Page 31 of Hot Irish Halloween

“We light this fire in celebration of the end of the harvest, the change of seasons from the time of work and play to the season of rest and reflection. The fire is a symbol of destruction but also renewal. May we burn those things that we no longer needand make way for the future, for the new. To embrace the way forward.”

Simon said more words in Irish, then turned to the pyre and set the structure on fire. The blaze whooshed high almost immediately, and the onlookers gasped and clapped.

“What would the good Judge and Mrs. Mayfield have to say about this?” Penny wondered aloud. “They would not like this pagan poetry, not one bit.”

Nope, they wouldn’t like anything about this place or this night.

“I don’t think I like it either. We should go back to the room,” Jack said quietly.

“Leave now? Hell no. This is just getting interesting,” she whispered back.

The servers ushered everyone back into the main body of the castle through a different entrance. They passed along a corridor and were now in a long, narrow room with a table that could sit at least forty. Clarissa placed her on one side of the table and Jack on the other, then took her seat at the bottom while Simon took the head.

Simon looked at the guests as they tittered and shifted like a crowd of high schoolers at a dance. But they froze when he suddenly shouted, “Feast!” and clapped his hands three times.

It was as though the sharp rapping of his hands released a soundwave that swept down the table, reaching all the guests and every corner of the room. It passed through Penny, and she felt its ripples like a physical touch. They quieted and sat in unison as if obeying a silent command.

The table was set with the finest china Penny had ever seen. There were crystalline goblets of dark, rich wine and centerpieces of grapes and plums on silver trays. Small bouquets of wildflowers were interspersed among tall, lit tapers in candelabra. The servers appeared, still masked, buttheir costumes had been replaced with velvet capes. They wore nothing underneath except for the occasional glimpse of swirling blue paint on their flesh.

Diarmuid came to her side, bowing slightly with his soft smile. His blue eyes behind his mask and his thin pale hair reminded her so much of Brendan.

Who didn’t remind her of Brendan in this country? Well, the hulking man sitting across from her, that’s who. Jack and Brendan couldn’t have looked less alike.

“I’ll be serving you tonight, ma’am. Anything you need, just say the word, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Diarmuid.”

He poured her more water and wine, and without further instructions from her, he left.

“More mead?” Penny’s neighbor said.

This was the famous Serena Gardner, a lithe, long-legged actress with a dazzling smile and super short hair arranged in smooth, platinum finger waves. Penny knew she originally hailed from Texas. One of the top-earning Black entertainers in Hollywood as well as an award-winner, Serena had been labeled one of the most beautiful people in Hollywood several times. Like Penny, she was in her early forties and hadn’t been seen on screen as much after a high-profile marriage and divorce to someone Black social media denounced as “beneath her.”

Despite looking every bit the diva in a beautiful red ballgown with a glimmering gold leaf crown, she was sweet and humble. She made sure Penny’s cup was full by pouring it herself.

“Go raibh maith agat,” Penny said, then giggled. “Sláinte.”

“You speak Irish? How long you been here, girl?”

Giggling again, Penny took a sip. “I know a few words. I’ve been here eight months or so. I’m working on a book and when it’s finished, I’m heading home.”

Jack’s face reddened; he must have overheard her despite the chatter on his side of the table. Penny didn’t want to start assuming she knew what was going on in his head, but he didn’t look happy to hear that.

“Are you here solo like me?” Serena asked, taking a delicate sip from her own cup.

“No, I’m here with my, um, husband.” Another giggle erupted at the word. “There he is.” Penny lifted her chin in Jack’s direction while he dourly lifted his wine glass in a sarcastic salute.

“Oh,” Serena said with a slightly disappointed shrug. “I’m always the single gal these days. That’s why I come to these things. I’d never do this back home. Too many eyes and ears.” She gave Jack a polite smile. “Your hubby is one good-lookin’ man. I saw his last fight in Vegas. Whew! You’ve got a bruiser. Simon told us he’s this year’s Hunter.”

Penny had zero idea what that meant, but she played along. “Mm, yeah, Jack is so hot, isn’t he? I don’t even know how all this happened, but here we are, yay.”

Okay, now she was definitely more than buzzed. Everything seemed overbright and humming with that music throbbing in her veins. She drank at least two more cups of mead anyway, knowing she probably ought to stop and march her butt upstairs to the room.

But she didn’t, arrested by the decadent opulence, the silky feel to the air that suggested something was going to happen.

Something wild and irresistible.

In between the courses of roast venison with rosemary, small white potatoes and succulent glazed pork with a side of mushroom ragoût, Serena chatted about American politics while Penny ate and drank and “mm-hm’d” at the right moments. Across the table, Jack drank his wine, staring at Penny with lustful resentment.

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