Page 14 of The Scald Crow
“Ach, no. Help me up, lass. Help me up. These old bones aren’t as spry as they once were.” She leaned forward, blue veins pulsing in her neck. Using our outstretched arms for support, she rose onto her feet. “Oh, dearie me, look at this mess.”
“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? I can manage.” Saoirse cupped Orlaith’s elbow, leading her toward a round table within the fireplace’s warm embrace.
I couldn’t forget what I saw. Orlaith’s memory of a golden-haired woman named Ériu sent chills racing down my spine.
* * *
Ispent what was left of the day browsing the nearby shops and filling my guts with greasy grub from what the locals called a chipper. I could have curled beneath the cozy duvet and slept till morning, but resisted the urge. Instead, I found myself inside Saoirse’s pub, grabbing snippets of conversation wrapped in a thick Irish dialect, words unknown to me, like punter and chancer—howya and hoor.
Men and women shouldered up to the bar. Locals crowded the round tables. Laughter cackled from one room to another. Newcomers received a hearty slap on the shoulder from friends in common. I weaved through the crowd and slid onto an empty barstool.
Beyond the imposing stone walls, a chilling death rattle shook every window. Sharp knocks echoed from the arched doorway, but no one entered. The wind howled, sucking the happiness from the room. I stared into the emptiness, entranced by an unknown phantom.
Saoirse waved, drawing my attention away from the darkness. I staved off the imagined horrors by clutching the cuffs of my new sweater, the thick ivory wool comforting my soul. I curled my toes inside my brand-new sneakers and willed those visions back into the hellscape from which they came.
In the corner of the bar stood a man cloaked in the most interesting costume, the deep purple hood shrouding most of his face. He spoke to no one, and no one talked to him. His gaze found mine, but then he turned his head. His burly features struck a chord in the core of my being. The set of his jaw reminded me of someone else.
“Hey! You made it!” She threw me a bright smile. “What would you fancy?”
“White wine, please.” I matched her enthusiasm, reminding myself that the night was young and I should pace myself.
“Chardonnay or a Pinot Grigio?” Saoirse’s shiny hair was pulled into a knot, the fly-away pieces framing her heart-shaped face.
“Chardonnay, please.” I scanned the tables, looking for him. Colm’s return to his tree farm would not happen soon enough for me.
“Watch yourself. It’s a dodgy crowd.” She giggled and turned away, returning with a generous pour of fragrant white.
“You look pretty tonight. I love your sweater.” I complimented as she slid a coaster emblazoned with the Black Horse logo across the bar top.
“I wouldn’t know what to do.” She set the glass on the coaster, her gaze moving between me and the waiting patrons.
“What do you mean?” I studied her wistful expression.
“Look around. They’re feckin drooling over you.” Saoirse grinned, her eyes sparkling.
“New girl syndrome.” I shrugged off the compliment.
“Welcome. Welcome. We have a request from the chancer holding up the bar this evening.” The fiddler, a bearded man with flashing eyes, plucked a few strings. The banjo player followed up, strumming a few chords.
I turned toward the band, drawn to the mysterious notes of a harmonica.
Barstools scraped the stone floor, glasses clanking the tabletops.
I lifted my chin, scanning the sea of faces. The conversation swelled, and then the place erupted into a familiar song everyone sang.
Across the bar, a patron drummed his fingertips on the counter, demanding Saoirse’s attention.
I couldn’t help but notice the quiet one hidden in the shadows, his faceless stare never leaving Saoirse.
3
Colm
Death comes to us all. No amount of whisky could dull such pain. A wreath ribboned with black crepe hung from the front door of the O’Donnell family home and served as a somber reminder of where the patriarch of the O’Donnell clan had lived. My thoughts returned to yesterday, to the girl with the dove-grey eyes. She left me floundering in confusion, twisting my mind with her tortured words.
“You’re too late,” she whispered, then ran, leaving the impression that something horrible had happened.
My ringing cell phone confirmed Calla’s prophecy, Mam’s voice on the other end. Calm. Soothing. “Colm, you need to come home. You’re da’s dead.”
