Dark Touch by Debbie Johnson

Author:Debbie Johnson
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781473584693
Publisher: Random House

Chapter Twenty

Within an hour, we were ready to leave. Gabriel had ordered Kevin to stay behind for the time being, to deal with Colin’s body and to find out everything he could about Fergal Fitzgarry.

We’d been told to pack a bag, and pack it light, in case we needed to get the hell out of Dodge with any speed. Carmel had also been instructed very firmly to leave her shoe collection behind. She looked a tiny bit crestfallen but didn’t object – a sure sign she was still suffering. As the shoe collection in question included the Jimmy Choos she’d saved up for three months for, she was clearly still suffering a lot.

Gabriel had decided that he needed to go to the Otherworld to gather intelligence and, I silently presumed, to try and clear his head of whatever influence might still be lingering there. They hadn’t discussed it out loud, but I could tell from the Morrigan’s wary words and cautious movements that she believed it was true – that she had somehow been ‘messed with’, as Luca had said. She was questioning herself, and that wasn’t something that came naturally to her. There’d been nothing more said about Gabriel’s near transformation, but it was still fresh in all our minds. If those two could be interfered with, we all needed to be on high alert.

That, apparently, extended to me as well.

‘Fitzgarry knows where we are,’ said Gabriel. ‘He knew where to leave Colin. He seems to know all about me, and us, and our affairs here. That means he’ll probably have people watching us, waiting for our next move. I don’t want those watchers to see you leaving, Lily. I want him to think you’re still here, still—’

‘Crying in a heap in the corner?’ I finished for him. He nodded once, grimly. The tears still hadn’t come. Maybe they never would. Maybe I’d lost too much to feel any more. I was still clinging on to the belief that Fitzgarry would get what was coming to him, that despite his apparent strength, we would find a way to defeat him. If that meant hiding, pretending to cower, cloaking myself in weakness, then that was fine by me. Whatever it took.

What it actually meant was going out in disguise. But this being me, and my life being like a collection of scenes from a Stephen King film these days, it wouldn’t involve a French beret and a fake moustache. It would involve, I was told, my future self.

‘It is nothing, child,’ said the Morrigan, taking me to one side as the others scurried around packing rucksacks and sharpening swords and stoically ignoring the fact that there was a tattered corpse lying beneath a patchwork quilt in the front room. ‘It is a small piece of magic, one that will not harm you.’

I’d looked at her suspiciously – the lady was protesting far too much for my liking – but agreed to sit, still and silent, while she pulled her latest party trick out of the bag.

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