Page 13

I ran the brush through my hair for the umpteenth time while the bathroom mirror stared back. Water dripped from the leaky tap, echoing throughout the tiled chamber. Spending that much time with the O’Donnells hurt. I had longed for that sense of belonging my entire life—the laughter, the noise. Only to have it pulled out from under me when Ciarán vanished. It was Da and me from when I was seven years old. He had done his best raising a wee lass, but it was hard.

“Saoirse? What are you doing?” Breda rushed into the first available stall. “You’ve been out of sorts all day. What’s going on?”

“Is it that obvious?” I popped open my lipstick tube and touched up my crimson lips. “I shouldn’t have come. Everyone is so nice. It hurts.”

“You’re part of us, Saoirse. It will always be so.” She washed her hands and then ripped the paper towel from the dispenser. “I’m proud of you. Running that pub. All of it. Bringing Ceilidh back…gets people out at night instead of glued to the telly. Serving food was bloody brilliant. ’Bout time Brandy’s had some competition.”

“I guess there’s that.” I turned sideways, tugging my shirt sleeve. I smoothed my short skirt and plucked lint from my black stockings. “Can I tell you something?”

“Always. What is it, luv?” She grabbed my lipstick and smeared the vibrant shade over her lips. “Hmm, what do you think?”

“Nice. You’ve got too much there.” I handed her a tissue.

“C’mon, Saoirse. Spill the tea.” She plunged her hand inside her black V-neck, adjusting her bra strap.

My mouth dried. She would think I’d lost my mind if I said the words aloud. “I think Ciarán is alive.”

“Did the crystals tell you?” She didn’t even blink. She knew me too well.

“No.” I hung my head. Since when did a witch of my caliber believe in hearsay? Colm’s visit replayed in my mind. Charged. Anguished. Another level of pain.

“Then what?” She grabbed my hairbrush, proceeding to straighten her snow-white curls.

“It’s not wishful thinking. It’s something Colm said.” I turned from the mirror and leaned on the counter.

“When were you talking to Colm? Want a candy?” She searched through her handbag.

“He came by the pub. He talked about Ciarán. Accusing me of the same old shite. But then. I can’t explain it. He wanted to know about Calla. He says she’s a Faerie.”

“And you believed him?” Her black eyes flashed as she handed me a clove candy.

“There’s more. He said Calla spoke to Ciarán at the wake.” I swallowed hard.

“Are you serious? You are, aren’t you?” Her words garbled together. She dropped her arms to her sides and looked at me.

“Yes.” Pandora’s box had been opened. I could never close it again.

“A Faerie? Aye, makes sense.” Her tongue played with the candy. “Jaysus, fecking Christ.”

“What?” I stepped back. When Breda was on a roll, you gave her the floor.

“Did you hear Connor playing the ukulele?” She planted her hand on her hip.

“Yes,” I recalled the lively tune the boy played.

“He’s five, Saoirse. The wee chisler can’t play like that. Touched by the Faeries, isn’t that what they say?” She lifted her eyebrows.

“And you think Calla did that?” I almost whispered. Tales of old spoke of Themselves gifting the angel music to mortals—my father told of the fiddler who fell asleep on this side of a Faerie rath, a tumulus of earth covered with hawthorn branches, thought to be an entrance into the Faerie realm. They were common in these parts, feared, and left untouched. Bad luck or even death would come to the poor bloke who tampered with the Good Folk. The fiddler of my father’s tale was one of the lucky ones, waking in the mortal world gifted with song.

“What did I do?” Calla glided into the bathroom, a glass of wine in hand. She looked back and forth, smiling between us.

“Calla, we need to talk.” Sparkles danced in Breda’s inky eyes. “But first, would you have a candy?” The pink cellophane bag crackled.

“Candy? Sure. Is this about Colm?” She giggled.

“Yes, it is about Colm. He came to see me at the pub. He said things, Calla. I need to know if what he said was true.” I wrung my hands together. Where did my bravado go? She was Calla. She was my friend.

“Look. I know what he thinks. But Storey and I are not a thing. We’re just friends. Business associates.” Calla crunched the hard candy and then grimaced. “What is this?”

“Storey? What about Storey?” Breda’s eyes bugged out.

“Colm thinks we’re a couple.” Her laugh sounded like church bells on a quiet morning, ringing over the land, calling everyone to listen.

“Is there something going on between you two?” Breda eyed Calla, her mouth hanging open.

“Maybe. Yes. I suppose we’re due for a crash test.” Calla set her glass down. “I have two main hopes, and Storey isn’t it.”

“I don’t understand.” Breda rested her palm on her face.

