Emerald Isle (18 page)

“Let’s hope that won’t be necessary,” I said.

Gramps said, “What do you mean we can’t stop? I don’t have any clothes.”

Birdie snapped at him. “You should have thought about that before crashing our soiree.”

Soiree? Really?

Lolly tapped him on the shoulder, kicked open her trunk, and flashed plenty of men’s slacks, shirts, and undergarments. She unzipped a side compartment to expose a shaving kit.

Gramps hugged her and said, “Ever the sister-in-law. Thanks, Loll.” Then he smirked at Birdie.

The mysterious workings of Aunt Lolly continuously amazed me. I used to marvel at her superpower of knowing exactly what to pack for any given occasion. Now I just admired the accuracy of her projections. The irony that half the time she could hardly dress herself, however, was not lost on me.

As that thought threaded through my mind, it dawned on me that I was the only one not swathed in the finest evening wear.

“When did you all change?” I asked, dumbstruck.

Fiona was applying ruby-red lipstick. “On the plane, dear.” She was wearing a strapless, nude cocktail dress overlaid with black lace.

Birdie’s gown was a swirl of russet tones, highlighted by a beaded, one-shoulder neckline. “We tried to wake you,” she said.

I didn’t even know I had fallen asleep.

Lolly said, “Not to worry, Stacy. You can change outside the castle.” She adjusted the peplum on her dress. It was the color of blackberries.

I couldn’t believe it. We were here to find a cauldron and get my mother back. What the hell were they dressing up for? My suitcase was stuffed with sweatshirts and jeans.

“Change for what?” I asked.

They all three looked at me as if I had just picked my teeth with a fork.

Birdie spoke first. “You don’t just show up to a castle in travel clothes. You enter its halls draped in elegance.”

“It’s a sign of respect,” Lolly said.

“Not only to the castle, but to the men and women who defended it with their lives.” Fiona smacked her lips in the mirror of her compact.

“Not to mention the council.” Birdie fluffed her hair with a comb.

Uh-oh. How to bring this up?
I sighed. “Here’s the thing. I didn’t pack any special-occasion clothes.”

Fiona snapped her mirror shut and plopped it back in her purse. “That’s all right, sweetheart. Just wear the dress Aunt Lolly made you.”

Oh, geez.
“Great idea, Fiona.”

Lolly grinned, pulled out a flask from a garter strapped to her thigh, and took a swig.

“And I would, except I didn’t pack that either.”

Birdie rolled her eyes and groaned. “Do you mean to tell me you planned on meeting the oldest secret society on the planet in sneakers and dungarees?”

“Nobody calls them dungarees anymore, Birdie.”

Gramps leaned in and said, “Great idea. Poke the bear.” Then he disappeared behind some bushes.

Headlights shone in the distance.

“Honestly, Anastasia,” Birdie said.

“No one told me,” I said.

Seriously, how was I supposed to know it was prom night?

“Just get your bags. Perhaps one of your aunts will have something suitable for you to wear.”

Lolly cringed, “I don’t think she would fit anything I have. She’s at least two sizes smaller than me.” She looked at Fiona.

The middle Geraghty Girl shrugged. “I only brought the one dress.”

Birdie said, “Just get your bags, all of you. The car’s coming.”

I jogged over to where my bag was propped near the plane. Just before I reached it, I slipped on the slick grass and skidded into a pile of sheep dung.

Well, this oughta help,
I thought.

Lolly had a package of wet wipes, and I used the whole thing to scrape the crap off my jeans. I wanted to change, but Birdie wouldn’t allow it.

“No time for that,” she said.

So now I was sitting in the front seat of a Cadillac Escalade next to a guy who looked strikingly like Cinnamon’s husband. His name was Gary, and I tried to make small talk, but he was none too happy about being stuck with the stinky girl. Kept answering me in grunts, so I gave up.

