Brighid's Mark (12 page)

She dragged the words kicking and screaming out of her heart. “He’s what I want.”

Chase coughed on dark laughter. “Him? In this…place?”

“It’s what people like us do.” She got in his face. “And you’re not a part of it any longer.”

“Callie.” Liam’s voice, his hand on her shoulder, made her turn.

In fighting with Chase, she’d been unheeding of her surroundings. The courtyard was knee-deep in thick mist. Liam looked startled, and not a little awed.

And so he should. Brighid stood right behind the crumpled form of Donal’s body, hem fastidiously clear of the lifeblood pooling beneath him.

In that instant the world stopped, freezing Chase in his anger. This left Callie and Liam to face Brighid together.

Callie hadn’t seen her since her first ascension, a century or more ago. And like Callie, Brighid looked just the same. Knee-length hair amber-gold with hints of red highlights, eyes blue then gray then green and finally gold. She was all women, all at once. Imperial and serene.

“You let your hair grow,” Brighid greeted her. “I like it.”

“Eva,” Callie begged. “Tell me Eva—”

Brighid’s face filled with sorrow. “No. Eva is lost.”

“And the others?”

Brighid shook her head. “But there are more Keepers out there, as yet to ascend. They can be chosen, trained.”

Callie hadn’t been aware she’d been holding her breath until it came out of her in a rush. “Is there enough time?”

“I don’t know.” Brighid looked away as though trying to see through a keyhole on the other side of the courtyard. “If there were more time I think the patterns would be clear. But we’re on the verge of many possibilities becoming one.”

“Which means Lilith timed this well.”

“Which means,” Brighid returned, “we must find a way. And that means I must have you here.”

Callie took a good look at her. “Chase trapped me here. But you wanted me here too.”

Brighid smiled, clasping her hands before her. “You’re a natural born hunter, Callie. And you were Eva’s friend. When we lost her, we lost our emissary to the Loa. So we need you here—you and Liam both.”

“Me?” Liam came to Callie’s side. She reached for his hand.

“Your bloodline is as ancient as some of my Keepers’. Otherwise Maeve would not have answered your summons at the Crossroads.”

Callie looked up into Liam’s face. “So I stay. And when the call comes?”

“We’ll bring you home. And Liam will have his freedom.” She nodded toward the Marks peeking from the cuff of Liam’s shirt. “Those are not just the Loa’s Marks on you, lad. They’re mine as well. Protecting you, bringing you warning dreams.”

“That’s why the Baron didn’t know who sent them to me,” Liam realized. “It wasn’t the Loa.”

Brighid nodded. “Everything is linked. Because you are Brigitte’s, you are also mine.” She looked at Callie. “Now I’m returning the favor. Callie is mine, but now she is also Brigitte’s. When the call comes, you can go wherever you like. But I hope you will choose to fight.”

“Where she goes, I go,” Liam said quickly. He turned to the frozen Chase. “But what do we do about him?”

Brighid didn’t look away from her Keeper. “Callie?”

“Donny first.” Callie walked slowly toward the crumpled figure, slipping her hand from Liam’s, and knelt down to brush the hair from her friend’s still face. “He had a deal.”

“And I will honor it. Given his actions tonight, he will be welcomed in the
Tír
as a hero. He can continue his work, help us find the Keepers we need.” Brighid walked past them to get a good look at Chase. “What of him?”

Callie joined her. Every breath in her body wanted, needed, to condemn him. “He has a sister.”

“And she needs him.” Brighid gave her an appraising look. “What would you have me do, Keeper? Can you forgive him?”

“After what he did to us? No. But neither can I punish his sister.” Callie watched Chase, while Brighid watched her. “Can you send them somewhere safe? Somewhere peaceful? And make sure they have no memory of me other than as someone who helped them once, a long time ago?”

Brighid’s elegant hand curled over Callie’s shoulder in sympathetic approval. “Done.”

Callie hugged herself. She wondered when she had begun to shake. “Promise me.”

Brighid’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Of course.”

“Not about Chase. About you.”

“About me?”

Salty hot tears dripped from Callie’s chin. She wiped her eyes impatiently with the back of her hand. She had never been so damned tired in all her unnaturally long life. “Promise me I’ll never be cut off from you again.”

“Oh, child.” Brighid framed her face in cool fingers, whispered a kiss across her brow. “I promise.”

And then she was gone, Donal and Chase with her. Callie clenched her fists so tightly her nails gouged her palms. Then she collapsed into the dissipating mist and grieved with all the stunning power of a shattered heart.

“So that was Brighid.” Liam hauled himself onto the roof with a bottle and two glasses.

Callie sat with her legs hugged protectively close to her chest, looking out over the Quarter. Glittering multi-colored lights danced and winked to the music of New Orleans. She could just make out
The Devil Went Down To Georgia.
Of course it hadn’t been Georgia, but New Orleans. “That was Brighid.”

Liam sat next to her. He set the glasses down and opened the bottle. “I can get food, if you’re hungry.”

She shook her head. “No.”

He smiled. “You really don’t cook, do you?”

“Known for it.” She took a glass from him. “Chase did most of the cooking. Wasn’t half bad at it, provided you like a lot of beef and chili. Massive breakfasts involving the slaughter of at least three farm animals, that sort of thing.”

“I’m sorry.”

Callie looked at him, glass half-raised to her lips. “For what?”

“I didn’t mean to come between you.”

Callie shook her head with a tired smile. “You didn’t. I did. I made it impossible for Chase to do anything else but what he did. But I can’t figure out what I could have done differently.”

“Chase chose his path.” He pulled hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. “There was nothing else you could have done.”

