Blood Moon

by KB Anne

  He watches his friends until they disappear over the horizon, and then he keeps watching as if he’s certain they’re going to come back over the hill.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t go. But I have to . . . I can’t be around here. Is your dad back?”

  “Not yet. That’s why I went over to Carman’s.”

  “Oh yeah, right. Is someone around to watch over you?” Concern shadows his eyes. I’ve never had anyone outside my inner circle of family and friends worry about me so much. I can’t fully describe the way it feels but nice and refreshing are at the top of the list. Breas dumped me the moment I refused to give in to his desires. It was Alaric that saved me that night too.

  Between the spell work tonight and tomorrow night, there will be enough magic to place me up in the tallest tower, and no one will ever be able to hurt me again.

  “I’ll be with Carman and her coven tonight. Tomorrow night, I’ll be home with some family and friends. Does that count?”

  Relief washes over him. “Yes . . . good . . . you’ll be safe then. Please promise not to leave your house tomorrow night.”

  “Why?”

  “Halloween just isn’t safe for young girls to be roaming the countryside by themselves.” His demeanor suddenly shifts to sensual as he wraps his arms around my back and pulls me closer to him. “Someone might think you’re available.”

  I eliminate the remaining space between us. “Am I?”

  “Absolutely not,” he whispers before pressing his lips to mine.

  My pulse races as I return the kiss, but then I remember he’s leaving for two days, and there’s a very good chance I will never see him again. Tears fall down my cheeks, but it’s my sobbing that breaks us apart.

  “Gi, it’s not forever.”

  “Then why do I feel like I’m playing the part of Juliet?”

  He smiles as he wipes the tears from my face. “The difference, dear Gigi, is that we are not characters following an Englishman’s storyline for a tragedy. We are in Ireland. We are Irish. We create our own luck. We write our own futures. No one defines us. And by the morning after tomorrow, you will be back in my more-than-capable arms, and nothing will keep us apart. Understand?”

  Without waiting for my reply, his lips begin their rhythmic dance over mine, causing any coherent thought or concern to disappear.

  A kiss to last through eternity.

  25

  Private Thoughts

  Alaric left me at the fairy mound with one final kiss and headed in the direction of his bandmates. I think he was worried they’d show up again, or Declan would, and he didn’t want him anywhere near me, which is sweet but weird too. I mean, if they’re bandmates, why would I be at risk? What terrible acts could Declan be capable of? Not that I really want to find out, but I am curious. You can take The Delinquent out of Vernal Falls, but you can’t take The Delinquent out of the girl.

  I watched him leave and waited on our boulder for a long time—a very long time—in case he changed his mind and came back to me, but he didn’t. I didn’t really expect him to. My life has been so full of disappointments. But I thought Alaric might be the one to surprise me. After all, he surprised me this morning at Carman’s.

  The triskele rock I found at the mound yesterday shifts in my pocket as if to remind me it’s still there. I never completed my third rotation after Alaric interrupted me. But his interruption was the best kind. And now, I’m just not ready to enter another world after not really living a successful, problem-free life in this one.

  Amorin’s cottage seems the logical place to go. Truth be told, it’s the only place to go, but if Dad’s still missing, there will be no one there for me. And for once I admit it. I need someone to comfort me. So I go to find the closest thing to comfort I still have in Ireland: Gram’s tea.

  After heating up a cup, I curl into a chair and ponder my day. Chewing the inside of my lip, my eyes settle on a worn brown leather journal with the initials M.P.O. I pick it up and turn to the first page, realizing it’s Dad’s journal. I don’t remember having seen it before. My throat tightens as I leaf through it, knowing I shouldn’t invade his private thoughts, but I miss him too much not to.

  According to the date on the first page, he started it twenty years ago around the time he first met Calliope.