“Storey swings the other way, ladies,” Calla revealed Storey’s preference in a matter-of-fact voice.

“Oh dear, what will Polly say? She’s over the moon, talking grandkids and the lot.” Breda sighed.

“You didn’t know?” Calla gazed from me to Breda.

“As long as he’s happy, Breda? Aye?” I added, knowing full well Breda had her suspicions. Why else had the lad left home and hearth? Not much happened in the little town that didn’t get dissected around the back fence. I should know.

“Storey’s significant other is Jonathan. A great guy. He’s a big player in pharmaceuticals. And he’s coming to visit next week.” She applied pink lipstick to her perfectly formed lips. “Saoirse? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s not about Storey.” My voice trembled. I inhaled deeply, gathering my wits.

“It’s about Colm’s brother. Saoirse’s fiancé. Ciarán.” Breda said the words that broke my heart.

“Ciarán?” Calla’s gaze held mine. “What did Colm say?”

“He has this crazy story. That you spoke to Ciarán—at the wake, he thinks you’re one of the Other Crowd.” My breath lodged in my throat.

“Yes, I know.” She clucked her tongue inside her cheek, and then she sighed.

The cold water tap dripped. I counted five pings before anyone spoke.

“I’m not sure about ‘Them,’ but yes—he’s right. I saw him in your pub, Saoirse. He stood at the end of the bar. I didn’t know who he was. Just a guy staring at you. He watched you all night.” She leaned on the counter, her face paling.

“Jaysus Fecking Christ,” Breda muttered.

“I saw him again at the wake, standing beside the coffin, mumbling to himself. I spoke to him, and he answered.” She spoke softly, believing everything she said. “And at the burial, standing behind you.”

“Dear goddess.” I clutched the sink, stars dancing behind my eyelids.

“Do you always see the dead?” Breda’s words stung. The dead. The bloodless dead.

“Is he with the angels? Is he happy?” I dug my fingernails into the broken edge of the counter. I refused to believe Ciarán was dead. I wanted to believe he was alive and well and living in the land of the young, Tír na Nóg .

“I tried running from my past. But it catches up with me wherever I go. But this, this is an add-on to my talent list.” She chuffed a halting breath.

“What talents?” Breda pounced on Calla, her voice quickening.

“Is Ciarán dead?” My throat ached.

“No. No, Ciarán isn’t dead, Saoirse. He was there.” Her eyes were bright.

“How did he look?” I clenched my elbows, my heart bursting.

“Well, he wore dirty sneakers, blue jeans, and the craziest-looking cape, purple with silver stars. Was he happy? No. I don’t think so. He said everything was his fault.” She paused, then exhaled a long, silvery breath. “I’m having a real hard time with this Good People thing. I left Canada because of my gift because I scared people. Colm thinks I’m one of Them because I saw his father’s death and because, at the same moment, a Bean Sidhe visited his mother.”

“The wizard costume?” My knees wobbled. There’s no way she could have made that up.

“The Banshee? Yes, it was the weirdest thing. A howling cry came across the meadow, rising in pitch. I thought the damn dog got caught in a gopher trap.” Breda’s eyes widened.

“Yeah? Colm is convinced I’m a Bean Sidhe , and those keening cries were me. But I don’t remember any of it. And let’s double down, yeah? I met a guy at the wake who everyone thinks is dead. Well, let me tell you. He’s not dead.” She shook her head, convincing everyone.

“What do you mean, you see death?” Breda prodded deeper.

I sucked one breath after another into my lungs.

“It started when I was young. If I touched someone, I would see death, not theirs…someone close to them. But that was scary enough. My mother did her best to keep me away from kids my age and from people in general.” Her eyes shadowed, and she shrugged. “I was homeschooled until I went to university. I was a loner. Kept to myself. Friends were not part of the deal. But the truth comes out, eventually. My gift raised its ugly head one too many times.”

“You’re clairvoyant, which is likely why you can see Ciarán. There’s power in this land, and your abilities have grown since arriving here.” Breda nodded her head. Her wide smile told Calla she believed in all things.

“You’re not afraid of me?” Calla’s voice cracked. She gaped at us.

I gazed into her shimmering eyes. Faerie or mortal made no difference to me.

“Afraid of you? No way, girl. We call it dá silleadh . It means two looks. You see spirits, ghosts. You see the past, the present, and the future. We won’t banish you from our island for having the sight.” She laughed, then sighed happily.

“I don’t know what to say.” Calla’s gaze cut toward me, unsure.

“Being ‘different’ is almost expected. Look, we’re all different. Saoirse’s a witch. I’m an empath. You’ll fit in just grand.” Breda offered her another candy.

