“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Brent,” she said as she stood to her feet and extended her hand.
Brent took it and said, “The pleasure is mine.” Turning back to Tara he said, “Hon, that smells good, whatever it is.”
“Braised chicken breasts in a cashew sauce, green beans, and salad.”
“Wow.” He looked to Donna with raised eyebrows, and playfully uttered, “You need to come around more often.”
Donna laughed.
“If you’ll excuse me, it’s time for civilian clothes.”
THE KIDS WERE on their way to the movies and Jenna came home at just the right moment to join them for the meal. Over the last twenty minutes, as they ate and talked, Brent struggled to keep from introducing the subject that three of the individuals in the room were most interested in.
“Donna, why don’t you tell my husband what it was that brought us together today?”
Donna went on to tell Brent and Jenna about the amazing fluke that Tara would have the same tattoo that she had seen inked on hundreds of others just the other day. “Of course, in my mind, she had to have been part of the group out there. Right?”
Brent played dumb. “What kind of group?”
“A religious group. They call themselves the Picti.”
Brent knew the name, but couldn’t place it. “Picti?”
“They were an ancient warrior culture in what is now Scotland. My brother, David, and I were out there several years ago. We actually got to know quite a bit about them. In fact, one of the neat things that we learned was that he and I are both from one of the Picti bloodlines.”
“So, you’re not a part of this Picti group?” ventured Jenna.
“My brother is. He’s been trying to convert me,” she said with an easy laugh, “but I’m frankly just not interested in resurrecting some long-lost religion.”
Brent and Tara looked at each other.
“That’s very interesting,” he offered. “So, they’re having some sort of convention out in Pittston?”
Donna furrowed her brow. “Yes, but how did you know they were in Pittston.”
Brent didn’t want to say that Tara had called him up to tell him. He didn’t miss a beat, though. He sported his best confused look and explained, “I’m a cop. The communities around here are loosely interconnected. Cops talk to cops.”
“You must know Jim Connor, then.”
Brent didn’t, but thought it odd that Donna would know him. “Chief Connor? No. My boss does, but I’ve only seen him a couple of times.”
“Real nice guy.”
“How do you know him?” Brent wondered. His gut told him the answer before she uttered a word.
“He’s one of the local members of the Picti.”
At that moment Donna’s phone rang. She removed it from her purse and looked at the screen. “Speak of the devil,” she said with a giggle. “It’s my brother!”
BRENDAN STOOD NEXT to David as he called Donna.
“Hey, Donna. How’s it going?”
Pause.
“Good. I’m fine, too.” He looked into Brendan’s angry eyes. “Say, I was wondering if you had dinner plans this evening. I’d enjoy getting to spend some down time with my favorite sister.”
Pause.
“Oh, that’s right, you are my only sister.”
Brendan, again with the eyes.
Pause.
A spark of fear drained the color from his face. “Say that again. You’re having dinner with who right now?”
Pause.
David looked at the ground. “I see. No. Don’t worry about it; I’ll catch up with you later. Bye, Sis.”
Brendan didn’t wait two seconds after the connection was broken before demanding an answer. “What has she done now?”
David took a couple of breaths before looking up at Brendan’s brooding stare. “She’s having dinner at this moment with her new friend in Millsville; that woman with the tattoo and her cop husband. She said the woman’s name is Tara.”
Brendan’s lips began to part as his mouth went dry. That name! It’s not the same…
“Follow me,” he commanded, and made for the farmhouse.
Upon reaching the door he called out, “Aileen!” Not hearing an immediate answer he yelled her name. “Aileen!”
“Yes?” she responded from the top of the stairs. “What is it?”
“That little strawberry-blonde from years ago… Tara. Remember her?”
She thought for a moment. “Tara Baker?”
“That’s the one.” He walked halfway up the stairs and stopped. “Think carefully. Did she have a triskele tattoo?”
“I … I don’t know. I don’t think she did. Why? What’s going on?” She looked to David, then back to Brendan.
“That wench, if it is her, just befriended Cowan’s sister!”
“Okay,” she replied. “Even if it is her… so what?”
“Her husband’s a cop. A cop, Aileen! Do you think this just might be related to Uilliam’s information about being contacted by the Millsville Police Department?”
“Oh, Jesus.” The name escaped her mouth before she could contain it.
“Oh what, Aileen? Oh who?!”
She tried to recover. “It was a slip, Brendan.”
It didn’t really matter to Brendan. Between last night’s revelation and today’s morass he had reached his limit. He spun around on the stairs and charged down at David. Grabbing him by the collar of his T-shirt he screamed, “You fool! You damnable fool! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You just had to bring your sister here, didn’t you? You couldn’t leave well enough alone! This is your fault!”
