Page 51 of The Scald Crow

The latch stuck but then gave way, the creaking hinges granting access. Faces shifted, accepting me into the din. Laughter spilled from the inner depths of the pub. Glasses clanked together. The front end was jammed tight with sweating bodies, a mixture of musty body odors and cheap perfume. A girl’s voice reached out, the guitar player strumming in accompaniment.

“Colm O’Donnell. I heard off Rollie that you were back.” Joseph, a school chum, slapped my shoulder.

“How’re ye getting on, mate? Haven’t seen you in a donkey’s age.”

The conversation turned to sheep prices and people who had died in the next parish. I excused myself from the rambling conversation and approached the back of the bar.

“What will ye have?” The bartender turned his thick neck toward me.

“The Black Stuff, please.” I settled onto the stool, resting one laced boot on the foot rail.

The bartender slid a tall glass toward me.

I rested my forearm on the bar and watched the crowd, waiting for the head to settle.

“What are you doing here?” She stood at the end of the bar, the dark scent of orchids and moonshine emanating from the pores of her satin skin.

I gazed at the skimpy dress knitted to her every curve. The icy blue shade reminded me of a twilight sky. She had my full attention.

“Nice dress.” I was lost in those shimmering eyes. There was no turning back from that. I would go to war for that woman.

“Thanks. I found it at the Treasure Chest.” She moved the air with her fingers, making my thoughts whirl.

“Hmm.” An heiress shopping second hand. Nothing she did should surprise me.

Uber-aware of her presence, the bartender dispensed a pint into a tall glass and ambled our way with a handful of napkins and a bowl of mixed nuts.

What other powers did that Faerie girl possess?

“Thanks, Gerry,” her sultry voice hung in the air. They treated her as one of their own, not someone from away.

“Anything for you, luv.” The man nodded and turned away.

“Why are you here?” Her soft laugh weaved havoc. She gazed into my eyes, a small smile playing on her lips.

“For the craic.” My ears popped, and the sensation subsided—I loosened my fingers, extending each one. It took everything I had to break the spell.

“You look good, O’Donnell. Have you broken any hearts lately?” She raised her glass, taking one long, breathtaking pull. The gold spheres circling her earlobes caught the light. My thoughts slowed, making words difficult.

“I thought you didn’t like beer.” My gaze skated over her shining locks—the two braids wound around her head and the third hanging down her back. I studied the silver comb, which joined all three together.

“I lied.” She popped one candied beer nut into her mouth.

“You lie about a lot of things.” Her bell-like voice made my heart ping.

“I do not.” She chewed thoughtfully.

“You made me think you and Storey were an item.” The edges blurred, and a realization crept over me. I had never considered myself a jealous man.

“Um, no. That’s on you, O’Donnell.” Her smile lit up the room—her presence more potent than the day before.

“Hmm.” I rubbed my chin, considering what may come.

“Maybe you can’t see the forest for the trees, huh?” She arched one delicate eyebrow, considering me right back.

“How do I repel your powers? Should I wear my clothes inside out? Walk backward around the pub? Two? Maybe three times?” Protecting oneself—Fairies 101.

“Look, you’re mesmerized by my charm and wit…” She ran her tongue back and forth across her lower lip––unknowingly, I think. There was something provocative about that.

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