The Luminary: The Brennan Coven, #1

One

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Milwaukee, Wisconsin

The shores of Lake Michigan

Early November

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Friends? Non-existent. 

Family? Get real.

Sex life? Totally dry.

Insanity? Ding ding ding. Now we had a winner.

Meera went through the mental checklist for the second time that day as she dragged her fleece-lined boots through the sand, forcing her feet to move. Freakin’ fantastic. Normally the urge to take stock of her life only hit her once a day. But as the incessant hum increased in volume, she knew things were about to get worse than bad.

The voices. The hum. The rejection and the lies. All of it led to her self-induced isolated existence, which was how she found herself in her current predicament...

She stopped, stood stock still on the shores of Lake Michigan as the winds whipped and swirled around her. It was cold, incredibly cold, but she didn’t feel it. Her long, dark hair tangled around her arms and wrapped around her face. She couldn’t see, couldn’t feel, but she could hear.

The wind called.

Meera.

It is time.

She’d fought it for years—or they had. Her family chose a life for her, attempting to rid her of the life that should have been. The life they hoped would never be.

But the wind called and she had a choice to make, a choice between pleasing others and succumbing to the call. The life she was destined to live. She didn’t know how she knew it, but felt the change in the core of her soul, the fiber of her being.

The wind raged on. Meera lifted her head, in defiance or homage, she wasn’t sure. Too soon. She wasn’t ready. No one had prepared her for what was to come, what might be.

She was alone. Again. Alone on the shore and alone in life. When had that happened? Had it always been?

The squall picked up speed and became even more tumultuous. Some would call it a storm, but it wasn’t. Not yet. This was a message. From whom, she did not know.

She held out her arms, lifted her head to the sky, and let it hit her full on. She didn’t stagger, didn’t falter. Here, on this shore with the massive lake behind her, Meera was a rock.

It came now from all directions, tempting her, but she held strong. Taunting whispers, begs for help. Was this a fight? What was she fighting for? Against?

Just when she thought she could take no more, it stopped, the silence deafening. Her knees gave out and she hit the ground on all fours. Panting and straining to see through her tangled hair, she looked around but saw nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing, remembered everything.

Alone.

Meera pushed herself off the ground and stumbled to her feet, her senses reeling from the eerie squall. How many times did she have to go through these cryptic episodes before somebody explained what the hell was going on? Well, this time she wouldn’t ask. This time she’d demand answers and there’d be major hell to pay if she didn’t get the truth.

She’d come out earlier hoping a walk along the shore would clear her mind or at least help her work the puzzle. Obviously it hadn’t, but being cooped up, no matter how much she loved her apartment, got to her after a while. She could only be in her own company for so long before she got stir crazy. Meera grunted. At least she had the crazy part right.

She’d written in her journal already this morning and knew she’d be scratching in it again as soon as she got home.

Another day just like the last.

When one is alone,

each day blends with the next until

your life becomes a blur,

a bubble from which you cannot escape.

You see the outside world,

yet you are not a part of it,

have never been a part of it.

Not really.

You poke, you scratch, you beg and you plead,

but it won’t burst.

Not today, not tomorrow,

not for a million tomorrows.

Another day, another page in the ever-growing journal. These most recent thoughts, perhaps the darkest to date, mixed with a multitude of others cluttering her head on a daily basis, mingling with one another like pieces of a puzzle laid out on a card table. Sure, the solution was there, though try as she might, it continued to elude. But she wouldn’t give up. Never that. However, if one more person gave her the freak eye, she’d probably go ballistic. Though she had gotten better at masking her reactions to the voices. Liar, liar. Fine. Not better, just more distant and secluded.

The iciness of the air seeped in and her entire body shivered. She hadn’t planned on walking this far, didn’t count on it being this blistering cold and had only worn her light cloak. Other than rocks and sand, the beach was empty, eerily void of another soul. She wrapped her arms around her middle. The silence and the solitude were almost as bad as the hum. Almost as bad as the voices.

Almost.

She turned her back to the water, stared at the beach and then past it, trying to remain focused. A beautiful church with stained glass windows depicting the tales of Jesus stood on the hill. At one time it stood solitary and had been considered grand, but now appeared diminutive next to the condos flanking each side. They’d been built about a year ago and were still at least half empty. The lifeless windows stood out like a dark fortress on the cloud-covered day, mocking her, daring her to give in. Not gonna happen, she thought to herself.

