Dedication

FOR MICHAEL, MY WINGMAN

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Prologue

Flames engulfed the boat, and my lungs ached as dark,…

One

First Day Blues

Two

Day Two

Three

The Equestrian Center

Four

Sailing Lessons

Five

Aftermath

Six

Dinner

Seven

Cork City

Eight

Halloween

Nine

Introductions

Ten

Origins

Eleven

The Order of the Mark

Twelve

Going Public

Thirteen

Training Begins

Fourteen

Training with Rían

Fifteen

Trinity

Sixteen

Revelations

Seventeen

Deliberations

Eighteen

Day Trip

Nineteen

Feelings

Twenty

Stranger

Twenty-One

The Hack

Twenty-Two

Found

Twenty-Three

Empowered

Acknowledgments

Copyright

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

lames engulfed the boat, and my lungs ached as dark, noxious smoke filled the air. I struggled off the dirty makeshift bed and shuffled across the floor, the cable ties binding my hands and feet making my progress slow.

Suddenly a wall of water smashed through the cabin, dulling the flames.

Seizing my opportunity, I threw myself toward the wooden stairs, where the remains of the fire licked their way upward to freedom. I gritted my teeth and reached over to hook the cable binding my wrists on a jagged piece of scorched metal that I could see through the flames. Turning my face away from the searing heat, I tugged down sharply and felt the tie snap. I screamed as the flames burned my skin, but I didn’t have time to worry about the pain. I needed to get out, to warn the others. I had to make sure they were okay.

With my hands free, I released my ankles and scrambled up the still-burning stairs to the deck. Through the haze I could see a group of people on the shore. They stood motionless, staring at the ground. My eyes followed their horrified gazes to the body lying facedown on the water’s edge.

One
FIRST DAY BLUES

Four months earlier …

y first day at a new school … again. I pulled on the school uniform and eyed myself critically in the mirror. A uniform! I couldn’t believe it. Back in Boston, only the fancy private schools had uniforms. But after some extensive Googling I learned that in Ireland, everyone wore them. Mine was a royal blue V-neck sweater (the letter from the school called it a jumper—I guessed I was going to have to get used to Irish phrases), a gray skirt, and a blue-and-yellow-striped tie. Hideous, of course, but it could be worse; at least I’d blend in.

I scowled at my reflection and tugged at the elastic holding up my wavy brown hair. I seriously needed a little makeup—at the very least, some mascara and lip gloss—but the school had a strict no-makeup policy—a throwback to its convent roots.

Finally semisatisfied with my appearance, I went downstairs, where I found my dad in the kitchen playing on his laptop and mumbling about cables.

“Morning, Dad. Did you get that thing working?”

“Hey, Meg,” he answered, looking confused. “Yeah, it was working fine and then it just died on me.”

“It helps to plug the charger into the wall. That’s what actually charges the battery.” I walked over to the socket, plugged it in, and pressed the power button on the computer.

“It’s back!” he cried.

“The wonder of science,” I said over my shoulder as I popped two pieces of bread into the toaster. “So how do you like your new job?”

“It’s great. Why don’t you come down to the club after school? I’ll show you around. I have a feeling about this place, Megan. This could be the one.”

I hoped that was true. It would be nice to stay in one school for an entire year, even if it meant living in Kinsale.

“Sure, Dad,” I replied. “I’ll stop by after school.” My toast popped up and I buttered it quickly. “I should get going. I have to figure out where all my classes are.”

“Good luck,” he said, glancing up from his computer with a reassuring smile. “You’ll be fine. I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”

The school itself wasn’t far from my house, and on my walk over (all downhill, thankfully) I saw lots of kids making their way in that direction. Nobody really paid any attention to me; in fact, people didn’t even seem to notice I was there. Score one for my unexceptional appearance. At five-foot-five, with pale skin and a sprinkling of freckles, I blended nicely into the sea of faces. I guess I could even pass for Irish, with dark green, almond-shaped eyes, courtesy of my dad, and my mom’s small oval face.

