They were installed correctly? There can be no mistakes in this. None,” insisted Brendan. “Uilliam, this is it. Any mistakes here and the entire Home Coven has to leave and go into hiding.”

The High Priest of the Picti nation stood, leaning over the dining room table of the farmhouse. Before him were the plans, the almost minute-by-minute details, of everything that was about to happen in a mere twenty-seven-and-a-half hours.

“Brendan, I know the stakes. The installation was no problem, and no one saw it take place. As long as she comes exactly where we tell her, when we tell her, the transmitter will do all of the work.”

“Well, that’s the trick. Isn’t it? When has Donna McNeill ever been predictable?”

The Pittston police chief was silent for a moment, then said, “As long as Brook fulfills her part in this, everything will be fine.”

“Don’t worry about Grainne. She’s dependable.”

“She’ll need to be very convincing during the phone call. Donna has to believe what she hears about her brother. She has to come exactly where we tell her.”

Brendan looked at his legal pad. The intersection was remote enough, and most likely there would be no one around for miles driving that stretch of back road in the early hours of a Thursday morning.

“You’re sure her GPS will navigate her into that intersection? The GPS will be able to identify these two specific roads?” Brendan knew he was frustrating the man, but there could be no room for error. Not now. He heard the man sigh.

“The GPS will get her there. I’ve tested two different systems, and both of them identified the intersection without a problem,” Uilliam answered, obviously trying his best to fend off signs of irritation.

“Good. Is there anything else about the planning of which I need to be aware?”

“Just that I’ll be the one pressing the button and making the call to police dispatch about the scene. If it’s okay with you, I’m going to have Brook—excuse me, Grainne Lugos—come with me. If there are any loose ends to tie up before making the call to alert the police and fire departments, we’ll take care of them. In fact, now that I think about it, Grainne will make the phone call, so that there will be no chance of my voice being recognized. I’ve already picked up another disposable cell phone so none of the calls from the intersection can be traced. We’ll head straight to the farm the moment that the call is made.”

“It sounds like everything is in order,” allowed Brendan. “See you tomorrow night.”

Brendan set his own disposable cell phone on the table. There could be no trace of any phone calls related to the upcoming events.

A nervous excitement coursed through him, producing a tingle down his spine. Soon he would have power beyond what he could have imagined. The gods of the Picti people would be satisfied, awakened from nearly twelve-hundred years of slumber. Cailleach the Hag had assured him that he was doing everything that was needed to avenge the Picti people.

Soon the house of Kenneth MacAlpin would pay for its treason. Cináed mac Ailpin’s own blood would be spilled for what he did to the last rightful king of Pictland.

To look into the terror-filled eyes of the chosen woman, that alone should prove itself worthy of all the preparation and waiting that the Home Coven had endured. Brendan’s only responsibility tomorrow evening was to make sure that she was “safely” at the farm for the ceremony.

Brendan smiled.

MacKay Hill would soon be anointed with the blood of royalty.

6:37 P.M.

STEPHANIE WAS DOING a little shopping for tomorrow night’s ‘festivities.’ The little lamb that was to be sacrificed needed to be adequately clothed for the event. Brendan had been very specific; get a dress for a woman of medium height and slim build. It needed to be white, pretty, and something that could not be traced back to a specific retailer. That meant a day meandering through local thrift stores.

She was amazed at some of the quality she had found. She had no idea that one could find high-end fashions in some of these places. In fact, one of the stores seemed to cater to upper-crust thrift shoppers—if such people actually existed. Though she had initially managed to maintain a strict focus for only the necessary garment, she found herself looking through handbags, shoes, and accessories for herself. She was a girl, after all. It had been a while since she had been around such finery.

Her mother had been a woman of some means after divorcing her father. Taking part of the divorce settlement, she had capitalized on some risky stocks, “sure bets,” that had actually turned out to be just that.

Fiorucci, Helmut Lang, and Carolina Herrera had been some of her mother’s favorite designers. If it hadn’t been for Brendan, she would have probably followed in her mother’s footsteps; a life of pretentiousness and lack of purpose. In retrospect, she was glad to have avoided all of that.

The woman did have style, though!

Stephanie found a pair of Prada shoes for $179.00. Flared heel platform Mary Janes! You’ve got to be kidding! Turning them over she could see the remnants of the original price tag. They had been worn, what … twice? They were, unfortunately, a size too small.

Finally making her way to the store’s area of nice dresses and formal gowns, she rifled through rack after rack until she saw a dress that just might be the one. Pulling the hanger out from amongst the others, she saw that the white dress was quite beautiful. It spoke of an innocence that she hadn’t known in thirty years. Lace ran around a neckline that plunged at the front; almost risqué. The dress had obviously not been custom tailored to a specific woman’s curvature, because it had a silk draw-string belt at the waist.

