Free Bound by Flame by Anna Windsor

lurked behind those doors. It was just him and Cynda and Delilah.
    His eyes watered at the stink clinging to everything. Mild skunk with a lot of garlic, coupled with spicy meat and yeast. He coughed even though he was trying not to.
    Cynda took a deep breath, like the stench was heaven itself. “Corned beef and cabbage. Brown bread.” She smiled. “Those were my favorites growing up. That and Dublin coddle.”
    “I go a little heavy on the parsley, and my bacon’s smoked when I make coddle,” Delilah said as she seated herself in the single chair, sounding like a happy girl instead of the mean viper Nick knew her to be. Ignoring him, she asked Cynda, “ Fíor-Ghaeltacht? ”
    Cynda nodded. “I was raised in a valley near Connemara.” She settled on the end of the couch nearest Delilah, where the woman had beckoned for her to sit.
    Delilah glanced from Cynda’s red hair to her burned shirt and jeans. “Connemara, you say. Well.” She sucked in air, let it out, then gazed into Cynda’s eyes. “I think I understand.”
    Nick sat on the other end of the couch and watched as the two women seemed to speak a language all their own. He felt a step behind, and definitely to the side. Left out completely.
    “Do you, now?” Cynda asked in a gentle yet challenging voice. “Do you really understand?”
    Nick winced. He tensed and waited for one of Delilah’s tirades, but the old woman just averted her gaze from Cynda’s.
    Modest, almost, studying her knees.
    Nick leaned back on the couch, too surprised to say a word.
    Delilah Moses raised her eyes to his and said, “Hear me, cop. Take your lady far away. Things aren’t safe for her kind here.”
    Nick’s mouth came open, but he clamped it shut.
    Cynda’s expression never changed. She looked unnaturally calm and peaceful. If it weren’t for the holes in her tunic and jeans, she might as well have been one of those beatific statues in a church.
    This is totally fucked up. Nick managed to yank out his notebook and pen. “Why should I take her away, Delilah?”
    “Rats eat yer meat, man.” The old woman’s expression turned sour, more normal. “Just do as I say.”
    Nick held back a grin. Now this was Delilah. “What’s Max gotten himself into?”
    Delilah waved a thickly veined hand. “Like I know. The cocknose ratbark.” She made a noise as if she was thinking about spitting, but didn’t. “If it’s not one set of hoodlums, it’s another. God gives the boy a gift, a prescience, and he pisses it away on Guinness and the ponies. This time, though…” She touched her head, chest, and both shoulders, crossing herself as if to ward off evil. “This time it’s him who’ll answer to Saint Peter, not me. I taught him right and true, you understand?”
    This last question was directed at Cynda, who granted Delilah a dignified nod, which seemed to make the old woman feel better.
    What am I missing? Nick didn’t like being out of the know, but in his gut, he trusted Cynda. Any idiot could see her presence had mellowed Delilah, and they’d already gotten more out of the old crone than Nick expected.
    Once more, Delilah looked at Nick, and jerked a thumb toward Cynda. “Take her away from here. Tonight. Don’t wait.”
    “What’s the threat?” Nick asked.
    Delilah shook her head. “Wish I knew. I’d be spillin’ it in a second—for her.” She smiled at Cynda in a way that made Nick wonder what the old woman was seeing.
    “Is Max part of the threat?” Nick kept his pen ready.
    “That piss artist is mixed up with everything shady, may the cat eat him.” Delilah settled against her chair arm, easing closer to Cynda as she spoke. “Especially this bunch of beggars callin’ themselves the Legion.”
    Cynda’s spine straightened. She leaned forward and gave Delilah an earnest, searching look. “Do you know the name of the person he’s working for in the Legion?”
    Nick took a breath and held it.
    Delilah crossed herself again, and Cynda didn’t