by O J Barré
“Anders,” he instructed his assistant, “have SCIF round up the Director for me. Tell them I’ll be right down.”
Warren boarded the elevator to the basement, and traversed the long corridor to the Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility. Holding his hand in front of the pad, he waited for the ding, then looked into the iris scanner. The door buzzed and Warren entered SCIF. He nodded to the three specialists on duty.
“The Director is on,” Joaquin advised. Warren crossed his arms and nodded.
FBI Director Katarina Hobbs appeared on screen, hair pulled back, expression severe. “What is it Warren?”
“Director, we have a problem.” He summarized his conversation with the girl and finished with his assessment. “We need to nip this in the bud, Director. From the intel we’ve gathered, Patrika Tolbert has two powerful allies in Reverend Carpenter, an up and coming evangelist, and Latoya Cloud, a singer-turned-actress. I recommend we discredit the girl quickly before people start to take this seriously.”
“Are you sure that won’t make things worse?” the Director drawled. “Because from where I stand, if we start hootin’ and hollerin’ about one silly little girl, the world is gonna think we protest too much. If you get my drift, Special Agent Warren.”
Inwardly, he winced. He had been dead set against the appointment of a woman to the post of Director. Especially this woman. She had the personality of a viper, in a sugary-sweet skin. Which made her perfect for keeping the reptilians in check. But she made life hell for everyone else.
“I do, ma’am. But I stand by my assessment. One statement is all we need. Patrika Tolbert will go back under the rock she crawled out of and this will all go away.” Director Hobbs looked skeptical.
“Are you willing to bet your career on that, Special Agent Warren?”
“If I have to, ma’am.”
“Then so be it. The statement will come from the Los Angeles Field Office. Do not mention the Director’s Office. If this goes sideways, it’s on you.” She made the throat-slitting motion, and the no-signal pattern replaced her on the screen.
A Trip to Town
The dragons drilled Emily relentlessly, despite her need for frequent breaks. Her headaches were still of the raging variety but happened less often. And while her energy ran out quickly, she’d not passed out since the day a-Ur arrived.
Still, she had reached her breaking point and had finally convinced the air dragon to give her a day off so Khenko could drive her into town.
They made a morning of it, including a visit to the salon for Emily’s first haircut in a year. She’d forgotten how good it felt to be pampered. The stylists ooo’d and ahh’d over her gold-tipped scarlet curls, and when Sylvi finished and handed her the mirror, they all clapped. Then Khenko joined her for a mani-pedi, jack-knifing his brown legs into a spa chair.
Afterward, Emily followed the medicine man down Main Street to a small boutique, owned by his friend, Randall. It didn’t take a detective to recognize the sparks flying between them. And to think she’d suspected Khenko fancied her.
While Emily tried on the clothes they handed her through the curtain, the two men bantered over dinner plans. The unanimous choice was a pig roast hosted by Khenko’s neighbor, which must’ve been what he was planning the day she’d seen him on her walk. Randall winked and assured them in his smooth, French-Guiana accent, he would see them there.
When they were done, Khenko flashed his FlexCard. It panged Emily’s conscience, but before they’d left the Center, she had agreed to let him pay—despite her mother’s voice in her head telling her to depend on no one, and take care of herself.
But she needed clothes. And other necessities. And though Khenko wouldn’t hear of it, she’d resolved to repay him if ever her life returned to normal. She only hoped that day would come soon.
They stopped by the tiny post office, where Khenko retrieved a package from the states, and by the local Pescadero for fresh-caught halibut and stonefish. At a produce stand, Emily ran inquisitive fingers over the ripe melons and stocky bananas while Khenko loaded a basket with coconuts and fruit.
Thanks to his excellent care, and the flavorful, nutrition-packed smoothies he prepared daily, Emily was beginning to feel herself again. Remarkable, considering she’d been on his tiny island only two weeks. And seventeen days ago, she’d been sucked into the earth and damn-near killed.
Their final stop was at a shop that doubled as the local liquor store and mercado. It smelled of exotic spices and mysterious brews and was stuffed to its thatched ceiling with oddities and island trinkets.
