The old sorcerer sighed. Macha was too tender-hearted to ever wield great power. But Riddoc knew that Macha was kind and generous and sympathetic to those less fortunate. There was one final question that Riddoc decided to give to the daughters. You may ask me one question, he said. A question that you want answered more than any other. They pondered their choices for a long time. Will I be the most powerful sorceress in Ireland? Maighdlin asked. Will I ever find true love? Macha asked. This proved what Riddoc already knewMacha had a pure heart. He turned to the sorcerer. You must give Macha your power, he said.
This is so mushy, Sean said. I spose now Riddoc is going to kiss her and theyll fall in love and get married.
Not yet, Brendan said. Because before the sorcerer died, Maighdlin took Macha deep into the forest and left her there, certain that shed be devoured by wolves or starve to death.
Did she die? Sean asked.
No. For Riddoc knew that Maighdlin would try something evil. He watched over Macha and followed the girls wherever they went. And he rescued Macha from the forest. He took her back to the castle and told the sorcerer of Maighdlins evil deed. It was only then that the sorcerer knew the answer to his question. Now he could die peacefully. And so Macha became a sorceress. And Riddoc her most trusted advisor.
And Maighdlin? Brian asked.
She became a toad. A slimy warty toad with a purple nose.
Brian laughed and Liam giggled. Sean just blinked in confusion. She didnt try to turn Riddoc into a toad?
Brendan shook his head. No. He was too smart to let that happen. He cleared his throat and continued. After a time, Macha and Riddoc married. And they had sons, who had sons, who had sons. But none of them needed magical powers for they inherited something more valuable from their fathera clever mind and a thirst for knowledge.
Are you sure Riddoc didnt throw Macha over the cliff? Sean asked. Or maybe he took her back into the forest and chopped off her head? Da tells his stories different.
This isnt Das story, its mine, Brendan said.
Brendan always told the Mighty Quinn tales differently, Brian mused. In his versions, the women werent always the villains. I liked this story just the way you told it.
Brendan nodded. I did, too. And now you know that were descended from kings and queens, knights and ladies, plain farmers and a powerful sorceress. Its time for you to get to sleep. Its late. He crawled off the bed and pulled the blankets up around the three brothers. As he walked to the door, Brendan flipped off the light.
The room went dark and Sean rolled over, tugging on the blankets. Liam flipped over and nestled up against Brian for warmth and security. Brian threw his arm over his head and stared up at the ceiling. Images of the story still swirled in his head. The tale of Riddoc Quinn appealed to himthe clever boy and the beautiful sorceress living in their forest castle.
Do you think Da is all right? Liam asked, his voice timid.
Da is a Quinn. Hes like Riddoc, hes clever, Brian murmured.
Im scared. What if he doesnt come back? Theyll come and get us and take us away. Well never see each other again. Liams voice trembled and Brian could tell he was on the verge of tears.
Conor would never let that happen, Brian said. He reached out and smoothed his hand over his little brothers hair. Well be together forever. Dont worry, Li.
The little boy sobbed softly and burrowed under the covers. Brian curled beneath the threadbare blankets and closed his eyes. But sleep refused to come. When the house grew silent, he slipped out of bed and grabbed his winter jacket from the floor, pulling it on to ward off the chill in the air. As he passed the other bedroom, he peeked inside to find his older brothers sprawled out on their beds.
The stairs creaked as he tiptoed down. When he reached the front parlor, he sat down in front of the portable television that Dylan had rescued from a junk pile in the alley. Brian flipped it on and the snowy picture illuminated the dark room. The antenna, draped with tinfoil, did little to bring the picture into focus. Brian could barely make out the weather forecaster standing in front of the map.
This is Storm Central on WBTN-TV. Forecasters say the storm is worsening in the North Atlantic. The waves are battering the New England coast and causing many residents to head for higher ground. The barometer continues to fall, which means that were still not over the worst of the storm. Marinas from Long Island to Maine have reported hundreds of boats ripped from moorings and destroyed. Many commercial fishing boats have also been damaged, a blow to those fishermen who have already had a bad summer season.
Brian leaned forward, trying to study the map, wondering where in the Atlantic his father was. Hed traced the route on the school atlas, but it had looked so simple then. Hed been on the boat before, far from the sight of land. Out there, everything looked the same.
