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

by BR Kingsolver

  ~~~

  Collin led Brenna into the pub. “Are you sure you want to see this?” he asked.

  It was a scene from a nightmare, bodies in every room, blood pooled on the floor and splattered on the walls and furniture. The Protectors had captured three of Hugh’s men, but they were the only survivors. Finnian’s body was in the main room, a bullet hole in his forehead. The expression on his face, however, suggested that the bullet came after he’d been disabled with Neural Disruption.

  “How many?” Brenna asked.

  “According to Hugh’s men, two of the bodies are theirs. The other twenty-seven are Finnian’s. It was a massacre. Finnian wanted to talk, to negotiate an alliance. Hugh’s men opened fire with submachine guns and Neural Disruption as soon as they were inside. Hugh lost one man then. The other one died fighting us.”

  Brenna shook her head, walking behind the bar and blowing dust off the bottles there.

  “Need a drink?” she asked, opening a bottle of whiskey and taking a long drink straight from the bottle.

  Collin nodded and she brought it to him. It got passed around, and then another one was opened and passed. Even though the men with them were professionals, several had thrown up when they had seen the carnage.

  “Do I own this pub now?” Brenna asked Thomas.

  “Probably.”

  “I’ll pay a bonus to whoever draws the short straws and has to clean it up,” she said.

  “Bloody slaughterhouse,” one of the men said. “I’ve never seen anything this bad.”

  “Gives you an idea of who we’ve been fighting,” Collin said. “He killed his own son.”

  “I’ve known Hugh all my life,” another man said. “I never would have believed him capable of this.”

  “No one knew Hugh,” Brenna said. “His whole life, his personality, was a sham. He was playacting a role. The amount of hatred and bitterness that formed him was incredible.” She turned to Thomas. “He was mildly schizophrenic. He had delusions and heard voices. It wasn’t too bad, and so he could hide it. He was a true O’Neill. He had the Gift. He wasn’t completely divorced from reality, but he inhabited a slightly different reality from the rest of us. If anyone had ever done a brain scan, they would have found it, but without symptoms, no one had any reason to look.”

  “Goddess protect us,” Thomas said. “Imagine the damage if he had become Clan Chief.”

  As they walked to their cars, Brenna sent a spear thought to Rebecca, *You can tell the pilot that he can take off now. Has RB chewed holes in the furniture yet?*

  *Damn near,* Rebecca replied. *She’s pissed. If there wasn’t an ocean between here and Ireland, she’d have commandeered a car and been gone hours ago. Did you find Hugh?*

  *Hugh’s dead, and so is Finnian.*

  Brenna broke the connection, dreading the coming confrontation with Rhiannon.

  ~~~

  Thomas O’Neill stood outside the gates of the O’Neill Shipyard in Glasgow holding a bullhorn. The sun was just rising over the city to his east. The sky lit gold and red, and Thomas hoped it was a sign of a glorious morning ahead, and not one drenched in blood. Inside the yard, a crowd had gathered, recognizing the long-time Director of Security and Corwin’s nephew.

  “I have an announcement,” he spoke into the bullhorn. “Last night, Finnian O’Neill was murdered by his father in Belfast. Hugh O’Neill died while attempting to escape during his apprehension by the Protectors.

  “Lord Corwin named Lady Brenna O’Donnell as his heir. She has been confirmed by the Council, and blessed by the Conclave of Druids. The rebellion is over. We will give you one hour to open the gates and surrender. After that, we will break down the gates and come in.”

  He repeated the announcement using a mental broadcast.