Turning the corner, I caught sight of the school gates, and my stomach fluttered a little. The school, a long, low building all on one level, had a parking lot in the front, and was bordered by basketball courts and grassy soccer fields in the back. I took a deep breath and made for the main entrance, when a pair of eyes caught my attention. Just inside the gate, a tall boy, leaning against a lamppost, was staring at me. A chill ran through my spine and my hands tingled. I balled them into fists and glanced down. What the hell? I was so distracted that I took a step forward and walked straight into another girl.

“I’m so sorry,” I yelped, as we stumbled and caught each other. I quickly glanced back at the lamppost, but the boy was gone.

“No problem,” a friendly voice chirped back. “Looking for someone?” She followed my gaze with a curious expression.

“Oh, no. Well, yes, actually. I need to find the principal’s office.”

“New?”

“Am I that obvious?” I asked, laughing.

“I’m Caitlin,” she introduced herself. “Are you in fifth year?”

Another term I was going to have to get used to. I was a junior back home. “Yep. I’m—”

“Megan,” she finished for me, and smiled apologetically at my shocked face. “It’s a small town. We were wondering when you were going to show up.” She pointed toward the school. “The principal’s office is through the double doors and to the right. Sister Basil.” She pronounced the name with an ominous tone.

I could feel my face paling. Great. A scary nun.

“She’s not that bad really,” Caitlin reassured me. “She’s strict, but fair. Keep eye contact with her and agree with everything she says and you should be sorted.”

“Thanks,” I said, turning to leave. I massaged my hands, trying to ease out the pins-and-needles feeling that still prickled through them.

“Good luck! I’m sure to be seeing you later. We’re bound to share some classes.” She waved and walked off.

Thanks to Caitlin’s advice, I got through my meeting with Sister Basil easily. She dispensed with the formalities quickly, gave me my schedule and the school map, then ushered me out of her office.

Classes in Ireland were divided into higher and lower curricula depending on ability. Luckily, I’d made the grade for higher English and I had that class first. I walked down the hall, following the map Sister Basil had given me. When I got to the room it was only half-full of students, most of them talking among themselves. I sat down at the first available desk, opened my copy of Hamlet, and tried my best to look engrossed while furtively listening to the chatter around me.

I still couldn’t believe how fast people here spoke, and I was having some trouble getting used to the musical accent. Dropping my pen (accidentally on purpose), I leaned down to retrieve it and took a quick look around. I was surprised by how nervous I felt. I had always taken pride in my ability to adapt—a talent that years of new schools and new friends had helped me perfect—but something about this day felt off. I scratched my neck. It always got itchy when I was nervous. And that prickling feeling I’d had in my hands earlier was back, leaving them cold and stiff. I stuck my fingers under my legs, hoping the heat and the pressure would get the circulation working properly again.

Just then, Caitlin came in. Smiling broadly, she walked toward me.

“See, I told you we’d share some classes,” she said, dumping her books on the desk beside me. She glanced over my head, then did a double take before sitting down and leaning in. “Do you know Adam?”

I shook my head. “Who?”

“Adam DeRís, the guy down the back. Don’t look now, but he’s staring at you.”

I felt red heat climb slowly up my neck, stinging as it passed over my scar. I ached to turn and look.

“I don’t know anybody here.”

“Well, he appears to know you. He’s still staring. It’s weird; he’s normally only aware of his own self-importance. Oh, crap,” she said, flicking her head back to me. “He just caught me looking. Like he doesn’t have a big enough head as it is.”

I strained my eyes to the side, twisting my neck slightly to try to get a look at him, but just then the teacher walked in and promptly got into some heavy Shakespeare.

At the end of the period, Caitlin packed up her books and notes. I stalled, wanting to give this Adam guy a chance to leave so I could catch a glimpse of him as he left the room.

Caitlin slyly glanced back and stood up. “He’s still looking,” she mumbled through barely moving lips as she turned to talk to the girl sitting behind me. “I’ll tell you when he’s coming.”

Just then I heard the screech of a chair on the tiles and Caitlin nudged me, raising her eyebrows. I knew I was being stupid. I was seventeen, not twelve. But I felt compelled to see who this guy was. I glanced up furtively as I heard him come near. It was the guy who had been watching me at the school gates. My heart began thudding loudly and my hands went rigid and tingly. The heat rose up my face.

“Ohhhhhhh, new girl has the hots for Adam,” scoffed the blond girl behind me. “Don’t waste your time, honey,” she said, putting on an American accent.

