by KB Anne
To guard from the night.
* * *
The power to heal. The power of youth.
Their existence to all a living proof.
* * *
As immortality weighs,
One shall fall, one shall rise,
To perish from all humankind.”
* * *
“Oh, well that explains everything,” Scott says.
Gram wags her finger at him. “Do not mock the prophecy, boy.”
“Gram, you can’t honestly believe it,” he says in surprise.
Gram doesn’t anger easily. “Believe it? I said it, and your mom died to protect you because she believed it,” she says, pointing her finger at me.
“You mean to tell me …” I pause for a deep breath, “you believe that I am the Goddess Brigit reincarnated, that Clayone, the Original Werewolf, wants to kill me, and that my mom died to protect me?”
Gram and Uncle Mark nod in unison.
“So next you’re going to tell me unicorns, fairies, and dragons exist too.”
“Who am I to question the existence of magical creatures,” she says.
My eyes bug out of my head. I look at Scott. He shakes his head and stares back at Gram and Uncle Mark as if seeing them for the first time.
I jump up. “You. Can. Not. Be. Serious.”
She raises her hands, palms up. “Gigi, you need to calm down, honey. Listen to your heart.”
“I am listening to my heart, Gram, and it’s telling me the two of you have gone off the deep end. You’re flipping crazy! My mom was a drug addict who abandoned me when I was a baby. You told me yourself, or did you forget you said that too?”
Before she can answer—before anyone can answer—I run up to my room and slam the door. I smash my face into my pillow so no one can hear my screams. I refuse to give them the satisfaction that I even remotely believe one speck of what they’ve told me. There’s no way I can possibly believe that I am a goddess reincarnated, that I undid the spell my mom died to place, that I killed my best friend, that Uncle Mark is my dad, and that Scott is my brother. It’s too much. Too fucking much.
I refuse to believe my entire life is a lie, a complete fabrication, and to think I compounded those lies trying to fit in with my classmates? Ironically, what I thought was the truth—that my mom was impregnated during a drunken romp in the hay with some random guy and then died of a drug overdose—was not the truth at all. There was no reason to lie about my dad in the first place—I went to the father-daughter dance with him.
Why did they lie to me?
Why didn’t they tell me the truth?
Why did they make me suffer every day for every minute of my entire life?
After too short a time, someone knocks at my bedroom door.
“Go away,” I growl before shoving my head back into the pillow. The doorknob clicks open. I shoot an icy glare at my intruder.
“Hey, hey, hey, goddess girl! I don’t want you turning me into stone or anything,” Scott says as he sits on the bed beside me.
“You don’t actually believe what they told us, do you?”
“I admit there’s a lot of information to digest. The biggest problem I have is what if you had kissed me at the campfire the other night. I mean, then, it would be awkward.”
I punch him in the arm. “Ew, like I wanted to kiss you. You wish.”
He shakes his head. “Actually, I never wished it. You and I seemed like a natural pairing considering Ryan and Lizzie were getting together. They worked on me for weeks in school and stuff, but I kept telling them you were like a sister to me. Go figure.”
I tear at the edge of my blanket. “You know, of everything we learned tonight, that makes the most sense. I can’t imagine someone who’s not related to me driving me so crazy.”
He smiles. “You’re telling me.”
“Knowing the truth does put a lot of things into perspective though,” he says thoughtfully. “I mean, like the fact my dad is your dad, or at least on a ‘biological’ level. We’re always here, and when we aren’t, he always seems anxious. He’s constantly asking how you’re doing in school, what boys you’re dating, or if you take drugs. I always thought it was because your mom …”
I blink back the tears. “I know. It’s much easier to be mad at her for abandoning me for drugs, than to think she sacrificed her life for me because she thought I was a goddess. And then I go and mess everything up.”
“You didn’t mess everything up.”
“Really? You don’t call releasing the most evil and dangerous monster in the entire world and killing my best friend in the process completely messing things up?”
“Gi, you didn’t know. There was no way anyone could have known what was going to happen.”
“Scott, I did know. Remember my nightmare?”
He nods.
“I dreamt of the night my mom died. I dreamt of werewolves attacking everyone. I saw her cross the pond in front of the church, and then everything went dark. Even though I didn’t see what happened next, I knew Clayone was in the church, and still I went in. I let all of you go in.”
“Gi, you had a dream because I told you what I thought was a scary story. I didn’t think it was true. And, regardless, you didn’t know you could undo the spell. You didn’t know Ryan and Lizzie would get hurt.”
“Lizzie didn’t get hurt, Scott. She died. I killed her.”
“Gi, you need to stop saying that. You didn’t kill her. Clayone did.”
“Oh, that makes it so much better. Thank you so much for your help!”
“You’re certainly not acting goddess-like right now, unless you’re the Goddess of Drama and Theatrical Woe-Is-Me.”
I glare at him.
“And since I’m being honest, I always thought a goddess would be taller …”
I swat at him.
He stands up and moves to the foot of my bed. “Now that I’ve got you almost functional, Gram and Dad want to talk to us again.”