  Forty minutes later, a group of men came out and opened the gates. They put their hands above their heads and stood aside to let the Protectors outside enter the yard.

  ~~~

  About the time Thomas was making the announcement of Hugh’s and Finnian’s deaths, Brenna sat alone in a conference room at O’Neill Industries’ headquarters building in Belfast. She was waiting for Rhiannon and Rebecca, who had just entered the elevator on the first floor.

  When the women walked through the door, Brenna gestured Rhiannon to a chair and said, “Rebecca, can you please wait outside?”

  Rebecca hesitated, looked at an obviously agitated Rhiannon, then nodded and closed the door behind her.

  “He should have been mine,” Rhiannon shouted, pacing the office. “You stole him from me.”

  “No, he shouldn’t have been,” Brenna replied, keeping her voice calm and level. “He was rebelling against me. This wasn’t personal, Rhiannon. And if it was, then I had the greater right.”

  “Right? What right? He ruined my life. He fathered me and abandoned me. Kept me from my birthright. What right of yours is greater than that?”

  “He killed my parents.”

  Rhiannon stopped and stared at Brenna.

  “He told me at the pub, after he killed Finnian.”

  Rhiannon’s demeanor changed. “Oh, God, Brenna. I’m so sorry.”

  “Nothing for you to be sorry about. But I didn’t want you to kill him out of hate and spend the rest of your life regretting it.”

  “I wouldn’t have regretted it.”

  “Maybe not. But it would have marked your soul. You would have always been that woman who killed her father. Your mother loved him once, and he gave her you. Would you want her to think of his murder every time she looks at you? Would you want to cause her that much pain?”

  Rhiannon closed her eyes, standing still and swaying in the middle of the room. Then she took two stiff steps toward the chair Brenna had offered and sank into it.

  “No,” she whispered, “I wouldn’t want that. Damn you. You know exactly what makes me tick.”

  “Two of us are in that basket,” Brenna said.

  “Yeah, I guess we are.” She raised her eyes to Brenna’s. “He killed them? He planted the bomb?”

  Brenna told her what Hugh had said, and what she had seen in his mind when she killed him.

  “Hugh had a mental disorder,” Brenna said. “He was sane enough to know other people would see it that way, but crazy enough to believe that he was sane and everyone else was crazy. He spent a lifetime listening to voices and had a major persecution complex. He hated succubi, Druids. He thought that his grandmother was conspiring against him, conspiring to turn O’Neill into a Clan controlled by the Druids, who would then enslave all the men.”

  Brenna stood and went to the sideboard. “Would you like a drink?”

  Rhiannon nodded and Brenna poured two glasses of whiskey.

  “When he saw you as a little girl, he recognized pictures he’d seen of Delilah as a child. He thought she had come back to keep him from his rightful place as Clan Chief. He didn’t know much about genetics. He thought you were a succubus and that if Corwin ever saw you, you would seduce him and control him, and Corwin would be unable to resist. Then he would toss Hugh aside and name you the heir.”

  Brenna handed Rhiannon the glass. “Slainte.”

  They touched glasses and drank the shots.

  ~~~

  The following week was quite busy for Brenna. The dislocations in Scotland would take far longer to fix than the short rebellion that caused them. Collin, Thomas and Devlin were overhauling the Protector force at O’Neill, which had been hard hit by the rebellion. The town of Dunallen needed extensive rebuilding.

  She was told that it would take at least two weeks to restore production at the shipyard, but a thorough review was needed and management had to be replaced. The top five executives of the shipbuilding operation had declared for Hugh, and her retribution was swift, severe, and public. Mind wipe and exile was the verdict, as she held them responsible for hundreds of deaths. Another four hundred rebels were slated for the same fate.

  Sitting in the large conference room used for meetings
of the Clan Council, Brenna listened to members of the Council. Some argued that most of the rebels were good people. Perhaps they were misguided or misled by Hugh, but such an extreme sentence wasn’t warranted and they could be rehabilitated.

  “What is the normal sentence for premeditated murder?” she asked after letting them discuss the issue for almost an hour. Her question was met with silence. “Should I slap their wrists and tell them they were bad little boys? What do I tell the mothers and wives and husbands and children of the people they killed? What kind of message should I send to those who might decide to rebel or try to assassinate me in the future?”

  She looked around the room. Every eye was on her. “Yes, wiping four hundred people is horrendous,” she continued. “Exiling over a thousand people, telling them never again to set foot in the British Isles on pain of death, is going to be a wrenching dislocation in O’Neill’s social and business affairs.”

