Chapter Twelve
Brigid
I walk quickly through the halls, looking for Marius. My mind tornado of thoughts. Rory ’ s face flashes before me, not his face from last night, but from when he was taken by the rift, twisted in pain. I have to get him back. We all know that Marius can ’ t be trusted, that ’ s a given. But it ’ s worth the risk. Rory is worth everything.
Along with thoughts of Rory, and getting Marius to help me open the rift, Callen ’ s cold shoulder nags at me. Even Tiernan seems distant lately.
I ’ m not paying attention to where I ’ m going, and as I round the corner I nearly collide with a technicolor nightmare. Fiona stands before me, blocking my path like a bedazzled barrier. Her short white hair is teased up into the heavens, and she ’ s laden with oversized jewels that clash spectacularly with her rainbow dress.
“ Damn,” I mutter to myself, halting abruptly.“What are you doing here?”
Fiona ’ s smile doesn ’ t reach her eyes. “ Brigid. Is that any way to greet your dean?”
I glare at her, struggling to keep my voice level. “ I don ’ t have time for this.”
“ Oh? And what ’ s so important that you can ’ t spare a moment for an old friend?” She tilts her head, feigning innocence.
“ You keep saying that—old friends—but it doesn ’ t make it true.”
Fiona tsks. “ I was hoping we could start fresh. Put it behind us.”
I laugh bitterly. “ After what you did? Not a chance in hell.”
Her smile falters for a moment, but she quickly recovers. “ I understand you ’ re upset, but perhaps I can offer you something of value.”
I narrow my eyes. “ What could you possibly offer me?”
“ I ’ m sure you ’ re curious about your parents.” Fiona casually examines her peacock-blue painted nails. “ Your birth parents, I mean.”
My heart skips a beat, but I force my face to remain impassive. “ I ’ m not interested in your games, Fiona. If you knew anything about my parents why didn ’ t you tell me before? Why now?”
Fiona tilts her head and looks at me. “ Things are very different now, Brigid. You ’ re ready to hear what you might not have been.”
“ Like I said, I ’ m not interested in hearing anything if it comes from you.”
It ’ s a struggle to keep my face impassive. Of course I want to know about my birth parents. I used to dream about finding out more about them. No one could ever tell me anything. After I turned eighteen and inherited the cottage, and everything in it, from my adoptive parents, I turned the place upside down looking for a record of anything, a scrap of paper, about them. About me. Never found a thing. Not even adoption records. All I knew what was what little I ’ d been told by my Uncle John—my parents had died when I was an infant. I ’ d been adopted by Uncle John ’ s younger brother and his wife shortly after. We ’ d been a family for five short years. Then they were gone too.
I stare at Fiona blankly.
She shrugs, the movement causing her garish jewelry to jingle. “ Suit yourself. But remember, knowledge is power in this world.”
I step around her. “ I ’ ll pass, thanks.”
As I walk away, Fiona calls after me, “ I ’ m not your enemy, Brigid. Come find me when you want to know the truth.”
Her words echo in the empty hallway, chilling me. I quicken my pace, desperate to put distance between us. But even as I round another corner, her cryptic message lingers.
Focus, I tell myself. Find Marius. Save Rory. Everything else can wait.
But beneath it all, I feel myself spiraling. What does Fiona know about my birth parents? And why bring it up now?
I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. One problem at a time. Right now, Rory needs me.