Bloodstone (19 page)

Or if he knew someone who practiced. Like Derek’s aunt.

I shivered. “So,” nodded toward the men in my life, “are they zombies too?” The words felt like chalk in my mouth and I wished Ivy were here.

Birdie snapped her head as if she had been slapped. “Of course not! We abide Celtic law in this house! And we do not dabble in darkness.”

“Then what’s with the Voodoo dolls and why aren’t the two of them moving?” I asked.

“Honestly, Anastasia, it’s like you pick and choose which lessons to retain from your teachings.” She walked over to Chance, picked up the doll in front of him. “This is a protection poppet, filled with nettle, angelica and purple sage. As I sent you in my message, there is malevolence surrounding us, the house, perhaps the entire town. It is strong. I felt it last night, which is why I took great precautions to protect what is mine and ours. And how do you fight magic?”

“With magic,” I said. “Is that why you were outside, holding the dagger? To perform a ritual?”

Birdie nodded.

“And rushing off to the police station while a dead body, er, zombie,” (did I really just say that?) “was in your kitchen? Why did you do that?”

“I didn’t know what had happened to Mr. Sayer at the time, but as soon as John asked you to call the police chief, I felt the vibration. It was a warning that somehow Leo or his place of work would be engulfed in the venom that approaches. So I went there under the guise of assisting the investigation to bespell the station house and all who enter.”

The Voodoo doll. I left that for Gus to bag as evidence. Perhaps that would have sent an evil energy to the place. I relayed the scene at the newspaper offices to them quickly.

Birdie nodded as if she expected as much.

Fiona said, “We also needed this.” She pulled something shiny from her pocket.

It was Gus’ badge. “Why on Earth—”

“For your anointment,” Fiona said. “We needed a symbol of justice. We’ll return it of course.”

Of course. “My anointment?” I repeated.

The three of them bobbed their heads.

I sighed and pulled out a seat next to Cinnamon who was still managing to sleep through this little trip into the Twilight Zone. I made a mental note to borrow a Xanax when this was all over.

“Okay, let’s just put that on the back burner for now, shall we? What are they doing here?” I pointed to Chance and Leo.

“Lolly’s special tea, Stacy,” Fiona said. “They’re only sleeping now so that we could charge the poppets and direct the protective energy to them.”

Birdie said, “I hardly think they would have cooperated otherwise.”

“They’ll be waking soon. Couldn’t have them walking around as targets especially with how protective the two of them can be when it comes to your welfare,” Fiona said. Then she looked at me sternly. “And Danu only knows the kind of trouble you can get yourself into.”

Right. Like it was all my fault some Voodoo warlock is running around poisoning people with fish guts and hanging troll dolls from the rafters.

“Well that’s good news, because someone will certainly notice if the chief of police is missing and since his car is parked out front, I’d say it’s a good bet they’d beeline it over here.”

“It’s your fault, you know,” Birdie said.

Oh come on! I looked up and they were all three staring me down, arms folded over.

“My fault? How the hell is this,” I waved my arm across the table, “
my
fault?”

“You know we don’t believe in hell, so stop using that word in our presence,” Birdie said.

“Fine. How in fucked-up fairyland is this my fault?”

Harsh, I know, but I was blazing mad now.

Birdie began organizing the knives according to length, notably silent for several moments. “You should have come to us the minute that girl set foot on your doorstep. We would have taken action far differently.”

Fiona pulled a green cape from a wardrobe closet. “We would not have had to scramble to cast protection spells, resort to stealing, or had to lure these poor dears up here.”

I didn’t even want to know how they did that.

“What does she have to do with any of this?” I asked.

Fiona raised an eyebrow at Birdie who produced a slip of yellow notebook paper. For some reason, that gesture made me think of Ivy’s backpack, still wrapped around me. It seemed heavier just then.

“Did you not decode this message?” she asked.

“I did, but I didn’t string the words together. What does it say?”

Fiona leaned in and asked, “You still don’t know?”

“Know what?” I asked.

Lolly smacked her head and took another shot from the bottle. Fiona told her to make sure that the men would be sleeping a bit longer. Lolly fumbled through her coat, pulled out a small brown vial, raised the eyelid of first Chance, then Leo, and dropped liquid into each one. Then Fiona helped Cin to her feet, who grumbled in a Xanax-induced haze, and carted her off.

Birdie explained that the guests had all been re-housed to other inns and hotels, so Cin could rest comfortably in a bed. Fortunately, she explained, the guests thought it was all part of the murder mystery weekend.

A thought flickered through my mind and I recalled I had never met the guests booked into the third room of the main house.

Birdie towered over me and said, “Anastasia. I have a story to tell you.”

FIFTY-TWO

“A perfection of means, and confusion of aims, seems to be our main problem.”

-Albert Einstein

She began with the Book of Ballymote, since I had proven that the story was instilled in me through decoding the message written in Ogham. Decoding the letters wasn’t tough, but with the words circled within the article, I really wasn’t able to formulate entire sentences in my head.

“What you may not know is that the first page of the text has been missing, purposefully so, for nearly five hundred years.”

“What do you mean, purposefully so?” I asked.

Lolly was seated next to an unconscious Chance and Fiona joined her. They were busy mixing oils together and every so often, they would measure me.

“Patience, Anastasia.” Birdie said. “You seem knowledgeable about the history of the book. So you must recall that the original manuscript had been stolen and recovered repeatedly.”

