Brighid's Fallen (Keepers of the Flame Book 5)

by Cate Morgan

  Alex could well imagine. “At any rate, Brendan died before he could share all his plans with her. Left her his journal, though.”

  Andreas brightened. “Anything of interest?”

  “We’re still going through it—haven’t figured much out yet.” He paused. “From what we gather he was looking for Michael’s sword.”

  He waited.

  “That could very well be, lad. It would certainly make sense.” He cleared his throat. “Anything else?”

  Alex felt the breath leave him in one long exhale. So that was it, then. Anger and regret warred within him, and he tried to get his emotions under control before he answered. “Not as of yet.”

  Desmond searched his face. “You sure, son? If she cut her teeth clearing the catacombs, then she must claim some sort of power.”

  Alex considered how much he should reveal—a first in his experience of Andreas, and a sad state of affairs, indeed. “She hasn’t said much,” he finally answered. “From what she has told me, she’s a bit like me. Born human, but evolved during the war—which is how Brendan found her. He got hold of her before anyone else could.”

  Desmond’s brow cleared, and he nodded his understanding. “She’s not the only one, I’m sure.”

  Alex shrugged, as though it didn’t matter one way or the other. “As long as she’s on our side, which she definitely is. There’s nothing to indicate she had anything to do with Brendan’s death.” He stood to leave.

  “Well, that’s a relief. Still no idea who might be involved?”

  “None.” Alex opened the door and paused. “By the way, I went to check Brendan’s base camp at the catacombs and saw you had a team running around.”

  Desmond smiled. “Yes, they’re sealing it. I believe you sent Johnson? I ratified the order.”

  “Ah, that would explain it.” Alex waved his farewell and shut the door behind him. He leaned against it, his heart thundering in his ears.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Not daring to think—not even daring to breathe—Alex made good his escape. He found the nearest tall building in sight and ducked into the alley behind it. He scrabbled up the side, expending all the energy he could in relieving the pressure in his gut, the thrumming of his own blood. Before he knew it he was on the roof and gulping deep breaths of fresh air.

  It was just beginning to rain—fresh rain, not the acid, chemically stained fall from after the war. He lifted his face to the refreshing spray and closed his eyes tight against the spinning of everything he’d thought he’d known. If he were being frank, hurtling through between seemed the better option.

  A heavy rustling sounded behind him, like sails snapping in a sudden strong wind. He turned to find himself face to face with Mairya.

  She gave him one of her enigmatic smiles. “It seems you’ve found the answers you’ve been looking for.”

  He laughed hollowly. “That’s debatable.”

  Her black eyes gleamed as she leaned against a nearby gargoyle as though utterly unaware of the irony, and crossed her arms. “So much is these days, it seems.”

  Alex couldn’t have stopped himself for all the wine in Paris. “Except maybe death and taxes.”

  She grinned, changing her narrow face into something nearly, if not quite, human. “Well done, you.”

  He sat on the ledge, feeling rather proud of himself. He kind of wished Cara had been there for it, wanting to see those full lips widen into a delighted smile and the shadows leave her eyes, however briefly. “Can I ask you something?”

  Mairya’s obsidian eyes snapped with mirth. “By all means.”

  Now that he’d broached the subject, he wasn’t sure how to continue. “You know what I have inside me,” he ventured.

  She nodded once, regally. “You want to know if I can get rid of it.”

  He swallowed. “Yes.”

  “I could,” she said, “but I would destroy you in the process. The sword I wield has absorbed the lives of millions, during the worst parts of human history. Another angel, perhaps—Brendan might have managed it.”

  His shoulders sagged under the disappointment. “I figured as much.”

  “Now let me ask something of you in turn,” Mairya countered. “Do you truly want to be rid of it?”

  The question startled him. “Of course I do.”

  She arched a thin brow. “Truly? It’s not as though you’ve lost your soul because of it. And you’ve gained power in return.”

  “I—” He stopped as her words registered. “I haven’t lost my soul? I thought I gave it when I accepted the demon.”

