Page 17

Colm

“Lord Jaysus, laddie. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” Eamon sat at a wide oak desk, resting one withered hand on his shillelagh while the other lay on a thick manilla folder.

Blue light illuminated the perimeter of a circular room almost twenty feet in diameter. Within the domed walls of that medieval dovecote, a row of monitors hummed, with one constantly in motion, tracking lines of information over the screen. The fiber optic cable entering the building transmits data at the speed of light. Beneath the false floor, a six-foot-high storage space housed classified files.

The domed structure stood alone in the landscape, far enough away from avian, animal, and human predators. The castellated roof, topped with a cupola, where rock doves entered at leisure, nesting in various ridges and alcoves. The interior resembled an ocean cave. The soft croon and constant feather ruffling added another dimension to the meaning of clandestine operations.

Who would have thought the nation’s security would befall a man issuing orders from a pigeon coop? The smell of bird droppings was something I would never get used to.

A red border collie lifted its head, slapping its tail on the stone floor and watching the older man’s every move as he rose from the desk and shuffled from one nesting box to another, whispering soft words, the pigeons cooing in response. He returned with a basket brimming with speckled eggs. “For your mam, laddie.”

“She’ll love this, Eamon. Thanks.” I looked into his eyes, unreadable behind heavy plastic frames. I often wondered if he wore them to throw people off.

He nodded silently.

“I wasn’t expecting your call.” I tilted my chin, observing the older man.

His mouth was set in a hard line, and his knuckles were white on the horn of his shillelagh.

“I require your services, Colm.” He peered over the rim of his glasses.

“Eamon, it’s not a good time.” I shifted my weight, the chair’s legs scraping against the stone floor—six years as an independent contractor. I went wherever the old man sent me. No questions asked. Rescues. Extractions. A short stint in security. Time had taken its toll, and I found myself yearning for normalcy. Whatever that might be.

He slammed his closed fist on the desk, shaking the table lamp from its moorings. I watched a spider skitter along the thick folder. The doves cooed.

“You’re the best I’ve got.” His voice reverberated within the round chamber, the tenacity of a much younger man lingering on each note.

“You have others more qualified than me.” Turning him down was my only option. I would admit to no one the effect Calla Sweet had on my mind.

“Are you familiar with reconstructionism?” His eyebrows twitched.

“A bunch of loons reliving pagan times.” I huffed but smiled inside. My father followed the Celtic calendar closely, holding those same rituals close to his heart. I sat back in my chair.

He remained silent, but his thoughtful expression prompted me to continue.

“Modern pagans believe everything on earth is connected, and the natural world is imbued with spiritual presence. Academics would call it animism.” I was raised in a household steeped in old beliefs and superstitions. But did I believe trees had souls? “Where is this going?”

“An English bloke named Sean Hamstead is bent on proving that those ‘spirits’ have shape and form and can indeed affect the world we live in.” He picked up a pencil, holding it between his thumb and index finger.

“That’s far-fetched, isn’t it?” I saw the humor, but warning bells rang just the same.

“He’s a dangerous man with unlimited funding.” His grip tightened, snapping the pencil’s spine into two jagged pieces.

“Funding?” My brain throbbed as I watched the broken pencil rolling across the desk.

“If Hamstead could control those spirits, consider the consequences.” He swept the pencil pieces into a trash can and then looked up.

“What’s his background?” I was almost afraid to ask the question.

“He was a researcher with the Global Health Organization. Sources tell me they let him go, citing questionable practices.” His gaze never left mine.

The dog Eamon called Finnigan left his station and rested his head on Eamon’s lap.

“What kind of questionable practices?” I placed both hands on the edge of the broad desk, steadying myself.

“Genetics. He hijacked specific samples found in archeological sites. More importantly, he’s suspected in the disappearance of a young lad from Malin Head—the boy was accused of being a changeling by his parents.” He opened the manilla file, revealing a shiny eight-by-ten photograph of a balding man.

“A changeling?” I scoffed at the idea. An ancient pagan belief—a child stolen away by the Other Crowd and replaced by a sickly faerie child enchanted with a convincing glamor. The parents left none the wiser. It was better to believe your healthy child lived in a crystal palace than waste away before your eyes.

“The child has been missing three days, taken from his bed in the wee hours. The investigation is ongoing.” He tapped his index finger on the photo, and the resounding thud echoed.

