Life was only going to get crazier. He was an old man. He knew the only constant was change. The reason why his daughters hadn’t felt the destruction of the Three was because the Three was intact. It was the only possible explanation.
One of his daughters was pregnant.
32. The Bad Friend
Fynn ran after her sister through the long hallway of the hospital wing. This was the last place their mother would want to die. Someone was wringing her heart between two fists. Brigid deserved better. After everything she had done for everyone in the Keep, they let her die in a sterile hospital. After the thousands of babies she’d birthed and the thousands of people she’d healed in warm and loving rooms, she’d been left to die in a sterile space alone. This was the place where they brought people suffering from diseases to quarantine them. This was the part of the hospital for people who had been brought to Brigid’s Keep as a desperate last chance to stave off death. They came here and most of the time her mother healed them. She healed everyone.
They rushed into the room at the end of the hall. She could not run as fast as her sister. She came in behind Lia and stopped at the foot of their mother’s bed. Brigid lay still and silent, the sheet drawn tight. Her face sank below her cheekbones. Her hair looked like straw on the white pillowcase. The room was quiet as a tomb.
Then it wasn’t quiet at all. Lia clawed at her own face, wailing. Fynn clamped her hands over her ears. She bent over her mother’s legs.
Fynn had spent so much of the past seven years trying to break free from her mother. Now that she was dead, she felt amputated of every limb, of her own heart. She gasped for air as though she were missing her lungs.
William shuffled in, carrying a full quiver and bow on each shoulder. He dropped them with a groan by the door. He went to Fynn and wrapped his arms around her.
“You said the serum would work,” she said.
“It would have if she got it.”
“I gave it to her,” Fynn said. Lia rocked back and forth on her heels, moaning.
“You gave it to Colm Sullivan,” William said. Fynn shook her head, uncomprehending. “Cate Soren and Cain Sandlin. Cara Santos. Colm Sullivan is the fourth witch.”
“Cara had said there were four who had made the deal with darkness,” Fynn said. “But she was the leader. It wasn’t Cate. It couldn’t be Dr. Sullivan. He loves Mother. He loved her.” Her own voice sounded like burning paper. The edges of her entire world collapsed and burned. Of course William was right. She fell down to a hard sit on the chair near her mother’s bed.
Every single friend outside the Keep betrayed her. She needed a minute while she watched the life she’d so meticulously built on her own implode like a demolishing building.
“Tell me this isn’t one of those cheap witch carnival tricks,” Lia said. Her eyes were dancing fire. “All the same initials. Something stupid with numbers, right?”
William motioned to the bows and arrows by the door. “The scorpion is scuttling away, daughters. He hasn’t left the Keep yet.”
Lia darted, grabbing a quiver and bow at a dead run. Fynn shouldered her own. No time to wrap her brain around the story. It was unfolding at that moment. She flew down the stairwell, no patience for elevators. There was a scorpion in their home. That it was sweet Dr. Sullivan, her friend and teacher was more than she could stand.
She ran into the gusty night. Lia was already barking instructions to disciples to lock the gates. Guards dashed through the parking lot, waving their flashlights between the cars. Lia’s hair flew about her head like a fire. As she yelled orders a gale force bent the tops of the trees.
Fynn turned and jogged back into the building. She didn’t want Lia to follow. It had occurred to her where Dr. Sullivan was.
The stairway down to the basement smelled musty, the walls moist rock. When Fynn was small she was afraid that the sea itself would break through and drown her if she got caught down there. Fynn drew a bow out of the quiver on her back and held it perched on the bowstring. It was silent down the long corridor of rooms. Fynn’s skin rippled across the back of her neck. She couldn’t have imagined Dr. Sullivan was one of the four witches set upon destroying her family, but of course it made sense. Cara was her best friend, and Dr. Sullivan her mentor and teacher. They were the people closest to her. They knew everything about her. They knew her every strength and weakness.
Fynn crept on each closed door, her ears pricked for noise. She pulled the bow taut, pointed the arrow down.