Meanwhile, the Coast Guard has had its hands full with distress calls from boaters and fishermen caught out on the Atlantic when the storm blew up. The fishing boat Selma B. out of Boston sank after taking on water, but the crew was airlifted off the deck to the safety of a Coast Guard helicopter. The Willow put into Gloucester a few hours ago after a search by Coast Guard cutters. Their radio had been knocked out.
A knot twisted in Brians stomach and a wave of nausea washed over him. They all knew the dangers that faced a commercial fisherman. Brendans teacher had once said that commercial fishing was the most dangerous occupation of all, more dangerous than driving a race car or flying an airplane. That knowledge had stuck with Brian over the years and now it seemed like a weight pressing down on him.
He stared at the man on the screen. If anything happened to the Mighty Quinn, the newscaster would know first. Hed know if the boat was sinking. Hed know whether Seamus was alive or dead. Like Riddoc Quinn, this man knew everything.
Brian pulled his knees up under his chin and shivered, refusing to allow himself the luxury of tears. Someday, Ill be the first to know. And then I wont ever have to worry again.
1
THE NEWSROOM WAS a picture of controlled chaos as Brian Quinn strode through. Weekends were always a little crazy, the junior staff at WBTN-TV working with a skeleton crew. As he walked to his cubicle, Brian tugged on the starched collar of the pleated shirt, the fabric chafing his neck. He didnt wear a tux often, but when he did he found the experience wholly uncomfortable.
He caught his reflection as he walked by a plate glass window. The monkey suit did have an undeniable effect on the ladies, though. What was it about a black suit and a bow tie that made women swoon? A tux was no more unusual than a white T-shirt and faded jeans. Brian frowned. Women seemed to like that combination as well. That and plain old boxer shorts.
Too bad this wasnt a social occasion, he mused. At least then, maybe the starched shirt would have paid off in the end. Though there were bound to be more than a few beautiful women at the fund-raiser tonight, Brian was attending the party for business reasons. And he never mixed business with pleasure.
Look at you.
He glanced to the left and saw Taneesha Gregory leaning over the wall of one of the cubicles, her smile wide, her dark eyes bright with humor. Taneesha was his favorite cameramanor camera goddess as she preferred to call herself. Shameless and fearless, she often had to muscle her way through a crowd of male news photographers to get the best shot, shoving her camera into a persons face to catch the nuances of their reaction to a question. When it came to a hard-hitting investigative piece, Taneesha was the person Brian wanted to be there to get the shot.
Dont even start, he warned, wagging his finger at her.
You da bomb, she said, laughing and clapping her hands. She came around the cubicle, then reached up and straightened his bow tie. But I think a tux is a little over the top for a weekend anchor. I hear youre doing the eleven oclock news tomorrow night.
Yeah. But the tux isnt for that. Im working on a story.
I hope you dont need me for this story. Because you know I dont wear a
Dress, Brian finished. Yes. I know. The last time you wore a dress was your wedding.
Thats right, she said, brushing a speck of lint off his shoulder. And I promised Ronald that Id wear a dress on our silver wedding anniversary. Thats still eleven years off.
Dont worry, Brian assured her. Tonight Im just checking out a lead. Richard Patterson, our sleazy neighborhood real estate developer is hosting a fund-raiser tonight. And Im going to crash the party and get a look at his guests.
Taneesha groaned. Are you still on that story? If the boss finds out youre chasing Patterson around town, hell have your head. Or have you forgotten just how much money Patterson spends on advertising with this station?
Hes got six fast-food restaurants and a car dealership which represent a fraction of his total business worth. And its station policy that the sales department and the news department are independent of each other.
Thats what they say, but without advertising, WBTN wouldnt exist. And youd be left shouting your stories from the top of Beacon Hill.
I know theres a story here, Brian said in a serious tone. I can feel it. Im going to corner him and see what happens. Hell, what can he do? All those rich folks and him wanting to buy a place on the social ladder. I dont think hes going to haul off and hit me.
Are you crazy? Theyll toss you out of there so fast youll
Dont you think the public has a right to know? Three other developers spend seven years in court, trying to get approval on that property. Patterson buys it and he gets the zoning variance within weeks. He paid for that variance and I want to know how much it cost him and who got the money.
Guys like that cover their tracks well.
