“Yes,” I say with a curt nod. “When I agree, you will then kill the Ifrit and let my friends live. They can’t die or become undead or be touched or harmed or…” I trail off, trying to cover every angle that may lead to a loophole.
“Is dat all?” Brennus laughs. “Ye really do na trust me, do ye?”
“No, I really don’t trust you,” I agree.
Brennus’ eyes soften with affection. “Ah, well, we will change dat,” he says in an easy tone. Finn moves in front of us then. Brennus nods to him and Finn begins speaking words that I can’t understand. The room is filling with energy, I feel like I can reach out and touch it—taste it in the air. Brennus translates the terms of the contract as we had just laid them out while Finn speaks them in another language.
“Are they telling the truth, Russell?” I call softly to Russell.
“I think so. I don’t know some of their words, but it mostly sounds right,” he says in a feeble tone.
“Hang in there, Russell, it’s almost over,” I say to him and hear him laugh humorlessly.
“Yeah, Red, for me it is, but not for ya,” he replies bitterly, holding Brownie closer to him.
“Ye have ta repeat after me, Genevieve,” Finn interrupts us. He waits until I look at him before he speaks something in his language. I try very hard to repeat phonetically what he says. When I’m done, he produces a knife. Of course, I think, looking at Finn and Brennus with a frown.
“Can’t we just shake on it?” I ask Finn testily.
He smiles broadly at me, shaking his head no. “’Tis not binding dat way.”
I exhale, and ask, “What do you need?”
“A finger will do,” he smiles and his iridescent-green eyes sparkle.
I produce my finger. Piercing it with his knife he gathers a drop of my blood. Brennus extends his finger, too, allowing Finn to pierce it. Brennus’ blood mixes with mine on the blade. The blood smokes and sizzles as it runs together, but otherwise it is uneventful.
“What did I say, just now?” I ask Finn as we both watch the blood slowly dissipating off the blade in a plume of smoke.
“Ye said, ‘Let treachery return ta da betrayer,’” he quotes, watching me.
“Uhh,” I exhale as I realize I forgot to ask about the terms of the contract. “Brennus, what happens if I break the contract?” I ask him with fear overwhelming me. “What will happen to me?”
“Ye can na break it,” he says in a gentle, reassuring way. “’Tis me contract. Ye’re bound ta it. Here, try ta walk away from me now, like ye are leaving and ye will never come back.”
“Seriously?” I ask.
“Seriously,” he replies, suppressing a smile. I turn from him with tentative steps and walk towards the church door, my heart pounds in my chest as I have an urge to run as fast as I can and get away from here forever. My feet begin to drag and grow heavy. Soon, I find it almost impossible to take another step.
“Oh,” I say dejectedly.
“Do na look so sad. Ye wound me,” he says with a new lightness about him, smiling as I face him.
“What happens to you if you break the contract, Brennus?” I ask.
“Ye go free,” he says. “But, since I would have to bite ye to break it, I guess I would jus have ta make ye a Gancanagh and bind ye ta me dat way.” I ball my hands into fists seeing his logic. If he bites me, I’ll probably end up begging him for his blood to ease my pain. It would be really hard to resist him and try to escape, even with the contract null and void.
“Can you let me out of our contract, if you want to?” I ask.
“I can rescind it at any time,” he states firmly. “Do na hope for it. ’Twill na happen.”
“You will have to let me go in six months, Brennus. Remember?” I ask.
“I have ta give ye da option. It doesn’t mean ye can na choose ta live wi’ me after dat,” he corrects me.
“Same thing,” I say.
“If ye say so, but we can discuss it in six months, can we na?” he asks rhetorically. “Now, how would ye like ta see da Ifrit die?” he asks with a cool, calculating stare. My heart twists and Brennus’ eyes soften when he sees my expression change from sadness to one of vengeance. I want Valentine dead. Valentine tortured my soul mate and made me lose my love. I want him to die slow, in the most painful manner I can think of, and the realization of how badly I want that makes me feel cold inside.
“Russell,” I whisper, taking a few steps to him so I see him better. “How?” I ask, deferring to him.