She stepped towards the last room where the door was cracked open. Dr. Sullivan stood at the cage cradling Artemis. The monkey’s body was limp. Dr. Sullivan raised his head with a mask of sadness. As soon as he saw her face, saw her bow at the ready, the expression fell away. He dropped Artemis’ body in her cage.
“I broke her neck,” he said. “I always thought it would be easy to do and it was.”
Fynn blinked back tears. “Evil,” she whispered.
“Is there any such thing as evil, really?” he said, in his usual sardonic way. Then he raised his eyebrows. “You are supposed to be dead,” he said.
“Yeah. Well,” Fynn said. “I’m not.” She lifted the bow and aimed for his chest.
“You will be,” he said. “There is one hell of a demon after you.”
Fynn raised a shoulder as if to shake off a fly. Even though he was wrong about the demon, listening to him threaten her was worse than hearing Cara talk about how she wanted Komo. It was her dear familiar Sully, with his wry voice, his intellectual calm. But the hate in his eyes was so vicious that she wondered how he had ever hid it from them.
“Why are you doing this?” Fynn asked.
“The witch mother will rule now that Brigid is dead,” he said. Fynn pulled the bowstring taut. “The Triple Goddess is broken. You know the story as well as I do.”
“But why?” Her fingers burned under the sinew string.
“It’s about power, Kildare. We’re entering a new world order. I’m going to be a god. Not you.”
“I never wanted that. I just wanted to do the work.” Fynn said.
“And I appreciate that. I am going to be a god among very sick men because of your work.” He smiled as though he had said something funny. He took a step. Fynn held her ground between Sullivan and the door. “Now Fynn,” he said. “You are going to let me pass. We both know you aren’t going to let that fly at me.”
Fynn felt paralyzed, horrified at what was happening. He walked straight toward the door. He would escape. She couldn’t kill her teacher.
A breeze whistled by her ear and before she knew what was happening Dr. Sullivan flew backwards, an arrow sticking straight out of his chest. Fynn lowered her bow, her fingers slipping along the shaft of the arrow. Dr. Sullivan slumped against the far wall. “Cain is going to scrape you out, you stupid bitch. The Three is already dead.” Blood gurgled in his throat, bubbled at his mouth. He grinned like a lipsticked clown.
Lia pushed Fynn out of the way. She smacked Dr. Sullivan across the face. She pulled another arrow out of her quiver. Fynn lurched out of the room but didn’t miss hearing the thunk of Lia’s second arrow hitting its mark.
“Tell the guards we need clean up down here,” Lia called. “See if you can find Jana and meet me at the kitchen hearth.”
Fynn ran up the moldy stairwell. She had been trained all her life to fight their enemies, but for nothing. Shame pressed on her head as heavy as a boulder from the Keep’s walls. Fynn had never felt more useless in her entire life. She stumbled into the night. Disciples and guards darted around, nobody knowing what to do.
From outside the walls her father’s voice rose in lamentation.
33. The Protector
Desert sage hung in bunches from the rafters of William’s cabin. Fynn brushed against the silvery green leaves with her fingers to release the scent. She ground a dried leaf between her finger and thumb. The astringent smell brought her back to car camping trips she took with William, watching the moonrise over t
he high Sierra. When he built the cabin, cars weren’t invented yet. She was so used to the fact of her parents’ great age that she rarely thought on how strange that was or what it might be like to lose them.
Brigid may have been an ancient woman, but for Fynn twenty-three was young to lose a mother. Her hand fluttered over her midsection and she thought fleetingly of Komo. She wondered if he was thinking of her. With a sinking heart, she recalled the Ritual Madness girls and the heart-shaped Nine pills, and knew that he was not.
She had devoted her life to Komo while witches circled around her family. Although if she wanted to be honest with herself she would have to admit that she had only devoted her life to Komo for eight weeks. Their whole big love story amounted to two months of magic, kisses like wine, sex and music and friends. Meanwhile every single one of those so-called friends had been lying in wait to take her down. Including Sully. And she couldn’t take care of business when he tried to escape. She had thought Lia was weak. Well, she was wrong about that too.
