The Connelly Boys (Celtic Witches Book 1)

by Lily Velez

  There was a strange sensation in my arms, a build-up of pressure. I turned them over, palms facing up, and gasped. A line of runes topped by a triskele trailed down each arm from my wrist to the inside of my elbow, glowing in a soft blue light before dimming out like the stars at dawn. I ran my fingertips over the skin, but there wasn’t the slightest trace of the runes left behind.

  “You’ve been Marked,” Jack whispered, coming around to help me to my feet. “Brigid has officially claimed you as a Daughter.” He reached back to grab the Hallowstone and extended it to me.

  When I grabbed it, the pulsing light at the center was brighter than ever. Its energy shot out into my hand, intermingled with my own magic, bound itself to it.

  “So what happens now?” Zoe asked.

  Brigid’s words stirred up in my chest and I tightened my fingers around the Hallowstone. I looked at each of the others in turn, my eyes coming to rest on Jack last. “Now,” I said, “we fight.”

  42

  Hours before the start of Samhain, we sat around the dining table of a quaint, Georgian-style bed-and-breakfast in County Westmeath, the hosting couple having already left us for the day. As Samhain was a day of remembrance for witches, we’d lit candles for the dead. Now we sat in the glow of those candles, counting down the minutes until we confronted Seamus.

  “The moon will reach the highest point in the sky at midnight,” Jack had said earlier, “at which point, Samhain officially begins. Seamus will time the height of the ritual so that it coincides with the moment the veil between the natural world and the supernatural world begins to thin, meaning we’ll have to stop him before then. Even the slightest delay can turn the tides in his favor.”

  Ideally, we would’ve stopped Seamus well in advance of midnight, but there was no way to know his present location, only where he planned to be. My eyes fell on the Hallowstone, set on the table in front of me. Ever since it’d bound itself to me during the ritual, I could feel its consciousness nested in my chest, as if it were a living thing. We were connected now, its pulse of light forever beating in time with my heart. I pushed threads of magic out toward it and wrapped them around it. The Hallowstone glowed brighter in response, acknowledging me, welcoming the embrace.

  We’d made an experiment of it earlier to test the strength of the bond and strengthen it even further, with the boys hiding the Hallowstone in different parts of the bed-and-breakfast. I’d broadcast a signal to the Hallowstone, tuning in to its presence until I felt a tug. I’d follow the tug all the way to the Hallowstone’s location. It was slow-coming at first, but as I became more and more familiar with the way the Hallowstone felt, I could find it within seconds.

  I only hoped it would truly be enough to stop Seamus. I nudged my dinner—takeaway from a nearby fast food joint—to the side, my stomach too constricted to digest anything.

  Lucas, sitting beside me, seemed to be of the same mind. He stared absently at the glossy bun of his burger, looking as if it were more likely to make him nauseous than sate his hunger. I worried he was not yet well enough to face Seamus tonight. He was still pale, his golden hair slightly damp and plastered to his forehead. I knew Father Nolan’s antidote was working because Lucas at least wasn’t sleeping as much as he had been lately, having now regained his strength, but he wasn’t at one hundred percent either.

  “Lucas, are you okay?” I asked softly, lowering my voice so the others wouldn’t hear, though they were preoccupied enough with bringing up a map on Connor’s phone.

  Lucas blinked out of his daydream and looked over at me. He forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Course.”

  “You know, I’m sure Jack and the others would understand if you wanted to sit this one out.”

  “What, and let them have all the fun?” He tried for another smile, but it was weak.

  Nonetheless, I smiled back and put my hand atop his. “We’ll be glad to have you there.”

  “Here it is,” Jack said then, enlarging the map on Connor’s phone and setting it on the table for everyone to see.

  “Are we still absolutely sure The Hill of Uisneach is the place?” I asked.

  “It has to be Uisneach,” Jack said. “It’s what makes the most sense. Ériu, the matron goddess, lies under the Cat Stone there. That’s what we call the boulder on the southwest side of the hill.”

  “So named because some people believe it resembles the shape of a sitting cat,” Zoe said. “I personally don’t see it.”

