The Connelly Curse

by Lily Velez

  “Great,” I said flatly, the taste in my mouth souring. “What is it?”

  He smiled. The kind of devious smile that swallowed my heart whole. “Oh, I just need you to steal a relic from a god.”

  14

  Scarlet

  “It’s called the Sword of Light,” Kai explained.

  I knitted my brow, looking to Jack. “Isn’t that the weapon Brigid gave to the first Daughter, along with the Hallowstone?”

  “It is,” Jack confirmed. “Which leaves me to wonder what a demon would want with it.”

  Shadows quivered across Kai’s face. He smiled. It wasn’t an unfriendly smile, but it didn’t make me distrust him any less. “My business is my own.”

  “Not in this,” Jack said. “The sword is one of the Four Great Treasures. They aren’t to be trifled with.”

  “You mean in the same manner your uncle trifled with them when he stole the Cauldron of Rebirth for his own nefarious purposes? You’re lucky its magic was powerful enough to make it whole again.”

  Seamus had said the cauldron had once been used to resurrect warriors slain on the battlefields of old. It was also the means by which he’d intended on cooking up a stew for the Soul-Eater. It was easy to forget that the portal to the Otherworld wasn’t the only thing I’d destroyed that night. I’d also brought all those menhirs imprisoning souls to ruin, and I’d decimated the Cauldron of Rebirth as well.

  Thank you, I whispered in my mind, dispatching a well of gratitude to the powers that be that at least the cauldron had magically mended itself.

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “What significance do the Four Great Treasures hold that grants them so much magic?”

  “They’re all gifts from the gods,” Jack explained. “The Cauldron of Rebirth, for instance, belongs to the All-Father. According to legend, it’s from the Cauldron of Rebirth that all oceans, rivers, wells, and springs hail, including the water for our rainfalls. It also contains a bottomless source of sustenance that can never be emptied. It was gifted to the very first druids long ago during a time of drought and has been passed down through the clans ever since.”

  I thought it was incredible how much the gods had interacted with their people throughout Celtic history. My one interaction with Brigid had taken my breath away. I couldn’t imagine having a divine connection with an entire pantheon of gods, getting to see every last one in the flesh.

  “Then there’s the Spear of Victory, which belongs to the Celtic sun god, Lugh. In fact, it was used in an ancient battle against the Fomorians. Lugh wielded it to pierce Balor’s single, great eye.”

  I winced at the image his words evoked, a hand floating to my right eye.

  “His eye was the source of his power, and with his magic crippled, the Dark Lord could no longer scorch the earth with his withering glare. He shed that incarnation and reverted to his true form, retreating from battle.”

  Too bad Lugh hadn’t finished what he’d started by simply killing the Dark Lord altogether. My eyes slid to Kai at the thought. I still couldn’t believe the Dark Lord was his father. In the short time that I’d known they were real, I hadn’t given much thought to the genealogy of demons, how they’d come into existence.

  Had Kai been born, or had he simply materialized one day from a thought in the Dark Lord’s sinister mind? And how old was Kai? He had the appearance of a young man in his early twenties, but surely he must’ve seen hundreds, if not thousands, of years.

  “The Stone of Destiny,” Jack went on, “was used for years in the inaugurations of Irish Kings. According to legend, candidates for the throne would each step upon the stone and wait for a sign. It was only when the true, destined king stepped upon it, though, that the stone let out a great cry, announcing the new sovereign.”

  “That almost sounds like the story of King Arthur,” I said. “He was the only one who could pull Excalibur from the stone, which meant that he was destined to be king.”

  “There’s a reason the stories are so similar,” Jack said. “Our Celtic rituals for kingship inspired the Arthurian tales. Even Excalibur is nothing more than an echo of the Sword of Light, while the famous Holy Grail, which some stories say could provide sustenance in infinite abundance, takes its cue from the Cauldron of Rebirth.”

  I couldn’t help but smile a little. I felt a swell of pride that so many things had been adapted from Celtic lore. Although something occurred to me then.