Thirty long minutes later, the SUV snaked its way down a winding road lined with gnarled, medieval oaks. A mist had settled in for the night, and the trees seemed to be draped in gossamer, as if waiting for us to pass so they could continue weaving a veil for a phantom bride. Occasionally, a pair of glowing eyes penetrated the brush.

Gary slowed down as we came upon a thick river flowing beneath a narrow footbridge. Spotlights shone along the route then, highlighting two massive rock towers outfitted with arrow loops, a set of threatening iron gates between
them. The gates reluctantly unfolded as we approached. The towers that flanked the bridge were each forged with battlement walls that joined forces with a barbican clutching iron spikes.

Beyond that, the castle punctured the night sky.

I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting, but it wasn’t this.

The stone structure sprawled across the landscape, its walls, towers, and turrets reaching out from its belly like bold tentacles marching across the ground, proudly claiming the land as its own. The waning moon hung low in the sky, a jewel in the crown of the castle. A dusting of clouds slowly rolled in, strangling the pinnacles of the tallest tower.

I felt my jaw go slack at the intimidating size of the place. It had to span three football fields, at least.

The driver maneuvered the car around a circular brick driveway and cut the engine. He jumped out, unloaded all of our belongings, and sped off, probably in search of an all-night car wash.

A few narrow steps, guarded by menacing gargoyles, rose up to meet an impressive door with a Celtic-knot knocker and an iron handle the size of a baseball bat.

I jumped when it yawned open before anyone knocked, half expecting Herman Munster to charge out.

Instead, the slight woman who stood before our group resembled Tinker Bell.

A shag of blonde hair framed her pale face, and I was willing to bet she couldn’t reach those amusement-park signs that say
YOU MUST BE THIS TALL TO BOARD THE ROLLER COASTER.

“Welcome to the castle of the council. My name is Elizabeth,” she said in a voice way too loud for her body. “I trust your travels were comfortable?”

Birdie affirmed they were, and the woman ushered us all inside as an owl screeched through the forest.

I dropped my bags on the navy carpet, and Thor sat down next to me with a harrumph.

The ceilings of the foyer reached higher than the trees we just passed. If it weren’t for the Gothic archways that divided the space into smaller rooms, it could have housed an Olympic-sized pool. Four sets of stairs enticed guests to explore different wings of the castle. Two were near the front, two pushed to the back.

Elizabeth walked past a white statue of a god and goddess clinging to each other near a marble-topped desk. She picked up the telephone receiver that sat on the desk, said a few words I couldn’t make out, and then hung up.

“Aedon will be with you momentarily.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a stack of papers and a handful of keys.

We were still clustered in a semicircle near the door as she handed each of us a folded map. “I’m afraid it’s a bit late for a tour, but this map will guide you to your rooms. I’ve made it a point to label each with your names beside the rooms you’ll be assigned, as well as marking the important areas that you’ll need to find, such as the Great Hall, the Dining Room, the Library, and, of course, the Court of O’Conor.”

“O’Conor?” I asked.

She wrinkled her nose, either at the stench wafting off me or at my stupid question—I couldn’t be sure which.

“Turlough O’Conor, king of Connacht and high king of Ireland.” She gestured to the space all around us. “The castle was built for him in 1120.”

I nodded.

“Shall I send for someone to collect the luggage?” she asked.

“We can manage, thank you,” Gramps said.

“Very well.” She pursed her thin lips, nodded, and clicked off down the hall and around the corner.

Aedon. The name rang a bell. “Birdie, who is Aedon?”

“An old friend.”

“Is there anything I should know? Anything you want to tell me before he gets here so I don’t look foolish?” I asked.

Elizabeth had seemed put off by my lack of knowledge of the castle’s history. I didn’t want to make the same mistake with Aedon.

“I’m afraid that ship has sailed,” Birdie said grimly, eyeballing my attire.

“Are you going to hang that over my head the whole trip?” Footsteps sounded from a short distance away, so I dropped the subject.

