box out to him with a reluctance he couldn’t miss. And suddenly he knew what was inside before he even opened the lid, knew what it meant that Nana had gone to so much trouble to make certain he received it. Knew this was what she’d told him he would need. Slowly he took it from his sister, his big hands dwarfing the tiny box. He hesitated, and then finally he lifted the lid.
Inside, nestled on a piece of cotton, was the pendant. The size of an old coin, the pendant glittered like something alive. A starburst of jewels fanned out from an emerald nucleus, sparkling diamonds, opals and rubies, woven silver and gold twined seamlessly into concentric spirals that had no beginning, no end.
“I know it’s connected to the Book of Fennore, Rory, but I don’t know how or why.” She bit her lip and then blurted, “I’m afraid it’s a key—a way to find it, use it. If it is, you mustn’t do it. I beg you.”
“Use it?” he repeated with a short bark of laughter. “How would I? Christ, I don’t even know what it is.”
“Not yet, but you will.”
This simple statement hung between them. For a moment, Rory couldn’t even breathe. He stared at her, unable to pluck even one question from the traffic jam of disbelief and confusion clogging his thoughts.
“That’s bullshit, Danni.”
But beneath his sarcasm, doubt lifted like smoke from a snuffed candle. He thought of the markings on his chest, just over his heart. A symbol he’d not just inked into his skin, but burned. Branded, because a tattoo wasn’t permanent enough. He’d been fifteen, and he’d done it with a Bic lighter and the end of a metal hanger. He hadn’t been drunk or high or even delusional. He’d been compelled, driven to desperation. His friends thought him a pain freak looking to get off on the self-mutilation. They’d only been half wrong.
He didn’t know what the Book of Fennore was, but it had marked him in ways he still didn’t understand. Now he realized that he’d been trying to make it a part of himself, wear it on the outside as he bore it on the inside.
Similar spirals marked the cover and spine of the Book of Fennore. And the lock that held the Book closed . . . the pendant was an exact duplicate. It wasn’t a key in the traditional sense, but Rory was certain it was instrumental in unlocking the secrets hidden within the ancient Book. They were parts of a whole—the Book, the lock, and the pendant—a trinity in the same way a husband, wife, and ring were intrinsic parts of a marriage. But there was no power emanating from the necklace as there’d been from the Book, only a strange seductive light.
“If the Book is calling to you, there’s a reason,” Danni said softly. “And it’s not your own, make no mistake about it.”
He shook his head and took a step away. “Do you know why I left Ballyfionúir?” he asked her.
“Trevor,” Danni said softly, without hesitation.
Just hearing his stepbrother’s name made Rory’s gut tighten. She was right. Trevor was at the heart of his leaving, but he wasn’t the cause.
“I hated it here,” he said. “I hated living in a world where nothing was ever what it seemed. I hated the superstition and the . . . the . . .”
“Magic?”
Angry, he gave a terse nod. “Dead people shouldn’t show up in your car. Your sister shouldn’t be able to see what’s going to happen in the future.”
Danni’s eyes darkened with hurt, and he felt bad, but it was the truth and it needed to be said.
“Before she died,” Danni said, her voice low, “Nana told me the past is only a version of what might have happened. She said life is like the spiral of that pendant. No beginning, no middle, no end.”
“She liked to say things like that.”
“ ’Tis a certainty. I know it. And yet that doesn’t make what she said any less true, now does it? I think it’s what she meant about Trevor. She said to me once that he’d died when he was only four or five.”
Rory’s gaze
Inside, nestled on a piece of cotton, was the pendant. The size of an old coin, the pendant glittered like something alive. A starburst of jewels fanned out from an emerald nucleus, sparkling diamonds, opals and rubies, woven silver and gold twined seamlessly into concentric spirals that had no beginning, no end.
“I know it’s connected to the Book of Fennore, Rory, but I don’t know how or why.” She bit her lip and then blurted, “I’m afraid it’s a key—a way to find it, use it. If it is, you mustn’t do it. I beg you.”
“Use it?” he repeated with a short bark of laughter. “How would I? Christ, I don’t even know what it is.”
“Not yet, but you will.”
This simple statement hung between them. For a moment, Rory couldn’t even breathe. He stared at her, unable to pluck even one question from the traffic jam of disbelief and confusion clogging his thoughts.
“That’s bullshit, Danni.”
But beneath his sarcasm, doubt lifted like smoke from a snuffed candle. He thought of the markings on his chest, just over his heart. A symbol he’d not just inked into his skin, but burned. Branded, because a tattoo wasn’t permanent enough. He’d been fifteen, and he’d done it with a Bic lighter and the end of a metal hanger. He hadn’t been drunk or high or even delusional. He’d been compelled, driven to desperation. His friends thought him a pain freak looking to get off on the self-mutilation. They’d only been half wrong.
He didn’t know what the Book of Fennore was, but it had marked him in ways he still didn’t understand. Now he realized that he’d been trying to make it a part of himself, wear it on the outside as he bore it on the inside.
Similar spirals marked the cover and spine of the Book of Fennore. And the lock that held the Book closed . . . the pendant was an exact duplicate. It wasn’t a key in the traditional sense, but Rory was certain it was instrumental in unlocking the secrets hidden within the ancient Book. They were parts of a whole—the Book, the lock, and the pendant—a trinity in the same way a husband, wife, and ring were intrinsic parts of a marriage. But there was no power emanating from the necklace as there’d been from the Book, only a strange seductive light.
“If the Book is calling to you, there’s a reason,” Danni said softly. “And it’s not your own, make no mistake about it.”
He shook his head and took a step away. “Do you know why I left Ballyfionúir?” he asked her.
“Trevor,” Danni said softly, without hesitation.
Just hearing his stepbrother’s name made Rory’s gut tighten. She was right. Trevor was at the heart of his leaving, but he wasn’t the cause.
“I hated it here,” he said. “I hated living in a world where nothing was ever what it seemed. I hated the superstition and the . . . the . . .”
“Magic?”
Angry, he gave a terse nod. “Dead people shouldn’t show up in your car. Your sister shouldn’t be able to see what’s going to happen in the future.”
Danni’s eyes darkened with hurt, and he felt bad, but it was the truth and it needed to be said.
“Before she died,” Danni said, her voice low, “Nana told me the past is only a version of what might have happened. She said life is like the spiral of that pendant. No beginning, no middle, no end.”
“She liked to say things like that.”
“ ’Tis a certainty. I know it. And yet that doesn’t make what she said any less true, now does it? I think it’s what she meant about Trevor. She said to me once that he’d died when he was only four or five.”
Rory’s gaze
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