The voices zipped through him, so real he almost turned around. His grandfather. His father. His buddies. All chanting.
“Bring Brigid back. Bring Brigid back.”
Had he said that out loud?
“Griffin, I’m back. I’m your Brigid.” the woman said, her voice swaying in a seductive lilt. “Don’t you recognize me?”
Was this a trick question? The woman didn’t look remotely like Brigid. She was dressed in black feathers, with a tiara of black thorns, and bits of coal spiking through the waves of her hair.
Another drop of sweat dripped over her visage, but she didn’t blink.
The knife shook in his hand, quivering to slash at her neck and finish the job. The problem was, he had no clue what Brigid was supposed to look like.
“Griffin, put the knife down and let us talk,” the woman said. “I’m your friend. Believe me. I care about you. You had a seizure, and you’re disoriented.”
“I know exactly who I am,” he said. “I’m Griffin Gallagher, Guardian of the Stone.”
“Yes, you are,” the woman dressed in black said. “I am your Brigid. I know you remember me. We spent many lives together. Surely, you know that.”
“If you’re Brigid, prove it.” He lowered the knife and placed it near her throat, figuring fear would compel her to tell the truth.
He couldn’t let anyone know how confused he was. Never. To show that would undo him and his family. He was in control, and he would show the world his mettle.
“Tee hee, tee, hee, tsee-hee-he-hee,” the woman’s voice warbled like a tiny bird. She lifted her fingers and stroked his face, lingering at the hollow under his jaw, tickling him. “Do you hear the fairy night songs? The tiny chime, the harp strings tinkling, and the pitter patter of dancing feet? The fluttering of wings and the trickling of water over smooth, shiny pebbles?”
He didn’t want to admit he heard nothing but the rusty grate of his pulse and the dull thud of his heart.
“I hear something,” he muttered.
“It’ll help if you close your eyes,” she said. “Relax your muscles. Lie down next to me and put your hand on my side. Feel the rhythm of my breathing and calm your heart.”
“If I close my eyes, how do I know you won’t fly away, little fairy. You’re full of tricks, and you steal men’s souls.”
“I would never steal yours, Griffin Gallagher. Yours is too big and strong to fritter away. It’s solid like an immense boulder, immovable and vast, as large as a planet, hard, dense, and yet so full of light.” Her voice was as soothing as cool mist over a raw sunburn.
“I won’t close my eyes,” he said. “But I will lie down next to you and listen. You say you’re my friend. Tell me why I should believe you.”
He set the edge of the knife over her shoulder and held onto it lightly. He wouldn’t let his guard down, but at the same time, he was curious.
Besides, the thought of harming a creature who wasn’t fighting him seemed unfair. Had the other voices really meant for him to shed her blood? Was there a way to do it without cutting her?
He didn’t dare look around, but he couldn’t help noticing a skeleton wearing a torn and tattered bridal gown lying behind the black-feathered creature. The skeleton’s wig was half-off her skull, and a sparkling tiara lay on the pillow.
Was that another sacrifice that hadn’t worked out? If so, he’d better tread carefully. Not kill anyone until he knew the score for sure.
The spritely woman touched his lips and smiled. “Let everything go. There is no past. No future. No time. Be in the moment. Make this moment count. Calm your mind and draw it out.”
How could he possibly be calm when he had less than fifteen minutes to complete his destiny? To do the only destiny he and his family had guarded? Why was she telling him to draw out the moment, when time was so precious?
“Oohhhahhhhh …” she hummed. “Ooohhhaaaah, ahhh, oooh …”
Incredibly, her voice was accompanied by tiny petals of music scampering like dancing leaves across a windblown meadow. Was he supposed to be hearing this? Had he already time-traveled back to the realm of the Tuatha Dé Danann?
He perked his ears to more fully embrace the hauntingly pretty musical fairies flitting and darting in accompaniment to her cooing.
The woman’s beauty was mesmerizing enough, and her voice hypnotic like a well-played chord. It lingered without fading, and he let his attention focus on nothing and everything without trying to understand.
