The Calling of the Trinity (Trinity Cycle Book 2) Page 2

  Chapter Two

  The Harbinger

  Niall’s cabin sat atop the mountain, tucked within a quaint meadow that was surrounded by a grove of towering pines. A wisp of smoke rose from the chimney, coiling through the atmosphere before joining the clouds. Inside, I shrugged out of my jacket, draping it over the back of a kitchen chair as my lungs filled with the scent of sweet grass and sage. Niall may have been gone, but so much of his spirit still remained, nestled in the shell of his home. A dull ache throbbed behind my breastbone, and I reached up to massage the hurt with the heel of my hand.

  Blaire helped herself to the fridge, shuffling through its scarce contents until she came up with a few beer bottles that were tucked in the back. “Anyone care for a drink?”

  “I think I’ll pass,” Annabelle commented. “My parents will smell it on me and I’ll be grounded until I’m thirty.”

  “Suit yourself.” Blaire twisted the cap off and took a long pull from the bottle before setting in on the table. A beat later her phone buzzed and she fished the mechanical device from her pocket, studying the message. “It’s from my sister. Her flight arrives tomorrow night.”

  I nodded. Bryna, Blaire’s sister, was in the process of making her way to the States from Ireland, and she was traveling with singularly dangerous cargo.

  When Rionach the Dark was vanquished in the Battle of the Dark Ages, she left behind her talisman. Nothing on earth could destroy such magic, so the White Witch placed the powerful trinket under the protection of the Aurora Coven. It’s said that the amulet possesses the power to return the Dark Witch to her physical form.

  There were Dark forces at work trying to achieve just that, and it was up to the Trinity to stop it from happening. We were recently led to believe that Blaire’s aunt was a part of that force, and though neither of us wanted to think she was capable of convening with the Darkness, we thought it best to get the talisman on the move.

  “Has anyone from the Coven seen Penny?” I asked.

  Blaire shook her head. “No, not yet, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t there.”

  “Do you really think she would have fled to Ireland?” Annabelle asked.

  “If she truly is trying to get her hands on the talisman, that would be the only logical move,” Blaire answered. “She’s tapped out her resources here. Perhaps she hoped to intercept Bryna, or perhaps she’s gone into hiding. There’s no way of knowing for certain what her intentions are.” Blaire’s voice cracked as she scratched at the label on her beer bottle. Tiny beads of paper were collecting on the counter beside her trembling hand.

  “Blaire,” I spoke softly, “we can’t be sure that those rogue werewolves were telling the truth about her. There’s still a chance Penny could be innocent.”

  Blaire openly scoffed. “I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but all evidence points to the contrary, I’m afraid. If she were innocent, she wouldn’t have run.”

  “I just don’t understand what would make her do it,” Annabelle commented. “You have to be mentally warped if you want to bring the ultimate mistress of evil back to the land of the living.”

  No one had a reply for that.

  I mashed my lips in a tight line. The night we had invoked the Trinity bond, we learned that the Dark Witch’s spirit could only be summoned by her own bloodline. A werewolf by the name of Garrett informed us that Penny–and therefore Blaire–just happened to share Rionach’s DNA, which is how Penny’s role supposedly came into play. Someone or something knew how to find her and coerced her into the shadows. We just didn’t know why.

  My head was beginning to pound from the tangled web of information we still couldn’t piece together. I dragged my hand across my face, pulling at my eyelid as if that alone could tear away the weariness from all the sleepless nights my mind refused to shut out the chaos.

  “So,” Annabelle cleared her throat, fingers drumming against the counter, “what exactly are you planning to do with the amulet once you have it?”

  No one spoke right away. Annabelle had asked the golden question, and between fighting the werewolves in the Hollow, fabricating the scene of Niall’s death and planning his funeral, we hadn’t had much time to formulate a solid plan.

  “We’ll think of something,” Blaire said. She picked up her beer bottle, and took another long pull as a knock at the door drew our attention. “Expecting company?”

  Wren shook his head, nostrils flaring as he scented the air. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  I frowned as he walked to the door and opened it. Torrance was standing on the porch with a forlorn-looking Huck and a disheveled-looking Jamie behind her. She stepped through the doorway and crashed into Wren’s frame with an impressive bear-hug. “I’m so sorry about your dad, Wren.” Her voice was muffled against his shirt. “We weren’t sure if you wanted any company, but I know I wouldn’t want to be alone on a day like today.”

  “Thanks, Tor.” Wren patted her back and shared a look of surprise with Huck.

  “Okay, Tor, let the man breathe.” Huck pried Torrance away from Wren with one hand while he stepped into the kitchen with a large box of pizza in his other.

  “Sorry for your loss, man,” Jamie said, following the others inside. “We come bearing gifts.” He opened his jacket and pulled out a bottle of whiskey.

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes as I closed the door behind them.

  “Hey, I saw that look,” Jamie said, pointing an accusing finger at me when I turned back around.

  “What look?”

  “The I’m-disappointed-in-Jamie-for-bringing-alcohol look,” he clarified.

  “Oh, right,” I said, “that look.”

