Chapter 23 Callum
CALLUM
Ilook at myself in the mirror, adjusting my tie until it sits perfectly straight.
Tonight's the night, and strangely, I'm not as nervous as I thought I'd be. I've walked into ambushes with less certainty than this, but those came with adrenaline. This comes with something else entirely.
Zaria hasn't given me a reason not to trust her. Every piece of information she's provided has checked out.
So if I'm making a mistake, it isn't bringing her with me. It's not telling Keira or Declan what I'm doing tonight. My men think I'm taking her somewhere discreet. They don't know I'm walking into a ritual tied to the man who ordered my father's death.
Because if any of them knew, they'd try to stop me, and maybe they'd be right.
As I head up the stairs toward her room, I wonder how much my father kept from us over the years. How many times did he carry the weight of decisions like this alone, unable to brief the family because there was just too much to explain, too much risk in exposing every move?
This is one of those times.
I reach her door, and the guards unlock it without a word.
I step inside and stop.
Zaria's dressed all in black, as am I, per her suggestion. The dress she's wearing is form-fitting, clinging to her narrow frame in ways that hit different. Her hair is done differently, pulled back and twisted into something elegant while it exposes the soft lines of her neck. She looks...
I shake my head.
"Ready?" I ask.
She takes a deep breath, her shoulders rising. "Yeah. Are you?"
I shove my hands into my pockets. "To sneak into a ritual from some crazy society that wants to kill me? Why not?"
Her eyes narrow. "Do you tell jokes when you're nervous?"
"No." I turn around and start walking. "Only when I'm with someone I trust."
She follows slowly without another word but then I feel her pace pick up a bit, I wonder if she realizes how much I do trust her at this point and truly hope she's not tricking me.
We walk down to my car, just the two of us. I've given the guards the night off, sent them to patrol the outer routes. Zaria made it clear we have to follow protocol, and protocol means it can only be us.
I open the door for her. When she steps in, our hands brush briefly. The contact is accidental, but it lingers. I close the door and move around to the driver's side.
We pull onto the main road, and I glance over at her. She's fidgeting, her hands twisting together in her lap, her foot tapping against the floorboard.
"Remember when we arrive, you'll need to wait in the car," she says, her voice slightly shaky. "I'll go in and come out with your robe and mask."
"Yes," I nod, keeping my eyes on the road. "And you're sure no one will report you or something?"
"No. I trust the few friends I have there. The women stick together. Well, most of them. The ones that would turn on us, I know. So I can't run into them before I get my stuff."
She starts tapping her foot faster, and I think it might be a good idea to keep her talking. I can't have her this worked up. It might give us away.
I glance at her. "Talk to me," I say. "What are we walking into tonight?"
She hesitates, then exhales. "It's a Blood Moon ritual.
A blood honor to the Morrígan. Since this ceremony involves outsiders," she stops and glances at me, "people like you, it won't be an animal like it usually is.
It'll be symbolic. Poured from a vial or cup.
Purely ceremonial. We'll watch, and that's how it should go. "
"Should go?"
"Yeah. Just assuming my father hasn't gotten even crazier."
I follow her directions, the city lights fading behind us as we head toward the outskirts. Finally, she points ahead.
"There."
I pull up to an old warehouse, its walls crumbling, windows boarded up. Other cars are parked nearby, people walking toward the entrance in dark robes.
She turns to me. "You need to stay here. If anyone spots you, or if I don't come back in ten minutes, you leave," she says, her hand already on the door handle. "Don't wait for me."
She opens the door, and I grab her arm.
"Wait. How do I know—"
"I know you may worry I won’t come back, but know that I want this all over just as much as you do. I'll come back."
She squeezes my hand, and I let go.
I watch her walk away, her silhouette disappearing into the crowd.
I rub my face and smell her scent on my skin.
God, in a different life, under different circumstances, I'd...
My phone buzzes. A text from Declan about a pickup from Ares Kastaris coming from Chicago.
We text back and forth to finalize some details, and then I glance up.
Zaria's walking fast back toward my car, holding something in her hand.
She opens the door and gets in, breathless. "Okay. Your robe and mask. You sure about this?"
"Yes," I say. "Are you?"
She hesitates, then nods. "I'm channeling my inner Alexander the Great right now. You know..."
"Nervous before every battle. Yes, I remember," I say, finishing her sentence. "But like you said, it didn't matter. He won in the end."
She flashes a small smile. "Okay. Put it on. Let's go. They're about to start."