Stephanie looked at the tag. It was a brand she had not heard of, but it was obviously not cheaply made. She located a full-length mirror and held the dress up before her. The hem fell down to mid-calf.

Those Prada heals would have made quite a combo, she thought. It’s sort of sad the woman that Brendan found was only going to have one opportunity to wear this. Sadder still that I can’t take it for myself after the ceremony is over!

She laughed to herself.

Oh well. Such is life … and death.

She was about to head to the register when the handbags caught her attention.

Sometimes I really enjoy being a little A.D.D.

7:09 P.M.

NOW I’VE HEARD it all, Tara reminisced.

Brent came home late. Upon walking into the house, he’d sought her out, finding her in their bedroom folding a small pile of laundry. It hadn’t really needed to get done, but the task had consumed some of her otherwise anxious self-time.

He walked directly up to her, took her two shoulders in his hands, looked her directly in the eyes, and said, “I need to talk with you; apologize to you. But can you wait for a few minutes?”

She looked back with a wide-eyed stare that indicated that she didn’t know how to respond to the question. He smiled and walked out of the room. She, in turn, walked to the doorway and watched as Brent walked to Jenna’s room, where music blared, and knocked on the doorjamb. He said something and the music volume came down. Tara heard him ask if he could talk with her downstairs in the living room. She apparently said yes. He then asked if she knew where Amy and Jamie were.

Tara already knew that Amy was decked out in her Princess Rapunzel dress—a gift she had received during her birthday party last month. Her Nana and Papa were all about making sure she had every opportunity to make herself look princessy.

That girl had better not grow up to be a spoiled snob, thought Tara with a smile, knowing the very idea was utterly ridiculous.

Brent then came back down the hall and saw Tara standing in their doorway. He presented her with a smile and a wink, then turned to Amy’s room.

“Amy-Bug, are you in here?”

“Yes, Daddy,” came a soft response.

“Oh, there you are! What are you doing on the other side of your bed?”

“Being Princess Rapunzel, of course!”

Tara drew her left hand up to her mouth and let out a small giggle as Brent flashed a big grin.

“May I have the pleasure of your company downstairs in the living room, your highness?”

“Uh-huh.”

Brent looked at Tara again. Another smile, before heading down the stairs.

Tara continued to stand at the entrance to their bedroom, as her two daughters came out of their respective rooms and headed down the stairs.

Tara secretively followed to the top of the stairs and waited.

She heard Brent open one of the sliding glass doors in the family room and call out. “Jamie! Can I talk with you, Buddy? Hi, Tyler! I’ll have him back outside in a little while. Sorry for interrupting your game.”

After several seconds Tara heard her two men walk into the living room together.

All four were gathered and Brent cleared his voice and paused, presumably collecting his thoughts and the words he’d use.

Tara quietly walked partway down the stairs until she was able to see all three of her children sitting on the couch, their backs to her. Her husband was sitting in his favorite swivel rocker, leaning toward them. He clasped his hands.

Tara contented herself with sitting down on the stairs, watching between the balusters as she listened to what happened next.

“I owe all three of you apologies—individual apologies—and I’m going to do that, but I wanted to get you all together first.

“I know that I haven’t done much to show it in the past few days, but the fact is that I love all of you very much. You are the greatest kids that any father could ever have, and I am very happy and very proud to be your dad.”

Tara watched as Jenna’s head bowed and her shoulders began to quake. The sight of it caused a spontaneous smile to form on her lips and a slight misting in her eyes.

“Not one of you has done anything in my eyes that has been wrong over the past couple of days. But, then, that’s probably only because I wasn’t paying attention.” Brent paused. “Okay, that was supposed to be at least a little bit funny.”

Jamie shrugged his shoulders, obviously not getting the attempt at humor.

Brent feigned a grimace and trudged on. “I’m hoping that all three of you will forgive me for being a rotten dad over the past several days. I am going to start doing a better job. I promise. If I hurt—”

Jenna got up off the couch, cutting off her dad, making it very clear in that moment that she didn’t care to hear another word. Tara held her breath. It appeared that her oldest was going to leave the room. But, instead, Jenna walked around the coffee table and over to her dad. She literally collapsed into his arms. Tears were released without restraint.

Brent held his daughter without a sound, though Tara saw him wince at the sudden pressure that had come down upon his chest. His other two children advanced upon him, as well. His grimace made it painfully apparent that he was doing his very best to hold them tightly while making everything that had been wrong right again.

It was beautiful. And, yes, Tara had heard it all.

Several minutes later, it became Tara’s turn to receive, and her heart was stitched up rather nicely by the man in uniform.

Now she lay with her head in her husband’s lap in an otherwise vacant living room as they communed on the couch. He played with the full length of her hair. She loved that. It was soothing and so much more.

Neither spoke for several minutes. Her contented smile and his gentle caresses were conversation enough for both of them.

“Thank you,” she finally offered in a whisper.

“For?”

“For being you again.”