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5

C alla

It was a soft day for burial. A breeze moved the warm, almost humid air. White clouds scattered across a deep blue sky. I wished I were not wearing the green velvet dress. Although it clung to every curve, the linen would have been a better choice, the flowy one with the tiered skirt and satin buttons. But the dress was in a box, crossing the Atlantic Ocean.

I inspected my face in the fold-down mirror of his eight-person, quasar-blue family van and dabbed my lipstick. My pale skin and hollowed-out eyes told the tale of a life that had already fallen apart. How could it get any worse?

Before, when life was grand, I would sing at weddings, funerals, and bar mitzvahs. Ballads and sad songs made my heart sing. Making people cry was what I did best. Meeting Niall and landing that gig was a godsend.

“Are you ready, luv?” Niall adjusted his navy tie, his expression serious. He epitomized professionalism in his tailored navy suit, pressed white shirt, and shining loafers.

“Almost.” I pinned the holly crown into my hair. I had found the necessary accouterments for a charming headpiece: holly twined with ivy and white-petaled anemones just this morning. I had looked through those lace curtains into the wandering mist until I could stand it no longer. I slipped into Dermot Sweet’s rubber boots, claimed his plaid work coat as my own, and walked along the stone boundary walls with the sheep staring on, scanning the enchanted wood for any sign of the mysterious little man calling himself Séamus. I stayed away from the fairy-tale bridge.

My brain buzzed through each dilemma. My life had become a series of supernatural events. But the dreams haunted me before I arrived, faces and places I could never recall the morning after. Those garbled voices were now succinct, the visions flowing freely in technicolor. I had conversed with imaginary people. Call me crazy, but hello?

I quieted my mind, drawing inspiration from the peaceful landscape. Blue hydrangeas climbed the walls of the caretaker’s building, almost hiding the stone structure from view. Low stone walls marked the boundary, and from there, a vast meadow spread in a westerly direction, the long grass swaying in a cooling breeze—a blend of soothing, rustling sounds interspersed with birdsong. Beyond the meadow, a rugged forest-covered mountain touched a clear blue sky.

“Niall, do you know a man called Séamus?” I smoothed a wrinkle from my dress.

“Séamus O’Malley runs the bike shop in town.” He closed the van’s side door and looked up at me.

“The bike shop? Hmm. Did Dermot have a helper, a farm helper?” I pinned my lips together, glancing at each car filling the parking lot.

“Dermot? I’m not sure. Why do you ask?” He collected his violin and double-tapped the key fob. The beeper dinged, and the lights flashed.

“Hmm, no reason.” I nibbled my lip, deciding against sharing my crazy with him. Perhaps it was another hallucination. The whole thing. All of it. Huh.

I followed the cobblestones beyond the grave markers and raised tombs toward a family plot, ready for burial.

“Niall?” I glanced sideways, reconsidering my earlier decision. Niall was local and had lived in these parts his entire life. I considered him a neutral party. The question burned my lips. “Tell me about Ciarán O’Donnell.”

“Ciarán? I haven’t heard talk of the boy in a long time.” Curiosity lifted his brows.

“I heard he disappeared?” I shifted my gaze beyond the blue hydrangeas and past the cemetery walls to where the meadow faded into a green forest.

“Look at ye, not here a week and getting caught up in the rabble.” He grinned. “He had the sight, that one. Some say the Faeries took Ciarán.”

“So it’s true then? He just vanished.” I studied Niall. He believed.

“Aye. It was a sad time. We’re good here, Calla.” He unsnapped his violin case and stood beneath the broad branches of an ancient Yew.

The tree symbolized immortality, living, and breathing, protecting and purifying the dead buried beneath its boughs. The darkness called to me, and the ground swayed. I lifted my hand—the need to touch the ancient one overwhelmed me.

“Calla? Are you all right?” Niall’s words broke the spell.

I tore my mind away from the ancient one. A procession approached.

Six brothers, cloaked in black, walked in unison, their heads held high, their backs straight. They carried their late father’s casket on their shoulders, sharing the weight equally. Sweat trickled down their foreheads, yet united in their grief, they persevered.

The mourners congregated beneath the protective shadow of a Celtic cross. The brothers laid their burden onto the bier and then stepped back in reverence.

Enough time wasted.

Niall tucked the violin under his chin and drew the bow across the strings, releasing a cascade of clear, soothing notes that stretched through the air and captured the mourners’ attention.