A shadow in the corner shifted its weight. Fynn startled, then fell into a chair.
“You should have killed me when you had the chance,” she said. “I’m useless to everybody.”
The man in the corner rubbed the stubble growing on his chin, his blue green eyes steadily watching her. Fynn broke the stare by throwing a log into the woodstove. “Is it cold in here or are you making it that way?” she asked. The demon called Eli didn’t answer. The stove roared when she pulled out the handle for the flue. She waited a moment then pushed it back in.
She pried off her boots. “Well, first you tried to kill me,” she said. “More than once. Then you saved my life for some reason.”
He nodded.
“And I guess talking is a problem for you.”
“I hate...” he started. Then he swallowed. “I hate my voice,” he said. “I hate what I’ve done and I hate who I am.” He pounded his fists on his own head like a crazy person.
Fynn went to him. He blocked her with his forearm.
“Don’t be nice to me,” he said. “Don’t you be nice to me. I killed your mother.” He sounded like he was choking on his own sorrow.
“What do you mean?” she asked. She tried again to touch him but he turned his back so that his face was in the corner.
“I killed Mother Brigid. I did it.”
Fynn shimmied her way in front of him, more forceful this time. She rested her hands on his face. He held on to her wrists but did not push her away.
“You didn’t kill my mother,” she said. “But I bet she lay hands on you when you tried.”
He nodded, holding her wrists.
“Then she gave you your soul back,” she said. He nodded again. She almost started laughing. She only held it in so as not to insult Eli when he was sad.
“Dude,” she began, trying for a light-hearted tone that she didn’t really feel. “You couldn’t kill my mother without her consent. She wasn’t the dying kind. Not even a traitor like Sully could have kept her from getting well if she meant to get well. She’s gone because she wants to be.”
He kept his eyes transfixed to her hands. She lifted his chin to make him look at her. His eyes were like sea glass.
“I hurt you,” he said. “I’ve hurt your family.” She was close enough to feel his voice rumbling in his throat.
“We grieve because we aren’t just Divine. We’re human too. But once we remember ourselves we’ll know she isn’t actually gone.”
She sounded more sure of herself than she felt though she knew she spoke the truth. He lifted his eyes to hers with a look so hopeful it broke her heart.
“You can feel her right now, can’t you?” She placed her hand over his heart. It beat as fast as a runner’s. “She’s a part of you too now. She already forgives you.”
He placed his own hand over hers. She moved closer until his breath touched her cheek.
“To become a demon, I killed an innocent child. A girl...” Every word seemed to cause him physical pain. “I cannot be forgiven, Goddess.”
“You told me your name is Eli,” she said. “Not Eligos anymore.”
He lowered his chin. She cupped his jaw with one hand, felt his heartbeat with the other. He brushed a piece of her hair and tucked it behind her ear. His face was kind now, if unbelievably sad. His square jaw clenched with the pressure of holding in emotion. His touch carried the weight of a great strength that would never hurt her but would always be there to protect her.
The bottom fell out of her stomach like in a dip on a Ferris wheel. She raised her face to his and he kissed her. His lips were soft but insistent. He pulled her closer until she lost her breath completely. His tongue parted her lips and he went deeper in the second kiss, his arm cradling her as if she were fragile. She felt his hunger for her. She pulled him down onto the rug, his full lips her lifeline. He trembled as she ran her hands under his shirt. The hard planes of his chest erupted into goose bumps. When he gasped she drew his lower lip between her teeth. She unbuttoned his jeans for him, then her own. He followed her lead, shy but also full of his own need. She kissed him again.
“I love you, my goddess,” he said. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him close. She guided him inside her. Rain lashed the thatched roof of the cabin. The oil lamp flickered and went out, leaving them in the orange glow of the fireplace coals.
This was not a false ritual in a haze of drugs, an escape from a reality she didn’t want to face. This was remorse meeting redemption. This was loneliness meeting healing devotion. She kissed him until she forgot her failures and her all too human grief. She kissed him until her lips were bruised and she forgot everything but the cabin, the woodstove, and the sweetness of this beautiful, broken man who loved her.
