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I turned my back on him, avoiding eye contact as I walked across the red carpet. The fireplace beckoned. I stirred the coals with the iron poker and added another briquette, stepping back as the embers popped. My ears pricked at every rustle of his clothing and every squeak of the barstool. He shouldn’t be here.

I blamed myself for what had happened those years ago—a love spell meant to bond Ciarán’s love to mine instead sent him into the land of the dead: the wrong moon, the wrong crystals, my inexperience. I mistook the signs, and the power of my spell took off like a mad cat, spitting energy in all the wrong directions. And because of my mistake, the black forces took my love away.

The way his hair fell across his brow reminded me of Ciarán.

“I’m surprised to see you, Colm.” I watched him back, my lips freezing into a tight smile.

Even then, I couldn’t control my reaction to Colm O’Donnell. A cutting edge lurked beneath the surface, concealed by his welcoming smile. I likened it to a grenade about to explode.

“You don’t mind, do you?” He rested his palms on the counter, his gaze piercing.

Like I had any choice, now, if he caused a disturbance, that would be another matter. And yet, I doubted anyone would question him, being who he was and all. More than likely, I’d be blamed. More gossip. More side-eye glances. And what of it? I told myself I didn’t care. I studied him with the same hard glare. He had left the force. He held no official title. He was just Ciarán’s brother.

“Mind? No, why would I mind? It’s open-mike later if you’d care to join in.” I nodded toward the corner where speakers and microphones sat waiting. The pub should crawl within the hour with patrons—the calm before the storm.

“Me? Sing? Jaysus no. The place looks good, Saoirse.” He played with the bristles on his chin.

Somehow, I didn’t feel like smiling. The arrogant prick had dragged me over the coals too many times.

If they knew the truth, I would be burned at the stake.

“Thanks.” I wiped the counter with a bar cloth, rubbing one water ring after another. If I rubbed hard enough and concentrated on all my energies, could I make Colm O'Donnell disappear?

“I’m not a copper here, Saoirse. I have no jurisdiction in these parts, not anymore.” His voice held a slight tremor, piquing my interest.

“Will ye have a pint, Colm?” I ran my hands down the sides of my black jumper. I saw no issue profiting from his visit.

“Whisky. The good stuff.” He tilted his head toward the premium bottles on the high shelf and slid twenty euros toward me.

“Whatever you say.” I poured a generous measure into a glass, relishing fragrant notes of smoky peat and subtle hints of seaweed. I left the bottle on the counter.

“What cauldron was this brewed in?” He sniffed the aged whisky but studied me.

The O’Donnell's gaze could scorch the earth.

I leaned on the bar rail. I had learned one thing—killing with kindness didn’t hold water with an O’Donnell. I’d rather throw salt in the wound and be done with it.

“The distillery up the road? Brings back the local traditions some.” I met his steely gaze. He could read the label, couldn’t he?

“Aye, I thought you might be building love potions again.” His lips twitched, and he almost smiled.

I threw him a stony glare. His comment didn’t deserve a reply. It would take one incantation to rid myself of that arrogant bastard.

What Calla saw in him, I’d never understand. Yet she had mentioned his name more than once, a hint of longing lingering in her voice. Sure, he was handsome. The O’Donnell men were drop-dead gorgeous, and every one of them was single. How they managed bachelor status in such a small town was beyond me.

I sighed, turning from him lest he see the tears welling in my eyes. He noticed everything, the cheeky sod.

It would have been different if Ciarán hadn’t disappeared. We belonged to one another. The Claddagh ring on my left hand served as a daily reminder. The emerald set in the gold band exuded warmth, some days more than others.

“It’s the bottle. It’s so you.” He lifted the hand-crafted bottle from the bar top, smoothing his thumb over the long gooseneck—still, his focus didn’t waver.

“What are you implying?” His insinuation struck deep, but I held fast, refusing to take the bait.

“You’re not on trial, Saoirse. Ireland hasn’t burned a witch since 1698, and even then, they strangled the poor unfortunate first.” He chuckled, but the smile did not touch his lips.

“I can’t believe you. Where do you get off?” I lashed into him, my temper flaring. What I did with my time was none of his business.

“Sit awhile. Confer with the devil. Please.” His eyes widened, and he smirked.

Unlike Ciarán, Colm O’Donnell was always strange, not one to smile. When Colm left for away, I breathed a sigh of relief.

“I don’t mix business with pleasure.” I took the bottle from him and placed it back on the shelf.

