Gold

by Talia Vance

  It works.

  Facing seven demigods, the majority of whom want me dead, falls somewhere on the extremely stupid side of the continuum of good and bad ideas. I take the seat across from Rush. Austin takes my hand as he sits down next to me.

  Rush narrows his eyes at Austin. He’s a big man, with dark eyes and long hair that makes him look as wild as the animals he hunts. “And you would be?”

  Blake hasn’t told the Sons about Austin. I try not to think too hard about what that might mean. Is he going to help us?

  “I am Arawn.” It’s the first time I’ve heard Austin use his true name. He looks every bit the god when he says it.

  Rush blinks. “Impossible.”

  Austin squeezes my hand under the table. “Apparently not.”

  Rush turns his hard gaze on me. “You couldn’t hide your true sympathies for long, bandia.”

  Blake looks down at the floor. He convinced the Sons to align with me the first time. Rush isn’t the type to let him forget it.

  Dr. McKay still stares at Austin, clearly fascinated. “We tested you. You didn’t have any link to the Killian gene.”

  Austin laughs. “You forget that you were created by the gods, not the other way around.”

  I squeeze Austin’s hand tighter. He may not be a god anymore, but I believe in him.

  Rush leans forward and addresses me. “You asked for this meeting.”

  “We’ve all been called for the Gathering.”

  Rush sits up straight and glares at Austin. “Are you responsible for this?”

  Austin shakes his head. “My successor.”

  “The other bandia are here,” I say. “They plan to ignite a war.”

  “Then we will fight.” Rush makes it sound so simple. If Liam wants a war, they will give him one. Just like that.

  Jonah makes a kissy motion with his lips across the table. It’s a good thing I don’t have my powers. Even without them, it’s hard to resist the urge to knock Jonah off his stool.

  Blake finally looks up from the floor. He stares at the table between Austin and I, as if he’s trying to see through the wood to where our hands are laced together. “Whose side are you on?” Blake directs the question to both of us, but it’s meant for me.

  “My own,” I say. “But I intend to fight with the Sons.”

  Rush leans forward. “You said the bandia are here. More than one?”

  “Two besides me.”

  Blake visibly pales. Is he worried I will give up Portia? Doesn’t he want them to know? It occurs to me that I have no idea what he wants where Portia is concerned. They bonded. I know how that can screw with your own emotions.

  A cheer rises up from the crowd watching television.

  Rush ignores the noise. “We have them outnumbered then. The battle will be short.”

  Jeremy looks sick. The lock of hair in his hand is a gnarled tangle. Micah mouths the word “sorry.” They are not fighters, but they won’t stand against the Circle of Sons either.

  Mallory Williams walks down the stairs from the rooms above the main dining room. Her face changes when we make eye contact, transforming to fear and then anger. She marches up to the table, her eyes darting from Blake to Rush to me. “What’s she doing here? Why is she even alive?”

  Rush stands up. “Her fate is not your concern.”

  Mallory shrinks away from Rush, but she turns her cold green eyes on me. “I’ll kill you myself if they won’t do it.”

  Joe steps behind Mallory, appearing from a table behind a wall near the kitchen. “This is a private meeting.” He presses a hand on Mallory’s shoulder.

  Mallory glares at her brother, ignoring Joe. “Does Portia know you’re meeting with her?” She says “her” like it’s a dirty word.

  “Let’s go outside, Mal.” Joe’s hand curls around her arm. “Now.”

  Several of the people crowded around the TV turn to watch us.

  Rush glares at Mallory. “Stop acting like a child. Your brother claimed the right to kill this one, and he will carry out his promise to the Circle.”

  Blake stares at the floor again. Like the scratches in the hardwood form the most fascinating patterns known to man.

  Mallory rolls her eyes. “Like he did in R.D.? She’s got him wrapped around her little finger, or at least she’s got her fingers wrapped around his—”

  “Enough!” Rush’s voice carries through the pub. Everyone in the room stops talking. All eyes are on Rush. Even Mallory looks chastened.