We began with a traditional hymn—“Amazing Grace.”

Some dabbed their eyes while others wept. My heart skipped a beat. Among the attendees, the blond-haired man—Ciarán—stood behind Saoirse, casting her in a protective shadow. Ciarán and Saoirse. Saoirse and Ciarán. My inner voice hitched a treble beat. How did I not see that?

Niall drew out the crowd with the soulful notes of “Danny Boy,” always a crowd favorite. I rose to the occasion, belting out the familiar lyrics.

Our final tribute to the dearly beloved, a haunting melody—I sang to the angels, the Faerie people, and Ciarán himself. There was not a dry eye in the place except his. He turned his back on his father’s grave, Saoirse and his brothers, and walked away. I chewed the inside of my mouth, losing sight of him in the distant tree line.

I twined my fingers and squeezed my eyes shut, knee-deep in Colm’s and Saoirse’s sadness and my mysterious beginnings on that green island.

“May the road rise to meet you,

and the wind always be at your back.

May the sun shine warm on your face

and the rains fall softly on your fields.

And until we meet again,

may God hold you gently in the palm of his hand.”

The robed priest recited the Irish blessing.

“And may you be in Heaven, Da, a full half-hour before the devil knows you’re dead!” A dark-haired lad shouted a requiem, transforming the mood.

The mourners smiled and laughed, and even the priest clapped his hands. The crowd mingled, sharing hugs and chatting. Our job—fait accompli.

“Hi, Calla. Do you remember me? I’m Breda. We met at the wake.” Her voice rose in sing-song notes, turning my head away from the O’Donnell clan.

“Of course. I’m sorry for your loss.” A girl with stunning black eyes fringed with snow-white eyelashes thwarted my escape. White hair tumbled over her shoulders, reminding me of winter’s snow. The black crepe jumpsuit exuded elegance, belted with a glimmering strand of black beads. Flowing chiffon sleeves engulfed her slender arms.

“Thank you for the beautiful songs. Uncle Hugh would have loved it.” Her ruby lips rocked a smiley piercing, the bejeweled barbell sparkling in the light.

“You’re welcome. I’m glad we could be here.” I scanned the crowd, looked for Saoirse, and spotted her standing next to a large gray dog and one of Colm’s brothers, a man named Tadgh, looking in the direction Ciarán had gone.

“We’re off to the pub. I hope you’ll join us. My nephew, Connor, the young fella, plays the ukulele. He wants to marry you.” She twirled her finger through her loose tendrils.

“It’s true what they say, then.” Colm towered over Breda, the circles under those shiny blues hinting at deep sadness. With his hair swept back and the black suit enhancing his muscular build, he looked more than dashing. I stared at his polished leather shoes.

Not my fault. I did nothing to cause his father’s death. Foretelling was a psychic ability—a gift, not a curse. My conscience haunted me, nevertheless. All the shrinks in the world could never convince me otherwise.

“What are they saying now, Colm?” I said with more attitude than necessary. What I would give to be somewhere else. Wrapped in his arms, maybe?

“Your voice. I’ve never heard anything quite like it.” He took my hand, drawing his thumb over my knuckles.

I saw rainbows and unicorns.

“I was after inviting Calla to the pub.” Breda looked quizzically at Colm, her lip ring glinting in the sunshine.

I pursed my lips, exhaling slowly. Do you. Be me. I sang myself to sleep each night with those words running through my mind.

“And I hate to say no, but Niall’s my only ride home.” I ran through the possible options: duck and run or face the reality of an impossible situation, and why was Colm O’Donnell still holding my hand? I stabbed him with my best death stare and yanked my hand away. He suffered from the same psychotic issues as I did.

“Oh, too bad… Connor will be so disappointed,” Breda seemed unaware of our interaction. She smiled at a little boy with shiny copper hair, standing beside a bit of a girl who hid behind her mother’s skirt. “We could give Calla a ride, that is, if you’d like to come.” Breda nudged Colm with her elbow.

“Of course, no trouble at all.” He appeared deep in thought.

That was a collision course with a fucking disaster. Duck and run had always been my motto, but that was before.

“I hope we see you again, Calla. Thanks again for the songs. They were grand.” She turned and walked away.

An army of blackbirds dropped from the branches, descending onto the open earth of his father’s grave. The mountains, purple shapes cloaked with mist, walked toward me.

