Balor. The goat-headed god. The god of drought and blight.
Grandma King wanted her to pledge herself to that.
“Are you insane?”
The old woman’s voice was like steel rasping on concrete. “You have no choice.”
There was a shuffling sound from across the kitchen. The third brother had climbed to his feet, and now he stooped down to pick up his sword, blood splattering the tiles. Her grandmother’s blood, mingling with the brothers’ on the kitchen floor.
His eyes were fixed on her. Meiner couldn’t breathe.
They should be dead.
The god her grandmother had pledged her soul to had slashed their throats, and yet…it still wasn’t enough.
Her grandmother’s words came back to her now. You aren’t like me, child. You won’t do what needs to be done.
Was this what was needed to be done? Pledging herself to one monster to stop another?
The brother with the sword took a step forward, a smile curling the corner of his mouth. “We’re going to wipe your town off the map, witch. First you and your coven, then all of Carman.” He smiled, crooked and horrifying. “And then the whole damn country. Ireland will burn for what it’s done to her.”
Meiner glanced around, frantic. Her gaze fell on the symbol on the wall, which seemed to be illuminated by the rays of the setting sun creeping through the window. Her hand was still wet with Gran’s blood. It would be easy to press her fingers into the tiles, to trace the simple, clean lines of the rune.
She glanced over at her grandmother, half expecting to see her glaring up at her, only to find her slumped on the ground, unmoving.
Die alone, or pledge herself to a dark god. Save them all.
Lose her soul.
Become her grandmother.
No.
There was nothing but a fork within reach, and Meiner snatched it up, head spinning. Dubh paused and looked at the fork, brows raised.
He was about to move again, and Meiner braced herself—fork or no fork she was going to fight him—and then there came a distant thud from outside, the sound of a door slamming. The brothers jerked in surprise, and Dubh tilted his head, eyes wide. Then he looked back at the one with the long hair. “Too much magic,” he muttered. “Let’s go.”
The long-haired brother looked like he was going to protest, and then he jerked suddenly, fishing into his pocket to pull out his phone. Whatever was on the screen made him smile, wide and horrible, the sight made even more macabre by the blood gushing down his front. “Fine. We’ve got to get to Newgrange before sunset anyway, and I want to make a stopover first.”
Meiner stared at them, unable to look away from the ghastly spectacle they made. Dead men walking. She felt hollow with shock as they moved for the sliding door at the back of the kitchen. They were walking away, leaving a wide trail of glistening blood in their wake.
The one with the sword, Dubh, stooped down to pick up the silver box, cradling it in his palm with a nasty smile. “I told you I’d be back to get this when you took it from me all those years ago.” His grin stretched wider, into a snarl, and he shoved the box into his pocket. “I win, witch.”
The door banged shut and then the brothers were gone.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
DAYNA
The moment she walked through the door, she knew things weren’t going to go well. Fiona was waiting for her in the hallway, arms crossed over her chest. The woman had on a bathrobe and her hair looked tangled, as though she hadn’t washed or brushed it in days. The back of her neck was already prickling as she stepped in and eyed Fiona warily.
“Where is he?”
“There you are.” Fiona’s dark eyes were wider than they should have been, her pupils dilated, like she’d ingested large amounts of caffeine. Dayna took a step back toward the door, clutching her bag beneath her arm. The edge of the leather book dug into the top of her rib cage. She regretted saying she’d hold on to it.
“Where’s Dad?” She edged around Fiona and moved down the hall into the kitchen. Empty. “He sent me a text.”
“I’m afraid he didn’t.” Fiona’s voice from behind her was a hiss, and alarm sparked along the surface of Dayna’s skin, raising the fine hairs on her arms. The woman’s cheeks were flushed, eyes wide and feverish.
A split-second decision was all it took. Her father wasn’t here, he hadn’t texted her, and she wasn’t going to stay here. Fiona wasn’t safe right now.
She was turning for the door when Fiona lunged.
Dayna gasped, scrambling back into the cupboards. Her mother’s hands were claws, wildly grasping for her hair and clothes, scratching her face.
“Stop! What the hell are you doing?” Dayna’s arms shot out, the heels of her hands connecting with her mother’s shoulders, sending the woman stumbling.
“I know you’ve got it!” With a savage scream Fiona regained her balance and barreled forward. Dayna felt her book bag wrestled from under her arm and Fiona shrieked, hands swiping through the air as she grabbed for it.
“You stole it. You’re monsters, all of you!”
Dayna watched in horror as Fiona pulled the leather book from the bag, holding it out triumphantly. “Give me that!” Dayna lunged for the book, and Fiona jumped back, eyes glittering. One of Dayna’s hands closed over the cover, and Fiona yanked it away. There was a tearing sound as the book was wrenched open, and several pages floated to the ground.
Fiona gathered the book in her arms, cradling it against her chest. “I know what you are.”
Dayna was no longer paying attention. She had gone still, frozen.
One of the papers had landed faceup on the floor, revealing a colorful illustration. The top was inscribed with The Morrigan, and underneath were three women in black robes.
The one on the right was stooped with age, her face lined, her eyes glittering black. She held a delicate, twisting hourglass made of crystal. To her left stood a dark-haired woman, laugh lines at her eyes, a smile on her lips. There was a large, hook-beaked bird on her shoulder, a raven. Standing on her other side was the youngest woman. Her gaze was faraway, fixed on something in the distance, crimson lips set in a firm line. In her hands she held a long, slender sword, the point tipped toward the earth.
The picture was striking, but it was not the artwork that made Dayna stare in shock. Ignoring her mother’s frenzied muttering, she stooped to pick the paper up.
She knew the picture, or at least, what it represented. The mother, the maiden, and the crone. But what made her heart stop in her chest were their faces, so finely detailed, so artfully painted. So familiar.
It felt like a bolt of lightning had pierced her core, had lit her up from the inside out and crystallized her bones like sand. This wasn’t possible.
The mother, the maiden, and the crone. Her mentors. Her coven members. Her family, staring up at her from the page.
The Callighans.
She remembered the way the black scrawled writing had looked against the wallpaper. The name that had been next. Morrigan. The Morrigan.
The Callighans were next on the list.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
DAYNA
She had to tell them. Had to let them know they were in danger.
Reagan was still waiting for her in the driveway, Dayna thought. She would run out and they’d drive straight to the coven house. Dayna turned on her heel, blood pounding in her ears, and then stopped, shocked.