Russell’s face hardens as he loses some of the sorrow and a light enters his eyes. “I like what they did to Alfred. It was poetic.”
My eyes shift to Brennus’. He nods and says, “Do na try ta bite da Ifrit, lads, ’twill burn yer insides out. Jus tear him apart and den do da spell, we do na want him ta reassemble and come after da other again. It might break da contract.”
Immediately, Declan, Lachlan, Faolan, and Eion fall on the immobile Ifrit, tearing his limbs off while they melt Valentine to nothing with their magic. The rest of the Gancanagh watch in silence as they enjoy the gruesome scene. I can’t watch it all. Instead, I watch Russell’s face as he receives justice for what was done to him. Russell’s eyes shift to mine when it is finished and I see overwhelming sorrow in them.
I silently mouth the words, “I love you” to him and he mouths it back to me.
“’Tis time dat we went,” Brennus says to me, extending his hand for me to take. I don’t hesitate, but take his hand in mine, knowing that I can do nothing else.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
Brennus’ eyes widen a little. “Ye are da most confusing craitur I have ever encountered, mo chroí,” he says, smiling down at me and leading me to the door. He stops when we get there, turning to Russell, he says, “She saved ye dis time. Da next time we meet, however, ye may na be so fortunate. Do ye need more tellin’, boy?”
“I think we understand each other, Brennus,” Russell replies with utter sadness.
“Goodbye, Russell,” I say, and then I turn with Brennus and walk from the church.
CHAPTER 12
The Fellas
We arrive at Brennus’ home and I see the house itself is amazing—but it’s not really a “house.” It’s a true medieval castle built on the northern cliffs of Ireland. I’m not exactly sure where I am, but we are very near the sea because I can hear it coming through the car window. When we first enter the ornate, iron gates of the estate, I think it has to be some kind of golf course because the grounds are expansive, tailored and pristine. But, that is nothing compared with the noble façade of the stronghold that it surrounds. The castle has much of the old stone of the original fortress, but there are places where it has been re-built with new stone and lighting.
We pull through a medieval portico and park before imposing wooden doors. As I step out of the sleek car that had carried a silent Brennus and me from the private airport, I feel intimidated by the sheer size and scale of this place. Brennus takes my hand in his cold one and I do not pull away from him as he helps me out of the car. Walking with Brennus towards the enormous doors, I see man-sized, stone gargoyles with vicious fangs on either side of the entranceway. I shiver at the sight of them and I wonder if these gargoyles represent the distant relatives of my new family.
In the formal reception area, the huge stone fireplace of the old hall still remains, but the ceiling had tumbled in ages ago. Now, wrought iron columns stretch up to the glass ceilings so that when I look up, I can see all of the ivy-covered towers of the castle above me. Tapestries and carved, wooden furniture mix with beautiful, modern items, such as a grand piano, in a way that makes it seem that they belong together—have always belonged together. If the circumstances of my arrival at this place were different, I would’ve wanted to see everything, but instead, I ask to be taken to whatever room they have planned for me.
Brennus assess me coolly, not saying a word. He nods his head and Faolan and Lachlan materialize in front of me,
indicating that I should follow them. The rest of the place is just a blur because I am led down several winding hallways and up elaborate staircases to arrive at one of the tower’s posh suite of rooms.
I have been in this elegant room for several days now. As I lie in the enormous bed and listen to the footsteps coming down the hallway to my room, they have such a purposeful stride, that I know they are coming for me. I pull one of the exquisite pillows up over my head with a groan just before my door is thrown open from without. The footsteps stride through my sitting room suite and into my bedroom where they stop at the end of my bed. One heavy foot taps for a couple of seconds before a muffled voice says, “Genevieve, are ye gettin’ up in dis century?” Ignoring the voice, I pull the blanket up over the pillow and snuggle further into the comfortable mattress of this enormous bed.
“I tink dat was ‘no,’ Brenn,” Finn’s voice lilts.
“She’s acting like a waster! Ye’re acting like a waster, Genevieve, and ’tis going ta end,” Brennus says, and I can feel the anger and frustration in his voice.
