She mumbles something, and all I catch is the wordscars.
“I got scars, too,” I tell her quietly. “Yours just mean you were strong enough. Not even a god could keep you down.”
She hiccups a laugh. “But they look awful.”
“Nah. They’re badass. But hey, if you ever want to cover them up, I know a few good tattoo artists.”
She lifts her head, brightening. “Tattoos. I could be good with that.”
“Yeah? Okay then. We’ll get it done. On second thought, though, maybe we shouldn’t do it around here. Maybe we wait until we getwherever we’re going? If you still want to leave Wicklow, that is.”
“Leave Wicklow? Fuck yes.” She brushes her brown curls out of her eyes. “We’re not just leaving Wicklow—we’re gonna leave the damn state, maybe even the damn country.”
“That can be endgame, but we’ll need passports first. Maybe we can stay with this bunch”—I jerk my head in the direction of the sanctuary—“until we get the passports, and then we hightail it down to Mexico.”
Cathy winces, shakes her head. “I was thinking Canada. Less humidity, no swampy areas or roaches like in South Carolina. Cold weather, big open spaces. Huge stretches of forest where no one lives. If I’m far enough from people, I won’t have to mourn anyone. We can travel a bit, too, north to the tundra, west to the plains—anywhere we have room to roam.”
“You and me living in a cabin, middle of nowhere,” I muse. “I like it. Maybe I’ll start my own brewery. Small at first, see where it goes.”
Cathy’s eyes light up. “I’ll help with the marketing. Take pictures, set up the website, create an Instagram account—”
“Make a business out of it. Hell yeah. And I can do some resurrections on the side to fund the startup costs. Already got a chunk of change waiting for us on Hindley’s property. Speaking of which…aw, fuck.”
Hindley. I haven’t thought about him since our phone call got cut off. I have no idea whether he’s dead or alive. And no idea where Ian Holcum went. He could still be passed out, or he could be out walking around, itching to cause more trouble.
“If you can manage it, we need to go. That sick-ass jerkwad who set this whole thing up is still unaccounted for, and that makes me nervous.”
“Same.” She shudders a little.
We get up, hand in hand, and walk out into the sanctuary. I pause by the platform, taking stock of the group. Dorian is lounging with his legs kicked over a pew while Baz feeds Gatsby a little of her blood. Cody’s got a hand wrapped around the back of Nick’s neck and they’re talking quietly, foreheads pressed together. Aunt Nellie, Edgar, and Mr. Earnshaw are duct-taped at the mouths, wrists, and ankles, lying on padded pews since they’re done serving as blood bags. And Daisy…she’s still holding Cernunnos’s face, eye-locked with him, murmuring words none of us can hear.
I’m opening my mouth to get everyone’s attention, to explain about Ian—when the motherfucker himself strides into the church.
Dorian scrambles upright.
“The fuck?” he gasps. “Lloyd-Henry?”
“Lloyd-what?” I exclaim. “He’s Ian Holcum, a Gancanagh and a shapeshifter, and he’s the one responsible for all this.”
Ian’s gaze fixes on me, and he lifts his eyebrows. “You figured it out. Well done. I’ll admit, I underestimated you. Hindley told me you weren’t very clever—‘dumb as balls,’ isn’t that how you put it?” He glances over his right shoulder just as Hindley steps in beside him, holding his favorite shotgun.
“That’s right.” Hindley spits on the sanctuary threshold. “Dumb as fuckin’ balls.”
“Such a delicate turn of phrase.” Ian—or Lloyd or whoever he is—chuckles.
Gatsby climbs to his feet. There’s no hole through his middle now, but from the back I can see his spine and a lot of red muscle. He’s nowhere near fully healed.
“Lloyd-Henry Woodson,” he says quietly. “So this is your doing.”
Lloyd-Henry raises a cautionary hand. “Now before you start getting all riled up, I didn’t come here to fight. Baz understands,don’t you, love? Yes, she knows I don’t enjoy violence or confrontations. I’m simply here to collect Cernunnos. I assume that’s him?” He points to the tall, dark-haired man. Daisy has finally stopped speaking to him, and Cernunnos stares around vacantly, confused.
“Well now, that’s not very nice.” Lloyd clicks his tongue. “Daisy, Daisy, what have you done to him, you interfering little cunt?”
Gatsby lurches forward, but he wobbles and Baz has to steady him.
“Nasty wound there, Jay,” Lloyd says. “Might want to wait a bit before you try to defend your lady’s honor.”
“We welcomed you as a friend when you visited us in Asheville.” Gatsby’s tone is low and menacing. “I showed you—fuck, I showed youeverything.”
