The Calling of the Trinity (Trinity Cycle Book 2) Page 3

  “Go,” I repeated, reaching for his shoulder. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  He covered my hand with his before sliding out the door. Blaire pressed her lips together, giving me a sympathetic look. “He’s going to be all right,” she told me.

  “I know,” I replied, but the statement sounded more like I was trying to convince myself.

  Chapter Three

  Calling on Stars

  “You’re home kind of early. Where’s Wren?” Dad asked as I came through the front door. I shrugged out of my coat and draped it over the handmade wooden rack in the corner of the room. Dad was holding a large red bowl, stirring its unknown contents with a wooden spoon rather vigorously.

  “Officer Stevenson stopped by and brought up the touchy subject of Remy’s murder case; it pressed a few of Wren’s buttons so he just needed a little alone time to process,” I answered. “What do you have there?”

  “Oh, this?” Dad tipped the bowl so I could see the golden colored batter. “Pancake mix. I thought it seemed like a breakfast-for-dinner kind of day.”

  “You’ll hear no complaints from me.”

  “So what did Stevenson have to say?”

  “Well,” I said, sucking in a breath. “He thinks Niall might be responsible for killing Clyde Sheridan.”

  Dad stopped stirring. He sat the bowl on the counter and turned to face me. “And what would make him think that? Sheridan’s death was ruled a suicide.”

  “I don’t know exactly... He’s under the impression that Niall killed Sheridan to get revenge for Remy’s death, and that someone close to Sheridan found out and all these years later came back to retaliate.” The worst part was that his suspicions weren’t so far from the truth.

  “That’s ludicrous,” Dad decided at once. “Stevenson doesn’t have any business digging up old skeletons on the day Wren had to bury his father. Can you believe the nerve of that guy? I’ll have to talk with Martin about this. I’ve never liked his boy. There’s something off about his character.” Dad pointed the dripping spoon in my direction for emphasis.

  I cracked a half smile. “He’s twenty-four, Dad. Not really a boy.”

  “Well he acts like one, regardless. They must not have any real leads if they’re starting to look twenty-some years in the past for suspects.” Dad frowned into the pancake batter. “Probably all thanks to Margaret Lynn and her big mouth for talking about the case on public television.”

  He was so obviously worked up about this. It was easy to see how much he cared for Wren, which only made the lie so much harder. I could tell him the truth, I thought. At least, part of the truth… He didn’t have to know about the Trinity, but I could tell him that Wren was a werewolf and explain that Niall had been murdered by another werewolf… Of course, he’d want to know why, and again, all roads led back to the Trinity and the Dark Witch.

  “You okay there, kiddo?” Dad was watching me.

  “Hmm? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just exhausted, I guess.”

  “It’s been a rough week,” Dad agreed. He adjusted the temperature on the stove and poured the first helping of batter into the frying pan.

  While he worked, I took down a couple of plates from the cupboard and two drinking glasses and placed them on the counter. “So,” I paused, “how was your lunch with Gabriella?” I’d almost forgotten all about her uncanny appearance at Niall’s funeral.

  Dad stiffened. “It was nice.” He didn’t elaborate, so I let the silence hold steady for a moment. I wanted him to ask why we had all been so cold toward her. I would’ve come out and said it straight, but gossiping had never been my style. The silence lasted longer than I liked. “Annabelle was a little harsh, don’t ya’ think?”

  And there it was. “No,” I answered, “I don’t.”

  Dad shot me a pointed look. “Okay then, what don’t I know?” He scooped out the pancakes and loaded them onto our plates. I followed him to the kitchen table with the butter and syrup.

  “Have you ever noticed the scar on the back of Wren’s right hand?” I asked. It was kind of hard not to. It stretched from the knuckle of his smallest finger, curving to the knuckle of his thumb in the shape of a jagged crescent moon.

  “Yeah.” He severed a pancake with his fork, sloshing it through a puddle of syrup and shoveled it into his mouth.

  “Gabriella did that to him. She stabbed him with a serrated kitchen knife because he was trying to defend her from the monster of a man she’s married to. She pinned his hand to the table, Dad, and then she kicked him out. That’s why he moved back here to live with Niall.”

  Dad met my eyes briefly before looking away. “She admitted that she’d been in a bad place mentally,” Dad said a moment later. “She told me that she’d done some shameful things in the recent past, and didn’t expect that Wren would ever forgive her… I didn’t ask what those things were, seeing as how it wasn’t my place. I’d just never imagined it would be something like that.”

  That’s because she’s an evil werewolf bitch, I thought. “Did she say what she was doing here–other than sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong?”

  “She wanted to pay her respects and be there for Wren.” Dad shrugged. “She’s visiting with some friends for a couple of days before heading back to Washington. She wanted me to tell Wren, in case he changed his mind and wanted to see her. I’m guessing he won’t.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” I paused. “It just sucks the only family that really ever cared about him is buried now.”

  “He still has us,” Dad said. “He’s a good kid.”

  “Not really a kid anymore.” I grinned.

