Leslie stepped closer to Niall, decidedly uncomfortable with the hostility in Keenan's voice. Salt for fury, like briny water in my mouth. She touched Niall's shoulder and found his skin much cooler now.

"This is not the place," Niall muttered.

But Keenan continued, "If Irial wants her—"

Leslie lost her temper. "I'm standing right here, ass**le. And where do you get off talking to him like that? You'd think—"

"Leslie." Niall laid his hand over hers.

"No. Why are you putting up with that?" She turned her glare briefly on Niall and then back to Keenan. "Don't talk about me like I'm not standing here. Don't act like some psycho friend of yours hitting on me means—"

"Just be silent for a change, would you?" Keenan stepped closer to her; his eyes seemed to glow with tiny flames. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Piss off." Leslie tried to raise her hand to slap the condescending look off his face, but Niall was now clutching both of her hands.

"I'm not sure why he wants this one, but" — Keenan shrugged—"if she's important to him, I want to know why. Your injuring yourself for her would upset Aislinn and serve no purpose for me."

Leslie's mouth gaped open as Keenan spoke: he sounded nothing like he did when he was with Aislinn, nothing like he had when he'd attended Bishop O.C. for those few weeks in the fall. He sounded old, far older than he could possibly be, and callous.

"Be more careful and enjoy your time, my Gancanagh friend." Then, after giving Leslie a brief once-over that made her feel so exposed that she wanted to hide her body, Keenan walked away.

Leslie stared at the shadowed yard. Despite the darkness, she could see the faint outline of Keenan's body as he strode off.

Beside her, Niall watched the shadows in silence.

Leslie stood next to him. She touched his forehead, his neck, his chest: the fever had broken. He seemed physically fine—tired, but fine.

"Keenan means well, but he has worries—"

"He's rude. He's demeaning. He's not the person he pretends to be when Ash is around. He—" She stopped herself and adjusted her tone. "If there's a reason to be nice to him, now might be a good time to tell me what it is."

"I can't. He's under a bit of stress. Aislinn helps, but there's so much I can't tell you. I would if I could. I'd tell you everything. You might not want to see me afterward, but…" He pulled her into his lap and stared at her.

"But what?" She wrapped her arms around him. And her anger at Keenan, her distrust, her unease—they all slid away.

Niall said, "I hope you do want to see me after our secrets are spilled. It'll be your choice, but I truly hope you still want to be near me." She wasn't sure she wanted to know, but she needed to. She liked Niall, far more than she should after so short a time, but she wasn't interested in getting further involved if he was mixed up in something criminal. She'd had enough of that in her life already. "Are you involved in anything illegal?"

“No.”

"No drug deals?" Her body tensed as she waited.

"Not me. No."

"Keenan?"

Niall snorted in laughter. "Aislinn would never tolerate that, even if he had inclinations that way—which he doesn't."

"Oh." She thought about it: the fact that Keenan rarely went anywhere alone, the weird club, the strange allergy, the secrecy Aislinn and Seth were somehow a part of. None of it fit together right; it didn't add up, no matter how she looked at it.

Which should terrify me. But her emotions weren't quite cooperating with that thought. Which should also frighten me.

She held Niall's gaze and asked, "What did he call you?"

"Gancanagh. It's a sort of family name. But I can't explain beyond that right now." Niall sighed and pulled her close. "Tonight I'll do my best to answer your every question, but Aislinn … She needs to speak with you before I can. No more questions until tonight. I'll explain to her, that we, that you … She'll understand. Meet me at the Crow's Nest? We'll talk to her."

She wanted to push him to tell her immediately, but she could tell by his tension and his worried tone that he wasn't going to. She turned so she was facing him. "Promise you'll tell me everything? Tonight."

"Promise." Niall smiled then.

Leslie kissed him cautiously. She knew he would tell her, felt certain of it, of him.

But he pulled back from their kiss almost immediately and asked, "So can I see what you have so far of the tattoo? Or is it somewhere improper?"

She laughed. "It's up by my shoulders. … Subtle topic shift."

It had worked, though—or maybe it was his kiss that made her feel so relaxed. Even though he was holding back, she felt her body responding in a way she hadn't thought she ever would again.

"So can I see the tattoo?" He started to tilt her forward, still holding her.

"Tonight. Rabbit is finishing it tonight after work. Then you can see it—when it's all done." She wasn't sure why, but from the moment she'd walked out of Rabbit's shop, she'd had a strong aversion to showing anyone her ink. Not yet.

"Another reason to look forward to our date, then. Talking, looking at your art, and" — he gave her a look that sent her pulse racing—"anything else that makes you happy."