Chapter Twenty-Six
Numbly, Lassi raced along the trail heading away from the rectory. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
A gorgeous sunset cast beautiful hue across the sky.
“Where’s the fecking windstorm when you need one? This place has been shite weather until now.” She cast her gaze at the sky. “And now you’re all, ‘Oh, hey, look at me, I came to show you how Bally can look on a good day and beg you to stay.’” Her face scrunched. “You wanted him to beg you to stay, didn’t you, Lassi-girl?”
She quickened her steps. When she arrived at the road leading to her cottage, she spun around to give one last look at the home of Cillian Ward.
He stood in his yard, wearing pants but no shirt, looking like sorrowful heaven. His arms hung limply at his sides. His hair whirled around his face in wild waves, like a stormy sea.
For a few seconds, she stood staring at him.
He kept a steady regard of her, as well.
The seconds stretched into minutes. The moment became weighted with choice, like that goddamned Ballyna-gravity held her in place, forcing her to make a better decision. But I don’t have a choice, do I? This was a one-off for me, too. He can’t simply up and change his responsibilities, now can he, love me or not? He still must maintain his role as a priest, right?
She curled her fingers into a small heart over her chest.
He rested his hand over his breastbone.
She nodded.
He lifted his chin in acknowledgment.
She raised her hand in farewell. Then, she spun on her heel and hurried away, before she did anything stupid.
Back at the cottage, she entered and clomped into the bedroom. It looked welcoming. Someone will like living here. It’s got the potential to be a special place. In fact, maybe it won’t have to harbor heartbreak, the way it did when crazy Roberta lived here. I sure hope that’s true.
A soft meow sounded. She turned her head to see Crusty standing in the doorway. He looked at her expectantly.
“You’re a traitor, you know that, right?”
He rubbed his cheek against the door frame.
“You can claim the house all you like but someone else is going to be living here. You’ll want to high tail it up to the rectory to live with Cillian.” Her heart clenched and a fresh wave of tears assaulted her eyes. “Fecking hell. I’m in love with a man I can’t have and who can’t love me back. Not and keep his appearance of vows.”
She stepped toward Crusty.
He kept up with his rubbing against the door, marking it good and strong.
She crouched in front of him.
He didn’t hiss and run.
She held out her fingers to him.
He politely sniffed them.
She scratched the top of his head.
He didn’t lay his ears back and snarl at her, but he didn’t seem all cozy and welcoming, either. Too bad I won’t be staying. She rose to standing, not wanting to push her luck with the fecking cat. Her gaze landed on the pile of Roberta’s papers she’d stacked on the floor in the hall. She stepped toward it and stooped to pick it up.
Crusty, back to his usual form, careened past her.
She yelped, lost her balance, and dropped the whole stack.
“Bloody fecking feline,” she yelled. Crouching, she gathered up the documents. An odd manuscript caught her eye. Yellowed with age, it looked to be older than any of the other letters she’d seen in the past few weeks. The penmanship was different than the flowery scripts used by Mairead, Roberta, and the rest. She picked it up and stared at it. “How can I have missed this?” Her hands began to shake. “This was written by Father Quinn.”
In a clean, manly hand, Father Quinn had written the instructions for the magic ceremony to transform Cillian into a Leviathan. He entrusted this document to the Finn women, not to Cillian. Excitement filled her whole being. “My dearest Mairead,” she read. “Guard this with your life. Should anything threaten the work of Cillian Ward, he’ll need help. A Finn woman might need to step up to the challenge. One guardian of the Dearg-Due might not be enough.”
For a minute, she hesitated. Don’t do it. This is a permanent transformation.
She considered all that had happened in Ballynagaul—the murders, the secrets, freeing a vampire, learning of her Finn magic… She knew her responsibilities went deeper than heading back to Dublin to resume her life as a nurse who parties hard on the weekend. Her whole Dublin life, which had held so much meaning when she arrived here, now seemed like child’s folly.
