We go out clubbing and have occasional picnics in the country. We even hit the museums and symphony sometimes. She treats me for free. At least, she doesn’t charge me. But she always insists that I tell her how I got banged up. She calls it cheap entertainment.
Her secretary waived me through when I walked in the door. The patients who were waiting gave me nasty looks.
Monica took one look at me and started laughing. “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this one. Goddess, Rhi, you look like you fell in a hole.”
She healed me, and I felt a lot better. But before she let me escape, she insisted on hearing the whole story. By the time I’d finished telling her about the old-lady voyeur, she was laughing so hard tears were running down her face.
Back at home, I checked the pictures on my camera, preparing to send them to Sylvia Sanders. The first picture horrified me. The camera evidently hit the ground the same time I did. Upside down and crooked, it showed me with my eyes closed, my chin hitting the edge of the hole, and my tongue protruding an inch past my teeth.
I deleted it. If Monica ever saw it, she’d want to blow it up into a poster to hang on her wall.
~~~
Chapter 2
Arriving in Dublin, I walked through the terminal and into the reception area. People stood around holding up signs with names on them, indicating they were waiting for a stranger. The voluptuous beauty standing near the baggage area didn’t need a sign to tell me she was waiting for me. For the knowledgeable, a succubus, or Druid as they prefer to call themselves in Ireland, is hard to miss.
“Miss Kendrick? I’m Morrighan O’Byrne. Do you have any other luggage?” the raven-haired woman with startling blue eyes said. She was dressed in a blue wrap dress and heels. A single strand of pearls hung around her neck. Every man in the place was ogling her.
“This is it,” I replied, holding my carryon.
She nodded. “If you’ll come with me.”
We walked out of the terminal and down the sidewalk to where a black limousine was waiting. Her heels made her close to my height. She was an elegant woman and every detail of her attire was immaculate. I had a hard time imagining her wearing a pair of jeans. She would fit in at the Paris fashion shows or in an old Grace Kelley or Audrey Hepburn movie. I was wearing my usual sweater and jeans, my hair plaited in a braid, and felt a bit shabby walking next to her.
Two men dressed in black lounged against the long car and another man sat behind the wheel. I hadn’t seen an O’Byrne Protector in years, but they were instantly recognizable.
It was seventy kilometers from the airport to Wicklow, so I sat back and made myself comfortable.
“That looks painful,” Maureen said.
Self-consciously, I touched my chin. “A little bit,” I said. “It’s healing.”
I could tell she wanted to ask how I got hurt, but I didn’t volunteer anything and she politely refrained.
“Lord O’Byrne has asked me to give you some background,” Morrighan said. “But you’ll have to discuss any business arrangements with him.”
“You’re his daughter, aren’t you?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“You look a lot like Maureen,” I said.
She looked surprised. “You knew Maureen?”
“We were cousins. I didn’t know her well, though. She was much older than me.” I cocked my head and asked, “Are we related?”
Morrighan shook her head. “My mother is one of the servants.” She gave me a faint smile and changed the subject. “The reason Lord O’Byrne asked you to come is we have a missing girl. He’s hoping you might be able to find her,” Morrighan said.
“How old is she?” I asked.
“Nineteen. She’s a student at Trinity College in Dublin. She disappeared about a week ago. No one was worried at first. You know how it is at that age. But when she didn’t show up for classes on Monday, her roommate called me. No one has seen her since last Friday. She had a date that night.”
“Have you talked with her boyfriend?”
She shrugged. “There is no boyfriend that we know of. We think she had a date. She could have gone hunting.”
“Hunting?” I asked. “She’s a succubus?”
“Yes,” she said, her lip curling slightly in distaste at my use of the vulgar name. “Her name is Myrna Kavanagh. She’s from a small village near Limerick. Her family pledges fealty to O’Byrne.”
“How well trained is she?” I asked. “Not as a succubus, but in the use of her Gifts.”
