Brighid's Flame by Cate Morgan Page B

knees. Her eyes were neither blue, or brown, or green, but all these colors and more, all at once. Tara immediately thought Queen…Empress…Goddess… and fought the urge to drop to genuflect as though she were in church.
    Hell, she didn’t even genuflect in church.
    â€œTara, this is Brighid,” Gwen told her. “She’s…well, not what we are, exactly. But she is the reason for it, and the source of our power.”
    Strangely, Brighid’s gown provided no hint of color in this empty place, other than a flicker of firefly movement along swirling seams as she moved forward to get a good look at Tara. A slender finger tilted Tara’s head up in deep interest, a Mona Lisa smile on her lovely face.
    Tara could not look away from Brighid’s utterly changeable, mesmerizing eyes. Before she quite knew it was happening, a rush of knowledge and memories flooded Tara’s mind: Her mother, taking Tara’s hand as they left the Times Square subway station just before the first bombs hit. Further back, her mother as a child, exploring a stone circle on the outskirts of someone’s property in…Ireland? Her mother had been born there.
    The images began to race and unravel like a pulled thread. More women, more girls, sudden, intermittent bursts of light—all leading to this woman. Brighid.
    â€œGoddess,” Tara breathed, and only realized she spoke out loud when the other woman’s laughter brought her back to the present.
    â€œYour ancestors—my antecedents—did not worship gods,” Brighid explained, “but those of us who stand between gods and man, and the champions who performed feats in our honor. We are the Tuatha du Danaan: timeless, ageless, and with much to do before the apocalypse ushers in a new era of evolution. Humanity is in grave danger from being caught between the armies of good and evil, and there are those who would annihilate humans completely from the Earth. It is my responsibility, with assistance of my champions, to protect them as much as possible in the coming days.”
    Again, Tara remembered that day when the first attacks reached the city. “Did…did my mother know?” she asked.
    â€œYour mother was one of us, though she had not ascended, as you are now. She was always drawn to the stone circle on her family’s property, though she never knew why.” Brighid said sadly. “Her unexpected loss was deeply mourned in the Tír. But I’m relieved her bloodline proved true. More Keepers of my Flame than I care to admit have already been lost, and the fight has not yet truly begun.”
    â€œBloodline?” Tara managed to sputter out.
    â€œYes,” Brighid said, with fierce pride. “Mine. Come.” Her cool hand threaded Tara’s, leading her off into the dark empty. Tara looked back at Gwen, who nodded encouragement.
    The empty spun, disorienting as an off-balance merry-go-round in a midnight playground. Tara felt the contents of her stomach slosh in menacing fashion, days full of bad coffee and uncertain processed food following years of the high-quality, good and fresh.
    If I toss my giblets all over a goddess, Tara reflected, I will never, in all my life, live it down.
    Following on the heels of this horrified realization her giblets were, in fact, going to be tossed, came an abrupt flooding of light, sound, and smell into her world. So startled by the overload of sensation, her stomach completely forgot to be sick.
    Stunning, world-spinning height. Rushing wind, and the laughter of a goddess or a saint, Tara couldn’t decide which.
    She slammed her eyes shut. Once sound and smell had been duly catalogued and adjusted to, only then did she creak one eye open at a time.
    And caught her breath at the view. Blue-green water for miles around, shrunken buildings across the harbor, and an endless, golden swath of land past the horizon, clear, summer-blue sky overhead with the fluffy