He was. She was. They were. In the moment.
A long moment without time.
Her song ended, and he was no longer bothered by the raw scrape of his pulse or the hammer marks of his heart. Instead, a chorus of balmy voices bathed over his bruised and aching body, lifting his mind and consciousness over a horizon of splendorous colors and lilting shapes.
The redheaded goddess was singing in the old language. The one which had been lost in the hills and vales of old Éireann, in the mist of time when fairy and humans lived together in harmony.
Ripples of water strolled over glassy lakes and brightened dark pools. The ancient knowledge filtered through both of their hearts. They were destined by faith and fate to be together—joined by a stone, to bring back wonder and love from beneath the depths of time.
Griffin put the knife down on the bed and took the woman’s hand. “Where is the stone which joins me to you?”
The corners of her mouth stretched slowly into a smile. “I’m wearing it over my heart. It is bright and radiates with our love. It holds my fairy essence.”
She pulled a chain from between the cone-shaped armor which covered her breasts.
Griffin palmed the egg-shaped stone and lifted it to the diffuse, lambent light in the chamber. “How do I free you to become what you’re meant to be?”
“Believe it is my heart,” the woman said. “Believe I am the one meant for you. The one who loved you before time existed. The one who waited for you through the long, dreary centuries. I was once yours, and together we rode over green hills, crossed sparkling streams, climbed craggy mountain peaks, and sailed rough and angry seas. We loved, we lived, we burned with the fire of love, but we were unlucky. We lost the Heart, this diamond in the rough. We allowed it to be taken from us, to disintegrate its crystals, to darken and hide its meaning. We let ambition and lust overpower our love.”
“How do we get it back?” Griffin placed the stone against her cheek. “I want to believe you because what you paint sounds so glorious, so tempting, so lulling, so false.”
“False? Why?”
He pointed at the skeleton lying on the bed behind her. “Who is she? How long has she been lying here? Something must have gone wrong with her.”
“She is not me,” the woman declared. “That’s why she’s all bone and no life, and I’m here with you, Griffin, in flesh and blood. I’m the one you want. The one you need, and I’m the one who gives you luck.”
He once again had a flash of vision. “Will you at this point restore Ireland?”
“Ireland has always been restored. It may be the land of many people, but it is vibrant, alive, full of vigor and energy. The songs of many voices rise over her hills, and the beating of many hearts rejoice around her enchanted lakes.” She took his hand. “Why don’t we walk out of this chamber of death and see the real Ireland?”
“Who are you? What’s your name? Can I believe you?” His heart wanted to take that leap, but the entire line of Gallaghers was counting on him. He could not shame them.
“I could tell you I’m Brigid O’Brien,” the woman said. “And you might believe me because I sang to you, and we dreamed together on top of your castle walls. I could tell you I’m the Morrigan, the keeper of your nightmares and the one who’d burn your heart like a lump of coal. I could even give you a bunch of blarney on how I’m the changeling possessed by the goddess Brigid, but I would only be feeding into your delusions, so no, I won’t tell you anything but the truth.”
“Then
I’ll believe the truth.”
“Kiss me, and the truth would come to you without my telling you.”
He let the stone drop on the chain until it rested against her chest where it belonged.
Her mouth was as alluring as a blooming rose, and starlight shone in her gem-green eyes. A sprinkling of freckles danced on her upturned nose, and her cheeks blushed pink.
Griffin leaned in and kissed her. It was like inhaling sweet nectar. He lightly sucked on her lower lip, then exchanged pecks with her, darting his tongue around hers.
A lightness overcame him, and he felt like he was floating on a cloud with her. He let his fingers glide through her hair, and his hands caress her smooth skin. She was definitely solid, enticing, flesh, and her veins pulsed with life.
And suddenly, he needed to know her name. Needed to feel he’d always known her. He needed her to acknowledge him, but he couldn’t let her know he’d forgotten.
He kissed her with all he had, and he closed his eyes, letting go of all fears and doubts, distilling the moment into a series of leisurely kisses, knowing that he’d never let this moment pass.