I put the robe on. "We're here for Brother George. We're not leaving here until we find him."
"Yes," she says, fixing her mask. "I'll deliver him to you."
I step out of the car, adjusting everything.
The robe has a deep hood that comes to a point and goes so far forward it almost covers your face. You need to tug on the robe or pull it back slightly just to see.
The mask is square-like, black with feathers stitched along the edges. It covers everything from your nose up to your forehead.
I adjust my gun to make sure it's not noticeable and walk around the car to Zaria.
She looks me over. "Perfect. Come on."
Inside, a man stops us. Zaria takes my hand and tells him she's a woman of the Morrígan who brought me to witness her glory.
He looks me over, then nods. They put a sticker on my right shoulder and motion for us to go.
We start walking down a dark hallway, and Zaria doesn't let go of my hand.
I don't pull away, just following her lead like she told me to do.
She leads me into a massive open room. At the center stands a towering, three-headed statue of the Morrígan.
The entire place smells of incense and something sweet, honey maybe, or burnt sugar. There are benches scattered around, altars covered in candles, relics, and pictures of the Morrígan collecting the dead on battlefields.
It looks like something ripped straight out of a nightmare.
The lights suddenly flicker, and I look around quickly.
She leans into me. "Here we go."
And then, the lights go out.
I instinctively reach for my gun but play it off as a man comes up to a podium surrounded by candles and starts speaking.
People in the crowd start chanting, and I look over to see Zaria's lips moving, a twinge of worry and regret stirring in me.
Then another man comes forward and starts to speak.
Zaria squeezes my hand, and I know what it means.
She looks up at me and nods.
It's Cormac.
He starts speaking, but I can't see his face. It's covered like mine. But I hear his voice.
I think of Keira and what he did to her, how she heard this same voice, and about what orders he's given to destroy my family, and what he's done to his own daughter standing next to me.
It takes everything in my power not to run up and start shooting, but I know if I do, I won't make it out of here, and neither will Zaria. I can't risk that.
I've counted at least six men in tactical gear with guns.
Cormac continues talking about some shit I have no idea what it means. It's all convoluted and rambling, full of rituals and half-baked myths of truth.
Suddenly there's a commotion in the crowd, and they bring forward a woman.
She's wearing a mask, but other than that, she's completely naked.
Zaria stiffens next to me.
"What the hell is this?" I ask, leaning down by her ear.
"No, no, we don't do this now. No, this is wrong," she says, her voice tight.
The woman is laid on a table, and Cormac walks to her and starts chanting. Others respond. This time, Zaria's lips don't move.
Her hand starts trembling, and I squeeze it, pulling her into me, a reaction I don't plan for, and wrap an arm around her.
She shakes, and I tell her it's okay.
I then watch as Cormac raises a knife into the sky, says something, and then pierces the woman on her side and collects her blood.
The same area. The same marks Zaria has on her body.
It all makes sense.
This ends now. I won't let her watch this.
I go to move, and she doesn't budge, so I start almost dragging her.
We get to the edge of the room, and she stops me. "No, we can't leave. They won't allow it. I'm fine. I'm fine. It'll be over soon. Plus, I want to show you the man responsible for your father."
"They're all wearing masks," I say. "How will you know?"
"Don't worry about that. I'll know," she says and looks back to the center of the room.
The woman is now standing on the table she was lying on, blood slowly dripping down her naked body. Her arms are outstretched like she's welcoming us.
"Shit," Zaria says. "They're going to pass the cloth."
"The what?"
She looks up at me through her mask. "They are going to pass a cloth of her blood around. It's blessed by the Morrígan. Each woman kisses it and then kiss the man there with or next to."
I stare at her. "You're not doing that."
Her grip tightens.
"We can't refuse," she says quietly. "Not here. We don't have a choice."
"I'm not letting you."
"If you pull away, they'll notice."
My jaw locks.
I scan the room again.
The chanting grows louder as the cloth moves through the crowd.
I watch it pass from woman to woman. Each one presses her lips to it and says the same words before turning to the man beside her.
"Blessed be the Morrígan."
Then a kiss.
Over and over.
Zaria's breathing turns shallow. She almost braces herself, like she's ready for impact.
The cloth is closer now. And even though I know it's not possible, I feel like I can smell the blood.
The chanting slows.
Footsteps stop in front of us.
A man stands there, holding the cloth out to Zaria.
The room feels like it's holding its breath.
Zaria lifts her chin.
And my world narrows to that single strip of blood-soaked fabric.