***
Eli left the cabin to walk the perimeter of the Keep walls. Fynn sat on the porch with a wool blanket around her shoulders. Stars studded the night sky through the breaking clouds. The storm had been violent but brief. It was quiet enough to hear the pounding surf off the bluffs on the other side of the Keep.
Lia and their father strolled to the cabin looking tired. Lia slumped on the steps while William went inside. The rusty springs of his bed creaked under his weight.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t do it,” Fynn said. “I couldn’t kill Sully.”
Lia put her arm around her. “Of course you couldn’t.”
“I’m supposed to be the Arrow, aren’t I?” She was surprised Lia wasn’t angry.
“Sully was important to you. His betrayal was a shocker to everyone. Cut yourself some slack.”
Fynn wrapped her arms around her knees. Forgiveness wasn’t what she was expecting and she didn’t know what to say.
“I think I’ll crash here tonight,” Lia said, yawning. She stood and held the door open for Fynn. “Those feather mattresses in the loft are nice.”
“We will have to rebuild the Three as soon as we can,” Fynn said.
Lia climbed the wooden ladder to a wide loft padded with mattresses and hand sewn quilts. “Let’s go to sleep, Fynn. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”
Fynn drew the blanket closer around her. It smelled like her father. It smelled like the outdoors and wood smoke. It smelled like long nights around a story fire, surrounded by other Keep children. She had grown up to those long stories with their gods and goddesses and warrior women and princes weaving into her consciousness until what was real and what was story were blended and equally true.
Fynn crawled into the loft with her sister. They arranged themselves in the down and silky cotton. It seemed strange to feel peaceful while Mother Brigid lay dead. It was impossible to imagine that they would never be together again. It seemed that Mother Brigid would come through the door any minute, laughing and asking William for a smoke.
Water dripped from the eaves of the roof while Eli circled the cabin. The wooden boards groaned as he settled into the rocking chair under the shelter of the porch. Fynn snuggled deep under the quilt, a
nd she did feel peaceful. She waited for a wisecrack from Lia about her interlude with the demon but none came. It had to be that Lia didn’t know about it. Somehow what happened with Eli was a secret she was able to keep from her mind-reading sister.
Lia’ shoulders rose and fell under the quilt. In a few hours it would be morning, and the Keep would go about the death arrangements for Mother Brigid. They would have to manage to gather the community together. They had to plan what to say to the people. They had to plan a funeral. Dealing with that grief would take time and the company of her family. For now, it was okay that they were safe, protected, and able to rest for a few hours.
Nothing would be the same but Fynn thought that just maybe everything would be all right.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Lia said in the darkness, the mind reading up once again on the strange goddess line.
***
In the morning Fynn woke to an empty cabin. She rubbed a circle into the dew on the window. Eli lumbered across the meadow. She met him at the bottom of the ladder of the loft bed and wrapped her arms around his waist. He lifted her in a bear hug. When she kissed him, she tasted the sea on his lips. He’d already been surfing.
“We have to talk,” she said.
He shrugged, his enormous shoulders broad as a bear’s. The ends of his hair dripped with salt water. He started moving around the kitchen, lighting the stove, putting on the kettle.
He unwrapped a parcel of fresh baked bread from the Keep’s kitchen. It steamed in the cold room. He put a hunk of bread on a cracked plate, drizzled raw honey over it.
“You have to eat,” he said.
“What about coffee?” she asked.
Eli poured a cup with a small grin on his face. “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?” he asked.
“What?”
“Guarding you,” he said. “Taking care of you.”
“I don’t need anybody taking care of me,” Fynn said. The bread was sweet and tasted like everything good in the world. She wolfed it down. He cut off another piece and she ate that one fast too. She took a swallow of hot, bitter coffee. “I’m the Arrow. That means I take care of everybody else. I guard the Keep. I kill demons. Except you, of course.” Her destiny in a crash course.
The Arrow (Children of Brigid Trilogy Book 1) Page 20
