Chapter Two
Quay Street was buzzing with life when I stepped onto the cobblestones. I scanned the street for any sign of magic and found none. In a practiced movement, I eased a fine black scarf from my pocket and pulled it over my hair, tucking the ends casually inside my jacket and turning my collar up. Copper hair wasn't an unfamiliar sight in any Irish city or town, but it sometimes caught the attention of tourists looking for an authentic Irish cailín to take a photo of for their vacation album, so I preferred to keep it covered. I had considered dying it black, but I couldn't bear to be robbed of the one likeness I shared with my daughter—apart from her hair, she was made entirely in her father’s image.
I waited in front of The Paper Heart for a beat or two before stepping into the street just as a large crowd of revelers passed by. I guessed from their attire that they were returning from the horse races and nobody paid any attention as I attached myself to the edge of their group. Keeping my head down, I stayed in their shadow until they disappeared into Taffe's public house. I pretended to check my phone outside the bar for a moment until I spotted the next crowd I could blend into, this time a group of girls who had finished their day’s work in one of the hair salons. I counted my blessings when they turned onto Eyre Square and headed for the multi-story parking lot—maybe my luck hadn't run out after all.
When I first arrived in the city, I’d spent every moment looking over my shoulder, certain my father would find me at any minute. Balor was not a god who liked to feel foolish, and an absconding teenage daughter was an intolerable blow to his reputation. Especially when that daughter had powers he’d been waiting to see reborn for over a thousand years. But there was no way I was going back to the life my father had planned for me. Not now I had Saoirse to protect.
I knew as soon as I left my father’s home that I had two choices—I could live my life in hiding or when I came of age at twenty-one, pledge fealty to a god or coven strong enough to protect me from my father. And no other god would accept the daughter of Balor into their ranks—they wouldn’t risk facing my father’s wrath. So the coven of the Free Witches was our only hope. Without their protection, my baby faced a life on the run—trusting no one, closing every door as soon as it been opened. But if my father caught me before I was under the protection of somebody as powerful as he was—well, let’s just say, being discovered by my father’s clan wasn’t an option. So I learned to be smart and made my own rules for survival—always watch your back, never take risks, trust nobody, never lead anyone to your doorstep.
The ladies I’d been using as camouflage stopped outside the elevator and I felt a twinge of panic. I paused to see would anyone else take the stairs but when nobody did, I clenched my teeth and followed the crowd into the elevator. I hated enclosed spaces, but not as much as I feared being trapped in the stairwell. When we got to the second level, I exited with an elderly couple and shuffled along behind them until they reached their car.
Once I had passed them, I sidled up to a hulking truck and pretended to drop my car keys. I held my breath as I traced a rune into the air with my thumb. There was no supernatural law against using an invisibility glamour, but every piece of magic left a trace behind which was a risk I didn't enjoy taking. Still, it was a necessary evil.
I counted to five before I pulled myself upright and retraced my steps, exiting the parking lot and weaving my way back through the cobbled streets and side alleys until I reached the door to our apartment block beside the Spanish Arch. Misdirection was a tool my aunt had taught me early on in our reunion—you never knew who was watching you, always keep them guessing. Even though the cloaking spell hid me from both human and supernatural eyes, I glanced over my shoulder as I entered the security code, searching for any sign the building was being watched. I retraced the rune in the air as I slipped inside the building so I was no longer invisible.
I chomped on my lower lip as I knocked on our apartment door—two loud slow pounds, three light taps, and one open palmed pat. The sound of bolts sliding open soothed my raw nerves and my aunt blinked as I bounded through the door and enveloped her in a rare hug, almost knocking her walking stick to the floor. I kicked the door shut and used a rune to slide the deadbolts closed, my natural laziness reasserting itself now that I was safely inside the wall of charms my aunt and her cronies had erected around our tiny apartment. My aunt wrapped her arm around my back and twisted to look into my face. “What’s wrong, love?”