Khenko spoke in hushed tones to the wiry proprietress, a hunched woman who looked a hundred if a day. Lined features molded from darkened leather arranged themselves around her toothless grin. A headful of grayed dreadlocks bobbed vigorously, and her beady eyes twinkled. But not a word did the wizened owner murmur.
Until Emily reached for an amulet.
It hung from a stand with a variety of others, on a table full of bracelets, earrings, and assorted bangles, all cloaked in a thick layer of dust. The crone cackled from behind her, and Emily jumped.
“Dat’s yurz den, izzit?”
In a flash, the woman had snatched the necklace from its wire hook and motioned Emily to lower her head. Emily obliged, shivering when the chain caressed her neck. She straightened and fingered the deep-red stone that rested below the hollow of her throat. A wave of energy surged through her body, much like when she wore Aóme.
Emily patted the pocket of her new jeans, seeking and finding the outline of the emerald ring that had belonged to the first Awen one thousand years ago. Her father, Hamilton Hester, had bequeathed the powerful heirloom to Emily when he’d installed her as the new Grand Druid.
Her throat tightened. An image of the once-rugged druid appeared in her mind, waving and sporting his patent smile. Beside him stood the young Brian MacBrayer, whose rare, toothy grin was reassuring. The two were still alive.
The crone passed a weathered hand before Emily’s face. “Yo’kay, Mamselle?”
Khenko tugged at her arm. “Emily?”
With a shudder, her thoughts returned to the mercado. Pooh-poohing their concerns, she took the smoky hand-mirror the crone proffered and admired the amulet resting on her chest. She lifted the stone in one hand and was surprised at its heft. On her neck, the pendant felt weightless.
Catching the proprietress’s scrutiny in the mirror, Emily asked, “How much?”
The crone wagged her dreads and backed toward the ancient register, crossed her hands in front of her face. From her lips poured a string of unintelligible words. She bowed, as in obeisance, then turned and spoke to Khenko in the same, incomprehensible tongue.
The medicine man paled and nodded, smile tight. Not sure what had transpired, Emily protested when he pulled her to the door.
Down the street a way, she paused to look back. The crone peered from a boarded-up window, gnarled hands clutching a string of prayer beads. She made the sign of the cross and backed out of sight.
A chill ran up Emily’s spine and spread across the top of her head. She had an urge to remove the crone’s necklace, and put her hand to the clasp, then changed her mind.
Why not wear it? Even if fake, the ruby lent color to her cheeks. And Khenko seemed okay with the whole thing, though he’d been evasive about the meaning of the crone’s words, and her refusal to accept payment.
Whistling an off-key tune, he loaded the jeep, making use of every nook and cranny, while Emily buckled in and laid her head against the seat. The oppressive heat and the day’s doings had worn her thin.
She quietly hummed a tune of Taliesin’s adventures and stared out the window, though she didn’t see the colorful market stands, or the villagers, or the beaches as they passed. Amergin’s ballad had been the first of many lessons her Da had taught. And it’d been stuck in her head all day.
Was it his way of reminding her to have faith? Of letting her know she was on the right track?
All his lessons had focused on Emily’s druid heritage, on their responsibility to the Earth, and its salvation. All things she’d been taught by her mother to shun. Now Emily would be traveling to Europe soon; Amergin’s stomping grounds, the land from whence their druid line had sprung.
The island receded further, and for a moment she was Awen, the last Druid Priestess, searching for William, future Conqueror and King.
Intrigued by the convergence of past with present, Emily grasped at Awen’s thoughts. She stared out the window at the thick jungle spiked with coconut palms, mahogany trees, and other exotic plants, as the jeep bounced over the mucky ruts left behind by the rains. A macaw flapped majestic blue wings and screeched from its perch in a lone teak. But the vision was gone.
They spun sideways and Emily grabbed the chicken strap with both hands, glad she’d buckled her seat belt. Her thoughts churned as Khenko righted the jeep. Was Awen trying to tell her something about the trip to Beli?
Emily’s stomach flip-flopped. Whether from excitement or anxiety was anyone’s guess. She was as conflicted about leaving the safety of Zephyr Cay as she was about the Awen. On the one hand, the priestess was great in a crisis. On the other, Emily loathed having her mind hijacked.
