Page 68 of The Scald Crow
“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.
* * *
Saoirse
“Could stand a lick of paint.” Cillian O’Donnell shielded his blue eyes from the midday sun, looking at the peeling boards of the empty storefront with a keen gaze. He spoke to no one, yet everyone listened. He commanded an unerring eye and a quick mind.
His tattoos and half-shaved head declared a rebellious image, but his clothing contradicted that. He looked fine, dressed quietly in a close-fitting black turtleneck, straight-legged black trousers, and supple leather loafers.
Cillian was the silent one, charming when he wanted to be—hunger burned in his eyes and raged in his soul. A rage pent up for so long, one could only imagine what it did to the mind. The fact Cillian intended to stay in Ardara town bewildered me. I didn’t know what to make of it.
Tadgh, shorter than his brothers and mack-truck-wide, shadowboxed with the Faeries and then threw a solid punch, nailing Cillian in the upper biceps.
“Are we doing this again?” Cillian didn’t even flinch.
“Big match Saturday.” Muscles rippling beneath an olive-green tank, he fancied back and forth in white high tops and ripped jeans—always smiling, always happy. He fancied me a little too much.
“Have you signed the lease, bro?” Pádraig rubbed the red bristles sprouting from his chin with his index finger and the fat pad of his thumb.
“Aye, moving in today.” Cillian glanced at the gold watch on his wrist, the designer wristband glinting in the sunshine.
“What do ye mean? Does Mammy know?” Pádraig lifted his eyebrows, surprise in his eyes. He was his mother’s son.