“We’re friends, Calla, and Breda is a friend.” I piped up, adding my two cents worth.

“You mean that, don’t you?” Calla’s eyes glowed.

“Yes. Oh my God. Yes.” I wrapped my arms around her, and Breda hugged the two of us. Calla flinched, her every muscle turning to stone.

“Breathe, Calla. You’re one of us,” Breda murmured.

What she said made sense, except for one thing. Sympathetic souls exuded the energy of the world, but Calla’s aura was something else entirely. The crystals hinted at the truth, and the flames confirmed it.

“We have to find him, Calla. Somehow. There must be a way.” I placed my hand on the green velvet covering her upper arm.

“I don’t know, Saoirse.” She flinched and then circled her lips, blowing a cool, calming breath. “I can see him, I guess, when he wants to be seen.”

“We’ll figure it out. I know we will.” Hope tore through me.

“And you’re a witch?” The corners of her mouth lifted into a small smile.

Her furrowed brow told me she remained unconvinced. What would happen when she learned the Otherworld does exist? I dallied there once and almost got burned.

“She’s not just a witch. She’s a high priestess. Tell her the news, Saoirse.” Breda nodded.

“It’s not important right now.” I hugged my arms around my chest, my heart full.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Saoirse. When will you learn to blow your own horn? She’s now licensed to reside over wedding ceremonies.” Breda clapped her hands.

“Wedding ceremonies? That’s amazing.” Calla smiled.

“C’mere to me, Calla Sweet. We have a lot to celebrate.” Breda grabbed Calla’s hand, gesturing toward an open-air courtyard.

The narrow passage behind the pub held six painted picnic tables and exited to the alley behind. Pub memorabilia fastened to the century-old bricks added hometown charm.

“It’s plain to see we need refreshments, aye? Espresso martinis all around. My treat. Grab a seat, aye?” Breda circled away, humming a lively tune.

“I’ve spent my entire life hiding from this. This ability, as you call it.” She folded her long legs under a red picnic table.

“But none of it matters if you’re one of Them. You just ‘are.’” I took a step back, literally speaking. Approaching the Other Crowd should not be taken lightly. And yet, when my arms wrapped around that regal one, I felt no evil. Calla exuded darkness, yet a healthy degree of light shone within her.

“I just ‘am?’ You’d think I would know. You’d think I’d feel something. Something more than this. You believe, don’t you? In this Other Crowd. This Otherworld?” Her gaze narrowed, only half convinced.

“I do. I’m a pagan and a witch. The old gods are part of that. I believe in the spirits of the land and the spirits of nature. It’s all around us. Connecting with the magic and the earth’s power has given me my life back,” I admitted freely.

“Here we are, ladies.” Breda placed a tray on the picnic table with three espresso martinis foaming over the rim. “ Sláinte! ” Breda clinked her glass to ours.

“The gods? You mean the Sidhe ?” Calla rubbed her thumb over her chin, then swallowed.

“Yes.” I smiled at the simple human response.

“Eamon leaves an offering every night ‘to stay on good terms.’ Potatoes and milk. I thought he was pulling my leg. He seemed almost afraid to talk about Them.” She opened her mouth but then furrowed her brow.

“Eamon knows the old ways. His people knew them, feared them, and loved them. People nowadays think fairies are cute little winged creatures from Hollywood movies.” I ran my finger over the rim of the pretty glass.

“Granda knew how to keep us in line: “Don’t go out at night. Don’t follow the twinkling lights,” I was utterly terrified.” Breda shivered and chuckled, recalling a rule that all schoolchildren lived by.

“This is going down way too fast. How in the hell are we going to get home?” I giggled, then threw it back.

“Storey. My very only best friend, until now.” She shrugged her shoulders. “How about a ride in a Silver Phantom, girls?”

“Cheers to Storey,” Breda lifted her glass.

Calla tapped her phone, sending a text message.

“Not so fast, Calla. It’s my round.” I left the two of them sitting at the picnic table. Breda smiled, and Calla played with her fingers.

“Three espresso martinis.” I leaned on the bar top, and while the bartender prepared the order, I watched the O’Donnell men minus one: Hugh Jr. and Pádraig playing darts, Oisin talking up the pink-haired lady with purple glasses, Cillian and Tadgh shooting billiards. Tadgh lifted his gaze from the game, catching my eye. His smile warmed my heart.

I searched the room and found Colm alone, staring into his stout in the darkest corner of the pub. I studied him from a distance. I knew what love looked like and what losing someone felt like. Real or imagined, love hurts. I walked toward him and whispered into his ear. I owed him that one truth.