Avoiding that is worth much. Worth enough, in this case.” Phxtkl was still for a few seconds, in his species’ equivalent of a deep, martyred sigh. “This is one of the least enjoyable games of aethal I have ever played, O intriguing schemer of much age. Today, I have been the student; unpleasantly so. I must make some necessary social sacrifices to continue the movement you have begun just now. I wish you success, O annoying one, and I leave.”

“Leave for Earth.” The Ghin was uncharacteristically blunt. “You have something to repair.”

Her silver-blond hair framed her face, drawing attention to the startlingly intense, cornflower-blue eyes. Other than a subconscious awareness of the soft brushing against her face and neck as she walked, her hair was the last thing on Cally O’Neal’s mind as she rubbed sweaty palms on her jeans before entering Monsignor Nathan O’Reilly’s secular sanctum sanctorum.

“Cally. Good, you’re here. Can I get you some water or a soft drink?” the priest inquired gently.

Uh-oh. Whenever the leader of the O’Neal Bane Sidhe started out with the kind and gentle routine, you knew you were in for it. Not that it was her fault. At least, she didn’t think there was anything serious going on that was her fault. She was a bit late on her expense report for the last mission, but she’d think he’d give her some slack for blowing it off over Christmas. She had had a feeling something was wrong, but this was obviously more serious than she had thought. She allowed a wrinkled forehead to show her worry as she started to get up. There was a cooler just outside.

“Just water, I’ll get it,” she said.

“Sit.” The gentle tone carried the force of command; he pulled a pitcher from his small refrigerator and poured her a glass.

Her eyebrows lifted as Granpa came in, sitting across and facing her. They were both facing her. She instantly noticed that Papa O’Neal had no chew, and no cup. This was not good.