Is that why Eamon sought me out? To search for the missing child? Dread consumed me. The longer an investigation, the less likely a successful outcome.

He continued his analysis of the subject.

“What supernatural beings do we, the Irish, immortalize to this day?” He took off his glasses and set them down on the desk.

“The Tuatha Dé,” I admitted to their mysterious presence. They existed. They exist. My brother spoke to them. Is that where he was now?

I turned Eamon’s synopsis over.

Faerie belief was alive and well in Donegal County and was looked upon fondly as part of our heritage. How many ideological and fantastical books have been written? But what would happen if those beliefs were proven to the world?

Calla’s image came into focus—my Faerie girl was already mired deep in their mystical world, a world she knew nothing about. I caught the last part of his sentence.

“Think of the power one man would have if he proved the existence of the immortals. Of the Tuatha Dé Danaan?” He patted the collie’s head.

“Wait, are you saying Hamstead stole the changeling? That he has control of a Faerie being? Then where is the child?” My stomach clenched with horror.

“That is a concern.” He tilted his head, giving me a hard look.

“Alright, what would you like me to do?” My arms hung loosely at my sides.

He gave me a history lesson from Christian priests in the fifth century.

“St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, banished the slithering reptiles into the sea. He is credited for enlightening the pagan people and bringing Christianity to Ireland. Priests succeeded Druids. Christian celebrations supplanted Pagan ones. It was the end of paganism.” He lifted his shillelagh and scratched his head with the horned staff. “But now the Church is losing its grip on the masses. People are looking for other spiritual avenues. The time is ripe for zealots like Hamstead.”

My throat closed, grasping the magnitude of the situation.

“Do you know what adoration and power do to a man verging on madness? Suppose he is successful in his pursuits. The trail of destruction would be catastrophic.”

My thoughts turned in another direction. If inanimate objects had souls, the Tuatha Dé were gods and goddesses of the earth.

“Are your sources reliable?” I looked up from my musings.

“Of course they are, man. Do you take me for a fool?” His eyes were bright.

“My apologies.” I held up my palms, acknowledging my faulty judgment.

“The Tuatha Dé is a secret the Republic must protect.” His tone turned venomous.

“We are admitting the Other Crowd exists?” The Tuatha Dé, a race of mystical beings banished beneath the mounds by our ancestors, was rarely spoken of. I found his willingness to broach the sensitive topic astounding.

“If you met him, you’d pass him by and consider him a bumbling fool.” He turned the photo in my direction.

I looked upon an unassuming man who would blend into the crowd. I etched his face into my memory. “If one man could harness the power of the gods, the world as we know it would end.”

“His following is growing, with people departing from the Christian fold in search of other spiritual paths.” He sighed through his nose.

“So he’s their savior?” I chuckled, making light of the situation.

“Don’t laugh. What will his next step be? A promise of immortality? There’s more at stake than you realize.” He steepled his hands against his chest.

“Immortality?” I hadn’t given any thought to immortality. “It would make him a global force. You want me to bring Hamstead in?” I sighed inwardly. The older man knew me too well.

“No. We’ve penetrated the upper echelon of his organization. We have a source on the inside.” He reached into a drawer and pulled out another file.

“Who?” I scanned his eyes, searching for answers.

“I can’t tell you that.” His tone didn’t waver.

“Then why am I here?” I scratched my head.

“You’re acquainted with the girl, Calla Sweet?” He pushed the folder in my direction. I gazed at the tidy label imprinted with her name.

“Excuse me? What is the connection with Calla?” My stomach coiled. He had my full attention.

“I’m an old man, Colm. I’ve seen more than my share, but your Calla-girl is one of Them, but I think you know that. Some fool likely meddled in their business and stole her away as a babe, aye? It’s a dangerous thing messing with the Good Folk. Ach, that it is.”

The dog lifted his head and whined.

“I don’t understand, Eamon. How does that relate?” I rubbed my chin, pondering his words. How did he know what she was? Was it that obvious?

“Intelligence suggests he’s coming after her.” He leaned forward.

“What?” I realized my worst fears.

“Your girl sent away for her DNA. Her genetics confused a lot of people. The results were flagged, but before we could investigate, the file disappeared. Likely taken by someone on his payroll. This whole DNA business, ripe for the picking by fanatics like him.” His breath rasped, heavy in his chest.