“Jennifer! Play nice.” Caitlin gave her a playful shove as Jennifer pushed past us to leave.

Adam glanced back at me and collided with the door frame. He winced and, rubbing his shoulder, made a hasty exit. Jennifer turned to us with her mouth hanging open, and then walked out after him, laughing.

Caitlin grabbed my arm and we made our way to the crowded hallway. “Don’t mind Jennifer. She’s just ticked off because he’s never even looked at her. He’s a bit of a funny fish, him.”

I nodded, barely listening. I was so embarrassed by my bizarre reaction to Adam.

Caitlin saw the look on my face and quickly changed the subject. “Let me see your course list,” she said, peering at the piece of paper on top of my folder. “Oh, great, you’re in the same French as me. Wait until you meet Mr. Flood, our teacher.”

Relaxing, I smiled at her. “Why?”

“You should see his face! Only a mother could love it, and that’s not the worst of it.”

I looked at her questioningly. “What’s the worst of it?”

She scrunched up her nose in disgust. “You’ll see.”

We moved quickly to our next class, and I soon found out why Caitlin very wisely steered us toward seats at the back of the room. Mr. Flood liked to put lots of emphasis into his pronunciation, something he very obviously took great pride in. The first row was a testament to that. There was a lot of scowling and wiping of faces. One of these faces belonged to Jennifer, who’d arrived late. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her sweater, and I giggled. Justice was served.

As much as I tried to focus on the class, my mind kept drifting to Adam. There was an air about him, something different. He oozed arrogance, from his perfectly straight nose to his carefully disheveled dark hair. Not my type at all. Not that I really had a type. We’d never stayed in any town long enough for me to develop anything more than friendships.

Suddenly, I noticed Mr. Flood standing over me. “Excusez-moi, mademoiselle, mais peux j’ayez s’il vous plaît votre attention,” he said into my face with a liberal spraying of saliva.

“Oui, monsieur, je suis désolée,” I said, snapping out of my reverie. It was a good thing Adam wasn’t in this class because I really needed to focus.

Mr. Flood walked back to his desk and I quickly mopped my face while he wasn’t looking. “He lives up to his name, doesn’t he?” I whispered to Caitlin.

The first half of the day passed quickly, one class running into another, and soon it was time for lunch. Caitlin and I sat on the grass in front of the building eating our soggy sandwiches. There were others scattered in groups around the grounds, enjoying the sunshine. It was still warm for September, and I was just rolling up my sleeves when Jennifer joined us.

As she passed me she fluffed my hair. “Sorry about earlier; I was only playing. No hard feelings?” She sat down and smiled at me.

“Sure,” I said, a little taken aback by the turnaround.

Sitting side by side, Jennifer and Caitlin were like night and day. Jennifer’s hair was highlighted and straightened and her skin was a smooth, perfect tan—which I assumed was fake. She was pretty, but she clearly worked at it; I could tell she had plenty of makeup on. So the strict no-makeup policy was not quite so strict. I could definitely get away with some.

Caitlin, on the other hand, was completely natural. Her light brown hair hung in long layers, framing a friendly, pretty face. She had a huge smile that touched her warm brown eyes, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup so far as I could tell.

Jennifer stood up and waved at two boys by the school doors, trying to get their attention. One had curly blond hair and bounded over with a big smile on his face. I noticed Caitlin blushing faintly as they approached. She glanced up at the blond shyly. The other guy had dark hair that was coaxed upward into messy peaks.

“Hi, Jennifer,” the dark-haired guy said.

“Darren, this is the new American girl I was telling you about, Megan,” Jennifer announced.

“Ah, so you’re the reason DeRís has been tripping over himself all morning. Can’t say I’m not enjoying seeing him stumble around like that. Nice work, Megan. Welcome to the metropolis of Kinsale.”

“D’Reese?” I asked, looking at Caitlin.

“Adam DeRís, the guy from this morning,” she explained.

“Don’t get too close,” Darren said with a smirk. “Or he’ll turn you into a toad or some—” A soccer ball came sailing through the air and smacked off the side of Darren’s head. “That hurt, you plonkers!” he shouted to a group of guys standing around the goal nets.

