The Light Who Shines Read online

  The Light Who Shines

  By Lilo Abernathy

  Bluebell Kildare Series: Book 1

  Copyright

  Title: The Light Who Shines

  Author: Lilo Abernathy

  Editor: Shauna Ward

  Cover Photographer: Ivan Phillips

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 Lilo Abernathy

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, please contact Lilo Abernathy, [email protected].

  Dedication

  For my parents, who taught me how to think, to question, and to learn about the world by reading. Thank you for raising me in a house with a huge wall of books ranging from Horton Hears a Who by Dr. Seuss to Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. And let’s not forget the stacks of National Geographic and Popular Mechanic magazines.

  You fueled my imagination with fantasy, then gave me the necessary critical thinking skills to discern fact from fiction. You taught me how to do for myself and make my way own way in this world, while at the same time showing me how tremendously vast and interesting the world is. Yet no matter how lost or tiny we feel amongst the wave of humanity that inhabits Earth with us, we are not the least bit insignificant after all.

  Thank you for giving me a desire for knowledge and an inexhaustible love of learning. Most of all, I thank you for giving me the foundation required to formulate my own opinions about the world and for respecting those views even when they diverge from your own.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to take a moment, or perhaps several days to acknowledge my long-suffering editor, Shauna Ward. If I knew how to curtsy to you, or better yet, how to bow, as curtsies just don’t seem to have the same elegant grace about them, I would wave my arm in a flourish and bend at my waist, using my considerable dexterity to nearly touch the ground as the blood rushes to my face. And I would stay there until my skin turned red and my head became light and I was in danger of fainting, which likely would not take long, all in acknowledgement of you.

  I can only imagine how painful it was to suffer through not one, not two, but three reviews of storyline and character before finally getting the go-ahead to start working on grammar, spelling, and punctuation. So thank you, Shauna, for that, first of all. That is not even mentioning the many other things I am grateful for. Let me just say… the phrase “that sounds a bit awkward” has been indelibly seared into my mind, but I know I am a better writer for it.

  With no less fervor, I’d like to thank Ivan Phillips, the photographer extraordinaire who scouted for the perfect alley for the book cover backdrop, suggested the model, executed the model shoot, and guided me through the selection process to the perfect photo. Yet how well I know that your work didn’t end there. Ivan, I recognize and am thankful for how patient you were with my incredibly picky instructions on how to edit the photo so that the model’s aura and blue hair streak and eyes matched Blue’s character. I am sure my readers will appreciate that attention to detail. I am also grateful for your expert advice on color, tone, placement, angle, depth, and a whole host of other concepts I was only vaguely aware of prior to your explanations.

  I can hardly mention the photography without mentioning the center of attention, the model Darlene Nuccio, who represents the main character Bluebell Kildare in the cover shot. Darlene, you are stunning, and even more importantly, you were reliable and professional and brought your own unique sense of style to the job. The emotion that you infused into the final photo made it an obvious winner.

  My heartfelt appreciation goes out to all of my pre-readers for your fortitude in braving the variety of rough versions I presented to you and for providing your honest commentary in return. The long list includes Jean Lombardo, Charles Lombardo, Eduardo Sampedro, Laura Ward, Evelyn Gauger, Ann Moynihan, Jennifer Blanton, and many others. You truly helped me improve and enrich the story.

  There have been so many people who have helped me over the years to get to this point by either words of encouragement or faith in my abilities, but in deference to those stouthearted readers who actually read acknowledgements, I’d like to mention just one. Mya Anderson, the seeds of this book started to grow back in the days when we dreamed of doing projects like this. Thank you for being my co-dreamer.

  Finally, I’d like to thank my readers for purchasing this book and beginning this journey with me. I very humbly present to you my first work and hope for nothing more than your true enjoyment of it.

  Preface

  I intended this book to be a well-balanced combination of urban fantasy and romance. It is filled with plenty of action, has a strong plot, and is topped with a generous dollop of romance and a sprinkling of deeper meaning. I chose this combination as this is exactly what I hope to find each time I crack open a new book.

