Page 64 of The Scald Crow
“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 naïve.
I met Eamon’s gaze.
“Keep her close, laddie. Let me worry about Hamstead.” The words crackled on his tongue.
* * *
Calla
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.
