The Goddess Chronicles Books 4-6: Urban Fantasy

by KB Anne

  The visions grow fuzzy around the edges. I fight to remain awake. The chains are suffocating me. I can’t breathe. I can’t . . .

  Standing at the edge of the meadow, I savor the sunshine warming my face. Foxglove, bee balm, and rudbeckia bend toward the light. My fingers brush along the tips of them. Energy flows in me and to me. There, on the far side of the pond closest to the church, nearest to Clayone, stands Lizzie. The sun doesn’t reach that side of the meadow. It’s steeped in darkness. I reach out my palm and extend a ball of light out. Just as it reaches Lizzie, it bounces back to me.

  The pond stretches the expanse between us. Though no wind blows, the water swells and roils as if a great storm wages within it. The only way to reach Lizzie is to cross the water. This I know.

  I dip a toe in. As the tip penetrates the surface, my skin sizzles from the poison water. There must be some way to cross the pond. There must be some way to bridge the gap between us.

  On a small island halfway from either side sits a carved mahogany box. Inside lies the answer to getting Lizzie back. To regaining her trust. I call forth to the box and try to bring it to me to no avail. A sense of urgency prickles the back of my neck. Danger is coming. If I remain here much longer, I will be lost, but I will not leave Lizzie. I will not forsake her.

  Desperate, I search the shoreline for a boat or log to use. The only way for me to save Lizzie is to reach the box.

  The darkness surrounding her begins to creep across the pond. The evil cannot take her.

  “My light, my love, my life,” my mother whispered to me before she lifted her hands up and walked across the water.

  I lift my hands and step onto the water. Lizzie’s eyes widen as I take another step and another.

  She screams, “Noooooo!” over and over. Worse than a banshee. Worse than anything ever uttered by any living being.

  So loud. So awful. It could wake the dead.

  It awakens me.

  * * *

  My eyes spring open as I gasp for breath. The chains no longer bite into my neck and chest. I can draw in a long, full breath. I can’t gulp in enough of the sour dungeon air to fill my lungs. When I’ve finally gotten my fill, I fall back against the chair.

  Never have I come against anything so bitter. So unyielding.

  “Lizzie,” I whisper, trying once more.

  When there’s no response, I listen for her breath. The long, slow inhale and exhale of sleep fills me with hope. I reach out to her mind. I can’t fully penetrate it yet, but there’s a definite softening. Ryan rises to the surface of her mind—that’s how Breas caught her. He wanted to use her to get to me.

  I am the reason.

  It’s always been me.

  All those years ago when I so desperately needed a friend, Lizzie came to me. I cherished her as a gift. Tried to protect her. To keep her safe. But all Lizzie’s memories tell a much different story.

  I did this to her.

  I caused her death.

  I caused her rise.

  I would have been nothing without her, but without me she would have been free from the evil poisoning her.

  I killed Lizzie.

  I killed them all.

  I am not worthy of their sacrifice.

  Gigi, you are worth it, my mother whispers in my ear.

  Gigi, you are worth it, Gram whispers in my other one.

  Gigi, you are worth it, Brigit whispers with absolute certainty.

  The babe. The maiden. The crone. The circle of life.

  No beginning. No end.

  Always existing. Always continuing.

  From the end, comes the beginning.

  My fingers in the earth. My toes in the dirt.

  Vines wrapping around me. Embracing me.

  Gram and Mom watching with wonder.

  The sun warming my face.

  The sky, a brilliant blue, without hint of storm.

  Tiny shoots sprout deep beneath the earth, growing with speed and strength. Breaking through bricks and stone in search of their goddess. Winding in and around the chains. Slipping through the links. Forming a protective layer between the chains and their goddess. Expanding upward and outward until the chains disappear into nothing.

  I step through the wall separating us as if the stones and mortar are nothing more than air. I take hold of her hands. If she should awaken, it is too late for her to resist.

  She falls. I fall.