She willed her heart to slow its frantic beating while she trekked through the sand to her apartment. Wasn’t it enough she never felt as if she fit in, been a part of her family? Now she’d alienate them even more with her probing interrogation. That’s exactly what this was—an interrogation. No reason to sugarcoat it with polite words.

Screw it. It’s not as if she had anything to lose.

She keyed the lock and opened the door to her lavish condo and then dumped her keys in the glass bowl on the entry table. Plush furniture, overstuffed pillows, silk curtains, marble floors and welcomed heat greeted her. Okay, maybe she had something to lose. At least her so-called family had provided her an awesome home with an incredible view of Lake Michigan. On a clear day—which were unfortunately few and far between— the immense lake took on a deep blue color with hints of diamonds as the sun shone from above. But she’d gladly give it all up for a chance at answers. A chance at truth. A chance at normal. Considering they’d only given the apartment to her in an attempt to keep her quiet, an eviction would certainly be imminent.

Time’s up.

Time to get down to the nitty-gritty of it, as cliché as that may sound, the saying was definitely apropos. They’d never been close, but over the past year her family had completely avoided her. She asked questions. They evaded.

Meera stopped at the picture window and stared, resigned, confused and more than a little resentful. Only moments ago the November sky had been cloud covered, the wind almost hurricane like, the temperature freezing cold. Now? Now the sun shone gloriously and sat unaccompanied in the indigo sky. No clouds. And the trees? Dead still.

Meera felt numb.

If this kept up, she had no doubt she’d lose her mind before too long. Was she the only one on this effin’ planet experiencing such insane things? Oh, no. Those admitted to the nearest psych ward could totally relate. Maybe she’d stop by later and introduce herself. Chances were she’d join them in the near future. Might as well be ahead of the game.

The more she thought about it—the years of secrets and lies—the more she felt as if she would self-implode. Anger burned through her system like poison. She stomped through the living room, discarding clothes and dropping them on her way to the shower. She paid no attention to the mess. Her focus? Scalding hot water to burn away the feelings of insanity and loneliness.

She stood under the blistering water until her skin tingled with irritation. Good. Irritation she could deal with. Anger made her strong—ish. Talking to people shouldn’t be this hard. Especially people she considered family. But conversing with them had become more and more difficult and it didn’t help that they very possibly weren’t family at all.

Meera toweled her jet-black hair and then braided it so two ropes hung over her breasts. The braids nearly reached her navel. Call it trivial, but she was proud of her long hair. The sheen, the style, allowed her to hold her head high even in the darkest of times. She called it vain courage.

But the very thing that gave her courage also suggested she was not a biological descendant of the Jones family. Hello? They all had blonde hair and blue eyes—mother, father, sister, brother—it didn’t take a genetic scientist to figure this one out. Two blue eyed people could not make a green eyed baby. Okay, so that wasn’t exactly true. She ought to know. She’d researched the hell out of that theory. It wasn’t impossible, but add the fact that no one, including her father (throw up some air quotes around that parental title), stood over five foot six while she towered over them at five foot ten, and they all had freckles while her skin was as pale and clear as a geisha.

She opened the door to her expansive walk in closet, stepped in and sighed. Her clothes were something else she’d miss. Sure she could take them with her, but the money would cease to come her way and she’d never had any luck finding a real job. She’d just have to mix and match and hope these would last her for a while. Meera’s fingers stroked the different fabrics as she walked by, the textures calling to her sense of style. Clothing had become a definite weakness. She adored fashion, not necessarily the latest trend, but fashion that suited her. Lately her style had leaned towards slightly gothic with a hint of eccentricity. Gothic chic. Her current must have?

Cloaks.

Cloaks in every color and texture imaginable. She couldn’t explain why suddenly in this past year, she had felt almost consumed with the need to search out cloaks. Consignment shops and eBay had become her new best friends. Matter of fact, the Internet had practically become her only source of interaction with the outside world. It wasn’t intentional. She liked people—usually—they just didn’t seem to like her. Not for any length of time anyway. Which was probably why she’d adopted a cocky attitude, self-preservation being a necessity and all.

More than that, though, she couldn’t explain a lot of things about the past year. Nightmares, dreams, trances, unexplained energy. The list grew endless. And it had all started on her birthday. Started with a hum. Then came the voices. Two voices calling to her, struggling against each other like a tug-o-war in her brain, competing for her attention. One a whisper, the other a hiss.