  The plot follows the investigation of the kidnapping, torture, and murder of a seventeen-year-old boy. The story opens at the crime scene and is written from the alternating first person perspectives of the two main characters: the primary inspector on the case and her boss. Love is in the air, even as villains abound, keeping the story intriguing from several angles.

  The story takes place in a society similar to ours, on our earth, at around our time. However, some major events occurred about two thousand years earlier that caused a divergence from what you and I know as our reality. The prologue briefly takes us back those two thousand years to provide hints about the origins of some of the more mystical aspects that manifest themselves in the present day of this alternate existence.

  The populace of this world primarily consists of several breeds of humans: regular humans as we know them, magically Gifted humans, and Vampires, who are essentially cursed humans. The story deals with one of our society’s most ugly issues: prejudice. Except that in this world the prejudice is not between races but between breeds of humans. In the course of exploring this prejudice, we also confront key questions about the nature of good and evil.

  This story contains some vividly described scenes of violence and a few explicit sex scenes. For both these reasons, I recommend as a guide, not a rule, that the reader be at least seventeen years of age. I consider it equivalent to an R-rated movie.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Preface

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 01 Double Depravity

  Chapter 02 Slipped at the Cock and Bull Tap

  Chapter 03 The Wild Garden Grows

  Chapter 04 Hidden Treasures

  Chapter 05 Of Smoke and Shadow

  Chapter 06 Herbal Etcetera

  Chapter 07 Evidence of Anguish

  Chapter 08 The Dragomir

  Chapter 09 Every Day Enmity

  Chapter 10 The Office

  Chapter 11 Begging for Reprieve

  Chapter 12 Lessons on Wolves

  Chapter 13 Homecoming

  Chapter 14 The Hunt

  Chapter 15 A None Too Gentle Reminder

  Chapter 16 Vapor

  Chapter 17 The Bitter Truth

  Chapter 18 Making an Entrance

  Chapter 19 A Grain of Salt

  Chapter 20 Fertilizing the Flowers

  Chapter 21 Short Drive Down Memory Lane

  Chapter 22 Gala Magic

  Chapter 23 Evidence of Entry

  Chapter 24 Silent Vigil

  Chapter 25 The Yellow Sea

&n
bsp; Chapter 26 New Leads

  Chapter 27 Positive Reports

  Chapter 28 Fly Trap

  Chapter 29 Empathetic Soul

  Chapter 30 Bees and Honey

  Chapter 31 A Big Mess

  Chapter 32 Belfry

  Chapter 33 Beautiful Vigil

  Chapter 34 The Alley

  Chapter 35 Not Remembering

  Chapter 36 A Light Too Beautiful

  Chapter 37 Foiled Again

  Chapter 38 A Mutual Understanding

  Chapter 39 Office in Disarray

  Chapter 40 Is the Dog Rabid?

  Chapter 41 Solidarity

  Chapter 42 Suspect List

  Chapter 43 Soliciting Assistance

  Chapter 44 Covert Sentinel Revealed

  Chapter 45 A Confusing Illumination

  Chapter 46 Convening

  Chapter 47 A Sagacious Gentleman

  Chapter 48 Vacant Generosity Exposed

  Chapter 49 Artful Deceit

  Chapter 50 An Embarrassing Pretense

  Chapter 51 Targeting the Suspect

  Chapter 52 Lemonade

  Chapter 53 Bad Omen

  Chapter 54 Phantom Island

  Chapter 55 Searching Desperately

  Chapter 56 An Introduction to Pain

  Chapter 57 Warehouse District

  Chapter 58 Into the Darkness

  Chapter 59 The Riverside

  Chapter 60 Strengthening the Soul

  Chapter 61 An Errant Wolf

  Chapter 62 Running in Circles

  Chapter 63 Using the Light

  Chapter 64 Crypt

  Chapter 65 Choosing

  Chapter 66 Hoping

  Chapter 67 Awakening

  Chapter 68 Friends

  Chapter 69 Claiming

  Want More?

