Haunting Embrace (35 page)

Less than an hour later, they’d brought
The Angel
to port and once again had their feet on dry land. Another storm had trailed the sun across the sky and now hovered dark and tumultuous above them as they trekked across the rocky terrain toward the lighthouse. Rumbling warnings and sharp blades of lightning urged them to move faster. Áedán said nothing as he eyed the churning banks of clouds, but Meaghan could feel his misgivings moving in the damp, electric air.

At last they crested the rise over the cliffs of Fennore and stood looking down at the lighthouse braced like a lone sentry against a battalion of wind and sea.

They rang the seaman’s bell and Jamie opened the door without a flicker of surprise, making her wonder if somehow he’d expected them. The idea of it made her shiver with that same menacing chill that had taunted her earlier. She hoped she was right in trusting these men.

Silently Jamie led the way upstairs to the round room where they’d met the first time. “I’m making sandwiches. Hungry?” he asked when they stood awkwardly beside the big wood table.

“Sandwiches?” Áedán repeated with a shocked expression. Meaghan felt the bite of his suspicion. Did he think Jamie intended to poison them?

“I’m starving and we’d love a sandwich, thank you,” she said when Jamie paused and eyed Áedán with equal distrust.

The tense moment stretched for a beat, and then with a grunt, Jamie moved to the kitchen.

“Can I help?” Meaghan asked.

“Naw. Sit down. I’ll be with you in a minute,” he said gruffly.

Jamie went into the kitchen while Meaghan and Áedán took seats and waited. Áedán surveyed his surroundings as if he expected wraiths to materialize in the shadows of the lighthouse, but he said nothing.

“You know what I miss?” Jamie said awhile later as he approached the table with three plates in his hands. “Skippy Super Chunk peanut butter.”

Meaghan smiled. Áedán did not.

“My mom used to make us a peanut butter sandwich every day. We couldn’t afford anything else. I got so I couldn’t even stand the smell. And now that’s all I want. Fucking Skippy peanut butter. I asked for it at the market, and they looked at me like I’d asked for minced baby pie.”

“Where are the others?” Áedán interrupted, impatient with small talk.

Jamie seemed mildly amused by Áedán’s agitation and answered without rancor. “Eamonn’s lurking around with his Chihuahua looking for a squeak toy or some shit.”

Jamie’s joke was lost on Áedán, but Meaghan bit back a smirk.

He returned to the kitchen for a pitcher of iced tea and glasses. After he’d poured, he took a seat, gave Meaghan a wink, and started on his sandwich. Meaghan took a bite of hers, found she hadn’t been lying about being starved, and ate with gusto. From the corner of her eyes, she watched Áedán sample his sandwich and chew with obvious—reluctant—enjoyment.

Jamie swallowed a huge bite and said, “I don’t know where Kyle is,” picking up on the conversation as if there hadn’t been a pause. “He went somewhere last night and didn’t get back until late, and then this morning, he was up and gone before the sun rose.”

“Is that normal for him?” Áedán asked.

“He’s an early riser. Likes to commune with nature and God in the quiet hours. I get that. I like to run before the world starts to stir. But he’s got a bug up his ass about something. Didn’t say more than three words yesterday and two of those were
fuck off
.”

“Kyle?”
Meaghan exclaimed with disbelief. She couldn’t picture the soft-spoken man speaking that way. “Was something wrong?”

Jamie shrugged. “PMS maybe.”

“What is it, PMS?” Áedán asked her.

“A joke. He means Kyle has been moody.” To Jamie, she said, “Kyle came to see me last night. He wanted to talk about the Book.”

“Kyle thinks your man here has more than a few secrets he’s not sharing.”

“Why?” Áedán asked, surprising him.

“None of us saw you before—in the world of Fennore. That’s one. But there’s more than that. There’s something about you that the both of us feel. Can’t put a label on it, but it’s there. Kyle thinks you’re the Druid.”

Jamie said it casually, but his eyes were laser sharp as they watched Áedán’s reaction.

Áedán looked at Meaghan for a long, considering moment, and then before she could anticipate what he was about to do, he pushed back his sleeve and showed Jamie the marking on his arm.

“I am the Druid.”

Meaghan nearly choked on her sandwich. She’d talked Áedán into coming, but she hadn’t expected that he would give up his secrets so easily and so completely.

