Awakening (Book One of The Geis) (22 page)

“Rourke wants to know if you believe him.” I told him.

Josh took a breath and let it out slowly. Rourke watched him, a look of intensity on his face.

“Yes.”

Rourke raised his chin in approval.

My mouth hung open. Only that evening had I begun to comprehend the impossible, and Josh was ok with it after hearing it once. Was he for real?

“It feels right,” Josh continued.

Such faith will get you far.
Rourke put his hand on Josh’s shoulder.

“Is the lizard some kind of protector? Is that why the fire didn’t burn you?” Josh asked Rourke.

I’m still attached to Tír na nÓg. Your world turns faster than mine. My body functions slowly compared to yours. I don’t have to eat as often, and I rarely sleep. My skin didn’t react to the heat as quickly, but the one burn I sustained kept burning for long after the fire.
Rourke raised his pant leg to expose a scar that crept up his ankle.

I cringed, pulling both legs up to my chest on the swing. “There’s something else. When the banshee wailed at me, I pushed with my emotions, the ones I use to communicate feeling through my dance. I wasn’t able to get her off of me, but I held her wail at bay until I blacked out.”

Aunt Avril studied me, and Rourke seemed completely taken aback by this news. He looked at me with pride.
You are stronger than I anticipated.

I flushed, forgetting to translate for Josh.

“What did he say?”

“He says I am stronger than he thought.” I watched Rourke’s hands as he continued to sign. “Faith is power, and the more I trust in the unseen, the greater my power will grow.”

Josh leaned forward on the porch swing, his gaze on Rourke. “What do we need to do to get you home?”

I pulled at his arm. “You don’t have to do this. Rourke’s fight doesn’t belong to you.”

“It’s not Rourke I’m fighting for.” Josh put his hand on top of mine, his gaze intense. My heart pulsed beneath the skin where he touched my hand, and it was a moment before I could tear myself away from the look in his eyes.

The best thing that we can do is to stay together. Don’t let anyone go out alone, and stay in public places. Cliona won’t do anything to attract attention to herself, but if you get in her way, she won’t hesitate.

“Isn’t there some way that we can stop her, or keep her at bay?” Josh asked.

No.
Rourke’s fingers snapped the word out.
Over the years I have tried everything to stop Cliona—from attempting to trap her, to hunting her down with the intention of killing her. There is nothing that you, as a human can do to stop her. The only option left is to wait until the new moon and hope that Cliona will return home when the geis is fulfilled. Until the moon hides her face, we must do everything we can to be invisible to the banshee. At this point, it’s best if we don’t provoke her.

“So I suppose I shouldn’t have thrown the comb on her doorstep?” I grimaced.

He reached under the collar of his shirt and pulled out a necklace that matched the one Ansul wore on his collar. Rourke’s was larger—a circled cross was intersected with a blue-and-black-streaked stone.

Wear this. Don’t ever take it off. It will shield your magic from the banshee and make it harder for her to find you.
Rourke slipped it over my head. The weight of the amulet felt heavy against my chest.

I touched the stone with my finger. The colors seemed to swirl inside the gem. “Won’t you need it for protection?”

As long as the geis is in place, the banshee can’t hurt me.
Rourke clicked his fingers for the lizard. It stood slowly, stretching before it plodded over to stand next to him.
Ansul will watch over your parents and your sister.

“McKayla must move into my apartment with her family,” Aunt Avril decided. “The closer we stay together, the more protection we can offer each other.”

Rourke nodded his approval.

“Then what can we do?” Josh asked.

There are crossroads that lead from your world to mine, sort of in-between spaces that can be used for traveling from place to place.
Rourke paced to the porch steps and back.
Through the centuries, I’ve learned that it is easiest to travel where light meets dark, where water touches the earth.

“Have you tried it?” The idea of traveling between worlds fascinated me.

The circumstances of the geis must be fulfilled before I can leave.

“How do you know that you’ll be able to go home when it’s time?” I asked.

I don’t. But for centuries I’ve searched for the perfect intersection between our worlds.

