Chapter 28
Clare stood still and stared at her image in front of the full-length mirror. She was bathed to a pink, squeaky clean complexion. Her hair was like strands of burnished copper, pressed straight and arranged in an updo, exposing her long, elegant neck. She wore a tiarathat Miss Bulging Biceps proclaimed as studded by real diamonds, not rhinestones.
Her dress was white lace and sparkled with clusters of diamonds and emeralds, and she wore long, white silk gloves to keep her fingerprints off her surroundings. A portly makeup artist brushed blush over her cheeks, and two matronly women pinned and tucked her dress, and attached a diaphanous veil sprinkledwith glitter.
She looked glamorous and posh, if she might say so herself. But her outlook was grim, if Seamus was going to go through with a bloody sacrifice ritual. As far as she could tell, she would die, and the spirit of Brigid would use her body.
“If I’m getting married, shouldn’t I call my friends and have bridesmaids?” Clare asked. “It only seems fair.”
“Humpf, we don’thave time for bridesmaids,” Bulging Biceps said. “Besides, it’s not you getting married, but Queen Brigid.”
“Who is she marrying? Are you sure it’s all going to work?”
“She will bring the High King back,” the muscular woman said.
“Who would he be? Since I, as Clare, won’t be around to find out, you might as well tell me now.”
“He will be the King of the Fae and rulerof Ireland.”
Clare wanted to tell her she was nuts, but it wouldn’t buy her any time. Instead, she said, “I’d be careful of changing the legend if I were you. The real Brigid was a saint, kind and gentle. She was generous and virtuous. She would never hurt anyone, and I doubt this revenge pact the O’Tooles are planning would work.”
“The Gallagher version is sappy and stupid,” BulgingBiceps said. “Let’s finish up. It’s time for the bridal march.”
The dress pinners and makeup artist put in their last touches, and Biceps placed the Heart of Brigid, now attached to a platinum chain, around Clare’s neck. “Follow me.”
“What if I don’t want to?” Clare narrowed her eyes at the woman with the swimmer’s arms.
Biceps drew a Glock 9mm pistol and shoved the barrelagainst Clare’s back.
“Okay, fine,” Clare said. “I don’t particularly like having a hole blown in my back, but doesn’t that invalidate the sacrifice to this skeleton goddess? If my blood’s all gone, she won’t get her life force.”
“Get in there.” Biceps pointed the way to Griffin’s walk-in closet.
After Clare stepped inside, Biceps fumbled around a shoe rack, giving Clare achance to scavenge for useful material she might need for a getaway. Unfortunately, the pickings for weapons were slim to none in a wealthy dandy’s closet.
“Found it,” Biceps said as she activated a switch, and a wall of suits turned aside, exposing a secret door.
So, there really was a secret tunnel underneath Griffin’s bedroom. This was getting interesting. Clare’s novelist instinctsperked when she stepped down into the cool, underground chamber.
The stone steps were roughhewn, and the atmosphere was dank. Electric lights illuminated the way. Handrails were provided on both sides of the walkway, and everything felt a little too clean and contrived.
As she walked farther, with Biceps right behind her, Clare sensed a subtle change. The electric lights were stillthere, but the décor and materials harkened back to an older civilization. Biceps pulled a lever, and a heavy stone door yawned open.
They walked into the foyer of a luxurious mansion. White slate covered the floor, and velvet drapes and tapestries hung over the paneled walls.
“In there,” Biceps said, pushing Clare into a bedchamber. The centerpiece was a four-poster bed made ofgold, covered with gold-threaded netting. Sumptuous patterned rugs with intricate designs threaded with gold and silver covered the floor, and a full-length mirror was hung on the wall at an angle to the bed. Its glass shimmered, reflecting sparkly LED lights dotting the chamber’s walls.
“This looks like something out of a theme park,” Clare said. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Waitfor your groom,” Biceps said.
“What am I supposed to do when he shows up?”
“You will no longer be you, little changeling. It won’t matter a bit.” Biceps pointed the gun at Clare.
“Are you going to shoot me and ruin this exquisite bedchamber?”
She stood straight and stiff like she had a ramrod up her back. “Don’t make me.”
