Succubus Ascendant: An Urban Fantasy (The Telepathic Clans Saga Book 4)

by BR Kingsolver

  Irina’s smile was all the endorsement that Brenna needed.

  “What kind of job?” Martin asked.

  Brenna explained what she was doing in West Virginia. “I think you and Natalia would be safer there,” she said. “Natalia would have the chance to live among other telepaths, and you would have work in your field.”

  “And we’d get to see each other all the time,” Irina said, looking back and forth between her parents.

  Natalia and Martin stared at each other, and Irina held her breath, knowing there was a silent conversation taking place.

  Natalia turned to Brenna. “If you don’t mind, I would like to see your valley. Martin can’t come for a couple of weeks, but if I like it, then he’ll come. Can you wait for a decision until we see it?”

  Brenna nodded. “Certainly. You can ride back with us if you wish.”

  ~~~

  Although their curiosity was boiling over, it wasn’t until they arrived back in West Virginia that Irina told her friends what she had learned from her mother.

  “No,” Collin said. “Absolutely not. You’re not going to Russia. That’s the stupidest idea I’ve heard since Samantha went hunting Gless.”

  Irina smiled and grabbed him by the ear, drawing his face close to hers and kissing him. “Sweet man, I’m going to let you plan the whole thing. I’m not going to barge into Moscow tomorrow searching for my father. Take your time, and set it up so you’re comfortable with it. But go I will. It’s up to you to make sure I’m safe and the operation is successful.”

  Rebecca spoke up, “It could take a year or two to gather the proper intelligence and set up an op to take out a major Clan member someplace like Russia.”

  Collin barked a laugh. “Not just a major Clan member. Sergei is Clan Chief. Taking him out means taking on the whole Clan.”

  “That’s fine,” Irina said, waving her hand as though the difficulty was trifling. “Like I said, I want to be successful when I do this. But I’m not going to spend my whole life looking over my shoulder, afraid he’s going to come after me. I’m not going to live in fear the way my parents have.” She fixed Collin with her eyes. “But don’t think I’m going to forget about it. Plan your operation, and keep me informed.”

  ~~~

  Chapter 3

  The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living. - Marcus Tullius Cicero

  Four years before, at the age of 23, Brenna had been named heir of the three Irish Clans. Her grandfathers and great uncle had long dreamed of uniting the clans, and as they neared the end of their lives, they looked to Brenna to make that dream come true.

  The dream wasn’t shared by everyone. The oldest sons in Clans O’Byrne and O’Neill and their respective sons thought it was a terrible idea. Other people had a problem with Brenna’s age or the idea of a woman Clan Chief. Some had a problem with the fact that she was a succubus, or Druid as they were called in Ireland.

  The O’Donnell Clan, which was now centered in the United States rather than in its ancestral base in Donegal, embraced Brenna. Her grandfather Seamus was only one hundred and sixty-one years old, and planned to hold his position for at least a few more decades. Clan O’Neill, where Corwin was two hundred, and Clan O’Byrne, where Fergus was one hundred and ninety, knew her ascension was nearing, and so did Brenna. A dread of that day lay in the back of her mind.

  On her way home from London, Brenna stopped off to see her grandparents at the O’Byrne estate in County Wicklow. From there, she traveled to see her great-uncle at the O’Neill estate in County Tyrone. After arriving home in the States, she went to visit her Aunt Callie at the family estate in West Virginia.

  Callista O’Donnell Wilkins was Chief Executive Officer of the O’Donnell Group, the Clan’s business interests. With their long lives, telepaths need to ‘die’ and switch their identities to avoid suspicion. In a previous ‘life’, she had been a professor of genetics at two prestigious universities. Her major research, for obvious reasons never published, concerned mapping the telepathic genome. She had collected genetic samples from hundreds of thousands of telepaths. Even those Clans unfriendly to O’Donnell had participated, wanting the results of her research.

  “Callie, I’ve been looking at the genetic profiles in your database,” Brenna said. “Something isn’t jiving with Hugh O’Neill.”

  “We aren’t perfect,” Callie said, sitting down at her computer. “Look at what happened with your baby sample.” The genetic swab taken when Brenna was a baby was never entered in the database. When it was analyzed, the results were so fantastic it had been discarded as a contaminated sample.