“Probably not, but I’ll always wonder.” Callie drained half her glass, cradled what remained to her heart with both hands. “There might be something I can do now.”

“What’s that?”

“My job.” Callie set her glass down and stood. Pushing her hair out of the way, she walked to the center of the roof. “There’s other people we can help.”

“Callie? How did you die?”

She stared down at the roof, coming to terms with the fact there was nothing left for her in Chicago. But she had built a life for herself, so many times before. She could do it again. She could start again.

This time she wouldn’t be alone. There was someone to watch over her for a change.

She stood still with her eyes closed. The feel of the city was more pronounced than ever, or—more likely—she was more sensitive to it now. So much energy, enough to make her head spin. Music, laughter, free-flowing food and drink. Lack of inhibition, a wealth of souls living to their fullest extent. Here, even death was a celebration.

“It was Chicago, the Age of Jazz. The glitter and excitement hid a darker, more violent side.” She opened her eyes, staring down at the roof tiles as if she could see it all play out before her. “And I was shot, saving the life of someone who turned out not to be worth it.”

Callie found the light in her, fed it the energy thickening the air all around her. She filled herself with light, until it threatened to seep out of her pores. Then she knelt and pressed both hands to the roof.

Light poured from her into Liam’s home, into courtyard beyond. She used the iron railings and gates as her guides.

“Callie, what are you doing?”

“Making a sanctuary, for anyone who needs it.”

The fountain burst to life with fresh water, bubbling and spurting the scum from its surface. When the light inside her had shrunk to normal, she let go. A dull implosion of sound and slight tremor indicated it had taken. Exhaustion and whisky combined to bleed her of strength. Liam caught her as she wavered.

“This is a safe haven now,” Callie continued, catching her breath. She sounded as though she was chanting, offering rum to the Loa. “Anyone who’s hungry will find a cauldron that never runs out of food. Anyone who’s thirsty, a well that never runs dry. Anyone who needs light will find a fire that never goes out. And anyone who needs protection will find a sword that never tires.”

He tilted her face up. “Did you mean what you said?” he asked. “That you wanted this?”

“Yes.”

Liam let her head sink to his chest. “Well, thank God.”

Eva had been right—it was a lonely thing.

And now, it never would be again.

About the Author

Cate Morgan hails from a long line of storytellers and musicians, so it came as no surprise to her mother when she taught herself to read from the back of cereal boxes at the ripe age of three. Now she’s fulfilling her family obligations by foisting her own stories on an unsuspecting public, all with the help of gallons of coffee and pounds of M&Ms.

She resides in Florida with her long-suffering, if supportive, husband, gators in the backyard and two resident Ninja Katz underfoot.

Author site/blog:
www.catemorgan.com
(rum drink recipes welcome)

Facebook:
www.facebook.com/pages/Cate-Morgan

Goodreads:
www.goodreads.com/author/show/5139662.Cate_Morgan

Twitter:
@typemonkeytype

Look for these titles by Cate Morgan

Now Available:

Keepers of the Flame

Brighid’s Cross

Brighid’s Mark

One woman with a job to do. One gorgeous hacker with a plan. One apocalypse. Any questions?

Brighid’s Cross

© 2011 Cate Morgan

Keepers of the Flame, Book 1

Aika Lareto is a descendent of St. Brighid in her incarnation of all things fire and warfare in a time when heroes were revered as gods. In 2025, this means Aika is hunted by all things demon and government. All she wants is to get on with her work as guardian of the dregs scraping out a fringe existence in London’s blitzed underground—the lost, forgotten and the just plain ignored.

Declan Pryce is the hacker who finds her first. Quite a feat, considering current ruling government conglomerate Dreamtech has issued a bounty on Aika’s head for her ability to bypass their security systems.

When she escapes Dreamtech’s net, the vote is unanimous—Aika is a liability in need of immediate resolution—dead or alive is entirely her choice.

No choice, really. She’ll take death over disloyalty every time. Declan has a plan that doesn’t include falling for an impossible woman in an impossible situation. She has plans of her own that don’t leave room for a love life.

If they’re incredibly lucky, it just might work.

Warning: Contains a hot hacker with a penchant for redheads, battles with demons, a little light torture, explosions and a heroine willing to do whatever it takes to do her job.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Brighid’s Cross:

Aika skirted a Technicolor block party pulsating beneath a violent fuchsia tarp anchored to street lamps with jellyfish tendrils, then slipped into a side street packed end to end with small clubs, all night takeaways and street vendors offering food and stimulants to keep the crowds going—and spending. The throngs migrated in one direction, taking as much notice of her as a river parting around a rock. It was a knack, this not being noticed. Almost as effective as going 
between
. She needn’t have bothered, except for the practice.

She passed an alley on her left. The muted chink of a broken bottle skittered across its dark, damp well of concrete and brick. She didn’t think twice; she pulled folds of shadow around her like a midnight blanket and stepped into the time and space between this world and the Other.

It was like being deep underwater, close and oppressive, but she was inured to its womb-like dark. Time slowed. Space expanded. She braced herself. Pushed as she exhaled from the abdomen, and squeezed herself back through to the end of the block on the opposite side of the partygoer currents. She stepped beneath the awning of a trendy sushi bar, the wide front windows pulled open so the overflow could perch on its sill. Paper lanterns exuded improbable colors—summer-sun yellow, peacock blue, hot-pant pink.

Two figures in overcoats hurtled out of the alley, arguing strenuously. One sported the sort of Nordic bulk associated with Thor, his companion dark and wiry. Violent arm gestures ensued.