hell.” Not even the mediocre cell connection could hide Gareth’s quiet concern.
Dylan drove in silence, the other man content to wait until the Assassin chose to speak. What an amazing fool and even better friend. “I’ve got no clue what to do with her, but I’ll need her close to discern the goddess’s truth.”
“Would be bloody lovely if the gods would see fit to give you a bit more time, no?” Gareth spat. “I’ll make the arrangements at the airport. Call if you need me.”
He thumbed his phone off. There were so many things he needed to do to make this next step possible, but likely the first on the agenda was to notify Aylish. Steeling himself for the conversation was harder than Dylan had imagined.
His fingers were stiff as he dialed, forcing him to make corrections more than once. He didn’t want Aylish to hear anything from him that might betray his confusion. The weight of that long-suppressed emotion was like a fist around his lungs. He forced himself to slow his breathing. What did he have to hide? He’d done nothing the Order hadn’t charged him to do, pulling the goddess closer and restraining her by any means necessary. Of course, he highly doubted Aylish would agree that any means necessary included securing Cailleach in the heart of the Order’s operations. What Dylan least wanted to discuss was his hesitation in the use of additional force against the woman when the goddess betrayed her accelerating strengths. Aylish was no fool. He’d demand an accounting for the Assassin’s hesitation.
He hit Call and waited a while for the overseas connection.
It was six in the morning there, but Aylish still answered, sounding as if he’d expected Dylan’s call. “Assassin. What news?”
“Cailleach is both weaker and stronger than we anticipated. She rose tonight, and we had our second conversation and first true confrontation, this one involving black magick. She’s not a rival to underestimate, not in any way, prior to Samhain.” He waited. When Aylish remained silent, he went on. “She claims she can rise enough to engage in the host’s activities and be aware of her surroundings, without fully manifesting.”
“You allowed that to happen without taking appropriate defensive measures?” Aylish’s brusque tone betrayed both his disapproval and his fury with admirable efficiency.
Dylan’s mind fell through time, and he was suddenly a child again. He’d longed for this man’s approval, craved it like a drowning man would air—desperate, hungry, fierce—but it never came. He’d learned to steel himself against the disappointments. Centuries. He’d had centuries to stop blindly and foolishly expecting even one word of recognition. Yet the wanting never abated. It galled the hell out of him that he was reduced to enforcing the same emotional safeguards now that he had then.
“Assassin? Has the connection been lost?”
Almost permanently. Assassin, and never son. Dylan forced himself to relax his grip on the phone before answering. “The connection is fine. I was thinking.”
“I’ll be calling another meeting with the Elders today. Is there anything else you feel I should pass on?”
The urge to consult him about Danu’s ages-old dream pounded at him, but pride kept him silent. He’d not go running to his father now if he hadn’t then. “Yes. When Cailleach possessed the host today, she partially manifested, changing the host’s hands into her own.”
Aylish interrupted, cursing violently enough that Dylan raised his brows. “Kill the woman now. We cannot risk Cailleach regaining additional strengths in this plane.”
Dylan gripped the phone case so hard the plastic and metal creaked in protest. “If we kill her now, we’ll have little time to find her new host before Samhain. We’ll have better luck securing the current host and controlling the outcome on Samhain per our original plan.”
“Your orders are to end her now. I will call the Elders together and prepare the ritual to identify Cailleach’s next host. The moment she rises, we’ll dispatch you. Return home and await your next orders.”
The disconnecting click was sharp. Silence yawned in the absence of conversation. Kill her now. A glance at the woman revealed her eyes were only partially closed, her breaths a bit shallow.
Realization dawned on him, a sort of sunrise of consciousness. Danu had told him this woman held his single hope to survive. He need only find this mysterious truth. And if identifying that truth would save his life, greedy as it seemed, he had good reason not to kill her yet. Until his blade fell, nothing was decided.
Gods save me, am I truly taking her home? And after that directive from Aylish?
Yes. Yes, he was.
Dylan took the off-ramp to the airport’s private runway entrance and mindlessly followed the dark road. A right turn pointed him toward the airport’s private hangars. He slowed his approach to the gated entrance. The magickal push it took to wake Ethan was second nature, and Dylan watched as the man’s eyes fluttered open.
“Ow,” Ethan groaned, gripping his head.
Dylan didn’t bother to hide his grin in the rearview mirror. “Sit up. You’re going to help keep your best friend from being questioned.”
He watched the warlock grip his head, hands coming away bloodied. “What happened?”
“Cailleach. I explained what she’d do if she rose, but apparently you’re more a visual, hands-on learner.” He reached over and sat Kennedy upright. “I want you to lean her seat back and wad that jacket up. Prop her head on it against the frame.”
The reply from the backseat was surly at best, disrespectful at worst. “Why?”
“Because I’m going to tell the guard she’s sleeping, and you’re going to go along.”
“Why?”
“Do you really want to do this right now?” Silence. “Lean the damned seat back. Now.” The whir of the electric motor buzzed, a low-level hum of angry insects against his damaged ear.
Ethan placed the jacket between her head and the car, gently arranging her hair. “Close your eyes, find some rest,” he murmured, laying his fingers against her temple.
The tingle of magick in the car was the only thing odd about her closing her unfocused eyes with a sigh.
Dylan’s heart lurched at the sight of her so relaxed. With skin like alabaster, hair as dark as night and a mouth made for sin, she looked like a fallen angel. He couldn’t stop glancing at her as he drove. His body quickened against his will.
“Damn it to the ninth level of hell!” He pounded the steering wheel with his fist. “Not only am I caught in an emotional bog, but I’m maudlin with it, as well. Might as well retire and take up competitive knitting.”
“You knit?”
“Piss off, warlock.” Dylan rolled the window down and tried not to glare at the gate guard.
The standard night watchman, a burly fellow who took his job seriously if his starched uniform and buzz cut were any indicators, lumbered out of the gatehouse. “You have a pilot ID or flight plan?” The portly man hitched up his belt and retrieved his flashlight, shining it into the car. “Lady got a
