.Cernunnos’s deep voice echoes in my mind.Until then, hold true.
I hate that flow of unnatural strength. Over the past several years, I’ve fought to keep my entire life from being swallowed by my banshee nature. I managed to work around it, live with it, even exert some measure of control over it. I won’t give that up for an existence as the sidecar passenger to an ancient deity.
“I don’t want your help,” I seethe.
“Cathy.” Heathcliff’s large, warm hand slides over my right one, and instantly my body relaxes. His strength is wholesome, honest, and true.
I glance at him, my eyes filling with tears, and he looks back at me, his handsome face taut with concern. I don’t know if I can bear confessing to him that he might lose me again.
“Let’s just get to the church,” I whisper. “And then I’ll tell you everything.”
