“You didn’t answer the question.” Aerin took a step closer, looking like a defense attorney inspecting exhibits entered into a court case. “Where did you get these?”
“Morgana de Moray gave them to me.”
“Malcom de Moray’s sister?” Aerin asked. Out of all of them, she alone had studied the Grimoire with Talmudic zeal. “How is that possible?”
Moira shrugged. “She just kinda showed up after I fell from the cliff at Siren’s Cry and sank to the bottom of the—”
“Back the fuck up,” Aerin ordered. “You fell off the cliff at Siren’s Cry? By the Standing Stones?”
“Yup. Of course, I’d just been shot in the chest by Nick’s arrow, so my balance wasn’t so great at the time.”
Three sets of eyes widened to the size of duck eggs.
“You were shot?” Tierra fluttered over to Moira and put the back of her hand to her forehead, examining her from one angle, then another to check for other injuries.
Moira put a hand up her own shirt stuck a finger through the demonstrative hole in her tank-top. “Right about here.”
“But that’s right over your heart,” Tierra observed. “How did you survive?”
“I think it had something to do with these here fancy accessories,” Moira said, gesturing to the gleaming objects.
“So, after Nick abducted you, he took you up to Siren’s Cry just to shoot you?” Claire had abandoned her place in the doorway and seated herself on the stool next to Moira. “Why wouldn’t he have done it at their compound? Seems like that would have been a whole lot easier.”
And now it was fixin’ to get awkward.
“Because I asked him to,” Moira admitted, staring down at her own bare feet. “Shoot me, that is. But only if he would do it where we had seen our mother.”
“You did what?” Tierra’s voice had risen a couple of octaves and color flooded her cheeks.
All three of her sisters were gathered around her now with Justine close in the periphery. “I figured it only takes one of us to die to end this. Tierra’s knocked-up. Claire’s all fiery and full of life. Aerin’s all smart and rich. I can’t see much that I bring to the table aside from fried animal innards.”
“She’s Moira all right,” Aerin said sharply, rolling her eyes.
“How can you be so sure?” Claire asked.
“Because only Moira would say something so absolutely idiotic.”
Moira looked into her sister’s silvery eyes and thought she saw just the hint of a glassy sheen.
“You are an extremely valuable member of this…team and contribute considerable…skills to the conglomerate.” Aerin tucked a single stray hair back into its bun. “So, from now on, we would appreciate if you don’t attempt to remove yourself from the operation.”
“Gee, thanks, Aerin.” Moira said, dropping an arm around her sister’s waist. “I love you, too.”
“Speaking of love,” Claire cut in. “Here’s the real test.”
They all followed her gaze to where a small, pink pig had paused in the doorway.
Her heart overflowing with a sudden burst of joy, Moira slid off her chair without hesitation, slapping her hands against her thighs. “Cheeto! Come here, baby! Come to momma!”
The little pig hesitated for all of a millisecond before launching himself across the kitchen and into her arms. Moira hugged him tight, relieved beyond measure to have his warm, squirmy body pressed close to her heart.
“Who’s the bestest wittwe piggy ever?” Moira cooed, kissing the pig’s moist snout. “Who is he? What’s him’s name?”
“Well, I think that answers that question,” Aerin affirmed.
“But not all the others,” Tierra reminded them. “Why are you both soaking wet?”
“I sort of had to destroy the Horsemen’s compound to get Justine away from them,” Moira admitted. “Which reminds me.”
She set Cheeto down at her feet and resumed her place on the stool. “While I was chained to Nick’s bed—”
“You were chained to Nick’s bed?” Claire asked, leaning forward, cheeks flushed with lurid excitement. “Kinky.”
“Not until later,” Moira continued. “But what I was saying—”
“Wait, wait, wait.” This time, Aerin had spoken up. Her cool mask of professionalism had slipped from its moorings just enough to reveal the passionately curious woman beneath. “Are you saying that you and Nick...?” Her perfectly plucked eyebrows rose with lascivious insinuation.
All eyes fixed on Moira.
Lord. There was no easy way to say this. “Yes. Okay? We had wild gorilla sex for hours on end on account of that’s what he asked for in exchange for killing me.”
Now it was their mouths, not their eyes wide open.
“But that’s not what I was trying to tell you,” Moira insisted, quickly losing her patience. “I saw newspapers, magazines, there were pictures and they all—”
“How big?” Aerin queried.