  “Does that mean the Holy Grail never existed?” I asked.

  “That’s where things get interesting,” Jack said, a light brightening in his eyes. I had quickly learned that Jack loved sharing mythologies. Apart from simply being fascinated by the tales, I think it also made him feel close to Maurice, who, from Jack’s description, had also been a lover of stories.

  “Arthurian legends never speak of the Holy Grail without also mentioning the knights who pursued it, the most famous of which were the Knights Templar. Their last grand master was Jacques de Molay, who died in Paris, France. Do you know how Paris got its name?”

  I shook my head.

  “It comes from the Celtic tribe Parisii, whose people created a settlement there around the middle of the third century in B.C. times. Celtic influence in France eventually gave way to Roman culture, of course, as well as every other culture thereafter, but there were those who kept the Celtic traditions alive in secret over the centuries. And Jacques de Molay was one of them, a druidic descendant from the original Parisii people, one who practiced magic in secret.”

  The last grand master of the Knights Templar had been a witch? It made me wonder how many other historical greats had been a part of our fold. After all, before The Burning Times, our clans had been so numerous. It was possible scores of prominent people had practiced magic in secret from one generation to the next.

  “The Templars were eventually arrested on absurd charges and burnt at the stakes, Molay among them. But there’s a legend among our people that claims that shortly before his death, Molay had discovered powerful magic. When a loyal page visited his prison cell, the grand master indicated a secret hiding place in his home where he’d concealed a potent spell, ordering that it be shared with any knights lucky enough to evade arrest. The spell was said to grant immortality, so that those left standing after the king’s wide-scale persecution could continue carrying out the Templar Order’s mission, which was, in part, to protect the defenseless.”

  “Do witches believe those same knights might still be alive today?”

  “Many definitely do,” Jack said. “From the Spanish Inquisition to The Burning Times, there have always been accounts of miraculous rescues at the hands of a nameless group of men, some bearing an insignia similar to the ones the Templars once wore. Countless witches believe those men were the knights themselves, protecting not just the helpless, as has always been their vow, but also Molay’s very people.”

  “And as fascinating as all that is,” Kai said in a tone that was far from fascinated, “let’s return to the more pressing matter at hand, shall we?” He swirled the wine in his glass to release its aromatics and downed the last drops.

  “The Sword of Light,” I said. “If I remember correctly, this one belonged to Nuada, the god of divine justice and truth, right? So where is the sword now?”

  “It’s kept by Morrígan,” Kai replied. “The triple goddess of war, death, and destruction. It’s one of her most prized possessions. She stores it in the treasury at Nightfell.”

  With a flick of his hand, the air before me rippled as a scene materialized. A mighty fortress sat upon snow-capped mountains, its towers and turrets topped by winged female warriors bearing all fashion of deadly weapons. Each stone statue bore a fierceness that made my pulse stutter.

  “You want me to steal a sword from a place like that? It looks like the kind of place that shoots first and asks questions later.”

  “You’re not altogether incorrect,” Kai said. “Morrígan is notorious for her savagery. But not to worry. I certa
inly wasn’t expecting the two of you to foolishly storm the gates. I was thinking more along the lines of infiltration.”

  I lifted my eyebrows. “Care to elaborate?”

  “As it happens, Morrígan hosts a fête every triple crescent to celebrate her battle victories both old and new. Because of your impeccable timing, the three of us will be able to attend the next fête, which is only days away. While there, I’ll create a diversion, during which the two of you will make your way to the treasury to recover the sword.”

  “If you know where the sword’s located,” I said, “why haven’t you retrieved it yourself?”

  “Is that a lack of trust I detect in your tone, little witch?” Kai clasped his hands behind his back, a smirk perched at the corner of his mouth. His wisps of black smoke coiled around his arms like silent snakes. “My word. And here I thought we were well on our way to becoming fast friends.”

  I crossed my arms. “Answer the question.”

  He let go of a theatrical sigh. “The fact of the matter is that while the sword can be given to any creature, it can only be taken by a god. Or…by one favored by a god.”