“Come on, Killian, they’re starting without us,” Darren said, kicking the blond boy, who was looking down at Caitlin. “Jennifer, I’ll meet you at the front gates after school?”

“Sure,” Jennifer replied, fluttering her eyelids. Then she turned back to us. “I have to agree with him. It’s great to see Mr. Über-cool and Collected make a twat of himself.” She looked me up and down appreciatively. “I have a feeling you are going to be a very useful addition to our circle. Now …isn’t someone going to ask me what happened over the weekend with Darren?” She smiled expectantly at Caitlin.

“Oh, go on. Like you need to be asked,” Caitlin said, rolling her eyes.

Jennifer launched into an all-out explanation of how she and Darren hooked up over the weekend, making sure to include every incidental happening. The more excited she got, the faster she spoke, until I couldn’t understand her anymore. It didn’t even sound like English. My mind drifted to Darren. What had he said about toads? Jennifer’s voice faded into the background as a familiar profile caught my attention.

Over by the school gate, Adam appeared to be arguing with someone. I could see that his eyebrows were furrowed together and his body was rigid. The other guy’s dark hair was wavy and long enough to spill out over the collar of his leather jacket. He pointed toward the school, his face screwed up in irritation, and then turned and walked away. Adam watched him leave as he rubbed his forehead with his hand.

I wonder what that was all about. Suddenly, Adam turned and looked at me, right into my eyes. Burdened by the weight of his stare, I dropped my gaze before he did and rubbed my tingling neck. When I looked up, he was gone.

Jennifer’s voice came back into focus; she’d come to the end of her story. She sighed and looked a little dreamy.

“That’s so cool, isn’t it, Meg?” Caitlin said, turning to me.

“Um, yeah. Great,” I replied quickly.

“So, Caitlin, when’s the big move on Killian going to happen?” Jennifer asked.

Caitlin flushed.

Jennifer rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. You’ve been hankering after that boy for two years now. It’s getting old! It’s so obvious that you’re mad into him.”

“Oh, shut up, Jennifer,” Caitlin said, but not in a mean way. “Come on; it’s time to get back to class.” She jumped up and hauled me to my feet.

“Holy crap, your hands are cold,” she said, letting go of me to retrieve her grass-covered sweater from the ground.

“I know; they’ve been like that all day.” I shook my head in frustration, and pulled my sleeves down over them as I followed her inside.

Caitlin caught up to me as I was walking to the gate at the end of the day and took out her cell phone. “What’s your number? I’ll definitely need it for some late-night bitching.”

I held up my still-tingling hands. “Sorry, I haven’t got an Irish one yet, but I’ll get right on it.”

She made a face of mock horror. “No phone! How have you existed here this long?”

I cracked up. “I promise I’ll have one by the end of the week. I’m meeting my dad now; I’ll put on the pressure.”

But my laughter quickly died in my throat. A little down the road, Adam was leaning against the chipped paint of an old Volkswagen Golf. He was talking to the guy he’d been fighting with earlier. Adam’s mouth curled into a smile as the other guy gave Adam a mock punch before climbing onto a motorcycle.

Caitlin followed my stare and sighed. “Trust me, you don’t want to go there,” she said, stepping into my line of sight.

“What do you mean?”

She lowered her voice. “He’s a snotty, stuck-up git. He’ll mess with your head. Just do yourself a favor and keep walking. I have to leg it now or my mum will kill me.” She slowly turned and walked away.

My freezing hands shook. I shoved them in my pockets, but stayed rooted to the spot. Adam was relaxed, still laughing at something the other guy said. I gazed at his eyes, bright green, set wide apart, whites perfectly clear, framed with thick, dark lashes. I took in the curve of his lips, the high angle of his cheekbones, and his long jaw that gently rounded to his chin. I caught my breath when I saw there was a girl sitting in the car’s passenger seat.

“Figures,” I muttered.

Adam glanced in my direction and said something to the girl. She looked at me warily and I felt a flush of embarrassment creep up my neck. Was I that obvious?

Get a grip. Squaring my shoulders, I turned to walk into town. I didn’t see the old man approaching me until I was right in front of him.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” I smiled, expecting him to apologize too, or perhaps step aside to let me by. But he just stood there, his watery gray eyes focused on mine.