  Austin squeezes my hand.

  A gust of wind comes from behind us. The wind whips across the table sending glasses and pitchers scattering. A glass of ale lands in Rush’s lap.

  Levi and Jonah both stand at the same time. “We need to go.” Austin pulls me to my feet. There’s a flash of silver in front of us. It’s bright enough to be disorienting, but I can’t afford to wait until my eyes adjust. I point myself in the general direction of the entrance and run.

  I step back, away from the demigod that materializes in front of me. Blake holds his broadsword at his side and takes my hand, pulling me off my feet. I fall into the solid wall of his chest as he shields me from a flash of light to my right. He turns us around just as Jonah draws his serrated knife.

  Blake pushes me toward the entrance as the knife hits him in the shoulder. “Go!”

  I don’t stop to help him. I run as fast as I can for the doorway, trying to put walls between me and the rest of the Sons.

  Austin waits at the door. He holds it open and slams it behind me. We run around the corner and duck into a gift shop. Austin nods at the short woman at the register and pulls me back to a rear door used for deliveries. We come out in an alley not far from where we left the car.

  We run the rest of the way to the car, but there don’t appear to be any Sons giving chase.

  Austin drives the sports car the way it was designed to be driven, hard and fast. We don’t speak until we’re safely in the gates of Lorcan Hall.

  “Portia?” Austin is referring to the wind that took out the Sons’ table.

  “That’s my guess.”

  He puts his head in his hands.

  “What?”

  “I was supposed to look out for you.”

  “You did. You got me out.”

  He shakes his head. “Blake got you out.”

  “You were there too.”

  He nods. “But I couldn’t help, Brianna.” “What do you mean?”

  “My power. It’s gone.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  Mick has a tea service set up in the blue room. I want to hug him. I almost do, but he waves me away. Apparently, hugs are not his thing. I sip from a warm cup, savoring the brisk peppermint flavor. “At least the Sons know that the Gathering is a set up.”

  “Liam might not wait for the Gathering now. He won’t want to lose his advantage.” Austin throws himself onto the couch and rests his feet on the table.

  Mick glowers and waits for Austin to set his feet back on the floor before he leaves the room.

  “You’re assuming he’ll find out that the Sons know about the Gathering,” I say. “And that he knows who they are.”

  “We have to assume Portia will tell Liam about the meeting,” Austin says. “Half the town probably knows about it after that display.”

  “Joe will compel the people who were there to forget what they saw. Like he did the night Sasha was killed at the poker game.”

  “Which will only fuel the rumors. The people here don’t need to trust their memories to know when something isn’t right.”

  “How can they suspect something they don’t remember?”

  “Remembering and knowing are two different things. Memories can’t always be trusted, colored as they are by perception and time. Knowledge is something that lives in our hearts. It is not so easily shaken.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  Austin sets down his cup of tea looks at me. Right into me. “I could be stripped of a thousand years of memories,
and I would always know, in my heart, that I love you.”

  Okay, wow. My cheeks flush with heat that doesn’t come from the tea. “What does that have to do with the townspeople?”

  “You can take away what they saw, but their feelings will linger.”

  Mick returns to the doorway. “Brianna has a visitor.”

  I stand up. Whoever it is, I want to be in a position to fight if I have to. Or run.

  Shannon walks into the room, her eyes downcast. She used to work on staff, so she’s probably not used to coming into Lorcan Hall as a guest.

  Austin nods at me and follows Mick out of the room.

  She almost smiles. “I’ve come to help you.”

  “Help me what?”

  “Fight the witch’s black magic.”

  I sit down on the couch and pat the space next to me. “I’m listening.”

  She pulls a handful of twigs from her pocket. They’re cut into identical three inch pieces and bound with a green ribbon. She holds it out to me.

  I take the little bundle of sticks. “What’s this?”

