Page 10

CHAPTER 9

N arissa hated her aunt’s home.

The place was filled with the ghosts of her victims, with the primary one being Narissa’s mother, Doreen. There had been many instances she’d wanted to seek her revenge and end Odessa’s life for what she’d done, but it would require her inner Siren to accomplish the task. If she managed so grisly a feat, she risked turning into the one thing she despised—a Succubus.

Like Odessa.

“What are you doing here, you ungrateful bitch?”

Narissa glanced at the top of the stairs where her aunt lurked with one fist clenched on her hip and the other leaning heavily on her cane. The woman appeared more frail than the last time they’d met, but she didn’t have the resources to steal magic like she’d once had. Still, as an enemy, Odessa couldn’t be discounted. Narissa, better than anyone, understood that looks were deceiving.

Shoving away her glumness over Creed, she stepped farther into the foyer.

“Well, ain’t that the well-seasoned cast-iron skillet calling the kettle black, Auntie O?”

“What do you want ?” Odessa’s clipped words were laced with fury.

Narissa smiled at a job well done. Any chance for a dig, she’d take, especially if it meant the older woman might suffer a sudden stroke and end a chronic headache for the rest of the Sullivans.

“I’d hoped you might impart a little knowledge about a particular object.”

A crafty light entered Odessa’s cold eyes. “I give nothing away for free, as you well know.”

“No, ma’am. You’ll provide the information I seek, or it’ll be Damian Dethridge asking the next time.”

The hatred on her aunt’s face turned her dissipated visage downright ugly. “You like to hide behind the shield of his name, don’t you? Foolish child! He’ll turn on you just like he does everyone, eventually.”

“Well, bless your heart. You honestly believe that, don’t you?” Narissa tsked. “Poor dear.”

Odessa slapped the tip of her cane on the floorboards. “Don’t you mock me in my own home, girl. I still hold power here.”

“Power that you stole from others,” Narissa snapped. “Don’t think you’re not on the Authority’s watchlist. Step out of line one more time, and they’ll execute you without remorse.”

Although she paled, Odessa lifted her chin. “I don’t give a fig for the Authority or the sycophants who work for them.”

“Namely me?” Narissa taunted.

“Namely you.”

They’d never gotten on, and their hatred of each other was one of the things that drove her to run away from the mother and sister she’d loved at such a young age. The oppressive atmosphere was impossible to bear.

“The feeling’s mutual, you old sow. But I don’t have time for your games. Fintan is suffering.”

Odessa’s beady eyes narrowed further. “Fintan?”

“Yes, you remember your nephew, no? The only other survivor of your siblings’ children? No? Doesn’t ring a bell?”

“I know who Fintan is, ya disrespectful shite! And don’t be layin’ the deaths of other Sullivans at my feckin’ door!”

Narissa grinned. “Careful, Auntie O. Your Irish is showing. We both know how much you hate that.”

Odessa had cultivated a British accent in her youth, hoping to appear more refined. She’d always hated that her siblings refused to do the same. But she’d outlived them all—Doreen, Megan, Finelia, and Peter. A few of whom she’d murdered. As far as Narissa knew, the only Sullivans left were Fintan, Brenna, and her, if one didn’t count their odious aunt. And she didn’t trust that Odessa wouldn’t kill them if given half a chance.

Her aunt stepped forward as if to descend the stairs.

“Stay put,” Narissa ordered. “You’re not getting access to the ley lines. I’m in charge here.”

Ley lines—the invisible pathways between ancient and mystical sites—held great power. Two of which crossed directly below Odessa’s home. The Sullivan estate in Ireland boasted seven intersecting lines, which gave Fintan his early warning system should someone step on the grounds.

“I need my medication,” Odessa said in a shaky voice.

“Nice try. I happen to know you carry it on you, and you’re not due for another thirty minutes or more. Right, Mama?” Narissa turned her head to acknowledge her mother’s spirit standing beside Odessa.

Doreen beamed at her. “You’ve the right of it, Nari, my love.”