“And this is business?” He stared into the swirling amber, then returned the glass to the paper coaster.

“We’re not friends. Never have been. Can’t see starting now.” My voice sounded bitter even to my ears. He was Ciarán’s brother, after all.

I stilled my mind, repeating the Wiccan’s Rede, the one I had chosen to live by…harm no one, do unto others.

“I have questions.” He laid his palms on the bar top.

His tone made my hair stand on end.

“Should I call my lawyer?” I said with a sarcastic tone. Why did I let him get under my skin?

“Friendly questions.” The lines etched on his face revealed how deeply disturbed he was.

“Why are you dragging this up? Why now?” I scoured his expression for a clue, setting my mind into battle-ready mode.

“There’s been a development.” He drew his thumb and index finger over his jaw.

His words fired my imagination. He had been deployed overseas when Ciarán disappeared. Upon his return, he took matters into his own hands, initiating a search scouring all of Donegal County and then some. It was not pretty.

“A development? What does that mean?” I braced myself, using his dark energy as my own.

“The night Ciarán disappeared. What do you remember?” He lifted his chin, his tone accusing.

“It was a bad moon.” Yet the pain in his eyes shone brighter than mine. I took comfort in that.

“A bad moon?” His eyes shadowed in the dim light.

“It was Samhain. Ciarán was being ‘Ciarán.’” Samhain—the night when the veil thins, November’s Eve, when ghosts and spirits wander Middle Earth free to roam, to cause havoc and mayhem within the mortal realm.

“Continue.” He pressed his lips into a tight line, hiding behind his haughty demeanor.

I held my tongue. Whatever daemons the O’Donnell boys had commiserated with on Samhain night wasn’t my concern. I decided to play his game.

“We were at Stuart’s Halloween party. I was helping Treasa in the kitchen. He went outside to smoke. He never came back.” I looked down, staring at the glittering emerald. My thoughts raced with possibilities.

“You said Stuart owed Ciarán money.” He ran his thumb over the lip of his glass, his gaze steady.

“I did? Yes…I guess. It’s been a long time.” I crossed my arms, reserving my strength.

“If I remember correctly, you left town right after. You were swanning about the country for a long time. Where did you go?” He supped his whisky, staring through those O’Donnell eyelashes.

“Where did I go? I had nothing left.” I hissed, then chastised myself for losing my temper. I would not let him win.

“Hmm. I’m curious about your new friend, Calla Sweet.” He smoothed his fingers over the bar rail, his voice cajoling.

I busied myself with beer glasses, lining them up in a neat row, and watched his reflection in the mirror. The purple smudges under his eyes stood out. “What about her? She’s nice. I like her.”

“You brought her to the wake.” His tone accused me of so much more.

“Yes, I did, and she’s singing at the burial. But you know that already.” I reminded him of the arrangements made.

“Does she know who Ciarán was to you?” His gaze narrowed.

I flinched at his use of the past tense.

“No, she doesn’t. I don’t talk about Ciarán much. I’m trying to move on with my life. You should try it.” The conversation brought the pain back threefold. I wished he would leave, yet I hung on to every mention of Ciarán’s name.

“She spoke to someone. At the wake. But the room was empty...except for Da.” He looked into the shadows, his face haunted.

I noticed how affected he was and considered giving Breda a ring. Instead, I slid onto the stool beside him.

“Who was she speaking to?” I found this conversation intriguing. I had some knowledge about channeling energy and making contact with spirits. Could Calla possess supernatural abilities? I pictured the darkness enveloping her and believed it to be true.

“I thought Da’s ghost was having the last word. But…when she saw the family portrait, she pointed Ciarán out. Do you know what that means?” He played with his napkin, rolling it between his fingers.

“No…tell me, Colm. What does it mean?” I knew exactly what it meant.

“She’s one of Them, Saoirse. One of the ‘ Na Daoine Maithe .’” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

I straightened, drawn to the urgency in his voice.

“The Good People? That’s a big stretch. She arrived on a jet plane, and you drove her into Ardara. You do remember? She didn’t come through the mist. I know she’s beautiful, and her eyes. Well, yes, I can see what you mean.” I grinned like a loon, considering the possibilities. I believed in the Otherworld, in the old gods.

“You know Ciarán had the sight. He was known to knock around with them.” His rough voice brimmed with suspicion.

“Aye.” I tilted my chin, fascinated.