  “You know this manifestation, Talent, Gift, whatever you want to call it, that I have? The one where I see auras and can tell what Gifts a person has?” Brenna asked.

  Callie nodded.

  “When I look at Hugh, I see twelve Gifts, including the O’Neill Gift and the O’Byrne Gift. Neither of those shows on the analysis you have on file.”

  Callie called up Hugh’s record. “Yes, the database shows seven Gifts, and not particularly strong ones. I think that’s why Corwin was reluctant to have Hugh inherit. He doesn’t think Hugh’s strong enough to protect the Clan, or to command the respect to lead it.”

  “Where did you get that sample?”

  “Hugh gave it to me. Remember, I started this project in the 1970s, and the tools and knowledge we had then were fairly primitive. Let’s see,” Callie said, clicking to another screen on the computer, “1984 is when this sample was catalogued. Why?”

  “Call up Finnian’s record,” Brenna said. Finnian was Hugh’s son and had tried to assassinate Brenna shortly after Corwin named her heir to O’Neill. Corwin had exiled him as a result of that attempt.

  “They’re identical,” Callie said, her brow furrowed. “Either Finnian’s a clone, or one of these isn’t accurate. A father and son wouldn’t be identical.”

  “Yeah. I haven’t seen Finnian since my Talent manifested,” Brenna said, pointing to the screen. “But I know that the Gifts I see when I look at Hugh are definitely different than what is listed there.”

  “It shows the Lindstrom Gift on these profiles. And these are the Gifts that everyone thinks Hugh has. He’s a Construct Artist,” Callie said.

  “His mother, Corwin’s wife, was from the Lindstrom Clan,” Brenna said. “The daughter of the Clan Chief. She could have embedded a nine-level construct for him. It’s a fairly common way for those with the O’Neill Gift to mask their abilities.”

  “She died around the time Hugh reached puberty,” Callie mused. “Hugh would have been tested at puberty, as we’ve always done with children. If you’re right, then he’s been masking his abilities all his life.”