“Just say what you intend to say and get out of my home!” Odessa shouted.

The force behind her voice was as strong as a sonic boom, and had Narissa not been a Siren, her eardrums would’ve shattered.

“Tsk, tsk. Control that temper, Auntie O. I’m not here to say anything. I’m here to learn what you know about the bloody stone necklace.” Her misuse of the name was intentional. If indeed Odessa knew what it was, she would show her superiority over another’s ignorance. But if she didn’t know, then there was nothing further to be gained from lingering about, and Narissa could get back to her family.

“Bloodstone’s,” her aunt corrected. “The first Siren, and a mighty Incubus.”

Narissa’s stomach dropped.

Odessa was involved.

* * *

Fintan urged Taryn to her feet and rose to stand beside her. Her confusion was normal in the face of his reaction to Odessa. She’d not been privy to his visions, and he doubted she understood what his aunt was capable of.

“I need to go after her,” he said, dreading the fact already. Nothing good ever came with setting foot in that cursed house of his aunt’s. Many never made it out alive.

“Not alone, you don’t,” she said, stubborn chin in the air.

“I’ll not argue with you, Taryn-Taryn. Stay here with the others. If I’m not back in thirty minutes, call the Aether and send him to Odessa’s.”

Fear lit her glorious eyes, and she shook her head. “I don’t like it. You’re too weak.”

“I’ve a way to supercharge, so don’t be worryin’ about me, yeah?” But he fucking loved she still did.

Taryn shot Brenna a frustrated look. “A little help here, please.”

“I agree with Taryn, Fin. Can you please take someone with you?”

“Other than another Sullivan, no one is strong enough to fight a Succubus.” He shook his head. “It has to be me, all the same.”

Creed stood. “I’ll go.”

“No offense, man, but you’re as useless as tits on a bull in a fight with her. Ya don’t understand what she’s capable of.”

“I’m stealthy, and she won’t expect me.”

“Like here, ley lines run under her house,” Brenna said. “She’ll know if you approach.”

Eoin frowned. “Where did ya learn that, love? You didn’t know what a Siren was two years ago.”

“Gran’s diary. The one she left for me has it all.” She tilted her head as if trying to recall something. “She may have mentioned that necklace, come to think of it. Wait while I get it.”

She was gone in a blink, but Fintan didn’t have time to spare. The pressing need to get to Narissa was overwhelming his senses, making him dizzy. If he didn’t get to her soon, the consequences would be dire.

“Send Brenna and Damian if I’m not back,” he instructed Creed. “Don’t come yourself.”

Taryn latched onto his arm. “Fintan. Please, wait for her. That book might have something useful.”

Sweat broke out on his forehead. He grew clammy, and his skin felt too tight for his body.

“I can’t. I’ve got to leave right now.” After prying her fingers from his arm, he lifted her hand and nipped her fingertips. “It’s good to know ya still care, all the same.”

“Pfft.” But her expressive eyes said she did.

Leaning in, he claimed her mouth for a brief kiss. It was unsatisfying in its briefness because he couldn’t spirit her away to his bedroom as his inner Siren demanded. Leaning close, he whispered, “Take care of yourself, Taryn-Taryn. I’d be wrecked if anything happened to you.”

After brushing his knuckles along her jaw, he teleported away.

* * *

“This is bad. Like an asteroid two hours from striking Earth bad,” Taryn said.

Fintan’s brief show of affection had scrambled her brain, and she was nowhere near figuring out his new about-face. For the last few years, if they’d managed to find themselves in the same room, he’d practically hiss like a vampire encountering sunlight before bolting from the room.

She was developing a complex.

But the more pressing matter was his following Narissa into a precarious situation with no intel or backup. Fintan wasn’t a spontaneous guy. From what little she knew about him these days, he preferred guidelines and a carefully crafted plan.

“Yeah, I don’t have a great feeling about this. You?” Creed asked Eoin.

“No.”

Taryn dropped onto the seat cushion, yelped from the small electrical shock she received, and popped back up. “What the… Holy fuckballs! He left the necklace! Why would he do that?”