I toyed with the idea of telling Aoife about the guy in the blue hoodie, but in the soft light of our safe little nest, my fears suddenly seemed like embarrassingly paranoid silliness. Despite her physical limitations, Aoife was far more canny and streetwise than I was. And tougher—the ritual the Free Witches had performed to annul her fealty to my father’s clan had torn her body apart, but it hadn’t broken her spirit. It was her natural instinct for survival that had kept Saoirse and me alive and safe since she sent for me more than two years before. She’d used her sources to provide me with everything I needed to start a new life—a new identity, papers for Soairse when she was born, social security numbers, university enrolment. Without her, my father would have tracked me down and dragged back to Dublin within a week. Not out of love, but because he couldn’t bear to lose his prize possession—his weapon of mass destruction.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I said. “Just glad to be home.” I released my hold on Aoife and squeezed past the pushchair that took up most of the narrow corridor. “How was your day? Where’s the baba?”
“She’s on the couch watching that idiotic little shit of a pig. I didn’t tell her you were on the way home—your first text said you were going for a drink with Nick? That would have been nice?” Aoife’s probing was punctuated by the tapping of her cane on the laminate wood flooring.
“Change of plans,” I said, skipping down the corridor. To the left of the small hallway were the doors to my aunt’s bedroom and the closet-sized bathroom, and to the right was the cramped bedroom I shared with Saoirse. I headed straight for the door at the end of the corridor that led to the open-plan kitchen and living room. Open-plan was a polite way of saying the kitchen, dining table, sofa, and television were all shoved into a room smaller than my bathroom had been in my father’s house, but I didn’t care. I’d known more happiness in our tiny apartment than I’d ever known in my father’s sprawling mansion. Since my mother had vanished anyway.
As I slipped into the room, the high pitched squeaking of the cartoon characters on the television brought a smile to my lips—the show was annoying as hell, but Saoirse thought it was hilarious. And nothing beat watching a tiny toddler belly laugh. I tiptoed toward the small corner couch and disappointment hit me like a punch to the gut. “She's asleep.”
“Ah, Destiny, I'm sorry. We had a busy day at the park and she was yawning when I put her in her jammies but I thought she'd last until the end of the cartoon. She must have nodded off while I answered the door.” My aunt's lined face was wreathed in apologies.
I gave myself a mental pinch. “It's not your fault.” I sank down onto the couch beside Saoirse and brushed her fine red hair away from her warm cheek. Her cupid's bow lips were pulled into a pout as she slept. I smiled—she could give the duck mouths a lesson or two. “I was thinking we could go to the beach in the morning for my day off, maybe we could get something from the fish and chip van on the strand? Have a picnic?”
Aoife frowned. “Sorry, Destiny, I can’t. I need to visit the witches in the Silent Quarter in the morning—”
“Forget about it, doesn’t matter.” I kept my eyes firmly fixed on Saoirse’s sleeping face. It was a stupid idea anyway. Aoife might live with Saoirse and me in the city, but she didn’t really belong to us. She was a Free Witch. If the coven called, she went.
“I’m sorry, Destiny. I’d love to go the beach with you but they've called an exceptional meeting of the coven for this weekend and I want to meet with Peggy to see what's going on before the crowds descend.” Aoife le
aned heavily on her cane and I sat up a little straighter despite myself, curling my fingers around Saoirse's pudgy little foot as I waited for her to elaborate. “I think it's about the missing kids. Another three were taken last week, it's getting worse. I talked to Wilfred at the market this morning—the Guild has launched an appeal for anyone with first level skills to contact them to help with the investigation. There’s a phone number we could ring.”
The Guild, or the International Guild of Supernaturals if one wanted to be exact, was the police force tasked with keeping supernaturals in line. The Guild was an organization that reputedly valued secrecy above all else and whispers on the street said they recruited only the most powerful supers into their ranks. I knew very little else about the I.G.S., except that my father despised it—which had to be a point in its favor. But even with that in mind, there was no way we could risk getting involved with such a prominent supernatural group. My father had eyes and ears everywhere.
