Sins of the Father

by JJ King

  Not all would have gone with her, though. Stockholm syndrome wasn't a term she'd known existed until she'd broken free and was en route to Canada and Pierre for help. It fit, though, and explained a lot of things about some of the women, especially the older ones.

  Her mother had never been one of them. She'd fought every moment of her captivity, even when she pretended to obey and serve. She'd whispered truths to Rose at night while the others slept. She'd taught her to be silent but strong enough to never surrender. Rose swallowed another lump in her throat and pushed aside the memory of her mom.

  They stopped at the bottom of a stone staircase leading from the basement to the main floor of the castle. Wishing now for the link, Rose tapped Quinn and Katherine on the shoulders and motioned with her fingers that the three of them take the lead, moving up the stairs without making noise, with the rest following behind. She pointed up the stairs then right, looking to the group for confirmation, and received sharp nods. They remembered every single part of what she’d told them, Rose knew, because what they were about to do was insanely dangerous. Even with Raphael away.

  The stones stayed firm beneath their feet, silencing their approach, but the heavy wooden door and its worn hinges did no such thing. Rose cringed as the sound of the door opening echoed through the storage room behind the kitchen. She hissed in a breath and blew it out slowly, urging her heart to stop its erratic thudding in her chest. Quinn stepped out first, followed by Katherine, since their gifts included the ability to be shot in the heart and still survive. Not that their abilities would mean anything here, as chances were Raphael had taught his sons to shoot for the head first with silver bullets meant to kill Geliget.

  In the storage room, which was filled with odd items that no one ever used, they spread out, moving to stand behind the wall that would protect them from assault, if one were coming. Rose felt the nerves inside her body dancing, ready for fight or flight, whichever the moment called for. She wanted to fight, but she knew that if running meant her sisters would be safe, she’d run like the wind itself.

  Beside her, Quinn cupped Katherine’s face in his hand and lowered his lips to hers. Rose watched through her eyelashes and hated the tug of regret that blossomed in her heart at the obvious love between them. That kind of love wasn’t for her, not after what she’d lived through, or, worse, how she’d been born. Her father and mother might have been good people, good wolves, but she’d been created in a test tube and raised by a killer. She’d long ago accepted that there was little chance in this world for her.

  Quinn grasped the door handle, a weighty iron thing, and pulled. This door swung open without a sound, and the kitchen beyond was empty. Rose stepped clear of the door and stopped when Katherine made a small sound of distress. Rose grabbed Katherine’s forearm and tugged her around, raising her palms in question.

  Katherine held up a finger and let her eyes flutter shut. She inhaled deliberately, taking in as much oxygen as she could, and blew it out slowly. When her eyes opened, they were troubled. “I smell blood.” She whispered, making barely a sound. “Lots of blood.”

  ♀♀♀

  Rose’s feet pounded against the familiar floor of the castle as she ran towards the women’s wing. Rhythmic whooshing sounds filled her ears as she took the stairs two at a time, drowning out the sound of her companions, racing behind her, calling out her name with hushed voices. She took a corner too fast, lost her footing and fell to the floor, cracking her head against the floor as she fell. Blood dripped into her eye, obscuring her vision for a moment, but she brushed it away with her hand and stood.

  The hallway loomed before her, endless, separating her from her loved ones. Her first step felt as if she were moving through cement, but she did it. Then she stepped forward again, moving towards the room she’d played in as a child, toward the only place she’d ever considered home, toward the overwhelming scent of death.

  The door was slightly ajar and there was a bloody handprint on the doorknob from the inside. Her eyes locked on that blood, unwilling to look past it to the source. How many times had she laid her hand on that knob, on that door?

  She slid her gaze down to the floor, forcing herself to keep moving, to see what had been done, to burn the image of their bodies into her mind so she’d be able to remember when she stood in front of Raphael and delivered her sisters’ justice.

  There were less bodies in the room than she’d thought possible with the thick scent of blood in the air. Part of her mind considered that, looking at the scene from a completely unaffected place, as if she stood behind a glass window looking in on her, seeing her dead family. She liked that place, the peace of it, the absence of pain there, and the urge to step into the place, to leave behind reality once more, pulled at her like a rip tide, urging her to give in.

  It was so tempting, but Rose knew it was no place for her. She’d known blood and pain and death her entire life and she wouldn’t run away from it now. Rose looked at the first body, lying draped across a wing back chair at an angle that wasn’t natural, and recognized her best friend.

  Male hands grasped her shoulders and pivoted her around as a loud buzzing filled Rose’s ears and her vision blurred.

  Rose acted on instinct, throwing her hands into the air and knocking her attacker’s hands away from her. She raked her hands across the man’s face and grabbed him by the hair when he cried out, slamming his head into her thrusting knee. Something broke inside her, something fierce and wild, animalistic and primal, and she fell on top of the man, striking him over and over as he bled.

  “Rose, please,” the mass of pulpy blood cried out her name, pleading with her to stop. The sound of his voice pricked her memory but she didn’t stop, she couldn’t. She heard someone keening, a terrible sound, and thought it must be her, but she couldn’t stop that either.