  Memories of the night of the campfire come flooding back to me. The laughter. The stories. Our introduction to Clayone and werewolves, along with the discovery that witches, werewolves, and magic are real. Lizzie walking hand in hand with Ryan. An aura generates from them. I dwell on the image. Warmth permeates off of Ryan, but even free from the eyeball necklace, the spell book, and Carman’s possession, darkness drifts off of Lizzie.

  I focus in on the memory to see what was hidden from me before. And there it is in the briefest of instants. Her eyes flash gold and red. Lupine eyes, but not the pure gold ones of Alaric. Hers demonstrate the mingling of good and evil. My worst fear has come true. My best friend, at least the Lizzie I thought was my best friend, is dead all over again.

  The scene of the four of us wandering into the church unfolds before me. I hover above, watching it as an observer. Lizzie whispers in Ryan’s ear. His green irises disappear, replaced by black. He reaches up for the crumbling ceiling and pulls it down. They laugh as Scott and I scream before we realize what happened. After brushing the debris off, I haul off and punch Ryan in the gut. He doubles over, gasping for breath. A pang of guilt for hurting him washes over me, but it’s soon replaced with surprise as Lizzie’s eyes flash red. How had I missed that? Who was Lizzie really?

  Lizzie’s hand hovers over the symbols on the walls as she wanders down the hallway. Almost touching, but not quite. Someone, Ryan maybe, says, “I betcha devil worshippers came up here.” But the symbols aren’t from any type of dark magic. They’re ancient runes to ward off evil spirits. I recognize them now, though at the time I was too caught up in the moment to realize their origins. Lizzie’s fingers begin to trace a rune. She jerks away from it, wincing, just as Scott and I slip past her and wander into the main cathedral room with its high ceiling and painted floor.

  Lizzie’s eyes flash red again as she takes in the room. Ryan remains by her side, his eyes returning to black orbs.

  I watch myself twirl three times in one direction as I call out, “Do you know what this is?”

  My stomach roils, and I swallow the vomit filling my mouth as I watch myself switch direction. All our lives would be irrevocably changed in the next turn. I glance over to see Lizzie and Ryan tucked safely behind Scott as he warns me we should get out. As I round my third circle, Lizzie grabs Ryan’s hand, and they leap into the center of the room as the floor explodes.

  She jumped on purpose.

  You fall. I fall.

  Gasping, I pull out of the memory and return back to Lizzie’s cell. I had put all the blame for that night’s events on myself. I believed with all my heart and soul that I killed Lizzie. That I killed my best friend.

  But I didn’t kill her . . .

  “You saved me,” she whispers to me from her curled-up position on the floor, her eyes flashing red.

  “What are you?”

  “I am a servant of the darkness.”

  “You are not a servant of the darkness. You’re Lizzie. My Lizzie.”

  “The darkness created Clayone.”

  “No, Derg did.”

  “My parents worshipped the darkness.”

  Somewhere along the way she slipped into a zombie-like trance. My magic isn’t able to repel it, but maybe my words can.

  “Your parents were Jehovah’s Witnesses.”

  “My parents worshipped the ancient ways, Druidry and witchcraft with your gram’s coven.”

  I had read in Dad’s journal that Lizzie’s parents were friends with my mom. If they were friends with her, they were probably also friends with . . . no, it c
an’t be.

  In a lame attempt to rewrite the story, I say, “Your parents left the coven because they were worried that my power would hurt you.”

  She throws back her head and cackles just like the Fomorian witch. Just like Breas. What’s with the evil laughter, anyway? Is it a prerequisite for admission to the diabolical planning club?

  “Your parents were friends with Calliope, weren’t they.”

  She grins widely at me.

  Carman trained them. I’m sure of it. That’s how she so easily possessed Lizzie, even without the eyeball necklace. That’s why Lizzie became obsessed with the spell book. It was Carman who introduced her parents to Maleficium. But something still doesn’t fit.

  “What about Clayone? How does he play into all this?”

  “I am marked as his,” she says.

  That’s not creepy or anything.

  “What the fuck does that mean? Are you his concubine? His lover? His . . .”