I waited until Breda was safely out of earshot before I leaned in real close, my mind scattering buckshot in all directions. “Sorry for your trouble, sweet cheeks.”

“Daughter of the wind. It’s so like you. I’ve never seen anything... anyone so beautiful.” His outstretched fingers grazed the starry flowers of my crown.

“Excuse me?” That was my bad. I should have escaped when I had the chance. I stepped back from the dangerous man, the ground squelching beneath my white sneakers.

“The flowers. It makes sense you would choose them.” He whispered, his voice barely audible over the chirping birds.

“It does?” I wondered where the conversation was going.

“You’re one of Them, one of the Good People. Of that, I have no doubt. But you’re something more.” He blinked as if seeing something for the first time.

“What are you talking about?” I lifted the hem of my dress and turned away from his intense stare. ‘One of Them.’ Where did he get those ideas? My confidence slipped with every step.

“You don’t know, do you?” He trailed behind me.

“I can assure you I’m not a Faerie, and I’m not good.” I removed the holly crown and placed the starry circlet on the upturned earth.

“You’re a Bean-Sidhe .” His penetrating stare burned a hole through my shoulder blades. His accusation should have scared me, but I was used to the name-calling: sticks and stones and whatnot.

I gathered a handful of earth and then opened my fingers, dropping each granule. One year ago, I stood in his place. I had lost everything I loved. Things cannot replace people. For a time, I believed they could. A giggle tickled my throat. “A banshee? Are you for real?”

“But you’re flesh and bone. You’re a woman.” His words carried a note of wonderment. His eyes appreciated my every curve, enhanced by the clinging velvet.

I tossed my head and pouted my lips. Two could play that game.

“Well, I’ll take the compliment.” Is that what I was? What did I know about the banshee? Who was the legendary woman from popular Irish myth?

I visualized the times I’d blurted prophecies to unwelcoming ears. In those moments, did my essence travel to where it was needed? No, no way, not the same. That would require powerful magic.

I rose to my feet, scanning the distant parking lot, searching for the cosmic blue family van.

“The Bean-Sidhe came when my father died. If you don’t believe me, you can ask her.” He nodded toward his mother, a slight woman shrouded in black, surrounded by mourners. “The house shook. The Bean-Sidhe keened. Wailing cries, like fingernails on a blackboard. She went outside thinking a storm was coming. When she returned, Da was gone. You were that storm, Calla.”

I recalled our first touch. He clutched my forearm, propelling me to safety and saving me from falling. I could not account for those lost moments. I closed my eyes, calling upon the sensation to return and hit the wall.

“You remember, don’t you?” His rumbling voice demanded an answer.

“No. I don’t remember anything.” I glared at him. Where did I go? Those moments were lost to me.

“Your eyes flashed silver. You told me I was too late. You left me, Calla. Only a Bean-Sidhe —a faerie woman possessing extraordinary powers—could do that.” He lifted my wrist, drawing his thumb along the center of my palm. His gaze narrowed. “Your cut has healed.”

“What are you saying? I’m a shapeshifter? That I traveled in ethereal form to your family’s home. That I, Calla Sweet, sing the song of death? How is that even possible?” I clenched my fingers into a fist, refusing to acknowledge the abrasion that bled profusely and healed seamlessly overnight.

I laughed, but my laughter sounded hollow. It was all I could do not to cry. If what he said was true, I wasn’t crazy. I was something else entirely. I gathered my skirt and walked away.

“Calla, wait. Please, listen. I want to apologize.” He dropped his hands to his sides, his expression sheepish.

“Excuse me?” I lifted my chin, gazing into an azure ocean. A warm breeze caressed my face. The mountain crept closer, the mist calling me. “No. No. No.” I huffed a loud breath, pushing the salacious fantasy six feet under.

“What you said about Ciarán blew me away.” He seemed not to notice the heat flooding my face.

“Okay.” I bit my lower lip, stilling the hum.

“Which does not justify my behavior. I dropped by your place uninvited. It was inappropriate. I hope you won’t hold it against me.” He spoke in slow, melodic syllables, soothing my mind.

“Look, I have to go.” I combed the parking lot for Niall.

“I would like to start over,” he said in a voice that would charm most women.

“Start what over?” I raised my eyebrows, reminding myself of one obvious fact. I was not like most women, and even though I was falling in lust with him, I would not be his fool.