“And you think he knows about Calla?” Fear tore through me, which I suppressed.

Finnigan seemed to listen to every word.

“Her identity is about to become a matter of national security. I’ll do what I can to keep this hushed, but I’m counting on you to keep the girl from harm’s way. I expect you’re up for the job?” He rapped his shillelagh, and the dog rose.

I flipped through the manilla folder containing a Canadian birth registration in the name of Calla Sweet, her school records, and a partial job history. There was nothing there I didn’t already know.

His diatribe struck a more personal chord. My thoughts drifted to Calla and how she cast her spell of enchantment over those lust-filled males at the Wild Horse Pub. And what of her claims? Finvarra, the King of the Faeries, her father? I accepted her revelation without question, without any fear of the consequences. I left her unattended and unprotected. How would I forgive myself if anything happened to her on my watch? The revelation thawed my frozen heart.

In our last encounter, I had woven an illusion of my own over the Faerie girl, tantalizing her the way she had me. I resisted giving in to her desires out of spite. The promise I made—that her pleasure would be mine, that she would be mine—gave me the upper hand, at least in my mind. It appeared I may have outsmarted myself. How reckless. How na?ve.

I met Eamon’s gaze.

“Keep her close, laddie. Let me worry about Hamstead.” The words crackled on his tongue.

* * *

C alla

On the south bank of the River Liffey lies the Temple Bar District of Dublin, a pedestrian walkway lined with galleries, colorful shops, and brightly painted pubs. Cafes filled to bursting spilled onto the cobblestones.

Colm hooked his elbow through mine, navigating the narrow laneways with expert precision.

“For the lady?” A woman cloaked in a black shawl stood beneath a streetlamp, a trail of smoke rising from the cigarette dangling in her mouth. She extended slender, ringed fingers and offered one long-stemmed red rose, the velvety petals vibrant against her black shawl. She spoke in the gravelly voice of one who smoked too many cigarettes.

“Aye.” He nodded, his gentle voice bringing a smile to her hard lips. He handed her five euros, and they made the trade.

“This wasn’t necessary.” I held the fresh bloom to my nose, savoring the honeyed scent.

“ Is tú mo rogha, mo grhá .” He pressed his lips to my first knuckle.

“What?” I ran my tongue over my bottom lip.

“You are my choice, my luv, you and no other,” he murmured, his eyes shining.

I pulled him close and kissed the corner of his mouth. We walked hand in hand, people passing by, blurred in color. I could almost forget the reason for our visit.

Orlaith’s sister lived in a three-story brick building on the banks of the river, bordered by an imposing wrought-iron fence. I studied the intricate welds and thought of Saoirse.

Envy consumed me. Anonymity, living in the thick of it all, unseen, and yet in plain sight. Was that not what I wanted? But that was before Colm. My breath caught in my throat when I thought of him. My path forward seemed written, or did I simply want to believe? I held Colm’s gaze and wished I could read his mind.

He lifted the latch, and the heavy gate closed behind us. We walked up the path past budding greenery and flower pots overflowing with pink pansies. Ivy crawled up the brick face.

“After you.” He opened the tall entrance door and stepped back.

We crossed the marble foyer together and waited only a minute for the elevator doors to open. The lift rocketed upward, leaving my stomach on the floor. Entombed in that lacquered box, the air stilled.

Colm stood inches away, his hands tucked into his pockets. Poker-faced, he gave nothing away.

I glanced at my maybe-lover, puzzled by his demeanor, wondering what he was thinking. He seemed unfazed, as if questioning a woman about a Faerie king was an everyday occurrence. I threaded my fingers through my hair, tidying the ends into a sleek braid.

The elevator doors opened with a sudden whoosh. My ears popped, and I swallowed hard. Blue carpet led in both directions down the spacious hallway.

Colm’s blue-eyed gaze filled with ready kindness.

When was the last time kindness looked my way? Genuine kindness aimed toward me alone? Even now, my past haunted me, and I spent every day waiting for the sky to fall. But going backward was not an option. I had to press on. The truth lay in the moments ahead. Orlaith, ériu’s friend, held the keys to the future and the past.

“Are you all right?” He planted his hand on my lower back, each fingertip radiating heat.

“I’m good. Great, actually.” I clamped my lips together, convincing myself.

“Does she know why you’re here?” He looked one way and then the other and headed down the hall to the right, his sense of direction spot on.

