Carrier of the Mark - Leigh Fallon

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      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

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