  “Did you really think you’d still be so human if that were the case?” She reached over and poked him playfully in the shoulder.

  He blinked. “It’s what they led me to believe.” He pressed his hand to his chest. “It wasn’t true?”

  She shook her head. “You’re not so different from the Keeper, as it happens. You’re the other side of her coin, if you’ll forgive the age-old analogy. She has the purest of light within her, but she’s still human—and brimming with free will, as you may have noticed.”

  He held his palm out to the rain sprinkling around them, as though experiencing it for the first time. Hell, it may as well have been.

  “Did you ask her?”

  “What?”

  Mairya gave him a penetrating look. “If you want rid of the beast so acutely, why not ask Cara for assistance?”

  He blinked, mouth opening and closing. “It never even occurred to me.”

  Now she was clearly teasing him. As though he was just too precious for words. “So you considered the possibility of her having to kill you should the demon take control, but not of her saving you?”

  He forced the question past the tightness in his throat. “Could she?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “A lot of things. If she has Ascended, at her most powerful...perhaps with the excess energy…” She shrugged again. Then her gaze sharpened. Speared through him, like an angelic sword. “But you have thought of kissing her.”

  Alex nearly fell off the roof. “What?” he said again, a bit more forcefully than he intended.

  “How long?” she pressed, almost jubilant. A disturbing turn of focus in the Angel of Death, to be sure.

  “Not that long.” Alright, probably longer. “So she wouldn’t…” He gestured vaguely. “With the sword? Or anything?”

  Mairya shook her head, enjoying herself entirely too much. “Shouldn’t think so.”

  Alex searched for words. This had to be, hands down, the strangest conversation he’d ever had. And he’d been in the military during an apocalyptic war.

  Mairya cocked her head in a considering fashion. “I believe she holds a certain fascination for your lip scar.”

  He raised his hand to touch it. He’d acquired it on a three day leave in Calais which had included a certain seaside bar, a hand of poker gone awry, and a broken bottle being thrust in his face as a result. Slightly less than a minute later the bottle wasn’t the only thing broken on his attacker’s part. “Really?” he said vaguely.

  Kissing Cara certainly possessed an undeniable appeal. He was forced to admit the idea had been percolating in the back of his mind since she’d escaped him by disappearing into her little pocket of space-time.

  He thought of her asleep in his bed. He wondered if he could get back in time to wake her up. As it were.

  He was yanked from this pleasant thought when Mairya straightened suddenly, her features going sharp enough to remind him, despite outward appearances, she was in no way human. “What is it?”

  “They found it.”

  He stood and turned. “Michael’s sword?”

  “They’re…” Her eyes were blank, but practically glowing with the intensity of angelic awareness. She sucked in a breath. “Get Cara,” she said. “It won’t be long now.”

  “Long…?” His lips moved as he did the math. “They’ll bring the sword to Andreas. He’ll…”


  She turned her flashing gaze to him, nearly knocking him back. “He’ll summon Lillith.”

  He ran.

  Heartbeat thundering in her ears. Her chest, tightening and expanding, searching for air. Heavy pressure ringing in her head like cathedral bells. Can’t move, can’t BREATHE--

  “Breathe, child.”

  Eyes open. Darkness. Pressure not entirely gone, but relief nonetheless. An experimental breath, then two.

  Flash of electric blue light. Blinded, arm up. Walking, without sound. No surface beneath her, yet she did not fall as she approached the Flame.

  And in that moment, she understood where she was, for she had been there before. Not just between, but in the catacombs.

  And then...a woman?

  Tall. Regal. Hair blond-red-brown-black. Eyes blue-gray-green-hazel-chocolate-obsidian. Her head spun, trying to keep the figure in focus. She stood before the Flame, both hands wrapped about the grip of a sword like the stone effigy of a knight.

  “Brighid,” she whispered. And began to weep, because her heart pained her even worse than her eyes.

