Northern Sons by Angelica Siren Read Free Book Online

The rain was soaking through my clothes. I was on the back of Ronan's bike, flying along yet another seemingly nameless street in the heart of Dublin. I'm sure somewhere there was a map that would tell me the names of the avenues were weaving through, but to me they were just a collection of histories and half-remembered stories. I'd been learning my way around the city for months now, and most of what I'd been taught had to do with what pub used to be on which corner and where Sean or Dennis or whoever used to live. At first I was riddled with anxiety over my seeming inability to learn the local geography, but by that night I'd come to accept the truth of it - the way to learn a city is to live in a city. The names of the streets don't matter so much as the memories you make upon them. For now I had to do with Ronan's stories about where he grew up and who he knew. I was happy knowing that someday I'd have my own stories. Someday, I'd be able to tell my own child about how I'd come to the city and why I'd made it my home.
    The great irony is that we were lost. Certainly Ronan knew where we were in Dublin, but we had been riding around small alleys and boulevards for nearly an hour, searching for an address he had written on a small scrap of paper. The bike came to a slow halt and he dug around in his pocket for the paper yet again. He tried to shield it from the pouring rain but I could see that the ink was beginning to smear. I had to hope we'd find the place before it became illegible.
    "Fucking Wil," he said, "Why the hell would he move his shop out here in the middle o' nowhere, anyway?"
    I held him more tightly, half to show my compassion for the situation and half to stay warm. I was sure that we'd find what we were looking for eventually. For now, I was happy to be with him, even if I was soaked to the bone. My light wool jacket was good at keeping out a morning chill, but when it came to rain it was all but useless. Not for the first time I found myself envying the thick leather jacket that Ronan and the other Druids wore daily.
    Ronan shoved the paper back into his pocket and we were moving again, the rain flying seemingly horizontally into my face. I tried to shield myself behind my man as best I could, but it was no use. There comes a point where you couldn't get any more wet if you were thrown in a lake. We took a sharp turn around a blind corner and I gripped my arms around Ronan's body. I was already much better at riding on the back of his bike than I had been when we first met, two months before. I was a long way from feeling as comfortable on the machine as he did, but at least I wasn't afraid anymore. Ronan had taught me a lot of things, but how to fight through my own fears was the greatest lesson of all.
    "Aha!" he exclaimed, pulling me from my reverie.
    I looked up and saw a red and orange neon sign through the falling rain. The glow of the neon through the downpour made it look like a literal light at the end of a long tunnel, with a haze of mist surrounding it. He parked the bike outside the shop and I hopped off. I reflexively began brushing the rain from my clothes but it was no use. Even here, I was being soaked where I stood.
    "C'mon," he said, moving towards the door, "Let's get you inside." He smiled at me in that way he had which always reminded me that things were going to be alright. Whenever times were dark, he'd smile and I felt better. Maybe it was silly to feel that way - after all, it was just a smile. Ronan knew a lot about life, but he couldn't tell the future. Sometimes the world catches up with you and there's nothing you can do about it.
    We pushed open the door to the shop and went inside. Across the walls were dozens or hundreds of framed pictures. Every one of them was a black print on white paper. I stripped off my sodden wool jacket and hung it on a peg near the door. My shirt beneath was soaked through as well, but at least it wasn't as heavy. I ran my hand through my hair,