Where A Witch Goeth

Chapter Fifty-Nine: Daddy Dearest

Nick would like to believe that if he had been in werewolf form, things would have gone down differently when he launched himself at my father. In truth, I'm not so sure.

Nick's springboard move allowed him one solid punch to Cillian's youthful jaw, but even as my father's head snapped left with the blow, his hands were reaching out to grasp Nick's skins and pull him closer, butting Nick in the head, stunning him. Then Cillian launched himself backward ass-over-teakettle at the same time he kept hold of Nick and scrambled for weapons. My father came out on top with a blade to Nick's throat.

He clucked, an arrogant smirk on his face. "I thought you would be more of a challenge, faolan."

Neither Nick nor I was familiar with the word my father used, but since he spoke it with a lilt much like Evander's Ulster accent, I assumed it was a Gaelic word for wolf. He confirmed this seconds later when he cut the cord around Nick's neck that held Silvan's crystal, tossed it a few feet away into a pile of brush and said, "Tell me, faolan—can you even make the change without this wee baubie of me Da's?"

Nick threw Cillian off and crouched on all fours, and a growl emanated from his throat that was not human. The cords in Nick's neck were straining and muscles were twitching all over him.

"He's changing now, but without the crystal, it's painful, and he comes out the other side one pissed off wolf. I would either give him back the stone or back up, Cillian. Quite a bit."

My father turned toward my calm voice and gave me an assessing gaze. His eyes were green in this plane, as they were in Tir Na Nog. So like and yet unlike the murky hazel ones that had given me the same cool gaze my whole life. I had always thought it a gaze of disapproval, but in this moment I understood it for what it was—what it had always been. He looked into me, and around me, at my witch's aura. This version of Cillian—just like the older one who had watched me my whole life—was reading my power and waiting for me to display it.

A growl and a painful pop from Nick's direction interrupted his stare.

"You petition my father for aid, and then you treat the one he sends as an enemy? What strange manner of creatures are you? No matter, for you clearly don't want my help. Call off your dog, Madame Sorceress, and I shall be on my way," Cillian said, but his voice was soft, and I thought I heard a mix of confusion and respect in his voice.

"We do need your help, he's not a dog, and he's not mine."

"I've been watching you for two days. He's most definitely yours," Cillian said flatly, pulling a short sword that matched his knife as Nick let out a yelp of pain and braced his arms on the ground preparing for the crack of his bones. "If he attacks me, I will defend myself. Swiftly."

"Oh for the love of the Goddess," I murmured, and I marched over to the bush, retrieved the crystal and tossed it in a high arc above Cillian's head. "Heads up, Nick."

Nick caught it by reflex, and it's magic instantly soothed him. The stress of his painful transformation interrupted, it gave Nick a choice. He looked at me, looked at my father, looked back at me. Then his eyes narrowed at my father, and he bared his teeth in menace.

"For fuck's sake, Nick." I was exasperated and it showed in my tone. "What are you going to do? Go wolf and tear out his throat?"

Nick shirked his left shoulder, which popped back into its human joint, and rose gracefully from his crouch, adjusting his skins back into place. "I ought to, but I suppose I can't do that, can I? If I do, you won't be born."

Cillian apparently missed nothing, for at Nick's words, he turned back to me, his gaze piercing this time. I felt as though he were seeing to my core with those emerald eyes.