“You have Marg’s protection.” Keegan tapped the stone she wore around her neck, the dragon’s heart stone she’d coupled with her father’s wedding ring. “Give him yours. Make him a charm. It’s not an impenetrable shield, but it’s from you.”
“I put rosemary and amethyst under his pillow so he’d sleep.”
“I think the wine will add to that. The man has a strong head for wine.”
He watched the dog jump from the lake, shake water from his dense curls. “I have something to say to you.”
“About training tomorrow.”
“Before that. I said it before, but it was rushed, and you were already upset. I’m sorry, truly, for going at you hard as I did when you had to go back, for not believing you, as I should have, that you’d return, even when you swore it.”
“It hurt me.”
“I know it did, as I meant it to.” When Bollocks raced back, Keegan bent to give him a strong rub, and dry him thoroughly. “I’m sorry for that, and it’s a fecking burden for me to be sorry over and over again, so I’m getting it done.”
“There’s more?”
“Before I left the Capital, my mother asked me to be diplomatic and patient with you, even knowing I have little diplomacy or patience. I’m sorry I didn’t do as my mother asked. I didn’t come at you to hurt you then, but I hurt you nonetheless.”
“You didn’t, so I’ll let you off there. I wasn’t hurt, I was terrified and twisted up with worry I’d never see Marco or Sally or Derrick again. That I’d never see my book published, or finish the one I’m writing. That I won’t be enough to stop what’s coming, and I’ll die when I’ve really just started to live.”
“Yet you came, your father’s daughter.”
She looked up at the moon, the lone moon of this world. And thought of the two in her father’s.
Both hers.
“If I don’t try to be just that, none of the rest means much of anything. You released me.”
“I did, and will again if that’s your choice.”
“It’s not. This is my choice.”
“Then come to the training field tomorrow as you did before. If I knock you down, you’ll get up.”
She looked toward the water and the reflection of the three-quarter moon that swam over it. “There’s not much time, is there?”
“Not as much, I think, as we’d like.”
“Will we be ready?”
“We will be because we must be. Leave your window open as before. If Odran pushes into your dreams, I’ll come.”
“He doesn’t know I’m back, not yet. He’s too busy pushing against the portal.”
Keegan gripped her arm. “You see this? Know this?”
“I feel it. Maybe I’m wrong, but—”
“You won’t be wrong. Put a charm under your pillow as well. Block him out. It gives us more time.”
“All right.”
She saw Cróga sail across the moon, then sweep over the water. “When did you bond with him, your dragon?”
“I was eleven.” Cróga landed on the grass, shaking the ground. “We were both smaller then.”
Keegan strode over, used Cróga’s tail to boost him into the saddle. He looked back at her, standing quietly, the moonlight showering silver on her hair.
“Oíche mhaith, Breen Siobhan.”
Dragon and rider soared up. She felt the wake of wind from the slash of tail before they flew over the woods, through the dark, and into Talamh.
CHAPTER FOUR
In the morning, with the first cup of coffee in her hand, Breen opened the bay-side door. Bollocks streaked out for his morning swim with his happy barks echoing through the silence.
She followed more leisurely across the patio, over the grass, spongy and damp from a rain that had come and gone while she slept.
She smelled roses and rosemary.
In her bare feet she walked down the slope of the lawn to the edge of the sand and shale beach. There she drank her coffee and watched her dog’s curly head bop and bounce through the pale gray of the water and the mists that rose, thin, smoky fingers, toward a sky just awakening.
Philadelphia felt like the dream now, those few weeks she’d spent there between the then and the now all blurred colors and movement.
Standing there in the misty dawn as night gave way to day, with the quiet disturbed only by the call of birds and her dog’s cheerful splashes, brought her a peace so complete she wished she could cup that moment in her hands and hold it.
And holding it, make it last to always.
She stood just a bit longer and watched a little red boat slide in and out of the mists, and those mists thin as the sun strengthened.
But there was work to do, and duties to uphold. She went back inside to fill the dog’s bowls and left the door open for his return before she started upstairs.
She lit the living room fire with a thought, did the same with the one in her bedroom as she changed for her morning workout.
Marco slept on as she went through her morning routine. Slept still as she settled in at her desk, the dog curled on the bed behind her.
And like the boat, she slipped into the mists of the story.
When she surfaced, craving a Coke, she felt the satisfaction of progress. She thought she might have another hour in her—once she got that hit of cold caffeine—so went out to get it.
Marco sat at the dining room table working on his laptop. He wore his jeans pressed, his red sweater trim, and his gorgeous braids tied back with a matching red band.
How, she often wondered, did he do it?
“Good morning. I didn’t even hear you.”
“I’m working on being quiet. Plus, the way you were clicketyclacking in there, I figure I could’ve blasted out some Beyoncé and you wouldn’t’ve heard it.”
“I had a groove going.” She went in the kitchen for the Coke, sniffed the air. “I smell bacon.”
“I got us a good, solid brunch warming in the oven.”
To see for herself, Breen opened the oven door to plates of omelets, bacon, breakfast potatoes.
“It looks amazing. I usually grab a piece of toast.”
“Not while Marco’s here.” He rose, went to the fridge. “We’ve got some mixed berry yogurt parfaits. I’m going to earn my keep, plus I figure you need some good, healthy fuel for all this training business.”
“I really didn’t want to be glad you’re here. You completely screwed that up for me.”
“Sit yourself down.” He handed her the parfaits. “I’ll get the plates. Sweet blog this morning,” he added. “Like a bonus since you posted one last night. Did you read the comments?”
“No. I wanted to get right back into the story.”
“A lot of people posted condolences about your dad. I’m not ashamed to say I teared up a couple times. Anyway, since we linked your blog to your website, and your website to the blog, got your other social media going, your followers have more than doubled.”
“Since you linked,” Breen corrected. “I’m so glad I don’t have to try to do all that.”
“You nagged me into the job.” He set the plates on the table. “Did you check your email since we got here?”
She winced. “Well, no.”
“Good thing I get copied on the New York stuff. But you need to do that more often, girl. Anyway.”
He sat, gestured for her to do the same, then angled his laptop so she could see the screen. “Got this attachment this morning. For your approval.”
He brought up an image that had Breen gasping.
Bollocks—or the artist’s version—seemed to prance across the screen in all his curly glory. His head turned toward her with his big doggy smile. BOLLOCKS’S MAGIC ADVENTURES arched in bright red over him. And below read: BY BREEN KELLY.