Entasy (Prophecies of The Nine) Read Free Page A

to make a living doing what they loved, but honestly, I could do without all the prima donnas.

Chapter Four
     
    I sat down at my sewing machine and let my thoughts wander as I worked. It’d been five years since Mom and Dad were killed…five years of a lot of changes in all of our lives. I was now a costume designer for this Broadway show, and the boys now owned Keenan’s: a thriving Irish Pub in Hell’s Kitchen.
    I would never forget the day Nana came into my room to explain what had happened. I don’t remember much of anything from those first few months, other than my brothers and my grandmother constantly doting on me, and quite frankly that was all I wanted to know. According to Dillon and Tynan, our parents had apparently left them in charge of my care in the event of their passing. I still find that instruction odd since none of us were children. We could have all easily moved out, taken our share of the inheritance, and started anew, but my brothers were a duo of tenacious Irishmen who believed that the sun rose and set with their fiery red-haired sister, so we all stayed together. I couldn’t help but be amused by the thought of them trying to raise me. I was hell-bent on trying to do everything my way, and they were hell-bent on stopping me.
    Three years ago, Dillon thought we all needed a fresh start; the house in Stowe, Vermont was beautiful, but too secluded for their "restless" twenty-five year old sister...their words, not mine. I wanted to buy a studio apartment here in the city, but my brothers had no intention of letting me move out and live alone. Dillon and Tynan agreed to let me follow my dreams, but only if we all continued to live together. I knew I was never going to win a live-on-my-own argument, so I eventually gave in.
    My only saving grace was Genevieve. She’d been like a sister to me: an ally, and a way to balance all the Irish testosterone in the house. I remembered when we all moved into the penthouse in Chelsea. It was a fall day like today, I had begun taking classes at the Fashion Institute of Technology, and Dillon and Tynan decided to open a bar to keep themselves busy. The boys didn’t need to work because of our family trust, but they had to find something to do. Genevieve warned them that they couldn’t keep track of my every move without me eventually retaliating against them, so they buried themselves into working at the bar. Times sure had changed a lot since Mom and Dad died.
    I finished cutting the last thread on the beaded white gown I was working on and hung it delicately back on the rack. With the rest of my afternoon free, I grabbed my bag and tried to decide how to spend it. I could go home and rest, but then Dillon would want to know why I was sleeping in the middle of the day, so I decided to pass on the nap. Explaining to him that I had another whacked out dream where crazy demon-like things tried to kill me was not the conversation I wanted to have, so I decided that a stroll in Central Park sounded like a much better plan.
    It was a beautiful fall day outside and a walk might help me clear my thoughts. The pond in Central Park had always been one of my go-to places. The water calmed me and helped sooth my nerves when it seemed as though nothing else could. I thought about the dream again as I walked towards the park. I could not shake the feeling that I was missing something–as if there was a message I was supposed to receive, but I wasn’t focusing enough on the details.
    I was sure that my therapist would conclude that this was just my subconscious trying to reconcile the loss of my parents. According to Dr. Stoddard, I chose not to confront my depression in a "normal" way. He told me I needed to work through the stages of my grief. Screw the stages of grief. I preferred my method…get lost in my every day, and put all my feelings in boxes wrapped with elaborate satin bows. The thought that grief could be followed like a roadmap was ridiculous to me. I had