stopped me from calling them. You want to explain what’s going on?”
Cathal noticed Myk then but had no idea of how long he’d been in the cabin. He also noticed Quinn, rubbing wrists reddened where Etain had gripped them.
Worry penetrated relief. The guilt would tear her apart if she’d stripped Quinn’s mind of memories.
“You okay?” he asked, knowing the question was inadequate.
“Yeah. I feel fine. You need to get her to the hospital. Like now.”
“We should call 911 first,” Sean said. “See if we should try to revive her.”
Cathal stood with her cradled his arms. “I’ve got it under control.”
“You’re a doctor these days?” There was censure in Sean’s tone, anger that provided a glimpse into what his future held—chasms created because he was part of a world those around him didn’t know existed—and he didn’t like the look of it.
“Trust me to do what’s right for her. You know how important she is to me.” Important enough he’d been willing to risk dying for her if his father and uncle thought he’d betrayed the family.
Sean nodded. “You’ll be in touch?”
“I’ll be in touch.”
When they were away from their audience, Cathal asked, “That had to do with her being a changeling?”
“Yes.”
“It was normal then?”
“No.”
“You put the sleeping spell on her?”
With Eamon’s nod, Cathal’s arms tightened on her involuntarily. It had taken all his strength to minimize her movement, and the entire time he’d been terrified it wouldn’t be enough and she’d break her own bones as she seized.
“My heart stopped when hers did at the hospital. This time nothing happened. Why?”
“I don’t know. The bond you have with her is unique to the
Eamon opened the car door, allowing Cathal to slide inside with Etain, then he joined them in the back seat. “The seizure was magic related. It was not a small manifestation of it. This is why she needs to stay at my home, or if you prefer, Aesirs. You may choose our destination.”
A muscle spasmed in Eamon’s cheek. “No.”
“Then we go to my house.” It was a concession of a different type. Though when they arrived, he carried her into the TV room rather than the bedroom, placing her on the couch because he wasn’t yet ready for the three of them to be together in his bed.
Straightening, he noticed his hands shaking now that he was finally in the safety of his own home. Fuck, what a day. “Get you a drink?” He sure as hell needed one.
Cathal’s question barely registered as Eamon stared at the drawing on the coffee table. A green Dragon breathed fire as it formed and climbed onto shore, emerging from an emerald lake, the center of it cloudy with magic not yet gathered into symbolic form.
There was no question as to origin. He’d seen similar drawings done by other changelings. In this visual representation, he recognized what he’d experienced through scent and touch in those last moments before she was free of magic—fire and water and ancient forests not of this world.
“Etain did this?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
At the bar Cathal poured himself a drink. “Last night, I think.”
“I’ll take one, whatever you’re having.” Not because he desired a drink but because he recognized the relationship between the two of them had shifted favorably and he wished to sustain it.
At the fund-raiser Etain had made him laugh by suggesting he go bond with Cathal over some tunes. Apparently they were to do so over much more serious matters.
Eamon accepted the glass, pulling a chair close and allowing Cathal to claim the spot on the couch next to Etain. An ache formed at watching Cathal’s hand brush across her cheek, eliciting a murmur from her. Would his relationship with her ever be so uncomplicated? So natural?
“How long do you intend to keep her under?” Cathal asked.
“She sleeps naturally now.”
“Meaning I could wake her.”
“Yes.” But he made no move to.
“Does she hear voices?” Eamon asked, and saw Cathal’s fingers whiten on the glass he held.
Jesus. If his hands were free he’d scrub them over his face in case this entire day—or at least the part of it beginning after they left the house—was a nightmare he just needed to wake from.
Ignorance is deadly. Reluctantly he’d come to understand just how true those words were with respect to Etain.
“As far as I know, she doesn’t hear voices.” He took a long drink. “Why?”
“Elves wield magic, and that magic has at its roots, the elements. Sometimes the wielding is more in line with a human knack or talent. An Elf with a tie to water, for instance, might become a fisherman, though gifts vary in strength as well as focus. One of us might be able to reliably navigate through violent storms while another is always able to locate sought after schools of fish.”
“Handy talents to have.”
“Yes.”
“But…”
“We wield magic because we are also its vessel. In this world it is not a seamless joining of will and power—especially in the changeling years. Our young can become a destructive force, acting out the will of the elements where the elements themselves can’t easily do so given the constraints of natural law. Most often these are spontaneous acts but not always.”
“As in? Give me an example. I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around this.” Fucking truth, it was making his head pound.
“If not monitored closely, and prevented from acting, they might come to be what the news calls eco- terrorists.”
Cathal pressed the cold glass against his forehead. He doubted the things he’d seen Eamon do barely scratched the surface of what was possible. Hell, what Etain could already do was pretty damn scary. “Are we talking all…Elves…being at risk of going off the rails at any given time, or just changelings?”
“The battle to maintain control is lifelong but very few slip after the physical change takes place. It is during that transition period we are most vulnerable. For us this can start at twelve or thirteen and last a dozen or more years.”
Cathal’s chest felt tight as they came full circle, back to the very word and idea he hated, but he forced himself to ask, “Changelings hear voices, like a schizophrenic does?”
“Yes. Sometimes magic has a voice.” An elegant, lord-like wave of Eamon’s hand indicated the drawing. “And sometimes it even appears in the mind as something best described as an avatar. Did she say anything about the Dragon?”
He closed his eyes, torn because he’d noticed her hesitation and nonanswer when he’d asked her about the picture as they’d grabbed a bite before heading out to visit Vontae’s family. He wanted to deny the uneasiness he’d felt then, the fear he felt now, the icy cold of it having crept back in, deeper than it had been because of the seizure.
Could he trust her?