And Cillian…she loved him with her heart and soul. If she could help ease his loneliness and help protect the villagers, she’d do it.
“I can become a guardian of the Dearg-due,” she whispered. Her body buzzed with electricity as she uttered the words. Her hands shook so hard she dropped the document. She picked it up. It made a soft, rustling noise as she lifted it, and a corner broke off. “Cillian needs my help. He said so. And maybe I can find a way to be with him in a more than official capacity.” Afraid the weather-worn paper might crumple in her trembling fingers, she spread it on the hall floor and settled into a cross-legged position to study it.
As she read, she muttered, “I’ve got most of the ingredients. This one...” She tapped the paper. “Is a morphine derivative. I’ve got a prescription-issued vial of morphine in my bag, procured before her death to provide care and comfort to Roberta, had she needed it. And these...” She tapped the paper again. “I’m sure I saw these herbs in the yard. And, aren’t pieces of charcoal in a box I set aside? And, copal?” She rubbed her belly vigorously, remembering the scar down Cillian’s front, from groin to collarbone. “Not too keen on the slicing bit but I’ve got a scalpel in my satchel, as well. I think I can do it without passing out.” She scrambled to standing, not wanting to give herself a chance to chicken out. “And, it’s nearly the gloaming—the perfect time, or so it says in Father Quinn’s instructions.”
She scurried about the cottage and in the yard, gathering supplies. After that, clutching a Mason jar, she sprinted down to the beach and gathered a few required plants—Rock Samphire and Sea Holly, as well as a bit of Sea Tang. She waded into the sea, scooped the jar into the surge, and filled it with sea water.
Her insides swirled as she took one glance at the Dearg-Due’s grave site. It looked as still and silent as a seal pup left on the beach while its mama went hunting.
But I know the madness that lies within. I hope someday to give her peace. She raced back to the house and set a kettle to boiling the sea water she’d just procured. Once it bubbled, she poured it back in the glass jar, adding the sea plants she’d harvested, and let it steep.
When she had everything in hand, she headed for the front room. She spread out a wool blanket in the middle of the nearly empty space. Then, she arranged her supplies in a semi-circle, in the order in which she’d use them. She propped the square sheet of mirrored glass from Roberta’s pantry against the wall, for when it came to the incision part.
Crusty perched on the windowsill, alternating between staring out the window and eying her impassively.
With trembling hands, she removed every stitch of clothing. Her panties, top, bra, and skirt smelled like sex...with Cillian. Not knowing much about magic but figuring sex scents would add a boost, she smoothed them out in an array around her, near the other supplies. Then, she carefully laid out the instructions, herbs, a syringe of morphine, the clay ashtray and resin incense she’d found, the sea-water tincture, matches, and her scalpel. She settled into a cross-legged position in the middle of everything.
First, she sprinkled copal resin on the charcoal she’d placed in the clay ashtray. After she lit it, she waved her hand to distribute the fragrant incense. An intoxicating aroma filled the room via blue-tinged coils of smoke.
Crusty sniffed, sneezed, and leaped from the windowsill. When he trotted past her, he flicked his tail at her in what she assumed to be the universal cat sign for “fuck off, human.”
“Fecking cat.” She closed her eyes for a moment and entered the professional stillness she assumed at work. When she’d booted her annoyance with the cat and anything else extraneous from her mind, she opened her eyes and scanned the instructions one last time, committing the steps to memory.
Her body shook hard as she mumbled the opening phrase. She called upon the spirits of the four directions to keep her safe. Imagining the pillars Cillian had set at the four corners of Ballynagaul, she tried to draw strength from knowing they existed. She solicited help from the above, the below, and any spirits of the sea who might lend a hand.
As the ceremony proceeded, her shivers were replaced by the kind of calm that came from purposeful action.
“This is my destiny,” she whispered, hoping her utterance didn’t affect the overall spell casting.