“No. Not really. Saoirse arranged the visit. Said it would be easier that way.” My stomach fluttered. Needles pricked the surface of my skin. Two questions danced on my tongue. Who am I? What am I?

“Hmm. Why is Orlaith in Dublin?” He looked at me, questioning.

“Looking after her sister’s cat.” Uncertainty occupied my thoughts. The idea of asking those questions terrified me. Sharing my visions with Colm was one thing, but that would make them real.

The door on the left opened before we knocked. Orlaith wore a mint green frock adorned with delicate white daisies that swished when she moved.

I gazed at the braided carpet flowing down the hallway and the sleek black cat weaving between her legs.

“Come in. Come in. I’ve been expecting you.” She brushed her palms over her flowered dress while voices blared from a television inside the apartment. She guided us into a sun-filled reception room, where she picked up a remote and muted the television noise. “Have a seat, both of you. The tae is wet.” She gestured toward a yellow-striped sofa and a china tea service on a glass tabletop.

Etched into the sides of the ivory pot was a whimsical scene featuring flying dragons in soft, muted blue, pink, and orange hues. The tea set appeared very old.

Colm cleared his throat, jolting me out of my trance.

“Orlaith, thank you for meeting with me.” I took a deep breath, released the tension from my shoulders, and lowered myself onto the plush sofa.

Colm remained standing until Orlaith settled, then sat beside me. The cat purred at his feet and jumped onto his lap.

“He’s a wee hallion, always acting the maggot. Ye don’t mind, do ye?” She looked between us, pouring tea into white china cups adorned with a landscape scene of high mountain peaks. Steam curled from each teacup.

“Not at all. I love cats. What’s his name?” He placed his big hand on the cat’s shoulders.

“Collins. He’s been with my sister for years.” She clucked her tongue.

The cat twitched its ears at the sound of his name.

“He’s fine. No worries.” Colm caressed the cat.

“I knew this day would come.” Orlaith broke the silence, her gaze darting from Collins to me.

“I have questions, Orlaith, about ériu.” I balanced the saucer on my lap. “You were ériu’s friend.”

“Aye. We were. How did you learn ériu’s name, luv? Was it Dermot? Was it in his papers?” Her blue eyes deepened in color.

“No. Um, there’s a photo of ériu over the fireplace, and her wedding dress…is in the cottage.” I pinned my lower lip beneath my teeth and held it there, forgetting to breathe.

“I don’t understand.” Her face paled.

“I see things, Orlaith, things others can’t see.” I didn’t know where to start. Her vision? Seamus? How about the mist coming to take me away?

“Aye?” she encouraged me to continue.

“The day you fainted. I saw you with ériu, preparing for her wedding. I’m sorry.” I admitted my intrusion into her mind. I considered sharing what I’d learned since but decided against it.

“I see.” Her hand trembled, clinking the teacup against the saucer.

“I’m sorry, Orlaith. I didn’t want to intrude. I just…I have to know who she is.” I placed my teacup on the table.

“ériu is your mother. She’s gone, luv. She’s with the angels.” She crossed her chest in mourning and then rose. She walked across the shining floor, her flat shoes soundless.

“She’s gone?” I absorbed the weight of her words, the finality in her voice. My heart sank. I had clung to a thread of hope that my mother was alive.

“Would you like a scone, luv? Fresh made this morning.” She returned with an oval platter overflowing with golden puffs dotted with plump raisins.

“Thank you.” I placed the scone on a napkin, leaving it untouched.

“Colm, luv, you must be famished.” She offered him a scone before setting the platter on the glass table. “I have had a sense of things since that day.” She placed her palm over mine for a brief second.

What I would have given to be somewhere else, anywhere else.

“What day, Orlaith?” The silence deafened me, and then she spoke.

“The day you were born, child.” She tilted her chin, recognition shimmering in her eyes.

“The day I was born?” I repeated her words.

“Aye, would you like a spot more tae, luv?” She lifted the pot and raised her eyebrows.

“Yes, thank you.” I gazed into my empty cup, not remembering drinking the fragrant tea.

“You’re so like her, you are. In every way.” Orlaith filled mine and then Colm’s. “You are so.”

“What became of her?” I sipped the hot liquid and scalded my tongue.

“You shouldn’t be here, child. For the life of me, I don’t know why Dermot did what he did—leaving the croft to you and bringing you back to this place. She didn’t want this.” Orlaith frowned.

