How can I protect the ring when I can’t protect myself?
My mother says the second of King Solomon’s rings is my inheritance and that my purpose in life is to be its protector. My mother’s father—Grandpa O’Malley—did the job before me. Evidently, the ring hung around after Grandpa died because it was waiting for me to grow up.
Well, I wasn’t up quite enough yet, not the way they all expected. What magick did I have? None. Or that’s what I believed. Having no power was precisely why Mom sent me to Ireland to stay with my Gigi when her work got dangerous.
I haven’t been able to tell Mom that the ring’s angel overseer tracked me down on the plane. Or that he denied he even was an angel, like that wasn’t obvious. He makes condescending comments and whines that it will take decades for him to train me. The last thing I needed was yet another person telling me I was too young, too powerless, and too much trouble.
I guess I’ll just have to show him how wrong he is about me. Ill have to show them all.