  * * *

  ~Met an enchantress today. Black hair, ice-blue eyes, pale white porcelain skin, an exotic beauty blessed by Brigit herself. Her name is Calliope Brennan. She hails from Vernal Falls, Pennsylvania, in the United States. She’s the daughter of the well-known and respected High Priestess, Rose Brennan.

  * * *

  I skip a few pages to avoid any potential graphic content surrounding his relationship with Calliope. I know too much about his sex life already. Some red ink in a different hand catches my eye.

  * * *

  ~A prophecy made by Calliope Brennan, so it is sure to be blatantly ignored.

  A broken heart turns to black.

  Love forsaken. Hunger awakened.

  Consort with lunar pull.

  Taken in by ravenous thirst.

  Revenge blinded.

  Others’ will irrepressible.

  Chaos and destruction to ALL inevitable.

  * * *

  Another riddle to figure out. I hate fucking riddles.

  Whose heart turns to black? Mine? Because that’s completely believable. I’m fairly certain it is already. Calliope’s? Also possible, and she’s dead, so that’s a win. Someone else’s? Maybe. Hopefully Celtic mythology doesn’t have a Medusa figure. We’ve had enough gods reincarnated recently, and we certainly don’t need any evil ones. And the whole, “Love forsaken, hunger awakened” line can’t be good. There’s nothing worse than a woman scorned in love, especially if hunger’s involved. Is it hunger for power, for love, for food?

  And I definitely don’t like the whole “Chaos and destruction for ALL inevitable,” because “ALL” in capital letters makes me think the whole world’s in trouble. Between two dead bffs, a brother in jail, a missing dad, a boy I may never see again, and, oh yeah, a lunatic werewolf after me, I’ve got enough on my plate.

  Let’s move on.

  * * *

  ~Arrived in Vernal Falls today. Calliope decided since she’s pregnant with our first child that she’d like to move home to be close to her mother and sister. Rose Brennan is every bit the firecracker she was described to be, and her daughter Lulu is a mirror image of her.

  * * *

  I stop and consider what Dad wrote. Calliope and Lulu were identical twins, so they were mirror images to each other, but then, why did he mention Lulu as the mirror to Gram and not Calliope? Was it more in action and attitude rather than appearance? Because I know that in many ways I, too, look like my mom, except for the black hair underneath, which mirrors Calliope’s hair. I never considered myself a younger version of Gram, though maybe I am. A part of her is with me. That gives me incredible peace.

  Anxious to read more about Dad’s first impressions of my mom, I flip the page only to discover that many of the pages that follow are either erased, blackened, or torn out. Not knowing if the journal was altered by Dad or someone else, most likely Calliope on a jealous rampage, I continue searching for answers I didn’t even know I had questions for.

  * * *

  ~Gigi, my beautiful daughter was born at home today with Rose serving as the midwife. She is the most precious little angel I’ve ever seen and just as smart too. She grabbed my finger when I stopped in to visit and smiled. Actually smiled. It tears my heart that I can’t take more of a fatherly role in her life. I am relegated to “dear uncle” for fear others will discover who Gigi really is. Protecting my little girl is our number one priority. Nothing else matters.

  * * *

  Blinking back the tears, I realize the extent of my family’s sacrifice. They all dedicated their life to keeping me safe without expecting anything in return. I will not let them down. Not that I in any way believe I am Brigit reincarnated—no
goddess would be such a fuck-up—but I will do what I can to honor their sacrifice.

  The dates in the journal grow more sporadic. Some entries go on for several pages, while others are only a sentence or two. I take center stage in the content, with Scott playing a supporting role.

  * * *

  ~Wounded cats and dogs, along with numerous other animals, have shown up at Rose’s doorstep. One-year-old Gigi, who is already walking, toddles out and rubs different poultices and salves on them from Rose’s apothecary kit. Once she’s done, they lick her and go on their way or decide to adopt Rose and Gigi as their new family.

