Chapter 12 Callum
CALLUM
It’s just after noon and the sunlight coming through the tall windows feels like an insult. I haven’t slept since I had Tommy drag Zaria to the East Wing early this morning. My body feels like it’s running on adrenaline.
Only a handful of people know she’s here.
Tommy, one housemaid I trust with my life, and the two guards I stationed outside her door.
The fewer who know, the safer she is.
Or the safer we are.
I’m not sure which one I’m protecting yet.
I run my tongue across the back of my teeth at the growing annoyance building inside me. My brain feels too full and Zaria’s voice keeps replaying in my head, the way she said Do it and leaned into the barrel of the gun.
There’s a part of me that thinks she’s not capable of doing the kind of shit her father orchestrates. But that’s been wrong before. I’ve seen people look harmless until the moment they slit your throat.
I need more time with her to figure it out.
That’s the reason she’s still alive, or at least that’s what I keep repeating to myself.
With all this going on, the last thing I expected to be dealing with was a suicidal crazy woman dropped on my doorstep, branded by the enemy, and carrying secrets bigger than she is.
But why not? Why the fuck not.
Everything else in my life exploded recently. Might as well add one more unstable element.
I shake my head and pour myself a drink. Whiskey, two fingers, no ice. My hand doesn’t shake exactly, but it isn’t steady either.
The glass is halfway to my lips when the door swings open.
They’re right on schedule.
Declan walks into the room first, followed by Keira. He looks pissed.
"Fucking texting me at three in the morning that you've got some news and then nothing? What the hell, bro?" Declan says and walks straight toward me, his voice laced with irritation. "Little early, but I'll take one."
I pour him a glass without a word, then motion toward Keira with the bottle.
"No, I'm fine." She sits on the armrest of the leather chair by the window, her gaze fixed on me.
"You may want one," I say, setting the bottle down. "When I tell you what I've pieced together."
She straightens, eyes narrowed. “What news?”
Declan takes a sip, then sits in the chair next to her. "Yeah, let's hear it."
I lean against the desk, the wood cool beneath my palms, and exhale slowly.
"Our family didn't always control Boston. Seems our grandfather killed for it."
Declan's brow furrows. "What the hell does that mean?"
I start at the beginning.
I tell them everything Zaria said.
About our grandfather and the Donoghue family.
About working together, then the betrayal, and the fire.
About how Cormac survived the massacre as a kid, witnessed the flames, lost everyone, and was thrown into a psychiatric ward where he built the foundations of the Morrígan Order.
I tell them how he used his dead father’s hidden money to create Shadowharbor, how he’s been slowly poisoning Boston from the inside out with alliances that weren’t alliances at all, just traps set decades in advance to destroy us.
Declan sets his glass down on the side table, the clink of crystal against wood the only sound in the room.
"You fucking joking?" he says and stands. "You're saying he locked the entire family inside their house and set it on fire."
"I'm serious," I say.
"No." He laughs, short and sharp. "No way. No way. That shit sounds crazy, man."
I look at Keira, who sits perfectly still, one hand braced on her knee. She bites her lower lip, a habit she has when she’s trying to stay logical through emotional chaos.
"It would explain it, I guess," she says. "But do we really think our grandfather was capable of that? I mean, him or Dad never said anything about it."
I push off the desk and cross my arms. "Maybe because they didn't want us to know."
"Or maybe because it's bullshit," Declan says.
"It's not." A voice comes from the doorway.
We all turn to see our mother standing there, pale-faced, her hands clasped together in front of her.
"Your grandfather wasn't a hero," she continues and walks into the room. "He was a monster."
Keira stands. "Mom—"
"No. I've carried this guilt my entire life," she says. "I thought if I prayed enough, if I was good enough, maybe God would forgive us. Forgive me for being part of this family."
Declan's expression shifts from disbelief to something sharper. "Wait. You knew about this?"
Our mother nods, and we all feel the stun.
"About what your grandfather did. He called it the sweep. He murdered so many people. Rival families and anyone who damn near questioned him. And when the news broke about the Donoghues, about the poor boy..." Her voice cracks. "I just—"
"Wait, so Dad knew about this?" Declan's voice rises.
"Yes," she says, looking at him. "He helped your grandfather with the takeover. But it was your grandfather who burned the house."
Keira's hand flies to her mouth. "Oh my God."
“I knew this day would come,” our mother says, her voice trembling. “I knew eventually the truth would catch up with us. I’ve always..." She pauses and clears her throat. "I've always believed our family was cursed because of what he did.”
Declan looks lost. Actually lost. Like someone has stripped away the ground under his feet and told him it was never there to begin with.
It hits me then, with our own mother confirming it, we all built our identities on the belief that our family, our legacy, was one of honor.
And now?
Now the truth is a wildfire roaring through every memory we ever had.
“But how?” Declan says, sitting. “How the hell did Cormac survive if Grandpa torched the whole damn house?”
"I don't know," our mom says. "Neither your father nor I, no one actually, knew Cormac survived.
There was never any mention. Your grandfather got records, proof of everyone's death after the fire.
I don't know how that boy could have slipped through.
I mean, he was ten or twelve. Kids don't just go missing.
" She looks up at me, her eyes red. "Are you sure it's even him? "
Keira, Declan, and I exchange a glance.
"We're sure, Mom," I say.
Then Keira turns to me. "But, Cal, how did you know all this?"
Fuck.
And there it is.
The question I knew was coming, but I’m not ready to answer, not truthfully.
I know what I'm going to say, but it's hard to lie to my family.
Still, I can't tell them about Zaria. Not yet.
If Declan knew Cormac's daughter was upstairs, he'd drag her into the basement and torture her for whatever he thinks he'll get. And if Keira saw the mark on her arm, the same M burned into her own skin, she'd relive it all.
And Zaria, well, she might kill herself before any of that can happen.
"I'm still working that," I say.
Declan's jaw tightens. "Still working that?"
“Yeah. When I get firm evidence of how this all fits together, you’ll know.”
Declan stands again and steps forward, his voice sharp. “That’s bullshit. You’re keeping something from us. Mom just fucking confirmed everything and you’re acting like you don’t know where the information came from?”
"You heard what I said," I say, stepping toward my brother.
"Hey." Keira's voice cuts through the tension. "That’s enough. Come on, guys. Get it together. We can't be doing this. We all need to be together on this. Okay?"
Declan and I just stare at one another.
“We’re on the same side,” Keira continues. “We don’t get to fall apart tonight. Or tomorrow. Or any fucking day until this is done. Okay?”
After a few more seconds he nods and I do the same.
Mom clears her throat and speaks. "I've set your father's burial for the end of the week."
Keira looks at her. “Mom, I thought—”
"Hush now, Keira," she says, lifting her chin. "I don't want anything big. Just us and him. In the ground and that's that. I don't want a fuss, people there. Fake people giving me condolences that don't mean it. Half of them will be fighting you for what your father left, so why deal with them?"
Keira's expression softens. "If that's what you want, Mom."
"Yes." Our mother nods. "Yes, that's what I want. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go find a dress."
“I’ll go with you,” Keira says, and the two of them disappear down the hall.
Declan lingers, his eyes locked on mine.
He doesn’t saying anything, but I sure as hell know he wants to.
Finally, he leaves, and when the door shuts behind him, I exhale and rub the back of my neck.
I glance upward, toward the second floor.
Toward the room where a girl whose existence could tear my family apart, if they knew she was here, is locked up.
A girl who knows more truths than all of us combined.
And before any of this destroys everything around us, I need to know everything that she does.