  Her voice rose to an angry shout. “It’s not my damn fault! They took it on themselves to do this! They made a conscious decision to kill people to get something they wanted.” She got herself under control and continued in a more normal tone, “They haven’t left me any choice. If we wish to disband the Clan, each of us wander off into the world to do as we will, to live without laws, then the choice is there for us to do that. Clan O’Neill has survived for thousands of years. The laws and the traditions are well established and proven over time.”

  She looked around at the Council. “Corwin told me to guide this Clan into the twenty-first and twenty-second centuries. He didn’t tell me to dismantle what he and the other Clan Chiefs so painstakingly built and nurtured. He told me to protect it. To protect you. I hold this seat by your choice. You can replace me at any time. I have promised always to listen and seriously weigh your advice. In the end, for better or worse, I make the decisions. Your choices are to vote me out, leave, or learn to love me.”

  Looking around the room, she saw people nod. Some in agreement, some in resignation. One man sitting near her, Corwin’s memories told her his name was Dermot O’Conner, jokingly said, “Were you always this hard a bitch or is that Corwin’s memories speaking?”

  Brenna smiled at him, batted her eyes, and said, “When Corwin touched my soul, he said I would hate him forever for naming me, but that I had the stones to do the job.” She paused, then thrust her chest forward and wiggled her shoulders. “I told him no, but I have the tits to do the job.”

  The Council erupted in laughter, the tension broken. As the Council broke up and the members were leaving, Dermot approached her and drew her aside.

  “That was well done, lass,” he said. “Many that argued for leniency were simply testing you. Your answer to them was spot on. It’s what they wanted to hear, what they needed to hear.”

  “What you needed to hear, Dermot?” Brenna asked.

  “Yes. But what has spoken louder to me these past few weeks is Seamus O’Donnell’s absence. He hasn’t set foot in Ireland since you inherited the Clan. It tells me two things. One, that you’re not a puppet, and two, that he trusts you. He has faith and confidence in your judgment.”

  “We needed help from O’Donnell to put down the rebellion. I have O’Donnell Protectors building a barracks next to the manor house.”

  “That is true, but Corwin might have asked Seamus for help, and expected he’d get it. The two Clans have been allied for four hundred years. That’s not what I mean. You walked in here today with no one to back you up. No one from O’Donnell. You might have been walking into the lion’s den, and you brought not a single bodyguard.”

  “This was a meeting of the Council of Clan O’Neill,” Brenna replied. “Someday the Clans will be united, but that hasn’t happened yet. None of you brought a bodyguard. If I have to worry about my Council, then I need to find some new councilors. I don’t expect the Council will always agree with me, but I do expect that we’ll treat each other with civility.”