  “My dear Keeper,” Brighid greeted her, with a bittersweet mixture of affection and sadness. “How much you have been through already. And yet, I must ask of you so much more, if humanity is to survive.”

  “I’m so tired,” Cara said, sinking to her knees. “And my friend is gone.”

  “And still I must ask you to fight, harder has been asked of any of your sisters before. Because you were meant to do this. You were born to do this.” And Brighid smiled, easing her burden just a little. “But I would not ask you to do it alone. Trust the warrior. Trust the demon. He is your champion as you are mine. But trust no one else. Will you do this?”

  As if she had a choice.

  A soft laugh. “Of course you have a choice. There is always a choice. But perhaps it does not seem that way to a heart, a soul, such as yours.”

  Cara nodded. “I will do what must be done.”

  “Then I will make this promise. When you need him most, your friend will give you strength you need.

  “And now,” she added before Cara could break the startled resonance that coursed through her, “you must...wake up.”

  “Wake up.”

  Cara shot bolt upright in bed, gasping for air as an inexplicable sense of urgency rushed through her. She felt as though she’d been struck by lightning. She tried to get to her feet, only to find them tangled in an unfamiliar knot of sheets and blankets. Where the hell was she?

  Strong arms caught hold of her. The scent of rain, wind, and warm male washed over her. She stared blindly up into Alex’s blue eyes.

  Alex Kane. Of course. The memories from the last day or so came back to her all at once.

  “It’s okay,” he said, he voice more gravelly than usual with concern. “I’ve got you.”

  She gulped, drawing in precious air as her heart rate began to settle, and looked around at what was clearly his bedroom. “How did I get here?”

  He sat on the edge of the bed and handed her a glass of water, smiling. “You more or less passed out on my couch, so I put you to bed while I ran some errands.”

  “Thanks.”

  He started unwinding the sheets from her legs. “I saw Andreas.”

  “Andreas?” Cara freed one foot.

  Alex paused, as though he’d surprised himself a little. “Father Desmond,” he corrected.

  She tugged her other leg free, and moved to sit beside him. The anxiety was coming off him in waves. “Tell me.”

  He hesitated. “I will, but there’s something more important.” He visibly exhaled, and told her that Brendan hadn’t, in fact, blocked her from his office. Father Desmond, however, had.

  She stared at him. “Are you sure?” she asked quietly.

  He reached to tuck a curl of hair behind her ear, as though he couldn’t quite help himself. Her cheeks warmed with pleasure. “I believe Andreas sealed Brendan’s office, to hide what he took from the safe.”

  Pleasure dissipated. “The location of Michael’s sword.”

  He nodded, and proceeded to tell her the rest, including his conversation with Mairya. “They’ve found the sword. It won’t be long now before they have possession of of it.”

  She stood, wide awake now. “Why the hell didn’t you lead with that?”

  “Whoa, hey now.” He caught her wrist before she could rush past him. “We can’t just go barreling in there half cocked.”

  Her lips thinned in a grim line. “I can assure you I am well and fully cocked, Alex.”

  He visibly suppressed another smile. “Be that as it may, we’re also outnumbered about ten to one and we’ve no idea what we’re dealing with. I’m good, but not that good—fully cocked or otherwise.”

  She snorted, a bit inelegantly to be sure. But she also had to admit he was right. “I think I know where the sword is, but I need Brendan’s journals. And a map.”

  His hand, still circling her wrist, slid down to take her hand. “Come with me.”

  He led her back into the main room, to the pile of maps and notes on his worktable. He shuffled through them and pulled out a map of Paris, folding it until he found what he was looking for. “Here’s the catacombs. What are you looking for?”

  “A sepulcher.” She traced with map with one finger, using her own experiences of the tunnels to determine the exit route Andreas’ men were most likely to use. When she figured it out, she grinned. “Lucky for us, there’s only one way out--to the Crypte Archeologique.”

  He crossed his arms and grinned back. “And I’ll just bet Andreas is going to meet them there.”

