Page 33 of The Scald Crow

“You brought her to the wake.” His tone accused me of so much more.

“Yes, I did, and she’s singing at the burial. But you know that already.” I reminded him of the arrangements made.

“Does she know who Ciarán was to you?” His gaze narrowed.

I flinched at his use of the past tense.

“No, she doesn’t. I don’t talk about Ciarán much. I’m trying to move on with my life. You should try it.” The conversation brought the pain back threefold. I wished he would leave, yet I hung on to every mention of Ciarán’s name.

“She spoke to someone. At the wake. But the room was empty...except for Da.” He looked into the shadows, his face haunted.

I noticed how affected he was and considered giving Breda a ring. Instead, I slid onto the stool beside him.

“Who was she speaking to?” I found this conversation intriguing. I had some knowledge about channeling energy and making contact with spirits. Could Calla possess supernatural abilities? I pictured the darkness enveloping her and believed it to be true.

“I thought Da’s ghost was having the last word. But…when she saw the family portrait, she pointed Ciarán out. Do you know what that means?” He played with his napkin, rolling it between his fingers.

“No…tell me, Colm. What does it mean?” I knew exactly what it meant.

“She’s one of Them, Saoirse. One of the ‘Na Daoine Maithe.’” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

I straightened, drawn to the urgency in his voice.

“The Good People? That’s a big stretch. She arrived on a jet plane, and you drove her into Ardara. You do remember? She didn’t come through the mist. I know she’s beautiful, and her eyes. Well, yes, I can see what you mean.” I grinned like a loon, considering the possibilities. I believed in the Otherworld, in the old gods.

“You know Ciarán had the sight. He was known to knock around with them.” His rough voice brimmed with suspicion.

“Aye.” I tilted my chin, fascinated.

“How manyscéalaithhave told tales of mortals taken by Faerie beings? Mortal women married off to Faerie Kings? And what of Ciarán? Did he go willingly into the fray, or was he forced to?” He rubbed the back of his neck, his discomfort apparent.

I stared at him. Why had he suffered me moments ago if he wanted to talk about Faeries? Colm O’Donnell did not do small talk. No, he had something else in mind the entire time.

“You think the Other Crowd took Ciarán?” The band circling my finger warmed, and in an instant, I knew the truth. Did I dare believe that Ciarán lived and thrived in the Otherworld? If Calla could see and truly speak to him, could she get him back? Colm’s voice hammered inside my head. I picked up the last part of his conversation.

“He may have gone willingly for the craic. He knew Them. He was familiar to Them. I know how this sounds.” He looked away, his gaze melting into the turf fire.

I stewed in his misery, then shared Ciarán’s conversation from that fateful eve.

“He said the Faeries were dancing, that the holly bushes were full of them.” Sweet angel notes played in my ears as I relived that night.

Pop music blares from the open doorway, casting a warm, golden glow into the night. Cars are parked along the laneway, spilling down the narrow road. The Samhain celebration is in full swing.

“Did you lock the doors?” I glance at Ciarán’s car as if we had anything worth stealing.

“The doors are locked.” He clicks the key fob, the headlights blinking red.

“We won’t stay too late, okay? Promise?” I lift my long black skirt, sidestepping the puddles pooling on the gravel road.

“We won’t stay long.” He lifts his hands, pulling my pointed witch hat over my ears.

“Stop it.” I pushed him away, giggling.

He chuckles, his hooded cloak concealing his smile. The purple satin cascades to his feet, glimmering in the moonlight, while the misshaped silver stars sparkle.

I look into a night of changing colors, my mind filling with unease. The sky grumbles, and a lightning bolt strikes fire, lighting up the branches of one lonely tree.

I jump into his arms, taking comfort in his strength.

---