  Oh my gods.

  It’s now Lizzie squeezing my hands. “Say it, oh wise goddess. Say who I am.”

  It hurts to look at her, but it hurts to say the truth even more. “You’re his daughter.”

  A twisted grin appears on her face.

  “You knew all along, didn’t you.”

  She winks.

  After my come-to-Goddess-Brigit moment in my cell, I’m too pumped with adrenaline and purpose to let Lizzie or anyone else win. Besides, she’s really starting to piss me off with that maniacal glint in her eyes and her depraved smile.

  “Our friendship was not a lie. It was real.”

  Her eyes flash red. “Your entire life was based on lies. Why should our friendship be any different?”

  Her words kick me in the stomach. I double over, unable to breathe. “What about Ryan? Did you care about him at all?” I whisper with halted breath.

  Her eyes shift from red to gold at the mention of Ryan.

  Realization dawns on me. “That’s how you got caught, isn’t it.”

  She closes her eyes, and the cell falls back into blackness. The only noise is her bated breath.

  I kneel down with her hands still in mine, willing her to look at me. I can reach Lizzie, my Lizzie, if she’d just look at me. A boot scrapes against stone. My ears tingle at the sound. I concentrate on forming an image in my mind. The Witch, Breas, or Ryan? One wants to kill me, one wants to possess me, and one was one of my best friends. The unknown visitor snarls.

  Lizzie grips my hands, pulsing with excitement.

  Ryan then.

  Fists bang against the cell. “Goddess, where are you?” he growls into the neighboring cell.

  When I don’t answer, he unlocks the door and stalks in. I loathe to leave Lizzie, but if Ryan discovers I’m missing, all will be lost.

  “Ryan, I’m here,” I whisper, careful not to raise my voice and alert Breas or the Witch.

  He sucks in his breath, slamming the cell door behind him. He sniffs as he approaches Lizzie’s cell. I can just make out the shadow of his form in the darkness.

  Lizzie’s hold tightens. She still cares. At least for Ryan, anyway.

  “What are you doing here?” his voice rumbles through the bars.

  I pull Lizzie up as I stand.

  “Ryan, did you know Lizzie was in here?”

  He falters backward. His sharp intake of breath suggests he didn’t.

  “Didn’t you smell her?”

  He inhales deeply. “I thought I smelled her, but she was dead . . .” his now-gold eyes flash over to me, “and you killed her.”

  My goddess compelling didn’t work with Lizzie, but maybe it could work for Ryan. “I didn’t. She’s here now. I can take both of you with me.”

  His fingers curl around the bars. “You speak treason.”

  In a calculated move, I release my grip on Lizzie and grab Ryan’s arm through the bars.

  He snarls, “Release me, Goddess, or I will alert my master.”

  “He is not your master,” I hiss and thrust my face between the bars so I’m inches from him. The movement is so fast, so unexpected, he doesn’t move. “No one is your master.”

  “No one is my master . . .” he says.

  “No one is your master, and you will open the cell.”

  He slips one hand into his pocket and withdraws the key. “No one is my master, and I will open the cell.”

  As his key clicks into the lock, snake-like smoke circles around us and slams us together into the bars of the cell.

  “You will not escape,” the smoke snarls in the Witch’s voice.

  Lizzie gasps as we’re pressed harder into the bars, unable to move. Ryan is pinned against them on the other side.

  Breas laughs from the top of the stairs. “Your magic will not work here, Goddess.”

  His cocky attitude unfurls my anger. Power surges through my limbs. “You don’t know what I am capable of,” I roar, thrusting myself away from the bars but still retaining my grasp on Ryan and Lizzie. I envision the crescent moon garden I created at Granda’s, the restorative quality of the herbs I planted there along with the protective enchantments I remembered from Briguathe Grimoire. “And you best remember that.”

  The three of us fall through the portal together.

  You fall. I fall.

