Taken (Ava Delaney #4) (11 page)

A tall, broad
figure was approaching the bar, and the barman almost dropped a
glass when he spotted him.

“Ah, it’s the
Whelan baby,” the bartender exclaimed. “Come to see the oul’ woman,
have ya?”

“Shay?” Peter
said, and the figure turned slowly. I gulped down a swear word as
Sergeant Shay Whelan looked straight at Peter.

He gave an easy
grin, muttered something to the barman, and came over to sit with
us. “It’s been a while, Peter. You’re all grown up now.”

Peter laughed.
“I almost didn’t recognise you. You’ve gotten old. If your man at
the bar hadn’t said Whelan…”

“Enough of that
out of you,” Shay said good-humouredly.

Peter sobered.
“It’s funny, but I was thinking about you today. I remembered your
family were from this part of the woods. Not working in Dublin
anymore?”

Shay cast his
gaze on me, and I shivered. “I’m just down for the day, following a
lead. Besides, I haven’t seen a relative down here for a
while.”

I heaved a sigh
of relief when he didn’t acknowledge me at all.

Peter jumped to
his feet. “I’ll buy you a drink.” He practically ran to the bar,
and I stared after him, confused by the way he was acting.

“Didn’t expect
to see you here,” Shay said, taking a seat.

“Following a
lead,” I mumbled, unable to take my eyes off him. If he told Peter
that Carl and I had gone to see him, only bad things would follow.
“Don’t tell him,” I pleaded.

He shook his
head. “I wasn’t planning to. But you and your pal got under my skin
the other day. Idiot that I am, I couldn’t resist taking a look at
what you were talking about. Funny how we both landed here.” His
face changed. “What’s strange is how many times I visited this
place and heard the old stories at my nan’s fireplace, yet I didn’t
connect how similar they were to himself over there.”

I started to
ask him what stories he was talking about, but Peter set a pint in
front of Shay, interrupting us. “Forgot the introductions. Shay,
this is my friend, Ava. Ava, this is Shay. I’d call him a friend,
but he was just doing his job.”

They shared a
little banter, but all I could think about was why Shay had turned
up in the same place as we had. Had he believed me? Was he really
trying to figure out what the hell was going on?

Shay took a
deep drink of his beer. “So are you going to tell me why you’re
really here then?”

Peter grinned
at him. “Sight-seeing. We’re interested in hearing about the local
folklore.”

“Ah, sure, I
can help you with that. You’ve come to the right place at the right
time. My dear old nan doesn’t talk to strangers, but a friend of
mine? No bother. She’s a bit of an expert, you know?”

Peter cocked
his head to the side. “You offering?”

“Of course.
Just let me sink this pint, and I’ll take you to her. Both of you,
is it?”

Peter glanced
at me. “Only if that’s okay.” He ignored my glare.

Shay smiled at
me. “I’m sure we can squeeze her in.”

He wasn’t
joking. He took us to a tiny cottage. The old woman sat by a range
in the kitchen, leaving one other chair. Shay practically shoved me
into the seat as he made his introductions. His nan was really his
great-grandmother, a wizened old lady with white eyes and a balding
head. Shay was from the closest town, but he often visited her,
although less often since he moved to Dublin, he explained.

The old woman’s
fingers curved around an old blackthorn walking stick, but the root
end that acted as a handle was so large, I couldn’t imagine her
being able to lift it. She spoke quietly, seeming confused, until
Shay asked her to tell us some old stories.

A smile
deepened her wrinkles. “It’s a story you’re wanting, is it? We have
many of those. Is it the wee men you’re looking for?”

Peter shifted
his feet impatiently.

“Actually,” I
said softly, “we’re more interested in something specific to this
area. There have been a lot of tragedies here. Murders,
kidnappings. Can you tell us if there are legends associated with
those?”

The woman
swallowed hard, then sucked her false teeth furiously. “You’re
asking a hard question there,” she said. “It’s true we’ve been
struck by tragedy in this part of the world. Have ye noticed there
are no children running around? Only old ones, coming home to die,
mostly.”

Shay embraced
her. “But not you,” he said firmly.