“No way,” I said. My aunt opened her mouth to argue with me but I shut her down with a whispered hiss. “No, Aoife. I'm sorry. I really am. I can't imagine what those families are going through.” I squeezed my lips together and stared at my daughter’s little chest rising and falling under her faded pink pajamas. “But I can't get involved in this, not until after I’m accepted into the Free Witches.”
Aoife leaned heavily on her cane. “Destiny, you can’t put your life on hold forever, pet. The Free Witches is just a coven, it won’t change everything.”
“It’ll change everything for me.” I snapped my mouth shut and lowered my voice. “I don’t want to argue with you, Aoife. It might just be a coven to you, but it’s my only way of protecting Saoirse from my father. I won’t leave her vulnerable. If anything happened to me…the coven is as powerful as Balor’s clan, they’d shield her from him.”
“Nothing is going to happen to you or Saoirse, Destiny. We’ll protect each other,” Aoife said.
The way you protected me? The words stung my lips, daring me to release the poison that lived at the back of my throat. After my mother was stolen away from me, Aoife took her place. Sleeping in my bedroom so I wouldn’t be frightened and bearing the brunt of my father’s anger so I wouldn’t have to. She became my world. Until the day I woke and found her bed empty except for a letter telling me she’d come back for me. The note didn’t mention it would take four years before she honored her promise. Four years with nobody but my friends to protect me from the god who wanted to twist me to his will. My jaw twitched. “I can’t rely on a handful of people to protect my baby, Aoife. It’s not enough. She needs the coven and I won’t do anything to risk my acceptance. I can’t risk my own child’s safety to help the Guild search for somebody else’s. Sorry.”
My aunt acquiesced. “Of course. It was a harebrained idea.” She eased herself carefully onto the other side of the sofa, trying to hide the grimace of pain as her hip creaked. Aoife was only in her forties but she had the body of a woman twice her age. Aoife’s eyes were tired as she turned them on me. “So, why did you change your plans with Nick?”
I scooped Saoirse into my arms and stood up slowly as I answered Aoife’s question. “No reason. I just couldn’t face the pub.” The lie was bitter on my tongue but I didn’t want to argue with Aoife anymore. Not when she looked so pale and worn. “I’ll pop this little sausage into bed and then we can have a bite to eat. Is that Lan’s chicken pie? Smells amazing. And I have cupcakes, more leftovers from Lan.”
“Ah, that woman has a good soul. She’s a bloody cheat at poker, mind, but she can cook better than a goblin,” Aoife said. She reached for her cane.
“Relax, flick through the TV guide and find something trashy for us to watch. I’ll plate up when I’m done with this little divil.” I tossed the remote onto my aunt’s lap and she sank back into the cushions with a sigh. I buried my face in Saoirse’s hair and nudged the kitchen door open with my shoulder. Guilt needled my brain. Aoife was exhausted. I needed to find a way for her to rest more during the day, but I knew it was impossible with Saoirse getting into mischief every five seconds. Just like her father.
I groaned when I saw the pile of laundry on the bed. I’d meant to sort it before work but I’d forgotten completely because Saoirse had emptied a jar of honey over her head while I made her breakfast. The bedclothes needed changing too. Saoirse stirred in my arms and I pulled her against my chest, trying to silence the endless train of worries that chugged through my mind and to focus instead on the softness of my little girl’s skin and the sound of her breathing.
When I was pregnant, I’d spent half my day stalking internet forums and rolling my eyes at the parents bemoaning every lost second of their kid’s life as the world sped by. I thought those parents were internet crazies with nothing better to worry about, but now, I got it. Every time I blinked, my baby was bigger and bolder than before. Every day there was a new trick learned and another left behind, never to be seen again. And I wanted to treasure every one of them and hold them in my heart forever, but there was so much other to worry about—laundry, work, Aoife’s moans of pain in her sleep, the bank account that never seemed quite full enough to make ends meet. Stupid guys in blue sweatshirts.