“That’s dark and scary, Brennus,” I reply, my voice dripping with sarcasm from under the blanket. “What’s a waster, Finn?” I ask.
“A human junkie,” Finn responds helpfully.
“Well, you would know, I guess, Brennus, since you make them that way on a daily basis,” I reply, feeling harassed.
“Do ye intend ta stay in here alone da entire time ye’re here?” Brennus asks me angrily.
“Our agreement says that I have to live with you. I never said I’d TALK to you. ANY of YOU!”
“Sin é, ye rua aingeal,” Brennus mutters before the bed levitates off the floor and begins to shake. In seconds, I am dumped on the carpet while my bed still hovers over my head in midair.
As I sit on the floor in just an oversized t-shirt that I had scavenged from a wardrobe in one of the other rooms, I give Brennus one of my severest scowls. “What did he just say, Finn?” I ask, gritting my teeth.
“He said, ‘Dat’s it, ye red-haired aingeal,’” Finn translates helpfully, trying hard to suppress the smile forming in the corners of his mouth. My eyes lock on the light green ones of Brennus as he crosses his arms over his chest, glaring back at me nefariously, while scanning every inch of my legs exposed by the hitched up t-shirt.
“Where did ye get dat ting ye’re wearing?” Brennus asks with his eyebrow arching.
“Whah, dis?” I ask with an innocent widening of my eyes while using his accent to mock him. “I borrowed it from one of the fellas. I have been wondering what, Dún do chlab means,” I say, looking at them to see they are both trying hard not to smile now as they read the words printed across the front of the shirt.
“It means ‘shut yer gob,’” Brennus says as the corners of his eyes soften. He holds out his hand to help me to my feet.
I wrinkle my nose and ask, “What’s a ‘gob?’” Ignoring Brennus’ offer of help, I pull my t-shirt down as I rise to my feet unassisted.
“It means ‘mouth,’ Genevieve,” Finn says. “It means ‘shut yer mouth.’”
“Then why not just say that?” I mumble in irritation.
“Why would ye want ta wear dat when I have given ye closets full of beautiful tings ta wear?” Brennus asks me in confusion.
“You like them, you wear them, Brennus,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at them.
“Do na be daft, all da clothes are for wans,” he replies, like I’m crazy.
“NO, all the clothes in there are for porn stars,” I counter heatedly. “I don’t even know what to do with half the stuff in there,” pointing my finger adamantly at a wardrobe.
“Arrgh, ye’re being silly,” Brennus says with a dismissive flick of his wrist.
I storm over to one of the many wardrobes in my room. “Oh yeah? What’s this? Or this?” I ask in frustration, pulling lacy bits of things out that I have no idea how to put on, not that I would even want to. I toss them at Brennus who dodges and ducks them.
Brennus’ eyebrows pull together in a frown. “Get dressed, I expect ta see ye downstairs today, or else,” Brennus says, striding towards the door.
“Or else, what?” I ask as Finn follows Brennus.
Brennus pauses and says over his shoulder, “Have ye na learned yet dat ye do na want ta know?” Without looking back at me, Brennus leaves my room with Finn trailing close behind him.
In frustration, I pace my room, trying to figure out what I should do next. I have to figure out a way to make Brennus break our contract so that I can be free to leave here and find Reed. My heart twists as Reed’s face enters my mind. He must be really, really mad at me for agreeing to Brennus’ terms. He would have never made a bargain like this. I have to start thinking more like him, he always seems to do the right thing, whereas I make a mess of everything…but my friends are still alive, so I must have done something right.
As I rifle through my closet for something to wear, I hate everything I see. Not because it’s all bad, but because it’s all very sexy and the last thing I want to do is entice a bunch of killers. No, I plan to repulse them, make them find nothing appealing about me. With that thought in mind, I walk out of my bedroom into the large sitting room that is attached to it. My stomach growls because they stopped sending trays up yesterday in an attempt to starve me out of my room.