“How many scéalaith have told tales of mortals taken by Faerie beings? Mortal women married off to Faerie Kings? And what of Ciarán? Did he go willingly into the fray, or was he forced to?” He rubbed the back of his neck, his discomfort apparent.

I stared at him. Why had he suffered me moments ago if he wanted to talk about Faeries? Colm O’Donnell did not do small talk. No, he had something else in mind the entire time.

“You think the Other Crowd took Ciarán?” The band circling my finger warmed, and in an instant, I knew the truth. Did I dare believe that Ciarán lived and thrived in the Otherworld? If Calla could see and truly speak to him, could she get him back? Colm’s voice hammered inside my head. I picked up the last part of his conversation.

“He may have gone willingly for the craic. He knew Them. He was familiar to Them. I know how this sounds.” He looked away, his gaze melting into the turf fire.

I stewed in his misery, then shared Ciarán’s conversation from that fateful eve.

“He said the Faeries were dancing, that the holly bushes were full of them.” Sweet angel notes played in my ears as I relived that night.

Pop music blares from the open doorway, casting a warm, golden glow into the night. Cars are parked along the laneway, spilling down the narrow road. The Samhain celebration is in full swing.

“Did you lock the doors?” I glance at Ciarán’s car as if we had anything worth stealing.

“The doors are locked.” He clicks the key fob, the headlights blinking red.

“We won’t stay too late, okay? Promise?” I lift my long black skirt, sidestepping the puddles pooling on the gravel road.

“We won’t stay long.” He lifts his hands, pulling my pointed witch hat over my ears.

“Stop it.” I pushed him away, giggling.

He chuckles, his hooded cloak concealing his smile. The purple satin cascades to his feet, glimmering in the moonlight, while the misshaped silver stars sparkle.

I look into a night of changing colors, my mind filling with unease. The sky grumbles, and a lightning bolt strikes fire, lighting up the branches of one lonely tree.

I jump into his arms, taking comfort in his strength.

“May I have this dance, m’lady?” His breath tickles my ear—his laughter infectious.

He was my wizard, and I was his witch.

“She saw him. Here in the pub, but she spoke to him during the wake. Had a full-on conversation.” A muscle ticked in his jaw.

“Calla said that?” How many times had I felt his presence? I dreamt of so many things, but I sometimes wondered who held the reins.

“She didn’t tell you?” He ran his thumb along the underside of his jaw.

I looked at Colm, really looked at him.

“Why would she tell me?” My heart exploded in my chest.

Ciarán. Not dead. Not dead. Warmth touched my face. The air stirred even then.

“Hmm. I would have thought.” The words fell from his lips too quickly.

“If what you say is true…and I’m not saying, I believe you. Calla’s a clairvoyant, at one with the earth’s magnetic force. It doesn’t mean Ciarán is with the Faeries.” I wanted to believe, and yet I refused his theory. I needed time to think. If Calla was what he said, then the divine lived within her. But could she walk between worlds? I intended to find out.

“So you agree there’s something about her? Something…different?” He threaded his fingers through his hair.

“Magic flows in these hills, Colm. Powerful magic.” I snapped my fingers at him, making him start. I laughed, chuckling, happy, giddy laughter. It felt good to have the upper hand for once.

The hinges creaked, and the door opened, bringing bright light into the shadows.

“Good day to ye, Saoirse.” Niall, a lean man with a kind face, carried his fiddle. A clatter of young musicians prepared for a session out accompanied him. I gazed into the smiling faces and glanced at the clock’s face, realizing the day was passing.

“Understand me, Saoirse. This isn’t over.” Colm set his tumbler on the counter.

“You can’t bring back the dead, Colm. Believe me. I’ve tried.” Those words, I spoke truthfully. As an Irish Witch, I honored the dead and prayed to the goddess on the powerful sabbats that Ciarán might show himself. But maybe he had, just not in the ways I’d hoped.

The musicians sparked it up, knocking out a familiar tune. Niall glided his bow over his fiddle, filling the long hall with a medley of notes. The door burst open, and the damn broke, flooding the foyer with a rabble of happy faces.

“Howzit, goin,’ Saoirse. Ya’all right?” The local constabulary rambled in one after the other, hollering their greetings.

“Not so bad, Colleen. How’s it going, Paddy?” Glancing over my shoulder, I noticed Colm’s empty stool. I caught a glimpse of the door closing behind him. “Sorry, ladies,” I murmured to the angels and then threw back what remained of his whisky. Heat coursed through my body for the first time in a long while.