And then.
He heard the music.
Chapter 32
He didn’t remember her.
Clare blinked to hold back the tears gathered under her eyelids. She’d hoped the kisses would awaken his senses and enlighten him, but even though he kissed her with vigor, and she could feel the effort he put into it, she was firmly grounded into the current reality—not transported to a magical realm or filled with a symphony of colorful creations.
She sighed and broke the kiss in mid-air.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, blinking nervously.
“I wish you well, Griffin Gallagher.” She caressed his grizzled cheek. “Have you no memory of me?”
The look on his face was intense with clouds of emotion Clare could not decipher.
“I may not know your name,” he said. “But I know you are the one the stone speaks of. You are the woman of my heart. The one I will grow to love.”
He had no clue who she was, and what memories they’d already shared. But at least, he bought the story—that she was the one who would restore Ireland and reign at his side as his lover. She could count this as a gain, but could she live with knowing he didn’t truly know her, and therefore couldn’t possibly love the real Clare Hart?
“Let’s leave this underground bunker and go find your grandfather.” She sat up on the bed. “You should also let your doctor know you’ve had another seizure.”
“All that is a distraction.” He waved his hand at the surroundings. “I want to spend more time with you. Moment by moment. Don’t you believe each moment is precious?”
“I do believe that.” A pang of grief pierced her along with the acknowledgment that he’d lost the special moments she’d had with him—less than twenty-four hours ago.
A series of sharp raps sounded at the door.
“Griffin, have you finished the transformation?” Seamus’s heavy voice resounded into the bedchamber.
“Yes, I have my Brigid,” Griffin said, standing up and beaming at Clare with pride.
“We’re coming in,” Mack said. The lock clicked, and the door handle jiggled.
Clare leaped from the bed, rushed to the door, and shoved against it. “How dare you barge into the marriage chamber of a fairy queen? Leave us!”
“Sorry, no can do,” Seamus said. “We are G.E.M.S. Guardians of Éireann. We need to make sure the changeling is gone, and the real Brigid is restored.”
“Ireland is green again,” Clare said. “Why don’t you go up and take a look? Buds are sprouting; flowers are blooming. The waters sparkle clear and clean, and the air is sweet with the scent of spring.”
A clanging of cowbells sounded from above, and a part of female voices reverberated into the tunnel.
“Seamus and Mack, Seamus and Mack.” Two musical voices laughed and tittered. “We have the Quill of Niamh and the Hairpin of Aine.”
“Sorcha and Maeve,” Clare exclaimed. “Looks like my friends are joining us.”
“For what?” Griffin asked, looking dazed. “Unless I asked them to come.”
He snapped his fingers and slapped the side of his head. “I seem to remember a Sorcha person. They have magical items.”
“We have the other treasures of Ireland,” Sorcha’s voice called out. “If you don’t catch us, Ireland will be doomed.”
“The Quill of Niamh will rewrite history,” Maeve’s voice echoed through the chamber.
“Howya! Let me shoot the Hairpin of Aine through your heart, and you will be instantly in love with me,” Sorcha shouted, although she sounded like she was rolling her eyes and twisting her lips at the same time.
“Griffin, tell Seamus and Mack they’d better retrieve those treasures. Sorcha and Maeve are slippery characters,” Clare said in a low voice.
“We’d better get those treasures before those dastardly fairy women steal them,” Griffin shouted. “Seamus, Mack, instead of worrying about my Heart of Brigid, shouldn’t you and your grandfathers be guarding your treasures?”
His words worked, because the only sounds were of retreating footsteps. Doors slammed and footfalls echoed, along with shouts mixed with the tinkling giggling of Maeve and Sorcha.
“The coast is clear,” Clare said. “Let’s go and see the renewed Ireland.”
“I can’t wait,” Griffin said, picking up the torn ostrich wing. “But shouldn’t you fly us up into the sky? I’d like to soar over our fair isle and see everything unfold below me.”