I have to go downstairs anyway, just to find some food. I open the door that leads to the hallway a crack. Faolan and Lachlan are milling around at one end of the hall while Eion and Declan are shooting dice at the other end. I don’t want an escort on my next mission, so I wait until they all have their backs turned to me. When no one is looking, I dart through the open doorway across the hall from mine. It’s one of the fella’s bedrooms—one of my personal bodyguards: Declan, Lachlan, Faolan and Eion. I know they all stay on this hallway so they can be close to me, and I’m pretty sure that they are hating their new assignment because I haven’t really left my room, forcing them to do nothing all day but wait for me to surface.
I go directly to a wardrobe and rummage through it quickly, finding a green and white striped rugby jersey. I pull it on, but all the trousers are way too big, falling off me the moment I put them on. I have to settle for a pair of boxer shorts and a pair of really long, athletic socks that go up well past my knees. Walking to the window, I open it and look out. There is a stone terrace several stories down from this window.
Our rooms are located in one of the tower sections of the castle. The stone outside the window is covered with ivy that is as thick as jungle vine. Grasping a handful of the vine, I jump from the window and easily pick my way down the wall to the terrace below. I let go of the vine at the bottom and stride by the open glass doors of the terrace, seeing several very chicly attired Gancanagh inside an enormous room. The room is like a comfortable men’s club with thick, soft leather chairs and polished side tables. As I pass another set of open, glass doors, I look in and recognize Ninian sitting in a leather chair that is facing the terrace and the grounds without. Ninian is reading a beautiful, leather-bound book.
Walking casually through the doors, I ask, “Which way to the kitchen, Ninian?” When he glances up, his mouth drops open a little. I know I must look shocking to him. He is probably used to all the women around here doing everything they can to look as attractive as possible. I, on the other hand, have not showered since I arrived or even attempted to brush my hair. I know I look frightening and I try to hide the little smirk that is forming in the corners of my mouth. Too shocked to respond, Ninian just points to the door behind him.
“Thanks,” I reply. I walk to the door he indicates; it leads to a broad hallway. I call over my shoulder, “Left or right, Ninian?”
When I glance back over my shoulder, I see several Gancanagh milling around where Ninian is seated, watching me with avid curiosity. “Left,” Ninian says. I nod and head left.
After walking into several rooms that are clearly not the kitchen, I find what I am l
ooking for at the end of the hallway. It’s a huge, medieval-looking kitchen made of stone that has been completely updated with all of the modern amenities of any five-star restaurant. Several women are running the kitchen, doing dishes and cooking what looks and smells to be the chicken soup that I remember so well from my time in the copper mine. My stomach turns over at the aroma. I feel sickened by it and I know that there is no way I will be able to taste that soup without becoming violently ill. Don’t they know how to make anything else? I wonder, holding my hand over my nose so I won’t smell it.
These women are definitely under the thrall of the Gancanagh. I see puncture marks on their necks that indicate they have been a snack for at least one of the fellas. In a daze, a girl about my age speaks to me in an Asian dialect that I don’t understand. She seems to be indicating the soup on the stove, offering me some. I shake my head, feeling an overwhelming sorrow for her. How long has she been here? How long will she last?
“Do you have anything else,” I ask, hoping she might speak English, but she just stares at me, not understanding what I’m asking her. None of the women seem to speak English, so I wander around until I find a huge walk-in pantry. Browsing the shelves, I spot something that I recognize. Pulling a jar of peanut butter down from the shelf, I twist the lid and sniff it. My mouth waters at the familiar, comforting smell. As I walk back out into the kitchen, I find a spoon in one of the drawers. There is a wide table in the kitchen with several stools positioned around it, but the thought of eating in here with “the doomed” is more than I can take.
I leave the kitchen, looking for a quiet place to eat. As I pass a couple of beautifully attired Gancanagh in the hall, they both stop talking and stare at me like I’m an apparition. Their fangs engage with a click, causing my heartbeat to kick up. I attempt to remain outwardly calm until I turn down the first hallway that presents itself. Goose bumps flitter up my arms as I stifle the urge to look over my shoulder. I hurry down several more hallways in my search for a place to be alone.
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