“Great. This time are they going to tell us how to get to the Wizard?”
“Oh, I already know that one. You follow the Yellow Brick Road,” he laughs as he sticks out his elbow for me. I loop my arm through his and allow him to skip me downstairs as he sings, “We’re off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz …”
I certainly don’t feel like singing and skipping, but Scott’s goofball tactics get me every time. He is the perfect counterbalance to me.
Gram and Uncle Mark sit at the kitchen table examining a large piece of yellowed parchment. The edges curl up even with Gram’s familiar coffee mugs set down as weights at each corner.
“See,” Scott says pointing at the paper, “they are giving us a map to the Wizard of Oz.”
I laugh, though I know I shouldn’t—my best friend is dead, and I want to curl up in a ball and die with Lizzie. My light-hearted reaction immediately eases the tension in the room.
“Gigi, we know we’ve given you a lot to absorb tonight, but unfortunately there’s no other way and there’s not a lot of time,” Gram says.
“I don’t understand. What does time have to do with anything? Can Clayone come here?” My god, what have I done?
“No, not yet. This house is heavily protected by spells and good-old-fashioned oak,” Uncle Mark says.
Scott bangs his knuckles against the table. “Oak? You mean the tree?”
Uncle Mark points to the table, the chairs, the back door. “Yes, I mean the tree. The thresholds, the doors, the window frames, all means of entrance and exit are oak wood. Oak is sacred to our beliefs. It protects us from evildoers.”
“Our beliefs? Aren’t we Independents?”
“Scott, come now,” Gram says. “You haven’t noticed we celebrate a lot more than the traditional Christian holidays? Do you think everyone in the neighborhood celebrates the solstices, the equinoxes, and the Sabbats?”
“The Sabbats? Our Sunday afternoon Steelers football worship?”
I run my finger
up and down the table’s grain. “My birthday, February 1; Gram’s birthday, May 1; your birthday, August 1; and Halloween, October 31.”
“How’d you know those were the Sabbats, Gi? More goddess voodoo?”
“No, I don’t think so, but I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Yes, dear, you are,” Gram says. “The Sabbats are sacred to us. Imbolc, Beltane, Lughnassad, and Sanheim, or the Christianized names Candlemas, May Eve, Lammas, and Halloween. We managed to keep them hidden from you mainly because our birthdays fall on the same days. We follow an ancient Celtic earth-based belief system. Celts believe that whatever is, was, and will be. Modern followers call it ‘Wicca.’”
“You mean to tell us we’re witches,” I say calmly. I turn to speak in confidence to Scott, “I want to be the Wicked Witch of the West. You can be the Wizard with your abnormally large head.”
He winces. “Ouch, sis, that hurts.”
“The two of you need to take this seriously,” Uncle Mark says. “We’re not talking about Hollywood witches or the witches from folklore. We’re talking about people who believe in the ancient gods and goddesses. People who believe in the power of Nature to provide for them and to protect them as long as they take care of Her. The so-called witches persecuted throughout history were the medicine men and women of their day. They were familiar with the local herbs and plants and healed people. They were not flying around on brooms casting spells. They did not have green skin and warts. They looked just like you and me. They are you and me.”
I bite my lip, contemplating his words.
“You two are from the most ancient line of Celts known as Druids. Druids were storytellers, peacemakers, and healers for thousands of years. You possess a lineage more esteemed than any royalty or power figure in office. Here, let me show you,” he says, indicating for us to sit on either side of him as he pushes down the edges of the parchment. “We’ll start at the bottom and work our way up. You’ll notice this tree begins with Brigit, or ‘Breeyit,’ the more accurate pronunciation, of Kildares, Ireland. Brigit had three boys and a girl. This tree follows only the girl’s line. There’s never a father listed on it. Only a son. And never a son’s wife or offspring.”
We follow the never-ending line all the way down the parchment until we get to Rose Brennan, my gram. Below her are two names—Calliope and Lulu.
Lulu is my mom. Calliope is the name of the woman who betrayed her.
“Gram, you had another daughter?” I ask, suddenly realizing Calliope is my aunt. Before she replies, I notice a line drawn from Calliope to Scott. Calliope was Scott’s mom.
Here I thought my mom was his mom, and we were separated at birth for our protection or something, given the bizarre information Gram and Uncle Mark have shared with us so far.
“I don’t understand,” Scott says. “I thought you said Gigi was my sister.”
“She is,” Uncle Mark says, “but she’s only your half sister. Your mom, Calliope, was my wife. I need to explain more about our beliefs; then maybe everything will make sense.” He pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts. “In each order of Druids, there is a High
Priest and a High Priestess, who lead ceremonies for the believers. I was … I am the High Priest of the local Druid order.”
I peek at Scott out of the corner of my eye and have a newfound respect for Uncle Mark. Maybe he isn’t such a lame-ass after all.
“Lulu, Gigi’s mom, was the High Priestess.”
“But I thought you said Calliope, my mom, was your wife,” Scott says, still trying to put the pieces together.