  Then she was being pulled off the man and onto the floor, surrounded by female scents, female voices. Instantly, her mind calmed, the sharp edge of madness slipping away. Women were safe, they were her family. She leaned into the softness and closed her eyes.

  “Shhh,” the sweet voice hummed as hands held her close. Slowly, her heart calmed, her mind cleared, and Rose opened her eyes to see Gabriel struggling to sit up with Keme’s and Ronan’s help. She breathed in the scent of Katherine and Daphne, still holding her, and then the smell of blood hit her again.

  This time Rose knew the sound she made came from her. It exploded from her throat like a gale force wind, leveling everything in its path. She saw Gabriel and the destruction she’d wrecked up on his face and body, and a small part of her cried for him. He looked defeated, though not from her attack. It was his eyes, she realized through the haze, he looked as if he’d lost everything and, really, he had.

  Rose pushed away from the women, ignoring their hushed pleas, and struggled to her feet, feeling unsteady on her own legs. Lightness filled her head, moving her forward as if on the wind. Rose knelt beside the chair cradling her best friend’s broken body and reached out, brushing aside the soft blonde hair that had fallen, matted with blood, across Skyla’s forehead. Blue eyes as endless as the summer sky stared back at her, unmoving, somehow drained of everything that had been Skyla. The fun, the laughter, the pain, and the memories they’d shared. It was all gone now.

  Her back had been broken, before or after the attack had taken her life, Rose didn’t know. But she took her body in her arms now and lifted her friend, ignoring the thick coagulated blood dripping from her arms, legs, and torso. She walked her across the room to a faded red velvet chaise that had always been their favorite place to read. It looked out over the water towards the Benbulbin Mountains where they’d dreamed of escaping one day to explore the caves and look for Yeat’s fabled fairies.

  Rose laid Skyla down with the care of a new mother laying down her sleeping child and began arranging her body, finding blankets and scarves around the room to cover her open wounds. She felt Gabriel step up next to her and stare at his sister, and turn
ed away from him to get water to wash her face.

  The washcloth ran red with her blood but it wiped away the stain of death from Skyla’s skin, leaving behind a cold mask of beauty and innocence. She stared at her friend, her sister, and closed her eyes, sending a silent prayer to the Old Ones to keep Skyla’s soul. Then Rose pushed to her feet, turned back towards the room, and went to take care of the others.

  She refused help when it was offered, allowing only Gabriel near the bodies. Like a wounded animal she acted instinctively, going through the motions until the four girls left behind were cleaned and laid to rest. She kissed each of them goodbye and whispered their names, “Skyla, Meghan, Siobhan, Grace.”

  Then she walked out of the room and waited for the others to join her. When they all stood before her, Rose lifted her head. “He knew we were coming and he left them for me and Gabriel to find.” She looked past them to where Gabriel knelt before his sister, unmoving. “He took the others.”

  Katherine took a tentative step towards her, moving slowly as if she were afraid to spook her. Rose wondered what she looked like if they were afraid of her reaction. “We’ll find them Rose,” Katherine gently rubbed her hand up and down Rose’s arm, “I promise, we’ll find them, and then we’ll kill the fucker.”

  Chapter Seven

  Katherine stared at the Celtic symbol carved into the large dining room table and felt dread crawl through her limbs like a dark madness. “It’s the same symbol we’ve been finding in the bodies back home,” she lifted a finger to trace the swirls. “The crone, the mother, and the maiden,”

  Saying the word Raphael had whispered to her as he slipped silver daggers so casually under her flesh made Katherine’s skin crawl. He’d called her Mia, too, Mother, and at the time she hadn’t understood. Then her world had changed and things had become clearer. It had taken a silver bullet to the chest to clear things up, but she’d survived and the rest was history.

  But it wasn’t, not while Raphael was roaming free. None of them were safe while that madman was alive, especially her daughter.

  Thinking about Eve, Katherine frowned and chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip, “We’ve been assuming that Raphael is interested in me first and foremost,” she pointed to the three perfect spirals cut into the wood, “but mother is only one part of the triskele. What if there’s more to the prophecy? Why include the crone and the maiden?”

  Quinn stepped up to the table and looked down at the spirals, saying nothing for a long moment. “I’m not sure, but it’s a good point. Why this symbol?” He brushed a hand over his five o’clock shadow and frowned deeply, “But if you’re the mother, then Eve…” his gaze shot to hers.

  “Is the maiden.” Katherine finished his thought with agonizing clarity. Her heart clenched. From the moment they’d left, she’d tried to keep her mind off the fact that they were leaving Eve behind at Wild River. It was the safest place for her, she’d told herself over and over, but it never seemed to help the ache that had birthed and grown in her chest the moment they’d taken off for Ireland. Now, the pressure in her chest worsened as her brain conjured up visions of their daughter being abducted and killed. Katherine commanded her mind to stop, shutting down the vivid images as soon as they popped up. This was the hardest part of being a parent she’d realized soon after Eve was born. Loving another this much opened you up to pain beyond comprehension.