“What does that mean?” I dared to ask. I needed the truth, all of it, every last bit.

“You were safe and away, but now here you are. Himself knows, don’t think he doesn’t.” She twined her hands together. “This land belongs to Themselves. What happens, they know.”

“Are you talking about Finvarra?” I asked, confused by her nervous ticks.

“Don’t speak his name, child.” She lifted the teapot, filling her cup.

Darkness spread along the floor, a dark mist creeping closer and closer. A hollow moaning filled my ears.

Orlaith placed the teapot on the table but failed to set it down properly. It teetered precariously on the table's edge.

The dragons’ scales glistened rose gold. Three of them pondered my existence through slitted yellow eyes and then, in unison, lifted their spidery wings—iridescent pink and boned with blue. I willed my heart to keep beating when they turned their horned heads and spewed fiery orange flames in my direction.

Colm reached forward, spilling the cat from his lap.

“Don’t touch it.” I knocked his hand away and caught one dragon by its tail, subduing the rest and saving the teapot from crashing onto the floor. Searing heat blistered my fingers. I lifted them to my mouth, easing the burning sensations.

“Calla? Calla? Are you all right?” He squeezed my forearm, calling my attention to him. His concerned gaze calmed my erratic thoughts.

I licked my lips and stared at the teapot, wondering what the vision meant. Flying dragons. Orange flames.

“Ach. Be gone with ye, crazy woman.” Orlaith placed her hands on her cheeks. “Forgive me, luv. ’Tis the medication throwing me off.”

“Orlaith, what can you tell us about ériu?” Colm interjected, his voice low and soothing. None the wiser after my escapade with the flying dragons.

“Himself took her the day of her wedding.” She dropped one spoonful of sugar after another into her cup.

“Took her?” I stared at the teapot and saw nothing but a fairytale scene.

“Taken, child. Swept away, by Himself.” She pushed her glasses onto the bridge of her nose. “It broke Dermot’s heart. Took to tipping the bottle, but who could blame him?”

“Then what happened?” I closed my fingers into fists.

“It was long ago. People forget.” She pushed herself to her feet.

I watched her walk across the room and straighten a painting hanging on the wall—white sails billowed from the mast of a tall ship, the prow cutting through crashing waves.

“What about ériu’s friends? Her people? Did they not look for her?” Colm’s brows creased.

The cat butted his head against my chin.

“ériu was from away. Not one of us.” She looked away, tears filling her eyes. “People forget what they don’t want to see.”

“I see.” I did not see anything at all.

“Nine months later, a man came knocking at my door. Said his wife needed help with delivery. I thought nothing of it at first until I saw what he was driving—a black carriage drawn by four black horses. I didn’t know at the time who the gentleman was—dressed fine and all the like. Such a way about him. He said his wife asked specifically for me. We traveled for hours, and I found myself dosing off. When I woke, we were in a dark forest. A footman dressed in the finest of garb led the carriage away. I still remember the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves. He took me to a palace, the like I’d never seen, sparkling with silver and gold. I was terrified until I saw it was her, my ériu. So full of pregnancy and in such pain, the wee thing was.”

“Finvarra came for you?” Colm’s face turned bedsheet white.

“It was Him, the King of the Faeries himself.” She nodded at Colm, twisting her fingers together.

“ériu was pregnant?” My vision from the stone shieling rolled over me, Finvarra’s laughter filling my mind. I squeezed my eyes shut, but the truth shocked me.

“Aye. It was a difficult birth. The wee thing was frail. Too frail. I knew right off ériu wouldn’t make it. She knew it, too.” Her gaze held mine. “She gave birth to three beautiful girls.”

“Three? Three girls?” My heart beat faster.

“Aye. She called them ‘the three’ as if each would serve a purpose. She held you to her breast, luv. I remember the moment like it was yesterday. Your eyes were silver then. Shiny, like stars in the night sky. You grasped her finger so tight. I could hardly break your wee grip. ériu named you Rioghain. She called you the dark one.” Orlaith poured more tea.

“The dark one?” I rubbed my forehead.

“Aye, named after the Morrigan herself.” Her gaze softened, and she placed her hand on my knee.

“I have sisters.” I sat back on the sofa, my thoughts racing, and for a moment, I couldn’t catch up.