  “If I’m wrong, it would be the first time,” Brenna said. “I wonder why Hugh’s doing that.”

  ~~~

  Brenna was working in her office in Washington when she received a call from Hugh O’Neill. “Brenna, Father’s dying and he’s asking for you.”

  “Right now?”

  “As soon as possible. I don’t think he’ll last out the night.”

  Brenna swore as she disconnected. The moment she’d dreaded had come, and no matter how many times she had run scenarios through her mind, she wasn’t sure what to do.

  Rebecca was draped across a chair next to the window, trying to decipher a book in Gaelic from Fergus O’Byrne’s library. “What’s up?”

  “That was Hugh. Corwin’s dying.”

  With a sigh, Rebecca said, “It never rains but it pours. I’ve been expecting this.”

  “In Ireland, it just rains all the time,” Brenna said.

  “True.”

  “Do you know where Rhiannon is?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Can you contact her?”

  “Probably. If I can use your Gift.” Rebecca was referring to Brenna’s Gift for Distance Communication. Rebecca had manifested a Lost Gift, inelegantly called the Soul Thief Gift. One of its elements was that she
could use another telepath’s Gifts if she was in the person’s mind.

  Brenna opened her mind and invited her sister in. Rebecca found the Gift’s trigger and reached out through the bond she had with Rhiannon.

  *Rhiannon. Where are you?*

  *Rebecca? In Monaco. Where are you?*

  *In Washington. I need to come see you.*

  *How are you ... how can you reach this far?*

  *I’m using Brenna’s Gift. I’ll explain later. Are you alone? Can you visualize a landing spot? We need to teleport in.*

  A blank space of carpet was transmitted from Rhiannon into Brenna’s mind. A few seconds later, that spot, thousands of miles away, had two women standing on it.

  Rhiannon Kendrick stared at them with her mouth open. She was dressed in a black off-the-shoulder evening dress with silver trim, with her copper-colored hair in a French twist. Brenna thought that she’d never seen anyone look so beautiful and elegant.

  “That’s a beautiful dress,” Brenna said.

  “Thank you. And to what do I owe the honor of this unexpected visit?”

  “Are you on a case? What are you doing in Monaco?” Brenna asked.

  “I’m on holiday. Just spending a bit of time at the casinos refilling the coffers and having a good time.”

  “So, you don’t have any pressing engagements? Are you here with anyone?”

  “I’m alone and I don’t have a date tonight. Brenna, what the bloody hell is this about?”

  “The world, my world, is going to hell in a hand basket. I need your help, and I need it now. Corwin is dying. I need you to come to O’Neill with me. I need more than Rebecca to keep me alive.”

  “Well, if that’s all. Give me a moment to change.”

  “No, we don’t have time for that, and that dress is perfect. You can change later. Rebecca, help her pack a bag.”

  Rhiannon frowned. “Perfect for what?”

  Brenna turned away, not answering, and sent a spear thought to Jeremy, her transition manager in County Tyrone at the O’Neill estate. In less than ten minutes, Brenna took the other two women by their arms and teleported to O’Neill.

  They appeared back in reality in an empty room. Looking around, they saw Jeremy and his wife Maggie standing in the doorway.

  “Just leave your bag here,” Jeremy said. “I’ll take you to Corwin.”

  *Do you ever get used to that?* Rhiannon sent to Rebecca. *I’m completely disoriented.*

  *It makes my stomach all flip-floppy,* Rebecca replied. *But the disorientation isn’t from the teleportation. It comes from being in close proximity to Brenna.*

  *Do you know what I’m doing here?* Rhiannon asked. *I mean the real reason.*

  *No, I don’t. She’s like you. She just does things. When she gets going, she’s moving too fast in her head to explain anything, and no one has a chance to catch up until the roller coaster comes to a stop.*

  Jeremy led them down a hall and through the main parlor of the O’Neill manor house. Halfway through the room, Brenna stopped and gestured to a painting hanging over the massive fireplace. They all looked up, and Rhiannon gasped.

  “Delilah O’Neill. Mean as a junkyard dog, sweeter than sugar, prettier than a sunset,” Brenna said. “That’s what Seamus told me once about our great-grandmother.”

  The woman in the portrait was dressed in a nineteenth century evening dress, black with red trim. Her copper-colored hair was in an elaborate up-do, and her face was a mirror image of Rhiannon’s.

  “Holy Goddess,” Rhiannon breathed.

  “We were told the picture was painted around 1830,” Rebecca said. “You haven’t been time traveling, have you?”

  “It seems to run in the family,” Jeremy said. “Brenna and her mother are carbon copies. I guess the Goddess likes to reuse the most beautiful faces.”

  Brenna reached out and took Rhiannon’s arm. “Come on. We have an appointment, and we can’t afford to be late.”

  “Where are we going?” Rhiannon asked. She looked around and found that they were completely ringed with O’Donnell Protectors.

  “To meet your grandfather,” Brenna said.

  Rhiannon stopped so suddenly that Brenna was almost jerked off her feet.

  “No,” Rhiannon said, shaking her head. “Just because he’s dying doesn’t mean I want to meet the old bastard.”

  “I don’t have time for this,” Brenna growled.

  Rhiannon drifted off the floor and Brenna pulled her along. Rhiannon tried to fight, but discovered that Brenna had covered her with an O’Neill super mental shield so strong and tight that she couldn’t access her Gifts. Rhiannon was one of the strongest telepaths in the world, fully mature and at the height of her power, but Brenna had overwhelmed her as though she was a little girl. For one of the few times in her life, Rhiannon experienced fear of another telepath.

  “Brenna, what are you doing?” Rebecca asked, clearly alarmed. “That’s not right. You can’t just bully someone like that!”

  “Don’t fuck with me,” Brenna responded. “He’s dying. I can feel him. We don’t have much time.”

  Brenna broke into a trot, hauling a terrified Rhiannon behind her. Rebecca shot a look at Jeremy, who shrugged.

  When they reached Corwin’s quarters, his son Hugh met them. “He’s been asking for you,” Hugh said. “I think he’s almost gone.”

  Then he saw Rhiannon. “Who is that? What’s going on?”

  Brenna didn’t answer, pushing past him and through the door to Corwin’s bedroom. She sat Rhiannon back on her feet, and taking her hand, pulled her toward the old man lying in the bed.

  Corwin’s hair had turned completely white. His breathing was labored and shallow. Multiple strokes had stolen his strength and ability to speak.

  *Uncle? I’ve brought someone to meet you,* Brenna sent to Corwin, including Rhiannon in her transmission.

  The old man opened his eyes, then they opened so wide Brenna thought they might pop out of his head.

  *Mother? Have you come to take me home?* Corwin sent.

  *No, Uncle. This isn’t Delilah. This is Rhiannon, your granddaughter.*

  He stared at Rhiannon in horror for a full minute, then tears began to spill down his cheeks and he sent, *Oh, dear Goddess. What have I done? I shall surely burn in hell for what I’ve done.*

  He looked back and forth from Brenna to Rhiannon. *What should I do?*

  *Acknowledge your blood, Uncle,* Brenna sent. *Give Rhiannon her birthright.*

  “Rhiannon, my beautiful granddaughter. Please forgive me,” Corwin said aloud. Hugh jerked as though he’d been slapped.

  The old man reached out, taking Rhiannon’s hand and also grabbing Brenna’s elbow. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his breath rattled in his throat. He lay still.

  When a telepath dies, at the moment when the soul leaves the body, his or her memories can pass to another telepath in physical contact. Long before, Corwin had told Brenna that he planned to pass his Death Gift on to her. Brenna had dreaded that moment, and hoped she could engineer the passing of the O’Neill legacy to Corwin’s granddaughter, where Brenna believed it properly should go.

  She hadn’t found anything in her research or from talking to other telepaths that a Death Gift could be passed to more than one person. With the old man holding her arm in his death grip, she discovered that she should have asked the question.

  The others in the room saw Corwin breathe his last, his hands touching each of the young women standing in front of him. Brenna and Rhiannon stood stock still as if frozen. They stood that way, eyes unfocused, for almost half an hour, and then both slumped to the floor, senseless.

