“There will be a lake of fire,” she said in frightened confusion, touching the forks that had been the Tobin Bridge. “The cages will burn, but black wings will bridge it.”
“What black wings?” Conall asked gently. “Like Lydia?”
Gizelle shook her head, the moment passing. “Different wings,” she said carelessly. “Can we have dessert first?”
Conall carefully put the silverware back in order. Aideen gave him a long, thoughtful look, but only patted Gizelle’s hand as if she were a child and suggested that they save dessert as a reward for finishing their meal.
After dinner, they walked back to the cottage.
“Conall, darling, will you play for us?” Aideen asked casually as the lights in the cottage turned on.
Conall felt his chest seize and couldn’t identify the emotion that came with it. Was it fear? Sorrow? Anticipation?
Gizelle’s hand was on his arm so that he could hear the excitement in her voice as she added, “Oh yes! Will you play Christmas music?”
The one request he might have ignored. The two together were impossible to deny.
He tuned the guitar sitting with Gizelle perched on the back of the couch touching his neck. It took several minutes to bring the strings into tune, a task that used to take thirty seconds at most. His fingers weren’t used to the strings anymore and the whispering voices were a distracting din.
Finally, it sounded right, and he began to pick out Christmas songs from his memory.
It was a far cry from the concerts he had once performed in, and not even terribly similar to the house recitals he had done for family. Gizelle loved everything he played unconditionally; he could feel her delight and satisfaction with every note. Aideen had an odd expression throughout his playing; Conall couldn’t put his finger on what it was.
His calluses had softened years ago, so he didn’t play long.
“That was wonderful,” Gizelle said, letting go of him to clap her hands into the sudden silence that cut off the last notes.
Whatever else she said was lost as she leaped down from the couch and scampered out onto the deck.
When he gave Aideen a quizzical look, she shrugged. “Something about having to visit with the stars,” she signed.
Conall reverently put the guitar into its case.
When he looked up, Aideen signed, “It was so nice seeing you play again. If you brought her back to Boston, we could...”
Conall looked away furiously, refusing to watch the rest of what she would say. “I’m not bringing her to Boston.” He stood to take the case into the bedroom and Aideen caught him.
“Don’t be angry,” she signed firmly. “I only thought you might have changed your mind.”
“I am not changing my mind,” he answered out loud. “Don’t ever bring it up.”
Aideen bowed her head. “I’m sorry,” she signed. When she lifted her head, she spoke. “I won’t ask again.”
Chapter 51
Gizelle was practicing her letters on the couch the next afternoon. She couldn’t understand why copying letters was so much harder than copying pictures. She had been so happy with how her Christmas portraits had turned out, actually looking like everyone’s inner animals (Saina and Scarlet had stumped her; she’d finally drawn a fish from a picture in a book for Saina and drawn the courtyard full of flowers for Scarlet), and she was so unhappy with how spidery and crooked her writing was.
She looked up at the footsteps, already knowing it wasn’t Conall, but grateful for distraction.
“Look how studious you are,” Aideen said with admiration.
“I want to read everything and understand people,” Gizelle said cheerfully.
That seemed to take Aideen aback a moment. Then she said graciously, “Maybe I can help you with that a little.”
Gizelle put aside her pen and carefully put the lid on it as Aideen settled beside her. She’d already discovered that she would fidget with things to the point of drawing on things she didn’t mean to if she didn’t put them away.
“It’s about Conall,” Aideen said gently. “And about knowing what will make him happy.”