  He stepped away from her and bowed. “Welcome to Clan O’Neill, my Lady. I think we’re very lucky to have you join us.”

  ~~~

  Chapter 10

  Management is doing things right; leadership is doing the right things. - Peter Drucker

  “You need to name an heir,” Morrighan said. They were having dinner alone on the terrace overlooking the gardens at O’Byrne. Having the Teleportation Gift did have its advantages, and Brenna had needed some quiet time.

  “Huh?” Brenna stared at her aunt for a moment and then shook her head. “Why do I need to do that?”

  “Because it’s traditional and it makes people feel secure. Especially with people plotting your death, the people you’re leading want to know their future. I’m sure no one is thinking about that tonight, but give it a few days and it will be a major source of speculation.”

  Brenna drew a deep breath and sat down on the bed. “I haven’t thought of that. It would have to be someone who is acceptable to all three Clans, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes, if you plan on keeping the Clans united after you’re gone. Brenna, someday you’ll have children and you can change the heir, but right now, you’re going to have to name someone for the next forty or fifty years.”

  Brenna thought of all the people she knew, in all three Clans. No one came to mind.

  “What should I consider in looking for someone?” she finally asked.

  “Power,” Morrighan said. “Power above all else. The Clan Chief is a protector. But he or she also has to have enough power to hold their position. Power also has to be coupled with kindness and mercy and true empathy. The person has to be altruistic. They have to be able to put their personal needs and desires aside for the good of others. That’s not an easy thing to do.”

  Morrighan looked away, then took a deep breath. “Fergus, Corwin, and Seamus each have fifteen Gifts, including at least one of the rare ones. They all have the Krasevec Gift. That kind of power isn’t common. As strong as Rebecca is, she wouldn’t do.”

  Brenna shook her head. “She wouldn’t do for other reasons. She’ll die when I do.”

  “Yes,” Morrighan nodded, “your Shadow.”

  “I guess I can have Callie do a search for the strongest telepaths in her database,” Brenna said, looking at her hands twisting together in her lap.

  “No, you can’t.”

  Brenna’s head snapped up at the commanding tone in Morrighan’s voice.

  “It has to be someone who is loyal to you. Someone who loves you. Someone who won’t stick a knife in your back at the first chance. It has to be someone who doesn’t want it, who would do almost anything to protect you and make sure they don’t inherit.”

  “I can’t think of anyone with that much power,” Brenna said.

  “I can. But you have to make the choice, and I’m not going to put any thoughts in your head.”

  ~~~

  The following morning, she had breakfast with her grandparents in a sitting room off their suite. A large bay window gave them a view of the grounds outside and the mountains in the distance.

  “This is a lovely room,” Brenna remarked.

  “I’m glad you like it,” Caylin said. “We’ve had breakfast here almost every morning for a hundred years. It helps to ground us, set a calming mood for the day.”

  “Yes, I can see that. I need to ask you about something. Last night, Morrighan mentioned that I need to name an heir. I thought about it all night, and I can’t think of someone who would be acceptable to all three Clans. I’m wondering if you had given any thought to the matter.”

  Her grandparents looked at each other, and Brenna knew they had discussed this issue between them.

  “What are your plans for children?” Caylin asked.

  “Fifteen, twenty years,” Brenna replied. “I know that I want kids, and I know who I want the fathers to be, but I’m not ready for that now. I also know that Samantha, Seamus and Cindy’s daughter, will be very important in my life, but she’s just a baby. Morrighan said that I coul
d change my heir in the future when I have children, but she also said I need to name someone now.”

  “Yes, the people you lead will expect you to do that,” Fergus said. “The trick is to find someone who is qualified, powerful enough, and has links to all three Clans. And that person has to be loyal to you.”

  “Links to all three Clans,” Brenna said. “I can’t think of anyone.”

  “The link could be through you. You have relatives in all three Clans,” Fergus said.

  “So, you think it should be one of my relatives?” Brenna asked.

  “Brenna,” Fergus said, “our society is feudal, and that has persisted out of necessity. The ruling families have conducted an informal breeding program for thousands of years.”

  He chuckled at the expression on her face and held up his hand to forestall what she might say.

  “Please, let me finish. The strongest of us have ruled the Clans. We tend to marry other strong telepaths and so our children inherit more Gifts than is normal. Seamus, Corwin and I all have fifteen Gifts. Your parents each had fifteen. Your half-sister has fifteen. Callie has thirteen. Your Collin has twelve. Most of the people you know and those who are related to you are very strong telepaths. But remember that half of all telepaths have only one Gift.”

  “So, you’re saying that the chances of someone who is not a relative being qualified are rather small,” Brenna said.

  “Not impossible,” Caylin said. “Keep in mind that the person would have to be extraordinary to overcome the Clans’ traditions. Power isn’t everything, of course, but you’ll tend to find that power and intelligence are closely linked. Again, just a by-product of our breeding practices.”

  “Okay, so who do you have in mind?” Brenna said, raising one eyebrow and quirking her mouth into a half-grin. “It’s obvious that you have discussed this.”

  Fergus told her. Someone she hadn’t considered.

  “I wonder if that’s who Morrighan had in mind. She said she didn’t want to influence my decision.”