When it was time for the morphine part, she coached herself into “nurse mind.” After she stabbed her thigh with the needle and pressed the plunger, her skin immediately began to burn. Tiny blue flames spread from the injection site and danced across every millimeter of her skin. A sensation of electric ecstasy flowed through her limbs and her belly. It throbbed in her heart and concentrated between her legs in her core.
“Oh, shite,” she muttered. “Did I fuck up? Were the sex-scented clothes a bad idea? No one on a morphine drip has ever turned into a blue-flame covered, hallucinating Smurf like I seem to have become. Not that I know of.” A jolt of electricity rocked her system, sending her sprawling on the floor. The flames sucked into her skin, leaving a faint blue glow. She writhed on the floor as orgasmic bliss washed through her, as sweet as coming around Cillian’s cock. Could anything be sweeter? She conjured his face as he came. Such joy to be had with my man and his long, thick sugar stick.
A tiny thought, delicate as a firefly, flitted in front of her eyes. It read something like, “Ask him what he intends to do with the ring.” Ring. What ring? The ring he chipped from the concrete? She squinted, trying to grasp the meaning of the phrase. Images of Cillian, larger than life, wielding gold rings and heartbreak, rising from the sea like a breaching whale, floated in front of her. Visions of herself, this huge compassionate nurse of the sea, wrapped her arms around the Cillian image and rocked him until he began to sing loud, lusty songs in Gaelic. Thatta boy, Cillian. Let your happiness fly free.
A satisfying laugh escaped her lips. It transformed into a belly laugh until her sides ached. She laughed until tears streamed from her eyes. This whole adventure, from the minute she departed Dublin to get to Ballynagaul, seemed like a hilarious cosmic joke. When her laughter subsided, she stared out the window. A full moon. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of anything but clouds since I arrived. It must be time to slice and dice my belly.
Another wave of hilarity accompanied this thought. One glance at the mirror across the room told her how high she was—even her eyes glowed electric blue.
As she wiped the tears from her face, she mumbled, “I’ve gone bat-shite, fecking crazy. But, oh, what a fine crazy it is.”
She picked up the gleaming scalpel. It appeared in her hand as some sacred crystal object, not a stainless steel surgical tool. Before she could cut her skin, the room transformed. She blinked, and then directed her gaze around the room.
Her Great-Grandmother’s cottage had metamorphosed into an underwater oasis. Fish swam by. A squid powered through the water. Sea weed undulated hypnotically.
“Whoa. Special effects.” Even her limbs moved languidly through the air...or water...or whatever the feck magic had taken over the space. She glanced once more at the instructions in front of her. “One quick slice, from the hollow of the neck to the mons pubis, precisely five millimeters deep. Hmm, what if I’m off by a millimeter or two? And how can I be so precise? Even a skilled surgeon would have trouble with that.” Steadying her hand, she stared at her naked torso in the reflection. I’ll simply pretend I’m cutting someone else.
She focused on the image in the mirror and took a long gulp of air. Then, she cut. Working carefully, she made one long slash, along the sternum, past the diaphragm, across her navel, and down her belly, stopping at her mons. Dark red blood seeped from the cut, but it didn’t hurt.
“Not so bad. Good, in fact. I must be a natural at magical surgery and mastering my body’s response to pain.”
She leaned forward and grabbed the jar of steeped sea water, careful not to spill a drop. Next, she dragged her finger from mons to neck, gathering blood while repeating a Gaelic phrase from the instructions as best she could. After dipping her finger in the ocean tea, she swirled it around in three clockwise circles. Then, she reversed, stirring in two counter-clockwise circles. The blood made inky coils in the water. Then, it glowed iridescent pink.
“Wow. That’s different.” She gripped the glass jar. It vibrated in her hand, making her skin itch. Carefully, she lay back and propped herself on her forearm, while holding the jar in her free hand. Muttering more Gaelic, she poured the water in a stream from neck to navel, then mons to navel.
Pain shot through her body. The incision filled with dancing blue flames. She screamed and fell back, banging her head on the wood floor.