She thought of seeing Lugh and her tummy flipped again, this time in a more delightful way. The druid priest had a manner that calmed her inner demons. She remembered her parting words on the phone and wondered if he was spinning over her declaration of love. But if something happened and she never saw him again, she wanted him to know.
The jeep bounded over a deep rut. Emily gripped the strap and squealed when Khenko slammed on the brakes and swerved to the shoulder so that a rickety red bus stuffed bumper-to-grill with grinning locals could squeeze past. Haphazardly-parked cars, jeeps, bicycles, and mopeds left little maneuvering room on the narrow approach to the Atlantean Center.
So the rumors were true. The whole island was turning out for Manny’s pig roast.
A savory aroma tickled Emily’s nostrils as they bounced into the driveway. But there was something more, something she couldn’t name, that made her shudder from head to toe.
Khenko parked and ran up the stairs with his arms full of groceries. She exited more slowly with her clothes purchases and stood by the jeep to peer through the jungle. Based on the cars and the noise level, the party was already well underway, but the jungle was too thick to get more than a glimpse.
Goosebumps danced along the nape of Emily’s neck. They ran across her shoulders and down her arms, eliciting a shudder. Something, or someone, was out there.
Secrets and Lies
Lugh hadn’t been to the Wainwright residence in years. He rang the bell and fiddled with his button-down collar. When he, Mitch, and Jake were friends, he’d practically lived at Canongate. The door opened and Rona, Mitch’s mother, bustled out.
“Lugh!” She enveloped him in a bear hug and held on tight, rocking him back and forth. Then squeezing hard, she pulled him into the house. “I’m thrilled to see you. Can I get you some sweet tea?”
“No ma’am, I’m good.” Lugh fidgeted with his jacket zipper, running it up and down absentmindedly.
“Can I take your coat?”
“Oh, no ma’am. I’m okay.” He let go of the zipper and tried to smile, though he was filled with trepidation. He wasn’t sure how Rona would react to what he had to tell her.
“Well, come on into the living room and tell me what’s on your mind.” She motioned to a chair and settled on the couch. He sat facing her.
“Still no word about Jake?” she asked.
Lugh cleared his throat, not sure where to start. “Well ma’am, that’s what I wanted to speak with you about. I talked to my ma and pa yesterday—” Rona’s eyebrows shot up. “I mean, well, I know they’re dead, but they come to visit me now and again.” He smiled wryly. “Mostly to warn me about things.”
The eyebrows remained raised, but at least she was smiling.
“I know you probably think I’m crazy, but I promise it’s true.”
“You’re right-handed, yes?”
He nodded, and Rona took his left hand. She turned it over and inspected his palm. “You see this line here?” She traced an arc from his pinky to his wrist.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“This is your intuition line. It’s well-defined, prominent even.” She held his fingers together and traced the outer edge of his hand. “And your hand is pointed. This, my dear Lugh, is known as a psychic hand; small and slender, with smooth, long fingers and narrow fingertips.”
“Huh. I had no idea.” He smiled genuinely for the first time in what felt like forever. “But what does that mean?”
“That, with this combination, it would be natural for you to talk to your deceased mom and dad.”
“So, you believe me?”
“Of course, dear. You never were one to make things up, unlike my son who tends toward flights of fancy. Speaking of, I just got off the phone with Mitch. He has something he needs to discuss, too. He’s on his way.” Lugh’s gut churned.
“Then, I will hurry so y’all can visit.”
“Oh, take your time. He was at the office, so I’m sure it’ll take a bit. What did your parents say?”
Lugh hesitated, then plunged right in. “For the sake of simplicity, I’m just going to say it.” He sucked in air. “Ma told me that Emily is Mitch’s twin sister. And that you are her real mother.” Rona’s face went pale and her lip trembled. She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.
“Yes, I am. Only Mitch doesn’t know, and I’m not sure I want him to know.”
“I understand,” Lugh assured. “Ma explained the whole duty to the Order thing, which I never truly comprehended until now. So, I’m not here to judge or criticize. Just to tell you that Emily is alive, and she’s in trouble.” Rona’s eyes crinkled, and he hoped she wouldn’t cry.