Brendan released David and his hands flew up and interlaced on top of his head. Beginning to pace again, he continued his rant. “What are we supposed to do now? Hmm? We’ve got three hundred people on our property!” He dropped his arms and rapidly crossed back to David, getting in his face. The man flinched. “We’re going to deal with your sister, Cowan. She’s got a big mouth.” Looking up the flight of stairs again, he directed his next words at Stephanie. “You, Aileen, you find out if this Tara is the same one. If it is, she’s going to need to be contained, too, along with her cop husband! Losing her all those years ago was your fault! You’re just as guilty as Cowan!” Walking into the living room to retrieve his cell phone from its charger, he asked of neither in particular, “Is Uilliam here at the farm?”
David answered. “No. He’s still at work.”
“The two of you had better pray to Cailleach that we get this contained, or both of your heads are going to roll!”
Donna suggested that they look at some of the pictures that she had posted on her Facebook page of her trip to Scotland. Brent was having his patience stretched as he learned about the amenities of the bed and breakfasts in which she and her brother stayed, the interesting differences in dialects, and even how certain words mean different things in Scotland than they do in the United States. There were interruptions in the monotony, though. Several pictures featured her and her brother, giving Brent a good look at another of the Picti followers.
Donna stopped at a picture of David talking on his cell phone.
“I couldn’t believe how much time he spent on the phone while we were there. I told him it was going to cost him a fortune calling to, and receiving calls from, the States. I think most of his calls were with Brendan.”
“Brendan?” asked Jenna.
“Yes, Brendan Cadeyrn. He’s the leader of the whole organization. Though I don’t think that’s his real name.”
“Really? Why would you say that?” queried Brent.
“Well, I’m not sure how many of the people that I’ve met over the years have identified themselves to me with their actual names. Seems like my brother had referred to Brendan once as…” She let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, I don’t remember. Something Baird, I believe. It seems that everyone—everyone here in the States, anyway—has taken a pseudonym.”
“Your brother included
?”
Donna laughed. “Yep. I don’t much like it. Makes him sound like some sort of diseased animal.”
Jenna laughed, looked at her mom, then asked, “Well, what is it?”
Donna said the name slow, almost mocking it. “Cowan Cormack”
“Cowan Cormack? Does the name have any special significance?” Brent wanted to know.
“You know? I’m not sure. I never really thought about it.”
“Well, let’s take a look,” suggested Tara. She turned the laptop on the dining room table to face her and pulled up the Bing.com browser. She typed in the name and clicked the search button. The closest to the name was a man by the name of Cormack Cowan who worked in the movie industry. Outside of that it turned up nothing. She searched for “meaning of Cowan” and her attention was immediately caught by a link to a witchcraft site which defined names. Though aware that it might make Donna uncomfortable, she clicked on it and found that the name meant an intruder or someone faking his identity. Another link with Scottish first names showed that it meant “co-birth”.
“That’s it!” Donna exclaimed, probably excited with the opportunity to rid the minds around her of any relation to witchcraft. “Co-birth! David and I are twins!”
“No kidding?” asked Jenna.
“No kidding.”
“That’s so cool!”
“Well, of course it is,” Donna chortled. Then her phone chirped. Lifting it from the table she saw a reminder and sighed. “I’m afraid I’ve got to run. My ever-dependable calendar is reminding me that I’ve got a senior-care presentation to give tomorrow. I’ve got a lot of preparing to do tonight.”
All four got up from the table and, with genuine smiles reflecting appreciation for her time and company, walked her out to her car.
After getting into her car she rolled her window down to say a final goodbye. Brent took the opportunity to hand her one of his business cards without comment. She accepted with a thank you.
As Donna drove away, Jenna remarked, “I really like her.”
Tara smiled. “So do I. We’re just going to have to have her back here sometime.”
Brent folded his arms and faced his two ladies. “Well, that was certainly an information fest. Let’s go inside and talk about what we believe we understand.”
BASED ON THE evening’s conversation with their new friend, Brent, Tara, and Jenna compiled a list of things that they thought worthy of further investigation.
• Members have fake names.
• Fake names may represent who they are, maybe their roles in the organization.
• Leader’s name is Brendan Cadeyrn (aka ??? Baird). Bing search revealed his name to mean:
• Prince of War
• Battle King
• Picti were a warrior culture.
• There was something about their trip to Scotland that was important to Brendan Cadeyrn.
• The word “witchcraft” didn’t trigger a response from Donna.
• Pittston police chief is member of group.
• Pittston police chief, Jim Connor, lied to Captain Morelli.
• Tara’s tattoo seems significant somehow.
• There’s a gathering taking place in Pittston, but we don’t know why.
• David’s phone call to Donna during their conversation may have resulted in the Picti group knowing that they were being looked at, and by whom.
“Anything else?” asked Brent.
Neither answered. All three just stared at the list for another moment.
“Oh!” cried Jenna, startling her mom. “She said that they were resurrecting an ancient religion, not just practicing a religion.”
“Bingo,” said Tara quietly. “It comes down to them believing that they can bring back a religion that has been dead for, what? A thousand years? Fifteen-hundred?”
“Well,” prompted Brent, “we’ve all got our own personal laptops. How about some quality family time together, on the couch, surfing the web?”
“I’m getting a warm fuzzy feeling just thinking about it,” said Jenna with a smirk.
