Dark Vision

by Debbie Johnson

  I knew one thing, and one thing only: I would not let this happen. I’d seen enough of death, and enough of life, to know that I could cope with ending my own. That I could finish it right now, throw away the burden, and give it up. I’d never liked it that much anyway, and one trip to the Cavern hadn’t really done the trick. I’d struggled my whole life to be free – and I still would be.

  I could cope with dying. The sad, empty part of me that had always existed even looked forward to it. What I couldn’t cope with was a lifetime of subservience, of fear, of regret. Of knowing that this man – this man who loved me – had also trapped me and ruled me and taken me. I was the Goddess, and I was Lily McCain, and I was Maura Delaney. And I would not be used.

  I would make my choice, even if it was the last thing I ever did.

  My fingers finally curled around the knife, and I flicked it open, as Gabriel crushed me even tighter against him. Donn was cheering and laughing behind me, and I heard the wild yells and screaming of the Faidh in the background.

  I held the knife, sharp, to my finger. Felt a prick of ice and then the warm flow of blood. Felt Gabriel’s sweet breath against my face, the slick flow of my tears wiping against his skin, and the press of his muscled thighs through my dress. I pulled and tugged until my hand was free, the blade digging deep into the flesh of my palm. I twisted it, and readied myself. I didn’t know if I was going to use it on him, or me – but there was going to be blood. I tensed, drew in a sharp breath, manoeuvred the handle until it was tightly clenched in my fist.

  Gabriel’s lips touched my forehead, once, and then he pushed me away. His eyes were blazing violet, and I could see him fighting his need. Fighting his desire. Fighting his destiny.

  I staggered back, arms wheeling to try to stop myself falling, as he stood tall and faced the crowd. He turned, once, slowly, taking in the faces of the Witnesses, his men, the Otherworld, and the poor, befuddled priest.

  His eyes fell on Donn, and he shook his head, his violet gaze fixed and determined as he faced up to the god, body swelling.

  ‘No,’ he said, simply. ‘The choice is hers, and hers alone. I will not take it from her.’

  ‘You would abandon our cause for the sake of one human child?’ yelled Donn, long black hair whipping around his face in his fevered frenzy of disbelief. ‘You would betray your duty, your calling, your role as the true High King? And leave the fate of the world to this … brat?’

  ‘She’s not a brat,’ said Gabriel, picking up the Sword of Lugh, eyes dark and heavy and filled with pain. ‘She’s Lily. She’s … magnificent. And I will not force her to do that which she chooses not to. I know that is your way, Donn. It would have been my father’s way, also. But it will not be mine – whatever the cost.’

  I wanted to go to him. To hold him. To kiss him. To … choose him. Because by giving me up, he’d done the one thing that all his impassioned speeches and anguished tirades and lifetime of scheming hadn’t been able to do – proved to me that this was right.

  That this was what I was born to do.

  I moved off in his direction, boots tangled in the soggy hem of my gown, hand slippery with blood. I needed to be with him. To look into his eyes. To tell him what I felt.

  As I took my first step, Donn grabbed me again. He tugged my injured arm back behind me, and yanked my head back by the white streak of my hair. I screamed, and had a moment of sheer white pain that momentarily eclipsed everything else. Fuck, that hurt.

  ‘She is a stealer of souls, and has you bewitched, Cormac Mor,’ cried Donn. ‘You are not in your right mind! But if you will not take her, as you have been bred to do, then she is mine!’

  Strong hands took the sides of my head, and I felt him twisting and pulling and forcing until the tendons of my neck stretched and popped, and my windpipe started to close in. I couldn’t breathe, or run, or even scream at the mind-searing pain of it. Donn was trying to physically rip my head from my neck – and I was pretty sure he could do it.

  I saw Gabriel’s face crumple in horror, and saw Fintan smiling with triumph. I was going to die, and one way or another, he’d have his brave new world after all.

  With the last drop of energy and will I had left in me, I fumbled with the knife, slippery in my bleeding hand. Panic was flooding my vision, and I saw tiny red spots in front of my eyes and a loud roaring sound thundering through my ears as I found a better grip. I lifted it, and stabbed him as hard as I could in the thigh.

  It wasn’t much, as far as the Lord of the Dead was concerned. But it was enough to distract him – to make him let go, to stagger slightly off to the side. It was enough to make him close his eyes for a fraction of a second, while Carmel screamed and hurtled at him, throwing her entire weight into his stomach and tumbling him to the ground, landing on top of him in a flurry of hair and curses and gouging fingers.