  “It’s also known as Aill na Míreann, Stone of the Divisions,” Jack went on. “So named because it once marked the dividing point between the provinces of ancient Ireland. These days, however, it’s most famous for marking Ériu’s resting place, which in turns marks the hidden gateway to the Otherworld. Once the veil thins, Seamus will have more energy at his fingertips than any of us can imagine with such proximity to the Otherworld.”

  “Which is why I still think we need to contact the other clans and ask for their support,” Zoe said. Today, she was wearing fingerless, leather gloves with silver studs on the knuckles. When she bracketed her hands on the back of a chair, the studs were more pronounced, and I couldn’t help but picture her plowing them into the side of Seamus’s face.

  Jack shook his head. “No.”

  “No?” It was Connor who spoke. “She’s right, Jack. Considering how far gone he is, we won’t be able to reason with Seamus. And we can’t place all our hopes on a Hallowstone that hasn’t been wielded in centuries. We need reinforcements.”

  “At what expense? If we involve the other clans, they’ll stop at nothing to bring Seamus down. Even if it means ending him.”

  “And?”

  “Why should we care?” Zoe’s grip tightened. Her dark eyes were the color of coal, and theirs was a blistering look. “There’s blood on his hands, Jack. Nevermind the fact he drugged me with magic. Or that he sent an arrow into Lucas. That pretty much exempts him from any sympathy on our behalf, don’t you think?”

  “He’s our uncle,” Jack stressed to Connor. “Our blood.”

  “Who betrayed us.”

  Jack only shook his head again. “We take care of this like family business, no other clans involved.”

  The Hill of Uisneach, which rose six hundred feet above the earth, was located on a private cattle farm only open to visitors accompanied by a knowledgeable guide, though today’s afternoon tour had been the last of the season. Meaning we’d have the hill to ourselves, though I hadn’t yet decided if that was a good thing. Initially, I hadn’t known how Seamus could perform such a ritual at a site like this, which from this height commanded views of several counties far and wide. Surely someone would see us. But Jack had explained Seamus would most certainly cloak the site with magic tonight, so that any onlookers gazing upon the hill from their window wouldn’t see the slightest disturbance.

  The surrounding landscapes were plunged into utter darkness, but we had the pearly light of the Blood Moon (moments away from becoming full) to guide us as we exited the SUV, every last one of us armed with an assortment of menacing weapons. Four doors slammed shut in succession, and we faced the hill before us.

  I touched the pocket containing the Hallowstone to assure myself it was there. I also had a long knife strapped to my waist much like the one Zoe carried, but I’d never used a weapon like that before, and my hope was I wouldn’t have to now. Jack seemed to be of the mind he could reason with Seamus, and while I had my doubts, I hoped for his sake he was right.

  When we finally reached the summit of the hill, clearing all obstructions so that we had a full view of the ritual about to take place, a terror I’d never known before struck my heart at the sight waiting for us.

  43

  There were torches everywhere, standing tall and ominous. They were positioned in a ring around the area, so that from above, it must’ve looked like a fiery eye was glaring up at the heavens. Each flame popped as it danced in the wind, its yellow center almost blinding. Seamus stood at the middle
of the ring before an altar, his expression betraying nothing as we approached. He’d positioned the altar in front of what had to be the Cat Stone Zoe and Jack had mentioned. It was enormous, easily weighing more than two dozen tons I imagined.

  But that wasn’t what chilled me. I switched my gaze back to the sight that most struck dread in my heart: the large, burly men assembled behind Seamus. There were more than a dozen of them. They donned floor-length, black robes with hoods, hands clasped before them as they stood as still as statues. It wouldn’t have been so terrifying a sight were it not for the masks. Each man wore the face of a deer skull, antlers protruding from the top like the gnarled branches of a tree in winter. The gaping eye sockets were as black as the night, making it impossible to see a flicker of life in the eyes of the men.

  “The Unredeemed,” Zoe whispered, her face visibly paling.

  “What are they?” I asked breathlessly. I couldn’t help but wonder if we’d made a mistake by not involving the other clans.

