Page 18 of The Scald Crow

“Be careful, bro. Dough is a starchy subject in these parts.” Cillian twined his fingers together, waiting for the spectacle to begin.

“Another tat, bro?” I grabbed Cillian’s wrist, inspecting the bracelet inked around his forearm. “It’s time you started your own business, yeah?”

“Have you seen Tadgh?” Hugh Jr. searched the crowded tables for his identical twin.

“He’s sweet on the new girl.” Oisin rose from the table, returning with a soon-to-be-emptied bottle of Irish.

“Haven’t seen him all morning. Why?” I swallowed the last bite.

“The starters fecked on my car.” Hugh Jr. glanced at his watch.

“What new girl?” Cillian wolfed down the remaining crusts on my plate. He looked like he could use the calories.

“Slainte.” Hugh Jr. lifted his glass, throwing the golden elixir back. The brothers followed suit.

“Well, who wouldn’t be? She’s a stunner.” Pádraig chuckled.

“He means built like a brick house.” Oisin grinned, motioning with his hands.

I walked from table to table, gathering empty plates into a tall stack while scanning the faces of each O’Donnell brother. One missing—but not forgotten. The shadows moved, and I saw Ciarán’s face. Where are you, Ciarán? The answer was hidden from me. I left the sitting room, my hands full.

Breda stood beside my father’s roll-top desk in the foyer, her fingers busy refilling clay pipes with tobacco. She worked away, seemingly oblivious to my presence. When the wind rattled the windowpanes, she looked up. The door flew open, bringing Saoirse, the witch, followed by Tadgh and his hairy brute of a dog, Kevin.

“Thanks for coming, Saoirse. It means so much.” Breda held Saoirse’s pale hands and kissed her cheek. “I love the dress.” She stepped back, keeping her at arm’s length, admiring a black long-sleeved dress swirled with blood-red vines, the color of Saoirse’s curly hair.

I stood there, waiting for what would happen next. Saoirse’s gaze met mine.

“How are you, Kevin?” Breda crooned to the furry wolfhound.

“What about me, Breda?” Tadgh pulled our cousin into his thick arms, pecking her cheek.

Their voices mingled, and I lost the run of myself, my thoughts delving through old files and yellowed pen strokes, notes taken seven long years ago—evidence shelved as useless. Saoirse’s face flushed under my scrutiny, her smile frozen in place. Did the Garda miss something? Did I miss something?

“Bloody hell, Kevin.” I gasped as the wolfhound clattered past, knocking my knees from under me. I cursed the dog and myself when Mam’s Blue Willow china flew from my hands and shattered onto the hard floor.

Breda threw me a stony glare, her black eyes flashing. She grabbed Saoirse’s arm and navigated through the broken pieces of china. Mam’s voice rang out, welcoming her as one of our own.

* * *

Ciarán

Voices rang out from another part of the house, the library, or perhaps the drawing room. Pádraig’s lilting tenor rose above everyone else’s, bringing a smile and erasing the sadness weighing down my soul. I would have given anything to join them.

If only.

I left the shadows and approached my father’s casket. I rested my fingers on his great shoulders—the shoulders I would ride upon as a child. I would not see him again, not in that realm or the other. His soul journeyed elsewhere and would not return. I pressed my lips against his forehead and whispered my last goodbye: “Codladh sámh, Da. Sleep well.”

“I’ve never thought of it that way before. To think of them sleeping. A peaceful, dreamy sleep.” Her voice broke the everlasting silence I had endured for the past seven years. I looked up, drawn to the glow in her eyes. Her entrance into the room appeared ghostlike, just like mine.

“This is my fault. So much of this is my fault.” I admonished, admitting my guilt, which felt freeing. I looked at my father. He was just as dead to them as I was. It was better that way. The family deserved peace.

“Don’t think that.” Full of warmth, her words flowed into me, reminding me of what I once was—flesh and bone, not the shade I was now.

“Who are you?” I studied her, unsure of her standing within the Faerie realm. It was unlike them to follow me. I had, after all, earned the privilege of moving freely within the mortal plane concealed beneath the enchantment they had imposed upon me.

“Calla, Calla Sweet. I’m sorry for your loss.” She bent her head in sympathy. Her eyes were familiar, the same as Themselves. They were luminous, reflecting all the light in the world.

“How interesting.” I rubbed my chin, lost in the possibilities. A Faerie girl living in the mortal realm? Was that what she was? My experience with Faeries told me one thing—beware.

---