“Help, help! Make it stop!” She log-rolled to the left, hoping to smother the flames. They kept on flickering. She log-rolled to the right, beside herself in agony. Vaguely, she wondered if she’d set the cottage on fire. The pain scorched and tore at her soul. She writhed for an endless streaming time-warp. Each time she managed to tolerate the searing heat, it would grow hotter, blasting her insides like a demolition explosion. Finally, when she could endure no more, she passed out.
Dreams flitted through her consciousness. She was entwined with Cillian, flooded with pleasure. They twirled in slow undulations through the water like sea serpents.
Then, her body was licked by flames in some strange, blue-glowing hell.
She sped through corridors and channels. She tossed about in waves like a cork. At last, she fell into strange, smothering darkness, as dark as the ocean’s depths, with no thoughts or visions at all.
Loud, forceful knocking bashed against her brain.
She jolted to consciousness.
“Go away,” she muttered.
More knocks banged.
She opened her eyes.
Sunlight filtered through the window in streams of Dawn's glory.
“Feck me hard and throw me in the deep. Magic sucks, or, at least the after effects do. I feel like shite pounded on stones by washer women at the river’s edge.”
The knocks grew louder.
“Shut the fuck up, I’m coming, I’m coming.” She rolled to her side, got on all fours, and let her head rest on the floor. A symphony of pain cascaded through her brain.
The knocking became insistent.
Fearing whoever the feck stood there would break down the door, she pushed to standing. She staggered across the foyer. Each footstep made her head pound. Once she stood at the entrance, she twisted the knob, opening the door a crack because of her nakedness. Her eyebrows lifted.
“Cillian?” she croaked. Then, she slammed the door in his face.
“Lassi,” he yelled. “Let me say my piece. Please.” He fisted the door a few more times.
Glancing at the long, wicked slash marking her flesh, she spun around searching for something to cover her body. Her raincoat hung on the coat rack. She seized it, threw it on, and wrapped it tightly around herself. Then, she ran her hand through her snarled locks and opened the door.
“Cillian,” she said in forced pleasantness. “What can I do for you?”
His face furrowed into a frown. “Lasairfhíona, what happened to you? You look like you’ve been electrocuted. Your hair has been burnt.”
She glanced at her long, red tresses, noting blackened ends. “Oh. Must be the candles I lit last night. It’s nothing a haircut won’t fix.” She plastered a smile on her face.
He tipped his head to the side. “Might I come in? I came to apologize.”
She twisted her head toward the front room. All her ritual supplies had been scattered by last nights’ painful rolling about. No to the idea of him coming inside and seeing what I’ve done. “An apology on the front step is as good as any.”
He scowled. “Well, okay then. I’m sorry I sent you packing to Dublin. I love you. I don’t care who you are or what you are or what you’ve done, I love you. I’ve been a stubborn fool to not let my feelings have their way with me. I let fear guide my actions.” He let out a long sigh.
“Oh, thank Christ.” She matched his sigh. “I’m afraid I acted on impulse last night and fecked things up good and permanent-like. So, I’m glad about the part where you said you’d love me no matter what I am.”
“Huh? You’re not making any sense.”
“Oh, I suppose seeing is believing. Come in.” She stepped aside for him to enter.
He strode into the foyer, his expression puzzled. He glanced at the disarray in the front room. “What in God’s name happened?”
“Um. I acted on impulse, like I said, doing what I thought was right and proper.”
“And what might that have been?” Alarm colored his face.
She scrunched up her forehead, bit her lip, untied her raincoat sash, and slowly spread it apart. “Ta da!”
His mouth dropped wide. “What the hell did you do?”
He reached out and drew his finger along her scar. As he touched it, it illuminated with a soft blue light.
“I guess you know how to turn me on, har-har,” she said. What have I done? I may have gone too far this time. She squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, her eyeballs tingled. The air molecules, or what she guessed were air molecules, danced before her, clear and sharp. “Holy fecking hell. Is Levia-o-vision sharp as shite or what? I can see the air particles.”