  “The undead,” Jack answered. “They’re witches who lost themselves to dark magic. They never received a proper burial on hallowed ground, nor did they receive their last rites. So they’re cursed to do the bidding of all dark magic practitioners until the end of time.”

  We continued approaching, entering the ring of torches before stopping a respectable distance from Seamus’s altar. A yellowing human skull sat at the altar’s center. Beside it, an athamé with red staining its blade and the body of a dead black bird, its frozen legs clawing at the air. Its feathers were damp, as was the wood of the altar beneath it. A fresh kill. A gust of wind blew against our faces, carrying the metallic scent of the blood to us.

  My stomach flipped, and I forced my eyes away to a massive black cauldron beside the altar. A fire roared underneath it so that the turbulent water inside gurgled and spilled over, the flames hissing in response. The cauldron itself was elaborately designed with intricate drawings and gold embellishments. For a long moment, all I could do was stare—at the cauldron, that altar, those men.

  Seamus was the one to break the silence. “You lads have become far more obstinate than I’d like.”

  “Yeah? And you’ve become far more murderous than we’d prefer,” Connor threw back, earning a look of reproach from Jack.

  “Is that the Cauldron of Rebirth?” Zoe asked, striding forward a few paces, disbelief on her face.

  “One of the Four Great Treasures,” Seamus said. “It was once used to resurrect fallen warriors on the battlefields of old. Tonight, it will serve a far greater purpose in a sacrifice that will change everything for witch-kind.”

  Zoe tightened her fists. “The Cauldron was hidden away Elsewhere by The Council of Elders to ensure witches as gone in the head as you never got their hands on it. Is that one of the reasons you slaughtered them?”

  “The Council wished to reduce the Cauldron to no more than a relic from the past. Why should tools of such unfathomable power be kept from witch-kind? It’s this senseless thinking that’s forced us to live as an oppressed people for far too long. We can summon the deadliest of sea storms. We can call upon wind and fire to ravage entire villages. And yet we play the part of the hunted and we hide ourselves from our persecutors, as if our powers are something to be ashamed of, something we must apologize for.”

  “For our own protection,” Jack said. “The mandates to practice magic in secret are meant to preserve our bloodlines.”

  “Those mandates stem from nothing but fear. We are the apex predator opposite the Sightless, the hunters. Why act otherwise? Why concede our power to The Black Hand, to people who have sought to exterminate us for so long?”

  “Then why not try to broker peace with them?” I asked. “There have to be hunters who’ve grown disillusioned with The Black Hand’s philosophies over time. Or what about the next generation of hunters, people our age who are born into The Black Hand and aren’t sure they agree with their parents’ beliefs? What if we could make change happen from within?”

  “You don’t think we’ve already attempted such a thing? Countless witches have sought to make peace with The Black Hand over the centuries, to show its members how our people could live in harmony with each other. Do you know what became of those witches? Examples were made out of them by wolves in sheep’s clothing. The hunters never desired peace, but they filled our ears with honeyed words to lure us in. And then they butchered us. I was there for one such incident. I barely escaped with my life.”

  “You never told us about that,” Jack said.

  “It was long before your time, when I was a naïve youth who thought I could change the way hunters viewed us. But how can you establish peace with a people who don’t even believe you’re worthy of it? The Black Hand thinks us the children of their devil, sub-human and innately evil. The time has come for those beliefs, and the ones who hold them, to become extinct.”

  My eyes darted across Seamus’s altar, jumping from object to object as he spoke. Jack had said Celeste had kept her stolen souls in a special amulet she wore around her neck. Seamus didn’t wear any such necklace, but I couldn’t see anything on the altar either that might serve as a vessel for a host of spirits.

  “Looking for something?” Seamus asked. “You won’t find them here. But I’m happy to show you where they’ve been kept. The moment is drawing nigh in any case.” He raised his palm through the air, as if lifting an invisible object for all to see. Once his hand was above his head, he quickly closed it in a tight fist. “Behold!”