“The Intermittent Spring!” Josh leaned back against the wooden slats of the swing. “That’s why you came here, to Star Valley.”

Yes. When the spring breathes, I should be able to slip into the space between here and Tír na nÓg, propelling myself home once I’m free of the geis.

I remembered the feeling of belonging that I sensed when visiting the spring. Maybe I really could feel the connection to Rourke that flowed through my veins.

Josh had his phone out. “It says here that the new moon is on November fifteenth.”

“That’s only two weeks away.” The thought sent my heart racing.

Aunt Avril bit her lip in concentration. “There are a few things I can look into that might shed some light on this banshee.”

“I’ll help.” I planted my feet on the porch to stop the swing.

No more investigating for you,
Rourke signed.
It’s too dangerous.

Aunt Avril walked down the stairs, looking back to see if I was coming.

I gave Josh back his blanket, wishing I could stay and talk through all of this with him. He pulled me into a quick hug. “See you tomorrow,” he whispered into my ear.

I glanced at the waning moon before following Aunt Avril. “Stay bright,” I whispered.

Rourke handed Leah the dance notes to read over, aware of where her fingers touched his over the papers. He moved to the center of the floor, breathing in the smell of fresh paint and vanilla that was unique to Leah’s studio. Planning for the dance program gave him a brief respite from the decisions he knew he would soon have to make.

Rourke tapped his foot, listening to the count of the reel. He stepped out the choreography.

Leaving would be more difficult than he originally anticipated. He had lived in solitude, with only Ansul as company, for centuries. The last few months had reminded him of what life could be like with people who needed him, like a family. In the back of his mind, he knew he couldn’t keep the relationships he was forming. But perhaps if he didn’t think about that yet, he could enjoy the companionship for a little while longer. His days went by faster now, and he hadn’t thought of home as often. Until this week.

He knew there was nothing he could do about Cliona, at least not yet. She lurked at the crossroads in his life, taking away every scrap of sunlight and killing all the joy he’d ever known. For decades he had tracked her and tried to rid this world of her, but she always slipped through his fingers, and eventually he had stopped searching. Her position over him was much too powerful. He knew he shouldn’t have gotten involved with teaching dance—he’d tried not to. But the loneliness and stale monotony had been too much. In a moment of selfish weakness, he had allowed himself to open up to love again. And pain.

It was his fault that McKayla’s family was in danger. Having Leah close to him only made things worse. All of those who lingered near him were in harm’s way.

Rourke let the music go on without him, watching as Leah read his words. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but a few tendrils framed her face. She bit her fingernail as she read, a quirk that only endeared her to him. Melancholy smothered him like a wet blanket.

He paced, forgetting about the duet he was supposed to be fleshing out. Long before he’d come across the seas from Ireland, before magic came to the Isle, and before Cliona trained him in her sights, Rourke had loved. Neela, his wife, and the families of his three children were everything to him. He had vowed never to bind himself to the things of this world again. And now, here he was, so close to returning home and yet finding a reason to stay. The irony of centuries in loneliness closed in on him.

Rourke’s people needed him, and he longed to gaze on the mountains and valleys of home. Duty and sacrifice demanded that he leave this all behind him.

Rourke didn’t dance full-out. It wasn’t worth the pain. He stepped through the role of the prince without the sweeping flourishes and dramatic footwork.

He waved to get Leah’s attention, and she looked up from the notes. Her face lit up with excitement.
She must like the choreography
, Rourke thought. His pulse quickened.

“This is lovely. How did you come up with it?” she asked.

Rourke shrugged, holding out his hand for her to join him.

He used motions to show Leah where to begin, and then watched as she worked out the steps using his notes. Though he had seen some better dancers in his long life, she moved in a way that calmed Rourke and brought him rare peace. Leah sensed his gaze on her.

“What is it?” She stopped. “Am I dancing it wrong?”

No
.
It looks great. I’m trying to figure out something in my head.

