Page 44 of The Scald Crow

“He’s five, Saoirse. The wee chisler can’t play like that. Touched by the Faeries, isn’t that what they say?” She lifted her eyebrows.

“And you think Calla did that?” I almost whispered. Tales of old spoke of Themselves gifting the angel music to mortals—my father told of the fiddler who fell asleep on this side of a Faerie rath, a tumulus of earth covered with hawthorn branches, thought to be an entrance into the Faerie realm. They were common in these parts, feared, and left untouched. Bad luck or even death would come to the poor bloke who tampered with the Good Folk. The fiddler of my father’s tale was one of the lucky ones, waking in the mortal world gifted with song.

“What did I do?” Calla glided into the bathroom, a glass of wine in hand. She looked back and forth, smiling between us.

“Calla, we need to talk.” Sparkles danced in Breda’s inky eyes. “But first, would you have a candy?” The pink cellophane bag crackled.

“Candy? Sure. Is this about Colm?” She giggled.

“Yes, it is about Colm. He came to see me at the pub. He said things, Calla. I need to know if what he said was true.” I wrung my hands together. Where did my bravado go? She was Calla. She was my friend.

“Look. I know what he thinks. But Storey and I are not a thing. We’re just friends. Business associates.” Calla crunched the hard candy and then grimaced. “What is this?”

“Storey? What about Storey?” Breda’s eyes bugged out.

“Colm thinks we’re a couple.” Her laugh sounded like church bells on a quiet morning, ringing over the land, calling everyone to listen.

“Is there something going on between you two?” Breda eyed Calla, her mouth hanging open.

“Maybe. Yes. I suppose we’re due for a crash test.” Calla set her glass down. “I have two main hopes, and Storey isn’t it.”

“I don’t understand.” Breda rested her palm on her face.

“Storey swings the other way, ladies,” Calla revealed Storey’s preference in a matter-of-fact voice.

“Oh dear, what will Polly say? She’s over the moon, talking grandkids and the lot.” Breda sighed.

“You didn’t know?” Calla gazed from me to Breda.

“As long as he’s happy, Breda? Aye?” I added, knowing full well Breda had her suspicions. Why else had the lad left home and hearth? Not much happened in the little town that didn’t get dissected around the back fence. I should know.

“Storey’s significant other is Jonathan. A great guy. He’s a big player in pharmaceuticals. And he’s coming to visit next week.” She applied pink lipstick to her perfectly formed lips. “Saoirse? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s not about Storey.” My voice trembled. I inhaled deeply, gathering my wits.

“It’s about Colm’s brother. Saoirse’s fiancé. Ciarán.” Breda said the words that broke my heart.

“Ciarán?” Calla’s gaze held mine. “What did Colm say?”

“He has this crazy story. That you spoke to Ciarán—at the wake, he thinks you’re one of the Other Crowd.” My breath lodged in my throat.

“Yes, I know.” She clucked her tongue inside her cheek, and then she sighed.

The cold water tap dripped. I counted five pings before anyone spoke.

“I’m not sure about ‘Them,’ but yes—he’s right. I saw him in your pub, Saoirse. He stood at the end of the bar. I didn’t know who he was. Just a guy staring at you. He watched you all night.” She leaned on the counter, her face paling.

“Jaysus Fecking Christ,” Breda muttered.

“I saw him again at the wake, standing beside the coffin, mumbling to himself. I spoke to him, and he answered.” She spoke softly, believing everything she said. “And at the burial, standing behind you.”

“Dear goddess.” I clutched the sink, stars dancing behind my eyelids.

“Do you always see the dead?” Breda’s words stung. The dead. The bloodless dead.

“Is he with the angels? Is he happy?” I dug my fingernails into the broken edge of the counter. I refused to believe Ciarán was dead. I wanted to believe he was alive and well and living in the land of the young,Tír na Nóg.

“I tried running from my past. But it catches up with me wherever I go. But this, this is an add-on to my talent list.” She chuffed a halting breath.

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