  * * *

  ~Can’t believe the fruits and vegetables harvested from Lulu and Rose’s garden this year. They’ve been canning for weeks, along with giving basketfuls away to coven members and neighbors. Either they’ve developed a green thumb, or the additions to our family have led to a fertile ground.

  * * *

  But it’s the next entry, stained and crumpled, that catches my attention.

  * * *

  ~Devastation struck. Lulu gone. Clayone imprisoned. Lulu gone.

  * * *

  Dad’s few short words cry out absolute devastation, but it’s what he didn’t write that destroyed him the most.

  In contrast, the next entry is devoid of emotion.

  * * *

  ~Calliope is gone. She couldn’t take the responsibility of motherhood or the responsibility of her actions. Her betrayal of Gigi and Lulu, of all of us, consumed her with well-deserved guilt. Maybe she got what she deserved for all the pain she caused.

  * * *

  In all my years of knowing Dad as our friendly neighbor, affectionately called “Uncle Mark,” I have never heard him speak or act in such a bitter, hurtful manner. The pain Calliope caused my family must be punished. If she were alive today, she’d be scared shitless, because my violent side would be put into action. No one hurts the ones I love. No one.

  From then on, the entries revolve around me.

  * * *

  ~At three years old, Gigi conducted her first summer solstice ceremony. All eyes of the coven watched her with pure love and affection. She glowed in the circle as she spoke, so much so that we know it couldn’t be just a trick of light. Rose and I have decided to shield Gigi and Scott from our practice. When they are older and can fully understand Gigi’s role and Lulu’s sacrifice, then we will tell them the truth and reveal to them the wonders of Druidry and our connection to Earth. Until then, may they live in peace and contentment. Ignorance surely is bliss.

  * * *

  ~Nancy and Greg came over and informed us that they no longer want to be a part of the coven, and Gigi is no longer welcome at their house. When I asked why, they told me that when Gigi was playing with Lizzie, she formed a fireball between her fingers and lit some candles. Evidently, thinking she’s a goddess and actually seeing her put her gifts into action are much different. They see only danger and devil’s work rather than the beauty of it. Gigi will be devastated. She adores Lizzie. They’ve been playmates since their birth.

  Rose and I have decided to up her dose of tea in order to stave off her powers. The protection ceremony will need to be held at the Beltane ceremony rather than Lughnassad in order to lay additional enchantments on her so she doesn’t begin to see or develop her powers.

  * * *

  Lizzie’s parents were afraid of me. That’s why they acted like I was the devil. “That thing,” her mother screamed at me. And now I know why. They heard the prophecy. They either believed I was a goddess or would be targeted because everyone believed me to be one, and in some way I’d one day put Lizzie in danger. I don’t even remember us together when we were younger. I thought it was only Scott and me. Did Gram and Dad wash our memories away, or did the tea do it? No wonder when Lizzie and I met in second grade in Mrs. Fury’s class it felt like we had known each other forever. We had.

  I stare at my fingers. Did I really make fireballs with them? I study each tip and think fire thoughts, but nothing so much as a spark comes out. I tilt the contents of my mug and watch the stray tea leaves swish back and forth. Gram never shared with me all the herbs she blended for my tea, and now I know why. She used magic on me to suppress my supposed powers. What would happen if I didn’t drink the tea? Could I shoot fireballs then? What else am I capable of?

  I skip a few pages, not really wanting to read more of the Gigi-the-Goddess-did-this-wonder, before continuing . . .

  * * *

  ~For Scott’s seventh birthday, the coven bestowed on him a silver dagger, heavily enchanted with protective charms. The dagger will be worn around his ankle at all times. Gigi will receive a silver bullet on her seventh birthday. The bullet is drilled at the base and will serve as a good-luck charm for her. The silver talismans will cast a spell over them to further prevent them from seeing as their grandmother and Lulu did. They cannot see the future yet. We must protect them for as long as we can. Gigi cannot know she is Brigit reincarnated. Scott and Gigi need to live a worry-free life until the time presents itself.