Though Leah knew little sign language, they still understood each other. As the weeks went by, Leah had expressed amazement at how easy sign language was to decipher. The language was intuitive if one focused on the meaning of the gestures, but Leah was blind to the fact that Rourke enhanced her understanding with his limited power over motion.

Go ahead,
he prompted.

She began again, her eyes never leaving his. The dance began with his choreography, and then Leah left the structure, dropping his notes and abandoning herself to the music. Her movements were fluid, befitting a princess in love, and Rourke knew the duet would be everything he had imagined.

Leah used Rourke as a spotting point as she danced, and her emotions rolled toward him in waves, smoothing the trouble from his mind like the tide clearing debris from a rocky beach. Love washed over him in its place, and he stared, unbelieving. He knew that Leah cared for him, but the adoration that emanated from her dancing at that moment was more than he had imagined. Joy filled his heart, and he realized that this could be a love deeper than he had felt in centuries.

His feet began moving as if of their own accord, orchestrating a dance that he had learned long ago, before the sorrows of this world had weighted his heart. The movements were quick, tapping out a rhythm against the hardwood floor.

Leah danced in a circle around him, reaching for his hand. Her fingers were delicate when she linked them with his. He felt powerful when he was with her—an echo of the man he might have been. Her leaps were light in contrast to the heavy tips and trebles he pounded into the floor as he followed her lead.

Shards of pain radiated from his knee to his ankle, but he ignored the sensation, reveling in the elation he felt in expressing his emotions through music—emotions for Leah that he had suppressed in an effort to protect her.

She brushed his shoulder with her hand. Rourke caught it and spun her around so that her back was pressed against his chest. He gathered her in his arms, swaying to the music and breathing in the intoxicating lavender scent that surrounded her. The reflection of them in the mirror showed lovers in an embrace—she with her eyes closed, a look of rare contentment softening her features. Rourke barely recognized himself as the man holding her tight. That man looked happy, fulfilled.

It would be so easy to lose himself, to give in to his emotions. For now, Rourke could pretend he was untouched by sorrow, and that the past would never come to find him.

Her face was so close to his he could feel her breath on his skin. For a brief moment, Rourke imagined taking her for his own, and kissing her. Then images of the banshee filled his mind, and he knew he had to let her go. He relented, spinning her around to face him and gripping her arms with both hands. Leah’s eyes widened, and she looked up at him in surprise, her brown eyes searching his.

Rourke shook his head. He couldn’t encourage this. He remembered the pain he had caused to his family, generations of them, through the years. Guilt snuffed out any spark of hope or chance that they could be together. He had to keep Leah at arm’s length. He took a step back.

“What is it?” Leah rested her hand on his arm. Rourke looked at her hand, so small compared to his. Her touch was light, but the weight of what he had to do crushed his heart.

I have to go.
He pulled away and began gathering his things. Ansul looked at Rourke with knowing eyes. He avoided the lizard’s gaze
. I’ll only be here for lessons.

The hurt in Leah’s eyes was more than he could take. “Please don’t leave. I won’t do it again—I’ll stick right to the steps you’ve written.”

Did she think he was angry because she’d expressed her own ideas in the dance? Rourke grimaced.
It’s not that, Leah.

When he signed her name, Leah’s face softened. “Don’t go,” she repeated, her voice low and pleading.

It can’t work for us, Leah,
he signed.
Trust me, it’s for the best.

Leah stood still, her arms held away from her sides where Rourke had held them. She straightened, her lip quivering, and took a step forward. “I don’t believe you. I know you have feelings for me.”

It tore Rourke’s heart out to hurt her like this. He cursed inwardly. He never should have let her get this close. Hadn’t the years of penance taught him anything?

No Leah. I’m not going to be here on this world much longer
.

McKayla and her family were tied to him in ways they could not fathom, but Leah would be safe without him. A pain in the back of Rourke’s throat made it difficult to swallow.

Rourke walked out the door without looking back. He could feel her questioning eyes following him as he began barring up his heart, locking it away again where no one could reach it. He had to believe that it would be worth it.