  ~~~

  Memories and knowledge flowed into Brenna, overwhelming her. It was worse than when she was a little girl, before her mother taught her to shield, when the thoughts of everyone around her invaded her mind. She couldn’t figure out who all the people were, or where they stopped and she began.

  Thoughts and memories, men a
nd women, children and aged crones, a flood of people were in her head. Some of the memories were beautiful. Others were horrifying. Memories of war, torture, and death. Memories of giving birth to a child, of being in love, of betrayal and humiliation. All the things a person might have done when they were alive now crowded her mind. Memories of sunny summer meadows in mountains she had never walked through mingled with memories of making love to men and women she had never met. Memories of being a man and making love to a woman. Terrifying memories of an axe descending, splitting her skull, the pain and darkness bursting through her mind. A sword piercing the child in her arms, continuing through and into her chest.

  Over and over, the memory of dying. All of them had died. A mother held her child in her arms as it died, and received its young memories. A wife had held her husband, and discovered he had been faithless. A man held his father’s hand and discovered that in spite of his hard, unbending ways, he had loved his son and been proud of him.

  It was too much for one mind to hold. She was going mad.

  But every one of those people had done this and the majority had survived and emerged from the experience sane. Not all. Some had succumbed to madness, and those memories were there, too.

  Attempting to restore some kind of order, she began categorizing, cataloging, and finding a place to store all the memories. Telepaths have extremely well-ordered minds, unlike the fragmented disorder, the chaos, in the mind of a norm. Fearing for her sanity, she worked to restore the order she was used to.

  But there was so much of it. Centuries of memories, hundreds of people. Sometimes she would find memories of the same event as remembered by two different people. It was so confusing that her frustration grew and grew. Even trying to figure out how to store it, and where, was so much work that she despaired she would ever get it under control.

  Corwin had the O’Neill Gift. Those with the Gift had seventeen mental levels as opposed to the nine levels of those without it. Figuring out where Corwin had stored a piece of information helped her to construct a model to use. It struck her that Rhiannon only had nine levels. The confusion and chaos must be worse for her.

  Guilt hit like a hammer. Brenna had been so terrified of Corwin’s Death Gift that she’d attempted to force Rhiannon to take it instead. Forcing another telepath, someone weaker than you, was a major breach of the rules her society lived by.