  Losing her Dad had decimated Katherine’s heart, but it beat on because she was surrounded by others who loved her, whom she loved, and she had her soul mate and child. Still it had taken the thought of revenge, of killing the motherfucker who was hurting her family, who could be responsible for her father’s murder, to bring her back. Her mom hadn’t come back yet, might not come back anytime soon, and Katherine wouldn’t blame her for staying in the void. Eventually, she’d feel her family’s love, she’d see Eve grow into a beautiful woman, and she’d come back. Katherine hoped so anyway.

  “She’s safe, Katherine,” Quinn soothed her, probably as much for himself as for her. “But, who’s the crone?”

  She mulled the question over by couldn’t see an immediate answer. Footsteps in the hall outside alerted them to Keme and Daphne’s return. Katherine raised her eyebrows and looked anxiously at her friends, “Anything?”

  “Not exactly,” Daphne glanced up at Keme, who nodded, “but we’ve been thinking that they have to be on the island. He’s traveling with a group of eleven women and fifteen girls. I know he has the boys to help, but I doubt that means he’s going to be able to go off island.”

  Keme cleared his throat, “He could have gone to sea but Gabriel swears he’s never seen a boat on the premises big enough to taken that many people. There are a few row boats on the shore of the lake, but that’s it.”

  “Which leaves us a hell of a lot of ground to search,” Katherine muttered, “in a country none of us know very well.”

  “Do we know anyone here who can act as a guide,” Daphne asked. “I’ve barely travelled, which is a sore point for another time, but you’ve gotten around Katherine.” She blushed and chuckled, “Sorry that came out wrong.”

  Katherine looked at Daphne and smiled, “Yes, I’ve gotten around…” she paused for a second, just for effect and to make her friend squirm, “this world a few times, but I haven’t spent a whole lot of time in Ireland.”

  She held back her mirth because of where they were. It would be disrespectful to Rose and to the young women Raphael had slaughtered upstairs, young women who were her half-sisters even though she didn’t want to think about that, to laugh at something so foolish. Still, it felt good to be happy for even a split second. Daphne was a good friend, her best friend, and the closest thing to a real sister she’d ever known. Katherine wondered if she and Rose or any of the others would ever get as close. Sometimes complete strangers could become family.

  The thought of strangers triggered a memory that had Katherine’s eyebrows lifting. “Um… I actually know a guy from here, though I have no idea if he’s actually here.” She smiled fondly at the memory then caught Quinn’s eye and smiled innocently. “Liam Dougherty.”

  “Any relation to Aengus Dougherty?” Keme questioned.

  “His youngest son,” Katherine pulled out her cell phone and pressed the number for Teagan, ignoring Quinn’s raised eyebrows and knowing smirk. Her brother answered on the second ring with a warm, “Katherine! God, it’s good to hear from you. How is it going?”

  He sounded good, she thought, more like their father, and the thought made her sad and proud at the same time. “We’re alright, but Raphael isn’t here and he left behind a few reminders of his ruthlessness for Rose to find.”

  “Fuck,” he sounded bitter. She couldn’t blame him. “Is she alright?”

  “No,” Katherine gave an honest answer, feeling Rose deserved as much, “but she will be. She’s strong willed.”

  “Like someone else I know.”

  Katherine didn’t know if her brother was referring to her, their mother, or their murdered father, although she supposed he’d have used the past tense if he meant Pierre. They were all stubborn, as were each of her brothers, but Katherine knew they all thought her head the thickest and her stubborn streak the widest in the family. She hoped that stubbornness would see her through all this. “I was wondering if you could find a number for us.”

  “Sure,” Teagan’s voice switched back to all business, “hit me.”

  “It’s for Liam Dougherty, Aengus Dougherty’s youngest son. We’re in need of a tour guide and he might just be the man for the job.”

  Teagan promised to text her the number as soon as he tracked it down and hung up after relaying a message from Anthony that he and the lab techs he’d brought in had found blood in the air duct connected to their father’s room and were analyzing it, but not before saying, “I love you, sis.”

  ♀♀♀

  They parked the van on the street in front of the small out-of-the-way pub Inn and climbed out with moans and long s
tretches.

  “I hate driving, let’s never do it again,” Katherine moaned, pressing her neck to the side and getting a satisfying crack for her efforts.

  “Sounds good to me, but we’re going to get awfully tired running everywhere. Then there’s the chance someone will see us and shoot first ask questions later.” Daphne arched her back, twisted to the side and stifled a yawn. They’d been driving for hours and hadn’t had a chance to rest since before they’d left Wild River. The thought of sleeping at Classiebawn, surrounded by death, hadn’t appealed to any of them, so they’d buried the girls, commended their souls to the Old Ones, and gotten a lift from Gabriel back to where they’d left the van. Since then they’d been driving, doing their best to sleep in the cramped quarters but it was hard to find rest when grief was so thick in the air.

  Rose had been quiet since she’d laid her sisters to rest. Katherine had battled her emotions and pushed them down, deep enough to function, so she could be there for Rose. It was hard, though, seeing a reflection of her own pain on Rose’s features. It was harder still not knowing what to do for her. So, she’d sat in the back of the van, letting Ronan take the front, and she’d just been there. When she’d opted to get their rooms instead of meet with Liam, Katherine had agreed it was probably for the best.