"I can't talk about it," she replied in a tight voice. "What do you want?"
"We're having a wake for Sean tomorrow. I thought you'd like to say goodbye."
Yully squeezed her eyes closed, relieved the bartender wasn't buried in her backyard with the others.
"I don't think my father would approve of me seeing you," she managed. "I mean, of me going."
"Sean would probably appreciate it if you came. His death wasn't a pleasant one."
She didn't want to imagine what her father was capable of. Her gaze went to the lawn around her. She owed it to the dead to attend one Guardian's wake.
"I'll do my best," she said at last.
"Noon tomorrow, on the cliff opposite the cottage."
Yully hung up. She wanted to scream, cry, or flee. The same part of her that recoiled at draining dead men's magic also understood one truth: she was no match for her father, if he decided to bury her with them.
With a deep breath, Yully left the graveyard and returned to the manor, determined to find a way to leave for Sean's wake.