“Why did he come for you, Orlaith?” Colm prodded.

“Ach. Well, you see, I was a midwife back then. Birthed most of the babes in this parish.” Her eyes beamed with pride.

“How did Calla get away from the Faerie palace?” He glanced at me and then at her. He seemed to realize that I had lost my words.

“ériu was powerful in her own right. She had a way about her. She did. I think that’s what attracted Himself to her in the first place. She looked into your wee silver eyes and then called you Rioghain, the others Nemain, and Macha. Heartbroken, she was, and so weak. She kissed your wee cheek, and then she made me promise. I was to keep you safe, Rioghain. May I call you Rioghain? ériu would like that.”

“Safe? Safe from what, Orlaith?” I shut my eyes and saw what I didn’t want to see—a flash of light and Finvarra’s face.

“Why would ériu worry about Calla?” Colm interjected.

“She said they would use your dark heart against you. She made me swear I would take ye with me. And to send ye away. Away from this place.” Orlaith looked far away as if the memory caused her pain.

“And you took Calla to Dermot Sweet?” Colm’s eyes gleamed, awed by her part in the puzzle.

“Aye, that I did. It broke Dermot’s heart to give ye up. You were part of his ériu. She was all that mattered to him.” She relived the memory, her voice haunted.

“You knew who I was all this time.” My ears rang. It was a constant buzz that wouldn’t let go of my mind.

“I knew when ye said Dermot’s name.” She removed her glasses and set them on the table.

I gazed into her soft eyes, taken aback by the emotions welling there.

“How did you get Calla away from the Otherworld without Finvarra discovering?” Colm rested his hands on his knees.

“ériu had her powers. She did.” Orlaith swept her hands over her silvery hair, her thoughts passing into another time. “She pressed her pale lips to your face and placed a glamor over you that the Others could not see. The other two babes were taken to a nursemaid. Beautiful ones, they were. All three of you. One dark. One light. One touched. Rioghain, Nemain, and Macha. Aye—the Morrigu.” She whispered the name with reverence.

“Touched?” I exhaled a long breath. Colm’s words rang true. I had to accept it. I was one of Them.

“A ginger. A redhead.” Orlaith nodded.

“And Finvarra knew nothing of Calla’s existence?”

The cat pounced, extending his claws into Colm’s forearm. Colm didn’t budge.

“Not a thing. The coachman delivered me home in the fancy carriage, unaware of your existence. The glamour, you see, kept you safe from Themselves.” She tsked. “I was able to make ériu happy in her last moments.”

“What happened to ériu?” I asked. I needed so desperately to learn every detail.

“Himself knew she wouldn’t last the night. He loved her, he did, in his way. Sat by her bed, holding her hand. Horrible anguish it was. For all that he stole from her, she loved him too. He wept at her feet like a wee babe. He wasn’t a bad man that way.” She shook her head and tsked.

“And Dermot Sweet sent me to Canada?” My mouth dried as I comprehended the unbelievable.

“Aye. Dermot had family in Canada. He took you himself to your new family—a cousin of a cousin. Nice people, Dermot said. They were told a young girl in the village got herself in the wrong way. He insisted we send you across the pond to a place not touched by Themselves.”

“What happened to Dermot?” Colm exchanged glances with me.

“He led a solitary life after Himself swept ériu away. Dermot considered himself married to her memory. He would have raised you as his own had he been able. He called you Calla, after ériu’s favorite flower.”

“The calla lilies.” My eyes grew hot, and I blinked back the tears. “I’m sorry. This is a lot.”

“Ach now, dearie, ’tis fine, ’tis fine. You wait here now.” She left the reception room and walked down the hall toward the bedrooms. When she returned, she held a small wooden box. She lifted the lid, revealing a silver bracelet ensconced in a black velvet tomb. “This is for you.”

“The bracelet you gave ériu on her wedding day.” I stared at the glimmering horseshoe and swallowed hard. It looked brand new.

“How did you know that? Never mind, it doesn’t matter.” Her mouth dropped open. “The wee thing tucked this in my hand before I was to leave. She wanted you to have it. To know her.”

I rubbed the horseshoe, and the sapphires, as dark as the ocean, warmed my fingers. “Thank you, Orlaith. Thank you for this and for telling me about ériu.”

“Aye. It is as it should be.” She clucked her tongue and then poured another cup of tea.

* * *