A silver-haired man with an air of distinction and the scent of juniper entered the room a moment later. He smiled at my grandmother and stepped forward to kiss her, his crisp suit refusing to wrinkle. “Birdie. It’s been too long.”

Gramps shifted uncomfortably.

The man shook my aunts’ hands, introductions passed, and then he turned his sights on me. “And you must be Stacy.”

I nodded.

He cast me a dubious look, flicked his eyes at Thor, and said to my grandmother, “Why is she dressed like a vagrant?”

Birdie flashed a
kids—what are you going to do?
look.

“Hey,” I protested.

He leaned in to shake my hand, then hesitated.

“You smell like a barnyard animal.”

“I’m aware.”

“This is the Seeker? Are you sure?” Aedon questioned Birdie.

Why does everyone keep asking that?

He turned back and decided to take my hand anyway, and instantly a vision pierced my mind. The school. The bus. Hill of Tara. This man was the boy from the field trip. The one who assured me Birdie would be okay, despite Tallulah’s taunts.

A jolt passed between us, and something in Aedon’s eyes said he felt the power surge too, maybe even recollected the memory of that trip. Of me.

I jerked my hand back. If he did remember, or if he were to grasp a vision of me from that day, he might tell Birdie. After what happened in the Web of Wyrd, how the goddesses couldn’t send me home, I wasn’t sure that was a good idea. I had no plans to mess with the space-time continuum ever again.

Aedon was frozen in front of me for a split second. Then he snapped out of it, clapped his hands together, and said, “Well, then. I’m sure you are all exhausted. You’ve had a long day, probably want to get to your room, relax, wash up.”

That last bit, aimed at me.

“Just some housekeeping notes first.” He pivoted slightly to address the group. “Help yourself to anything you find in your suite. Every refrigerator is fully stocked. There are robes, towels, toiletries, extra blankets, and pillows. Should you need something, make a note of it and I’ll alert the staff in the morning.”

Fiona thanked him.

Aedon continued. “We expect the Guardian to arrive shortly, so we are fully prepared to conduct business first thing in the morning. The Warrior will join us virtually. Nine o’clock, in the Court of O’Conor room.” He glanced around. “Questions?”

We all shook our heads, and Aedon disappeared through one of the archways.

My family and I said our good nights and parted ways, in search of warm beds and hot showers.

Or maybe the shower wish was just me.

The map Elizabeth had provided indicated that my room was up the far back staircase, to the left, and down a long corridor. I walked past several richly paneled walls until I came upon the stairs. Before I ascended them, I cast one look behind me. Birdie was doing the same. She winked at me once, from the first step of the staircase on the right, near the front half of the castle.

I nodded and began to climb.

At the top of the landing, a stout fireplace anchored the rounded nook. There was a chair next to it, with a pair of reading glasses tossed on the seat beside an open book, pages down, waiting for its reader to return.

I looked at the spine.
A Witch’s Guide to Astral Projection.
I glanced at Thor. “Interesting reading.”

He whinnied and moseyed down the corridor, past a portrait of a woman with ferocious eyes and wild hair.

As I edged by it, I got the spooky feeling those eyes were following my movements. A shiver raced through me.

Thor glued his nose to the ground, implanting every step into his brain. I was grateful for that, because I was pretty sure—map or no map—that not even a trail of bread crumbs would help me find my way out of here.

After an eternity of brocade wallpaper and endless knights of armor, I found the room.

I dropped my bags, slipped the key into the lock, and opened the door, not sure what I would find.

The relaxing scent of lavender greeted me, but most rewarding was the sheer luxury of the suite.

The bathroom was bigger than my entire cottage, equipped with double sinks, a walk-in shower with steam jets, a Jacuzzi, and a sauna. The sitting room had a flat-screen television, a writing desk, two sofas, and a wet bar. Beyond that, a mammoth bed, drenched in a cloud of pillows, was positioned near a window. A twin bed butted against the far wall, and there was still enough space for a walk-in closet.