Marco gave a tap-tap before poking his head in. “Hey, Brigid. Hey, cookies!”
He made a beeline for them as Brigid rose.
“I should get back to doing. Thanks for sharing the tea. Rain’s letting up a bit,” she commented with a nod to the windows. “We’ll have a clear evening after all.”
“Did I run her off?” Marco asked when Brigid went out.
“She strikes me as someone who doesn’t sit still for long. Good nap?”
“Solid, baby. I was hoping Brian would be back when I woke up, and the elf from hell would be in, like, the dungeon or wherever. Guess not.” He sat, grabbed another cookie. “Did you write?”
“Solid, baby. I’m going to get out of this chair in a minute—or two—and take my very good dog for a walk in the rain.”
“I’m in on that.” He switched to bread and cheese. “They’ll find her, and that’ll be that. Then we can concentrate on taking out the Big Bad.”
They walked through what was more a fine mist than rain while spots of blue cracked through the gray. The sun dipped west.
Dragons flew through the mist, through the gray and the blue. She spotted Cróga, but Bran, the boy Keegan promised, rode him.
So he was back, she thought, or had gone out again on a horse. But since they still searched, Shana continued to elude them.
They walked to the village and back as the mists faded, as dusk lowered. As they started back in, Brigid ran out.
“Girl, you’re everywhere,” Marco commented, and she laughed.
“Do you think? Well, I’m here to tell you the taoiseach sends for you. He’s in his tower workshop. I’ll take you.”
She led them to the tower, up the winding steps to the floor below Keegan’s bedchamber.
Brigid knocked, opened the heavy door at Keegan’s “Come.”
Breen saw a room as large as his bedroom and sitting rooms combined. Fires snapping on either side, worktables, shelves holding cauldrons and bowls, candles and jars.
And she saw Marg.
“Nan!”
She all but flew across the room, but Bollocks still beat her to wag and rub his body against Marg’s legs.
“Ah, there you are.” Marg returned the hard embrace. “Mo stór, what a time you’ve had.”
“I’m so glad you’re here. How are you here? Why are you here?”
“We’ll get to that. Marco. Let’s have a kiss.”
When he’d obliged, she gave the dog the attention he begged for, and topped it off by pulling a biscuit from her pocket.
“There now, take that and sit by the fire awhile. Keegan came to fetch me, and so we traveled back on dragons. And I’m here, I hope, to help find this lost and wicked girl.”
Keegan, the sleeves of his black sweater shoved to his elbows, stopped his work with mortar and pestle. His face, Breen realized, looked both weary and grim.
“We have others coming, and we’ll see if we can make it work.”
“Make what work?” Breen asked.
“A finding spell,” Marg told her. “Not near as simple as it may sound. We are, the Fey, born to block and resist such spells. They take away choice, and no spells for finding, but for lost objects, are written.”
“You’ll have wine. I’ve not given you a moment to catch your breath since we arrived. Sit and catch it now.”
“Well then, I will, and give you time to explain what we know now, and why you came for me.”
“She’s done something.” Breen’s stomach clenched. “She’s hurt someone.”
“A boy, barely twelve. Sit, sit. I want some of this myself,” he added as he poured wine. “A little farm in the midlands near the banks of the River Shein. He stayed home from school to mind his two young brothers—not yet school-age—as his parents joined the search.”
Saying nothing, Marco took two glasses to Breen and Marg.
“Smashed his head with a rock she did, and took his clothes. Left him bleeding and naked in the cold. Took the horse he’d gone out to feed.”
“Is he— How bad?” Breen asked, and Keegan shook his head.
“Healers are doing what they can. He was an hour, they think, before the littles—only four years, twin boys—went to look for him. They had the wit to cover him with blankets, and were running to the nearest cottage when one of the Sidhe scouting the area saw them and flew down.
“They have him in spell sleep, as the damage is great, and will take hours if not days to heal. If it can be healed. She’s going west, that’s clear.”