“As far as recorded history is aware, but since most standing stones were placed in the Neolithic period, how would we actually know? It’s not like they wrote anything down.”

“Does this mean you do have a plan? Or are we just winging it once we get there?”

“That depends entirely on whether this stone is who I think it might be.”

“Which is Eithne, I take it.”

I nodded. “If I’m right and this standing stone is hers, then as the latest user of her Eye, I should be able to talk to her.”

Or, at the very least, be able to connect with whatever wisdom or power still remained in her monument.

“It’s possible that you might need the Eye to do that—I don’t suppose you thought to bring it?”

I patted the front pocket of my jeans. “I did indeed.”

He shook his head. “You can’t keep placing the thing in mugs and pockets. Given its increasing importance, it might be best if we have it made into a piece of jewelry. It’s a disguise few would question and a means of keeping it close.”

“Jewelry can also be stolen or lost. Besides, the damn thing activates every time it touches my skin, and that would send me around the bend all too quickly.” I finished the rest of my McMuffin, then tossed his now empty cup into the bag along with mine and dropped it into the rubbish bag behind the driver seat. “There’s a reason Mom never carried it around with her, you know.”

Not that I’d actually known about the Eye, let alone seen it, as Mom had kept it well hidden from me. Hell, it had been Beira who’d told me what it was.

He contemplated that for a moment, then said, “What if we wrap it in some sort of wire frame to keep it off your skin but still accessible to touch when it was needed?”

I hesitated. While I really didn’t like the thought of wearing the thing, instinct was whispering that it might be a good idea.

“As long as it’s not fugly.”

“I don’t do fugly, Beth.”

“You did once.”

He rolled his eyes. “That was an expensive and rather exquisite Egyptian piece.”

“That was as fugly as hell.”

“You were sixteen. It’s a well-known fact sixteen-year-olds have barely developed common sense, let alone good taste.” He glanced at me. “I take it you haven’t tried to read the Eye again yet?”

“Actually, I did.”

I quickly described the cave and the old church I’d seen, and he grimaced. “There is nothing in that description that helps pinpoint the place.”

“There surely can’t be many temples named after a goddess called Tywyll.”

“That’s presuming we are dealing with a goddess. She could be a mere saint for all we know.”

“But there surely can’t be that many medieval—or older—church remnants sitting on the edge of a cliff—”

“Trust me, there are.”

“Yes, but this one is in what looks to be an old cave that sits above a bigger cavern.”