Page 26 of The Scald Crow

I shook my head, meeting Saoirse’s confused gaze.

“Huh? Don’t be silly. You arrive in Ireland, and on your second day, a crazy barkeep drags you off to a wake. You hadn’t even settled in yet. Think about it.” Her voice, layered with melancholy, lingered in my mind.

I studied her. Since leaving the wake, Saoirse seemed in a world of her own. I blamed my early flight from the O’Donnell residence just as the festivities were about to begin.

“No, it’s okay. It was enlightening.” I visualized Colm’s brother, remembering how his lips moved and his chest rose beneath his crisp white shirt. I had the distinct impression he wanted to tell me something, but then he disappeared like the mist on a foggy day, leaving behind a faint scent of rosewater.

And what of Colm? He spoke to me. Or did Ciarán whisper in my ear? I couldn’t get him out of my head.That’s a song? Isn’t it?

“Breda and me. We go way back. Well, the whole family. I know them all quite well.” She tilted her head in my direction. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.” I held her gaze, hoping she would share her secrets. Maybe, just maybe, I should go first.

“I was happy to leave.” She looked away, her shoulders quaking slightly.

I stared down a narrow road flanked by steep green slopes.

“There are just so many memories. That place. That house. I’m sorry, I’m blathering.” She gripped the steering wheel tighter, speeding through the winding pass, the tires drumming on the slick pavement. She shared nothing else. The question of why drummed in my mind, yet I had no right to pry. She had her secrets, and I had mine.

“Are you all right, Saoirse?” What would one touch tell me? I knew so little about my ‘gift’ that I feared experimenting. I should have embraced it all those years ago and learned from it instead of running away. I struggled to process the encounter with Orlaith. Witnessing someone’s memories had never happened before. I shivered despite the cozy sweater I wore.

“I’m fine. I didn’t sleep much.” She smiled, giving me a darting glance.

“No? Is something bothering you?” I pushed my problems aside.

Saoirse. Sweet and kind, and oh so sad—Saoirse. I studied the dark cast beneath her eyes and her sharp cheekbones.

“It’s nothing, Calla. It’s fine. Oh, blast, hold on.” She slammed the brakes. The tires screeched, and the car came to a burning stop. “Brilliant. Just brilliant.”

“Oh, look at the sheep.” I spread my lips into a smile. The round eyes of so many black-faced sheep stared back.

Since arriving in Ireland, my abilities morphed into something else. I had wandered away from the present three times, and those were not simple daydreams. I saw shadows where none existed. I heard voices. I seemed stuck in another place and time and couldn’t find my way back. And what of Orlaith…I pinned my bottom lip beneath my teeth, considering my future with these people.

“Is Niall bringing you to the burial?” She punched the accelerator when the last sheep meandered into the long grass.

“Yes.” How did I get embroiled in the landscape so quickly? How soon before they discovered my menacing charms?

“If anything changes, let me know. Okay? See the hedges? They mark the boundaries of Dermot’s croft.” She pointed her chin toward the boundary stones climbing the mountain slope, disappearing into a cloud-filled sky.

“It’s quite a hill.” I followed her gaze.

“Here we are. This is Dermot’s. Um, sorry. This is your place.” Saoirse pulled onto the shoulder of the road, the car’s wheels swishing through the tall grass along the road’s edge.

“Oh geez. This is it?” Two monolithic stone piers, one pointed upward and the other cut flat, stood at the entrance of Dermot Sweet’s estate, and between them loomed a rusted iron gate.

“Halfway to heaven, that’s what Dermot called it. They say the Faeries dance on the flat one.” Saoirse nodded toward the stone pillar on the right. She left the car idling at the gated entrance.

I stared into the dark maw of a long grassy laneway shrouded by a canopy of trees, unable to ignore the prickling sensations coursing over me. “Faeries?” I raised my eyebrows, allowing her to explain.

“Do you know about the Other Crowd?” Her confident and matter-of-fact tone caught me off-guard.

“Well, yes. Sort of.” I nodded, reflecting on the Celtic Myth and Fairytale class I had taken at university, recalling ancient tales of the Fir Bolg, Fomorians, and the Tuatha Dé Danaan.

“Be careful not to offend them. They can be sensitive to intruders.” Her concerned gaze confirmed my suspicions—Faerie belief remained alive and well in that part of Ireland.

“Sensitive?” I wondered how the Faeries could be offended by little old me.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine. Dermot lived here for years. He never spoke of Them.” She shrugged, but her shadowed gaze caused me some concern.

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