  “So let’s be right behind them.” She gave Alex an assessing look, biting her bottom lip.

  His eyes turned smoky, considering her right back. “What?”

  “We won’t be able to use between to get to the sepulcher,” she said slowly. “But we might get close.”

  The smoke cleared, and his gaze darkened. He sighed and fell back into the nearest chair. “As you would say, ‘bloody Hell’. Literally, in this case.”

  “That bad?”

  “No.” He ran his fingers through his unbound hair and gave her a wry look. “It’s just my luck, is all.”

  As Cara went to retrieve her boots, she heard him add “Goddamn, but I hate the catacombs.”

  Once they scrambled up to his rooftop, he sighed like a man about to face the gallows for a crime he didn’t commit. “Alright, let’s do it.”

  Famous last words, as it happened. Poor man.

  Their journey started out rather nicely, by her estimation. Cara stepped close to him, winding her fingers into the lapels of his jacket. She heard his breath catch. “Hang on.”

  She closed her eyes, and turned her focus inward. Deep in her core there lay a glimmer, small but bright, silver blue in color. As she slowed her breathing, drawing deep, she felt Alex’s hands press lightly against her waist as though loathe to distract her, but not wanting to be left behind, either. She smiled, and the little star grew into a flame. She urged it higher, warmer, as he held her a little more firmly.

  When the light filled her she turned her focus to the roof of the building nearest the catacombs. She had first met Mairya there, startled to find someone there when she arrived to visit Brendan. When it was fixed in her mind, familiar gargoyle and all, she took a deep breath and pulled them both into the airless void between space and time.

  Alex stilled beneath her hands. Her grip on him tightened, and she tugged harder. A long, breathless moment later and they stumbled onto their destination. His grip turned into a firm embrace as he steadied them both. She looked up to find his eyes clenched shut and his breathing ragged.

  “You didn’t tell me you were claustrophobic,” she told him.

  He blinked down at her. “I’m not.”

  She gave him a dubious look.

  “Not entirely.” His breathing evened out, but his fingers still dug into her lower back. She was flush against him at
this point—a most interesting state of affairs. “I don’t mind the dark. It’s the tight, closed-in part that bothers me—doesn’t matter how much light there is.”

  “I’m sorry, I’d never have suggested it had I known.”

  He shook his head, visibly swallowing. Then he offered her a weak smile that took obvious effort. “As if ‘the hollow between space and time’ shouldn’t have clued me in?”

  His jacket was unzipped, so she slipped her hands beneath it to lay her palms against his solid chest. It was like leaning against a wall. “Are you afraid your demon might get loose if you lose control?”

  His chest jerked beneath his hands. He searched her face, furrowed brow clearing. “I never thought about it that way,” he said softly. “Maybe. How did you know?”

  She gave him a crooked smile. “When I first became a Keeper, the power was overwhelming. And it was all in me, you know? Seeping through my pores. Threatening to spill out at the least little stumble. But the dreams were worse. My senses weren’t just overloaded, they were all backwards—it was like Ascending for the first time all over again. I’d smell color, hear light, taste sound. What if I let go, and blasted an entire city block into oblivion?”

  With every sentence his arms circled her further. The rise and fall of his chest beneath her hands matched hers, until they breathed in tandem. His head dropped, forehead brushing hers until his hair fell like a curtain across his cheeks.

  “What if I hurt someone? What if I couldn’t regain control?” He exhaled. “What if I lost my humanity?”

  “You won’t,” she promised. “I won’t let you.”

  He gave a low laugh. “How are you planning to do that, Keeper?”

  Her hands clenched in his shirt, and she looked him right in the eye. “I’ll summon every ounce of light in me, and shove the demon so far inside of you, so deep into your soul, that even you won’t be able to find it.”

  He stared at her, apparently rendered speechless. But what he saw in her expression must have convinced him, because he relaxed against her at last. His arms released her, and she moved to step away.

  She stopped, however, when his warm, dry palms framed her face, and he kissed her.