Page 32 of The Scald Crow

“What are you implying?” His insinuation struck deep, but I held fast, refusing to take the bait.

“You’re not on trial, Saoirse. Ireland hasn’t burned a witch since 1698, and even then, they strangled the poor unfortunate first.” He chuckled, but the smile did not touch his lips.

“I can’t believe you. Where do you get off?” I lashed into him, my temper flaring. What I did with my time was none of his business.

“Sit awhile. Confer with the devil. Please.” His eyes widened, and he smirked.

Unlike Ciarán, Colm O’Donnell was always strange, not one to smile. When Colm left for away, I breathed a sigh of relief.

“I don’t mix business with pleasure.” I took the bottle from him and placed it back on the shelf.

“And this is business?” He stared into the swirling amber, then returned the glass to the paper coaster.

“We’re not friends. Never have been. Can’t see starting now.” My voice sounded bitter even to my ears. He was Ciarán’s brother, after all.

I stilled my mind, repeating the Wiccan’s Rede, the one I had chosen to live by…harm no one, do unto others.

“I have questions.” He laid his palms on the bar top.

His tone made my hair stand on end.

“Should I call my lawyer?” I said with a sarcastic tone. Why did I let him get under my skin?

“Friendly questions.” The lines etched on his face revealed how deeply disturbed he was.

“Why are you dragging this up? Why now?” I scoured his expression for a clue, setting my mind into battle-ready mode.

“There’s been a development.” He drew his thumb and index finger over his jaw.

His words fired my imagination. He had been deployed overseas when Ciarán disappeared. Upon his return, he took matters into his own hands, initiating a search scouring all of Donegal County and then some. It was not pretty.

“A development? What does that mean?” I braced myself, using his dark energy as my own.

“The night Ciarán disappeared. What do you remember?” He lifted his chin, his tone accusing.

“It was a bad moon.” Yet the pain in his eyes shone brighter than mine. I took comfort in that.

“A bad moon?” His eyes shadowed in the dim light.

“It was Samhain. Ciarán was being ‘Ciarán.’” Samhain—the night when the veil thins, November’s Eve, when ghosts and spirits wander Middle Earth free to roam, to cause havoc and mayhem within the mortal realm.

“Continue.” He pressed his lips into a tight line, hiding behind his haughty demeanor.

I held my tongue. Whatever daemons the O’Donnell boys had commiserated with on Samhain night wasn’t my concern. I decided to play his game.

“We were at Stuart’s Halloween party. I was helping Treasa in the kitchen. He went outside to smoke. He never came back.” I looked down, staring at the glittering emerald. My thoughts raced with possibilities.

“You said Stuart owed Ciarán money.” He ran his thumb over the lip of his glass, his gaze steady.

“I did? Yes…I guess. It’s been a long time.” I crossed my arms, reserving my strength.

“If I remember correctly, you left town right after. You were swanning about the country for a long time. Where did you go?” He supped his whisky, staring through those O’Donnell eyelashes.

“Where did I go? I had nothing left.” I hissed, then chastised myself for losing my temper. I would not let him win.

“Hmm. I’m curious about your new friend, Calla Sweet.” He smoothed his fingers over the bar rail, his voice cajoling.

I busied myself with beer glasses, lining them up in a neat row, and watched his reflection in the mirror. The purple smudges under his eyes stood out. “What about her? She’s nice. I like her.”

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