  Author Autobiography

  Prologue

  Shaina: Winter, Year 1, Red Ages

  I wake to the sound of pounding on the door and Mor’s voice yelling “Shaina! Shaina!”

  Sorcha wakes up crying as I rush to open the door. A bloodcurdling scream tears through the night, destroying any illusions of a peaceful return to slumber. When I swing open the door with trembling hands, I see anguish in Mor’s eyes. The words that tumble from her mouth bring to the fore all the fears I’d been trying to suppress this winter.

  “Shaina, Conor was found dead, killed by the bloodsuckers. Grainne and Aongus are calling you a Witch and are gathering the town folks to burn you as one! Quickly! We must run!”

  I start gathering my things together, but Mor yells, “There is no time! Grab the bairn. We must go now!”

  Sorcha is wailing now. Tears streak her little cheeks as she grips her blanket tightly in her tiny fists. I grab my plaid and wrap it around us both as I follow Mor outside.

  “You must quiet her!” Mor whispers.

  I try to comfort Sorcha in a hushed voice. “Shh, Sorcha, you must be quiet. Shhhh.”

  Sorcha pays no heed and cries all the louder as she clutches me with her little fingers.

  I hear the voices of the villagers coming now, yelling and screaming. “Burn the Witch! It was her husband who brought this upon us!”

  Aongus’ voice rises above the rest. “Let her die too! Why should she be spared?”

  Mor leads me past the blacksmith’s shop, behind Fergus’ cottage, toward the forest. I see their torches at my cottage now. A voice yells, “They are gone!” and the villagers continue to chant, “Burn the Witch! Burn the Witch!”

  I cast through my mind wildly now, seeking out a remembrance of a place to hide. My mind comes up empty, just as it did all winter when I feared a night such as this would come. I should have braved the cold and gone to the sea caves where the dragon tribe dwells despite the perilous winter journey.

  Just then, Sorcha lets out a loud bawl, and I hear Grainne yell, “She is over there!”

  Mor and I run around Fergus’ cottage and make for the edge of the woods. The throng is following us quickly with the younger men in the lead. The woods are just up ahead—if only we could lose them in the woods! If only Sorcha would stop crying!

  We reach heavy brush, and I hear the thunder of feet behind me. Just at the edge of the woods, my foot catches on a tree root and I tumble to the ground. As I land on the hard dirt, I twist to protect Sorcha from being crushed by my weight, and pain shoots up my leg. Fear strikes my heart as I realize I have a choice to make.

  “Mor!” I yell.

  Mor glances over her shoulder and sees me on the ground. I try to stand, but my knee gives way. I can see the torches through the dark coming swiftly closer.

  “Mor, take Sorcha. It is too late. Run. Keep her safe!”

  Mor stands there, petrified. She looks at me, she looks at the woods in front of her, and she looks at the torches that are almost upon us. I thrust Sorcha out while warm, wet tears stream down my cheeks and fall unheeded onto the snow. “Take the bairn! It’s me they want!”

  Mor grabs Sorcha and my arms, bereft of their lovely burden, fall uselessly at my sides. I stare hungrily after Sorcha for one last moment, and just as Mor and Sorcha disappear in the dark of the woods, the torches are upon me. First the young men arrive, their faces ugly with rage. I know each of them, grew up with them, broke bread with them, bartered with them, sang with them, but it matters not. It is their fear that drives them this night, and no proclamations of innocence or fond memories will help me now.