  “Such as a member of the god-touched,” Jack said.

  “Precisely. And how lucky we are that our very own Scarlet was recently inducted into their numbers.”

  For the first time since being named a Daughter of Brigid, I wasn’t thrilled about my station. “You still haven’t told me what you want the sword for,” I said. “Am I really supposed to steal it from the goddess of death herself and entrust it into your hands, a son of the Dark Lord and a prince of the Otherworld?”

  “Yes, that just about sums it all up. Demon affairs aren’t for witches to worry over. Only outstanding favors and the consequences of not fulfilling them.”

  Right. Because if I denied him his request, it meant the eternal damnation of my soul. Still, I wasn’t ready to sign my name on the dotted line just yet.

  “How do I know you’ll help us retrieve The Eternal Flame once you have the sword?”

  “That’s the best part,” Kai said, his smirk growing. “The Sword of Light is The Eternal Flame. I won’t hold it against you, Jack, for being none the wiser. The connection between the two names isn’t well known outside of the Otherworld. When Nuada’s sword was first forged, it was said that the blade glowed with a brilliant, blinding light that never dimmed, almost as if an everlasting fire burned within the metal.”

  “An eternal flame,” I whispered. “So the favor you’re asking of me is one meant to help us?”

  “I mean to help myself, but let’s not split hairs. Do what you must do with the sword. Afterward, it’s mine to possess. Are we agreed?”

  I obviously had to say yes. It would spell bad news for my soul if I didn’t. But I struggled to get the word out of my tightening throat.

  “You do wish to expel Alistair from your father’s body, don’t you?” Kai asked. “And recover your magic? And there is that nasty bit about saving the world in the process too, of course. Tick-tock, little witch. Time is of the essence. What will your decision be?”

  15

  Scarlet

  Maybe I should’ve felt like a queen, luxuriating as I was. I sat in a claw-foot, porcelain tub in hot water treated with herbs, flower petals, and salt crystals, just as I had for the two nights prior, as every square inch of my skin was scrubbed clean by incorporeal handmaids. At first, I’d balked at the idea of being tended to by the phantom servants appointed to me, but they didn’t understand me when I politely excused them from their service, and in the end, I’d had to endure being daily disrobed and bathed and dressed by them.

  Presently, one of them took to massaging an array of nourishing botanicals into my hair, rubbing my scalp in repetitive motions that nearly put me to sleep. My eyes fluttered shut as my body relaxed into the near-scalding water, the heat easing the tension packed tight in my neck and shoulders.

  Once the handmaid had lathered up the full length of my hair, she grabbed a comb, and my knee-jerk reaction was to wince. Hairless as they were, my handmaids didn’t quite grasp the concept of inflicting as little pain as possible to the scalp when combing hair. Their default approach was to rake at my locks with robotic efficiency.

  “May I?” I asked the handmaid, offering my hand.

  She looked to the others, who appeared just as confused. They were such strange creatures that even now, I couldn’t keep myself from staring. They were shapeless shadows with only the suggestion of eyes and a mouth, dressed in smocks and wearing medieval headdresses with flowing veils.

  A wordless communication passed between them before the handmaid relinquished the comb with a frown. It was a gorgeous instrument, fashioned from ivory. An intricate floral pattern was carved into the handle, making it look like a piece of Viennese lace. I began the slow process of detangling my hair, starting from my ends and working my way up.

  Once finished, I fully submerged myself in the bath water to rinse the locks and scrub my scalp clean. Underwater, it was so peaceful and still. I pinched my nose and pressed my lips together as I savored the tranquility as long as possible. It was like being in a cocoon, in a womb, safe from harm. I wished I could’ve remained there longer, but I couldn’t delay the inevitable any further.

  Minutes later, I was in a robe and seated before a vanity as my handmaids moved to the next phase in our preparations. One massaged an assortment of oils into my skin, another busied herself with manicuring my nails, and the third began working even more ingredients into my hair, none of which looked familiar but all of which smelled absolutely heavenly, like coconut oil and sugary confections. I might’ve thought I’d somehow wayfared myself into a pastry shop.