I nodded.

“The reason for that is it once revealed treasured information.”

Well, duh.

“Before I continue, I must ask what you know about Ivy.”

I hadn’t told her yet about the note Scully gave me and Ivy seemingly missing. For the moment, I needed to learn everything Birdie wanted to share with me and I needed to make sure that Ivy wasn’t a threat to us—inadvertently or otherwise.

I reached around for the backpack and peeled the zipper open. I dug inside for Ivy’s notebook and slipped out the page our mother had scribbled on, slid it to Birdie. Lolly skated some reading glasses across the table to my grandmother and she put them on.

Birdie scanned the note then flipped through Ivy’s journal, motioning for her sisters to flank her. They read in silence and I was wondering what any of it meant.

Finally, Birdie spoke. “Okay then. I think this is all the proof we need to send to the council for confirmation. Anoint her.”

Lolly and Fiona nodded and before I could protest, each took to tossing oil on me, rubbing crystals through my aura, beating my back with herbal brooms and fitting me with a multi-sheath belt. You know, your typical anointment process.

I said, “The council?”

Birdie sighed and produced the postcard from her pocket. “I asked Cinnamon to do me a little favor while she was in Ireland. This is what she brought back.”

The photograph on the front was of a castle. The back said only.
It is time.

Then I thought of the white deer. Prophet. Protector.
Get ready.

I explained to Birdie the sightings and how I felt it was Maegan speaking to me.

She smiled, slapped the table and said. “Very good. You recognized the message. Now, recognize the danger. People will—and have—killed for the information I am about to tell you.”

Lolly grinned at me, a gaping space where her teeth should have been and Fiona winked. Fiona grabbed a makeup kit. Lolly went to the wardrobe.

She fumbled through the garments quicker than I had ever seen her move. She didn’t bother looking back as she tossed out a black leather jacket, matching chaps, black boots with three-inch heels, a bustier that I could never make proud and what every girl wants her seventy-plus aunt to pull out of a box—studded wristbands.

Yay me.

I didn’t share their enthusiasm or their fashion sense, but I humored them to get through this conversation. “So who is the message from? What is it time
for
?
And who are the council?”

Birdie stood, took a deep breath and said as if rehearsed, “There are three only, whose calling is a benefit to their people: The Warrior on the field of battle, the Guardian of sacred truth and the Seeker of Justice wherever she may be.” She looked at me and said. “The council is a select group sworn to uphold Celtic law. They confirm these three of every generation. It has already been confirmed that you are the Seeker. I suspect Ivy is the Warrior. And the time has come for your calling.”

My aunts nodded in agreement.

“And the Guardian?” I asked.

Birdie frowned. “I don’t know yet, but I whoever it is is close.” She looked at Chance, then Leo.

“Oh, please don’t drag them into it,” I said.

Birdie paced. “It’s only a hunch, but I feel it is someone near. Someone in town this very day.” She turned to stare at me. “Someone who has come in contact with the Warrior.”

Well that’s just shiny and perfect. That kid ran off to Down and Dirty so many times it could be any number of bar flies. It could be those Jehovah’s Witnesses. Hell, it could even be Monique. And wouldn’t that just serve her right?

And then it made sense.
Be Smart. Be Safe. Be One.
Or at least as much sense as any of this could make. She must have been referring to the Seeker, the Warrior, the Guardian.

I stood, crossed to Birdie. “What about my mother? Couldn’t she be the Guardian if we are from the same family? Doesn’t this mean that she’s Ivy’s mother? That Ivy is my sister?”

She looked at me with a flash of sorrow. “The three are rarely from the same clan.”

“Well then what does all this mean? How would she possibly know about us? The Geraghtys? The note says...” I fumbled for it, read it aloud. “
Always believe in yourself and the clan of the Geraghtys.”

Birdie said, “I see that. But read it again. See the words that are there, not what you wish them to be.”

I read the note again as if for the first time. Flipped through the pages of the notebook and I saw then what Birdie was pointing out to me.

There was simply no confirmation either way. It didn’t say trust in
our
clan. Ivy’s notes never said the woman who raised her told her she
was
my sister. But she believed that. And I wanted to as well.

“Then tell me, Birdie, what is the connection?”

“I already did. You are the Seeker, she the Warrior.”

I shouted, “Of what?”

She explained that the three original three scribes of the Ballymote writings had sworn a blood oath directly onto the first page of the document to protect its most valuable secret. The writers appointed a Guardian, to ward over the manuscript, a Warrior to combat enemies and thieves and a Seeker, to bring to justice those who broke their vows or the law.

“Most generations,” Birdie said, “There is only one from each clan. Occasionally, it was possible there were two members from a single clan. Mostly due to the betrayal of an original three.”

By the tone of her voice, I guessed the punishment for betrayal was a long walk down a short pier.

“Birdie, I know the authors of that text and not one was named Geraghty.”

She gave me a wicked smile. “Do you think your ancestors are stupid enough to keep their original names so that all the world could track down the descendants?”

Fiona paused from playing makeup artist. “Especially with the Internook.”

“Internet, Fiona,” I said.

“What’s the difference?” she asked.

“Never mind.”

Birdie sat down and so did I. “The clans of O’Duignan, O’Droma and McSheedy are presently Geraghty, Delaney and Mahoney.”