June refilled her glass and leaned against the counter. “Remember Katie?”

Peter hesitated, fork and plate hovering over the trash bin. “Mum’s sister Kat, Katie the archaeologist, or Kate the children’s librarian who lives one street over?”

“Katie the archaeologist.” She took a sip and raised her eyebrows. “Stop turning funny colors. There’s no curse problem this time. Well. Yet.”

“Last time,” he started, and cleared his throat, his Irish coming through the rasp. He pointed the fork for emphasis. “Lass, the first and only time I met your friend Katie, we dealt with the newly arisen dead.”

“And this time that won’t happen.” June set down her glass with forced cheer. “I’m sure her stint as a visiting professor will be uneventful.”

He planted his feet and dropped dish and cutlery on the counter, then turned to leave the townhouse’s sunny yellow kitchen. “I’m sure.”

“Where are you going?”

“June, darling.” He rubbed a hand over his chin. “I’m going to pack for us both.”

“Peter. She’s not that bad.”

“June, darling.” He whirled and snugged her into his arms, his accent dripping thicker with each word. “The woman finds what she dreams, and she’s no control over her dreamin’ despite all ye did for her.”

“They’ve made advancements in lucid dreaming, I’m sure.” Her words were muffled against his sweater.

“June, darling.” He stroked her hair, tugging her braid apart with strong fingers. “We’re leaving the bloody country.”

***

This week’s prompt was from Parrish Baker: Whatever the archaeologist dreamed of, he found. (But I swapped it to fit with a previous story, although I can’t recall offhand if I’ve written that one here or not, or whether Katie’s name is actually Katie…sorry, it’s a quick one this evening!)

And it was a trade this week! Check out what Parrish did with a sliver of forgotten history, over at MOTE – and don’t forget, you can play along as well!