Cillian groaned. “It’s salt crystals.”
She blinked. The blink looked weird like her eyelids moved in all directions at once. “What do you mean?”
“This part of the world has an abundance of salt crystals in it, given we’re so close to the sea and all.” His face appeared impassive and granite-like as he regarded her. He slowly shook his head. “What did you do?”
She shrugged. “I found some secret notes Father Quinn left for Mairead. He said you might need help some day. So, I’m here to help.”
“You performed the Leviathan transformation,” he stated flatly, no inflection in his voice. Then, his head fell back and a long groan left his lips. “Oh, Jesus, woman,” he said, bringing his head upright. He brought his hand to his face and wiped the disbelief away.
She nodded. “That I did. And, you’re right, that last bit—the slicing bit from neck to mons—that one’s a bitch. I thought I’d die of pain.”
“You made the cut yourself?” Something like horror became evident in his expression.
“I’m a practical nurse, what can I say?” She glanced at him, unsure of how he’d react. “And then...wow. Pain like you wouldn’t believe.”
His nostrils flared. “Right. You get tricked by the morphine magic high into thinking you’re invincible.”
She fidgeted side to side. “You got that right. But, what a high! It felt like I was riding your cock, coming, and coming, and coming.” Her neck and cheeks flushed with heat. Noticing she still clutched her rain coat, holding it open, she let her arms fall to her sides. “Anyway,” she said dejectedly. She stared at the floor. “You said you’d love me no matter what I am. Was that a lie?”
“No.” In two quick steps, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. “You never cease to surprise me. I had every intention of coming to apologize, having you throw me to the wolves, and continuing to live out my penance alone.”
Her scar throbbed with something not quite painful, but not quite pleasurable. Instead, it stirred like an awakening...possibilities yet to be explored.
“So, might you appreciate some help with the Dearg-Due?” she asked.
“I’m stunned speechless. The only thing I can think to say is yes, beautiful Lasairfhíona, yes.” Gripping her shoulders, he gently pushed her away. “There’s no turning back now. You know that, right?”
She nodded, somberly. “I do. I’m committed as I’ve ever been. It was a destiny moment, Cillian. I knew in my soul I was meant to perform the rite.”
“Good. Then let’s begin our new life together, whatever that may bring.” He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her.
Her body surged with electricity, much like last night. But this electricity felt good. Felt manageable. Felt like something she could explore and shape over time into something remarkable.
They separated with lip smacking satisfaction.
“I love you, Cillian Ward. Like never before.”
His eyes shone. “I love you, too, Lasairfhíona Finn. Like never before.”
A wicked expression appeared on his face.
“What’s that about?” She traced his lips.
“Why, Miss Finn, I wondered how you’d feel about tentacle sex with a Leviathan?”
She wrinkled up her nose. “Is that what I’m in for?”
“I will neither confirm nor deny,” he said, grinning.
She hadn’t really thought about what their sex life would be like when transformed, or even what she’d look like as a Leviathan, but, she vowed to stay open. “Well,” she said. “There’s only one way to find out, Mr. Ward. To the beach, I say!”
Dressed only in a raincoat, she tugged him out the door, eager to find out what kind of pleasure could be found in the sea with her man and his huge, hot sugar stick. She couldn’t wait to find out.
Sure, there were loads of obstacles ahead. She hadn’t the slightest clue how she’d get to be with him and have him still serve as the village priest. She had magic to learn and Leviathan skills to master. But her time in Ballynagaul had shown her how deep family connections could be. And, there seemed to be a kind of comfort living in a small town. Knowing her neighbors and what part she’d play in keeping them safe, she felt a part of something far greater than her calling as a nurse would ever take her.
“I’m a Leviathan now. A sea monster. How cool of an adventure is that going to be?”
“We’ll have to find out, won’t we?” Cillian answered. “Together.”
“Together.” It had to be the happiest word she’d ever uttered.
<<<<THE END>>>>
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