Page 34 of The Scald Crow
“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.
5
Calla
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.