I pushed the pile of laundry onto the floor with my knee and nudged the bedcovers out of my way with my elbow, ninja-mom style. Saoirse nuzzled into my neck as I lay her down on the mattress and I pressed my head against hers until she loosened her grip and rolled onto her back, snoring gently. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Nature probably made kids cute as an in-built form of protection so when their parents woke in the middle of the night with the baby hogging the middle of the bed and all the comforter, it was harder to get mad at them. Slightly harder. I tucked the covers around her and gave her a goodnight kiss. I’d barely switched on the baby monitor and closed the door to the bedroom when I heard the footsteps outside our front door.
“Destiny.” Aoife appeared at my side, eyes flashing as she glared at the door. Every trace of tiredness was erased from my body by the adrenaline surging through my veins. I pressed my finger against my lips and held my hands in the air as I crept down the corridor. My heart pounded in my chest as the doorbell rang. Fuck. The only visitors Aoife got were Lan and a couple of Free Witches who she trusted with her life, and they all knew the secret knock. Aoife caught hold of my sleeve and whispered in my ear. “Did you invite a friend?”
I shot her a hard stare. Friends? Ha, bloody, ha. An image of the man in blue flickered through my mind unbidden and darkness began to creep around the edges of my vision. I hadn’t used my black magic since the day I ran from my father’s life—there was no mistaking the trace it left behind and the Free Witches had made it clear they would accept me into the coven if I used it in their city without permission—but it called to me as my chest tightened.
I took another two steps and clenched my teeth as I eased my eye against the peephole. I exhaled and relief pumped painfully through the chambers of my heart. Aoife raised her eyebrows questioningly and I shook my head as I pulled back the bolts and swung the door open to reveal the towering form of a relentless tiger shifter. My boss held a six-pack of beer in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other. “Hey, you promised me a drink.”
Chapter Three
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Nick’s huge frame filled the doorway. He was wearing a faded pair of jeans that hugged his thighs and a short-sleeved white shirt that highlighted his deep golden skin. He lifted his eyebrows and my stomach fluttered. I dug my nails into the door. “Who gave you the security code?”
“Lan did.” Nick stepped back and ran his hand awkwardly through his dark, wavy hair.
“Destiny, open the door and invite our guest inside.” Aoife’s voice had a sharp edge but I didn’t budge until she yanked the door open with the handle of her cane. “Come in, Nikolai. We’re just about to have something to eat, you’ll join us.” Nick glanced at me, waiting for my approval before he crossed the
threshold.
I gave a sullen shrug and Aoife shot me a blistering glare, bringing me to my senses. It wasn’t Nick’s fault. I should never have said I’d go for a stupid drink. I forced a smile. “Sorry. I meant to send you a message to apologize for disappearing like that—Aoife needed me to come help with Saoirse.” He hesitated and I felt a twinge in my chest. Everything was screwed now anyway, he might as well come in. I grabbed Nick by the arm and tugged him inside the apartment. “Stop making me feel bad. I was just surprised to see you—I didn’t think you knew which flat was ours.”
Nick’s slow grin erased the reproachful fog from his warm brown eyes and I felt my own lips curve as I slid the bolts into place. “I’ve told you a million times, Destiny; I know everything.”
I pounced at him on my tiptoes and clamped my hand over his mouth. “Except to keep your voice down when there’s a toddler asleep. These walls are practically made of paper—hush!”
“Sorry,” Nick whispered. I gestured for him to follow me into the kitchen where Aoife was serving dinner. Nick put the beer and vodka on the table beside Lan’s chicken pie with a sheepish smile. “I probably should have texted first, but I’d already told Maya I was going out and when Aoife said you were home safe and getting ready to wash your apron…”
I slid my glare in Aoife’s direction but she was unruffled. “Don’t give me that look, girlie. Lan messaged to see did you get home all right and I told her you were fine—putting Saoirse to bed and doing the usual.” Which meant making a fruitless attempt to get to the bottom of the laundry pile, or matching socks, or ten billion other jobs that needed to be done in an endless loop. Including my nightly ritual of hand-washing my apron so it would be clean and fresh for the next day.
Wicked Destiny_A Reverse Harem Urban Fantasy Series Page 2