  I inhaled all the aromas surrounding me, filling my lungs with them, and relaxed into the chair in an attempt to settle my mind, closing my eyes.

  Tonight was the big night. Tonight was Morrígan’s fête.

  My stomach twisted itself into knots as I reflected on the gravity of what I’d be attempting mere hours from now.

  “Why can’t I just ask Morrígan to let me borrow the Sword of Light?” I’d asked Kai in an attempt to get out of our bargain. “She’s a goddess, and I’m one of the god-touched. I’d think she’d be more than willing to help me considering what’s on the line.”

  Plus, it’d spare me from having to commit theft against an all-powerful deity. And as for Kai not being able to possess the sword unless it was freely given to him, I figured we could always say he put forth a threat against me that left me no other choice but to hand the weapon over.

  “You’re assuming Morrígan would help you simply because she and Brigid are both goddesses, both daughters of the All-Father. As it were, Morrígan despises her sister. Brigid is the golden goddess, the embodiment of joy and poetry and music and healing. Morrígan is the other side of the coin. War, strife, doom, and death. If Brigid represents the first blooms of spring, Morrígan is the carrion bird picking at the bones of newly slain warriors on a wintry battlefield. She won’t take kindly to one of Brigid’s Daughters strutting into her kingdom and putting forth requests, no matter how much humility you exude.”

  In other words, all this scheming hinged on an age-old sibling rivalry. Wonderful.

  “Furthermore, Morrígan holds an abysmally low opinion of mortals. She once had a daughter, you see. A breathtakingly beautiful creature who was the joy of her heart. She married the girl off to a warrior king renowned for his battle victories, believing him the only mortal worthy enough to receive her favor.

  “The king was a tyrant on the battlefield, and in time, he proved to be a tyrant in his personal affairs as well. He treated Morrígan’s daughter cruelly, and in a fit of rage one night, he slew the girl. From that day on, Morrígan has viewed mortals as utter savages. She'd sooner watch your world burn than help thwart the Dark Lord, even if it meant the gods were eternally locked out of the world of men. Besides, she views it as nothing more than a forgettable cesspool.”

  “C
harming,” I muttered.

  “What? Did you truly think that just because gods were gods, it meant they were virtuous beings of light who lived in peace with one another and fought for the good of the realms? Far from it. There are infinitely more wars and bloodshed and plays for power here than there are in the world of men.”

  Which meant there was no telling what this exceptionally horrible idea would lead to. Unfortunately, bargains with demons didn’t leave very much room for alternative options. I could only hope Kai’s request wouldn’t end with me getting killed.

  By the time I opened my eyes, my handmaids had finished their work. I blinked at my reflection, hardly recognizing myself. I’d never worn very much makeup before, so I was far from prepared to see the glamorous girl before me. I tentatively reached up to touch my face, convinced it couldn’t possibly be me. But I both saw and felt it when my fingertips made contact with my cheek.

  I stared, turning my head this way and that to take it all in. My dark eyes commanded attention with a smoky, cat-eye look that dazzled and bewitched. My chestnut hair (which one of the handmaids had once again magically dried with a mere pass of her hands) cascaded past my shoulders in Old Hollywood curls that made me look like an ingénue in one of my mother’s Golden Age movies. Even my lips looked different. They were fuller and more bow-shaped in a matte coat of cherry red.

  My handmaids crowded around the back of my chair, watching, waiting. I had assumed they were merely fulfilling an obligation as servants of Kai’s court, but I could tell now my opinion truly mattered to them.

  I smiled through the mirror and nodded. “Thank you,” I said. “It’s beautiful.”

  Though the words were surely gibberish to them, they seemed to gather the sentiment from my tone and expression, and their frames relaxed at a job well done. Not wasting any time, they guided me to my feet and led me back into my spacious bedchamber to begin dressing me.