The Shadows (33 page)

“Only thunder,” Diarmid said.

“Not thunder.” Aidan shook his head, closed his eyes. “Ah. God. I can’t stand it. How c’n you stand it?”

“It’s just too much drink. You’ll sleep it off. You’ll be fine.”

“I’m never fine. And it’s the whiskey makes it go away.” Aidan opened his eyes, and the depth of misery in them startled Diarmid. There was nothing in Aidan Knox that Diarmid respected, but that despair was something he understood. It made him want to help Aidan for his own sake.

Aidan went on. “That screamin’ . . . I don’ know how she stands it either.”

“Who?”

“M’sister. Where’s the whiskey?”

“What do you mean about Grace?”

Aidan smiled crookedly and wagged his finger. “I see how you look at her, y’know. Lucy in one hand, and you want m’sister in the other.”

Diarmid felt hot. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, you can’t have ’er. She’s in love with Patrick Devlin, y’know. She’s goin’ to marry him.” Again that misery in his eyes. “Save us all.”

“Maybe not,” Diarmid managed.

“Oh, she is. He’s going to propose, and she’ll say yes. Should’ve seen ’im kissin’ ’er today.”

The floor seemed to give way beneath Diarmid. “What?”

“No chaste kiss either. Grace’ll say yes, and we’ll all live happily ever after.” Aidan laughed bitterly. “But he don’ know, does he? We’ll brin’ the curse on ’im too. But no one says anythin’ about it. They all preten’ they don’ know.”

“She’ll say yes.”
It took Diarmid a moment to hear what Aidan was now saying. “Don’t know what? What curse?”

“The
curse
,” Aidan said, squinting again. “There’s somethin’ wrong with you, isn’t there?”

Impatiently, Diarmid demanded, “What curse?”

The thunder rumbled. Aidan squeezed his eyes shut. “I can’t stand the screamin’. Make it stop. C’n you make it stop?”

Enough of this!
Diarmid stood. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Not home.”

“You’ll only make her worry if you don’t go there.”

Aidan put his hand to his head. “I wish she wouldn’. She don’t know, not yet; but she will, won’t she? You know she will.”

“What will she know?”

“I can’t go home. Don’ take me home.”

Just nonsense after all,
Diarmid told himself.
Nothing to worry about.
“Fine, you can spend the night with me.”

Aidan didn’t protest when Diarmid pulled him up, but he stumbled and sagged, boneless. Finally, Diarmid put Aidan’s arm around his shoulders, bearing the man’s weight as he dragged him from the gambling hell and back into the street.
Aidan mumbled more about the screaming in his head as Diarmid took him out of the Bowery, wishing all the time that he hadn’t bothered to follow Aidan, that he hadn’t thought to do a good deed for her, because she wouldn’t know it anyway, and she wouldn’t care.

“No chaste kiss.”

It seemed an eternity before he reached the stables, hauling a semiconscious Aidan inside and maneuvering him over slippery straw and sawdust to the tack room, where Jerry was snoring away. Diarmid got Aidan to the cot and let him fall there. Aidan hit his head against the wall on the way down, moaning.

“Quiet,” Diarmid whispered.

Aidan grabbed his shirt, pulling him close. “’Preciate this.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Aidan said, “Broken up.”

“Pardon?”

“We’re all . . . broken up.” A half-uttered sob. Aidan was crying. “Everythin’ ruined.”

Drunken blathering. He wished Aidan would shut up and go to sleep. Diarmid pulled away, and Aidan let him go.

“Grace too,” Aidan said. “But there’s somethin’ ’bout you. You look like . . .” His head lolled to the side. He said with amazement, “Screamin’s . . . stopped.” And then he was unconscious.

Diarmid sighed. No wonder Grace was so worried. All that talk about curses and screaming. Diarmid sat against the
wall, bringing up his knees and leaning his head back to look at the ceiling.

“She’ll say yes.”

But she hadn’t yet, had she?

He closed his eyes as exhaustion washed over him. Before he knew it, he was lost in dreams where he was kissing her, and she lifted her pale throat to him, and he pressed his mouth to her pulse and felt the beat of her heart in his blood. Then a knife flashed in his raised hand, and there was a terrible scream, and his arms were empty and he was alone and waiting in darkness. He heard thunder and the roar of a cyclone wind, and she was there again, her hair alive in lightning, the air pulsing blue and violet and red, her dark eyes dancing as she swept everything in her path away.

He woke to an unfamiliar voice saying in irritation, “Do I pay you to sleep? And what the hell is Aidan Knox doing here?”

Diarmid opened his eyes, staring into a pair of expensive boots, slowly becoming aware that his neck had a crick in it and his shoulder hurt from being jammed up next to a bootjack and his bruises from the gang fight were sorer than ever. He blinked and rolled—he was on the floor, he realized—and rose to his elbows, peering up at a young man with hair just this side of blond who was staring at him with a mixture of concern and annoyance.

“We haven’t met,” the young man said. “But I’m your employer. Patrick Devlin. Jerry tells me you’re Derry.”

Diarmid winced both at the silly rhyme and the pain, and struggled to his feet. “Aye. One of your twin dogs, at your service.” The moment he got a good look at Patrick Devlin, he knew what Grace saw in him.
Don’t think of that.
Diarmid rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. Late night.”

Devlin glanced to where Aidan was sprawled on the cot. “Aidan was involved, I take it.”

Diarmid nodded. “Though mostly it was me trying to save him from himself.”

“I see.” Devlin frowned.

Too late, Diarmid remembered that Aidan’s condition wouldn’t do much to help Grace. “I don’t know that it’s a common thing—”

“I need to talk to you,” Devlin interrupted.