  “Eighteen may be the legal age for an adult, but you’re still young, and you still have a lot to learn about the world.” Dad winked and took his plate to the kitchen sink. I wondered if he’d feel differently if he knew about the very real and very evil Darkness we’d been fighting against. I chewed the inside of my cheek, deciding to let him linger in denial a while longer. It was safer that way.

  The gray light of day faded into an onyx canvas and a smattering of silver stars broke through. I busied myself around the house, cleaning the kitchen and putting the dishes away. Dad had retired to the living room, watching whatever college sports teams were playing Saturday night football. I showered, spending more time than necessary standing beneath the hot water and letting it soothe the tension from my aching muscles. After, I checked my phone for messages but the only person who’d sent me a text had been Annabelle. I replied and stared at the numbers on the clock. Five minutes passed before I decided to call Wren’s phone. It went to voicemail. I tried Blaire.

  “Dia dhuit!” she answered.

  I pulled the phone from my ear and stared at the receiver like the thing was from a different planet before tentatively putting it back to my ear. “I’m sorry, were you just speaking actual words there?”

  Blaire chuckled. “It means hello. I thought I taught you that one already?”

  She had, but my brain was just operating on a different wavelength tonight. “It sounded more throaty than usual.” I blew out a sigh. “I was just checking to see if Wren made it back to the cabin yet? He hasn’t called and I’m starting to worry.”

  “No, he’s been gone since this afternoon. I’m sure he’s fine though.”

  “I just don’t like the idea of him being out there for so long when we still don’t know where the rogue werewolves are hiding.” They’d been hiding under the protection of the Dark Witch’s cloaking spell–the Chameleon Shield–which meant they could be anywhere at any given time without us knowing. Every minute that Wren was gone was pure mental torture.

  “He’s smart and fast, and I highly doubt the othe
r Weres will dare show their faces around here until the Dark Witch has returned to power, but we’re not going to let that happen either,” she added. “We’re shielded too, ya’ know.”

  “Yeah, okay. Just… call if he comes back to the cabin, please?”

  “Of course,” she paused. “How are you holding up with everything?”

  I thought about that for a moment. Since Niall’s death, my focus had been on Wren and how he was coping. But when I stopped to shine the spotlight on my own feelings, guilt had been ever so present, eating me from the inside out like a slow infestation of insects in a wound. “I don’t know, Blaire. I still feel like I could have stopped Niall’s death if I would have paid more attention to the vision I’d been sent before we performed the bonding spell.”

  Static lapsed between us. “I don’t think that vision was sent to you because you were supposed to stop Niall’s death from happening,” Blaire said.

  I’d had three visions leading up to Niall’s death. The first was just a glimpse of the Hollow and the blood that coated the needle-covered forest floor. The second vision was the same, only there was a body of a werewolf lying there with a slit throat. At the time, my only concern had been for Wren, and I knew the werewolf’s body wasn’t his. The third vision, however, happened right before Niall was murdered–just mere seconds–and it showed his human body in place of the werewolf’s. By the time I’d learned the truth it was too late. I’d snapped out of the vision in time to see the female werewolf cutting Niall’s throat.

  “If you were meant to stop it, the Earth Mother would have revealed Niall’s human body to you sooner–not his wolf form.”

  “Then why show me at all?”

  Another pause, and then, “I don’t know, lass. Perhaps she was showing you that a sacrifice had to be made.”

  I snorted.

  “I know that isn’t comforting, Quinn, but it’s all the truth I have right now. If anything, you should cling to the knowledge that there was nothing more you could have done to stop it from happening. Believe that.” Her tone was adamant.

  “It’s hard.” A lump was rising in the back of my throat, threatening to bring a wave of tears with it.

  “Wren doesn’t blame you,” she said softly.

  “I know. But that doesn’t mean I don’t blame myself.”

  “You’ll get through this. Stay strong.”

  I sniffled, forcing back tears and swallowed over the lump in my throat. I’d have to force that guilt into something useful, because the sorrow I felt was a useless tool that wouldn’t get us anywhere. I could break down after it was all over, but I still had to keep myself and my mind battle-ready. “Okay.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Quinny.”

  “Tomorrow,” I agreed, and sat my phone down on the nightstand.

  Since Niall’s death, Wren had gone out every night to run. He didn’t have to tell me why. I knew it was his way of dealing–or rather, not dealing with the loss of his father. As a wolf, he was able turn off the grief–disconnect the mental wire that linked him to human emotion. He could behave like an animal; like a predator where the only thing that mattered was his own survival. There was a part of me that envied that. How nice it must be, to just turn it all off–even for a small while. When he was gone, a hollow ache expanded through my chest; like a part of my own self was just… missing. I didn’t know if he could feel that absence, but he always found his way back to me.

  I knew what it was like to lose a parent, to feel like the world was ending because their light burned out before it should have. A day didn’t pass that I didn’t think of my mother or hear her laughter somewhere in my mind. Sometimes I’d wake in the middle of the night from a dream that I’d forgotten the sound of her voice, and the thought caused waves of fear to ripple through my chest. I didn’t want to forget her, or anything about her.