She gave a low
cackle. “No, not me. Not yet. Not if I can help it anyway.” She
frowned. “What was I saying?”

“No children,”
I prompted.

“Ah, yes. We’ve
learned since then. Nobody talks about it, of course, but anyone
young enough to have a child moved along. Before that, children
were sent to the town to live with relatives for a time. They say
this place is cursed for children. And there are stories, yes.”

“Do you know
the stories?” Peter asked.

She nodded.
“Shay, love. Can you make me a cuppa? I’m gasping.”

Peter fidgeted
while Shay moved around the tiny kitchen, swallowing up the space
with his size. The smell of the brewing tea managed to calm me a
little, and I watched with interest as Shay and his nan spoke about
a seemingly endless amount of relatives.

When Shay
finally handed her a cup of tea, Peter’s face was coloured with
impatience, but the old woman took a couple of sips, smacking her
lips in satisfaction. “You were always a good boy,” she said to
Shay. “I’m so glad you’re here. It’s been cold today. I have a
chill in these bones that won’t leave me.”

Shay found
another blanket and draped it over his nan’s lap, but I had a
feeling nothing would warm her at the moment.

“The story,
Nan,” he said gently. “They’re still waiting for the story.”

“Of course they
are. Waiting, waiting.” She sighed. “People say the old days were a
different time, but the crimes committed here have been going on
for a long time. A shocking long time. My grandmother used to tell
me that they blamed the Ogham stones, back in the old days.
Runners-in called them bad luck, but the old families knew the
truth of the matter. We might not talk a lot, but we remember
everything. And yes, it all began with the Ogham stones.”

I inhaled
sharply and stared at Peter in dismay. Shay saw me and kept his
gaze on me, so I turned back to the old lady. I was probably
overreacting, but so much was connecting together that it seemed
more than coincidence that Ogham stones were mentioned when one of
the gods Eddie had told me about was Ogham.

“We have more
Ogham stones than anywhere else,” she said proudly, her face
brightening. “It’s said the old gods blessed us with knowledge,
gave us the art of script before any others to reward us for our
dedication. We were a faithful people, and even now, the remaining
Ogham stones are protected like gold. The old gods were good to us,
so long as we were loyal. We were the centre of something special.
We were a very lucky people then.”

“What do you
mean?” I asked.

The woman
leaned toward me, another smile creeping across her face. “This is
one of the important places of magic, my dear. The magical beings
were attracted to us because we were on sacred land. We were
important. But it all went wrong.”

“How so?” Peter
asked in hushed tones. The air had quietened again. I could hear no
wind, no crackling fire, only an old dog barking far off in the
distance and some heartbeats. Some beat faster than others.

“People forgot
the things they learned. They grew selfish, less grateful for the
gifts they had been given. Christianity came, all fresh and new,
and we forgot the old gods, so they punished us. They took their
power and left us alone. What was sacred turned unholy, and the
protection we had was gone. They say demons came to us then,
instead of the gods.”

“Demons?” I
asked breathlessly.

“Demons,” she
echoed. “That was our punishment for abandoning the old gods. They
abandoned us in turn, and we were left defenceless when evil came
for us. All we had was the blessed waters that the gods themselves
had bathed in, and it gave us strong children, special children.
Children so special that the demons wouldn’t stay away, no matter
how hard we fought. There was a fierce battle and good lost, so the
gates were opened, and many things squirmed free. We were silenced
and cursed and—” She hacked a phlegmy cough, gripping her walking
stick tightly. “I need to sleep.”

“Wait. We need
to hear more,” Peter demanded.

“More? They’re
just stories, my boy. No need to be afraid of the dark. It’s the
light that brings shadow. No children here anymore. Nothing for the
demons to come for.” She tried to stand, but fell back in her
seat.

I knelt at her
feet and took her cold hand in mine. Her pulse was fading, slowly,
but fading all the same. I gazed at Shay. “She’s not well.”

Peter took a
step toward me. “But we need—”

“No, Peter!” I
said. “Leave her be.”

Frustrated,
Peter stormed out of the cottage. I was relieved to see him go.

“Can you help
me?” Shay asked.

