The Bachelor and the Bride by Sarah M. Eden

Author:Sarah M. Eden
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Shadow Mountain Publishing
Published: 2022-08-24T17:01:45+00:00

Chapter 15

Móirín and Parkington both attempted to convince Gemma not to follow Baz into the shadows of the narrow street he’d gone down. The oddity of those two joining forces in anything at all might’ve been enough to stop her if not for the fact that the Mastiff was connected somehow to all of this. The Kincaids were dangerous, the Mastiff even more so. She needed to know that Baz was safe.

She passed Hollis and Ana walking with a woman she didn’t know, likely the one they’d been trying to rescue. Seemed they’d managed the thing.

Gemma continued on and came upon Baz and Fletcher studying the walls on either side of them. She eyed the brick and stone as well. They were covered in writing, the same phrase scrawled over and over again. “The Tempest is coming.”

“Who is the Tempest?” she asked.

Both men spun about.

“Gemma!” Baz moved swiftly to her. “You were supposed to stay with the others.”

“Oi, but I don’t always do what I’m told.”

“Why is it you think the scrawls are a warning about a person?” Fletcher asked, his eyes darting from her to the walls and back.

“‘Tempest’ is always capitalized, i’n’it? Seems more likely it’s a person than a thing.”

Baz and Fletcher exchanged looks.

“Could be another cur in the Mastiff’s network,” Fletcher said. “The Protector. The Raven. Same type of name.”

Baz shrugged. “Could be. Or this could be old writing, here for years, before the Mastiff arrived on the scene.”

Gemma stepped closer to one of the walls, an oddity in the stone catching her eye.

“Some of this is in ash,” Fletcher said. “Has to be recent.”

One of the stones at her eye level had gouges in the surface, the sort made by a chisel rather than by time or accident.

“The words written in paint could’ve been there ages,” Baz said. “It could be people making a point of rewriting it, a tradition or rite of passage or something.”

Gemma ran her fingers over the grooves, tracing them. A portion of one “The Tempest is coming” in blue paint crossed over the etching, atop it. Touching the carving, she followed it with her finger.

KII

“The painted words ain’t more than three years old,” she said, her hand frozen against the wall.

“How’d you twig that?” Fletcher asked from somewhere behind her.

“The man who would’ve left this mark made his churchyard journey three years ago, and the words were painted over his mark.”

Baz moved to stand beside her. “Your father’s K came first.”

She nodded. “I ain’t never seen his mark left permanently, not on a building, leastwise. Something about this spot is significant.”

“And that means it’s likely also dangerous,” Baz whispered.

She nodded.

He slipped his hand around hers, gently pulling it away from the wall. “Your father isn’t here anymore, but we are. Fletch and me, Móirín, Brogan, Stone, Hollis, Parkington, Ana, Elizabeth, Vera—”

“An extensive list, Baz,” she said with a smile. “But brown to this if you will: my uncles are still on this side of the grave. My cousins as well.

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