Feather Nine
Kian came in not long later, carrying a sandwich and glass of water, presumable from the small kitchen in the flat above McGinty's, where he – and now she – lived.
"Why don't yeh tell us what happened?" he asked – a few sputtering curses calmly ignored by Siobhan and the men.
She looked up at the ceiling, her hand finding the bone crucifix as they brought up the past. The attack.
"Very bad things happened," Siobhan said quietly, "Some people died. Can we not talk about it?"
"Are yeh hurt? Was it them?" Kian demanded urgently, stepping forward with a worried look upon his weathered face. She looked at him with a small frown.
"I did say I was one of the people hurt in the incident at school," she stated, a far too mild tone in her voice for their comfort.
"How bad were yeh hurt?" the sun-kissed man asked, stepping forward before his moon-kissed brother did.
She must have looked bewildered. "I'm not going to die from them, if that's what you're worried about," she said, feeling her face contort – unwillingly – into a confused expression.
"More worried about yeh bein' in pain," Murphy said lowly – he sounded almost. . . Siobhan looked away, trying to dismiss images of Neville. Of what he was now cursed with.
"I'm on medicine," she lied instead, "So I'll be fine. Really."
Somewhere deep inside, she wished they hadn't believed her.