“The newspapers? I don’t—”
“His cock,” Aerin supplied, earning her a stern look from Tierra. “Are we talking Economy, Standard, Full-Size, SUV—”
“Aerin!” Tierra scolded.
“Oh, hold your water, Tierra. Claire only pretend-fucked Dru. Julian is more conflicted and emotional than a dumpster full of teenage girls, and you fucked Death and wouldn’t give up a single detail. I just want a few juicy tidbits.”
“You ever seen one of them Hummer stretch limousines?” Moira asked.
“No,” Claire said, not in negation, but in disbelief.
“Yes ma’am. And what’s more, he can come about eighty-seven times in a row. Or something like that. I stopped counting after twenty.” Moira turned to Aerin. “And if you make any crack about my running out of digits to count on, I swear to the Goddess I’ll never give you another detail for the rest of our lives.”
Aerin made a silent gesture of zipping her lips.
“Good. What I was trying to say is—”
“You used protection, right? Please tell me you used protection.” Tierra ran her hand over the small rounded mound of her belly.
A worm of fear wriggled into Moira’s gut. “Not exactly…I thought I was going to die anyway so—”
“And how many times did you say he came?” Aerin’s voice was shrill as a whistle. “You could have like a hundred loads of Nick’s super-sperm conquesting the shit out of your ovaries right now.”
Moira slapped both hands down on the kitchen island. “Listen to me. Even that won’t matter if we don’t figure out a way to deal with this shit.”
Aunt Justine handed over the bag, and Moira upended it, dumping the magazines, newspapers, and tabloids out for her sisters to see.
Tierra gasped, spotting her own image attached to the antichrist headline. Aerin followed soon after. Page after page of witch hunters, religious radicals, and amateur exorcists. All angry, all determined, all driven by the deadly combination of fear and ignorance.
“Do you see now?” Moira asked, waiting for her sisters’ eyes to find hers again. “Morgana said that the only chance we have of defeating this Apocalypse is to stick together.”
Moira held out a hand to Tierra, who took it, and offered hers to Aerin. Moira didn’t miss the split second of hesitation before Aerin clasped it, and offered her other hand to Claire, who accepted it and waved Justine in to complete the circle.
“We can stand together, or we can fall apart,” Moira emphasized by squeezing the hands in hers. “But the truth is the truth, and we have to reckon with it at the end of the day.”
“What’s that?” Tierra asked, her green eyes aglow with worry enough for two.
Moira looked around the circle, her own face repeated like a funhouse mirror save for the eyes glowing green, amber, silver, and faded jade.
“The truth is this. They know who we are. Where we are. What we are, and what we can do. They are coming for us. And soon.”
The End
About Cindy Stark
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About Kerrigan Byrne
Kerrigan Byrne's stories span the spectrum of romantic fiction from historical, to paranormal, to romantic suspense. She can always promise her reader one thing: memorable and sexy Celtic heroes who are guaranteed to heat your blood before they steal your heart.
Kerrigan lives at the base of the Rocky Mountains with her husband and his three lovely daughters. She's worked in Law Enforcement for the better part of a decade.
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About Tiffinie Helmer
USA Today Bestselling Author Tiffinie Helmer is always up for a gripping adventure. Raised in Alaska, she was dragged “Outside” by her husband, but escapes the lower forty-eight by spending her summers commercial fishing on the Bering Sea.
A mother of four, Tiffinie divides her time between enjoying her family, throwing her acclaimed pottery, and writing of flawed characters in unique and severe situations.
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About Cynthia St. Aubin
Cynthia St. Aubin wrote her first play at age eight and made her brothers perform it for the admission price of gum wrappers. A steal, considering she provided the wrappers in advance. Though her early work debuted to mixed reviews, she never quite gave up on the writing thing, even while earning a mostly useless master's degree in art history and taking her turn as a cube monkey in the corporate warren.
Because the voices in her head kept talking to her, and they discourage drinking at work, she started writing instead. When she's not standing in front of the fridge eating cheese, she's hard at work figuring out which mythological, art historical, or paranormal friends to play with next. She lives in Colorado with the love of her life and three surly cats.
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Table of Contents
Dedication
Table of Contents:
Claire Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Aerin Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Tierra Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Moira Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
About Cindy Stark
About Kerrigan Byrne
About Tiffinie Helmer
About Cynthia St. Aubin
Which Witch is Wicked? (The Witches of Port Townsend Book 2) Page 36