  Not a second later, the ground trembled, as if we stood on the back of a giant beast beginning to stir. I lost my footing and almost toppled over, but Jack grabbed my elbow and held me firmly, and I widened my stance for better balance. Outside the ring of torches, stone structures punctured the earth from below, rising higher and higher to double, triple, quadruple our heights. Menhirs. There were at least two dozen of them. The towering giants formed a large circle around us like stone, warrior angels angled toward their prey. When the menhirs reached their full height, the ground became still once more, the only sound on the summit the snapping of the torches and the cauldron’s bubbling water.

  “Every time the sluagh delivered a new soul, I locked it into one of these menhirs, thereby keeping it safe until the time of the Reaping and sacrifice.”

  I stared at the closest menhir, trying to find my breath. My chest flared up with heat as I thought about my dad’s soul being contained in a stone prison all this time. Ever since Brigid had Marked me, I hadn’t felt any differently besides a deepened determination to stop Seamus, but right now, I was almost sure the wrath of the goddess was sparking in the pit of my stomach.

  I fixed a heated look on Seamus, the muscles in my body taut. “We’re not going to let you complete this ritual. To get to any of these souls, you’re going to have to go through us first.”

  “I thought you might feel that way,” Seamus said, completely unfazed. “Lucas? Take care of them, will you?”

  And then before any of us could process his words, Lucas suddenly drew his gun, turned to Jack, and pressed the barrel against his brother’s head.

  44

  “What the hell are you doing?” Connor exclaimed at Lucas. He started for his brother, but Lucas threw up a hand and a burst of air pummeled Connor, sending him flying back a number of yards. He landed with a hard thud that made me wince.

  “Have you lost your bloody mind?” Zoe drew her own gun and pointed it at Lucas.

  “Actually,” said Seamus, “he has. I’m afraid Lucas isn’t quite himself at the moment.”

  For a string of seconds, no one said anything, his words settling in. Then realization dawned on us. “The demon venom,” Jack said at the same time I thought it, remembering the treated arrowhead. A chill coursed through me.

  “The venom was meant to hamper his magic and keep the lot of you contained in the library, but the nature of demon venom is that so long as it’s within someone’s body, they’re no more than a marione
tte under a puppet master’s strings. I can give Lucas any order, and he will obey it. He need only hear my voice. Should you have miraculously found your way here, it was my final insurance against any attempts at interfering with the ritual.”

  “But Father Nolan gave us the antidote,” I said.

  “And surely he mentioned it would be days before the venom fully left Lucas’s body?”

  My eyes swung to Lucas as my stomach sank. I hadn’t thought twice about his uncharacteristic behavior. None of us had. I’d assumed he was merely weathering the side effects of the toxin much in the way I had with Kai’s blood.

  Jack turned to Lucas slowly, the barrel sliding from his temple to the center of his forehead, his hands raised to show he bore no weapons. “Lucas, come on. It’s me. Jack. You don’t have to do this.”

  Lucas’s face remained devoid of expression. He only stared back at Jack, gun still aimed, ready to pull the trigger if it was demanded of him. In the firelight, there was movement in his eyes. Dancing flecks of red that hadn’t been there just minutes ago. The same red I had seen in the eyes of the sluagh, the Wraiths, the demon at the rugby game, and in Kai’s eyes.

  “There’s no sense trying to reason with him,” Seamus said. “You’re only speaking to his shadow self.”

  “His shadow self?” I asked.

  “Yes, we all have one, that dark aspect of ourselves we refuse to identify with, that contains all the parts of ourselves we try to suppress and hide from others. But Jack knows all about that, doesn’t he?”

  Connor was making his way back to the group from his fall, an incendiary look in his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “He hasn’t told you?”

  The flames of the torches all around us cackled, as if in mockery. Though there was a chill in the night air, their fires bathed us in warmth. My skin was flush with their heat. Grass and dry leaves rustled in the breeze, but I paid no mind to their music, too caught up with Seamus’s words, too stunned by the striking resemblance they bore to something the demon at the rugby game had said to Jack. That’s it, isn’t it? They don’t know. You haven’t told them what you’ve done.