  Niall grabs my arms and starts dragging me into the throng. I try to gain footing, but my right leg will bear no weight. Tadgh grabs my other arm, and together they drag me to the center of town. The mob crowds around, cursing me, throwing sticks at me as I’m roughly tied to a large ash tree. The faces of my friends and my neighbors swirl around me in angry confusion with rays of moonlight shining on a gaunt cheek here and a slashing brow there. The bindings are pulled tight, cutting into my wrists and ankles as I struggle, but I know it is useless. It has been useless for a long time. It has been useless since the day Torloch made his pact with the devil’s handmaiden, Lilith. It has been useless since the day Torloch took my wee baby boy away and returned home without him but with his blood on his hands. It has been useless since Torloch became a bloodsucking monster and spread his disease through the village.

  I look out at the faces of the crowd, and I see anger and fear. I see despair. It is a mercy they have let me live this long. I curse myself again for not leaving earlier despite the biting cold of winter. I hear one voice among the bloodthirsty yell, “Give her a Witch’s trial!”

  Another voice responds, “We will give her a trial of fire. If she is innocent, let her be saved!”

  Bundles of dry oak twigs and sticks are piled at my feet. Oak, the tree of strength. I wonder if the oak will give me strength in the last of my dying moments. I think of Sorcha, the twin of my poor baby boy. I hope only that Mor got her away safely and at least one of our family will be spared.

  Grainne walks right up to me and spits in my face. “You filthy Witch,” she snarls. “Your monster husband and his kind killed my son. Shredded his neck.” Tears run down her dirt-smudged face. “We are going to watch you burn for what you done!”

  Una, who lost her husband to Torloch, grabs a torch and sets the wood at my feet on fire. The firelight reflects off her savage face, and I see months of grief and seething anger in the depths of her wild eyes. There is no mercy here.

  I can feel the heat rising, and it burns. I look out at their faces, and even through my fear, I feel their sorrow and their rage. I feel it in me as well. That has always been my curse: to feel others as myself. Their rage now feeds mine. The flames lick my ankles, and the smoke fills my eyes.

  I look up at the night sky and feel my fury overflow. Months of rage at Torloch, who took the life of our son to try to save himself. But more rage at Lilith, who made him an empty promise and turned him into a monster for the price of our child. Tears stream down my face as I recall my own black pit of grief at losing my lovely litt
le boy. I feel the grief and pain of everyone on this dark night.

  I smell the smoke from the ash tree I am tied to mingling with the oak kindling about my body. My childhood learnings flit through my mind even in my last hour. While oak gives strength, ash is the bridge between Earth and other worlds. Good! Let it make a bridge to the Plane of Fire for me so that I might reach Lilith and pay her back in kind.

  I shout to the blackness of the sky above me. I call to the dark with all the rage of my soul. “Lilith, I call on you to hear me. By my blood, you will be destroyed! A light will come. A light that shines through your evil. A light that calls you to answer for your deeds. A light that binds you as I am bound and burns you as I burn. A light that rips you asunder and destroys your darkness.”

  The pain is so great. The flames sear my legs now. I can’t help but twitch and scream and convulse, though I know there is no escape. I writhe, trying to get away from the fire, but it just grows and grows as my calves blister and melt. A part of my mind wishes the fire where higher so this pain would end more quickly. The only escape now is death, and it fast approaches. The smoke is so heavy that I cough as I scream. The fire has reached my waist now, and it envelops me in its excruciating embrace. I see the horrific faces of the mob, distorted and cast in red from the fire that consumes me.

  I scream with all the strength that I have, willing my voice to carry through the between spaces. “Lilith, hear me! I call to you! By my blood, you will pay for what you have done!” I cough and hack, unable to get a breath of air. I thrash my head as the tongues of fire lick ever higher, melting my flesh, binding me to the holy ash tree as though we are one. The pain is so great now that I know nothing but the feel of it engulfing me. It seems to be all that was before me and all that will ever come after. I’m being eaten alive by the ravenous fire. The agony and the rage are the whole of who I am now.

  I think one last thought, unable to even catch enough breath to scream it, unable even to work my mouth to speak it as the flames lick my chin. My dying thought sears into my soul and lifts with me to the Plane of Light. “Lilith, by my blood you will be destroyed!”