“Since the earthquake, she’s been hiding in the Bahamas, training with the Dragon Keepers. Now they are taking her to Wales, to the Isle of Beli.” He shook his head, knowing he sounded crazy. But Rona’s eyes never wavered from his. “I’m not even sure such a place exists.” A tear escaped to roll down her cheek.
“My poor baby,” Rona whimpered. “Oh Lugh, if you knew how hard these years have been. Not knowing where she was. Not able to acknowledge her. Or tell anyone. When she came back to Wren’s Roost, I wanted to rush over there every day. And when I thought the quake had taken her, my heart broke a million times. Now you tell me she survived, and maybe even thrives. Is she the Awen, Lugh? Did the Awen really come through my baby girl?”
“Oh, yes ma’am, she did. It’s true.” Rona smiled through her tears, and Lugh couldn’t help grinning.
“She is amazing, Rona. When the whole block was demolished by those tornadoes, Emily saved Jocko’s. And that was before she knew how to use magic. She stopped that blizzard in March, and when we were at the zoo, she kept the earthquake and volcano from destroying Atlanta and wiping out our Order. Yes, ma’am, the Awen has come through your daughter loud and clear.”
“You have a daughter, Mother?” a brusque voice growled. “One you hid from me?”
Rona hurriedly wiped away her tears and turned to Mitch. He stood in the doorway, anger twisting his normally-handsome face. He advanced into the room, and Lugh stood to leave. Mitch pushed him back down and rounded on Rona.
“Is it Emily Hester? Because I know Dad is not my real father. And I know Hamilton Hester is. Would you care to explain? Tell me, Mother. Tell me about Hamilton Hester. Tell me why he worshiped Emily and made her Grand Druid, even though she had no magical powers and had never been trained. Tell me why he couldn’t bother to acknowledge me as his son, even after hiring me as the clan’s lawyer.”
His hands and voice shook, but he wasn’t done venting. “Yes, Mother. Tell your son why you hid this all these years.” Tears of anger started down Mitch’s face. He swiped at them and turned on Lugh. “And what the fuck are you doing here?
”
“Mitchell Albom Wainwright the Third,” Rona scolded, rising to face him. “Mind your manners. And your words. You will not talk like that in this house.” Mitch crumpled to the chair Rona had vacated and buried his face in his hands.
Lugh squirmed on the sofa, wishing he could leave, then decided there was no reason he couldn’t. He stood and cleared his throat. “Rona, I need to tell you one more thing. Could you walk me to the door?” He nodded to Mitch, whose head was still cradled in his hands. Rona followed him to the foyer.
“My apologies, ma’am,” Lugh murmured, genuinely sorry he had caused her more grief.
“It’s not your fault, Lugh.” She touched his cheek. “Mitch is right. This is all fubar. But it is the way of the druids, and though I no longer practice, I am still, and will always be, a druid. Now, what did you want to tell me, dear.”
“The Dragon Keepers insist Emily must call the dragons together. After that, I don’t know what they plan. I also don’t know what Ma thinks you can do, but she insisted I deliver the message that Emily needs you. If you want to talk more after Mitch leaves, you have my number.” He gave her a quick hug. “I’ll be flying to Wales in the next day or so. And I’m taking Cu and Hope with me.”
“Thank you, hon. And thank your Ma and Pa for me. I miss them something awful.” She hugged him close. “You are a wise man, Lughnasadh MacBrayer. Tell Emily I love her. Stay strong and be safe. My prayers are with you both. Now, I must go comfort my son.”
**
“I am shocked, Mother. Shocked and outraged. I understand you were doing your duty to the Order. But it is still fucked up. Royally.” Hi mother had just finished pouring her heart out. The Order needed a female heir, and Mitch’s father, the one who raised him, had desperately wanted a male heir. And was shooting blanks.
“If Father was willing to go to such lengths to have a son, why didn’t he love me? He was never around. And nothing I did was ever good enough for him, even when I excelled. Which you know was often. I even joined the service because of him. But, never once did I feel love from him, only disapproval. Why is that?”