Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
CONNOR
T he Sisters of Mercy abbey is an ancient brick building in upstate New York, four stories with white framed windows that watch us through centuries-old forest as we breeze by. It was Fiona’s idea to visit Marion’s chapel again. She still calls it that—Marion’s chapel. I would have never suggested this visit, considering how raw Marion’s death still is for my mate, but I’m glad she decided to go back. Roman originally pursued Fiona for the property. There has to be a reason, something about it the Order desperately wants back.
I need to know that reason. I need to know if the next grandmaster is going to come after Fiona. I’ll kill as many Order members as I have to to keep her safe. But understanding what this is and why it’s valuable to the Order is the first step in knowing where to direct my energy.
“You can park on the street here. We’ll have to take a trail to the chapel. We can only get there on foot.” She runs her hand along my thigh, and I pull my Land Rover over on the shoulder to park.
“You keep touching my thigh like that and I’m going to do something to you that shouldn’t be done within driving distance of a convent.” I flash her a lascivious grin.
She grabs my jaw and kisses me firmly. “I’m not against that idea, but let’s explore Marion’s chapel first. I have to get this over with while I’m feeling strong.” She cocks her head toward the woods.
We both get out of the car, and she takes my hand and leads me along a narrow path. I don’t think the rut we’re following is human made based on the size and simplicity. More likely forged by the migration of deer. I walk behind her, pushing branches out of her way by reaching over her shoulders as necessary.
“You said Marion died in the car crash that gave you your scar.”
“Yeah. She was driving and too close to the steering wheel. The impact from the airbag killed her.”
I squint into the sun. “You met her here, all the way back here, once a week. Why were you in the car at all? And why was she driving?”
Fiona grows quiet, introspective. “The doctors tell me that my memory of what happened may not be completely accurate because of the trauma, but on that day, Marion met me at the car. She was afraid. Someone or something had frightened her to the point she was shaking.” Her eyes meet mine, and the memory turns them dark and stormy. “I’d been driving, but she shoved me toward the passenger’s side, and she was so insistent I didn’t argue, just shifted over. She said she had to take me somewhere safe and then she’d tell me everything. She floored it, and that’s when we crashed.”
“Crashed into what?”
Fiona frowns. “That’s just the thing. I have no memory of hitting anything. They told me that it looked like the front of our car had wrapped around a utility pole, but there wasn’t one. They found the car in the middle of the road, wrapped around… nothing. They believe it must have been a large animal that ran off after we hit it.”
I’m glad I’m behind Fiona, because the story has left the hair on my arms standing on end. It’s odd, and I wouldn’t put it past the Order to have used magic to cause the accident if they wanted this land. Maybe one of them approached Marion. Maybe they threatened her. If both women had died that day, the land would have gone up for sale again. I keep these thoughts to myself though. It’s in the past. It’s done.
About a mile into the woods, we come to a clearing. Wild violets form a carpet of purple flowers around a small chapel whose white paint has almost completely chipped off. The roof though looks like it’s made of slate and appears to be intact.
“Wait until you see. It was Marion’s favorite part.” Fiona leads me toward the doors, which look like they were once red, and enters. Inside smells of dust, candle wax, and wood polish, but it’s in perfect condition. A plain wood cross hangs at the front above the altar. Hand-fashioned and polished wood pews line up on both sides of the stone-floor aisle. Candelabras, frothy with cobwebs, line the walls and front of the church. There’s no statuary or stained glass, just plain glass windows, left dingy from age and inclement weather.
“Isn’t it lovely?” she asks.
It is and I tell her so, but I feel no magic here. I can’t see where this would invite Roman Cifarelli’s attention. She gestures toward the front of the church, and we walk out into a small graveyard. The stones are so old the names and the dates are worn too thin to read. Still, we walk through the graves, noting the size and shape. A long rectangle of marble appears to mark the grave of a small child.
I reach out with my mind, with the essence of my dragon self, and find we’re alone. I don’t sense Order magic or dragon magic. This is only a sweet chapel with a graveyard that, by the looks of it, will one day be overrun by nature and the ravages of time.
“Nothing?” she asks me.
I shake my head.
“Maybe they only wanted it as a buffer between the estate and the abbey.” She toys with the lock on the wrought iron gate.
“What’s that?” I ask, noticing a partial stone fence in the distance.
“A well. It’s in terrible condition though. All boarded up.”
I stride to her side and kiss her on the cheek as I push through the cemetery gate. The well is indeed boarded up, the circular stone wall that surrounds it crumbling with age, but when I reach it and take a long, full breath, I can’t hide my excitement. It smells of sweet water and sunlight, of something not quite dragon, but undeniably celestial. I start pulling up the boards and casting them aside.
“What is it?” Fiona catches up to me and looks down into the well.
“I’m not sure, but it’s something. Something of ours, not of theirs.”
Her eyes widen. “I can smell it now. Like sea air and… lilacs… spring. It’s bright and fresh.”
I look around the well and find a bucket and chain. The bar and crank once used to lower it are long broken, but it appears the bucket will still hold water. I lower it into the well and then pull it to the surface.
“Oh my stars. What is that, Connor?”
The water sparkles in the bucket as if it’s infused with galaxies, and when I run a hand through it, it feels thicker than water and hums against my skin. “I don’t know.”
She dips her hand in, raises it with a bit of the liquid cupped in her palm. Fiona seems enchanted by the water, but when she moves to drink it, I stop her with a gentle hand. “Not without someone who understands magic analyzing what it is. I need to talk to Seb.”
She frowns and pours the water out of her hand and back into the well.
I empty the bucket too. As I’m setting it aside, a feather blows up from below and catches on the edge of the well. Fiona plucks it off the stone and holds it up to the sun, her eyes narrowing. It’s over a foot long and white as freshly fallen snow. When the light hits it, it sparkles .
Fiona gapes at me. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”
I run a finger along the feather and wonder at the hum of power that buzzes against my fingertip. “No, Fi. But this, without a doubt, is what Roman wanted.”