Morrighan shook her head. “Probably not very well. She grew up in a telepathic village, but you know how it is in such places. She was probably taught how to control her Gifts, but didn’t get real training. There probably wasn’t anyone truly qualified to teach such things as Neural Disruption.”
The O’Byrne Clan was centered at an estate in County Wicklow. A town and several outlying villages were entirely populated by telepaths. But telepaths also lived throughout the rest of the country. Usually they clustered together in villages, but a fair number lived in the cities. Most gave fealty to one of the three main Irish Clans, O’Byrne, O’Neill, or O’Donnell, though some forego the protection and duties of that allegiance.
I knew what growing up in a small village separated from a Clan was like. Myrna probably had only a rudimentary understanding of her Gifts. Summers at the O’Byrne estate had given me the kind of rigorous training the large Clans provide. But I had been lucky. It was the kind of opportunity that probably hadn’t been available to Myrna.
“Was her mother a succubus?” I asked.
“We prefer the term Druid,” Morrighan replied. “When you speak with the Lord and his Lady, they would be offended at the other word.”
It was obvious I’d offended Morrighan.
“I apologize,” I said. “My cousin is a Druid. She was my roommate at university and used the other term, so I guess I’ve gotten out of the habit of polite speech. I’ll try to remember.”
Morrighan shrugged. “Myrna’s mother was a carrier. I don’t think her father was around very much. I think there’s only one Druid in the village where she grew up.”
At first, I didn’t understand what ‘a carrier’ was, but then I realized what she meant. The succubus gene had to be inherited from both parents for the child, always a girl, to have the Gift. As to not having much contact with her father, I was familiar with that. I’d met my father a few times. He used to stop by occasionally when I was a little girl. Like Myrna and Morrighan, I’m a bastard, and my father never seemed comfortable around me.
“The roommate, is she a Druid?” I asked, switching my terminology.
“No,” Morrighan said. “She’s a Clan telepath. I don’t think they’re very close.”
“Does she have many friends?”
“One close friend. If you decide to help us, I’ll introduce you.”
I don’t know if I let my surprise show. “What makes you think I wouldn’t help you?”
Morrighan had the grace to look embarrassed. “You’re not Clan.”
Okay, time to get a few things straight. I’d never completely understood why Lord O’Byrne treated me so well, or spent a small fortune to pay for my education, but I was damned glad he did. I leaned forward, making sure I had her attention. “Morrighan, I may not have sworn allegiance to Clan O’Byrne, but I owe a great deal to Lord and Lady O’Byrne. They have the right to ask me to jump off a cliff. And if I could figure out a way to do it without getting hurt too badly, I’d probably do it.”
I don’t know what my expression was, but she nodded, her eyes wide. Damn. I get too intense sometimes. Dial it back, RB.
“Was there anyone she was seeing regularly? Any patrons?” I sat back and tried to project a more casual attitude.
Morrighan shook her head. “She’s only nineteen. She doesn’t have any patrons, though I’m sure she was cutting a swath through the college boys.” She paused, and then said, “Rhiannon, I work with the government. My official title is Dir
ector of Government Affairs for O’Byrne, Limited. I deal with Parliament and the ministries and sometimes with foreign embassies. I attend a lot of affairs. Receptions, fundraisers, that sort of thing. Myrna thinks it’s exciting, all the power and glitz. I took her to a couple of embassy receptions.” Pursing her lips, she said, “I don’t know who she might have met, and Dublin is a big city.”
I studied the woman in front of me. It had been a long time since Maureen died, over fifteen years. Morrighan looked so much like her, but as beautiful as she was, she lacked something, a special spark perhaps, that her older sister had. I had only met Maureen twice and she was stunning. She stopped conversations and drew the eyes of men and women alike. Succubi are judged primarily on their beauty and sophistication. Morrighan had the latter, but fell below the top tier on looks. She still would have topped the charts in Hollywood.
“Is she very beautiful?” I asked.
