The Lamb and the Gray Battle

October 30, 2022

In Ohio, it was 2:00 a.m. and Diyiren was restless. He untangled his limbs, kissed Aoibh's cheek when she roused. "I'll be right back."

He sorted through the mound of clothes piled on the floor, felt the smooth fabric of his silk robe. He tied it in place, deflated without his underclothing, and ambled onto the porch. Aoibh's cats circled his ankles, rubbed his skin. The woman Jo stood with the determination of a German shepherd, her arms folded, her brown eyes zeroing in on the stars and dark blue sky.

"You're up late," she growled.

"Not really," he said. "It's seven a.m. in Wales. What brings you out on this glorious, wonderful night?"

"Don't toy with me," she said, her auburn hair whipping around. The grays strands were wiry and unkempt. "I won't sleep until you leave this country."

Diyiren lifted an eyebrow, but didn't bat a lash. "Have you reached your son?"

"What did you do to him?"

"I did nothing," he said. "My wife, on the other hand, put him in a deep trance. I would expect him to be in Canada by now. He should have awakened. My phone is inside; otherwise, I would switch on his GPS tracker."

"If the police arrested him—"

"The police have not arrested him. But perhaps he's being held at the border. I'll text Taffy later. She should be able to check on it."

Jo lifted her nose. "You just snap your fingers and you have all of us on a leash."

"I pay for the phone," Diyiren said. "And your house. Yes, my lawyers are able to keep tabs on you."

Jo sniffed something like sulfur.

"I take care of all of Aoibh's pets."

"I am not a pet," Jo snarled, her hands on her hips.

Diyiren was unruffled. Nothing could ruffle him at that moment. "I also take care of her disasters. Your husband, for example."

"You couldn't get here before he threw himself in front of that train?"

Diyiren tipped his head up to the sky. The moon was waxing, a stabbing crescent.

"I must seem omnipotent to you," he muttered. "I didn't know your husband fell under Aoibh's spell. After she left that motel room, the bond should have naturally waned. I didn't guess that he recorded her voice, that he fell under her spell repeatedly over the decades, became obsessed. My apologies."

"Apologies?" she shrieked. "Your people busted into our home, took the cassettes, all of his papers."

"Imagine if Dylan or Brantley had found those tapes. I've kept a close watch since. At least, my people have. Until recently, neither boy showed signs of exposure."

"Brantley is driving God knows where and this is how you act—"

"I know what you did," he said.

Jo's heartbeat had been above 120 beats a minute since his arrival, occasionally soaring up to 150. It had just jumped to 180. The October evening was warm, but Jo pulled her brown sweater tighter around her.

"What are you going to do to me?"

"Nothing," Diyiren said. "You didn't assault me. You assaulted my wife."

Jo pressed her hand to her chest as if that would keep her heart in place. She panted, her eyes wet.

"As she sees it, you're even," Diyiren said. "As for me, you removed a thorn from the dragon's paw."

Jo's fingers slid down the length of the sweater, to the base of the zipper. "You orchestrated this whole thing." Though her voice got louder, her heart slowed to 120 beats. "You knew I'd think the grandmother was your wife and you wanted me to kill her."

"I'm not even vaguely that diabolical. My uncle, he would have done it."

"Liar!" Jo said, "That's why you moved her here."

"I haven't been able to control or even coax Aoibh since 1379."