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Authors: Allison Brennan
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Fiona was losing her temper and Moira shut up. She couldn’t face Fiona’s wrath, not on this day .
She was treated like a princess, and even Serena, her eleven-year-old half-sister, was excited for her. “You’re going to be a goddess. Forever.”
But Moira was skeptical. Mediator? Goddess? Walking between the worlds? It sounded like she was to be a spirit herself, a ghost, trapped into slavery, doing the bidding of whatever witch summoned her …
Then that night …
Moira would never forget the screams of the two men who were stabbed in the chest with a glowing dagger .
Her mother’s fury when she didn’t drink their blood .
The chaos when her refusal caused the demons they’d trapped to break their restraints and torture those whose protective shields were weak. Fiona had then used all her power to send them back to Hell. Moira helped out of fear more than rage .
“You will comply!” Fiona said, coming at her with a dagger dripping with human blood. “You are here because I made you. You will serve me or you will burn!”
Moira ran, tossing spells out almost without thought, stopping those who tried to capture her … she didn’t even know where she was until she ran out, saw signs in French, and wondered how she’d been ignorant for so long. She hadn’t even remembered the journey! Had she been drugged? Under a spell?
She ran, hid, ran again, covered herself with protective spells and shields and anything she could think of. Anything and everything except calling forth a demon to do her bidding .
This was so wrong, people dying—how could Fiona have killed those men? For her? So she could be a slave?
That was the first night she’d ever been alone. But Fiona soon found and punished her. Afterward, Moira played the good daughter as long as she could. She learned as much as she could to fight her mother, to stop her, studying Fiona’s enemies, particularly St. Michael’s Order, a much hated group .
And then at last, she escaped. And this time, she knew enough to keep her whereabouts hidden from her mother .
She had heard about Father Philip of St. Michael’s, and that he might be able to help her, but had no information about where he lived or what he could do for her. She tried to find him by leaving coded messages at every Catholic church she entered, not knowing whom to trust. After more than a year, she started finding messages from Father Philip when she went to the churches, in the middle of the night, to steal holy water. Slowly, he told her of many atrocities her mother had committed over the years, awful things in which Moira had unknowingly participated. Horrified, she worked to undo the damage they’d caused, righting wrongs, hiding from Fiona while seeking more information from the elusive Father Philip .
She didn’t realize until later that St. Michael’s Order had been trying to find her. Or that until she escaped her mother, they would have killed her to stop Fiona. To stop her from becoming the Mediator. And she still didn’t fully understand what being the Mediator meant!
After two years of running and despair, the holy man arranged to meet her at dawn, in a small church in rural Italy .
She knew him the moment she laid eyes on him .
“Father Philip?”
He nodded, then crossed the stone floor, the rising sun streaming through ancient stained-glass windows. Father Philip was older than she’d thought, with trimmed silver hair and wire-rimmed glasses, but he was spry, stood straight, but was still several inches shorter than she. “Child, at last. We’ve been looking for you.”
She frowned. The notes they’d left for her over the years had been pretty clear: they did not want to have anything to do with her personally, but they would feed her information .
“But the messages you left for me—”
“That was Pietro. You will meet him. He insisted that we test you, to make sure you weren’t setting a trap. This is the first time I’ve stepped outside our
She was treated like a princess, and even Serena, her eleven-year-old half-sister, was excited for her. “You’re going to be a goddess. Forever.”
But Moira was skeptical. Mediator? Goddess? Walking between the worlds? It sounded like she was to be a spirit herself, a ghost, trapped into slavery, doing the bidding of whatever witch summoned her …
Then that night …
Moira would never forget the screams of the two men who were stabbed in the chest with a glowing dagger .
Her mother’s fury when she didn’t drink their blood .
The chaos when her refusal caused the demons they’d trapped to break their restraints and torture those whose protective shields were weak. Fiona had then used all her power to send them back to Hell. Moira helped out of fear more than rage .
“You will comply!” Fiona said, coming at her with a dagger dripping with human blood. “You are here because I made you. You will serve me or you will burn!”
Moira ran, tossing spells out almost without thought, stopping those who tried to capture her … she didn’t even know where she was until she ran out, saw signs in French, and wondered how she’d been ignorant for so long. She hadn’t even remembered the journey! Had she been drugged? Under a spell?
She ran, hid, ran again, covered herself with protective spells and shields and anything she could think of. Anything and everything except calling forth a demon to do her bidding .
This was so wrong, people dying—how could Fiona have killed those men? For her? So she could be a slave?
That was the first night she’d ever been alone. But Fiona soon found and punished her. Afterward, Moira played the good daughter as long as she could. She learned as much as she could to fight her mother, to stop her, studying Fiona’s enemies, particularly St. Michael’s Order, a much hated group .
And then at last, she escaped. And this time, she knew enough to keep her whereabouts hidden from her mother .
She had heard about Father Philip of St. Michael’s, and that he might be able to help her, but had no information about where he lived or what he could do for her. She tried to find him by leaving coded messages at every Catholic church she entered, not knowing whom to trust. After more than a year, she started finding messages from Father Philip when she went to the churches, in the middle of the night, to steal holy water. Slowly, he told her of many atrocities her mother had committed over the years, awful things in which Moira had unknowingly participated. Horrified, she worked to undo the damage they’d caused, righting wrongs, hiding from Fiona while seeking more information from the elusive Father Philip .
She didn’t realize until later that St. Michael’s Order had been trying to find her. Or that until she escaped her mother, they would have killed her to stop Fiona. To stop her from becoming the Mediator. And she still didn’t fully understand what being the Mediator meant!
After two years of running and despair, the holy man arranged to meet her at dawn, in a small church in rural Italy .
She knew him the moment she laid eyes on him .
“Father Philip?”
He nodded, then crossed the stone floor, the rising sun streaming through ancient stained-glass windows. Father Philip was older than she’d thought, with trimmed silver hair and wire-rimmed glasses, but he was spry, stood straight, but was still several inches shorter than she. “Child, at last. We’ve been looking for you.”
She frowned. The notes they’d left for her over the years had been pretty clear: they did not want to have anything to do with her personally, but they would feed her information .
“But the messages you left for me—”
“That was Pietro. You will meet him. He insisted that we test you, to make sure you weren’t setting a trap. This is the first time I’ve stepped outside our
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