Meera squashed the feelings of helplessness and allowed the fires of fury to take over. Enough! Today was the beginning of the end. She wasn’t helpless, just uninformed. She knew something wasn’t right and she was no longer scared to find out the truth. The complete truth. If they weren’t her family, who was? Did her real family suffer from the same ailment? A bit of an understatement, calling hearing voices in your head an ailment, but that was the best she could do right now.

She donned her brown leather boots and royal blue cloak. Shoulders back, head held high, she yanked the door open and gasped.

Who the hell are you? Normally she wasn’t this rude, but the stranger standing on her threshold caught her off guard and ignited a spark of unease. She’d seen her before. Not close up, but there wasn’t a doubt in her crazier-by-the-minute mind this was the same woman. A woman whose skin was China doll pale. A long, flowing dress covered her petite body. Didn’t matter that Meera stood a good foot taller—with her boots on; the woman made her nervous.

Meera started to slam the door, then changed her mind. Something just out of her mind’s reach had her hesitating. With the doorknob still in hand, she stared at the middle-aged woman with midnight hair almost as long as her own. Odd. That one detail stuck out more than anything else. It wasn’t every day she came across someone with rival hair. Which is exactly why she’d noticed her before. She’d always been just on the edge of her peripheral, but Meera had seen her. More than once.

Hello, Meera.

Her wariness returned with a vengeance causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. How do you know my name? Who are you?

May I come in? The woman smiled, showing perfect white teeth behind her full, red stained lips.

Um, no. I don’t know you. She told herself she wasn’t being rude, just cautious. She had every reason. Today was not going well.

At.

All.

And this woman was delaying her. She needed to get to her parents’ home. She needed answers. If you’ll please excuse me, I was just leaving.

The woman didn’t budge. It is true. You don’t know me. But you will. It is time.

Meera’s eyes widened. What did you just say? Her voice wavered and a knot formed in the pit of her stomach.

Without hesitation, the woman repeated the eerie words. It is time.

What the hell was going on? Time for what? Whatever it meant, she suddenly wasn’t ready. Not yet. Bravado almost gone but refusing to give in to her fear, Meera swallowed past the lump in her throat and went for trusty sarcasm. It hadn’t failed her in the past. She glanced at her watch. "I know. It’s time for me to go." She lifted her eyebrows. Hello? Go away?

The woman smiled a knowing, patient smile, then stood there and waited.

Meera mimicked her stance. One of them would break.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

Absolutely ridiculous. An old fashioned standoff at her front door.

After what seemed like eternity, Meera let out an exasperated sigh. Look. I really do have to go. Can we maybe do this some other time? Maybe being the key word—as in never.

I believe you have some questions, Meera. If you would allow me the courtesy of entering your home, perhaps I’d be able to give you some answers.

Goose bumps covered her skin. Who are you?

May I enter? she asked, inclining her head towards the door.

Before she could attempt dismissing her for the third time, Meera’s mouth betrayed her brain and her gut. Five minutes. That’s all I can spare. Now she’d really lost her flippin’ lid. Letting an absolute stranger into her home was beyond stupid, yet she found herself stepping back and allowing the other woman to walk in.

No.

Not walk.

Glide.

Her black skirt skimmed the floor obscuring any view of her feet and giving the illusion she glided. If things got any weirder, she had no doubt she’d skip her parents’ home completely and drive straight to the loony house. No more joking about it. This time she’d really go.

The woman perched on the edge of Meera’s buff-colored suede couch, her posture perfectly feminine and erect. She gestured to the cushion beside her. Won’t you join me?

You have got to be kidding me. Yeah, my house here. Sure. Meera sat next to her but did not remove her cloak. This wouldn’t take long and she didn’t want to give the impression they’d be chatting for any length of time. She’d hear a bit of what she had to say and then find a way to boot her out—even if she had to do it physically.

Allow me to introduce myself. I am Carrine. She offered her hand in greeting.

Meera accepted purely on good manners. The moment Carrine’s hand touched her own, a wave of dizziness washed over her and the world went black.

Sucked into oblivion, an evil darkness surrounded her. Nothing tangible—more like an essence, a spirit. She knew she had to fight, but how could she fight what she couldn’t see?

