Page 7 of The Scald Crow
I straightened my whitened knuckles, my stomach turning, Ciarán’s face flashing before my eyes with each bend in the road. The O’Donnells embraced the supernatural as an integral part of our lives.
“The past haunts me sometimes.” I focused on her lush mouth, the crystals flickering in her deep-set eyes, and her translucent skin, highlighted by delicate blue veining. Calm flowed over me and through me. I stared, unbelieving.
My thoughts twisted, and I battled my conscience—right from wrong, good from evil. Did I even know the difference?
“I know what that’s like.” She didn’t smile. Instead, she gazed into the thick foliage, green sails whipping by. “Tell me, Colm O’Donnell. What do you dream of?”
“That’s a funny question.” I pressed the brakes, anticipating the next switchback.
“Not really.” She twined her hands behind her head. “Most people spend their lives searching for something.”
“Here we are. This is Ardara.” I punched the accelerator, following the banks of the Owentocker River.
The town showed itself, one slate roof after another rising in the distance.
“Oh, it’s so pretty.” She gazed up the big hill.
The center diamond, a cobblestoned gathering place, separated two intersecting roads into three distinct paths. Pubs, restaurants, and woolen shops galore lined the main street.
“There’s my brother’s place. Hugh Jr.—Doctor Hugh.” I motioned toward the white stucco house on the corner.
“A doctor?” She noted the location of the walk-in clinic.
“Aye. Hugh can cure all that ails ye. Made the folks proud, that he did.” Guilt stabbed my heart.“Why did I leave the force? Why did I run?”I questioned my decisions for the first time in a long time. Life could have remained simple.
“Do you like being a tree farmer, Colm O’Donnell? You seem, I don’t know, so much more.” Her curious gaze stopped my heart for the second time. I created a mental image of my home. Sheltered by the mountain’s slope deep within the Cape Breton Highlands sat a log cabin built with my own hands. It was a quiet life and one I had become accustomed to.
“Are you a clairvoyant, Calla Sweet? Are you reading my mind?” I chuckled, unable to shake the mind-bending sensation akin to a bow screeching across the taut strings of a fiddle. I sighed inwardly, refusing to acknowledge her question or answer it. Lies became easier with time. I left the military with a specialized skill set, highly trained as a sharpshooter. Those who required my services knew where to find me. If they offered forgiveness, would I be deserving? I thought not.
She blinked, releasing me from her scrutiny.
“Here we are. The Black Horse.” I pointed toward the stone building rising two floors high, the steep roof lined with slate. I drove beyond the pub, pulling into the next available parking space.
“Thanks. Can I reimburse you for the gas?” She searched her backpack and pulled out a glittering pink change purse.
“No need, luv.” I jumped from the vehicle, weaving through car bumpers. I clasped the passenger door handle just in time.
“Colm O’Donnell. Good day to you, lad. You’ll be needing a trim soon enough.” A familiar voice summoned me—Joseph, the bald barber, jutted his chin in my direction, concluding that a haircut was due.
“Likely so, Joseph, likely so.” I gave the man a quick smile while confronting the certainty of my situation. She was more than dangerous. She was an affliction. My mind stewed, gnashing at options. She owed me a raincheck, and I intended to collect.
She swung her long legs onto the pavement. Her gaze found Joseph and then flickered toward me. She took a long step, avoiding the puddle, but lurched forward and tripped on the broken curb.
“Jaysus, watch yourself.” I grasped her elbow, lifting her upward.
Lightning bolts flowed through me, and Hell’s breath took mine. The aura surrounding her changed from day to night.
“You’re too late.” Her eyes blazed, and shadows rippled across her face. She snatched her arm away.
“Too late for what? Calla?” The dark halo dissipated, replaced by the slamming of car doors and the honking of horns. Joseph said something about Wednesday at five o’clock.
She lifted her eyelashes, revealing my reflection rippling in the dark, glassy water. Without a backward glance, she turned and walked away, leaving me gasping for air and drowning in a sea of salty tears.
2
Calla
I turned from him and sprinted down the street, vaguely aware of people staring. But they weren’t people; they were nothing more than twisted shapes and pulsating waves of color. Enticed by the pinwheel’s hypnotic haze, I sank deeper into the vortex. My perception skewed and spun out of control. I clutched my backpack and kept moving, distancing myself from his intense gaze.
