No Dominion (The Walker Papers: A Garrison Report) by CE Murphy Page B

than one, ‘cause Jo mighta died too, if Brigid hadn’t gotten in the way. I wasn’t traipsing around with Cernunnos just ‘cause Jo didn’t dare ride with him again: I had debts to pay.
    I hadn’t really seen what’d gone on, thanks to the afore-mentioned cut throat. I’d just seen the aftermath, with Brigid sinking against the Lia Fáil like she was dying of a wasting disease. She looked better now, her color stronger and her face not so gaunt. Red knotwork tattoos stood out on her exposed upper arms like bloody scars. Before, her copper hair had been worn loose, and her white robes had been kirtled with gold leather. Now she wore her hair in a tight braid and had a brown leather sword belt with a broad-tipped blade in its sheath. She’d seemed gentle before, but now she was fierce.
    And fiercely confused, though she did a fair job of hiding it as the Hunt swept outta the sky toward her. She stood her ground as Cernunnos charged down to the earth and brought his stallion in a prancing dance around her. Brigid acknowledged him with a nod, but she was looking for Jo. Her eyes settled on me.
    A guy doesn’t get to be my age without being able to hear controlled fear in somebody’s voice. Brigid said, “Has my sister defeated the shaman, then?” and just about managed to sound like she was only curious.
    “Nah, sweetheart, Jo’s fine. She just couldn’t get here herself, so I came along instead.”
    One string of tension loosened in her. She looked from me to the swarming Hunt, then back at me again with her eyebrows lifted. “Surely one of these riders might have shared his horse with her.”
    “It ain’t that. This is Cernunnos—”
    “Yes,” she said, “I know who he is.”
    All of a sudden I saw that she was not looking at him in the same way Joanne used to not look at Mike Morrison. I let go a silent whistle. Jo had said that Brigid and the Morrígan weren’t really goddesses, even though that’s what everybody called ‘em in the Irish pantheon. She called ‘em avatars, like they’d been imbued with the ability to act in a god’s name. The Morrígan’s boss was the guy Jo called The Master, and he was some kinda death god. Maybe the death god, the one that all our legends and myths were tryin’ to represent when they gave him names like Hel and Hades and Anubis. Jo hadn’t known who Brigid was answering to, but from the way she was not looking at Horns, I kinda thought she’d thrown him over in favor of whoever’d made her his avatar.
    And from the way he was looking at her, I kinda thought he was in it to win her back.
    Jo was gonna hate that she was missin’ this.
    I cleared my throat. “Right. So Jo’s ridden with Cernunnos a few times now—”
    Brigid’s face went sharp, then slack, like she was tryin’ ta hide that she’d gotten all edgy. I hurried up with what I was saying, hoping it wouldn’t make things worse. “—and she says she can’t ride with the Hunt again, ‘cause it’s too…”
    As fast as she’d sharpened, Brigid softened again. She said, “Yes,” a second time, an’ this time it had a whole world of understanding in it. I guessed it didn’t matter how she was interpreting riding with Cernunnos , ‘cause there was no doubt she knew what it was like. “I wonder that she could refuse,” Brigid said, and Cernunnos harrumphed.
    “It is a talent of your line. Brigid, you are…”
    “Well enough for what must be done.”
    He leaned down, lowering his voice. “I think not.”
    Brigid shrugged. She reminded me a little of Jo, facing off the god, except Jo’s restraint was like sparks, and Brigid’s was all inside, tied tight so nothing could get out. “We make our choices and do what must be done. I have the strength I need now, and will pay later, if I must.”
    “I might take the burden from you, if you would allow it.”
    “You know I will not. You have brought this man to me, and I need him, so I will ride with you to do what must be done. Nothing