“Thought as much. Mind telling me what you’re doing here?” Jamie answered calmly.

“I believe I am here for Meaghan.”

This caught both Jamie and Meaghan by surprise. Meaghan had begun to believe it herself, but she’d never thought Áedán would confess such a thing, especially to Jamie. And what did it mean, his being there for her? To exact his revenge? Or to finally right the wrongs of the past?

Jamie said, “There was a prophecy that I was told before we got out of the Book’s twisted world. It said that one day the Druid would walk the earth and bring havoc to all who lived here.”

“And did this prophecy mention Cathán?” Áedán asked softly.

“Not that I know of.”

At that moment, Eamonn came in the room with his wolf at his side and stopped at the sight of Áedán and Meaghan sitting at the table, eating sandwiches with Jamie.

“There’s ham in the kitchen,” Jamie offered, as if this were a casual conversation that didn’t concern Druids and unspeakable consequences.

Eamonn moved to the bench where he’d sat the day before, muttering, “Not hungry,” under his breath.

Áedán gave Eamonn a long, considering glance and then turned back to the fierce black man who watched him with equal attention. “I believe the prophecy you speak of has come to pass, but like any prophecy, it only tells of one possible outcome. No one could have predicted the twist of fate that has brought us to this point. Even I could not have guessed the chaos Cathán would bring. He is here, now. He is moving among us.”

“I’ve felt the bastard,” Jamie said with a wary nod.

“I have felt him as well. He is stronger than I ever was. He is more powerful than I had ever dreamed. And he is not satisfied with jumping from victim to victim. He wants total control.”

“Over?”

“Everything. Everyone.”

“Can he get it?”

Jamie hid his fear well, but Meaghan saw the telltale signs that revealed his agitation. His fingers drummed the table, his jaw clenched and unclenched.

“I believe so,” Áedán answered darkly. “This morning at the Ballaghs’ house, I felt him in my head. It was like a homing signal. I couldn’t do anything but respond. When I came to myself again, I saw this on my arm. Each moment since, it has grown in size and darkened. Eventually it might cover my entire being. I cannot know what will happen to me then. All I do know is that Cathán did this to
me.
What he could do to someone . . .
normal
is inconceivable.”

Jamie cursed under his breath. Eamonn made a noise in his throat that sounded suspiciously like a growl.

“I heard his voice, too,” Meaghan said. “It came from a place so deep inside my brain that it was hard to distinguish it from my own thoughts. When he called Áedán—it was terrifying.”

“If Meaghan had not been there with me, I would have followed his bidding. She kept me from going to him.”

Jamie eyed her. “That true?”

“Yes.”

“What about this business with Mickey Ballagh? Folks are saying Áedán killed him.”

“It was not me. It was Hoyt O’Shea.”

“Hoyt?” Meaghan exclaimed. “How do you know? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t know until I saw him this morning. Last night I followed Mickey to the Pier House, and I sensed the power of the Book in the room, but I could not pinpoint the source. I felt that it had found a new victim, but I couldn’t be certain. Then today I saw Hoyt. I saw
it
.”

“In his eyes,” Jamie said. “He had Cathán’s eyes.”

Áedán gave one nod.

“But why kill Mickey?” Eamonn asked, speaking for the first time. “What has he to do with this mess?”

“Hoyt never liked Mickey,” Áedán answered. “I suspect he was jealous of what he felt was the good fortune that Mickey had. Mickey’s wife is lovely and sweet while Hoyt’s is a slovenly shrew. Mickey stumbled over me like a gift from the fairies and got me to work for him for nothing. Hoyt struggles each day to fill his nets.”

Áedán paused and they waited in silence for him to continue.

“When a man—or woman—comes to the Book of Fennore, they come pleading their case. My guess is that Hoyt asked for power over Mickey. Cathán gave it.”

“To what end?” Jamie demanded.

“To eliminate me. If I am rotting in prison for the crime of murder, Cathán will find me and . . .”

“And?” Meaghan breathed.

“And I would be at his mercy—you saw what he did when he summoned me this morning. Without you there, I would be his slave.”

“Fuck,” Jamie muttered.