  The Morrigan yelled and ran towards us, but I knew she wouldn’t make it in time. She was too far away. With a brutal shriek, she leaped into the air, and transformed into the crow. Vast wings beat overhead, and she cawed and cackled so loudly I could feel my eardrums vibrating. She dive-bombed Donn’s head, whipping him with sinewy black feathers and worrying his eyes with her long pointed beak as he tried to bat her away with his hands. I heard the howl of the vampires, and saw Luca standing alone between them and us – prowling low, teeth bared, warning them off as they crouched to attack and protect their lord.

  And I saw Gabriel, watching to see that I was free before walking away outside the circle of real and unreal stones. The Sword of Lugh swung loose in his hands as he disappeared off into the shadows. The sword that the Morrigan had said he would fall upon, if he failed in his duty.

  I ran back over to the Stone of Destiny, ignoring the tear and screech of damaged muscle and torn skin and chipped bone, and laid my bloody hands upon it. Light and power flooded through me, washing away the pain and filling me with new strength, telling me the words that I needed to say. At last, I knew what to do.

  ‘I am the Goddess, Mabe, the Mother of the Mortals!’ I cried. ‘And I have made my choice! I accept the High King, Cormac macConaire, as my mate!’

  The Otherworld spun and shuddered and whirled so fast all I could see were blurs: Eithne’s distorted face, the stomping hooves of frightened horses, and the soft, warm smile on my mother’s face as they all spun and shimmered and finally blinked and disappeared. They were gone, and so was Fintan.

  The Stone screamed once more, even more piercingly than before, and the priest sat down in a huddled heap on the wet grass. It might not have gone smoothly, but from his perspective the show was over.

  ‘Gabriel!’ I screamed, as loud as I could, praying that it wasn’t too late. That he wasn’t lying alone out there, folded over that sword, dead.

  There was chaos going on around me. The vampires growled and stalked each other, the Morrigan dive-bombed Donn again as he tried to stand, and Carmel lay wheezing and puffing on the ground near his feet. I could hear yells and shouting and scuffling as Gabriel’s men mobilised, and the confused chatter of the Witnesses and the soft Irish lilt of Fionnula, cursing or casting spells or singing, I couldn’t tell. I could hear the echo of the wailing Stone, and the clang of bells and the barks of dogs.

  But through it all, I could focus on only one thing – staring off into the darkness beyond the circle, and waiting. Waiting for him to return.

  After a minute that stretched into an hour, after single heartbeats that stretched into drum rolls, I saw movement. The shadows swished like long dark grass, and a bright shining light was cutting its way through the dark of the night towards us.

  Gabriel. With the Sword of Lugh blazing in his hands.

  I ran towards him, standing beneath the flare of golden fire, our fingertips touching.

  ‘You made your choice,’ he said quietly, eyes scanning my face for any signs of lasting injury.

  ‘Yeah,’ I replied, closing the distance between us, ‘and so did you.’

  Epilogu
e

  It was raining in Liverpool. Again.

  My life-changing decision at Tara didn’t seem to have made that much difference to the weather, or the state of the planet. I’d flicked on the TV that morning to watch reports of an earthquake in China, and floods in Bangladesh. The only bright spot had been a semi-serious account of a unicorn being spotted running wild through the Argentinean pampas, so I was holding out for that, at least.

  My own life, in the few weeks since Samhain, had also not been magically transformed into a non-stop party of love, peace and understanding. Yes, I’d accepted Gabriel as my mate – but not, as yet, in the down-and-dirty way. I just wasn’t ready. It was supposed to be fun, right? And it wouldn’t be, until I was one hundred per cent confident of keeping my visions at bay.

  Even without all that, I wasn’t ready. Mainly because he still irritated the fuck out of me, in ways I didn’t know had even been invented. He was still bossy, and still domineering, and still had an annoying habit of swelling to the size of a woolly mammoth every time I dared to disagree with him.

  In fact, it was only when I was at risk of losing him that I had this odd rush of … yeah, love, I suppose. He’d done the one thing I never thought he’d be capable of doing: chosen me over his duty. That had to count for something, and there were moments when I thought I was the luckiest woman alive to have found him. Moments being what they are, though, they passed very quickly, like flash floods of gooeyness.

  The rest of the time, I’d happily chase him round the room with an electrified cattle prod. I’m thinking of investing in one of those anyway, as it might come in handy with Luca as well. Once Gabriel had calmed down enough to let me speak to Donn – who was now minus one eye and copying Kevin, thanks to the impeccable crowmanship of the Morrigan – I’d tried to negotiate Luca’s return. I mean, what was I going to do with a vampire drummer? Apart from the obvious, and like I said, I’m just not ready.

  But Donn was having none of it, so for the time being I’m lumbered. There are worse fates, I know – and I’ve seen most of them up close.