  * * *

  I let the journal fall to my lap. Huh, I wonder what that’s supposed to mean. Dad had no idea I could release Clayone. Neither did Gram, or they would never have let us camp out in the woods so close to Clarissa’s farm. What future is he alluding to? What type of dangers did he foresee?

  Amorin bursts in. “Gigi, I have news. Wonderful, incredible news!”

  His excitement blasts at me like a rush of electricity, but it doesn’t even crack my surface. So much has been kept from Scott and me. I wish Scott was here. To talk to. To just be there for me. I need him more than I ever realized. With him around, I never needed to be strong or brave. He shot his best friend to protect me and got locked away because of it. And now I face Amorin and his “news” alone.

  “What is it?”

  “There was a third protective spell cast by Brigit to help werewolves!”

  I’m not sure how helping a werewolf will save my life tomorrow night, but let’s see where this goes.

  “Where did you find it?”

  “In Brigit’s ruins,” he says, circling the room as if he can’t contain himself. “Do you remember the stone tablet with the Celtic cross on it? The one with the triskele?”

  No. I hadn’t noticed it. I finger the rock in my pocket, feeling the never-ending spirals that Kildare is filled with.

  Without waiting for my response, he continues. “After a visit to the Otherworld this morning, I wandered out to the ruins in search of a particular stone.”

  I lean forward, remembering the stone I had wanted to examine. Or rather, move. Could it be the same one?

  “Beneath it there was a vault containing a pile of old annals, probably as old as the ruins themselves. Annals are essentially journals the monks used to record information. They had a tendency to hide information in surprising places to ensure that, while the church did not support Druidry or witchcraft, the information would not be lost forever. Embedded in a recipe for buttercream biscuits, I found the third spell. I should have guessed there was a third spell, because the number three is sacred to Druids. But no matter, we know now. There’s a herb, nightlock, that anyone bitten by a werewolf can wear around his or her neck during a full moon. If the herb is worn, the victim will not turn into a werewolf. Isn’t that brilliant?”

  His enthusiasm does nothing to help mine. I set my tea down, stand up, and head to my room. I am so incredibly tired.

  He must sense I’m in no mood for conversation because he stops talking. I close the door behind me, fall to the bed, and stare at the ceiling with its cracks and patches. If I’d had that herb, Ryan would be alive. Knowing I could have prevented Ryan’s death is a terrible blow to my already withered self.

  26

  Love Potion Number

  Heaviness hangs in the air on my return to Carman’s. Amorin left a note telling me he returned to the ruins to read more of the annals and that if I was feeling up to it, I could join him.
Breathing seems like a chore with my heart so heavy. Even from a distance, the fire is a clear indication that tonight will be unlike any other. Green and blue flames pirouette into the night sky with Carman as the conductor. The ceremonial ring hosts a crowd of unfamiliar faces, causing uneasiness to settle over me. I cast a cursory glance around, hoping that Alaric changed his mind, but he didn’t. I am alone.

  “Gigi, dear, it is so good to see you,” Carman says from across the fire.

  I nod my head dutifully, unsure where I should go.

  “Stand over by me. I’ll need to connect with your energies in order to find your father.”

  In the middle of the fire, a large black cauldron churns a fluorescent green concoction. Is that what real magic looks like?

  “Gigi, we just need a hair from your head to begin.”

  I place one in her cold, shriveled hand.

  When she drops the hair into the cauldron, the liquid immediately boils, seething with anger. She begins to chant, and the brew dances to the rhythm of the incantation. Soon the coven members join in. I try to catch what they’re saying, but it’s in a foreign tongue, and although I seem to always understand ancient Gaelic, they’re speaking something else entirely.

  The flames grow higher and higher as they chant. A vision of Dad locked in a tower looms before me. A full moon slides into the small window. Calliope and Scott are with him, but I know that my vision must be distorted. Calliope is dead. Scott is safe in jail.