“We don’t know how it works, and he’s strong enough without it,” Creed assured her.

“But it’s unprotected here. What if whoever is after me guesses we’re alone and comes looking for it?”

“Who’s after you?” Eoin demanded.

“We don’t know,” Creed said with a grimace as he scooted to the edge of his seat and reached for a tea cake. “It’s a Fintan thing.”

Eoin nodded as if it made sense, and perhaps for these two, it did. As for Taryn, she was less inclined to be blasé about someone wanting to end her life.

“When has he been wrong? Is he ever wrong?” she asked. It wasn’t easy to keep the nerves out of her voice. When a fairly trustworthy psychic predicts a dire event, one should take heed.

Creed looked as if he were considering her question, but Eoin wasn’t concerned.

“They’d have to go through the two of us to get you, love,” he said, indicating Creed and himself. Brenna reentered the room. “Make that three of us.”

“I’m not worried for myself,” Taryn lied. “I just feel this necklace shouldn’t fall into the wrong hands. Based on my research…”

“Sorry to cut you off”—Brenna waved the journal—“but Gran mentions Bloodstone.”

“Where were you when I was deep-diving into its history?” Taryn patted the sofa next to her. “Quick, tell me what she wrote.”

“Like the Seer ability, it passes to the only male heir. My grand-uncle, Peter, should’ve been the last to own it before Fintan.” Brenna scanned the pages as she spoke. “According to Gran, it amps up the male Siren’s magic, but she’s not certain how. Other than the Witches’ War, Peter never needed to use it. But she wrote that even then, he couldn’t get it to work.”

“Witches’ War? That was forever ago. How did the thing end up at a garage sale?”

Brenna gaped at her. “That’s where you found it?”

“Yes. I sensed the magic straight away, so I purchased it and took it to Damian.” Taryn glanced between the others and shrugged. It was curious she was able to touch it the first few times, but maybe once its owner had reclaimed it, the stupid thing turned temperamental. “Damian looked, but refused to touch it. He said I needed to speak with Fintan, and I assumed he didn’t know its significance.”

Creed scoffed. “The man is hundreds of years old, serving as the balance between the magical and non-magical communities. If he said he didn’t know, he’s lying.”

Racking her brain, Taryn attempted to recall. “If I remember correctly, he didn’t actually say he didn’t know. His words were along the lines of, ‘You should contact Fintan Sullivan.’”

Brenna laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Taryn demanded.

With casual innocence that fooled no one, Brenna studied the food tray and picked out a macaron. Before taking a delicate bite, she dropped her bombshell. “Whenever Damian or Alastair Thorne seeks to match people they care about, they pull the same trick.”

Taryn groaned. Of course! Beneath those austere exteriors, the two men were romantics at heart. Damian’s matchmaking would be sweet if the result weren’t going to be so freaking tragic. One would think that an Aether able to see the future wouldn’t be inclined to set her up for certain heartache.

“They’re wasting their time. Fintan doesn’t care about me,” she said, trying to sound less woe-is-me and more practical.

“That’s not what I witnessed,” Creed said. “Not then. Not now. Our boy is crazy about you.”

“You’ve heard the saying ‘actions speak louder than words,’ right?” She waited for his nod. “Well, his actions scream ‘back the fuck off’ at every turn.”

A pained expression flashed across his handsome visage. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

She shrugged and eyed the lemon macarons with regret. There was no time to enjoy her favorite cookies.

“I have to find him and bring him the necklace. I have a feeling he’s going to need it.”

“You’ll wait right feckin’ here like he asked you to do.” Eoin shot her a no-nonsense look. “We live with the man, and I’ll not be subjected to his bad-tempered ways.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” she grumbled. But she didn’t argue like she wanted to. Mainly because it wasn’t fair to subject Brenna and him to Fintan’s Grumbly Gus routine. “Okay, fine. But if they don’t return within the allotted thirty minutes, we call Damian and rain hellfire down on Odessa. Agreed?”