A soft, sad smile crossed her face, “Pretty, as we all are. Very young. She’s still so young. She may be beautiful when she matures, but more like me, not in the same class as you or Maureen. She has thick brown hair, cut a little longer than shoulder length. Irish blue eyes. Shorter than I am and a bit thinner. Not as busty. She stands out in a crowd to be sure. But if you put ten Druids in a room, her outstanding attribute would be how young and innocent she looked.”
She projected an image for me, and turning it over in my mind, I thought her description was very apt.
“Beautiful enough to stand out,” I said, “and young enough to attract the wrong sort of attention.”
Morrighan nodded. “There’s something else you should know. We’ve heard reports of attacks on Druids, what you call succubi, in Washington, New York and Paris.”
“Paris?” I tried to remember. There was something about Paris recently in the news.
“Yes, it made the news. There was a pitched battle in the street in broad daylight.”
I remembered seeing something on the telly in the pub at the airport. I’d have to pay more attention. A battle between telepaths would be rather spectacular. We normally try to keep a much lower profile than that.
“That’s why Lord O’Byrne is worried,” Morrighan continued. “He’s afraid Myrna might have been kidnapped.”
“Telepaths trying to kidnap succubi, I mean Druids?” That made me feel extremely uneasy. A young girl disappearing was one thing, but a coordinated effort to kidnap women because of their Talents cast a nasty shadow on her disappearance. I suddenly felt cold.
I sat back in my seat and thought about what she’d told me so far. When a succubus has sex with a man, his climax causes a reaction in the succubus. She drains his life energy by about seventy-five percent, which puts him into an immediate stupor until his energy levels can recharge. This can’t be blocked by mental shielding, and the succubus can’t control it either. It’s automatic, and the effect is the same on telepaths as on norms.
“Do you have any idea why?” I asked.
“Clan O’Donnell has evidence that they’re being sold in the sex trade,” she said.
“That’s damn risky. Druids are powerful and dangerous. I wouldn’t want to be within fifty yards of you if you were angry.”
A couple of millennia ago, the Druids gave the Romans fits. Too few telepaths, too many Romans and we faded into legend and myth.
“Drugs and compulsion,” she answered. “Even we can’t detoxify some drugs quickly enough to prevent their effects.”
That was true, and scary. I filed it away in the back of my mind.
The femme fatale sitting in front of me warred with a vision in my mind of a white-clad Druid priestess.
“Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”
“No, not at all,” Morrighan said. I saw a light in her eyes. She sat up a little straighter and a smile played with the corners of her mouth.
“I have an aunt and a cousin who are Druids. They’re professional courtesans. But you don’t do that, do you? Are you a priestess?”
The expression on her face softened. “I use my Gifts for O’Byrne. I seduce politicians, businessmen, and others we want to influence. I go hunting because I enjoy the Glow I get from having sex. But yes, I was trained as a Druid, and I preside over the high festivals for Clan O’Byrne. We still hold to the old ways and worship the Goddess.”
Not just a priestess, but a High Priestess. Terminology wasn’t just trivial to her. Druid hierarchy isn’t explicit, but if she presided over ceremonies, it was because the other Druids deferred to her. She was very young for such an honor. I opened my mouth to ask another question and then stopped. I felt my face grow warm. Even for someone as nosy as I am, the question was really out of bounds.
An amused smile blossomed on her face. She regarded me for a full minute.
“Go ahead. Ask.”
“I, well, you said you’d been trained. Did you inherit your position from another priestess?”
“What a delicate way of asking the question,” she laughed. “Yes, I received the Death Gift from my predecessor.”
At the moment of death, Morrighan had held the hand of the old High Priestess. When the priestess’s soul left her body, her memories had transferred into Morrighan. The memories of the old priestess, and those she had received from her predecessors.
“How long?” I breathed.
“Twenty-five centuries. Unbroken back to the early days of the Tuatha de Danaan,” she said. “Everything since the Cataclysm.”
