Page 176 of A Winding Wave of Magic
50
GHOSTS
They play over the luscious wine,
Men and gentle women under a bush,
Without sin, without transgression.
— ANONYMOUS EIGHTH-CENTURY POET, “THE SEA-GOD’S ADDRESS TO BRAN”
The sorcerer turned on his heel and left. It was like he was never there.
“Jonathan?” For a moment, I wondered if I’d imagined him.
But, no, thatwashis long-legged, stubborn stride flashing between people on his way out of the hall.
“Jonathan!” I called again as I followed out to the beach, where a few people still guarded the fire and mingled in its flickering light and shadows.
There, I noticed two things.
First, Jonathan was irritatingly edible even after six weeks of absence and zero communication. He wore a sleek black suit, green shirt, and black tie that were completely out of place at thiscountry gathering. It was yet another version of Jonathan Lynch I hadn’t yet seen. I’d have to add the cosmopolitan diplomat to the list alongside the urbane academic, the rumpled attorney, and the farmer’s adopted son.
The second thing I noticed was that he looked utterly run down. Aubergine circles marred the skin under his eyes, themselves dulled from their normal bright green to a more tame olive color. Although he was clean-shaven, his hair neatly combed, his suit was still wrinkled, as if he had spent many days sitting in it without any place to hang his clothes.
I had never seen him without immaculately pressed clothing, even if by a simple spell.
When he turned back to face me, his eyes flashed with anger. “What the fuck were you doing in there?”
I reared as though he’d actually hit me. “Excuse me?”
His hands opened and closed at his side. “I asked you a question.” The words came out through his teeth, and I almost thought his canines lengthened. Just a little.
“Yes, I heard it.”
I folded my arms and waited. He mirrored me exactly. We stood there, seething in the waning firelight.
“Hey, Jonny, found your sweetheart at last!” Jock called as he passed us on his way back to the dancing.
Jonathan didn’t move, though his gaze drifted to my lips before he scowled. I knew that if I touched him, I would find that despite his obvious and irrational anger, he would want to kiss me just as badly as I wanted him. As I always seemed to want him, even after six weeks without a word.
The ground felt like it shook. Or maybe that was the emotion pounding through my chest.
I took a deep breath. “Jonathan. You’re here.”
Those eyes flickered again. He was quivering now with barely leashed rage.
I tipped my head. “You want to tell me what exactly is the matter? Or did you want to continue with the profanities instead? Maybe share a little of what you’re thinking?”
“You don’t want to know all the things I’m thinking right now, Cass,” he ground out. “Andhereally doesn’t want to know.”
“He who?” I frowned. “Do you mean Caomhán?”
His expression turned black. “Who the fuck do youthinkI mean if not that thieving, black-haired bastard?”
“That hardly seems warranted.” I was getting impatient now. “Jesus, Jonathan, just spit it out. What exactly is the matter?”
“What’s the matter?” He shoved a hand through his hair, causing it to stand up in multiple directions. Then, as if he couldn’t keep still, he started pacing, ten steps this way, five more the other, pausing every now and then to look at me and huff. “What’s thematter? I don’t know, Cassandra. Maybe it’s that I went against every instinct I had to leave you and chase the most wretched man in the universe only to meet dead end after dead end—all to saveyourlife. Maybe it’s that before I left, you had the gall to accusemeof running off to cavort with other women. Or maybe it’s that when I finally return, when I look for the one person who’s been haunting my dreams night and day, I find her with that sea mongrel’s tongue down her fucking throat. Didn’t take you long, did it?”