  “Broomstraw. A ward against dark magic.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s not our place to understand.”

  “Why are you giving this to me?” I turn the sticks over in my hands.

  “I was at the Pub this afternoon. I know you’re not a witch. She just wants them to think you are. This will help you.” Shannon crosses herself.

  She saw Portia. “You remember what happened?” Joe should have replaced the memory. If Austin’s theory is correct, she might know something was off, but she shouldn’t remember the details.

  “I saw her on the stairway. She called the wind to her before she sent it to the table.”

  If she saw Portia, she probably saw the Sons in their demigod forms. “You saw the Milesians too?”

  Shannon looks confused. “Of course. I’m one of them.”

  Now it’s my turn to be confused. “You’re a Milesian?” I shouldn’t be surprised. Mick told me the human Milesians were still here. And Shannon’s mother is obviously against evil goddesses.

  She nods. “As long as there is magic in this world, we are here to defeat it.”

  “But I thought that Killian rid Ireland of magic over a thousand years ago.”

  She laughs. “Only an American would say that.”

  “And the Seventh Sons? Will you defeat them too?” Killian may have started out as a Milesian, but I suspect the Milesians no longer claim his heirs as their own.

  “And others. It’s been generations since the Sons fled our country, but we always knew they would return. Home calls to even those who forsake it.”

  “You shouldn’t be helping me.” If Shannon is what she says, I am as much her enemy as Portia. “Your mother will be upset.” Rhiannon knows what I am.

  Shannon looks down at the floor. “I wasn’t planning on telling her, were you?”

  I shake my head. “But if I am what she says?”

  “You’re not. I saw you today when your life was in danger. If you had even an ounce of magic, you would have used it.”

  “Damn straight.” But does my lack of power mean that I am no longer a Seventh Daughter? I cling to the idea and all it could mean. A normal life.

  Shannon glances up from the floor, a shy smile playing on her lips. “Keep the broomstraw close.”

  “Thank you.”

  She stands and walks to the door. “Call me if you have trouble with the witch.”

  The door opens behind her and Sherri and Liam waltz past Shannon without acknowledging her. They’re too busy playing grab ass with each other.

  Sherri barely waits for Shannon to leave before she conjures some wind and slams the door shut from across the room. “We need to talk.”

  Liam curls his lip into a sneer that is more menace than smile. “Portia tells me you haven’t been playing fair.”

  I clutch the pouch of bark in my fist. I have a feeling I’m going to need it.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Liam takes a seat in the largest chair, a wingback trimmed in delicate gold fabric that makes it look like a throne. Sherri stays on her feet, pacing the length of the room. “You told the Sons about our strike. You still have a thing for one of them, don’t you?”

  “No.” As I say the word, I realize it’s finally true. “I have a thing for humanity.”

  Sherri waves her hand in the air, dismissing my words. “You think the Sons care about humanity? Why do you think they kept breeding for more Sons even after they thought we were all dead?”

  I’ve asked myself the same question. The Sons covet their own magic. It’s everyone else’s that’s a problem for them. No wonder the Milesians don’t claim Killian’s heirs as their own. “At least the Sons don’t plan to enslave humans.” I tuck the little bundle of twigs in the front pocket of my jeans.

  “I’m running out of patience with you,” Liam says from his throne. “You take your powers for granted, but you only have them by the grace of the gods. If you’re not going to use them for the right reasons, you don’t deserve them.” The unspoken threat is in his eyes. You don’t deserve to live.

  “And you trust Portia?”

  Sherri walks over to Liam and places a hand on his shoulder. “Portia has spent her whole life under the thumb of the Sons. She hates them more than I do.”

  It’s what Portia told me herself, but I still can’t believe that Portia could kill her own family so easily. That she could kill Blake. I still might be able to save her. Sherri, on the other hand, is a lost cause.

  Liam clears his throat. “Portia will do as she’s told. So will you.”