Áedán went on. “The prophecy did not tell you that the Book is a being as well as a vessel. When I was imprisoned by it, our power worked in tandem. Each time I took from my victims, we shared the spoils. The entity is in some ways the soul of the Book, and it wants what I wanted, what Cathán wants—to be free of its bindings. But the entity of the Book cannot simply leave it. If it could, it would have done so eons ago. The Book must take a prisoner and work through him. Once I was that prisoner. I was its hostage. For millennia I was alone there. I ceased to think of myself as separate from the Book. I began to consider its strength, my strength. I thought myself indivisible and invincible.”

“Godlike,” Jamie said.

“In every way,” Áedán admitted and Meaghan saw a dark flush creep up his neck. “I forgot what it meant to be human, to be a man.”

With these words, his gaze lingered on Meaghan, and she felt the heat of it warming the cold places that tried to settle inside her.

“When Cathán was sucked into the Book of Fennore with me, he became a disease that wiped out everything that was mine. His presence released me from my chains and then . . . then I was . . . ejected.”

“By Cathán,” Jamie said slowly, as if processing everything Áedán said in small, digestible chunks.

“No.” Áedán looked at Meaghan. “By you,” he said softly. “You did not leave me there when you escaped.”

Jamie mumbled something under his breath, as if he were remembering the world of Fennore and understood Áedán’s words. Meaghan thought back. Áedán had been unconscious in the chaos of those final moments. She hadn’t known at the time who or what he was. She’d known only that he had helped her and she had to help him. She couldn’t leave him in that nightmare. And so when she’d felt herself being pried free and thrown out of it—ejected, as he said—she’d gathered his unconscious form to her and . . . taken him with her.

Now, she stared into his eyes and felt a swirl of gratitude mixed with a surge of fear coming from him—not fear of her, but fear
for
her. He was worried that in saving him, she had condemned herself.

“You said you got here a week before her,” Eamonn accused.

“And that’s true. But when speaking of the Book of Fennore and all it encompasses, time is rarely linear. Your presence here is statement to that.”

Jamie made a sound that managed to convey anger, confusion, and frustration all at once. It spoke more clearly than words.

Áedán went on. “The point is that I could not have escaped—aided or otherwise—if Cathán had not been there to take my place. Make no mistake about it: The Book of Fennore is not an object. It lives and breathes and it
wants.
It requires its slave. It demands total submission. Cathán did not realize this, I think, until it was too late. Now he knows. During the time we shared that world, he and I . . . brushed against each other’s consciousness. He learned from me and I learned from him. I saw the black pit of his soulless being, and he saw the pit of mine. He believes I have the knowledge he needs to escape.”

“Do you?” Jamie demanded.

“No.”

A weighted pause followed and each of them absorbed that response and what it meant.

“So we’re screwed?” Jamie asked.

Now the wash of Áedán’s emotions tasted bitter and anguished. They hit Meaghan with the force of the tide and pulled her into his despair.

“I wish I had killed the bastard the first day I saw him,” Eamonn interrupted in a voice so deep and harsh it sounded kin to the low growl of his wolf. “Because of him, I lost everything. My mother. My father. My brothers and sister. My
life.
He came to us from the future, and every single day I go out and search for him, thinking I might find the man he was before . . . before the Book. Before the bloodshed. I will keep looking until I hold him beneath my blade. And then I will slaughter him like he slaughtered so many of my own. I will prevent him from ever finding the Book.”

“You can’t change the past,” Jamie said angrily.

“Yes, you can. We do it now without even trying,” Áedán answered. “However, it is a dangerous game.”

“I don’t care,” Eamonn said. “I
will
find him.”

“Well, you’ll have a long wait, Eamonn,” Meaghan said calmly. “Cathán hasn’t even been born yet.”

All eyes turned to her, and Meaghan felt the crash of shock raining down on her.

“How do you know that?” Jamie asked.

“Brion MacGrath is his father,” Áedán answered softly.

“And Marga is his wife,” Meaghan finished. “His
pregnant
wife. She’s due in a few months.”

Eamonn stood so suddenly his wolf startled and turned on him with a snarl. When the beast realized only his master stood behind him, the lips uncurled and the fur smoothed, but the animal still looked wild and vicious. Like Meaghan, the animal felt his fury.

Eamonn said something in a language Meaghan did not understand, and Áedán answered him in the same tongue. The words sounded urgent. Angry. Then, without explanation, Eamonn and his wolf stalked from the room. They heard his footsteps on the stairs, and then the front door slammed shut.