Chapter 12
Griffin heeded Pierce’s warning look. Even though Pierce was his grandfather’s butler, he was the one who imprinted all his memories—being the first person he saw after each attack. He knew more than anyone else living in Gallagher Castle.
Which was more than Griffincould claim. His earliest memory was lying in a bed with his father reading books to him. But then there were the absences, which his grandfather explained to him were the dying and coming back to life which men of his family were prone to.
It got harder and harder to keep up with a thousand years of personal history, and the notes in the annals were entirely inadequate. He relied on Pierceto keep up with the list of events and coach him whenever he came back from the dead.
Just like he was relying on him now to corral the woman, changeling or goddess, inside the castle by offering her lunch.
Griffin reached for the alluring woman and smiled. “Shall we forget that outburst of mine?”
She twisted an eyebrow, but apparently liking what she saw in his face, shealso smiled and nodded. “Most likely you’ve already forgotten.”
“Of you, precious Brigid, I cannot forget.” He led her down the circular stairway of stone. “How you sang to me and plucked me from the snare of death. I was almost overcome. On the brink of losing yet another lifetime of memories.”
He scratched his head, wondering how she would know about his memory loss. Maybe shewas someone from his past, and that was why Pierce didn’t want her to leave.
“I told you I wanted to help,” she said. “But you need to stop calling me names or assigning characters to me when you don’t know who I am.”
“Why won’t you tell me?” He matched her slow pace as they walked around the gallery of stained-glass saints. “Which one speaks to you?”
“Maybe all, maybe none,”she said with her gaze fixed on him, not giving a glance to any of the images. “Wouldn’t you rather get to know me on your own without relying on what others tell you?”
He suppressed a guffaw at the thought. She obviously had no idea what pains he took to relearn his personal history. He needed to be more organized, but he could barely catch up on his many previous lives before he was knockedout and starting from ground zero.
Well, not exactly, because he did retain enough memory to know his way around the castle. He could obviously speak both the old Irish language along with English. He knew things, about rocks and minerals, mechanical locks, and electronic security systems. What he wasn’t conscious of, his dreams filled in the blanks. There were several houses he knew hisway around, one near the seaside and another with an extensive basement full of secret trapdoors. He hadn’t yet come across them in his notes or seen them in any of the videos he’d been reviewing.
There were no women in his photo album and no videos of past girlfriends. Had he always been a loner? Or had Grandpa or Pierce hidden those images from him?
If only he knew who this fascinatingwoman was. He patted the hand she had on his arm. “Not even a little hint? Have we met before?”
“Why would it matter?” Her eyes darted to the side of the path. “All we have is the here and now.”
“You’re making it difficult for me, aren’t you? I feel as if I’ve always known you.”
“Then you’re exaggerating,” she said. “I’ve never seen this garden before. It’s enchanting. Isit built on a fairy mound?”
“My guess is as good as yours,” he said, pointing to the brilliant, multi-colored metal spheres glistening in the fountains. Tiny rainbows were reflected from the spray of water, and stained-glass butterflies were perched on the verdigris-green benches surrounded by clumps of wildflowers.
Birds flitted on the treetops, singing their songs of springtime,but it was too early in the season for butterflies to emerge from their chrysalises.
Brigid stopped under a tree and smiled at a colorful, noisy little bird with a bright-blue crown, white cheeks, and a yellow underside. It flitted around, chuckling with a clear, high-pitched "tsee-hee-he-hee.”
“We’ll have good luck today,” she said. “They are tiny guardian fairies who send our prayersup.”
“They sound like they’re laughing at us,” Griffin said. “I’ve never heard that they’re guardian fairies, but I’ll take any luck I can get. Do we each get a wish?”
“Of course, we do,” she chirped. “Unlike most fairies, who twist our words and give us a bad surprise, the little blue tit magnifies only good thoughts to the gods.”
“You go first,” he said, loving the way thesun highlighted parts of her reddish-brown hair. “That is, if you’re allowed to tell your wish out loud.”
“Certainly.” She stood still beneath the tree where the hyperactive birds flitted from branch to branch. “My wish is for you, Griffin Gallagher, that you find what you’re looking for.”
Looking into her emerald eyes, he could almost believe she could produce the Heart of Brigidin the palm of her hand. A vision flashed of her wearing black feathers. She dangled the rough diamond on a leather strap. With a raucous caw and a rapid fluttering of wings, she flew away.
Griffin shook off the vision and blinked. Brigid, bright and shining and all in white, stood before him with her brows knit in concern.
“Was that the correct thing to wish for?” she asked. “Orshould I have been more specific?”