“She was, but she was not the High Priestess. The honor goes to the highest-ranking follower of the Goddess Brigit. The Beltane ceremony on May Eve celebrates the fertility of the land, animals, and people. Covens sometimes make an offering to the gods. In this case, the High Priest and the High Priestess invoke the spirits of the Father God, Dagda, and the Mother Goddess, Anu, to join in union using our human form.” He stops talking as his cheeks begin to flush with Scott and I staring at him in confusion.
“The High Priest and the High Priestess have intercourse in front of all of the believers,” Gram says.
“What?” We shriek together. I thought I had heard everything, but evidently, I had not.
“But, Dad, what about Mom?” Scott whispers, the reality of the story sinking in.
“First, I need to explain, we didn’t have sex. We didn’t act for our own sexual pleasure. The ceremony invites the spirits to take over our bodies, so they can share a moment of union in earthly form. It’s meant to be a spiritual experience to everyone involved, including the ring of believers. It isn’t some quickie in the back of a car. It’s not porn. Calliope was a firm believer and was comfortable with the ceremony, or at least she said she was.”
“I don’t think we need to tell them every sordid detail tonight,” Gram says, touching the back of our heads. “I think the children have learned more than enough for the moment.”
“I think I’ve heard enough to last a lifetime,” Scott says. “Why didn’t you tell us the truth?”
Uncle Mark—or should I call him “Dad”—looks at us a long time before speaking again. “That your sister may be the Goddess Brigit reincarnated? That her mom, who’s not your mom, died protecting her? That I was her father? And that we’re, by modern definition, witches? The story’s complicated. We didn’t want the burden on you. School’s hard enough with normal problems. And more than anything, we wanted to protect the two of you. We wanted to keep you safe and innocent for as long as we could. We probably should have told you earlier, but the timing never seemed right. Life was going well for both of you. For all of us. We didn’t want to change anything. We had no reason to think life would change.”
I bite my lip. Life was going well. Then I went ahead and messed it up. But something Uncle Mark said about Calliope bothers me. Gram and Uncle Mark’s version of the truth doesn’t add up.
“So, Gram, you really are my gram, my official grandmother?” Scott says.
“I’ve always been. I’ve never treated you any differently than Gigi,” she says with her hand on his shoulder.
“No, you never have. I just thought it was because of my irresistible personality and charm, not because you didn’t have a choice,” he says sticking his lower lip out.
She tousles his hair. “Who do you think you get your irresistible personality and charm from, silly?”
I watch the two of them while I run figures in my head. Scott’s birthday is August 1. My birthday is February 1—nine months after the union thing. According to my calculations, Calliope was six months pregnant with Scott when the whole union thing happened. Uncle Mark told us that she was comfortable with the ceremony … or at least she said she was.
My dream becomes clearer as nearly every aspect of it is confirmed as truth. Calliope was upset when she came bursting into the house. She said, “He’s coming. He knows.” She said she was protecting her son, but Scott was safe. She sent Clayone because she was pissed at my mom’s union with Uncle Mark. I served as a constant reminder of what they did. She wanted me dead. She knew my mom would sacrifice her life for me. She killed my mom.
“Is everything all right, Gigi?” Uncle Mark murmurs, reaching out to touch my hand.
My eyes shift back into focus, and I realize we’re the only ones left at the table.
I glance around. “Where did everyone go?”
“Gram sent Scott to his bedroom to sleep. She said to say ‘good night,’ or should I say, ‘good morning,’” he says, ducking his head to peek out the window.
“Uncle Mark, can I ask you a question?”
He nods his head with effort.
“Calliope wasn’t okay with the Beltane ceremony, was she?”
He shakes his head. “No, she wasn’t. She believed I was in love with your mom, even though I was her husband, and she was pregnant with our child.”
“Were you?” I whisper, afraid of the answer.
He swa
llows. “Yes.”
“That’s why she betrayed my mom, isn’t it?”
He studies me. “How do you know about that?”
I tell him my dream from beginning to end. As I finish, we sit for a long while, neither one of us speaking. Then he stands up, kisses me on the forehead and heads to the living room.
“What happened to Scott’s mom?” I whisper to his departing back.
“She drowned herself in Radley Pond,” he says in a dull, lifeless tone as he steps over the threshold to the living room.
“Dad,” I whisper hesitantly. He stops but doesn’t turn to face me. “Do you believe I’m Brigit?”
“Yes,” he replies and continues on. His footsteps sounding heavier than before.
I lie.
I cheat.
I steal.
I am not a god.
* * *
THE END
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* * *
Keep reading for an excerpt of
Blood Moon: The Goddess Chronicles Book Two
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About the Author
Evil author person causing book hangovers since 2018. Known to erupt into malevolent laughter fits while she writes urban fantasy featuring fierce females, swoon worthy heroes who actually listen, and explosive action because everyone needs excitement in their lives.
She writes the best-selling urban fantasy series, The Goddess Chronicles and The Silver Fae Series. She adores Celtic Mythology and Eastern Band of Cherokee legends, so all her books include heavy doses. She also has a thing for wolf shapeshifters, so you’ll find lots of drool worthy ones in her books.