She struggled to breathe, the weight of the oppressed air crushing her lungs.  Meera closed her eyes and tried to take slow even breaths, but it was too hot, too much. She squeezed her eyes shut even tighter and held her breath. When would it stop? What did it want?

Meera?

Oh, God. She could hear it calling to her. Not a voice, not really, more like a hiss on the wind. She opened her eyes in an attempt to see something, anything.

Total darkness.

Absolute total darkness. The kind of darkness that crushed and paralyzed. Damn it. Where was the light? Light was something she desperately needed, the world needed. A world without light would be cruel. It would be evil.

Meera. It is time.

Time for what? She didn’t understand. She wasn’t evil. She was normal, good. The voice came at her from all directions now. Behind her, then beside her, hissing in her ear.

The hot air swirled, wrapping her body in its wicked current. Come to us. It is time.

c

Meera woke, her body shivering. Drenched in sweat, her head pounded like the bass in a Bose system. She struggled to breathe. Nightmare. But it had seemed so real. They always did. The voices. Calling to her, screaming at her...begging her.

She whipped the twisted sheet off her body as she stumbled out of bed. She knew—from almost a year of experience—in mere moments the nightmare would fade and with it most, if not all the details and memories it conjured, but the voices would remain. And that woman? Carrine? Was that her name? Thank God she’d been part of the nightmare too. Just being near her had disturbed her usually cool self. But Meera had seen her before and that must be why she’d presented herself during this dream and not the others.

Meera braced herself, her hands clamped tightly to the sides of her pedestal sink. She slowly lifted her head and studied herself in the mirror. The face of a stranger greeted her. She almost recoiled, but then realized the stranger was indeed her own reflection. The dark shadows under her green eyes were more than just the remnants of yesterday’s make-up, making her look tired and drained. Strange. She always washed her face before bed. Always. Meera removed a cotton ball and make-up remover from the cabinet and gently wiped away mascara and fatigue. She washed her face and then stole one more glance in the mirror. Yesterday’s make-up wasn’t the only thing she still wore. The same clothes, sans boots, covered her body. She struggled to remember the events of the previous day, as reality mixed with what she hoped had been only another nightmare.

She drew a blank.

After several calming breaths, she wandered toward the kitchen, the need for coffee so strong she could already smell it. She turned the corner and came to a complete, sudden stop.

No, Meera whispered in horror. You can’t be here. It was only a dream.

Some of it. You were asleep almost twelve hours. I apologize for that. If I’d known how it would affect you... She trailed off.  Good morning. I’ve brewed you some coffee. Please have a seat. Carrine pulled out the chair next to her own.

Meera, afraid her legs would fail her, ignored the offered chair and chose the one furthest from the dark haired woman of her nightmares. The legs scraped the tile floor, the sound resonating in the quiet room. She lowered herself into the chair, drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. Resting her chin on her knees, she said, I don’t understand. Who are you? What are you doing here?

Carrine slid a mug of steaming coffee toward Meera, then sat regally in her chair as though she were royalty, her back straight, her hands folded and placed on the edge of the table in front of her. You have many questions. You must be patient and I will explain everything. She waved her hand dismissively when Meera tried to interrupt. Learning patience will serve you well in the future. Drink your coffee, child. This is going to be a very long day and will require a great deal of energy.

Meera started to protest, started to defend herself. She was no child. She was a confident and capable adult. Who was she kidding? Certainly not herself and by the look in Carrine’s eyes, she wouldn’t be fooled either. She needed help and this strange woman had been the first person, the only person, to ever offer any form of it. The least she could do was hear her out. If nothing else, she owed it to herself. She had no idea if she was friend or foe, but something about her called to Meera. Called to her in a way she couldn’t even begin to explain. So instead of protesting, she slumped back in her chair and sipped her black coffee, which she might add had been made to perfection.

Ah, you are a fast learner. I expected as much. If you can master patience, that will go a long way in helping you on this journey.

They sat in silence, each one studying the other in an attempt to learn the mysteries that lie beneath the façade.

Impeccably dressed, Carrine’s corset style top accented her slim waist. The purple color set off her green eyes in such a way she looked almost, well, the only word Meera could think of was...enchanting. Her hands remained folded. Her nails pristine and buffed to a high polish.  Her make-up subtle yet striking.