  10

  The Moon

  Caer sat at the windowsill. Again Scott had witnessed her weakness, this time during their meditation when she fell into a dreamlike trance starring him as Oegden. She despised appearing weak in front of anyone, let alone the man she was allegedly joined with in the Otherworld. The whole union thing confused her, though she figured that would explain her body’s unfamiliar responses whenever he stood near her. It certainly had nothing to do with his beauty or his fighting skills or the timbre in his voice that tickled her in unaccustomed places.

  For the most part, he ignored her, refusing to demonstrate any warmth for her except for his playful interactions over the past two days, but she was not a fool. She did not believe he was softening to her. In fact, if she was honest with herself, she thought that he might be manipulating her. He had made his desire to get back to Gigi well known, and Caer possessed the means to get him there with her portal creation. It didn’t matter if they were paired together in the Otherworld. The legends, the myths could be wrong. Besides, they were written by the winning side. There was little mention of Caer Ibormeith, Goddess of Dreams, Sleep, and Prophecy anyway. What did dreams and prophecy mean in a world at constant war? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  It was no wonder Scott didn’t harbor true feelings for her. She was a plague. A short footnote in the history books.

  Tears wet her cheeks as she stared out into the black night. She had been wrong to come here. Wrong to reveal herself to Scott and Gigi. Wrong to rip open the portal for Gigi. She had been wrong about so many things. She’d spent almost a lifetime isolated from any human interaction.

  During her solitude she had never acted impulsively. She planned and she plotted—which was the reason she had returned to Gallean’s keep after he expelled her. She needed help to fight Balor and figured Scott would be as strong an ally as any. And she was correct in her assumption. Over and over again he had proven himself useful in battle. His speed. His skill with a blade. His determination. He would be invaluable in a fight. She planned to use him for her own purposes. In truth, she was as wretched as he was. Two selfish beings could never align out of such a weakness as love.

  She closed her eyes. Tiredness pulled at her muscles. Since returning to Gallean’s keep, she felt chained. She hadn’t been rooted to a place since she was a faerie princess, and that life was forsaken so long ago she barely remembered it.

  Her arms twitched for flight. Her heart ached for freedom. She climbed onto the windowsill and glanced back at the room. The soft feather bed she’d grown accustomed to, and the piles of books and objects strewn across every flat surface had provided her with the means to pass the time, but still she missed the wind under her wi
ngs. If she could fly next to the moon once more . . .

  Her training had neared its completion. There wasn’t much more the wizard could teach her. Besides, Scott was a constant distraction. He might be a worthy warrior, but in a fight for her life, she couldn’t lose focus. It was time for her to soar.

  The skies called to her, their beckoning irresistible. She stepped out of the window and took flight.

  Guilt ate at Scott. The yearning in Caer’s eyes filled him with longing. It was wrong to use her for the sole purpose of getting back to Gigi. What would his dad say? Or Gram for that matter? He was wrong to use his true love, his soul mate, to get back to his sister. It was equivalent to his mom’s action when she had told Clayone Gigi’s whereabouts—sacrificing one for another. As much as he’d like to forgive his mother, the very fact that she had betrayed her family in order to protect him proved little consolation. Was he his father’s son or his mother’s?

  Gigi had a mind of her own. Though she’d never admit it, she always got what she wanted (once she figured out what she wanted).

  The woven rug in his room couldn’t keep up with his godly pacing. A normal human wouldn’t wear a hole through the wool within only a few hours, but a god, even a reincarnated one, could.

  He was sure that Gallean knew what he was planning. He’d seen it during their meditation this afternoon. Scott had injected himself into Caer’s mind. In her godly form she may be the Goddess of Dreams and Prophecy, but in her reincarnated human one at least, her dreams could be manipulated. The wizard had said nothing, but the very fact that he saw Scott’s scheme was cause enough for even more guilt.

  As his stomach churned with enough acid to take down a pack of hellhounds, he left his room to confess his intentions to Caer and ask for her forgiveness. If there was going to be any future for them in this world or the Otherworld, the truth about his ulterior motives must be confessed to her.