  I reached up, wrapping my fingers around the pendant that was nestled in the curve of my breasts. The arc of the crescent had become so familiar to me, like a security blanket I was always reaching for on some subconscious level.

  As I lay there, fingertips pressed to the pendant, a sort of restless energy seemed to pulse through the air–reminding me of what had happened with my amulet before Niall’s funeral. I recalled that spark of blue light, and the way the wall seemed to come alive with a hidden energy that beckoned to me…

  When my mother died, the secret of what I was to become was buried with her. For so long I had been looking for answers–longing for the truth about my destiny. I had a feeling that whatever was hidden behind that wall would somehow provide the answers I was looking for. Part of me hoped that had been my mother’s intention all along.

  I’d wanted those answers. I had even gone so far as to speak the old Gaelic words to break the spell and watched as an outline of a door appeared from blue flame within the wall. My heart was pounding in my ears when I reached for the golden knob–and that’s when my dad called up the stairs that it was time to go.

  All of the eagerness that had welled up beneath the surface of my skin ran cold. A seed of doubt burrowed in, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for whatever was waiting for me on the other side of that door.

  Of only one thing I was sure... My pendant hadn’t rolled into the wall by accident. That room wanted to be found. Power was calling power, and it wanted me to know that it had awakened. I sensed it right this very second, humming through the walls in my bedroom.

  But I was afraid.

  Ignoring it, I leaned back against my pillows. An hour passed as I lay staring at the ceiling. Dad had gone to bed for the night, and though my body was wracked with exhaustion, my mind just wouldn’t shut down. I shuffled to my feet and grabbed my cross-country hoodie from my desk chair before heading down the stairs. I grabbed the afghan blanket from the back of the couch and slipped out the back door and wrapped myself up in one of the wooden lounge chairs.

  The cool night breeze kicked up scents of the raw earth; dirt, pine, and crisp autumn leaves filled my lungs as I inhaled deeply. I used them to center my focus; concentrating on recharging my senses until nature was clinging to my fingertips, and Spirit’s warmth was circling me. I tilted my head back, gazing at the onyx arc of the night sky above the silhouetted pine trees, and began counting constellations out of habit.

  My mother had told me stories about the stars and all the secrets written within the constellations. They were like a map of my childhood; twinkling reminders of the bedtime stories she’d told me to get me to fall asleep. Remembering them kept her close to me–like another secret I could call to me whenever I looked up at the midnight sky.

  “What are you looking at?”

  Though Wren’s voice was a welcoming sound breaking through the din of silence, I jumped a little. He had a knack for appearing out of thin air without a single sound. He was the perfect predator; dangerous, but I relaxed in his presence. “Pegasus,” I told him.

  Wren made his way up the staircase, dressed in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved thermal that clung to the contours of his frame. He’d been keeping a backpack of extra clothing stashed beneath the deck for his Change. As he approached, I smelled the scents of the forest clinging to his skin; the pine still fused within the strands of his dark hair.

  “Show me.” He scooped me up in an effortless motion and sat down so that I was cradled against his chest with my legs dangling over the wooden chair arms.

  I took his hand in mine, leading his index finger to the constellation above us. I pointed out each of the stars and landed on the brightest of Pegasus’ stars. “That’s Enif,” I pointed out, “the orange supergiant.”

  “Enif,” he repeated. “What’s it mean?”

  “It’s Arabic for nose,” I answ
ered. “Enif is nearly six hundred and ninety light years away from us, and five thousand times brighter than the sun.”

  I sensed his gaze drift from the constellation and felt the bridge of his nose pressing against my jaw. His lips brushed against my throat, teeth nipping the tender skin. My head tilted on a sigh and I wanted to melt into him.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Patrolling,” he answered, kisses punctuating his words. “Not far from here.”

  “I wish I could come with you.” I pushed up on my elbow so I could see his face in the moonlight. The Moon had magic of her own, and it cloaked the creatures of the night in blue shadow. The lunar glow, I called it. It colored him impossibly radiant.

  He didn’t reply. Instead, he brushed a lock of hair back from my face; thumb tracing the outline of my cheekbone as he pulled me closer. When he kissed me, the rest of the world disintegrated, and I was out there drifting among the Pegasus constellation; close enough to touch Enif with my fingertips.

  For a moment, I wished I could forget about the rest of the world and all of our impending responsibilities. Each brush or slide of his hands called to the fire within me–as if every inch of my body was made of sulfur and gunpowder, and his fingertips were made from fire. When his hands drifted beneath the hem of my sweater and pressed into the small of my back, I’d like to have forgotten my own name.

  “Let’s run away,” I whispered against his lips.

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  “We could you know?” I rested my forehead against his. “It would be safer for everyone else if we were gone.”

  Wren shook his head. “This town won’t be safe so long as the rouge werewolves are out there and the Dark Witch is a threat.”

  “Yeah, but she can’t return to physical form without the amulet. We can take it some place far away… somewhere no one will be able to find us.”