Page 39 of The Scald Crow
“Yes, Mam.” I took my foot off the gas and coasted down the big hill, making a sharp turn at the diamond and gliding to a stop in my brother’s driveway.
“Connor, helpMaimeófrom the car.” I gave the rambunctious hallion a job, which he performed admirably.
“Let me help.” The boy hooked his elbow around hers, leading hisMaimeódown the sidewalk.
Brake lights flashed, and Storey stepped out of his vehicle. He circled the luxury car, opening the passenger door. She slipped her delicate hand into his, rising into his waiting arms. An aura glittered around her, like black diamonds falling from the night sky. She threw her arms around his neck, pecking his cheek with a playful kiss.
Wrapped in silence mere moments ago, the street came alive. Like bees at the hive, the gathering crowd swarmed their queen. Passing cars honked their horns, and the butcher’s dog howled.
Her face turned pink.
Wee Connor stood on the sidewalk, strumming his ukelele for the admiring crowd.
Her aura glimmered stronger today than yesterday, yet she seemed oblivious to the glamor surrounding her—what it was or what to do with it.
I spent last night trying to solve the puzzle, but it was not until I held her hand in mine that the pieces fell into place. She was innocent—the terror in her eyes confirmed that.
Calla Sweet could only be a halfling fathered by one of theAos Sí, the mystical beings of Irish folklore. The Irish believed that magical folk interacted with mortals—it wasn’t hard to imagine the rest.
Her return to Ireland was a mistake. The consequences were dire. How long before the wrong people took note? If her heritage were discovered, she would be taken—studied like a lab rat in a cage—all in the name of science. Even more terrifying, she would be exploited by those seeking to misuse her magical abilities. A pang of guilt flowed over me. Was I no better than them? I had sought her out for my benefit, for Ciarán’s.
My heart stilled. Whoever sent her away as a babe knew the truth. But someone or something had engineered her return. My eyelids fell for a brief second. Accusing her of being aBean Sídhewas the wrong approach. I had not intended to scare her.
My cousin—a complication I had not anticipated.
“Uncle Storey, can I ride in your car?” Connor ran ahead, tugging Storey’s hand, beaming up at him.
“You bet, mate. We’ll take her for a spin a little later. Just you and me.” He mussed Connor’s hair, then held the door to Pete’s Pub open for Calla. They entered together.
Voices rang, welcoming Storey home. I listened intently, waiting for the impending announcement. Suppose he was her man, well, good on her. I couldn’t compete with his likes. Expensive clothes and flashy cars were not me. I preferred the low-brow approach, which easily fit in with the local punters. I settled onto the bar stool, intending to lash down a few pints. Refusing to admit, that woman gutted me.
“You’re about the right age for my grandson, no? He’s off to college in the United States on a full scholarship.” Old Eamon walked ahead, leaning on his shillelagh.
“Sit with us, Eamon.” Storey offered him the bench seat against the wall at a cozy table for three. “What can I get you? Whisky? A pint?”
It struck me odd that he didn’t ask her what she would like. I looked away. What had she said earlier? Get a life. Live your best life.
“I bet he has a lot of girlfriends.” Calla gave Eamon her full attention.
“Here we are. Whisky for you, Eamon.” Storey sat in the chair opposite Calla.
The server followed him, balancing a platter in one hand, whisky neat, and two glasses of rosé wine.
“Aye, he’s a right handsome lad.” Eamon smoothed his charcoal blazer with his free hand, black bifocals resting on the end of his nose.
“I think I’m too old, Eamon.” Her smile dazzled the room.
“Aye? No. I don’t believe it. You’re what, sixteen, seventeen?” He nudged the plastic frames with his forefinger.
“I turned twenty-nine last week.” She cranked up the charm, laughing silver bells.
“You look like you can sing. Aye, well, now. What am I saying? You sang at the burial.” He tipped his glass toward her.
“It was an honor.” She lowered her eyelashes, her stare finding me.
Heat crept up my neck. I pretended to have a conversation with the bartender.
“You probably are not aware that we don’t use all the alphabet letters in the Irish language?” Eamon raised his glass once more.