  Jamie narrowed his eyes. “I just thought it would be a nice gesture, you know, to numb the senses or whathaveyou.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Blaire said, snatching the bottle out of his hands. “The legal drinking age in Ireland is eighteen so technically, I’m not breaking any laws.”

  Annabelle snorted. “Pretty sure it doesn’t work that way but we’ll go with it.” She opened the pizza box and inhaled the scent of melted cheese until her eyes rolled back with delight. “Wren,” she turned to him, “where are your plates?”

  A few moments later, the seven of us were nestled in the living room, crowded around the coffee table with the box of half-eaten pizza and the drinks that Torrance had managed to whip up in the kitchen. I didn’t ask what was in the concoction, but the amber liquid burned going down and warmed the pit of my stomach in drowsy contentment. Perhaps ‘numbing the senses’ could be forgiven after everything we’d gone through.

  “What’s that on the mantel there?” Torrance pointed to a blue porcelain jar above the fireplace as Wren added a log to the fire.

  He glanced up, hand brushing bits of bark from his pant leg. “My grandma,” he replied with a glib tone. A hint of a smirk tugged at the outer corner of his mouth.

  “Oh god, Wren, I didn’t mean–” She flattened her palm to the side of her cheek that was now turning a bright shade of pink.

  “Way to go, Tor.” Huck laughed as he picked up his drink.

  “Well, I didn’t know! It’s just very… pretty,” she said, eyebrows contorting. “I thought it was a decoration.”

  “It’s okay Torrance.” Wren was smiling. “I never met her.”

  “Still…”

  “Well, I think I need another drink,” Blaire announced. “Refill anyone?”

  “I’ll take a refill,” Jamie slurred.

  “Looks to me as you’re langered enough,” Blaire told him.

  “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means she thi
nks you’ve had too much to drink,” Huck said. “Right?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Have not. You want to hear the alphabet backwards?” Jamie volunteered. “Z, Y, X, W–”

  “–Please, spare us the torture,” Annabelle interrupted, holding up a hand. “We all know you won’t make it past ‘W’ anyway.”

  “Hey, I take offence to that.”

  Beside me, Wren stiffened. He turned his head a fraction, listening to something the rest of us couldn’t hear. A moment passed before there was a knock on the front door, and Wren was on his feet before anyone could blink.

  “What’s that about?” Torrance asked.

  Blaire and I exchanged a look before I pushed myself upright. “I’m just going to go check on him, I’ll be right back.”

  I found him in the kitchen with his hand on the doorknob. “Cops,” he mouthed, nodding toward the opened bottles of alcohol on the kitchen counter. Adrenaline snapped through my veins, chasing lingering toxins from my bloodstream, and sobered me.

  I opened the closest cupboard and stashed the evidence inside. The last thing anyone needed was to be busted for underage drinking. I hung back a few steps, just enough so that I could still see and hear what was going on when Wren opened the door.

  “Sorry to bother you son. Could I come in for a minute?” Officer Stevenson asked. Silver Mountain had a small force, and Officer Stevenson had been the cop on duty when Wren and I went to the station to report Niall missing. His name was Carl, and his father, Martin, was the sheriff. Carl wasn’t much older than us, and his loose use of the word ‘son’ didn’t sit well in my gut.

  “It’s not a good time. I have company,” Wren answered flatly.

  “This won’t take long. I just have a few questions about your father.” Officer Stevenson took a step closer, reaching up to put his large, meaty palm on the door. Wren squared his shoulders and gripped the handle to barricade the entrance. I could see the skin stretching across the back of his hand–tendons popping.

  “I already told you everything I know,” Wren said.

  “I’m just trying to cover all my bases.” Officer Stevenson smiled, revealing his perfectly straight white teeth. This might have come off friendly if I hadn’t been able to detect the testosterone fueled charge pulsing behind his dark eyes. The two stood at equal height, but where Wren was lean-muscled, Stevenson was bulky.

  Wren didn’t budge.

  “You see,” Officer Stevenson continued. He pulled his sunglasses from the top of his head and wiped the lenses on a white cloth he’d pulled from his pocket, cleaning invisible blemishes. “Your father didn’t exactly have a clean record. I’ve been doing some digging, and I happened to stumble upon an old court case of his from the nineties... Does the name Clyde Sheridan mean anything to you, son?”

  A bolt of panic shot through my chest and the little vein in the side of my neck began to throb in time with the beat of my heart.

  “Sorry,” Wren said, “but what does that name have to do with my father’s murder case?”

  Officer Stevenson’s mouth twisted into a smirk. “Well, it could mean nothing, or… it could mean everything.”

  “I don’t really have time for games, Officer,” Wren snapped. “If you’re trying to imply that my father had something to do with the case involving my uncle, you should double-check your records. My father was found innocent.”

  Officer Stevenson nodded slowly before he spoke. “Even so, when a man is on trial for a murder case and is murdered several years later–innocent or not, it’s worth looking into. I just want to know if Niall had any enemies… perhaps someone was looking to settle an old score.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Wren’s low tone grated on my nerves, prickling the tiny hairs on the back of my neck. Officer Stevenson stepped back; a natural human reaction when a more dangerous predator lunges in their path. He didn’t have to know what Wren was to sense the hidden threat. He recovered in an instant, puffing out his chest before leaning closer to Wren in the doorway.