6:45 P.M.
“THE BLOOD-LETTING RITE takes place tonight, immediately following the farewell feast. We can’t afford to wait until tomorrow. We have to get these people out of here as soon as possible.”
Brendan was trying to remain calm, Stephanie could see that. But she was certain he was panicking. The farmhouse was beginning to feel claustrophobic, the living-room walls seeming to close in on her. She wanted to get out. If David had been in the room with her, he’d at least be sharing some of the weight.
“The sacrifice is going to have to be delayed. We cannot help that now. Having the police involved…” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Can’t Uilliam help?” inquired Stephanie. “He’s kept his own officers at bay thus far. And it’s not like the police in Millsville can just waltz in here outside of their jurisdiction. Besides, we haven’t done anything worthy of a criminal investigation.”
“You mean beyond the fact that we stole priceless ancient artifacts and smuggled them out of two different countries in order to get them here?”
Stephanie sighed with realization. “I guess there is that to be concerned about.”
“Are you also forgetting about the appeasement ceremony? Have you forgotten what that entails?”
Duly put in her place, she answered, “You’re right, Brendan.”
“We cannot have any suspicions cast our way. But because of you and Cowan that may already be too late.”
His statement bit deep into Stephanie’s emotions. She tried to offer some sort of remedy for the immediate concern.
“Then we move the appeasement ceremony to another location. We still appease the gods, but we do it somewhere outside of Pittston.”
“That is not acceptable, Aileen! Not acceptable at all! We chose this location because of its privacy. It is private property, and the authorities cannot check anything here without a warrant. The bad thing is that it could be the county sheriff’s responsibility, not that of the Pittston P.D., to issue that warrant. We have no pull with them.”
Brendan walked away from her and the conversation.
Stephanie watched as he became rigid and stared through the lace curtains of the living room picture window. He stood silent for too long. In response she took a chance and walked up to him from behind. She tried to wrap her arms around his waist, hoping to lend him some of her calm. It had been far too long since they had last touched.
The moment her hands made contact with his waist he whirled around, and what she saw in his eyes chilled her to her core. His eyes burned with hatred.
“Don’t touch me,” he warned in a low, measured tone. “My reign is in jeopardy and you think that your touch is going to cure something?”
Stephanie pulled back. She didn’t know what to do or say. In all of their years together he had never spoken to her like this.
“Brendan, I… I’m just trying to reassure you.”
“Don’t! I don’t need anything from you. Before you even existed in my life I was working to reconstruct this religion. Because of stupid mistakes that two of my most trusted followers made, my dominion could collapse before it hardly had a beginning!”
Stephanie just stared.
“Stephanie O’Leary, you are not nearly as important as you think you are. This is my work! I’m the one who made this happen!”
He used my name! My real name! What does that mean? Stephanie’s emotions were becoming so intense and confused that she wanted to run upstairs to her bedroom and slam the door closed, but she stood still. She attempted an appeal to his heart.
“My love, you know that I have always…”
“Don’t you ‘My love’ me, Stephanie! Don’t you dare! So help me, if this all collapses around us, you’ll wish you had never known me!”
And with that pronouncement, Brendan stormed out of the house. The door slammed, providing an emphatic exclamation mark to
his threat.
1:37 A.M.
STEPHANIE LAY IN bed alone, staring at the ceiling. The faint glow of a night light in the hallway reluctantly passed through the bedroom door that she kept open just a crack. Even light, it seemed, didn’t want to be near her.
Tears wet her pillow where they had rolled off her cheek and nose. It had been years, many years, since she had last cried. Until today she had lived in a constant state of purpose and safety. She knew that it was all tied to Brendan, and she had never minded that one bit. A sick feeling struck her as she wondered if she was supposed to start calling him Brian Baird. His real name seemed foreign to her, but not as much as her own name did the moment it was spat out of his mouth like so much phlegm.
Her heart ached. She tried to provide herself some solace believing that in a matter of hours, maybe even as they both woke to a new day, he would again speak her name, the name he had given to her, with passion and love.
It was inevitable, right? Hadn’t they just spent the past almost-three decades pledging their love to one another? Weren’t they married?
A niggling thought crossed her mind. Were they married? There had never been a ceremony performed by clergy or a justice of the peace. They had never even gone to the state for a marriage license. They had, at least, a ‘common-law’ marriage … right?
Are common-law marriages recognized by the State of Ohio?
She sighed into the darkness. She knew that Brendan—Brian—whoever—was right, though. What had she really contributed to the cause—his cause? She had, what, groomed a couple of women that he had identified to be a part of their inner circle? So what?
Stephanie began to realize her lack of relevance amongst those that Brendan kept close. She could look at everyone in the Home Coven and see why they were made a part of this assemblage. All were chosen to fulfill a purpose here.
What had she been chosen for? To be a trophy? Sex?
Her heart sank further with that last thought. Could it have been just because he needed someone to satiate his physical desires? Yesterday she was his queen. Tonight she felt as though she may have only been his whore.
When Darkness Comes Page 12
