Genesis (The Legend of Glory Book 3)

by Devin O'Branagan

  Rory didn’t remember much about her mother in life, but in death had come to know her well. Bridget once held the position as Starlight’s official psychic, and Rory had already inherited the job. The extraordinary psychic abilities mother and daughter shared were legendary in supernatural circles.

  Rory’s favorite garden on the estate of Haven was the most remote and untended, allowing the ferns, vines, and flowers to grow wild year round. No trees blocked the sun. Shadows always seemed to be chasing Rory, and she took comfort where she could.

  At midmorning, she walked to the garden. On the way, she tried to mute her excitement so her mother wouldn’t feel it. For years now, she had been trying to drive Bridget away, into the peace of the Summerland—the witches’ afterlife—and the longer Bridget stayed earthbound, the greater chance of her becoming hopelessly lost in the veil.

  Rory’s stomach clenched when she saw her mother’s diaphanous form perched on the marble bench in the center of the garden. As always, the feeling was painful—like an emotional umbilical cord still connected them. Rory’s mother’s energy smothered, intrigued, provoked anxiety, and thrilled her all at the same time. Struggling to breathe, she sat on the bench.

  “You look so grown up,” Bridget said in greeting. “You’ve got that same pretty, pouty thing I had at your age. You’re going to drive the boys nuts.”

  Rory shrugged. She never fussed with her appearance. She wore her long hair in a casual pile on top of her head, had chosen funky—but admittedly cool—glasses instead of contacts, and she couldn’t remember the last time she dressed in anything other than blue jeans and comfy tops. With all her responsibilities, she couldn’t afford the luxury of vanity.

  Bridget’s smile was gentle. “Happy birthday.”

  Rory tried not to get sidetracked by pleasantries. She liked to stay on mission. “So, this year are you going to give me the present I always ask for?” Every birthday Rory asked Bridget to reveal her father’s identity, and every birthday Bridget said,

  “No.”

  Rory’s heart twisted. “Will you at least tell me why? I’m a woman now. Whatever it is, I can handle it.”

  In the long silence that followed, Rory studied Bridget. She soaked up every detail: the long burgundy hair, pale skin, full lips, striking face. And she was young. So very young.

  “He’s a civilian, Rory. I never told him about you because I didn’t want him drawn into the life. No one associated with our lifestyle is safe. He’s a good man and deserves to be happy. I’ve shielded him from your powers, so stop trying to scry for him. It’s a waste of time.”

  It was the most her mother had ever revealed, and Rory examined every word. She thought of a dozen questions that desperately needed answers.

  “Don’t ask,” Bridget said.

  Rory swallowed hard to hold down the bile.

  “Isn’t the coven kind to you? Haven’t they raised you well?” Bridget asked.

  “It’s not the same as having family.”

  “Family’s not the warm fuzzy you imagine. My own disowned me when my gifts grew so strong they freaked out. They had witch DNA in their bloodline, but were cowards. I don’t know what I would have done if Barry and the coven hadn’t taken me in.”

  Rory dug her nails into her palms to distract from insistent tears. She refused to cry in front of her mother. Never had. Never would. “I don’t know anything about your family either. It’s not fair.”

  “Life ain’t fair, kiddo. I figured you would have gotten that by now.”

  A traitorous sob escaped Rory. “Yeah, I got it, Momma.”

  “Your friend Kaia, she’s your ally isn’t she?” Bridget asked. Kaia was the official psychic of Starlight’s sister coven, Moonstone.

  Rory nodded. “She’s the only person I’ve ever met who truly gets me. If there’s anyone on Earth who’s like family to me, it’s her.”

  “I was rocked off my cloud to discover you’ve been hanging out with vampires,” Bridget said, “What’s that about?”

  Rory cleared her throat. “Just like there are good witches and bad witches, there’re good vamps and bad vamps. My circle now includes some good ones.”

  Bridget’s pale blue eyes studied her and Rory felt compelled to elaborate.