As though she knew she were being scrutinized and seemingly proud of it, Carrine nodded her head, a slight movement but unmistakable. The silence grew uncomfortably long. Carrine drew a breath, as if she were preparing a long speech, but instead closed her eyes, her brows drawn, her lips pursed as if she were reflecting internally. Moments went by before she opened her eyes again and rose. The Council needs me. I must go.

But—the who? Meera interrupted.

I must go. I will be back as soon as I can. Remember to preserve your energy. Remember...

Remember what? Meera questioned the retreating woman. Remember what? She never got her answer. Carrine shut the door with a concluding click.

Two

Hey, Gannon?

Ghanem’s fingers stopped typing as he looked up at his boss. On the verge of correcting the man, yet again, he bit his tongue. It wasn’t worth it. The idiot would never pronounce his name right. Few did. But really? How hard could it be?

"Gan" rhymes with "can" and " um" as in "um, you’re an idiot." Harold was both an idiot and an ass. The accurate stereotype of an insurance salesman never ceased to amaze Ghanem, and Harold was as cookie cutter as they came.

Yes, Harold. What can I do for you? What bothered Ghanem most was having to work for this brown-nosing, three-pack-a-day cigarette-smoking fucker. Out of all the jobs he’d had—and there had been many—this had been, by far, the worst. Stuck in a literal corner, day after day, typing up insurance forms. He couldn’t even call himself a salesman—no, nothing as glorified as that. Nothing more than a paper pusher. The monotony was killing him, but he had to work, and more importantly Ghanem needed to blend. As if that were a problem.

He scrubbed his head, looked up at his boss, and tried to ignore the stench of stale cigarettes. Harold would bend over backward for a potential customer, then do whatever he could to screw them out of their money. Ghanem had his number. The problem was, he couldn’t do anything about it. Not outwardly. But on the sly he’d slowly begun to give a handful of clients their due. His father took Ghanem’s birthright, but he could never take his fundamental core.

Someone’s here to see you. Idiot adjusted his pants, pulling them up another inch past his navel. The motion had Ghanem’s own nads aching at the potential assault. How did any man find that comfortable? Now, you know how I feel about personal interruptions at work, but he claims it’s an emergency. Harold lifted a bushy, salt and pepper eyebrow.

Ghanem glanced past Harold, all the while giving the perception of keeping eye contact. Unfortunately, he couldn’t see who waited for him, but now that he focused his attention, he could tell what waited beyond the short row of cubicles. Usually, he would have detected the being sooner. He was slipping. No surprise there. He practically choked on his next words. I apologize, sir. I’ll make this brief.

Be sure that you do. Oh, and punch out first. Harold nodded and stomped back to his office, a whole four feet from Ghanem’s cubicle.

Ghanem clenched his fists and waited for Harold to shut his office door. Better that than to jump over the desk and break his scrawny-ass neck. A flick of the wrist was all it would take. Ghanem’s six-five frame dwarfed Harold by about a foot. Weight was a whole other issue, but he didn’t have the time to beat the shit out of Harold. The visitor waited. Ghanem had another matter to deal with. Again.

He always hoped for the best, but braced for the worst. Hope was a bitch that had his balls in a noose, because even after all these years he’d never been given another chance.

After logging out of his computer but skipping the clock-out instructions—Harold owed him more than the few minutes this would take, and it was already past five—Ghanem walked past the piles of insurance claims, manila folders, and other crap paper, trying not to let the heaps get to him. He hated the mess. Hated the confinement. You’d think with so many pissed-off people waiting for insurance money, Harold would hire someone to come in and organize. But that wasn’t really the point, was it? You didn’t own an insurance company because you wanted to pay claims. Ghanem had pegged the insurance business as a scam from day one, but he had to do something. This job currently paid the bills and, more importantly, sucked up several hours of the endless days. Just like all the other jobs had for the last two hundred years.

As Ghanem neared the door, his senses became more acute, more intense. If they knew he’d retained this fragment of his power, he could only imagine what they would do to strip him completely bare. But retain it he did, and because of that, Ghanem now had no doubt of who waited on the other side. Well, well, well. This should be interesting. He opened the door and came face to face with his father’s personal messenger.

Dominic has summoned you.

Nice to see you too, Derek.

The messenger narrowed bright blue eyes. My name is Drake.

Ah, yes. It’s been so long I must have forgotten. Of course he hadn’t forgotten. He just enjoyed fucking with the lesser guardian. Ghanem eyed