  I turn to face him. Dressed in jeans and a Dublin sweatshirt, he looks almost like one of Braden’s crew, a college kid on holiday. But he hasn’t been on earth long enough to learn how to mask his otherworldliness. He doesn’t take on any imperfections to offset the sculpted line of his jaw or perfect symmetry of his face. His voice, his movements, they’re all too smooth.

  “You don’t own me.”

  “Another lesson in humility?” He turns to Sherri.

  The corner of her lip quirks.

  Wind whips around her hair, and I brace myself for her assault. I see the moment she sends the wind straight at me. It sails by with such force that a statute of a small dog is blown off the table next to me, crashing to the marble floor.

  The wind doesn’t touch me. I tighten my grip around the small pouch in my pocket.

  “Come on, bandia.” Sherri can’t hide the shakiness in her voice. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Crap. Sherri wants to spar and I’ve got exactly nothing in my arsenal of magic. “I’m not fighting you.”

  Sherri shakes her head. “You’re pathetic.”

  A blast of wind hits the back of couch hard enough to knock it forward and send me flying from the seat. I put out my arms to brace my fall, barely keeping my head from striking the marble floor. I roll to the side. Out of the corner of my eye, I see an iron fire poker next to the fireplace. I reach for it and lob it at Sherri’s knee.

  She’s not expecting a physical fight. The poker lands with a crack against her leg. She falls to the floor with a shout. She curls in a ball, a string of obscenities flying from her lips.

  The door opens so fast it slams against the wall. Austin runs past Sherri to where I’m still pushing myself off the floor. He turns to Liam. “Get out!”

  Liam sets his chin in his palm and smiles. “That’s no way to speak to your guests.”

  “You are no longer my guest. Get out of my house. And don’t touch Brianna again.”

  Sherri sits up, holding her knee. “This won’t be your house for long.”

  Austin raises his eyebrows. “Your life is as fragile as mine. Perhaps you should refrain from throwing stones.”

  She hobbles over to Liam. “I have the gods on my side.”

  Austin helps me to my feet before he looks at them again. “You have ten minutes to
pack up your things and get out. You will stay away from Brianna between now and the Gathering.”

  Liam pulls Sherri into his lap. “You cast out your betters at your own risk.”

  Austin glares at Liam. “You touch Brianna at yours.”

  We wait for them to leave before we make our way upstairs to Austin’s bedroom. As soon as we’re safely inside, Austin pulls me into a hug. “What was that about?”

  “Training, I think.”

  “It looked like you got in a nice shot.”

  “I don’t need magic to put up a good fight.”

  “You don’t have to tell me.” Austin presses his lips to my forehead.

  “For a second there I almost believed you still had your powers.”

  “You’re not the only one who’s good at bluffing.”

  I stretch up to kiss him.

  “Stay,” he whispers against my lips. There’s no magic behind his plea, no soul bond that brings us together. There’s just him and me and a kiss that has a power all its own.

  He doesn’t have to ask me twice.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  From across the breakfast table, Austin grins at me. “What?”

  “I think it’s time you learned how to handle a broadsword.”

  “Okay. Wow. Tell me that is not a euphemism.” Austin reaches across the table for my hand. “It would certainly make the day more interesting if it were. The thing with the fire poker got me thinking. We might not be able to fight with magic, but we can still fight. It wouldn’t hurt for you to learn a weapon.”

  “And the broadsword is so relevant.”

  “It is when you’re fighting Sons.”

  “We’re supposed to be fighting with the Sons, not

  against them.” Although we can’t exactly count on that. It seems the Sons still want me dead. “Wouldn’t a gun be better?”

  “The only way to kill a Son is at close range. Reduces

  the likelihood of an unintentional hit.” He doesn’t need to explain. An unintentional hit is exactly how I killed Blake when I meant to save him.

  An hour later, Austin waits for me in the courtyard. The sun shines through fluffy white clouds, it’s golden rays casting Austin in a warm light, an echo of his godly form, but softer. More.