Goddess. The woman had the memories of all the High Priestesses of Clan O’Byrne. I was looking at someone who held the wisdom of the ages. All I could do was stare at her with my mouth hanging open.
~~~
Chapter 3
The O’Byrne estate near Wicklow looked as picture-postcard lovely as ever. The lawns were manicured, and the flowers were blooming like regiments of soldiers on parade. The gray stone mansion hadn’t changed.
Morrighan led me to a room on the second floor and left me to freshen up. She didn’t say it directly, but her eyes and manner told me she didn’t think I was dressed appropriately to meet the Lord. I took the hint, taking a quick shower and changing into a dress. Looking at the clothes I’d brought, I wondered if everyone would dress for dinner tonight. On the occasions I’d been there before, I was either a child or still a teenager and the expectations were low. But my mother had always brought eveningwear and dressed nicely for formal dinners.
Shown into the Lord’s study, I stood at the door, studying the man who had paid for my education. He had given me a graduation present that allowed me the freedom to spend a year touring Europe, and always treated me as though I was kin, though we shared no blood. I was a relation of his Lady, but I’d never even visited my relatives at Clan O’Neill.
Fergus, Lord O’Byrne, had a full head of gray hair. Clean-shaven, tall and thin, he didn’t look like a Lord, or one of the most powerful telepaths on the planet. He always had such a kind look on his face and a soft, gentle tone in his voice. Indeed, that is how he had always treated me, with kindness and gentleness. For over a hundred years, he had guided the Clan through Irish independence, two world wars, the Great Depression, and the Silent War between the telepathic Clans in the forties and fifties.
“Rhiannon, it’s so good to see you,” he smiled as he rose from his desk, and surprised me by abandoning decorum and crossing the room to give me a hug. “Let me look at you,” he said, holding me by the shoulders at arms’ length. “Oh my, you have certainly grown up. You’re spectacular, my dear. Absolutely stunning. Come, sit and have some tea.”
His gaze dropped slightly from my eyes. “Did someone hit you?”
My face warmed. “Remember when I was a gawky, clumsy teenager, always tripping over my own feet? I grew out of the gawky teenager part.”
The corners of his mouth twitched as he made a valiant effort to keep a straight face. He led me to a small table and motioned to a chair. I sat down and poured tea for both of us.
“Thank you for coming,” he said.
Guilt washed over me in a wave. He deserved better than I had given him.
“My Lord, I will always come when you call. I know I’m probably a disappointment to you, but please don’t think I’m ungrateful for all you’ve done for me. I always remember.”
He smiled, “It was my pleasure, my dear. But it’s good to hear you say it. I’ve never thought of you as ungrateful, and you haven’t disappointed me. You’re still very young, and we live a long time. The Goddess grants us the luxury to be many things in our lives. But I do keep track of you, and am very proud of the reputation you’ve built in your profession. That’s why I’ve asked you here, to engage your services.”
“My Lord, you don’t have to pay me for assisting you.”
Shaking his head, he said, “Nonsense, and don’t argue with me. Your time and expertise have value.” He swept a hand out to indicate the room, the estate beyond the large windows. “I’m not exactly destitute. Rhiannon, don’t ever diminish yourself by giving your services away. People don’t value what they get for free. I believe your normal rates are five thousand pounds a week plus expenses?”
I nodded.
“I’ll give you a twenty-five thousand pound advance, and when the assignment is over you’ll invoice me with an expense report. I want your full attention on this. I believe Morrighan has briefed you. Will you find Myrna for me?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, “I’ll do my best.”
He opened his mind to me and gave me what he knew of the situation. His knowledge of the events in the U.S. and Paris were far more detailed than what Morrighan had told me. Three succubi of Clan O’Donnell had been in Paris on holiday with a small security detail when they were attacked by thirty men from Clan Gordon. None of the attackers had survived.
One thing I learned, peripheral to this issue, was that he’d named a new heir.
Broken Dolls: An Urban Fantasy (The Telepathic Clans Saga Book 3) Page 2
