Free Once Every Never by Lesley Livingston Page B

had a red stone in it when I found it in my pocket and that was before—well, y’know, after—I switched it so doesn’t that prove the universe remains unaltered?”
    There was only the soft hiss of static for a long moment as Al went silent; either contemplating Clare’s hypothesis or—more likely—staring at her phone in bemusement.
    “Besides,” Clare continued, “the dude just thought it was a flash of inspiration from whatsername.”
    “Whatsername?”
    “Yeah. Another one of those Celtic names I have a hard time remembering.”
    “You seemed to remember this Connal dude’s name just fine,” Al noted.
    “Oh, shut up,” Clare muttered. She frowned, trying to conjure up the sound of the name in her head. Andrasta … the name whispered across her mind. She blinked. Andrasta …
    “Uh … Al? Do you have internet access?” Her voice sounded a little hollow in her own ears. Andrasta …
    “Uh-huh,” Al said. “Why? Don’t you?”
    “Maggie doesn’t have wireless and I’m not gonna start using her computer—she knows I don’t do the research thing. Just Google the name ‘Andrasta’ for me, will you?”
    “Okay. Why?”
    “That’s whatsername’s name,” Clare explained. “I just remembered it. From the way they were talking about her, I think she was a goddess.” Or something …
    While she waited, Clare jammed the phone between her ear and shoulder and folded the scarf around the brooch. Then she dug around in her luggage, which she still hadn’t unpacked, and found a lone pink pompom sock— why did I pack a lone sock? —and stuffed the wrapped brooch into it, folding the entire neat little bundle into the inside pocket of her shoulder bag.
    The click of Al’s keyboard sounded over the line. “A-n-d-r … here it is … Andrasta. Oh you’re so right! Andrasta was a Celtic war deity—and the patron goddess of the Iceni tribe,” she read out in a scholarly tone. “Her name means the ‘Invincible One.’ She has the ability to travel the pathways between the worlds as both a messenger and a harbinger. She ‘ferries spirits to and fro’ between planes of existence—she sounds kinda like a Norse Valkyrie if you ask me—and she is closely identified with the raven as a totemic animal …”
    “Yeah, I got that part.” Clare remembered what Connal had said about Comorra’s being chosen by the Raven.
    “It is thought … Holy crap , Clare!”—Al’s pedantic tone evaporated in a sudden flash—“listen to this! It is thought that the British warrior queen Boudicca may have prayed to the Raven Goddess on the eve of her battle against occupying Roman forces. Rituals involving this goddess may have included human sacrifices …”
    “Ew.” Clare shivered, thinking gruesome thoughts.
    Al read on: “It is also possible, however, that Andrasta can be linked to the more peaceful Gallic goddess, Andarta—”
    Clare shook her head, remembering. “I don’t think so.” “What?”
    “That last part.” She was remembering the look on Connal’s face as he beheld the raven brooch. “I don’t think this Andrasta chick had very much to do with peace.”
    “Well, you might have a point there.” Clare could hear the sound of rapid mouse clicks. “There’s more on her here. Stuff about blood curses and magic and sacrifices … Also—I did a little background check earlier on Ms. B., and I gotta tell ya, she had quite the rep …”
    Clare jumped just then, hearing Maggie’s footsteps on the creaky wooden staircase. The last thing she wanted was for her aunt to start asking questions— more questions—and getting suspicious. More suspicious. “Tell me tomorrow,” she interrupted Al. “I gotta go.”
    “Promise you won’t do anything else stupid?”
    “I promise,” Clare crossed her heart, even though Al couldn’t see her do it, and said, “I won’t do anything else stupid. Tonight.”
    “Okay then. And remember we’re meeting up tomorrow.”
    “I know. I’ll be