Shady real estate deals, backroom bargaining and a lot of money changing hands. Sooner or later, theyre going to get lazy and make a mistake. Pattersons deals always seem to come too easily. My brother-in-law, Rafe Kendrick, is a developer and even he says that Patterson isnt legal.
You realize that the guy who owns this television station is an old friend of Richard Pattersons? Maybe you should think about your career here?
Brian laughed. Ive become the top investigative reporter in Boston in just over a year and I pull in the viewers. Theyre not going to fire me.
But they may not offer your cocky ass the weekend anchor position. And you know the weekend anchor will be the one to replace Bill when he retires in two years.
The rumors had been swirling around the station since the last ratings period but Brian tried not to listen to them. You think I want to sit in front of a camera and read news for the rest of my career? he asked.
Well, you certainly have the face for it, Taneesha said, giving his cheek a playful pat.
Brian shouldnt have been surprised by the talk. He had moved up the ladder pretty quickly at WBTN and though he wanted to believe it was because of his journalistic abilities, he suspected that it had a lot to do with his looks. The demographics said it all. He was the most popular newsperson in the entire city with women aged twenty-one through forty-nine. And his numbers with the male audience werent too bad either. The women in focus groups liked the way he looked and men liked that he was just a regular guy from Southie. The people of Boston trusted Brian Quinn to tell them the truth.
I may have the face, but not the stomach for it. Any more than youd be able to handle standing behind a studio camera. Youre like me. You like to be out on the streets.
But if you dont want the promotion, why do you work so hard?
Brian shrugged. Because I like to be the first to know.
Taneesha! Weve got a three-alarm fire in Dorchester. Youre up.
Taneesha turned and waved at one of the junior reporters who was racing toward the door. Lets go, then. She gave Brian a smile. When you break this story, dont you forget your favorite camera goddess. Ill stick that camera so far up Pattersons nose, well be able to read his mind.
Youll be there, Brian replied. He watched as Taneesha hurried off to the waiting news truck, then opened his desk drawer and pulled out the handheld tape recorder. He popped in a new tape, pausing to think about what Taneesha had said.
He knew that management had plans for him, that he was fast becoming the new face of WBTN-TV. And until this moment, hed been caught up in all the excitement of his meteoric rise. But Brian knew what he wanted and it wasnt an anchor job, even if it meant big money and a high profile in town. All he really cared about was telling a good story.
When hed gotten out of college, hed been determined to work in print journalism. So hed paid his dues with small newspapers in Connecticut and Vermont. But hed wanted to get back to Boston and when hed been offered an entry-level news-writing job at WBTN, hed taken it. Hed never once expected it to blossom into the career it had.
Brian slipped the tape recorder into his jacket, then pulled his car keys out of his trouser pocket. As he headed toward the door, Taneeshas warning still niggled at his brain. Hed worked with her for over a year and shed never steered him wrongwhen it came to a story or personal advice. But every instinct told him that, contrary to public opinion, his career wasnt headed in the right direction. And Brian trusted his instincts.
Hell, he could just quit right now and start over again, find a job at a decent newspaper and work his way up. But he was thirty years old. At that age, a guy was supposed to have his life in order, his priorities straight. But then, he hadnt been brought up in a conventional family, so maybe he had a good excuse.
Life in the Quinn house had taught all six of the Quinn brothers to live from moment to moment. Their father, Seamus, was rarely at home, his job as a commercial fisherman keeping him away from Southie for weeks at a time. And Brians mother had left the family when Brian was only three years old. He and his brothers had raised themselves, with oldest brother Conor serving as the parental figure.
Theyd all gotten in their share of trouble, but Brian and his twin, Sean, had been the wildest. Theyd managed to compile a rather impressive record of petty crimes with the police, but luckily, by the time the trouble got serious, Conor had begun working as a cop. Hed thrown them in jail for three days after theyd stolen a neighbors car, then made them spend the summer painting the guys house as punishment. The neighbor was happy to have the help and Brian and Sean decided that a life of crime truly didnt pay.
So Brian turned his energies to his studies and took a part-time job loading newspapers on the trucks at the Globe. And when he graduated from high school, he became the second Quinn to attend college after his older brother, Brendan. When he registered, hed been asked to declare a major and asked the pretty girl next to him in line what she was majoring in. Journalism had simply been a fallback position, but it had been the best place to meet passionate girls, short of the nursing program. And the classes had been surprisingly interesting, especially when he discovered he had a knack for constructing a story.