The Arrow (Children of Brigid Trilogy Book 1) by Maureen O'Leary Read Free Book Online Page A

that moment thought that Komo was their personal rock god. Their faces lit up in true abandon. Even as she danced, Fynn’s heart dipped in a sweet ache because Komo made everybody feel special. Komo made everyone think he was singing for a private audience. Music critics wrote about it, but nobody could explain it. Komo had a magical effect.
    Fynn finally closed her eyes. She let the tenderness of Komo’s voice carry her away from the bounds of reason. Her heart broke to pieces all over again, but that was always the sacrifice that she bore to hear him play.
    And it was worth it. It was so worth it.

8. The Limo
    The music took Fynn back to when she loved Komo. It took her back to when Komo was her own private emperor god, ruler of her happiness and her heart.
    At first, he had been her protector. Two years after the demon infection, Fynn huddled alone under the eaves of an abandoned mini mall in the rain. A black SUV veered into the crumbling parking lot. Water seeped into her worn boots as she tried to run. The Keep disciples caught her before she made it to the street.
    In the van, they plied her with hot cocoa and soft blankets around her shoulders. Rain dripped from the ends of her hair onto the leather seat. Hunger cramps seized her stomach at the smell of the milk chocolate, but she begged the disciples to let her go. Let her go. Tell her mother to pretend she was dead, have another daughter, and remake the Three that way. She would never stop running.
    From the back seat, a low, rumbling voice began a familiar song of praise to the goddess. Goddess of the Three, come to me. Fynn bent her head, shaking. Komo encircled his arms around her from behind. He murmured into her ear. It was going to be okay. Mother Brigid was letting them go away to school together. They had each other now.
    Komo held her on the long drive to the Athenian School in the north. He clasped her hand as they entered the school’s grand doorway, and he stayed by her side in the commons as they waited for their rooms. Students surrounded them in the communal space, staring and whispering among themselves.
    They are so beautiful, the other students said. Some of them were incarnations of the Divine, as well, but none as famous as the children of Dionysus and Brigid. They were celebrities in the school from that first night, until Fynn’s sullen rebuffs turned everyone away. She did her schoolwork. She even excelled in her studies, but she only wanted to hang out with Komo. She didn’t care if anyone understood or not.
    Komo and Fynn met after classes in the surrounding redwood forest, where he played on his acoustic guitar the new music he was working on for an album. They kissed under the trees and made plans for where they would go after graduation. Mother Brigid wanted Komo to ignore the Hollywood music producers calling to offer him studio recordings and world tours. She said the business would corrupt his gift.
    “Your mother told me that I have to be careful because of what happened to my father,” Komo said while he played, his notes rising to the tops of the trees. “She says addictions run in my family.”
    But Komo and Fynn decided together that they would ignore Mother Brigid’s warnings. They were going to move to L.A., live by the sea in Venice. He would make his albums, but he wouldn’t let them take his soul, as Mother Brigid warned him. He would have Fynn there to help him stay strong. Fynn would take care of him. He would respect Mother’s wishes and he would stay innocent, they both would. They would live together and make music and art and love. Everyone would love them and they would forget about the story fires and the demon hordes forever.
    On the last day of school, Fynn tramped along the trail under the redwood canopy. Komo said to meet him at the amphitheater and she was breathless. She’d found a patch of windflowers on the way, purple daisies that looked like anemones growing in the meadow. They were a symbol of