  “The Caretakers arranged for a vamp named Zane to guard a civilian named Glory whose blood held the cure for last year’s pandemic. His friends, a gang of vamps who call themselves the Goth Girls, helped us with the mission. The girls live here in Savannah, so we’ve gotten close. Zane lives in Texas but visits a lot. Their kind is super passionate and real intense, which has taken some getting used to, but they’re light warriors too. We’re all committed to fighting the good fight.”

  “Ah. That girl with the special blood, she lived in this mansion in the nineteenth century, didn’t she? I witnessed something a while back that I don’t understand.”

  Rory sighed. “Glory traveled through time and became Hope, who was born and raised in this house, which is so far beyond coincidence it’s whackloads of crazy. Been trying to see how all the twisted paths come together, but I keep getting lost in the labyrinth.”

  “When you watch temporal reality unfold from this side of the veil you see lots of threads,” Bridget said. “They weave through time and space and bodies and souls and the tapestries are incredibly complex. Some are magnificent. Others are terrifying. There are lots of very bad tapestries being woven right now, Rory. You need to prepare yourself.”

  “For what?”

  “You know. You’ve seen.”

  Yes, Rory knew. She saw awful things coming, but hoped that maybe this time her visions were wrong.

  Bridget said, “There are so many opposing forces lining up to do battle. Dark witches and witch hunters against good witches, vampires against vampires, demons against angels, evil scientists against the ones working for the light. World religions at war. Terrible, awful wars.”

  Rory struggled to think of something unkind to say. Something mean to drive her mother away and into the Summerland where she belonged. Something to get Bridget out of harm’s way before the veil ripped apart in the coming battles. “All the witches I know have cool magical guides: panthers, or bears, or shamans. Why am I saddled with a dead witch who’s too much of a dumbass to find her way into the light?”

  “You sure are a sassy one. I should wash out your mouth with ectoplasm.”

  Rory hated it when her mother didn’t take her seriously. “I don’t want to see you anymore. You need to move on now.”

  “I’ll wait a while longer, and we can make the journey together,” Bridget said. “If what I see for your future is correct, you’ll be joining me before winter is over.”

  Rory’s gut clenched in fear, but she refused to surrender to weakness. The first question that came to mind was how she would die, but she decided to ask the other one that might be more to the point. “Do you really come here every year, or are you a recurring dissociative event based on my cracked and neurotic psyche?”

  Bridget shrugged. “Both?”

  “That’s what I thought.” Which then begged the question, “How will I die?”

  “Beware of Nyx,” Bridget said. “Your dance with her isn’t over.”

  Nyx, their great nemesis. “Why did she come after us before?”

  “Because I saw!” Bridget’s emotional outburst almost dissipated her form, and she made an obvious effort to hold herself together. “I saw,” she repeated more calmly. “And you grew up to see the same visions of what’s to come. That makes us dangerous to the dark side.”

  “And Nyx killed Kaia’s parents because?”

  “Because they were powerful demon hunters. After Nyx killed me, they vowed to vanquish her.”

  Bridget grew pensive, then she whispered as if fearful someone might overhear, “And something’s gone wrong with the Earth. She’s sick. She’s dying. Don’t you feel it?”

  Alarm shot through Rory. “I’ve felt the big bad with Her energy, but I di
dn’t know what it meant.” Shame rose. Rory’s greatest fear was not seeing things clearly. Psychic sight was the special gift bestowed upon Rory by her supreme deity, the Goddess. If clarity failed ... well what value would she have anymore? Who would need her? Who would want her? “What have I missed, Momma?”

  A flash of lightning split the clear blue and struck the earth a few feet from where they sat. Rory flew backward and slammed up against the statue of Morrigan, the Celtic goddess of war. Her shaken brain swam in fireflies for a few moments until her vision cleared enough to see that her mother’s translucent form had blown to the opposite side of the garden. Between them, thick fog formed, entirely blotting out the sun and sky. Within the mist, a glorious woman garbed in a rainbow of shimmering colors manifested.