Clare gulped and tucked the wing under her armpit. “Let’s take one baby step at a time. My wings are broken, and I will need to visit a fairy mound to renew my strength. We should also get you cleaned up. Your leg is bloody, and your clothes are scuffed and muddy.”
Griffin patted himself and stared at his own body as if he’d never seen it before. “Why am I wearing these dandy clothes? I’m not that kind of man who wears suspenders and a handkerchief.”
“Trust me, you looked great,” Clare said. “Do you happen to have a change of clothes locked away in here?”
“Let me quiet all my senses and see if anything comes to me,” he said. He walked over to the mirror on the wall. It was full-length mirror, as tall as a man.
“If there’s a mirror, there must be clothes,” Clare said. “For both of us. I’m the new queen of the fairies, and you’re the high king. We are the rulers of the new Ireland, and we can’t look so disheveled.”
“I agree.” He knocked and tapped at the wooden panels in the bedchamber while Clare pulled aside what’s left of the drapes.
“I’ve found it!” Griffin cried. “There’s a hinge behind the mirror, which means a door.”
He tapped on the panels, and the mirror opened with a creak.
Clare gasped at the array of sumptuous gowns lining the closet. These were far more splendorous than her entire online catalog. There were forest fae, winter fae, well of healing fae, starlight fae, and more. “I can’t decide what to wear.”
“Then wear your bridal gown.” Griffin pointed at the skeleton on the bed. “That is obviously the changeling who came in here and died, giving her lifeforce to you, my dear Brigid.”
So now, it came to him, that she was the goddess Brigid. Great. She’d play the role until she got away from this madness. She was a novelist, sure, and she lived in hidden fictional realms. But how was all of this goddess worship going to get her that movie deal?
“Okay, then you wear something fit for a bridegroom, and I’ll get into being the Brigid Bride.” She left Barbie doll unsaid.
He turned into the closet to select his clothes, while she gingerly stripped the disheveled skeleton of the sparkly gown and pearl-strewn veil and placed the Heart of Brigid in the proper place. Then she swapped her Morrigan outfit with the skeleton’s bridal clothes, and she was once again playing the role of Brigid the Blushing Bride.
Minutes later, Grif
fin emerged from the closet wearing a dashing white and silver coat and tails with a cravat, top hat, and a diamond topped ebony walking stick.
“Any idea what this is?” He handed over a cell phone which she recognized as hers.
“My mobile,” she cried. “It has my whole life on it.”
Griffin wrinkled his nose. “I’ve never seen such material. A mirror inside a tiny box. What type of mineral covers it? And why would it have your entire life on it?”
“It’s a magical fairy box,” Clare said. “Watch this.”
She turned it on and punched in the passcode. Then put it in selfie mode and stretched her arm.
She took several pictures of the two of them, decked out in their fairy wedding clothes, then swiped to the photo gallery.
“See?”
Griffin looked between the images and the mirror. “My dear goddess, you are full of tricks. How’d you do that?”
She zipped her lips. “Secrets. Let’s go now and announce ourselves. Ready?”
She opened the door and peeked out into the foyer. The rune-covered gate was left open, and light streamed through an opening up top. It bounced off bits of glass and gems embedded in the walls, creating rainbow colors and points of light.
“It’s a new day. The first day of spring!” she cried, holding Griffin’s hand.
“What glories await us, my dear,” Griffin said. He reeled her in for a kiss and then beamed at her. “We did it. All the glories of Ireland are restored. We’ve thrown off the shame of the Norman invasions, of Cromwell, and the Troubles.”
He was going to be disappointed, but hopefully, once Clare got him back into the real world, he’d remember the real Clare Hart and his promise to get surgery to treat his forgetfulness.
They passed out of the gate and instead of going the way back to the closet, Clare steered them into a maze of twisty-turning tunnels. She didn’t want to chance bumping into Biceps and her gun.
The maze was dark, so Clare used the flashlight feature on her phone to lead the way.
“You amaze me, Fairy Queen,” Griffin said. “Does that box also serve as a candle?”
Lucky Like Love: The Fae Legacy #1 Page 23