  “I don’t think Niall killed your uncle,” Officer Stevenson paused, “but I do think he’s responsible for killing the man that did.”

  My breath caught.

  Remy had been shot by a hunter–Clyde Sheridan–when Remy was in wolf form. But when a werewolf dies, he returns to his human skin. Clyde saw Remy Change back, and pack law demanded that Niall cover up their tracks in order to keep the pack’s secret safe. Niall had killed Sheridan in cold blood, fabricating the scene to make it look like Clyde had taken his own life.

  Waves of nausea rolled through my stomach, but I swallowed hard, forcing myself to hold composure. There was a line, I reminded myself; a line between doing the right thing and the wrong thing when it came to protecting those you love. Niall had crossed that line. But as I stood there–staring at Officer Stevenson–I knew that I would have done the same thing to protect my own family. A hero wouldn’t. A hero would see the moral line between good and evil and choose to give up something they loved for the greater good. But I was selfish. All of those gray areas blurred around me, smudging that line even more.

  “That’s an interesting theory Officer, but you’ll need hard evidence to back it up,” Wren spoke in an even tone.

  Officer Stevenson snickered. “Well that may be, but like I said, I’m just trying to cover all my bases. Perhaps someone close to Sheridan found out the truth and decided to take matters of revenge into their own hands…”

  Wren’s right arm was braced on the back of the door, and I watched as the muscles and tendons bunched tightly beneath his skin. I stepped up to the door, sliding my hand across Wren’s lower back in an attempt to calm him. He was so close to the Change. His muscle and skin felt as solid as steel beneath my palm. “Officer,” I said, sliding beneath Wren’s arm in the doorway, “we just put Niall’s body in the ground; please give us the respect of this one day.”

  Officer Stevenson’s eyes fixed on Wren’s before slowly moving his gaze to mine. He tipped his head in false courtesy. “Miss,” he said, slowly backing away from the door. When he reached his cruiser, he called over his shoulder, “Oh, and if you can think of anyone who might have a grudge against Niall… just give me a call.”

  Wren waited until the cruiser had pulled out of the drive before closing the kitchen door. He dropped his hand, rolling it into a tight fist at his side.

  “Are you okay?” I wrapped my hand around his wrist and squeezed.

  Wren nodded as he closed his eyes, making a concentrated effort to keep the Change from taking over. Blaire stepped into the doorway, mouth pressed in a thin line. “Maybe we should call it a night, yeah?”

  “I think that’s probably a good idea,” I said.

  “I’ll go round up the others.”

  Annabelle poked her head into the kitchen as Blaire departed. “Everything okay in here?” she asked. “We heard voices.”

  “The cops came by,” I told her. “I think we’re going to call it a night.”

  Sensing the tension still hanging in the air, Annabelle chewed her lip in concern, but she chose not to ask any questions. “Yeah, it’s almost five. My parents will have my head if I don’t get home before the sun sets.”

  “Sorry about all of this, Cat,” Wren said to her.

  “Don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault.”

  He made a small sound, like the start of a laugh that fell short, catching in the back of his throat. None of this would be happening if it weren’t for our direct lineage. Granted, we didn’t cause the Dark Witch’s spirit to return, but our powers had been awakened because of her very existence. This was still our town, and while we remained, our community was at risk and that was our f
ault.

  The others filed into the kitchen. “I guess the party is over, huh?” Torrance asked, sweeping her long, wavy blonde hair back from her shoulder.

  “Yeah, I think we’re all just a little tired,” I said, pressing my lips together. “Thanks for coming over though.”

  “Let us know if you need anything.” She wrapped her arms around my shoulders and then gave Wren a hug. “We’ll see you guys on Monday.”

  We said our goodbyes and watched from the window as our friends rolled out of the drive. I turned to Wren, wishing that I’d had the ability to read minds. He’d always been quiet, but the last couple of weeks were starting to take a toll. He wasn’t shutting me out, but I could tell he was shielding me from his grief.

  “I suppose I ought to ask for the sake of formality,” Blaire’s voice punctured the silence, “is it all right if my sister stays here with me until we figure out what we’re going to do about the amulet?”

  “Of course,” Wren said.

  Blaire had moved out of Penny’s house just to be on the safe side. Wren had offered her Niall’s bedroom, and she’d made herself at home. I’d be lying if I said I was entirely comfortable with the fact that another female was staying under the same roof as my boyfriend–and a gorgeous female at that. Blaire was of similar height and build as me with a slender, heart-shaped face. I trusted her, in spite of my own insecurities, and tried to take comfort in the notion that Wren and I were bound to one another by something ancient that stretched beyond basic attraction.

  “We won’t be of much trouble, I promise,” Blaire assured him.

  “I’m not worried about it.” He cupped the back of his neck and rolled his shoulders. The muscles in his neck began to ripple, the tendons protruding just under his skin. He was hurting, I realized. He needed the Change.

  “You should go,” I told him.

  He shook his head, fighting against the ache. “I’ll be all right. Just give me a minute.”