“Give me a chance, Calla. I’m not a bad guy.” His rugged features framed in copper were bewitching.

“Why do you think there’s a ‘you and me?’ Did I ever give you that impression?” I snapped. The sooner I rid myself of Colm O’Donnell, the better.

“Something happened, Calla. We have a connection. I don’t understand, but I want to.” He extended his palm, his eyes beckoning me to go with him.

“Do you have any admirers I should know about?” I took one step backward, unwilling to admit he was right.

“I dream of you, Calla. It’s the strangest thing. I feel I’ve known you forever.” He loosened his tie, his face turning a pretty shade of pink.

“So, let’s get this straight. I’m the scary banshee, yet you want to be what? Friends?” Heat tore through me—dizzying heat.

“The Bean-Sidhe is a source of pride for many families. Some say only the ancient clans have them.” A lick of longing tore through his gaze.

“Really?” My stomach coiled. The edges blurred, and I feared I might pass out.

“She warns of coming demise. She doesn’t cause death. The way I see it, she’s the most industrious of the Tuatha Dé. She has a job to do, and she does it well. It could be worse. You could be a Leannán Sídhe , the Faerie lover who takes men’s souls.” He shrugged, bristles shadowing the underside of his jaw.

Silence rippled between us.

I noticed the intricate Triquetra inked behind his right ear, hidden beneath those copper locks. I had seen the same tattoo on Ciarán.

“What does she do with them? The Faerie lover?” I ran my index finger over my eyebrow, considering the thought.

“They say she takes them back to the Otherworld, where they cannot find peace even in death. Look, could I buy you a beer? Can we go somewhere?” His voice was a soft seduction of luring notes.

I found him hard to resist. Eye candy aside, there seemed more to the affable tree farmer than met the eye.

“I hate beer.” I struggled with his theory. Could I be a Faerie? Faeries had magical powers—magical powers I did not possess.

I gazed into his starry eyes.

“There’s a place nearby. They have a nice selection of wines and good food. Can we go there? There’s so much we need to discuss.” He offered his hand, enticing me to follow. Skilled in the art of persuasion. Hmm.

The moment had lasted too long. Walking away from Colm was the only choice left to me. I rejected his accusations, closing the door on that fairy tale.

His brother, Ciarán, however, left a mystery to unravel on another day.

“Listen up, Colm. I’m all about the Faerie tale, but you and me? That is not going to happen. Make a good life choice, okay? I can almost promise you will never see me again.” I needed time—to think—to process. Call it self-preservation. So why did I feel so sad?

“Calla? Calla, Darling! What are you doing here?” A voice called out, an Irish voice I’d known for as long as forever.

Storey O’Donnell, the Charming Prince my mother called him.

“Storey?” I faced him, engulfed by waves of relief. His presence felt like a warm hug on a cold day. Who’d have thought a familiar face could bring such happiness?

“What great craic.” He swung me into his arms, planting a kiss on my forehead.

I landed on my feet, Storey, my financial advisor…a busy man since my adoptive parent’s untimely demise. And an O’Donnell. I shook my head—another one I could touch yet not see. Maybe Colm was right. For better or worse, my visions centered around death, just death, and only death. The realization freed me in a sick kind of way.

“What are you doing here?” I murmured, turning my gaze toward each man. I noticed the resemblance at once—the high cheekbones, the clear blue eyes.

“How are you, mate? Sad times. Sad times.” He shook Colm’s hand, his voice undulating like the backbone of the surrounding mountains.

He reminded me of what I’d lost.

“It’s good to see you, Storey. Polly said you’d be here.” Colm’s brows creased. “How are you acquainted?” He directed his question at me, his tone flat.

“Storey, you’re coming to the pub?” Breda waved—behind her stood the three black-haired O’Donnell men.

Her approach saved me from answering Colm’s question.

“Of course. Of course. Calla? You’ll come? Say yes, darling. You wouldn’t miss a pub night with the O’Donnell clan, would you? Loads of craic!” He hooked his elbow around mine and almost skipped down the cobbled path. “Feast your eyes on this beauty. Isn’t she stunning?” He extended his long fingers toward a luxury Silver Phantom, glinting in the breaking sun.

Storey’s voice ebbed and flowed, and I was grateful for the distraction. The distance between Colm and me increased with every step, yet our connection endured. I didn’t know what to make of it.

* * *