Page 66 of The Robin on the Oak Throne

“And are you of Clan Brannon?” Oisín could see very well that he was British with Graves as a surname, but it was worth asking anyway.

“On my mother’s side.”

“Is that what you are looking for? Your mother’s people?”

He considered, clearly a man of few words, who hadbeen taught young to hold his tongue and to speak carefully. “In a way,” he said finally. “Do you know of them?”

Oisín confirmed that he did, but he also knew more than he let on. That Clan Brannon had a High Priestess among them. That she had fallen pregnant by a man here on business and he’d taken her with him back across the Irish Sea. That it was possiblethisBrannon may be more than he was letting on as well.

It took many more rounds over a few stubborn days before Brannon confessed to the truth of it. That he was looking for Druids in Ireland even though everyone claimed they had been run off by Rome fifteen hundred years ago.

On their fifth day, Oisín invited a Druid to meet the man and mete his justice, if necessary.

“Who have you brought?” Brannon asked, standing quickly and abandoning the ale before him.

“Brannon, this is Lorcan of Clan Flynn,” Oisín told him.

Graves’s eyes slid over the man. The judgment was quick and fierce. “Well met.”

Lorcan nodded once, as if he could tell in that moment exactly who Graves was. So little did he know, and still he accepted him on sight. “Well met.”

Oisín shook himself out of the memory. Uniting those two was one of his greatest victories and deepest regrets. That he hadn’t been there when it all fell apart was worse. But there was nothing to be done about the past. As he well knew.

Still, you couldn’t blame an old man for meddling.

He reached for the old rotary telephone. A large black thing that he’d never been able to get rid of despiteeveryone’s insistence on cell phones. He pressed his finger to each number, sliding the dial in a circle, including the extra numbers at the front to make an international call.

“Oisín.” The rich timbre of Lorcan’s voice brought a smile to his face.

“Hello, old friend.” There was breathless panting from multiple voices in the distance on the other end of the line. “Am I interrupting?”

“Never. I’ve taken over lessons for tonight with our youngest Druids. Surely you remember the methods?”

“Of course,” Oisín agreed.

“Is this call business or of a more personal nature?”

“A little of both, I’m afraid.”

“He’s there,” Lorcan guessed.

“Yes,” Oisín said, unsurprised that Lorcan already knew of Graves’s presence.

“Do I need to return to the motherland?”

“I believe they will be joining you shortly.”

He could practically see Lorcan’s smile. He had been a particularly wild and free youth. Always running around, so confident in his abilities, sure that he would land on his feet. So little could shake him. So little ever had.

Other than Graves.

“Finally,” Lorcan said. “Thank you for letting me know, Oisín. And for all you’ve done in the meantime.”

“Anything for the wisps.”

And he meant it even as he hung up the old phone and headed back into the depths of his library. He’d do anything to restore the Fae, anything to get back to them. Even betraying the trust of the last one living in the mortal world.

Part III

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