  Rory blinked, and managed to get to her feet using Morrigan’s marble sword for leverage.

  The apparition said, “I am Gaia, I am indeed dying, and you Rory are the one who must save me.” Her voice held an unusual timber—deep and powerful.

  Rory glanced past her to Bridget.

  Her mother shook her head. “Beware of false visions.”

  Gaia gave Bridget a haughty glance. “My dear, who here is the false vision?”

  “You are not the Earth Goddess,” Bridget said.

  “You’re the one who’s not real.” She turned to Rory. “You know that you manifest your mother out of an abundance of need. And right now she’s giving voice to your skepticism, but I am Gaia, and I’ve come to ask for your help.”

  Slowly, Rory circled her. Bridget matched her pace as she, too, circled.

  Rory struggled to collect herself. I must always see clearly. “What’s wrong with you and why do you need my help?”

  “Your inner voice has spoken to you for a while about the weakening of my energy,” Gaia said. “In your visions you’ve seen the growing force of evil witches. Witches originally evolved from my body to care for me, and that mission’s been perverted by those who have gone darkside. You need to stop them before they push me to the point of no return.”

  “It’s not just those witches who are harming the Mother,” Bridget said. “The more powerful threats are the New World Order scientists working in concert with demons.”

  Gaia’s eyes flashed light. “Do not listen to this pathetic specter. How could either scientists or demons truly harm me? They don’t know my secrets. Witches know my secrets and are using them against me.”

  Rory tried to make sense of everything thrown at her. “Why would witches—why would anyone—want to harm you?”

  Gaia sighed. “Why do human spirits become demons? Why do angels fall? Rebellion, power, seduction. So it is with witches.”

  Rory continued to circle the Mother as she fought to center herself. “Why me? Why do you need my help?”

  “Puberty has awakened many latent powers in you,” Gaia said. “Of all the witches who serve me, you’re the one best suited to cut off the snake’s head. You are perfectly positioned to do so.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Kaia Moonstone-Killian is the traitor in your midst, the one destined to lead the witch army against me. You must stop her.”

  Thick fog choked the breath out of Rory. “Not Kaia,” she finally managed to spit out. “Not my Kaia.”

  “This thing is lying,” Bridget said.

  Gaia cocked her luminescent head. “Who was possessed by a fallen angel during the last summer solstice? Who worked to thwart the cure for the pandemic?”

  Rory’s heart hammered. “But ... you just said it. She was possessed. She eventually fought Micah off.”

  “Don’t you think being possessed by such a powerful evil force would leave its mark?”

  Rory shook her head. “Kaia is good. She’s the best.” She’s like my sister.

  “Don’t you know about her dark lineage?” Gaia asked. “She’s descended from the blackest of witches, through her mother.”

  Startled, Rory looked at Bridget.

  After a moment Bridget said, “That part is true, but Kaia doesn’t know about them. Kaia’s coven and her magical guardian, White Bear, shielded Kaia from that heritage. That’s why the coven raised her in the mountains, away from their influence.”

  Gaia’s resonant voice said, “Blood will tell. That’s why she was susceptible to the fallen angel in the first place.”

  No, no, no. Not my Kaia.

  “You’re right, Rory. Not your Kaia,” Bridget said. “This ... thing ... is a deceiver. This apparition is false.”

  “You have to kill Kaia before she can kill me,” Gaia said.

  “This thing is afraid, but not for the reasons it’s stating,” Bridget said.

  “How do I know I can believe you?” Rory asked Gaia.

  “There’s going to be a bombing at the United Nations Building in New York City. Any minute now. Foreknowledge of that should prove my omniscience to you.”

  Bridget gasped. “Yes, she’s right. Evan’s there! You have to warn him. He has a huge role to play in future events and can’t die now.”

  Kaia’s husband, Evan, belonged to Rory’s coven and worked as a reporter for CNN.

  Rory shook her head. “Evan’s on the Navajo reservation covering the religious apparitions happening in Monument Valley.”

