Echoes of Angels

Prologue

Ireland-766 AD

The woman was small, slight, and very young. Sighing in exhaustion, she settled onto her side, pillowing her head on her arm. Her long black hair hung in limp shreds around her pale, drawn face.

An intense fire crackled in the stone hearth, its earthy scent mingling with the pungent odors of sweat and blood. Haunting shadows leapt along the walls, mimicking her painfully slow movements. Outside, the thunder rolled, echoing the cries she'd made earlier, uttered like an evil omen, as luminous fingers of lightning viciously scratched at the skies.

She shivered, snuggling deeper under the animal pelts covering her. Her body ached; her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot from lack of rest. Drawing her knees up to her chest to preserve her body's heat, she ran her hand over her stomach, over the flat plane where a mountainous belly once ruled. A frail smile crossed her delicate features. Her labor had been long and difficult, lasting through nearly two nights. She needed sleep, but sleep would have to wait.

She wanted to think of her babies. Her heart swelled with pride and love, a secret rush of pleasure coursing through her. She had done as she must-she'd hidden herself from those who would destroy her kind and given birth to two healthy offspring. Both babies slept peacefully beside her, well swaddled, suckled by the milk in her ample breasts, their small bodies perfect in every detail.

Two babies. A boy and a girl. One blond, one dark; ivory-skinned, like her.

Twins.

She frowned. A dreamvision granted to her by the Goddess Cerredwen had foretold she would give birth to a leader who would carry her legacy, bringing peace to her race and the three worlds.

The prophecy had not foretold she would have two babies. Worried, she began to pray:

Give me the key-

which child to choose...

Chapter One

New Canaan, Connecticut-1989 AD

Head tilted back, Julienne Hunter stood quietly at the window, staring into the misty gray clouds blanketing the skies. A steady rain fell, tapping lightly on the pane. Standing near enough that her breath fogged the glass, she reached up and wiped away the condensation with her palm. She let her hand rest on the frigid surface. She did not move, even to blink. Her skin, so warm only minutes ago, grew chilled. A shiver coursed up her spine, causing goose bumps. She let her arm fall to her side. Her hand balled into a tight fist, the only visible sign of her inner angst.

Lowering her eyes back to earth level, Julienne could see people outside rushing to escape the damp. Their feet splashed through the puddles on the sidewalks as they hurried along, some with umbrellas, most without. No one had anticipated a storm on this mild September day, one that said the Indian summer was attempting to keep its hold on the season just a while longer. The clouds had rolled in during mid-morning, catching people unaware. Invisible fingers of the northern zephyr gently stirred the muggy air around them, ushering forth in its wake a fresh, crisp scent. The storm was a cleansing-a baptism-for a trammeled earth and its careworn inhabitants.

She moved her gaze past the sidewalks, farther out onto the acres of beautifully manicured lawns soaking up the wetness. The grass was still green, reluctant to give in to the end of the cycle that would have it wither away to a drab brown. Stately old oak trees, their leaves growing dusky with shades of the coming fall, lined the northern perimeter of the grounds, perfectly in sync with the manicured hedges acting as a fence in lieu of manmade materials. Beyond the hedges lay the rest of the world, going about its business without her.