pale light of dusk creeping across the horizon. “I’m not wanting understanding.” He seethed with frustration at his own stupidity.
The reflection of Nightshade’s shocked face in the glass made him grip the windowsill until his fingernails bit into the wood. He didn’t want to hurt his friend—but everything had changed this night. He’d never let Nightshade bite him again. The frivolous pleasure of dallying with death had lost its appeal. And for some reason, he hated the thought that Cordelia would disapprove.
He ran his hands back through his hair. “We’ll have to decide what we’re going to do. I can’t speak to Niall yet to get his advice.” After all that had happened, he could hardly believe Niall was still in midflight.
An idea struck him—a good one for once. He was amazed Cordelia hadn’t suggested it. “Will you take a reading of the future for us, Cordelia? Tell us what’s going to be happening.”
She blinked at him tiredly. “Umm, yes. I can certainly try.”
Try?
According to Niall, she was an expert at foretelling. “Why the uncertainty?”
“We’ll discuss it in my room.” She looked down to brush the creases from her clean dress as she rose.
She went to the door with her neat, precise steps, the cat trotting at her heels. Thorn moved to follow, and Michael shook his head. He passed the lad a note he’d made of some useful references he wanted to take with them. “You two find these and bring around the car. We’ll not take long with this foretelling.”
He caught up with her in the hall and followed her to themedieval wing of the house. He’d assumed her bedroom was upstairs, but she ignored the stairs and took a side hall. “I have my own suite of rooms.” She halted before a door and unlocked it with a key from her pocket.
Once inside, she showed him into a small, cozy room. The cat jumped on a sagging floral armchair in the corner, circled, and curled up on a hairy crocheted cushion. Streaks of morning sun penetrated the windows, painting strokes of light across the granite fireplace. A faded tapestry adorned the wall, and a multitude of shelves and tables filled every space. Each was crowded with ornaments: pearly shells, pinecones, china, and colorful knickknacks of all sorts.
She pulled out a leaf on a table by a pair of glass doors and then moved a straight-backed chair so he could sit there. With another key from her pocket, she unlocked the narrow double doors. A gentle breeze carried the fragrance of a summer’s morning in from the garden: cool dew, the scent of sweet peas climbing a crumbling pillar, the tang of salt from the Atlantic. Michael sat, entranced, and looked up at dangling threads of pink and yellow shells jingling in time to the lazy hiss of the sea.
He’d never understood people who liked to be alone in quiet places. He loved crowds, noise, and music. But with his mind in turmoil, the peace was soothing.
Cordelia sat opposite him and folded her hands on the lacy tablecloth. “I can’t read my own future, Michael. No one with the gift of foretelling can.”
He nodded, linked his fingers, matched her pose. “Fair enough, lass. Read for meself.”
A hint of pink crept into her cheeks. She looked down and twisted the silver ring on her little finger. “I doubt I can read for you either.”
Michael pressed his fingers to his eyes. The deep empty well of loss inside him, which had eased for a few minutes, ached anew. “Just give it a try, lass. Anything we discover that helps us rescue Fin is good, for sure.”
Her cheeks grew pinker. “I’m sorry, I don’t think…” Her words trailed away and she bit her bottom lip.
He reached for the water-filled dish with the three white candles floating on the surface and dragged it in front of her. “Have a go,” he said, a touch of irritation in his voice. He knew seers were not able to divine for themselves. But there was no reason why she shouldn’t read for him. Unless she was scared
The reflection of Nightshade’s shocked face in the glass made him grip the windowsill until his fingernails bit into the wood. He didn’t want to hurt his friend—but everything had changed this night. He’d never let Nightshade bite him again. The frivolous pleasure of dallying with death had lost its appeal. And for some reason, he hated the thought that Cordelia would disapprove.
He ran his hands back through his hair. “We’ll have to decide what we’re going to do. I can’t speak to Niall yet to get his advice.” After all that had happened, he could hardly believe Niall was still in midflight.
An idea struck him—a good one for once. He was amazed Cordelia hadn’t suggested it. “Will you take a reading of the future for us, Cordelia? Tell us what’s going to be happening.”
She blinked at him tiredly. “Umm, yes. I can certainly try.”
Try?
According to Niall, she was an expert at foretelling. “Why the uncertainty?”
“We’ll discuss it in my room.” She looked down to brush the creases from her clean dress as she rose.
She went to the door with her neat, precise steps, the cat trotting at her heels. Thorn moved to follow, and Michael shook his head. He passed the lad a note he’d made of some useful references he wanted to take with them. “You two find these and bring around the car. We’ll not take long with this foretelling.”
He caught up with her in the hall and followed her to themedieval wing of the house. He’d assumed her bedroom was upstairs, but she ignored the stairs and took a side hall. “I have my own suite of rooms.” She halted before a door and unlocked it with a key from her pocket.
Once inside, she showed him into a small, cozy room. The cat jumped on a sagging floral armchair in the corner, circled, and curled up on a hairy crocheted cushion. Streaks of morning sun penetrated the windows, painting strokes of light across the granite fireplace. A faded tapestry adorned the wall, and a multitude of shelves and tables filled every space. Each was crowded with ornaments: pearly shells, pinecones, china, and colorful knickknacks of all sorts.
She pulled out a leaf on a table by a pair of glass doors and then moved a straight-backed chair so he could sit there. With another key from her pocket, she unlocked the narrow double doors. A gentle breeze carried the fragrance of a summer’s morning in from the garden: cool dew, the scent of sweet peas climbing a crumbling pillar, the tang of salt from the Atlantic. Michael sat, entranced, and looked up at dangling threads of pink and yellow shells jingling in time to the lazy hiss of the sea.
He’d never understood people who liked to be alone in quiet places. He loved crowds, noise, and music. But with his mind in turmoil, the peace was soothing.
Cordelia sat opposite him and folded her hands on the lacy tablecloth. “I can’t read my own future, Michael. No one with the gift of foretelling can.”
He nodded, linked his fingers, matched her pose. “Fair enough, lass. Read for meself.”
A hint of pink crept into her cheeks. She looked down and twisted the silver ring on her little finger. “I doubt I can read for you either.”
Michael pressed his fingers to his eyes. The deep empty well of loss inside him, which had eased for a few minutes, ached anew. “Just give it a try, lass. Anything we discover that helps us rescue Fin is good, for sure.”
Her cheeks grew pinker. “I’m sorry, I don’t think…” Her words trailed away and she bit her bottom lip.
He reached for the water-filled dish with the three white candles floating on the surface and dragged it in front of her. “Have a go,” he said, a touch of irritation in his voice. He knew seers were not able to divine for themselves. But there was no reason why she shouldn’t read for him. Unless she was scared
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