  “He was supposed to be, but at the last minute they sent him to the UN to cover the Dalai Lama’s address,” Bridget insisted, her alarm transmitting like a shriek to Rory.

  Rory looked back at Gaia for confirmation, but the apparition disappeared, taking the fog with her.

  “Call Evan now,” Bridget said. “Get him out of there.”

  Rory reached into the pocket of her hoodie, but her phone wasn’t there. She had left it on her nightstand.

  “Now, Rory!”

  “Crap.” Rory took off at a hard run toward the house.

  Hurry, her mother’s voice whispered in the wind.

  Rory’s mind tuned into Evan and she realized her mother had been right. He was at the UN. She tried to reach out to him with a message, but couldn’t get through. Death danced in the shadows gathering around Rory, her legs tangled with its dark feet, and she went sprawling. She screamed with rage.

  “Hey, you okay?” The voice that pierced Rory’s inner tempest wasn’t familiar, but when she glanced up she recognized his face.

  The veterinarian who took care of the horses ran to her and knelt by her side. “You okay?”

  “I need a phone. It’s an emergency.”

  “Sure.” He patted down his pockets until he located his cell.

  She snatched it from him and dialed Evan’s number.

  A distracted voice answered. “Evan Killian. Not good timing, whoever you are.”

  “Evan, it’s Rory. Get out of the building. It’s going to blow.”

  “Rory? What?”

  “Evan, the UN’s going to blow up any second. Get out now.”

  He hesitated. “If that’s going to happen, I have to try to evacuate—”

  “There’s no time! Get. Out. Now.”

  Rory heard muffled voices. She heard Evan trying to hustle his camera crew out an emergency exit. She heard a roar. Then the line went dead.

  Rory dropped the phone and flopped onto her back. “Holy crap.” She tried to feel Evan’s energy. Had he gotten out in time?

  “Honey, are you okay?” An edge of panic sharpened the veterinarian’s voice as he went into doctor mode and tried to examine her.

  She shoved him away and scrambled to her feet. “Stop trying to feel me up, you perv. Where’s your truck?”

  Picking his phone off the ground, he laughed. “My, you’re a feisty filly.” Pointing to the barn, he said, “Parked on the other side.”

  Rory raced to the truck, opened the door, but didn’t see his keys in the ignition. She spun on her heels, saw him sauntering in her direction, and threw her hands onto her hips. “Keys. I need the keys now.”

  Maddeningly, he didn’t come with any sense of urgency,
but did throw his keys to her as soon as he was in range. “You gonna steal it?”

  “Radio. I need the radio.”

  Trembling, she shoved keys into the ignition until one fit. Country music blared from the speakers. She had reached out to hit the control buttons when a voice interrupted Luke Bryan’s song.

  “This just in to our newsroom: moments ago a massive explosion rocked the United Nations Building in New York City where the Dalai Lama was scheduled to address world leaders about the recent global wave of religious-based violence. There is no word on the fate of the Dalai Lama or any of those gathered—”

  Heartsick, Rory turned off the radio.

  “How did you know?” the vet asked.

  Fighting rebellious tears, she snatched the phone from his hand and hit redial. After an eternity, Evan answered. “I’m good. Can’t talk now.” He disconnected, and her knees gave out.

  The man buoyed Rory up and lifted her to the driver’s seat. “Your friend?”

  “He made it.”

  “How did you know?” he asked again.

  “I see things sometimes.” She expected at least a derisive snort, but instead he took her hand.

  “I’m Doc Jerry.”

  “Rory Devlin.”

  His hand jerked in hers and then he squeezed. “Related to Bridget Devlin?”

  Rory’s eyes met his. “You knew my momma?”

  He looked away, took off his cowboy hat, and slapped it against his leg to shake off hay residue. “She saw things too, sometimes.”

  Rory waited for him to say more. Finally, he looked at her with a sad smile. “I let her favorite horse die and she never forgave me. I thought we were friends until then, but I guess some things can’t survive a broken heart.”

  Her mind tried to read his, but she couldn’t push through his barriers. “Tell me.”