“How is the child? The little girl.”
“Alanis? Resilient.”
He turned to her fully. “You would know because you would go and see her, make sure of it. And this is yet another reason I ask you to serve on the council. The law must have heart, it has to beat from it, or it turns to stone.”
“I … I’m gobsmacked, and that’s the truth of it. But I’d be honored to serve Talamh, and you, on the council. But I’d ask for someone to teach me how to, well, do it.”
“You’ll have my mother for that. I’m on my way back to the Capital now, and I’ll see you have rooms and whatever you need. Do you have a horse?”
“I do, aye, though I’m faster on my feet.”
“You’ll want the horse in any case.” He held out a hand. “I’m grateful to you.”
“I’ll hope you will be.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
He didn’t come to the cottage that night, or the night after. Breen learned of progress at the Capital—slow—from Marg through the scrying mirror. She heard tidbits from Brian, who came late, left early, so she knew Keegan traveled the whole of Talamh every day, and spent hours in the forest on the search for the dark portal.
She immersed herself in her work. It gave her purpose, held off the worry, and stopped her, for hours at a time, from feeling useless.
And she shocked herself when she came to the end.
It wasn’t finished, she reminded herself as she stared at her laptop screen. She had to go through it all, edit, fix, polish, obsess.
But somehow it was all there. Five hundred and thirty-six pages of her words, all there.
She had to stand up, walk around the room, so Bollocks’s head popped up from his nap on the bed. She had to open the garden door, breathe the cool air. And because he sensed her mood—glazed joy—instead of bulleting out, Bollocks reared up on his hind legs and danced around her.
“Yeah, we’ll dance.” She held out her hands so he put his forepaws in them. Joy beamed from his eyes into hers.
“I made you a demon dog in the book, I hope you don’t mind. You’re a good demon dog. An amazing demon dog, the best ever in the history of demon dogs.
“I don’t know what to do next. Yes, I do! We have to go tell Marco.”
Happy to oblige, Bollocks ran out with her to where Marco sat at the table working. She smelled red sauce and spicy meat. Spaghetti and meatballs, she realized.
Perfect. Everything was perfect.
“Hey, girl.” He kept tapping his keyboard. “I’m about done here, and if you can do that woo-woo thing to the stove, I was thinking we could go over and take a ride. Who knew I’d learn how to ride a horse, much less miss doing it? You gotta need a break from writing after two days of pretty much round-the-clock.”
“Marco.”
“Yeah, two seconds, just finishing up, and I talked with Abby in Publicity about setting up social media accounts for Bollocks—like, his accounts, get it? After the first of the year, get people invested in him, you know?”
“Marco,” she repeated.
“And done. Yeah, what?”
He looked up and over, saw her face. “Something’s up.” He got slowly to his feet. “I think it’s good, but I know there’s shit going on you’re not telling me about. Or can’t. And Brian can’t. So tell me if it’s good right off.”
“It’s good. It’s great. It’s ridiculous. I finished the book. The novel. The fantasy. Well, not finished-finished because—”
She ended on a laugh because he swooped her up and spun her around. Not to be outdone, Bollocks reared up again and added a few joyful howls.
“Mimosas! Now!”
“Mimosas?” She laughed again, clung to him. “It’s barely two in the afternoon.”
“You wrote a damn book—another damn book.” He eased back to give her a noisy kiss. “And we’re having mimosas.”
“I wrote a book. Two books. Well, one and a half, maybe a third, because I still have to edit and expand, or contract, polish it or—”
“Two books,” Marco said definitely. “Girl, I’m so proud of you.”
“You’re a big part of why. If I had to do all that?” She pointed to his laptop, his files. “Well, I wouldn’t. I’ll take the mimosa. I think I have to sit down. I think I have to cry a little.”
“You cry all you want.” He drew her in again. “I’m going to cry with you. My Breen.”