We both
half-carried her into her bedroom, a tiny room connected to the
kitchen. We lay her on the bed, draped a warm blanket over her, and
huddled together as we watched her chest heave up and down.

“It’s always
been hard to talk here,” she muttered before her eyes closed.

A chill fell
across the room, and I moved closer to Shay. “How old is she?”

“Ninety-eight.
Thanks for the help.”

“It was our
fault for getting her over-excited. She’s a real storyteller.”

He nodded.
“Some stories are better than others. Why did you want to hear the
legend? Why not the truth?”

“What’s the
truth, Shay? Can you tell me?”

He looked away,
and I saw his shoulders tense.

“Why are you
really here?” I asked.

He caught my
eye, rock steady in his gaze. “Because I’ve seen things that don’t
make sense. Ever since I started working, there have been things I
can’t explain, and there have been so many more things swept under
the carpet. I’d like to understand, and you gave me an excuse.”

“Keep out of
it,” I warned. “Trust me. You don’t want to get wrapped up in this
stuff.”

“It’s good
enough for you.”

I held up my
hand. “I’m not like you. And I was thrown into this unwillingly. I
can’t explain anything in a way you would understand. Hell,
I
don’t even understand a lot of it.”

“But you
understood her story. I watched you, your reactions to the story.
You believed every word of it as truth, didn’t you?”

I would have
loved to learn the things he had seen, but I couldn’t drag anyone
else into our mess. “I should find Peter,” I said instead.

“I hope you
aren’t dragging him into new delusions,” he said as I left. I
hesitated, then kept on walking. He could think what he liked.

Peter was back
in the little pub, but he wasn’t having a shandy.

“Give me your
keys,” I said.

He shook his
head, but I was undeterred. “Keys, Peter.”

“Give her the
keys.”

I cursed under
my breath when I heard Shay’s voice behind me.

“Your nan all
right?” Peter asked him bitterly, handing the keys to me.

“She’s old.
There isn’t exactly a cure for that.”

Peter smiled,
but it was a tired smile. For the first time, I wondered if he was
close to giving up on everything. Dread crept over me like a shawl
made of ice.

The three of us
sat around a small table while Peter finished his drink. I expected
to leave after that, but he stood and said, “I’m buying a
round.”

“I have to get
him out of here,” I said, half to myself.

“Let him have
one or two,” Shay advised. “He’ll be easier to move.”

“So you say.
Why are you hanging around?”

“I’m curious.”
He shrugged. “I trust my gut, and my gut is telling me to keep an
eye on you. What’s your story? How did you and Peter meet?”

It was my turn
to smile. “You don’t even want to know.”

“Are you
planning on asking any more questions?”

I shrugged.
“Kind of what we came here for.”

“They don’t
talk,” he warned. “Nan said they were silenced, and in a way,
that’s true. They don’t trust outsiders, and they won’t tell you
anything about themselves. Nan is different, but she isn’t
particularly well. If I hadn’t been there, you wouldn’t have known
she could speak.”

“It’s fine.
We’re not going to pester her or anything.”

“How about I do
you a favour? I’ll ask around about kidnappings, see if anyone
remembers anything. There are two villages close by I could visit
as well. I’m from here, so they might talk to me. What do you
say?”

“We’ve been to
those villages already.” I eyed him warily. “But why would you even
do that?”

“Because I want
to know what you think is going on.” He picked up my mobile from
the table before me and tapped in his number. He handed me his
phone, and after a couple of second’s hesitation, I saved my own to
his contact list.

“Is it true?
About the children?”

He shrugged.
“Old places die out. You need children to survive. It’s too rural
here for modern families. They like the comforts town can bring
them; that’s all. Nothing to do with gods or evil.”

I wished that
were true. But gods and evil had everything to do with the villages
dying; I was sure of it. Peter returned, and I couldn’t speak to
either of them honestly in front of the other, so I remained
silent.

Shay was right.
After two more drinks, Peter was a lot more pliable, and I
persuaded him to allow me to drive him home. Shay told me he would
keep in touch, and if I hadn’t been so concerned for Peter, I might
have felt a little flutter of anticipation at the tone of his
voice.