“Well … excuse me,” I said, stepping off the sidewalk and quickening my pace. I looked back at the old man. He was wearing a brown cloak with a rope around his waist like some bizarre monk. His long gray hair hung loose down his back, and his beard was tied with a leather clip. His expressionless face turned to me.

I whipped my head around and didn’t glance behind me again. Odd; I felt like his face jogged a memory, but I couldn’t quite place it.

I focused on navigating the ten-minute walk to the marina where my dad worked. The club, though small, was world-renowned, and this manager position was the opportunity of a lifetime for my dad. Pulling on the shiny brass door handle, I walked inside and went straight to the receptionist’s desk.

“Hi, I’m Megan Rosenberg; I’m here to see my dad, Caleb.”

“Ah, Mr. Rosenberg’s daughter—I wondered when I’d see you. Did you enjoy your first day at school, pet? It’s a nice school we have here. My own daughter was a student there until last year. She’s in college now in Limerick.”

Not knowing what else to do, I nodded.

She cocked her head to the side and gave me a big motherly smile. “I’ll just call him and let him know you’re here, dear.”

A few minutes later, my dad came wandering in. “Megan!” he exclaimed. “How was your first day?”

I pulled my dad away from the reception desk. “It was mostly good, I think.”

“Make any friends?” Dad said, following his usual first-day script.

“I made a few friends. One girl, Caitlin, is really nice.”

“Caitlin Brennan?” the receptionist piped up.

“Er, yeah,” I replied slowly. Wow, this really was a small town.

“Her mother owns the Misty Moorings bed-and-breakfast.” She smiled.

My dad discreetly rolled his eyes and directed me out the front door. “Sybil,” he said, as if that explained it all. “Tell me, what was your first day really like?”

“Honestly, it was one of the better ones. Something feels different this time.”

“I know what you mean, Meg. I think your mom’s looking after us,” he said wistfully, glancing up to the sky.

“Maybe.”

“Or it could be that Irish blood in you; it’s back on home turf.”

“I have Irish blood?”

“It’s pretty diluted, but it’s definitely in there. Your mom’s grandfather came from somewhere near here, I think. Somewhere in County Cork.”

“I guess that explains the freckles,” I said, inspecting my arms. “So, are you going to show me around your vast empire?” I put my arm in the air and waved it around extravagantly. “It looks very fancy. Is your office nice?”

My dad was happy to give me the grand tour: the boats, the marina, and the club. I tried to look interested, but water and boats were never my thing. Truthfully, water had always sort of freaked me out. It held an allure for me, but one that felt dangerous, so I generally gave it a wide berth.

“I’m so proud of you, Dad,” I said, after he had shown me everything there was to see. “You’re definitely onto a winner here. How did you manage to swing this job?”

“I’m still not sure,” he replied. “Someone recommended me, but I don’t know who. I just wish I could thank whoever it was. I’ll never get an opportunity like this again.”

“Well, you deserve it.” I paused. “One thing, though.”

He looked at me nervously.

“I’m seriously going to need a cell phone.”

He looked relieved. “We’ll get right on that! Come on. I’m finishing up early, and I’m going to treat you to a big bag of fish and chips. When in Ireland, do as the Irish do!”

“Sounds good,” I said, hooking my arm into his. “Lead the way.”

Dad pulled the door open for me and I found myself face-to-face with a shocked Adam DeRís.

“Mr. Rosenberg,” Adam said, avoiding my eyes.

“Hello, Adam. This is my daughter, Megan,” Dad introduced me. “Adam is one of our instructors.”

I didn’t know where to look.

“Nice to meet you, Megan,” he muttered, and started backing away, tripping over himself. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rosenberg, but I’m in a hurry.”

“Of course, of course.” My dad’s forehead was crinkled in confusion as he leaned closer to me. “That was weird. He’s normally so friendly. Never mind, let’s get those chips.”

With my stomach twisting uncomfortably, the last thing I felt like was fries. I glanced over my shoulder at the fast-departing Adam.

“Don’t worry about him, Dad,” I said, faking a smile. “I’m not bothered.”

But I was lying. Adam’s reaction did bother me. It bothered me so much it hurt.

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