  Donn was a tad more respectful when I did see him, though. Everyone seems a bit scared of me now. Fionnula keeps trying to test my powers, and nobody seems to have a clue what I’ll do next, including me. That makes them wary – which I must confess I kind of like. Next up, I have to go and meet the Council. Obviously that came with a huge and unpronounceable name full of vowels, but the gist of it is a whole boardroom full of supernatural gods. Yay. Such fun.

  On a more pleasant note, I acquired a dog. She didn’t have a name, so I’m working on that. Carmel calls her Fifi, which is so not right for such a majestic beast. It’ll come to me. I know it will.

  Fintan is back in the Otherworld, but I know he’s not given up. I’ve been in his mind, and it’s not a mind that accepts defeat easily. There’s more to come, and there are things that Gabriel is still not telling me. Because, you know, he’s a knob like that.

  There’s a lot to settle. A lot to negotiate. A lot to come to terms with. But for the time being, I’m here. Back in Liverpool, and back at work. I finally interviewed that Cher impersonator – his name was Gary – and Carmel is happily answering phones on the night desk again. We’re keeping our heads down, finding our feet, and enjoying our boring old reality in a way that wouldn’t have seemed possible a few short weeks ago.

  Oh yeah – there is one more thing. My hair. I woke up the morning after, and it was all white. Every last strand of it. I calmed down after about, oh, three days or so of constant screaming, and now I kind of like it. I look a bit weird and scary, and everyone thinks it’s a pop-chick affectation. Hah. As if, I feel like saying – I got this saving the world, mate.

  So here I am, today. Fighting the wind and the rain with an umbrella that just doesn’t want to stay the right way round. White hair blowing around my face. On my own, at the Gothic gates of Anfield Cemetery.

  It’s not my idea of a fun time, but it’s something I have to do. The funeral’s over, an affair as small and sad as Coleen’s own life, and now I’ve come to visit. I haven’t brought flowers – she’d think that was a terrible waste of money. Instead, I’ve brought a new Glade air freshener, so she’ll always smell of lovely fresh chemicals.

  I walk through the rows and rows of gravestones, feet squelching on wet grass and mud, until I come to hers. It’s black and simple, and bears only two lines:

  Coleen McCain. Loving wife.

  Loving nan.

  Acknowledgements

  First of all, apologies if this goes on a bit. It’s my version of an Oscar speech and I’ve been practising it for decades!

  Thank you to my agent, Laura Longrigg of MBA, for tirelessly putting up with my crazy ideas and genre-hopping manuscripts. We got there in the end, Laura. Thanks also to everyone involved in the Harry Bowling Prize, for giving me encouragement, and for putting up with a drunk acceptance speech where I thanked Daniel Craig.

  Three cheers also to the Royal Society of Literature, whose Brookleaze Award boosted both my finances and my morale.

  Eternal gratitude to Michael Rowley at Del Rey UK for seeing something special in Lily and helping me share her story with the world, and to the whole team there – especially Emily Yau. It’s been an exciting journey, and I’ve received a wonderful welcome from every one there, including the other fabulous authors.

  Like Lily I have had many ‘Champions’ in my life, who have helped me in so many different ways. I couldn’t have done this – or indeed pretty much anything – without the support of my friends. They include Sandra Shennan, Helen Shaw, Pamela Hoey, Rachael Tinniswood, Jane Murdoch, Paula Woosey, Vikki Everett, Louise Douglas, Ann Potterton, and, last but not least, Jane Costello – a successful author now, but a friend first, and an invaluable source of advice and encouragement. Also, the late Brian McNaught, for giving me Liverpool.

  Thanks to all my pals at the Post and Echo in Liverpool (and yes, the night news desk really is like that, sometimes!) and everyone I met during my time on the pop page. The Gazette is completely fictional, but I have to say a year in journalism gives you enough anecdotes to last a lifetime!

  On the home front, eternal love and gratitude to my family – my rock God/librarian husband Dom, and my three beautiful kids Keir, Daniel and Louisa. Thanks for putting up with me, helping with plots, suggesting titles, and generally making life a happy, chaotic place to be. I love the bones of you all. And a big hug to the Crazy O’Malleys in all their glory – Terry, Norm, and the gang – for childcare, pep talks, buffet dinners, and encouragement.

  Finally, an apology to any serious scholars of Celtic mythology, or the Irish language. I’m afraid I took it, and brutalised it to suit my fictional needs – some of the names are intentionally wrong, and I’ve lifted legends and recklessly tinkered with them. Same goes for the wonderful city of Liverpool – I’ve played fast and loose with its geography, but hopefully retained its spirit. I can’t think of any better place to set a story.

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  Published in 2014 by Del Rey, an imprint of Ebury Publishing

  A Random House Group Company

  Copyright © 2014 by Debbie Johnson

  Debbie Johnson has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of
the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner

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