Diarmid was blurry with sleep, but even so he knew how odd it was that Patrick Devlin would want to have any kind of conversation with his stableboy.
Lucy,
he thought first. And then,
the ogham stick
—but no, Grace had promised not to tell.

But that was before he’d lied to her and tricked her. Before he’d kissed her, and she’d slapped him.

“About what?” Derry said, then realized no stableboy would speak to a master that way.

Devlin didn’t bat an eye. He was looking at Aidan. He murmured to himself, “I suppose I should get him home first.
Grace will be worried.” To Diarmid he said, “Come to the house in an hour. Could you do that?”

Devlin’s manner was unusual. Asking, not demanding, as was his right. Warily, Diarmid said, “Aye.”

“Miss Knox has told me some interesting things,” Devlin said casually. “Very interesting things. About you.”

Now Diarmid went cold. Grace had told Devlin something about him, but what? And why? She’d been angry. She couldn’t have said anything good. But then again, she didn’t know anything. Not who they really were. Not what the ogham stick meant. Not that they suspected Devlin was involved, nor that they believed it was the Brotherhood who had called them here.

Devlin gestured to Aidan. “Help me get him on a horse.”

Diarmid shook Aidan awake. Grace’s brother looked around blearily, moaning and grabbing his head.

“God,” Aidan said, and then he noticed Devlin. “Patrick. What the hell’re you doin’ here?”

“You’re in my stables,” Devlin pointed out.

Aidan laughed—he was still a little drunk, Diarmid realized as he helped Grace’s brother to his feet. Which was also odd. He must have had even more whiskey than Diarmid had thought. He had to help Aidan into the saddle. Devlin jumped in front, and Aidan made some derisive comment about riding like a girl, and they started toward the stable doors.

Diarmid was halfway to the water barrel when Devlin said, “One hour, Diarmid Ua Duibhne. Don’t be late.”

Diarmid froze. For a moment he didn’t think he’d heard correctly. His name. His name, which no one but the other Fianna knew. Grace didn’t know it. She could not have told Devlin.
How does Devlin know it?

But by the time Diarmid had gathered himself enough to look back, Patrick Devlin was already riding out into another sweltering, thundering day.

TWENTY-FIVE

Grace

E
verything went from bad to worse when I opened the front door to find Patrick supporting a disheveled and still-stumbling Aidan.

Mama put her hand to her mouth, and the only sound that came from her was a high little
eek
.

“For God’s sake, don’ bring me here,” Aidan slurred.

Patrick gave my mother a reassuring smile and glanced past her to me. “I thought I’d deliver your brother to you, as he seems in no state to get himself home.”

“Oh, Aidan.” I wanted to cry.

My brother raised his eyes to me. “Grace, don’.”

“It’s all right,” Patrick said softly. “Might we come inside?”

My mother stirred to life, standing back to let them in. Patrick released Aidan, who stumbled over the doorjamb. Patrick grabbed him again. “Shall I help him to his room?” he
asked me.

I nodded numbly.

“I c’n make it on my own,” Aidan said, but he fell over the first step. I followed as Patrick and Aidan made their slow way up, Aidan crashing against the wall, the banister, Patrick. Patrick took Aidan to his room, releasing my brother to fall upon his bed. Aidan hit the mattress with a garbled groan, as limp as a rag doll, his hair tumbling into his face.

Patrick was breathing hard as he turned to face me. He took my hands, pulling me to him, wrapping his arms around me while I buried my face in his shirt. A fresh, clean scent, no dust or sweat or blood. I felt his kiss on my hair.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right, Grace, truly. I’m only glad I could bring him home to you again.”

I felt the rumble of his voice against my cheek. I didn’t want to pull away. In Patrick’s arms, everything seemed all right. But it wasn’t. Nothing was going to be all right again. I heard my mother’s step and drew back. “Thank you,” I whispered.

He nodded. Then my mother was there, saying, “Patrick, you’ve been so kind. Will you stay for tea? I do wish we had some way to thank you.”

Patrick shook his head. His gaze lingered on me. “I’m afraid I can’t stay. I have a meeting. But I wanted to be certain Aidan got home safely.”

“Grace,” Aidan murmured from the bed. “You don’ know . . .”

“I suppose you’d best tend to him. I won’t keep you,”
Patrick said.

“Let me show you out,” Mama offered.

Once they were gone, I turned on Aidan with fury. “What’s wrong with you? How could you let Patrick see you like this?”

He ducked his head as if he thought I meant to hit him—which didn’t seem such a bad idea. “It wasn’t my fault.”

“You couldn’t have picked some club where he was unlikely to go?”

“Wasn’t at a club. He came to the stable.”

“The stable? What stable?”

“Where I was sleepin’.”

My head felt filled with static. That damned thunder! “Why would you be sleeping in a stable?”

“Derry took me there.”

“Derry?”

Aidan nodded, covering his eyes. “’E was at the club.”

“Derry was at a club with you?”

“Gamblin’ hell. Nasty place.”

Nothing about this could be good. “Why were you with Derry at a gambling hell?”

“’E found me there.”

“I don’t understand.”

“’E was there,” said my brother. “Made me come to the stable with him.”

“Why would he do that?”

Aidan shrugged and then grimaced. “Made me stop drinkin’ an’ leave. I didn’ want to come home, so ’e took me with ’im.”

I stared down at my brother. It was Derry, not Patrick, who had found and taken care of Aidan. The static in my head grew louder—a buzzing, but muffled and foggy. “But why?”

“I think it was for you. The way ’e looks at you . . . Thought ’e was with Lucy?”

“He is. He was, I mean. Not anymore, I imagine. I told Patrick about them.”

My brother winced again. “Wha’ for? That was mean.”

Yes, it had been. But it was best for Lucy, and for me. It was
best.