“But...how?”
“There is a man named Finley Walsh. He is her true soul mate—the man she must marry. The man she was destined to marry until you ruined everything. This time, you will see that Cora falls in love with the right man.”
Liam scowled and kicked the floor, displacing wisps of fog. He grumbled under his breath, then glanced up. “Will she remember me?”
“Of course not,” Samael said. “Certainly not as you remember her. The role you play this time will be...much different.”
Liam narrowed his eyes but remained silent.
“You have three months to complete the task,” Samael continued in clipped tones. “We will bestow upon you some knowledge of the current century, but it won’t be an easy transition. If anyone questions your struggles with modern technology, just explain you’re from a very rural town.”
Liam raised his chin. “What if I tell them the truth?”
Samael let out a huff of amusement. “That you’re a transplanted soul from 1844 Ireland? Good luck with that.” He slid the clipboard into a pocket of mist. “Three months, Liam O’Connor. Get Cora to fall in love with Finley. It is imperative that this happens. If you fail—and that includes sleeping with her—you will be sent straight to...”
All the light in the chamber vanished, plunging them into icy darkness.
“Hell.” Samael’s voice echoed off the chamber walls like a war drum.
“And if I succeed?” Liam whispered.
The light snapped back on.
“Heaven,” Samael said matter-of-factly. “Now, off you go.” He started to lift his hand.
“Wait!” Liam cried. “If Cora’s been on earth living all these different lives, where have I been the whole time?”
“Suspended up here,” Samael said. “Waiting for us to decide if you deserved a chance at redemption. I do hope you are worthy of it. Goodbye, ruffian.” He waved his hand a final time, and a hole opened in the mist beneath Liam’s feet.
They could hear him yelling for a long time as he fell, even after the hole closed.
Agon chuckled. “That was a rather dramatic exit, don’t you think?”
Samael shrugged. “I thought the moment could use a bit of theatrics.”
“And the flickering lights with the echoing voice?” Agon elbowed him in the ribs. “Nice job.”
Samael pressed his lips together and tried to look stern, but Agon could tell he was pleased.
They turned to the wall of mist as the image of Liam appeared. His body floated to earth, landing softly on a bed of leaves on the forest floor. He glanced around in a daze, his lips slowly curving into a smile.
“He always loved the forest,” Agon said wistfully.
“I thought he could use a moment here to reflect on his past, before we send him to work,” Samael said.
Liam’s eyes drooped. His dark lashes fluttered once. Twice. And then he slipped into a deep, dream-filled sleep.
“You didn’t tell him the truth.” Agon turned to Samael. “About the child.”
“He’s not ready to hear that—and neither is she.”
Agon glanced back to the image of Liam’s slumbering form. “Do you think he’ll succeed?”
Samael frowned. “What’s that human saying about a snowball’s chance?”
Agon shook his head. “It eludes me.”
“No matter.” Samael expanded his wings and stretched. “Time will tell.”
“Yes,” Agon mused. “Time always does.”
1
Kinsley, Ireland,
1844
The fight inside the Goose & Gander tavern was nothing new. Flying fists and hurled insults were as common as the daily swill served there, and in Liam O’Connor’s opinion, sometimes preferable. If a fight poured into the street, a tipsy farmer ended facedown in the pig trough, or someone lost his teeth—or worse—the poor villagers of Kinsley barely noticed. A potato blight was ravaging the country. Crop yields were low and spirits were lower. If a man died drunk and surrounded by friends, well... There were worse ways to go.
Liam leaned a broad shoulder against the wall outside, waiting for the right moment to enter. It had been a long day, and he wasn’t in the mood to get tangled up in another brawl. Tonight, he had far more important things on his mind. Important, expensive things that sparkled and gleamed exactly the way the Goose & Gander didn’t.
“Rat bastard!” a man roared. “May the milk spoil in your cows and a pox take you!”
A moment later, two men came flying through the tavern door, cursing and punching and kicking up mud.
Liam yawned and pushed his way past the drunken spectators who were already spilling into the street and making wagers.
“O’Connor!” A man yanked at Liam’s shirt, ripping a seam.
Liam craned his neck to see a gaping hole in the shoulder of his sleeve. Hell and damn. His brother’s wife was going to have his head for that. It was the third time this week he’d torn it, and he only had the one shirt.
Liam scowled at the barrel-chested man who stood near the door, weaving on his feet. “What do you want, Angus?” The old man was a regular at the tavern and known to make bad wagers whenever he was drunk, which was most days.
He squinted at Liam. “You still owe me fer last week’s ale.”
“Aye, that’s why I’m here, you big oaf,” Liam lied smoothly. “Come inside after the mud fight and I’ll pay you back.”
Angus eyed him suspiciously. Even deep in his cups, he was skeptical, which proved he wasn’t quite the pudding brain people believed he was.
Liam gasped and pointed to the men fighting in the mud. “Would you look at that! They’re really going at it now.”
When Angus teetered on his feet and turned his attention to the fight, Liam slipped quickly into the tavern. If luck was on his side, Angus would be snoring facedown in the dirt within the next few minutes. Knowing him, the odds were good.
The tavern was smoky and dimly lit, which helped hide the occasional rats on the floor and the questionable food. Wooden tables and chairs were crammed so close together that a person had to turn sideways to avoid bumping into people, which was probably the reason fights broke out as often as they did. And if an optimistic soul ever tried to pretend the place wasn’t as bad as it looked, well...the smell of unwashed bodies, spoiled stew and mangy dogs snuffling under the tables took care of that delusion.
But as unsavory as the place was, it suited Liam and his gang just fine. In his line of work, it was just the place he needed to carry out plans without worry of being overheard. No magistrate would willingly step foot in there, so that made it just about perfect.